"When we came in she had her chair sideways, without even looking up to know that it was us, that the doctors had said that sitting and staring at the snow was a waste of time; she should get involved in something. She laughed and told us it wasn't a waste of time. It would be a waste of time just to stare at snowflakes, but she was counting, and even that might be a waste of time, but she was only counting the ones that were just alike"
―
Ann Beattie, Chilly Scenes of Winter (born on this date - 9/8/1947)
(I've been reading her
'The New Yorker Stories' of late)