I've settled into a nice Thanksgiving routine. That includes:
1) My personal pilgrimage to Michigan Stadium to watch my beloved Wolverines play their last home game of the year;
2) A Facebook-fueled reunion with at least one high school or college friend. Almost all these meetings start with a search for interesting conversation, but I leave with respect and admiration for those who stayed in Michigan, fighting through extraordinarily challenging economic circumstances;
3) A feast with family, filled with kids screaming about who plays with which toys and grown-ups screaming about which political party is more wrong than the other.
But there is one difference about this holiday. I won't be visiting one of my favorite haunts today. This Friday, without Borders Books, is truly a Black one for me.
