Today was the first day of our CSA share from a local farm: grass-fed beef, pasture-raised pork, free range chicken, eggs, and locally made cheese. (Hungry yet? I am ...)
Today also happened to be one of the rare occasions when J and I both needed a car: J to take The Boy to a cardiologist, me to pick up the CSA. We have one car. The doctor's office was 60 miles away and the CSA pick-up spot 1.5 miles away.
So, I went a-hunting for the family's food. Granted, I was armed with my checkbook, a daypack, and my iPod instead of a bow, flint-tipped arrows, and an animal-skin sling to carry home my kill. But, I nonetheless felt almost ... primal as I hiked to get my food.
Of course, I didn't feel so primal when I broke one of the eggs putting the carton into the backpack. Or when I stood in the parking lot of Papa John's, egg dripping between my fingers, wondering how to surreptitiously dispose of the shell and clean off my hand enough to be able to wear my glove.
The human race never would have survived if Grok was as much of a klutz as I am.