I completely identified with the author of this article in today's New York Times who writes of her envy of her three daughters' reading habits and the way they are able to completely immerse themselves in a book while on Christmas vacation. I remember those days fondly as well, with my legs slung over the sides of the chair in my parents' living room, reading for hours on end, with no sense of "this is a book I have to/should read" but just pure joy in reading. I have a similar nostalgia for how I used to feel going into a bookstore, before I worked in publishing. Now I go in with a quizzical eye, thinking too much about which books are up front, what cover design is luring me in and why. I long for the days I just obliviously wandered about like a kid in a candy store. Sigh.