My rating: 4 of 5 stars
As a chronic furniture rearrange-er and person who loves living spaces, this was a memoir suited perfectly to me. When I was younger (like elementary school younger) I used to pore over blueprint catalogs like some girls pored over fashion magazines. All it took was a cleverly/practically designed house to make me think "home"...and start the process of moving in my imaginary furniture. (Remember, I was like 10. I "owned" several keepsake necklaces and a teddy bear named Teddy.)
This collection would have gotten five stars in my book if it was organized by house/apartment, with attached blueprints. Because, why not? If I wrote this, each chapter would have been named after the place I was living in/moving to/buying. Starting in college: Burke, 3M, The Banger, 420 Grant, Club M-dub, The Naw...I like to name my homes, what can I say?
Other than that personal desire, I related to a lot of what Daum wrote. Home is where the heart is, and sometimes the heart wanders. I love my dark wood trim and in-apartment laundry facilities and relaxing porch, but I'll be damned if I don't fantasize about what I would do with an extra foot in my closet-at-the-top-of-the-stairs bedroom.
This book would be perfect for lovers of real estate, voracious readers, those in restless reflection, and anybody with the insight to realize that where we live is tied up into who we are, at least on some level. Is it a tad self-indulgent? Yes, of course. It's a memoir. Daum's descriptions and honest divulgations more than make up for that.
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