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Every year in late fall, we bundle up in our warmer clothes and have generally gotten over the idea that we have to wear socks.  It's cold outside, brisk, I'd say, and the pleasurable crunch of rust-colored leaves sounds beneath our feet. 

Our lives have fallen into a predictable order; the spontaneousness of summer gone, and for those of us who are blessed to have a woodstove, we warm our damp socks by the fire, wiggling our toes as we watch ribbons of steam rise from or feet.

And we look ahead to Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving! A wonderful celebration of remembering the many blessings in our lives, spent in the company of family and close friends around the table; at its center, a Thanksgiving turkey, moist and delicious. (And hopefully still hot when Grandpa Don finishes carving it.)

This year, around the dinner table, we've picked up the refrain from last year's Thanksgiving. We're still singing about Black Friday; how every year it cut in a little closer to family time, and somebody has to wash Grandma Vi's china. And Lord knows, that football game isn't going to watch itself. 

But there's always that one... that ONE, who silently slips away from the unified grumbling, unnoticed, to begin leafing through the local newspaper, skillfully stalking her prey; the elusive Black Friday sale