An essential

I am not the most organized grocery shopper.

Sometimes I forget to buy things on the list … sometimes I just forget the list. 

(Am I the only one who texts home to ask for a photo of the list on the refrigerator?)

It seems necessity is the mother of organization. I live within walking distance of a wonderful family grocery store. If I forget something, it’s not much trouble to go back. Little necessity, little organization.

(My record, I believe, is going back three times in one day. Not a record I’m proud of, but so be it.)

Then came the pandemic, and with it the shutdown of shopping as we knew it. Suddenly, organization became a skill that I envied.

During my first attempt last week in one of the larger stores, I overheard an exchange that summed up my mindset perfectly:

Man: What are you looking for?

Woman (looking a bit lost): I don’t know.

My husband and I did take inventory before the next trip, and I carefully crossed things off the list as I made my way up and down the aisles. Not full-blown organization, but baby steps. (In my case, necessity is a very new mother.)

Today I made what I hope to be my last trek out for a while. The store limited the number of shoppers: When one left, another was allowed in, and the line stretched out for yards outside, especially given our six feet of separation. 

As we all waited, a woman who had just exited pushed her cart past the line, a colorful bouquet poking up from her bags. 

When someone admired the flowers, she replied: “You have to have them!” 

I added them to my list — and I was not alone. More than one shopping cart carried that touch of spring out into the world.

We humans do not live on bread alone.