Strangely, I Love
I'm not a hiker, camper, or lumberjack. I'm not hardy or pioneering. I don't wear khakis, booties, or scuffs. I don't live near the mountains, woods, or frozen lakes of Maine, Idaho, or upstate New York. I don't have a puppy. Or a braided rug. Or a rocking chair. I don't light pine-scented candles and sit around smelling them.
And yet, strangely, I LOVE the L.L. Bean catalog. As I turn the pages, my thoughts drift to cabin life in the wilderness: my nearest neighbor straps on snow shoes and braves half a mile in a November blizzard to come have coffee with me while our ruggedly handsome husbands chop wood. December comes, and we all put on vests of 'Mallard Teal' and go tree-farming with sleds and children. Life is simple, all stew and corn muffins.
The catalog is that powerful. Not only does it overtake my perpetual daydream (which isn't easily wrested from urban semi-fame and my future Brooklyn Heights brownstone), it also causes me to reconsider my position on flannel and vertical wood-paneling (unfavorable). I wonder how I could use or if I might actually need a 'Trailblazer II Headlamp.' I think about purchasing barn coats, fleece pullovers, knit pants...stuff so elemental and unpretentious that, for a minute, I believe sporting it might actually constitute a stand for human decency.
Then I revert to my usual snippy mood. I notice the blatant and not-so-decent oversupply in this catalog of white people, and also of Christmas wreaths. I wonder about the confidence of marketers. Do they know they'll be safest preaching to their choir? And is that a good enough reason to leave everyone else out?
We liberals sure ruin everything, don't we?
And yet, strangely, I LOVE the L.L. Bean catalog. As I turn the pages, my thoughts drift to cabin life in the wilderness: my nearest neighbor straps on snow shoes and braves half a mile in a November blizzard to come have coffee with me while our ruggedly handsome husbands chop wood. December comes, and we all put on vests of 'Mallard Teal' and go tree-farming with sleds and children. Life is simple, all stew and corn muffins.
The catalog is that powerful. Not only does it overtake my perpetual daydream (which isn't easily wrested from urban semi-fame and my future Brooklyn Heights brownstone), it also causes me to reconsider my position on flannel and vertical wood-paneling (unfavorable). I wonder how I could use or if I might actually need a 'Trailblazer II Headlamp.' I think about purchasing barn coats, fleece pullovers, knit pants...stuff so elemental and unpretentious that, for a minute, I believe sporting it might actually constitute a stand for human decency.
Then I revert to my usual snippy mood. I notice the blatant and not-so-decent oversupply in this catalog of white people, and also of Christmas wreaths. I wonder about the confidence of marketers. Do they know they'll be safest preaching to their choir? And is that a good enough reason to leave everyone else out?
We liberals sure ruin everything, don't we?
posted by Tracy at 6:59 PM
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