Re: “Sears another canary in the coal mine,” column, Oct. 18.
Dave Obee’s otherwise fine farewell to Sears overlooked one vital memory: The mid-winter frantic run down the backyard sidewalk to the prairie outhouse, where the catalogue provided an essential service at a time when toilet paper was for spendthrifts.
It was called the Simpsons catalogue in those days, and frankly I preferred the Eaton’s version because it was thicker. But the ritual never changed: Pull down pants. Undo flap on underwear. Sit down over hole. Grab catalogue. Go to colour pages to stare at lingerie ads while doing your business. Rip out and scrunch printed page and wipe thoroughly before the cold froze you to the hole.
(Using the colour pages was a rookie mistake. The thicker paper never scrunched properly and left pointy edges that could jab your posterior.)
One last thing: As Christmas neared, kids could look at the toy pages and dream impossible dreams. Internet kids would never understand.
Jim Taylor
Shawnigan Lake
