The Miller Report 11272025

 MILLER'S MYSTERIES BLOG

Happy Thanksgiving to all my friends and visiting readers—may your day be filled with warmth, good company, and a table that feels like home. I’m grateful for each of you who stops by to read, share a smile, or simply enjoy a moment together here. Wishing you peace, gratitude, and a truly delicious holiday.

   Greetings and Welcome! 
Welcome back to Miller’s Mysteries Blog, where the sun is bright, the air smells faintly of autumn leaves, and the neighbor’s goats are nosing over the fence again — clearly critiquing my life choices. ☀️🐐 

 NYX

My cats stare out the window like tiny, furry philosophers, silently judging each passerby. 🐱 I’m planning a day of Calendar House Shows, popcorn-filled AMC matinees, and carefully strategized Christmas shopping routes. 🍿🎄 Dining adventures await, too, because a mystery blog needs fuel, preferably in the form of fries, pizza, and spicy wings. 🍗 Let’s wander, wonder, and maybe wave at a wandering deer or two along the way! 🦌

  • Across my Desk!!

Careful — reading this over the holidays may lead to random bursts of inspiration at the dinner table. Grandma won’t be ready.


Why did the turkey cross the road?
To prove it wasn’t chicken.


Every field has a moment where science stops being curiosity and starts being business.


Stratospheric warming could bring sharp cold snap to CT after Thanksgiving — Meteorologists say a sudden upper-atmosphere shift might usher in winter-like air soon after the holiday. 
CT Insider

Expect breezy and chilly Thanksgiving Day — CT forecast shows wind chills near freezing — Fortunately sunny, but families should bundle up for dinner outdoors or trips. 
CT Insider


If Russia invades Turkey from the rear...
Would Greece help?


I shot my first turkey today!!!!
People ran out of the frozen food section in excitement, and even the cops showed up to see!!!!




  • The Reader
Emily sits at Jack’s kitchen table just after sunrise, the sky outside still lavender with the last of the night. A cup of black coffee warms her hands, steam fogging her glasses. A notebook is opened to a new page, her pencil aligned along the margin. She scrolls to Mindmyst Tales, smiling as she recognizes Joe’s tone instantly. The house smells faintly of buttered toast and maple syrup. She starts taking notes, circling ideas she wants to borrow later. Emily feels like the day has started right.  
  
 • Math of the Week

1. The Pie-Slice Predicament

Bob baked 2 pumpkin pies, each cut into 8 slices. Michele ate 3 slices, and Bob ate 2 slices.
How many slices are left for their guests?

2. Turkey Time Calculation

Michele is roasting a 14-pound turkey, which needs to cook for 15 minutes per pound.
How many total hours will the turkey need to cook?

3. Cranberry Conundrum

Bob needs 3½ cups of cranberries to make his famous sauce. He has a large bag containing 9 cups of cranberries.
How many cups of cranberries will he have left after making one batch of sauce?

4. Parade Seat Spacing

Bob and Michele are setting up folding chairs along the parade route. They place chairs every 3 feet along a 24-foot stretch of sidewalk.
How many chairs do they place?

5. Leftover Logistics

After Thanksgiving dinner, Michele divides the leftovers into containers. She has 48 ounces of turkey and wants to pack them into containers holding 6 ounces each.
How many containers will she fill?
 


 • Now, This Week's Exciting Story


Stuffing

Jack and Emily had barely reached the trailhead when the argument ignited—hotter than Emily’s cast-iron skillet on pie-baking day. Snowflakes drifted lazily around them, but neither seemed to notice. Jack insisted that Thanksgiving stuffing needed sausage chunks “big enough to qualify as a second entrée,” while Emily argued for her celery-herb blend so passionately that passing squirrels paused as if taking notes. By the time they reached the first bend, their voices echoed off the frosted trees like two dueling cooking shows with no commercial breaks.

“Jack, if you put in that much sage, the turkey won’t be the only thing stuffed,” Emily huffed, stomping onward through a patch of crunchy snow. Jack followed, waving his mittened hands like a man conducting an orchestra made entirely of disgruntled chefs. He accused her stuffing of having “the flavor profile of a salad that gave up,” which earned him a snowball to the chest. Emily smirked and continued up the trail, victorious—for now.

As they climbed deeper into the woods, a faint shimmer of light appeared through the branches, though Jack was too busy defending the structural engineering of his croutons to notice. Emily stopped mid-rant, squinting as something warm glowed between the trees. “Do you see that?” she asked. Jack, eager for a distraction from her death glare, nodded. “If that’s the ghost of Thanksgiving Past, I swear I’ll ask him which recipe he prefers.” Emily rolled her eyes and trudged forward.

They rounded a final bend, expecting another stretch of snowy trail—and instead found a small cabin nestled in the clearing, each roofline and window trimmed with tiny twinkle lights. Smoke curled from a stone chimney, carrying a scent that suspiciously resembled sage and butter. The whole scene looked like someone crossed a Hallmark movie with a Williams-Sonoma catalog, but somehow it worked. Emily gasped softly, while Jack muttered, “If they used sausage, I’m breaking in to take notes.”

The closer they stepped, the more unreal it felt. The lights flickered gently, as if greeting them. A wooden sign hung crookedly above the door, dusted in snow, though the words were still readable: “Welcome, Hungry Travelers.” Emily stared at Jack. Jack stared at Emily. And for the first time all afternoon, both of them were completely, utterly silent—until Jack whispered, “Okay… I think the cabin wins the stuffing argument.”


Emily barely had time to knock on the cabin door before a loud rustling came from the nearby brush, followed by a dramatic honk that sounded like a goose attempting opera. Jack froze, mid–stuffing joke. Emily whispered, “Please don’t be a bear.” The creature stepped out of the thicket—and it was, in fact, not a bear. It was a very plump wild turkey wearing the exact expression Emily imagined Jack made when someone tried to take the last dinner roll.

The turkey strutted right up to Jack as if challenging him to a duel. Jack held up his hands. “Look, buddy, we weren’t planning on eating you today.” The turkey responded by pecking at his boot, clearly unimpressed by Jack’s diplomacy. Emily snorted so loudly the turkey glared at her next. “You made him mad!” Jack hissed. “He started it,” Emily argued.

Before either could retreat, three more turkeys burst from the woods like a feathery street gang. They surrounded Jack and Emily in a semicircle, marching in synchronized, menacing little steps. “Oh great,” Emily groaned, “we found the Gobble Mafia.” Jack attempted to puff himself up in response, but only managed to resemble a confused snowman with anxiety issues.

One turkey hopped onto a log, glaring down with the judgment of a thousand grandmothers. Jack whispered, “Is… is he the boss?” Emily nodded solemnly. “The Don of Drumsticks.” The Don let out a long, echoing gobble that sent a couple of squirrels scurrying up trees. Emily whispered, “Jack, he’s giving orders.” Jack replied, “Yeah, and I think the order is ‘take the tall guy first.’”

As if on cue, the turkeys started herding Jack backward toward a snowbank. Emily couldn’t help laughing. “Look at you—getting mugged by poultry.” Jack glared at her while stumbling over a root. “Help me! Distract them!” Emily waved her arms like someone trying to land a plane in slow motion. The turkeys paused, puzzled—giving Jack enough time to scramble out of arm’s reach.

But the Don wasn’t done. With a dramatic flap, he leapt onto Emily’s backpack and rode it like a triumphant rodeo champion. Emily squealed, hopping in circles as the turkey clung on with the confidence of a creature who had never been defeated in his life. “Jack! Do something!” “What do you want me to do, challenge him to a stuffing cook-off?”

Finally, Jack reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the granola bar he’d been saving. “Hey!” he shouted, waving it overhead. The Don’s head whipped around like a feathery radar dish. With one glorious leap, he abandoned Emily and lunged for Jack’s arm. Startled, Jack tossed the granola bar across the clearing, and every turkey sprinted after it, their feet pattering like dozens of tiny drum solos.

Breathless, Emily leaned against Jack, and Jack leaned back, both trembling more from laughter than fear. “We survived,” Emily said. “Barely,” Jack replied, brushing turkey feathers off her coat. They watched the turkeys squabble in the distance over the granola bar, forming a feathery snowstorm of chaos. Emily smirked. “Can’t wait to tell people we were nearly jumped by a holiday dinner.”

When they finally approached the cabin again, they both glanced behind them—just in case the Don returned for negotiations. Jack whispered, “Next year… we’re bringing breadcrumbs as tribute.” Emily nodded solemnly. “And a stern warning for anyone who thinks turkeys are harmless.”




===========SHADOW
He found a photograph in the attic showing a glowing craft hovering over his house—taken yesterday.
His pulse quickened as the edges of the picture burned faintly, sizzling with a strange warmth.
He looked down at his arm and saw the same symbol etched beneath his skin.
The book warned: once seen, it never leaves.
SHADOW by Joseph Miller
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B4Z36PS3
Get your hands on a copy now and read for yourself the amazing testimonies entrusted to us for the record!



============Special Dark 
Jack and Emily chase danger from moonlit docks to backroad diners in a mystery that crackles with romance, wit, and a touch of the supernatural.
SPECIAL DARK by Joseph Miller
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FX9LTS74
Grab a copy now. Begin your next great reading adventure. 


Visit and enjoy my Author Page 🍂📜 ♣️❤️♠️♦️
https://warlockpublishing.com/author-joseph-miller.html
📚📖📘📙📗📕📔📒📓📔📒📓📚 ✨🌙💥👣️👽️🛸🚀☁️ 🕵️‍♀️💕




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Dec 6 -- Oakville, Union Congregational Church
Dec 7 -- Kinsmen Brewery
Go support our local makers and community! Put this on your calendar!  We look forward to seeing you again!!  
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============

 • Thank you for stopping by! 
It’s good to have friends who drop by when the air smells of wood smoke and the evenings stretch long. Thanks for sharing a bit of your November with me. The fire pit’s yours anytime, and there’ll always be a cup of hot black coffee waiting.



 • Please do write a comment.  You could, if you dare, ask me a question. If I like it, I'll publish it right here in Miller's Mysteries Blog!
[send to mindmyst@yahoo.com]

Until next Thursday,    
Happy November!!! 

Joe Miller 🍻🎃️🦃 


 • Quick question
 If you were granted the power to make any animal a suitable pet, which one would you pick and what quirky habits would it have? Imagine having a pet dinosaur that thinks it’s a lap dog and wants belly rubs! Just be prepared to invest in extra-large pet insurance!
 
 
 • Weather forecast
 Scientists confirm Pluto is sulking again after being left off another Christmas card list.
In response, space dust is drifting toward Earth, bringing what meteorologists call “passive-aggressive flurries.”
Expect emotional coldness and existential frostbite.
 
 
 • Questions from readers:
 
  Joe, do you write outdoors in November?
👉 Sure, if you like melted ink, sweaty paper, and spiders auditioning for lead roles.


                        Joe