This morning, in an attempt to create more storage on my phone and delete extra media, I make three very poignant observations.
#1. I think I’m hilarious. My iPhone houses dozens of screenshots of jokes, memes and word puns. There’s also personal photos I’ve turned into memes but cannot share to the masses because sometimes humour is subjective. I’m a nervous laughter type of gal, and I can assure you it’s not appreciated.
#2. I text a lot. Unfortunately, being so clever in the digital media age and a self-proclaimed writer comes with the burden of sharing my quasi-interesting story. Most of the time via text. Sometimes with a blog.
The odd time my phone does ring (it’s mostly on silent and vibrate) I always think something bad has happened. It’s hard to erase that kind of prior learning. Maybe it’s a mental block.
Isn’t that strange, to pay all this coin to have a phone so that I can ignore it and check voicemail?
I’m sure I’m not the only one out there who does that.
#3. If I ever did lose my phone, what kind of profile would someone scrolling through provide for me? Would they think I’m a crusty, senior-aged relic? An optimistic millennial? Single mom with 5 kids? A narcissist? Entitled tween?
I mull this over. Hmm.
My selfie game IS on point.
I’m ok with all of those qualifiers.
And so, I continue scrolling through my photos, self marshalling which recipes need to be stored, which batch of selfies I need to keep, which videos can I send to people and save precious storage space.
In a sea of me, food pics, jokes and memes, I stumble across this one:
While there’s been speculation for months, even years about this day, once Sears finally did close its doors, an unexpected wave of sadness consumed me.
Many life lessons were learned because of Sears.
That department store played a supporting role in my life, and I didn’t even know it.
Sears taught me the importance of having a process.
Regardless of which store you needed to go to at the mall, or where you needed to be, my parents would always park at the Sears entrance.
Not up for discussion.
If any combination of family members needed to split up, we would always meet in front of Sears.
In fact, to this day, I’m annoyed whenever someone parks anywhere else.
You gotta start at Sears!!! Everyone knows that!
My silent plea anytime someone would deviate.
It was part of our process.
Sears taught me the value of indecision.
Once upon a time, long before the Ho-Ho- Hold the payment days, I remember the family buying a Kenmore fridge.
My dad made us visit the store MULTIPLE times before committing. So much so, that I’m pretty sure the sales man gave us a deal, most likely to never see us again.
Maybe that was my dad’s goal.
Well played, dad; well played.
Hey, when your last name is Siino; it lends itself to indecision.
Sears taught me if something is too good to be true, it usually is.
I cannot tell you how many times I’ve tried to purchase an item and it was excluded from the big sale.
Picking the more expensive pieces seemed to be a raw talent.
In fact, if I were to write a tribute song to Sears, I’d affectionately call it “Nothing I want ever ends with 97!”
That’s a true story.
I’m sure Sears didn’t invent hiking up a price then having a 30% off sale so that the profit margin remained, but they didn’t shy away from it, either.
Sears taught me the value of self-confidence.
Six years ago, I lost about 20 pounds. While it’s not a massive number by any means, I’m a lot happier about myself and what this means for me.
Especially the ability to fit into nice clothes!
Shopping was my preferred hobby of choice with my mom.
My mom was a fashionista. Every outfit chosen with care. Each accessory chosen with impeccable detail.
Shopping would take precedence as the top hobby when our winnings at the slots became a dry spell. Or better yet, if we won!
I remember having an “ah-ha!” moment in a Sears change room.
I tried on a swimsuit, and for the first time ever, I felt comfortable enough to leave my stall and see what it looked like with other mirrors.
I liked being comfortable with me.
I also liked the fact that there was never a dressing room attendant around.
Lots of flexibility. And a new found confidence.
I no longer hated buying and trying on clothes.
Sears inadvertently played a part in that.
Sears taught me the value of picking the right gift.
Several years ago, my mom’s sewing machine broke.
An avid sewer, this was a blow because money was tight and she would never splurge on herself and replace it.
My sisters and I rallied and bought her a new sewing machine.
With all the threads and whistles.
As a struggling College student with 3 jobs, it took a lot to be able to afford it, but the end result was sheer bliss.
My mom was overjoyed. That sewing machine eventually evolved into the birth of her sewing room–a space devoted to many creative projects.
Sears set a precedent for being a cool gift giver.
Several years later, I was looking for the perfect Father’s Day gift.
Sears being the natural (and by default the first) choice.
My dad is the pickiest person I know. (Maybe that’s where I get it from.)
The perfect golf shirt happened to be $90.
I loved being able to buy that for my father without worrying about cost.
He still wears this shirt frequently.
The irony that my dad absolutely hates golf but can rock those shirts is not wasted on me.
Who would have thought, one department store could be such a strong educator?
The Sears closing was a slow and saddening process.
I remember the first time I went to the mall and saw the doors were finally shut.
I was with my niece and nephew, affectionately called the monsters.
“That’s the end of an era! Sears was my youth!” I frowned as I stared at the boarded up mess.
My niece looked thoughtfully at me and back to the store entrance:
“But you’re still a kid, anyway!”
The good old days.
To quote my sister; “these are the good old days!”
In life, we never really know what the high points are until we leave them.
We might as well enjoy this ride.
Take in every opportunity.
Also, become more vigilant with deleting old cell phone photos.
Leave more storage space for memory lane.
Happy New Year!