Wishbook

My usual routine in the morning is to shower, make coffee and retrieve the paper from my front deck. Thanksgiving Day went as scheduled, except I had to put down my cup of coffee so that I had two hands available to pick up the stack of ads that greeted me in all their retail glory. The ads included Thanksgiving Day specials, Black Friday blowouts and Super Saturday savings. I lugged the pile of papers to my kitchen table and decided that I was going to need more than one cup of coffee to motivate me to page through the glossy enticements. Many cups of coffee and a day later, I finally scanned my way through the stack. Needless to say, I was past the moments of opportunity and would have to either buy at a higher price or live without. Not a tough choice in my world.

As a child, I remember another retail siren song that arrived each year in our mailbox. It was a bound catalog wrapped in nondescript brown paper. My sibs and I eagerly awaited its arrival about this time of year. I’m sure my very organized mother had some system for keeping us from pouncing on it like vultures on carrion. I only remember that we jockeyed around for our turn with the treasured tome and hoped we wouldn’t have to wait too long for some quality time with the catalog.

Our object of desire was the Christmas Wishbook. Sears and JCPenneys issued catalogs laden with everything from baby buggies to walkie-talkies. We didn’t have much for TV in those days so the Wishbook was our pipeline to the outside world. We lovingly leafed our way through pages of dolls and childhood delights. The go-to pages were dependent upon our age and gender.  We were farm children so the toy tractor section and the miniature kitchen sets saw a lot of action. Pages were dog-eared and often in danger of falling out of the book.

One might think that we used the Wishbook to make our own wish list. For the most part, that was not the case. We knew that our meager allowances would never come close to having the purchasing power needed for such lavish items. We also pretty much knew what our gifts would look like each year. We usually received one practical item like a new pair of mittens or a scarf, and we received one “for fun” item like a cherished book or small toy. (I’m sure my youngest sibs are feeling a bit guilty right now as they realize that they lived a more spoiled existence, but I’m not bitter, no sir-ee.)

I don’t remember exactly what I coveted each year. I think it was such things as little dish sets, toy typewriters, and Viewmasters with pictures from exotic locales. The Wishbook was our way of escaping for a few hours and dreaming of a candyland world where everything was fun and easy.

Fortunately, my parents were wiser than a catalog. They knew that is was best for us not to swim in the pool of excess. As much as they enjoyed watching us open little gifts, they loved sensibility even more. I can’t claim their depth of wisdom yet but I do know that the world of retail is still a mystery to me.

I must confess, though, that I am enjoying my lone Black Friday purchase. Believe it or not, there was one paper shredder left after the crowds had long gone and I felt safe enough to go out to my neighborhood drugstore.

Sometimes the late bird does get the worm and yes, I can now say my Christmas shopping is done.