Slip Slidin’ Away, Slip Slidin’ Away

We work our jobs
Collect our pay
Believe we’re gliding down the highway
When in fact we’re slip slidin’ away

Paul Simon

Sears. Fading out after 131 years. Slip sliding into retail obscurity. Founded in 1886 in Chicago by Richard Sears and Alvah Roebuck. Started as a mail order business, opening first retail stores in 1925. It was the largest retailer in the United States until 1989, surpassed by Walmart, Target, Best Buy and Home Depot.

Long before I ever saw the store, I was given an old catalog to play with. I was not much of a kid for dolls and playing house, preferred the outdoors, coveting playhouses, swings and pools as I turned the pages. However, I also loved clothes at an early age and so used my little scissors to cut out fashions I admired, filling my imaginary closet.

manekinsAnother ten years before I physically entered a Sears store with my parents and sister, after moving to Los Angeles. We drove miles inland to buy our first television, the only major purchase we needed since our rented beach house was fully furnished.

Another two years and we had our own house, Sears appliances, tools, and a beginning darkroom kit for me that my father helped me set up in the garage.

And then Sears soured in my mind. As a single, working mother trying to establish credit with Sears, I was turned down. Even with my mother co-signing with her 30-year account! A neighbor of hers, an older woman, had worked for Sears forever in the kitchen renovation department. She was gradually pushed out of her position and commission, given worse and worse projects, forcing her to fade away.

I seldom shopped there. A couple of times in 20 years, to buy specifically requested tools for my sons at Christmas or for birthdays.

The nearest Sears was an anchor for our local mall, and a landmark for my friends and family. Name clearly visible on the big stone building from half a mile away. Closest to an easy and spacious parking lot, close to major streets and freeways, next to the university my son attended, a convenient meeting place.

A few weeks ago, I stopped in to use the bathroom. I was shocked at how empty the store was, sales men and women clustering around racks of frumpy lumberjack shirts, directing me upstairs to a restroom hidden behind a maze of stoves and refrigerators.

So, I wasn’t surprised when I soon read the store was closing. Since 2010, Sears has slipped from 3,500 stores to 695.

Yesterday was its last day. And by chance I happened to be in the mall celebrating my birthday week with a friend. We both spotted the flapping plastic Closing! sign above the doors. She had a Sears appliance question, so suggested we go in.

A vast cavern, no answers here. A few rugs, forlorn pieces of clothing and piles of jewelry, mostly store shelves, bookcases, display cabinets, and manikins. The skeletal leftovers. Families and couples hovering and picking the bones. One woman hoisted a rolled rug on her shoulder and strolled out like she was carrying water jugs down to the riverbank. Vans and SUVs lined up outside the automatic doors to swallow the remnants.

The doors first opened in 1977, the year Paul Simon wrote his song about life’s plans slipping away from mere mortals.

Still, Sears had a good run. A flagship leading an era.

Tools for the handymen and busy women, dreams for the workers, immigrants and children.

I hope whatever comes next takes us farther down the highway.

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Where Is My White Blouse?

White blouses are everywhere and, for me, nowhere.

Ubiquitous and yet elusive.

I’ve been looking for just the right white blouse. Once I get an idea for something I think will add to my wardrobe (or household, or garden, or knowledge base), I don’t let go until I find it. Sometimes I change my mind after a tenacious search, but then it’s on to a new item or variation.

Seldom do I find the exact item of clothing I envision. There is always some part – fit, material, color, weird pockets or buttons – that is annoying or off-putting (Take it off, off!) Even once hiring a tailor to make me a pair of palazzo pants for a party did not result in the lovely creation I had in mind. Instead of svelte and sweeping, they were slippery and billowy, like old pajamas.

Anyway, I can see this white blouse. The right one for me, topping jeans, printed pants, skirts, tights, even a bathing suit. Taking me through several seasons and occasions, allowing for a variety of accessories and sweaters and jackets. So, the requirements are:

stylepremiere.com/blog

Not too formal. Simple, to go with my simple, casual life. With sleeves that can be worn long or rolled up, a smallish collar or collarless V-neck, slightly loose but not like a tent. No stiff, stand-up collars or starchy tightness that bark “I mean business.”

Not too informal. For yoga, walks, gardening, and other projects, I have t-shirts. For running errands and getting together with family and friends, I have lots and lots of casual blouses, favoring the boho style, and at least three in white. So, I don’t need another one of those.

Not too stiff. The stretchy fabric does not fool me. Claustrophobic. Linen, while appealing for its purity, and faux casualness, feels like sandpaper and makes my skin itch just looking at its rumpled surface.

Not too flimsy. Not a big fan of chiffon or lace or other sheer fabrics unless I’m buying for a party and it comes with an attached, comfortable camisole.

Not too teeny-bopper, club hopper or middle-aged sexpot. You know what I mean. Eyelet trim. Very short. Teeny straps, one strap, strapless. Shoulder cut-outs, so the sleeves look like they’ve been ripped off and are hanging by a thread.

Not too old and plain. I am old, but I don’t want to look dumpy and frumpy. And sadly, many clothes for older women are too droopy and drapey for me, overwhelming my small frame and height. I tried on one long white blouse at Gap and resembled a nerdy scientist in a lab coat. Another at Express in a soft fabric, tie in front and tail in back style. It looked beautiful on the hanger but not on me, more like I’d crash-landed with my parachute half-open.

Not too fancy. No weird ties, attachments, embroidery. My cats confuse tassels with playtime toys. If I’m going to get a simple white blouse, then it must be simple! Yesterday I spotted one that looked good from a distance. I pulled it down – and there on the simple sleeves were triangular flaps of material sticking out from each elbow. For what reason? To remind us that our bat wings had fallen even farther? To elbow our way around now that we’ve given up stiff collars?

I am just about to give up. People like to say things like the perfect thing (mate? job?) will appear when we give up searching, but I don’t believe that. It could or could not happen.

In the meantime, my mind is shifting … there was that red blouse …