Happy Thanksgiving, all. This is a wonderful holiday that runs a close second to Halloween in my book. Christmas used to be up there, but as it has become more and more commercialized and its preparation and celebration has grown to almost two months in length, I have been forced to push it down to 3rd or 4th. I never thought I'd see the day when Christmas and Independence Day were running neck and neck. But back to the holiday at hand. I write this from Michigan, from the rolltop desk in my parents' spare bedroom. Downstairs I hear the pounding of Mom's Pampered Chef (TM) chopper having its way with a mound of innocent pecans, unaware that they are about to become a part of the traditional pie. My brother has groggily arisen from the noisy, violent ritual he calls sleep, looking like he was shot with a tranquilizer dart and dragged 3 miles by his ankles. My sister is holed up in her room, blasting U2. And one other sound is invading the quiet of the holiday morning: the gentle hum of the shop vac. Don't ask me what Dad's been up to already this morning, but a major holiday is no reason to take a break from sawdust and power tools. Make no mistake about that.