A well stocked desk of paper and files, plus a drawer full of office supplies is essential to the writer.  Also, for that matter, the homeowner or mother of school age children —or almost any adult. A home office is nice, but not necessary. But a smoothly functioning household, like an office, needs the tools of business and communication: pencils, pens, rulers, scissors, staples, and tape. A hole punch is key, and a three-hole punch is superior. Beyond this, REFILLS are desirable: printer cartridges, a box of staples, extra roles of tape.  When you have those on hand, I find, you don’t have the late-night emergency of running out.

That is a bad feeling; I know it well. It was a constant theme of my youth, and the cause of many embarrassing moments.  Math home work was done in green ink, the color of my mother’s nursing pens from her beside table. Some very good book reports were handed in with fringed edges, kept together with a folded corner, or perhaps a twisty.  School projects were often completed in mono- or dichrome hues, because the red pencils and crayons had gone missing.  Glue: water and flour make a passable paste. There’s more; I’ve seen the same from my own students and nodded in sympathetic recognition. It’s not that we didn’t have supplies, just that the “depot” so to speak, was plundered mercilessly by all six kids, and my mother could not keep up. In fairness, as a single parent, she kept a roof over our heads, food in our stomachs, and clean clothes on our backs. But it was simply beyond her ability to keep track of  pencils and paperclips.

I am happy and proud of the TWO household supply drawers and one entire desk full of school supplies for my own family. Credit must go directly to my husband, who has to keep his law and accounting office well stocked; he is the pipeline to many of our own supplies. Frequently, I call or email a request, “Honey, can you bring home a ream?”  Not to brag, but we have all the basics and some darn nice additions: working calculators, glue sticks, index cards, labels, envelopes of many size; writing utensils, 3-ring binders, and a bottomless pile of two pocket folders.  Markers, accordion file holders, electric pencil sharpener, a cash box!  We no longer “do” stamps, I just leave the card or package on the bureau and my husband whisks it off to weigh and stamp at his office: thank you, Pitney Bowes.

It’s a feeling I like, being well-supplied, a comfort like few others. I think back occasionally to my student teaching days, during a moment of truce between me hammering the students on Hamlet, and them resisting my educational ploys. The kids had a question for me. One of the senior boys, cocky, cynical, nonacademic, asked, “Ms. McCormack, we were wondering, did you marry for love or for money?”  I tried to give a serious answer: “Both, I guess.  I first dated my husband when we were both students with no money, but I decided to marry him when I saw he was smart guy with good working habits.” Kind of lame, I know. Now I could give a better answer: For his cooking ability and the office supplies. I have never eaten better in my life; not surprisingly, the man keeps a full pantry.  In an irreverent twist on the old hymn, I say to myself, “My husband will supply my need.” And he does.