The heat-pump course has an online section I keep putting off, even though I've told the apprentice twice that you can't keep doing things the way you learned them eighteen years ago. I understand the equipment better than the little menus on the training site, and I get impatient before I've actually read the instructions. Tonight I wrote the login information on the same pad I use for parts orders. Not much of a plan, but it means I won't spend tomorrow's first ten minutes looking for it again. I'm not rethinking the whole trade. I'd just like to stop losing an argument with a password box.

My daughter asked whether I could watch her skate without giving her tips this time. Said it nicely, which almost made it worse. I was a little put out, since helping is what I thought I was doing, and then pretty pleased that she still wanted me there. Stayed by the boards and kept my mouth shut, mostly. She made a turn she'd been working on and looked over to check whether I'd seen it. That was a good moment. I told Kate about the turn at supper and left out the part where an eight-year-old had to explain the difference between her dad and her coach to me.

My daughter wanted to race me across the rink, which seemed reasonable until I remembered I was wearing boots and standing on the rubber mat. Went back for skates and did a few slow laps with her. Took a while to quit holding my shoulders so tight. I'm comfortable on a ladder with a tool bag, but a slippery floor apparently requires every muscle I own. Once I found a rhythm it felt pretty good, cold air on my face and warm inside my jacket. She went ahead and circled back to check on me. By the time we left I was hungry enough to finish her leftover sandwich in the parking lot. Very athletic afternoon.