Buy Bread, Pick up Dry Cleaning, Write Column

What did Attila the Hun, Hernando Cortez, Albert Einstein and my mother all have in common? They made lists. They all fervently subscribed to the notion that the hallmark of an organized person was the ability to create a written plan as a means of channeling his or her energies economically. In short, a list -- a tangible map of things to do, stuff to get, events to remember.

It is no secret that civilization has been built upon the ability to make and read lists. Early lists, for example those given by Eve to Adam, were simple enough:

* Weed the Garden

* Bring home some apples

* Watch out for snakes

Attila’s list, inscribed on the inside of his shield, was short and to the point:

* Pillage

* Plunder

* Scavenge

* Rape

* Find out what "Hun" means

Later, Cortez tucked a parchment in his tunic reminding him to:

* Get WD-40 for armor

* Avoid jalapeño peppers after 10 p.m.

* Discover the Pacific Ocean

Historians, even today, are still deciphering Einstein’s lists scribbled in his Teutonic thoroughness on the backs of envelopes and street car transfers. It was hard to fathom whether he was giving himself a memo to bring home some bratwurst or evolving another theorem of relativity. There are some who contend that the relativity theory for which he is so famous, is really a lengthy list given to him by Mrs. Einstein instructing him to get, among other things, a haircut.

The point is, society cannot function without lists, a fact that my mother understood only too well. My father and I never left home, even to venture into the backyard, without a list, in my case pinned to my breast pocket upside down so I could readily refer to it. Women universally acknowledge this fact: Never, ever, send a man to the grocery store without a list. Without one and foraging only on verbal instructions, he is as likely to return with a selection of single malt whiskies and a Hot Rod Magazine as with the frozen vegetables and toilet paper he was sent for.

From time immemorial, list-making was accomplished on whatever was handy, even on the back of one’s hands if no scrap of paper could be found. Marriages dissolved, nations floundered and individuals lost their minds frequently because there was no uniformity in lists. A haphazard list, although better than no list at all, was the direct cause of misunderstandings, especially if scribbled on cellophane or bits of Formica.

It was up to the King of Stick, Dr. Spence Silver of the 3M Company in one of those serendipitous events that change the course of the world, to stumble upon what we know today as the Post-it Note. An adhesive that didn’t really stick or a glue that didn’t bond wasn’t exactly what Silver was looking for. It wasn’t until somebody pointed out that if you laid a strip of this non-glue on the back of a little yellow square, you’d have the beginning of a perfect list format. "Well," marveled 3M marketing mavens, "this changes everything!" Dr. Silver’s failure made him the Post-it Boy of 3M, a corporate hero. Why your failures never turn out this way remains a mystery.

Today Post-it and its imitators are ubiquitous. List-making and its upscale cousin, the memo, have come into their own. No longer the mandatory requirement of persons afflicted with memories akin to shrubbery, the list can be seen in all colors of the rainbow and displayed prominently on all possible surfaces, including foreheads. Even people who can easily recall what they left the room to get and remember to always put down the lid and to not run with sharp sticks voluntarily make themselves lists. No apologies, no tittering about "senior moments," or forgetting to bring home the dry cleaning.

Can you imagine the impact this invention would have had on the history of the world if Columbus had a note stuck to the helm of the Santa Maria cautioning "India is East of here, not West." If only Captain Cook’s mother had stuck a Post-it on his ship in plain sight stating "Don’t mess with the natives. They only look friendly!"

Julius Caesar could have had a nice light blue one to match his eyes and stuck on the handle of his sword with this important information:

* Beware the Ides of March!

* Find out what "ides" are

* The sleepover barbecue was canceled

* Watch for guys in bed sheets waving steak knives!

The Oval Office could have benefited from a note attached to the presidential desk suggesting to JFK that "Hold the Bay of Pigs thing -- doesn’t sound kosher -- is there a Bay of Bunny Rabbits? Have Henry look into it."

May I suggest you make yourself a list right now. At the top of which, place this reminder on the note color of your choice:

* Send the author of this article a large sum of money in small, unmarked bills.

Stick it right on your checkbook. Thank you!