Until ten days ago – the day, to the best of my recollection, in which I lost my five-year-old point-and-shoot Sony Cyber-shot with its rechargeable AA batteries – I hadn’t realized how dependent I had become on my camera’s ability to record anything I found visually interesting, anywhere, anytime I felt like it. Oh, how I have since suffered its loss! Just today, for example, I wanted to record the three inches of snow/slush combo filling my driveway, the snorting, running, sleeping dog, the molasses design in the baked beans (blech), and the court surrounding the girl who announced, “But Mom, I’m God” – each a little vignette that together make up the visual fabric of my day – nay, my life. Sadly, today, there are no crystals, no snores, no artistic-outlet -starved husband, and no game playing children to put into my external hard drive of memories, and none to share. At first refusing to acknowledge that I actually lost my camera, I borrowed my daughter’s for our recen...