After hitting ‘publish’ on last night’s post, I tucked Muriel in — ours is a well-oiled routine by now, from the four things I always tell her at bedtime to the way she rolls over and sleepily raises her front paws to encourage a few more chest rubs — and went upstairs to prepare for bed myself. Standing before the bathroom sink, electric toothbrush in hand, I reflected on all I’d accomplished during the past 17 hours of wakefulness. It didn’t amount to much.
A few minutes later, with the same sense of dissatisfaction I’ve had all week, I slipped into bed and reached for my iPad to make sure its volume was turned off. Then I checked my email to make sure a depressed friend hadn’t sent an S.O.S. and saw a notification about a new comment on last month’s Parkinson’s post. If its author follows along here and sees this, thanks again for the kind words, which made me realize I’ve accomplished something after all.
Sorry for cutting this short tonight: I worked on a longer post but wasn’t able to finish it in time. Nor did I have 50 spare minutes to devote to Eight is Enough, but I’ve been having an internal debate about whether Greg Maxwell (Michael Thoma) is a better character than Maude’s Arthur Harmon (Conrad Bain). They serve similar functions as the male leads’ best friends, but the conceptualization of Arthur is sharper and funnier and Bain was given more to do. Maxwell, however, is the superior physician and is spotted at least once in spectacularly garish pants, which oughta count for something.