As a woman whose parents loved to shop, I was introduced to Nordstrom's in my teens. The service was stellar for its time and even now, Nordstrom's is known for its customer care. It was a place where Dad could find a comfy chair, a place where he enjoyed purchasing a new pair of shoes for his daughters, and one day, it became the store where he took his granddaughters for a new dress, a pair of jeans or some Ugg boots.
The first time we returned to Nordstrom's without Dad was only a week after his death. We had returned, my mother, my daughter, and me, to find clothing and a warm coat for her first year of college. When the coat of her dreams was more money than I'd intended spending, Mom, my daughter's grandma, stepped forward and announced to us including the saleslady, that she was sure Grandpa would want his granddaughter to have that very coat. We got teary eyed, and when the saleslady said, "That sure must be a nice grandfather," we all smiled inwardly keeping the sacred sadness amongst ourselves.
When daughter number three was just a wee princess, I found the most fantastic dress at Nordstrom's. It was one of those articles of clothing that stopped me in the aisles with a surety it belonged to my daughter who loved color. The patterns were polka dots and stripes, the colors were cheerful green and bold magenta. The dress flowed, it swirled, it never came off. Literally. The dress was so beloved that she went to bed in that dress. I would have to silently-as-possible creep into her darkened room and slip the dress off, run downstairs, throw it in the washer, dry it and return it to her bed, so she could wake up and dress for the day in the same dress. Any deviation from protocol invited tempestuousness and tears from a three year old.
Years later, our granddaughter will only wear one dress. It is a simple blue and white striped dress.
Sleuthing the situation, I ask my daughter, "Is it the fabric? Is it super soft?" My daughter isn't sure it's that soft, but she will hide the dress, lay out all the other dresses on the floor, and her two and a half year old holds out and won't dress until the blue and white dress is brought out of hiding.
I now have a sense of urgency to take the little tike shopping for a dress. I can't wait to let her roam the racks, to see if she connects with that one dress meant just for her.
I have an idea where I will take her too. On my last visit to Chicago, I took her mother shopping for some necessities at our favorite store and when we returned, the shopping bag went straight into the hands of the stubborn future fashionista. She carried it around, refusing to let it go, and when her mother wanted a photo, she uncharacteristically cooperated with a full grin. I have a feeling she knows more than we give her credit for, or perhaps, her grandfather from a more ethereal place has already planted the Nordstrom family tradition into her head.
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