I read Population 485 fairly recently. In fact, I’d meant to post a real review of this memoir about a man returning to his Wisconsin roots just before we got the call to race to Iowa.
If slimming pills can be found in the form of movies depicting the bloody brutality of mass produced meat, than pills of wisdom can be found in memoirs you don’t think have any direct bearing on the current circumstances of your life.
Translation: I picked up this book several months ago, and forgot I had it, then didn’t read it til I had almost nothing left in my pile. All this week, however, bits of it have been coming back to me – the most simple, and the most poignant. For example, at one point Perry writes about death, saying that it doesn’t really hit you until the last, empty casserole dish has been returned.
The community filled my sister-in-law’s house with food.
I fear what her reaction will be when the last tupperware container has been given back to its rightful owner.