The magic of possibility

Does anybody remember the Sears catalog? It came in the mail every year.

I’m not talking about the Wish Book catalog. That was invented later. I’m talking about the thick catalog that occupied hours of our time before Christmas, laid open on the floor as we turned the pages gazing at all the riches that might be ours.

We’d look at the bicycles. I longed for a blue one. Matt wanted a red one.

We looked at pogo sticks and imagined ourselves on them outside, traveling to unknown destinations.

We never looked at clothes. That was not a particular interest to either of us.

I always knew the hand-me-downs from my older cousins would eventually wind up in my You must be logged in to view this content.

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