Perhaps, it’s because I’m reading/listening to the late Roger Ebert’s memoir, Life Itself, I feel a compunction to scribble thoughts on this. Or maybe that my dear wife has tossed another of those loving looks of her’s over in my direction. You know those. Meant to convey a thought in the usual, elegant shorthand of wives. Simply, it’s the, “I think you’re done with that now.”, one. Today’s regarded something of a technical nature in the house we live in. It needed fixing, that’s all.