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3.69 AVERAGE
3.69 AVERAGE
challenging
emotional
informative
reflective
sad
medium-paced
I received a copy of this from a publisher's rep. It was on a table with others and I thought it looked interesting - it was a wonderful pick! I enjoyed this story from several different angles - as a genealogist and family history enthusiast, as a librarian and as a daughter. When I started reading I was a little disappointed because it seemed to gloss over a lot of details that I would have liked to have known but as I got further into the book I realized that the story was filling in as she told it. I absolutely loved the fact that Robin and Plum both kept catalogues of items they had found because of the value of the catalogue itself - that people will be interested not necessarily in the content of the items in the list, but in the collection or the picture that the list presented. I am so glad for the author that they found things that helped her get to know her parents (no spoilers!). I loved the honesty of the author's explorations into her family relationships. Finally the family itself seems extremely interesting - if anything the book is too short - I hope that the author considers expanding on her Mother and Father's tale. I would highly recommend this to genealogists/family historians, caregivers (or those being cared for), house historians, and daughters everywhere.
An interesting chronicle of a woman clearing out her family home and finding out who her parents were and who she is.
could have used a little more editing towards the end as it seemed drawn out.
could have used a little more editing towards the end as it seemed drawn out.
After a lengthy illness, the 83 year old mother of the author finally dies. Plum Johnson, the author, is relieved from the burden of caring for her cranky, demanding mother and envisions that she won't grieve for her mother. But like so much in life, memories come back.. whether we want them to or not. The author didn't have a close relationship with her mother and is surprised to find herself questioning their connection. Great narrative on what happens when the last parent dies and the family has to divide up the estate. Each item has meaning.
They left us everything, says the title, and they did: Johnson's parents left treasures and trash alike behind when they died, and it fell to Johnson and her younger brothers to figure out how best to sort and divide and clean and sell and mourn.
So it's a story of the aftermath of death, but that story is interspersed with tales of childhood. Her parents' relationship was a tempestuous one, adults from two different countries raising their children in a third (mine did the same thing, incidentally—same three countries but a different configuration—although minus the tempestuousness). Johnson pulls from so many rich stories here: the plaque she and her brothers put on their house, ostensibly from the local 'Hysterical' Society, as a prank (their father was furious until the actual Historical Society complained, at which point he redirected his anger and kept the plaque as a point of principle); the untimely loss of one of those brothers (see quotation below); her parents' whirlwind courtship, which left them not entirely prepared for the realities of married life. Gradually, that 'everything' left behind came to include a better understanding of who Johnson's parents had been, and why.
That 'everything' also included an awful lot of stuff—including a room full of Johnson's mother's yard-sale (etc.) finds, generally repurposed as gifts (lots of naked Barbies and the like)—but the memories wrapped up in the book feel like the things with the most value.
Bits and pieces:
A movie scout for Walt Disney Pictures once walked in here and his eyeballs almost fell out of his head. "Get here quick!" he screamed into his cell phone. "You don't understand...we don't even need props!" Which is why there's a framed picture of me in the living room scene of The Ref with Kevin Spacey. (2)
The loss of Sandy was so devastating that, during his funeral, my brain couldn't grasp the concept that our "sibling team" was no longer five. We were his pallbearers, but we needed three on each side, so I suggested a family friend for the sixth. When Victor reminded me that we needed two extra people, I stared at him blankly. He put his arm around my shoulder and said, "Sandy can't carry his own coffin, now, can he?" (105)
On Remembrance Day, each November 11, Dad marched to the Cenotaph with his war medals, but Mum wouldn't even stand up in church when they asked veterans to stand. "They don't mean women," she said. We've found a Certificate of merit awarded to her by the U.S. Army, "in recognition of conspicuously meritorious and outstanding performance of military duty" when she was an Assistant Red Cross Direction. On her U.S. government ID card, she was designated "2nd Lieutenant" in the event of capture by enemy forces, but after the war, Mum wasn't even given a pension. (198)
I keep forgetting that Victor spent time as an only child. He and I—the bookends—were the only two children who did, but the parents I experienced had just turned thirty, in the bloom of early romance; his were in their forties and fifties, getting ready to kill each other. Not only were Victor's and my vantage points different, our backdrops were different as well. (199)
He [Johnson's father] thought theater and art were nothing but frivolous hobbies, so he gave me two choices: I could be a nurse or a teacher. After considering my fear of needles, he crossed outnurse. (218)
So it's a story of the aftermath of death, but that story is interspersed with tales of childhood. Her parents' relationship was a tempestuous one, adults from two different countries raising their children in a third (mine did the same thing, incidentally—same three countries but a different configuration—although minus the tempestuousness). Johnson pulls from so many rich stories here: the plaque she and her brothers put on their house, ostensibly from the local 'Hysterical' Society, as a prank (their father was furious until the actual Historical Society complained, at which point he redirected his anger and kept the plaque as a point of principle); the untimely loss of one of those brothers (see quotation below); her parents' whirlwind courtship, which left them not entirely prepared for the realities of married life. Gradually, that 'everything' left behind came to include a better understanding of who Johnson's parents had been, and why.
That 'everything' also included an awful lot of stuff—including a room full of Johnson's mother's yard-sale (etc.) finds, generally repurposed as gifts (lots of naked Barbies and the like)—but the memories wrapped up in the book feel like the things with the most value.
Bits and pieces:
A movie scout for Walt Disney Pictures once walked in here and his eyeballs almost fell out of his head. "Get here quick!" he screamed into his cell phone. "You don't understand...we don't even need props!" Which is why there's a framed picture of me in the living room scene of The Ref with Kevin Spacey. (2)
The loss of Sandy was so devastating that, during his funeral, my brain couldn't grasp the concept that our "sibling team" was no longer five. We were his pallbearers, but we needed three on each side, so I suggested a family friend for the sixth. When Victor reminded me that we needed two extra people, I stared at him blankly. He put his arm around my shoulder and said, "Sandy can't carry his own coffin, now, can he?" (105)
On Remembrance Day, each November 11, Dad marched to the Cenotaph with his war medals, but Mum wouldn't even stand up in church when they asked veterans to stand. "They don't mean women," she said. We've found a Certificate of merit awarded to her by the U.S. Army, "in recognition of conspicuously meritorious and outstanding performance of military duty" when she was an Assistant Red Cross Direction. On her U.S. government ID card, she was designated "2nd Lieutenant" in the event of capture by enemy forces, but after the war, Mum wasn't even given a pension. (198)
I keep forgetting that Victor spent time as an only child. He and I—the bookends—were the only two children who did, but the parents I experienced had just turned thirty, in the bloom of early romance; his were in their forties and fifties, getting ready to kill each other. Not only were Victor's and my vantage points different, our backdrops were different as well. (199)
He [Johnson's father] thought theater and art were nothing but frivolous hobbies, so he gave me two choices: I could be a nurse or a teacher. After considering my fear of needles, he crossed out
I received this book free from Goodreads First Reads.
I entered the Goodreads giveaway with every intent of purchasing the book if I didn't win. Earlier this year, my great aunt passed away in her home. My father and her uncle are her next of kin and as the eldest of the great-nieces and nephews I went along for the ride of processing the estate. She was a hoarder and the process of cleaning and readying her houses (yep, plural) for sale was physically and emotionally draining.
Plum Johnson's book struck a chord with me. Without even dealing with the implications of a mother/daughter relationship (my own is tenuous) it was easy for me the go along for her journey of re-discovering her place in her family and the relationships between her siblings. I'd been through empyting endless coat pockets. And I know what it's like to eventually throw trashbags over bannisters when you can't process things anymore. Every new discovery in the house got me excited and, as an only child, I was intrigued by somewhat mercurial relationships between her and her siblings. My favorite section was Johnson settled in after all her hard work and relayed the contents of some of her mother's letters. I loved the snippets of her family history and how her family was perceived in the community. And I kind of liked advice of just leaving everything for your kids.
Overall, this read was pretty cathartic for me.
I entered the Goodreads giveaway with every intent of purchasing the book if I didn't win. Earlier this year, my great aunt passed away in her home. My father and her uncle are her next of kin and as the eldest of the great-nieces and nephews I went along for the ride of processing the estate. She was a hoarder and the process of cleaning and readying her houses (yep, plural) for sale was physically and emotionally draining.
Plum Johnson's book struck a chord with me. Without even dealing with the implications of a mother/daughter relationship (my own is tenuous) it was easy for me the go along for her journey of re-discovering her place in her family and the relationships between her siblings. I'd been through empyting endless coat pockets. And I know what it's like to eventually throw trashbags over bannisters when you can't process things anymore. Every new discovery in the house got me excited and, as an only child, I was intrigued by somewhat mercurial relationships between her and her siblings. My favorite section was Johnson settled in after all her hard work and relayed the contents of some of her mother's letters. I loved the snippets of her family history and how her family was perceived in the community. And I kind of liked advice of just leaving everything for your kids.
Overall, this read was pretty cathartic for me.
This is a touching and entertaining memoir about grief and family relationships and what must be the most beautiful house on an Ontario lakefront. After her firecracker of a mother dies, Plum takes it upon herself to clear out the rambling family home full of treasures, memories and privilege. Her mother was a firecracker of a woman, generous, spirited and cantankerous and a handful to take care of in her last couple of years. Through clearing out the house, finding her mother's letters, she learns more about her parents marriage and about her mother which brings her closer and helps her find closure. A very good read.
I received this from a goodreads giveaway and I found it difficult to put down once I started to read it. It's a very interesting memoir about a family's (mainly daughter's) struggle to finally let go of her parents belongings after the passing of her mother.