Moultrie

I confess.

I’m a compulsive list-maker.

Someone mentions a drive into town and I grab paper and pencil and hand them a what-we-need list: lawn rake, lawnmower fuel, milk, bread, chili peppers, wild bird seed, booklet titled “Attracting Birds to Your Backyard.”

A week later someone says, “I’m running some errands. Need anything?”

I hand them my list: apples, carrots, laundry soap, antacids, booklet titled “Removing Birds’ Nests from Your Chimney.”

Who needs sheep to count at bedtime? I mentally make a list all of the nuts I can think of: walnut, filbert, pecan, almond, peanut — wait, I think that’s a legume — cashews, zzzzz.

List-making can come in handy.

One year, employees where I worked attended a seminar in a stuffy room at a convention center. The topic — as interesting as oatmeal with no milk or fruit. The employees struggled to keep their attention focused during the morning lecture. After lunch, we reluctantly returned to our seats in the lecture hall — the air warm, moist, and seemed to have most of the oxygen sucked out. Records were set for how fast the attendees were able to prop up their bodies to give the impression they were still alert, hiding the fact most had fallen asleep.

List-making came to my rescue. I pulled out paper and pen, and began writing a list of every dried bean a person could have in their kitchen pantry: pinto, kidney, garbanzo, small red, large lima, small lima …

The instructor droned on. “As shown on this graph, although hard to see, the trend …”

At that point, I wasn’t sure if he had mentioned oatmeal; probably not. I continued my list-making, writing even faster before I forgot bean names coming to my mind: fava, black bean, white bean, navy … I covered my list with my arms in case a co-worker would arouse from a terminal case of heavy boredom and glance at the list.

Should the boss in the back of the room spot me writing away, I didn’t want to overdo the enthusiasm, only look like a conscientious employee taking lecture notes.

I started to lag a little until the presenter displayed two more unreadable graphs. I got my second wind: soy bean, adzuki bean …

Sometimes a person can sense a presence before actually seeing it. The hairs on my neck stood up.

My boss leaned over to my ear and hissed, “What in the world are you doing?” He scanned by bean list.

I pulled out fresh paper and attempted to sketch out the “exciting-as-oatmeal” graph.

That incident did not discourage me from list-making.

One of my most rewarding lists: a list of people to send thank-you notes to.

Several people on my thank-you list had retired or I knew years ago. Some tips I learned: Don’t make this a guessing game. Remind the recipient where I knew them (school, work, neighborhood, etc.), the time frame, and maiden name if needed.

Thank you notes are NOT a graded English essay. I try to make the list doable, the message simple.

Examples: “Thanks for … I learned … You inspired me to … I remember …” and end with a thank-you. Receiving a thank-you note in the mail seems special. A text message or email — better than nothing.

Time to make more lists: garden seeds for next summer, this month’s family birthdays, 25 ways to cook with oatmeal.