The title of this post should actually be: Where I Would Like to Read, If I Ever Manage to Finish Doing the Dishes.
This is our living room, on a day when the fog came in and never left, when we found one of those presto log things in the back of the closet in the hall where hockey sticks and toy lightsabers migrate. The people in the picture over the fireplace are the heirs to this living room. They do read in here. Most often, they can be found lying on the couch or the floor with their feet up in the air and a book above their heads, kind of the way a beetle might read were it to find itself upside down on its back with a copy of TinTin in its hands.
Over at Susan Hill’s marvelous blog, there’s a lovely discussion of the places where people read. I paid attention to this question yesterday and discovered that I read: on the train (no surprise there), sometimes on the train platform if the book is really compelling (Half a Yellow Sun, the book I’m reading these days is that compelling), at the dining room table while the children are doing their homework (setting a fine example), on the kitchen counter, while I’m waiting for the pasta water to boil, sitting in a chair next to my smallest son while he falls asleep, and on the edge of my bed in the morning, right after I’ve taken a shower. And sometimes I do read in that nice chair by the fire at night. I’d like to do it more often and, now that I’ve pointed this out to myself, maybe I will.