Walked down to the lake with my jacket zipped up and found the bench in the sun warmer than I expected. Sat there a while with my hands open on my knees. The crooked finger never straightens, but when it warms up I stop trying to make it. A couple kids were skipping stones and I wanted to try one. Didn't, on account of the shoulder, and because bending down for a good stone takes longer than it used to. The walk home was all right. I took the apartment stairs one at a time and could still feel the sun on the back of my neck when I got inside.

My daughter sent a picture of the kids making pancakes and said the burnt one looked like something I'd cook. I laughed at that, then wondered if she remembered all the breakfasts I didn't make when she was small. Probably wasn't what she meant. I wrote back that mine were worse and she sent another picture, this time with the dog waiting under the table. Felt good getting the second one. Nothing I needed to answer or fix, just what was going on at her place. Kept the phone beside the scorebook for the rest of the game. I guess I was hoping there might be a third.

One of the kids asked how I know a runner might go before he starts moving. I said you watch his feet, then remembered I watch his shoulders too, and where his coach is looking. Tried explaining all that and made it sound harder than it is. Now I'm thinking I should have stood him behind the plate and let him tell me what he saw. The first answer would probably be wrong, but at least it would be his answer. I can remember a pitcher from fifty years ago shifting his weight before every throw. Can't remember anybody teaching me to notice. Somebody must have. I could be wrong about that too.