I brought my camera with me and took several photos of plants that had been snowed over or architecture with pile-ups of snow. There was still plenty of daylight for us and little escaped my notice. Rebecca commented that I had a good eye for photography and she wished she had as well. I suggested she undertake a small experiment in which she simply go out with a camera purposely held in one hand and walk around for two blocks. The act of holding a camera and setting out with the intention of taking pictures will force one to re-examine one's environment, scrutinize it with a new perspective. That's what I've found, anyway, so that's the theory I passed along to her.
The grocery store itself was unpleasant, in that it was packed with rude crazies who feel their ownership of a puffy jacket gives them license to plow into people. Somewhere in the distance was a starving baby: by the sound of it, its parents had abandoned it by the charcoal shelves two days ago and the staff had chosen to ignore it all this time. It was inconsolable, not that it sounded like anyone was bothering to try.
I brought one shopping list and Rebecca brought the other. We slowly checked off everything on her list, but mine remained untouched. It turned out that I'd copied my list from the white board which, by some design, was reserved for merchandise specifically from Trader Joe's. I did buy some conditioner, however, since my new shampoo does a surprisingly thorough job of stripping every substance from my hair, and no one with thinning, baby-fine hair like mine should fight with a hairbrush.
On the other hand, Rebecca enjoyed the shopping experience, or she at least allowed it was not nearly as bad as she'd anticipated. We loaded our groceries in bags we brought with us and hiked back home. I think the trip home felt shorter than the journey out. I'll have to ask Rebecca her perspective on the matter. She soldiered through it all admirably, only finding grievance in the occasional blast of bitter, snowy wind in the face. I regretted not bringing any tissues, and I wonder how many years and how many winters I must live through before I remember to.
Now we're home. Rebecca is cooking in the kitchen, a recreational activity for her. She has produced a tasty plate of baked yam slices--I hate yams but I'm forcing myself to get acclimated to them on account of their high nutrition value. The chips were delicious, actually. It sounds like she's washing dishes now, while listening to an audio book about the psychology of thought and perception, and later she'll make some granola. She makes freakin' delicious granola.
I'm monitoring some online games, one in which I'm invading medieval Europe, and taking breaks to finish Soldier of Arete, which must be terribly overdue by now. I'm also enjoying some clove ribbon candy from Seroogy's of Green Bay, and Rebecca thoughtfully made me an Irish coffee. I'm surprised at what a pleasant evening this is.