This weekend I became consumed with figuring out how my family received the packages my mom ordered from Sears when I was a wee lass growing up on the Goff Estate.

Now, you might be saying to yourself, “Self, is that all she has to think and/or worry about?”

No, but it was better than thinking and/or worrying about the health and well-being of people I love, so that’s what my mind chose to do.

This, some might say, obsession arose from a conversation one of my besties and I had about, you guessed it, the Kmarts. During our discussion, I told her I was fairly sure our Christmas presents came from the Sears catalog.

Indeed, I can remember hearing my mom order all sorts of merchandise. She’d sit at the kitchen table, with the receiver from the yellow rotary phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other, saying, “Page 40, item number 720XTC, color red, quantity one.”

So, that got me thinking…how did the merchandise get to the Estate? What’s more, there was no Internet back then. How did she track those packages?

There also weren’t delivery vans zipping up and down the holler with frequency back in the day, so I ruled out front-door deliveries.

While I didn’t rule out mailbox delivery, I felt sure that’s not how the packages arrived at the Estate because in the summers, I made the long walk to get the mail.

What’s that? Oh, our mailbox did not sit outside the estate. It was a half-mile or so (I have never gotten out a tape measure and marked off the distance) down the holler. We shared the mailbox with two or three – or more — other houses/relatives. It occurred to me as a teen that people who only knew our address would think all of us lived in the same estate instead of on estates of our own.

During the summers, my cousin and I usually volunteered to walk to the mailbox. We would leave our houses as our moms yelled out warnings to watch for snakes. Unless an unfamiliar vehicle wandered up the holler, retrieving the mail was the highlight of our day.

Anyway, I don’t remember many or any large packages arriving in the mailbox.

So, how did we get our hands on that merchandise? I decided to ask my mom.

She and my sister didn’t say so, but I got the impression they suspected I had suffered a stroke. After they exchanged knowing glances, one of them simply said, “We picked them up at the Sears store.”

Oh, yeah, that makes sense. After they said so, I can remember frequent trips to the store. Nobody needs that many appliances.

Dern. I just remembered I forgot to ask Mom how she tracked her orders.

This post originally appeared in the Appalachian News-Express.