The younger inspector I train brought a questionable valve to me, then explained his measurements so clearly that there wasn't much left for me to add. I was pleased, genuinely pleased, and also a little put out that he'd already checked the thing I was about to suggest. He thanked me for teaching him the method. That should have settled it, but I still wanted some useful last word and nearly sent him back for a check we both knew he'd done. I didn't. He went away looking confident and I stayed at the bench feeling proud of him, with this small, unflattering annoyance underneath that I haven't mentioned to anyone.

My wife asked what a normal Tuesday would look like after I retire. I gave her numbers about the pension, which wasn't what she asked, so I tried putting an actual Tuesday on paper. Fix a lamp, lunch, errands. That got me to maybe two o'clock, and I realized I'd scheduled errands we usually do together without asking whether she wanted to do them on Tuesday. I've got several versions of the financial sheet and one rather empty page about the day itself. I don't think every hour needs a purpose, but apparently I was expecting the purpose to show up on its own once the shift was gone.

My bowling ball kept hanging on my thumb for the first few frames, just long enough to make the release feel wrong, and I started gripping it harder which did not help. The room was warm and my hand had that tacky feeling even after I wiped it on the towel. I sat out the practice throws and let my fingers open on my knee for a bit. When I picked the ball up again it felt like its usual weight instead of something I had to hang onto. My score was still lousy. Physically, though, the last game was the comfortable one, the swing coming through without that little argument between my thumb and the hole.