Health Report

D-Mom’s getting better. D-Mom’s looking better. D-Mom’s feeling better.

This is good.

But she’s turning me into my old disorganized self by starting to take over little household chores.

This is NOT good.

When I knew that if I didn’t do it, it wouldn’t get done, I was a happy, productive Harvey who’s work was never done, so there was no opening for Mister Inert to raise his wooly, ugly head!!! No thrashing around making sandwiches and waiting for an email I could sink my teeth into.
Now she’ll empty a wastebasket. Fold a little laundry… and I let her, cause it’s good for her, but not so good for me.

I mean I was pleasantly humming around the house, grabbing the errant newspaper under one arm while shuttling the laundry, coming out of the laundry room, depositing the paper in the trash while NOW carrying a light bulb and the stepstool, having started a load while hanging up ANYTHING IN DOUBT to dry and starting the dryer on everything else. I’d change the light bulb, only after having pulled out the chicken to thaw, then stopping to add sour cream to the shopping list while repainting the ceiling (I mean, I DID have the stepstool out, right?), and … um… coming up with some lyrics to my newest song that I’ll likely never record. All on just over 4000 calories a day. I- WAS- READY!

But enough about me. D-Mom is the story here. I WAS really busy on the day of my tale in question, as my humble little production company in New York has been doing some big stuff recently… see the Oscars telecast? I rest my case. Anyway, I was pacing around my office and kitchen, on the phone, readying our gang in NY for the onslaught of the infamous “CLIENT COMING IN FROM L.A.” again, when I noticed D-Mom quietly but ‘elegantly purposeful,’ padding around the house, going from room to room to room and back with something in her arms.

This answers, at least partially, at least for D-Mom, the question of “what will she do with herself when she retires?” We already know about sleeping, eating, shopping, watching DVD's, sleeping, and sleeping. But this was simply inspired.

In her loving yet a little twisted grasp was my henchbaby, Clicky (officially birthed, I believe, by Lizzard and her friend M-Lee, but I have since hired said purchase away from their clutches), in D-Mom’s arms, with yet a new piece of armament. Why? I know not. I’m just grateful for this kind of activity, both on the part of my henchbaby, embracing new technology for the purpose of both my protection and the implementation of my sinister bidding, thus simply, the stuff love is made of, on both Clicky and D-Mom’s parts.

The fruit of all this is in the above photo D-Mom shot, and Clicky was kind enought to sit for, and a beautiful photo it is. What a family I have… a lucky man I yam. Thanks D-Mom.