The Luniferous Gazette #42: Creasing Paper Wishes into Catalogs

 And Bookmarking in the Age of Digital Glow 

  *Mock page of a catalog offering 
(Made with a 100% thrifted butterfly brooch, 1 sprig of broken hair clip, and a glass locket)

Recently, I realized that I don’t chase after wishes in the same way anymore. My coveting has grown rather dull and routine in practice! If there is something I desire, I simply bookmark the object on my phone, adding yet another tab in the bloated halls of my invisible data shrine. 

Maybe I peruse the reviews of others to see if they agree with the polished advertisement’s promises, and scan review photos for a discovery of flaws that might dissuade me from purchasing the item in question. And after much digital dithering around and price checking, perhaps I finally purchase said item. 

That cyber bookmark is promptly deleted as if it never existed beyond a passing breeze in my mind . . . . 

But when I was growing up, I didn’t have a fancy techno-tile in my pocket that could feed me endless images finetuned to my algorithm profile. I had a wooden magazine rack in the living room that was overflowing with catalogs! I don’t remember all their names anymore, but one stands out for its wonderful whimsy—dear Hearthsong. I eagerly looked forward to each issue as a child, for its pages were always bursting with creative toys, arts and crafts. 

I remember saving up my allowance to buy semi-precious stone marbles, and feeling absolutely thrilled when they arrived in a plastic vial lined up like a perfect row of jewels.  

 (*A handful of my most prized catalog marbles)

 

I didn’t have access to online reviews back then. So I simply hoped, I dared to believe without doubt that every object in a catalog was as truly fabulous as showcased in those glossy pages! My mother would crease page corners to tab items of interest, and mark x’s next to her very favorites. So would I, but after too many crinkles from my grubby kid fingers, the pages would eventually become crumpled after a while. For unlike the pristine nothingness of a digital bookmark, these pages betrayed the physical mark of my wishful anticipation. 

The vast majority of these x’s remained unfulfilled wishes, but oh, I enjoyed the sparklestars out of all those catalogs! I’d cut them up and save my favorite items in journals. Sometimes, I’d make my little sisters flimsy “surprise” purses with construction paper, staples, and glue, and stuff them with two-dimensional riches ripped straight from the pages of our most treasured catalogs, like princess tiaras from The Oriental Trading Company. As I got older, I’d save velvet cloak cutouts from catalogs like The Pyramid Collection and tape them into my fantasy notebooks under character wardrobe notes. 

There was still so much tangible fun to be harvested from those pages, even without purchasing one single thing! I don’t get many physical catalogs anymore, but I’ll never forget the powerful glow they cast over my imagination as a child.   

Do you have a paper wish that lingers in your memory, too? 

 

~*~ 

 

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