The day after the feast: Leftovers fill the fridge. Two turkeys vie for space and baggies of extras are jammed into every other nook and cranny. The coolers still house sodas and beer, and bottles of unopened wine line up like soldiers in a drill.

There’s a load of laundry churning away — placemats and tea towels mainly, having forgone cloth napkins for paper this year — but the china and silver are washed and stored for the next big occasion.

Outside, the wind is blowing, the pumpkins are still intact. But inside, all is calm. The dust is no longer flying. Twenty-nine people have come and gone … and we survived.