I get bigger when I am shared around the table, and I am not food. At Thanksgiving, everyone takes a turn giving me. What am I?

I sit at the table with your name on me, but I am not a plate and I am not a person. What am I?

I am a plant that hangs above a doorway, and tradition says people may share a kiss beneath me. What am I?

I am wrapped in paper and tied with a bow, and you shake me to guess what is inside. What am I?

A snowstorm lives inside me, but you can hold me in one hand and make the storm stop. What am I?

I arrive before the party guests and tell them where to go. What am I?

I carry a brown river to the table, but I never leave dry land. What am I?

I look like a horn overflowing with fruit and vegetables. What am I?

I gobble, have feathers and often appear at a November feast. What am I?