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cheryl6of8's review against another edition
4.0
This was in a stack of books I bought at a charity sale to give away. It caught my fancy as one to read first and, having done so, I think I may pass it around my book group.
At first, I thought that this reminded me a bit of Robert Fulghum, but not as profound. Or Andy Rooney but not as cranky. Gradually, I came to appreciate the author's voice as his own, which is a combination of those two things but more besides. It helped that in the first essay he affirmed my belief that the year truly begins in autumn, with the return to school and fresh notebooks and pencils. And he managed to capture a few smells and places in my life that I have not thought of in ages. In the last essay he mentioned the smell of being inside a tent in the hot summer sun and that one took me back -- and I hate camping. When he described the cottage at the lake he described a slightly nicer version of the one I grew up in, with the chipped plates, the old furniture, the walls decorated with out of date calendars, and the wooden screen door on a spring -- Whap! It was the first time I felt like my memories of going to the lake were not colored by the sense of being poor because our cabin was so ramshackle. And the garage -- when he brought up his dad's garage, I was immediately back in the one attached to my childhood home (yes, attached -- even though he says they don't count). I could picture the ancient cardboard box next to my dad's workbench filled with who-knows-what and topped with an old blanket, where his favorite cat loved to sleep and supervise his work. The repurposed kitchen shelves filled with peanut cans of rusty nails and screws were close enough to touch.
The subtitle of the book suits it well - it helped me to remember and appreciate life's simple pleasures, including some that were long buried in the back of my mental attic.
At first, I thought that this reminded me a bit of Robert Fulghum, but not as profound. Or Andy Rooney but not as cranky. Gradually, I came to appreciate the author's voice as his own, which is a combination of those two things but more besides. It helped that in the first essay he affirmed my belief that the year truly begins in autumn, with the return to school and fresh notebooks and pencils. And he managed to capture a few smells and places in my life that I have not thought of in ages. In the last essay he mentioned the smell of being inside a tent in the hot summer sun and that one took me back -- and I hate camping. When he described the cottage at the lake he described a slightly nicer version of the one I grew up in, with the chipped plates, the old furniture, the walls decorated with out of date calendars, and the wooden screen door on a spring -- Whap! It was the first time I felt like my memories of going to the lake were not colored by the sense of being poor because our cabin was so ramshackle. And the garage -- when he brought up his dad's garage, I was immediately back in the one attached to my childhood home (yes, attached -- even though he says they don't count). I could picture the ancient cardboard box next to my dad's workbench filled with who-knows-what and topped with an old blanket, where his favorite cat loved to sleep and supervise his work. The repurposed kitchen shelves filled with peanut cans of rusty nails and screws were close enough to touch.
The subtitle of the book suits it well - it helped me to remember and appreciate life's simple pleasures, including some that were long buried in the back of my mental attic.
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