my mailbox of inspiration

I’m discovering that I loved the woman who lived here before me. I guess I should clarify—I love her taste. She was an avid catalog shopper, and every day, I get at least four catalogs from companies I often haven’t heard of. Half of them are typically from places I can’t really afford (Pottery Barn, Crate and Barrel), but the other half is insanely cute kids catalogs. They are so over the top. For example, a catalog called Hearth Song has these brightly colored silks that “inspiration positively flows from.” Each one is $11, unless you spring for the rainbow one, which is $40. Good parents, I suppose, will pay the $40 to ensure their kids can fully exercise their imaginations. If they opt for the cheap one and their kid desn't turn out, they might possibly look back and think, “Damn. If only I’d doled out the extra cash.”
Back when I was a kid (here we go again), if I wanted to swing around a sheet of fabric to inspire myself, it would have been a pillowcase or old sheet. No silk. No vibrant colors. Just pilly, off-white cotton. No wonder why these catalogs often leave me with an empty feeling. When I was flipping through tonight, I found a mini gumball crane machine. I never had one of those either. Maybe I should send my mom these catalogs. I can practically hear our conversation.
“So, you want this for Christmas? This little plastic crane machine, huh?”
“Yes, and I would also like the rainbow silky sheet thing on page 63 in the other catalog. I feel the need to be inspired.”