A big white shirt, a pair of pants, jacket, a long skirt, a great coat, something velvet, a vest, a dress, something knit, something black.
These are the entries on my fall "must-have" list; a tradition and seasonal rite of passage that began when I was a girl.
Then, I would save my babysitting money to buy everything on the list-but before I could check everything off, the list items went out of style.
Since them I've sporadically assembled other must-have lists: a must-have list for summer camp (new bathing suit, suntan oil and riding jodhpurs); a must-have list of school supplies (notebooks, pencils and paper for making good spitballs); and a must-have list for newborns (diapers, cottonballs and my mother).
But an annual must-have list for fall has been one I've never abandoned in spite of life's changes. It means the dog days of August are here. And I have a duty. I need a notepad and a pen (or at least the back of an old coupon and an eyebrow pencil).
This season, my above-listed must-have list is unique. It was sent to me. Ready-made. As a department store publicity gimmick. I must say that after more than 30 years of making my own, I like the convenience of a pre-fabricated one.
Or do I? Something about it feels funny. Maybe the need to make a must-have list for autumn is organic. Maybe fall list-making gives me a chance to look within and express needs that only manifest themselves as articles of clothing that I want to buy-and wear in the coming season. Written in my own writing.
Perhaps. But a look at my supplied list suggests it could be from any era-from childhood to motherhood. But then maybe it's not so much what's on the list, but simply that there is a list. It exists to say, "Fall is here and I have things to buy. And a `regular' life to get back to and live after a summer hiatus, even though the latter is a state-of-mind rather than a real vacation.
The department store list embodies what must-have lists are all about. Planning a fall wardrobe doesn't have to incorporate the latest in high style, it just has to give one's life the feeling of potential, momentum and direction. And purpose. The list is a memorandum of the season, a ritual both familiar and fresh, like the color of the leaves and the acquisition of new textbooks.
I can live without a new "something knit" or a new "big white shirt" right now. I have old ones that will do fine. But I do need the list with those things on it. Tucked into my purse, my pocket or my kitchen gadget drawer. Particularized. And memorized.
Well, maybe not memorized. I need a reason to glance at it occasionally-to remind me of my future: That in about 12 weeks I have to decide what I want for Christmas. And make a list.