So I went to Target.
In any other month of my life, this is not a story. But the day was March 21, 2020. Pandemic!
My husband's jobs are both at reduced hours and I have concerns about my job lasting through the year if an economic depression sets in. (And it will, loves. We'll get through that, too.) Do you think that prevented me from sticking to my list? My list of ONE item.
I found the griddle. Cast iron, fits perfectly on my stove's burner. Also in my cart: wipes and overnight pull-ups and more underwear for the preschooler who refuses to potty train. Stickers to send to friends near and far. Fruit punch for me. (I love fruit punch.) Kit-kats, which I stashed away for a later treat. Lots and lots of fancy sparkling water. Foam paint brushes for the art projects I know we're about to get to. Deli ham, pickles, cheese. A bunch of other stuff I can't remember at the moment.
Nothing I bought was necessary or essential to our survival, but they'll all help us cope or will ease us into what lies ahead.
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Counterpoint: maybe wait a few months? https://t.co/mZduMr022L— Emily St. J. Mandel (@EmilyMandel) March 11, 2020
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I can't stop thinking about Station Eleven. Not just the plot, but the little details. When the world really starts to fall apart, one character keeps working on an article he knows no one will ever read. But it's important to him and it keeps his mind off what's happening outside his apartment. Another character realizes he'll never have another cappuccino again.
It probably wasn't my last Target run. But it was hard not to feel like it could be.
