One of the absolute most painful things I get to do now is - ready for it? - go to the grocery store. Now before you suggest it, yes of course, I could get things delivered pr ask a friend or friends to shop for me. That's not what I want, however. For one thing, I need to feel like there is something I can do for myself. For another, I inevitably see something at the store that I want to buy, even though it's not on my list.Today's jaunt included stopping at the garden department and buying seeds that were on big deal sale.

It is so damn hard, though. It's one of the most mundane chores you can do. But even then, Stu and I used to enjoy shopping together. We loved the farmers' markets, and the local one opens this coming Thursday. Last summer, I kept raving about things that we would be eating this year, looking forward to tomatoes, basil, cherries, nectarines, bunches of other things. Stu and I bonded early on in the kitchen. Both of us were good cooks, with very different styles. We meshed well.

I've fallen into such habits that I no longer remember that they are recent habits. It became aneasy habit to talk about when Stu would be coming home, and what he'd do about food. How the garden was doing. How happy I'd be that he could come up to the roof with me and taste some of the early cukes, or the cherry tomatoes,the basil -sweet and Thai - the peas. Anything.

Then there's finding stuff he'd like or appreciate. On my last trip to Uwajimaya, I found "Sriracha Garlic Aioli". I am in heaven. It's meant as a dip and I've already found two major uses for it. Stu would have loved it.

Heading home after errands this week, I found myself in such emotional pain that I wanted to curl up on the sidewalk and whimper. I had to stop and tell myself to breathe. I bought this, he would have liked that. Such simple stuff. But day in and day out, after 25 years, it became such second nature to plan meals together, snacks, treats. I just got it right through the heart. All the meals we will never collaborate on again. The stuff I made that he loved. The endless artful varieties of stuff we cooked, and he seasoned. So acute, so painful. And it's not what I miss the most, but given how often such things need to be done, it is an endless sorrow.

It climbed into the low 80s today and will be that way tomorrow. The habits of the last few years, again, showed up. While the nursing facility was air-conditioned, it was ineptly air-conditioned. The halls were cool, but the rooms - especially Stu's, all the way at the end of the hall - were not. Air doesn't turn corners well. I made sure early on that there was a fan, and then expanded on that. Tabletop and standing fan. I also developed the habit of putting a bottle of water in the freezer, and taking it out the next morning, bringing it with me to cool Stu down. Luckily, he did not deal with temperature issues - some stroke survivors do. Their bodies cannot regulate their internal thermostats well. Stu always liked to cool off with something very cold; holding a can of soda up to his forehead, or the back of his neck. He would try it with me, and I'd flail and shriek "Get away from me! Eek."

Since I tended to travel with a bottle of water all the time, this way, as it thawed, I could drink from it. Meanwhile, it would keep Stu cool. This week, I awoke three days in a row, thinking about water bottles in the freezer, feeling guilty that I was comfortable and Stu was probably warm. Forgetting.