There's a reason a Genie only gives you 3 wishes: Genies don't do lists.
I've had at least one Wishlist since before the word existed, or at least since I looked at Christmas toy catalogs and sounded out the words I didn't get right away. And this one and this one and this one and this one-- Little Me, age 3 --You take it away from her, Big Shot, you're the one who thought it would be fun to see if she could read! -- Mommy Flintstone, age 32So that shows you that while I was not drawn to catalogs that showed clothing, my tiny fingers had a pretty good grasp of the concept. And, unlike real stores, you didn't have to drag your sulky little sister into elevators, I can't see anything but people's bee-hinds and it smells in here and I'm hot and she pinched me! -- Clotilde Flintstone, age 3 -- or sit in traffic smelling auto fumes -- Mommy I'm not kidding I'm really going to throw up! --Little Me, aged about 6.
The clothing in the catalogs generally didn't attract me - real stores (Saks, Bendel's before it became a souvenir shop, Bergdorf's) did not have catalogs. If Mom wasn't up to taking us to stores, she would call Mimi at Wanamakers or Louise at Lord and Taylor and have a bunch of "things for the girls" sent out to be tried on. Mimi or Louise or Anna (Bloomingdale's) or Ethel (B.Altman) would also arrange for returns and exchanges to be picked up. The system worked for school clothes and everyday clothes.
On the other hand, getting us kids dressed up was a noisy and strenuous task. Thus if either Little Clotilde or I needed a dress-up outfit, it was made at home so that the seams could be rolled or Frenched or flat-felled. These are dressmaking techniques that take some of the itch and tickle out of organdy or organza. Wool things were lined. Little Clotilde's skin was so sensitive that she couldn't wear wool at all. She would turn red and her eyelids would swell up and she would sniffle. We had cotton loop carpet in our bedroom, and cotton curtains.
So anyway the next big catalog want-want-want was the Girl Scout catalog, which featured enough equipment to survive the Next Armageddon and then whip up dinner for twenty (One-Pot Meal, anyone?) with a thoughtful souvenir for each guest. --Mommy, what's an entrenchment tool?--Little Me, aged 8-- It's not for Brownies -- Mommy Flintstone, age no longer discussed. Ladies do not discuss their age or their tummies. Ultimately, of course, my prior years of practice in Catalog Discussion paid off and I received a Mess Kit, a Mess Kit Cover, and a Belt Cutlery Kit. Still waiting for the multi-function compass.I moved on to the Sears Roebuck catalog by accident, it was at the home of a neighbor Mom was visiting and I was acting quite obviously bored. -- Oh, just give her something to read -- Mommy Flintstone, age unspoken, see above -- Can I send away for the chicken house with some eggs to hatch?-- Little Me, age 10 -- It's May I, and Clotilde's allergic to feathers.-- Mommy Flintstone, thinking fast.
With the approach of Junior High came magazines and an interest in What Other Girls Were Wearing. I accompanied Mom (as she now was) to stores. I wished for things that I had really seen. I also learned to try stuff on and judge by The Fit, The Fabric, The Cut and The Work without being deceived by a fancy belt or button that was Tacked On Just Before Shipping. --you need some roses in your cheeks to wear black--Mom, accompanied by chorus of salesladies.Or, in other words, if you try on the blouse that Carol got and it doesn't look like it looked on Carol, you put it back. You also put back the off-white sweater that looked so cute on Marie but makes you look like you're coming down with something
and then came years of lists that were depressing because they were all of stuff to do, stuff to finish, tasks with deadlines, calls to return, stuff to clean, leads to follow up on, due dates, filing dates… you've made those lists, in your head if not on paper. The List du Jour isn't a collection of little dreams, it's a persistent chant of obligations, don't forget, be here by 7, bring home some paper, buy ink...
I still make lists, but the joy is now not in the making of the list, it's in the tearing it up when enough items are checked off.
Of course a list of reservations to be made will always summon up smiles and dreams!
Love this! I forgot Betsy Wetsy!
ReplyDeleteOh poor Mama Flintstone! I never met a catalogue i didn't love as well!
Hi, Wendy, I have some notepads that have "1. Make list." at the top of the page.
ReplyDeleteYou reminded me of so many childhood memories with the Girl Scout catalog. I loved the badges. I don't think we ever received the Sears catalog but studied it intently at friends' homes. Much to my husband's dismay, I am much more of a mental or no list maker. It's probably one of the best explanations for how I do nothing so well.
ReplyDeletehi, Teacups, I loved the badges, too, always wondered who designed them! And making lists is kind of a futile exercise around here, I either remember to do something or I don't, but mostly the relevant list is lying on the coffee table or under a sofa pillow.
DeleteOh my father would give us huge catalogs for the base exchange and sis and I would close ours eyes, flip to a random page, and place out finger down on the item we "won". I have recently started list making for my procrastination has started getting the best of me.
ReplyDeleteHi, BB, that sounds like fun!
DeleteI used to love big, thick catalogues when I was a child: La Redoute, Kays and the like. They were huge and full of wonder. I was particularly obsessed with the lingerie.... hmmm
ReplyDeleteHmmm indeed.
DeleteWhen I was a little girl, I dreamed of meeting a genie who'd give me three wishes. My first wish would have been to have endless wishes come true.
ReplyDeleteI remember wanting to send away for something with creatures that'd come alive and grow too, how funny. It might have been that chicken coop, exactly the kind of thing I'd have wanted.
Hi, tr, I was thrilled last spring when an apartment - well, balcony - henhouse was advertised for city dwellers. The house itself was a large white plastic egg, presumably so the neighbors would think one was into very modern balcony furnishings not livestock. The sellers promised an egg a day.
DeleteAnd a friend's little brother was given a teeny duckling one Easter. It followed him everywhere and refused to live in the yard, sat by the back door squeaking miserably until it was let in to sleep in the kid's bedroom. To this day he won't eat duck.
I still love to make lists as well as check them off! I have a running book list in my Filofax-- yes v.old school--and try to do one for films.
ReplyDeleteThe Sears catalog would arrive at our summer house which had no TV, hot water, heat etc; I'd sit on the porch swing for hours planning future lives.
Yes, a book list is a pleasure.
DeleteThere's a reason catalogs are called dream books.
We share a similar view of the lists...
ReplyDeleteLane above mentions the catalog. I did the same, and to this day, I go "shopping" in circulars. "Which one would you get?"
Pearl
And which thing would you run from - somehow I got on the mailing lists of not one, two, imitation gargoyle catalogs.
DeleteThere is another form of the list that I have been struggling with: the iphone list. I much prefer pen and paper but since I have the phone I feel obliged to use it. I am a hapless victim of thumb typing and autocorrect and I feel as though I have brought an annoying third party into the whole list making process. My lists and I always understood each other just fine when it was just the two of us.
ReplyDeleteI loved going through the Sears cataloge at Christmastime. My brothers and I would take turns picking out the things we wanted. Good times
Vanessa, you are so right! I hate the way I can't just scribble a thought down, autocorrect has taken me to some very strange places indeed.
ReplyDelete"Genies don't do lists" I love this! I love all of the food catalogues in the papers just now, we pour over them as if we were planing our death row meal.
ReplyDeleteOh, so do we - and I have to hide articles that contain recipes because I'm the one who makes the Christmas dinner, so don't want himself getting attached to a concept put forth by someone who has column inches to fill but has never in fact cooked.
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