11/29/2025
The Saturday after Thanksgiving feels like waking up from a long, delicious dream. You open your eyes, look around, and realize you’ve survived another year of the great American feast and now it’s time to face the aftermath. It can also feel a little like the credits rolling after a blockbuster movie, the excitement fades, the dishes are (mostly) done, and everyone’s wandering around in stretchy pants wondering what day it is.
The house is quieter. The kitchen looks like it fought a brave battle and lost. The refrigerator hums a little louder under the weight of leftover containers stacked like an architectural experiment. There’s a half-empty pie tin on the counter, a trail of breadcrumbs leading to nowhere, and at least one rogue spoon that has gone missing in action.
Everyone moves slower on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. The pace of life drops two notches. There’s no need to rush anywhere, no reason to dress up, no major meal to prepare. Just coffee, comfort, and maybe, if you’re feeling ambitious, reheating the stuffing.
It’s the day after the day, the exhale after all the noise, dishes, and laughter. The phone isn’t buzzing, the oven’s finally cooled off, and there’s time again to think in complete sentences.
Read the full article on page 2A in Saturday's print edition.
