My friend, Linda, and I put together a shopping list on the morning after we arrived at our condo. It’s our yearly pilgrimage to Navarre Florida, where we write, critique each other’s drafts, soak in the beauty of our favorite place on earth and do a thorough catch up on the year past.
We have our menu and our groceries down to a science after years of practice. This year I told her I’d make biscuits and gravy, so we added a can of Grands refrigerated biscuits, milk and some Jimmy Dean sausage to the list. The grocery store is only a few minutes away, but we like to veg out if we feel like it. That means minimizing our trips across the bridge to get supplies. There is a Tom Thumb convenience store on the island for emergency needs, but even that requires us to change out of our swim suits or pj’s (the proper dress code for our vacations.)
We schlepped our bags up to the sixteenth floor and started putting our groceries away. I realized, we had no flour. Blast, that meant a trip to Tom Thumb’s before breakfast the next day.
That morning, we decided we’d settle for toast and coffee so we could get down to the beach first thing. While we were organizing for the day, someone knocked on our door and Linda looked at me across the room. “Who could that be?”
I shrugged and watched while she answered the door.
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry, I thought this unit was empty.”
“That’s okay. Did you need something?”
“I was just going to borrow some salt for my hamburger.” She was one of the ladies from maintenance sweeping the breezeway.
“Here’s some salt, help yourself.” Linda said.
“Thank you so much.”
“Do you know where we could get just a small amount of flour? We need less than a half cup.” I explained our dilemma.
“Sure, I know a really nice lady who lives here year round. I’ll be right back.”
Her second knock brought a cup of flour right to our door. I suppose you could call that luck, or coincidence or whatever you want. I think of it as a tiny hidden treasure along the path, a blessing on the journey.