Because it goes well with turkey.

"I don't hate blogs any more. I still think they're a waste of my time, but I don't hate them." --my brother (17), as I was writing this post.

Happy Thanksgiving! I hope you partook in some delicious victuals and have since slept it off, if you're not doing so already. I'm at my parents' house for the weekend, and it's been delightfully surreal, but I haven't been online much since the wireless network is a little tetchy and anyways I'd rather be chasing my cousin around and kibitzing with the clan.

I'm thankful for a lot of things, but since this is a book-related space, here's five appropriate ones:

1. I'm thankful for the amazing public libraries I have used over the years, from the one-story brick building where I got my first card at the age of 6 to my current condo-topped branch. The fines, when they accrued, were worth it.
2. I'm thankful my parents let me read almost anything I wanted and make my own decisions about what I liked and disliked from an early age. The only book I can remember being taken away from me was THE FIRST WIVES' CLUB, and I have no idea why -- anyone read it and know what was so objectionable?
3. I'm thankful for the teachers I had who taught me to love reading, and those who tolerated my desire to have my nose in a book constantly even when it wasn't appropriate.
4. And for those teachers who confiscated my books and punished me for reading? I'm thankful I don't have you any more. (Luckily they were few and far between.)
5. I'm thankful for those authors I read over and over, like Tolstoy and Mark Salzman and Jane Hamilton and Margaret Atwood, who take me to places I love to visit again and again.

And now, back to reading on the couch, and thereafter, in bed.