The Sad Allure of The Vermont Country Store

For me, browsing the offerings of The Vermont Country Store is a little like clearing out the house of an elderly relative who’s died.

Tender sentiments and pity mingle with embarrassment and faint revulsion.

I let my mind drift, and I’m in a house stacked with mildewed copies of the Walter Drake catalog and with issues of Yankee Magazine and Reader’s Digest. There’s a coffee table. Hard candies are fused together on “cut-glass” Anchor Hocking trays, and the sticky film of long-gone ginger ale adheres within jewel-toned metal tumblers. There’s a closet filled with muumuus and “house-dresses” that are muumuus and nightgowns that are muumuus. On a dressing table there’s a Wind Song bottle. The eau de cologne has evaporated. On the floor under the dressing table, a few mint-green Spoolies holding tangled strands of thin hair.

I like to believe that what I leave behind will not be so easy to sum up, so true to type. I’m sure I am wrong. I try to imagine a commercial catalog of my belongings and the person for whom it may hold a sad allure.

6 thoughts on “The Sad Allure of The Vermont Country Store

  1. SC

    …like clearing out the house of an elderly relative…
    Just glancing at the cover of the Vermont Country Store catalog creates a musty smell though
    I admit I’m attracted to the Seersucker Sleepwear section.

  2. Sheila Ryan Post author

    I won’t say that I never ever bought anything from the Vermont Country Store. But I am wary of making it a habit.

  3. Sheila Ryan Post author

    Promise you’ll take me aside and have a gentle word with me if ever you see me wearing something resembling a muumuu.

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