I rarely use recipes when I cook. I call it karma cooking. I’ll know the basic ingredients, combine them and be open to how things come together. (Yes, I’ll gladly leave baking to friends who are more apt to use measuring spoons.)

Over time, I might have started with a recipe as a guide and have adjusted the ingredients or proportions to my liking.

The other week, I was preparing to whip up one of my favorite appetizers for an end of summer picnic, my version of salmon spread. I like using both green onions and fresh dill. I also use cream cheese AND sour cream.

I went over what items I had in my refrigerator (careful to read expiration dates) and made out a shipping list for the rest. Then I gathered my totes and headed to Harvesttime, my neighborhood grocery store.

After picking up some staples for the house, I headed towards the back of the store, towards the refrigerator case.

I walked past the butter and eggs then down past the long row of yogurts. There seemed to be dozens of brands in lots of different sized containers.

Then I walked to the diary case where they kept milk and cream and cottage cheese and such. I spotted sour cream. I saw less-fat, lite, and regular versions in three different brands.

But I didn’t see any in 8-ounce containers. I don’t use sour cream often. I didn’t want to buy a large container and end up throwing most of it out.

I stood on tiptoes in front of the refrigerator shelves and looked towards the back. I was hoping small containers of Daisy brand might have been pushed to the back of the shelf and I would just have to swat the correctly sized plastic tubs forwards.

No luck.

I asked one of the store clerks to help me. He was busy replenishing a section of the refrigerator case with orange juice. He said, “Just a minute.”

I returned to the shelf and waited. And waited. I was beginning to get exasperated.

All I wanted was a couple tablespoons of sour cream. I pulled down a large container from the shelf and studied it. It cost about three times more than the container size I needed. I hated the thought of spending money unnecessarily.

But I really hated to waste my time.

I asked another stock boy, who was bustling about, if he could help me. He went to the back room, beyond the hanging plastic strips that divide the front of the store from the cold room that was the stock area.

Again, I considered buying the pint-sized container.

Then he emerged with the bottom half of a cardboard box that contained maybe twelve 8-ounce white containers of Daisy sour cream. He handed me one and arranged the rest on the shelf.

Who’d imagine this would make me so happy? But, as I pushed my cart towards the checkout, I was grinning. I was proud of myself.

At one time, I probably would have bought the large container then fumed weeks later when I ended up washing most of it down my drain.

But I asked for help – and I waited. I got just what I wanted.

Being willing to wait for what you want is no small thing.