The bathroom is dazzling. It’s not spotless. It’s just the Vision bulbs installed in the overhead light fixture. They make everything pop out. It’s sometimes startling. When I come home from work, I like to wash my face in the sink. Wash off the humidity of the workday. I use Andy’s towel to dry off. Then I root around in the kitchen for a snack. Is there any chocolate? Often I’ll skip the chocolate and instead head to the bedroom for a nap, which can last anywhere from an hour and a half to twenty minutes. Then I need that chocolate to revive. I’ll turn on the TV and stare at it while I eat the chocolate. Passively looking at whatever’s on the screen as long as the reception is tolerable. Once I watched part of a Scandanavian cooking show. A guy in an outdoor kitchen making these amazing pork chops. Seared in a pan with a dab of butter, lightly salted with sage leaves plastered on each side of the chops. And then he douses the entire pan with Aquavit, which immediately flambes. He says, “Be careful about your hair and your eyebrows.”  His accent lies somewhere between England and Max von Sydow. All the alcohol burns away, leaving a delicious sauce made up of the salt, the taste of sage and the caraway flavor from the Aquavit. You serve it just like that. I’ll watch some TV and then maybe turn that off and surf online for awhile. Then it’s news time. Time for Bob Schieffer. Bring it on Bob. There’s integrity in his eyes. Every pleghmy syllable issuing from his mouth delights me. Amazingly competent, the wry sense of humor simmering underneath it all if you’re sensitive enough to tune into his wavelength. Papa don’t take no mess. He says it like it is. Maybe Andy comes in halfway through the newscast, maybe he doesn’t. Listening to Bob puts the proper perspective on all the absurdity, random cruelty, irrelevance, casual miracles that make up each day’s news. He always appears slightly surprised to be on the air, again, tonight, bringing it to you one more time. Then it’s the cocktail hour. One sip from a well-crafted Manhattan should be enough to make you fall on your knees and offer up Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving that while millions around the world are starving, dying, murdering, suffering, you’re able to enjoy a quiet, comfortable drink. Sometimes I think: there’s no shame in that. Othertimes, the thought is disquieting. It requires a drink.