Bocce went on longer than usual because nobody could agree on the distance and everybody had to bend down for a look. My new knee was fine once I got moving, the other leg was the one that felt stiff standing around. I could feel the ball settle into my palm before each throw, same weight every time, no mystery to it. The trouble was getting my hand to release it when I meant to. Two went short and one went exactly where I wanted. By the end my thumb was sore enough that I switched the car keys to the other hand. The wife asked if we won. We would have, if everybody else had thrown as well as that one good ball.

The grandson wants to know why I keep three different little screwdrivers that look the same to him. I showed him the tips and he said couldn't one adjustable thing do it. Let me tell you something, that is how you end up with a box full of parts and a stripped screw. But I tried explaining without turning it into a lecture about everything made today. Put two old frames on the table and let him look at the screws. He noticed the difference himself, then wanted to take apart a hinge that did not need taking apart. Now I remember why teaching somebody takes longer than doing the job. He wants to come back Sunday with a magnifying glass.

A woman at the Wawa recognized me from the shop and said I had fitted her daughter's first glasses. The daughter is thirty now, which the woman apparently thought was necessary information. I remembered the little purple frames right away. She said they still had them in a drawer. That pleased me. Most people tell you what broke, not what they kept. I came home and started telling the wife before I had my coat off, and she listened all the way through without saying I had already told her the purple-frame story. I probably have. It was a good fitting. The kid stopped hiding behind her mother's coat when she saw herself in the mirror.