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 I know why I am inundated with my very own avalanche of catalogs every day. I make the mistake of actually looking at them. I imagine the yard with artichoke lanterns, and a bamboo moon gate. I consider carefully whether my summer day hikes require a sixteen piece pioneer cookware set.
I feel the tug on my wallet as I gaze at the lovely blossoms of roses with names like Pure Poetry, and Love Potion. I am, in fact just the sucker that these catalog producers hope I am. Drawn in by orderly layouts of personal flotation devices in jolly colors, and no tug swimsuits, I imagine the summer full of beach days and picnics. I also have dim recollections of picnics gone awry. I remember traveling across the Canadian highway, watching Canada recede from view out the back of the Ford Econoline as my father barreled his way across the continent. For some reason, he never seemed willing to stop, not even for sleep or food. I only remember one stop, by the side of the road. My mother drew beautiful faces on smooth oval rocks in crayon. A gift to the next person to happen by. My picnic memories include the pain of pulling a fish hook from my bleeding foot as a youngster with no adults within earshot to hear my puppy like yelps. I remember tall trees and the smell of campfires as I limped back to our campsite. I remember the summer that my grandmother and I planted roses in the back yard. My grandfather mistakenly ran over them with the riding mower. They grew back, only to be mowed again. After several episodes of this, they finally gave up. When I look through the catalogs I feel the picnic before the fishhook, the roses before the mower, and the promise of the outdoors before the claustrophobic view through the 12 inch square window of that van. The world before disappointment. Still what I find in flipping through those idealized catalogs is that there is also a world after disappointment. The roses my grandmother and I planted are long gone, but Betty Prior and John F. Kennedy bloom every year in my current garden. We go for long summer walks in sturdy shoes, and my feet are sound and capable despite their childhood traumas. And at the tops of many Massachusetts hills, I have gawked at full panoramic views as hawks swooped by. It is easy to say, “I’ll never do that again” after a bad experience, and sometimes that is the wisest course. But if there is real longing to do a thing, then it is shortsighted to cut yourself off from future accomplishment. You may not need a sixteen piece cookware set to make a meal at a campfire, but you might need to imagine a new life full of abundance, warmth and a good meal with friends shared by moonlight and embers. Here’s a suggestion from Llamagraphics, for converting catalogs from seductive invitations to spend money into catalysts for realizing your dreams. Next time your favorite catalog arrives, instead of reaching for your Visa card, get out the rubber cement and a notebook. Cut out any picture, or part of a picture that appeals to you. Just cut out the shape with scissors. Don’t keep the prices or the descriptions, but home in on that golden retriever in the L.L. Bean catalog if it reminds you of your favorite animal companion. Cut out that Peace Rose, or grab snippets of colors that look good together. Paste them into your book, willynilly. Overlap the edges, fill the page from corner to corner in a collage of desire. You can add text if it evokes the right spirit.
Be willing to let the images offer you your own opinions back to you. Are there any surprises? Any combinations of things that contain puns or messages that you didn’t expect? Did you discover an unexplored passion for pink? A surprising desire for clear blue water? The call to adventure? A sense of beauty? Yearning for orderliness? This is one fun way to begin to identify what your heart’s desire really is. Marketeers are experts at taking your heart’s desire and attaching it to their particular product. * At least once, give this exercise a try, and reverse the process to attach their pitch to your needs. At the very least you may satisfy that acquisitive itch without the resulting damage to your budget from impulse purchases. |
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Let it dry before you close the notebook otherwise you may never be able to review your masterpiece. After you’ve snipped and arranged and glued everything down, look over what you selected.
