I Miss Simpson-Sears, Eatons, and the Heart of the Old Department Stores
This morning, as I sat watching a little bird drink from the $5 close-out birdbath I bought years ago from the Sears Garden Centre, my mind wandered down memory lane — back to a time when department stores were more than just stores.
I miss Simpson-Sears. I miss Eatons. I miss The Bay when it still felt like The Bay. And oh, how I miss Zellers, K-Mart, Woodward’s, and Woolco too.
Those places were woven into the rhythm of our lives. You could walk in for a toaster and somehow walk out with a dress, a record, a slice of pie, and a story. The cafeterias always had that comforting smell of coffee and hot lunch trays, the escalators creaked in their familiar way, and the cashiers often knew you — or at least smiled like they did.
Although I do enjoy the convenience of finding something rare online and having it delivered to my door in two days, sometimes the hunt was half the fun. Browsing the aisles, touching the fabrics, flipping through racks and shelves… the treasure wasn’t just what you bought. It was the experience of looking.
One memory that shines especially bright is Zellers — and its little in-store restaurant, The Skillet. When I was in my early twenties, my roommate and I would walk over on “all-you-can-eat burger” days. Every time, we swore we could eat two burgers… and every time, we failed. Now the old Zellers is a Canadian Tire, and my dear friend is gone — taken too early by cancer. But those moments live on in me.
Here’s to you, Debbie.
And then there was Eatons. When I lived downtown, my mom would sometimes ring my buzzer early on a Saturday morning, completely unannounced. I was often a little hungover — as you are in your twenties — and she’d gently herd me to Eatons for lunch. Their cafeteria sat tucked in a tunnel under the store, plain and simple, but comforting in a way only a mother’s company can be. A warm meal, a quiet booth, and the soft hum of shoppers above us. I could usually score a small gift too — a scarf or a lipstick — tokens of love disguised as purchases.
I miss my mom. I miss Debbie. And I miss those stores that held not just merchandise but memories — of people, moments, and versions of myself that no longer exist except inside me.
Now these places live only in memory, but every once in a while — like when a bird lands on a $5 close-out find from Sears — I’m taken right back there. And it feels good to remember.
Stay tranquil.
