FILE — IMPELLER
Started on the third pull. He looked surprised. He always looks surprised.
Impeller change #27. He took photographs of the worn vanes. I cannot fathom why. He whistles when he works. The dogs supervise.
Storm forecast. He is pretending to check the bilge. He is reading the New Yorker. I will be loaded onto the trailer in three minutes and we will pretend this never happened.
Mackie barked at me. I declined to start, in protest. He fixed it in eleven minutes. The dog took credit.
He explained me to a stranger at the dock. The stranger nodded politely. I have never been more embarrassed in my life.
New spark plug. Bronze. Excessive, in my opinion. He insisted. I forgive him.
Greens for breakfast. Greens for lunch. Brad watches with a kind of mournful respect. Mackie has gone to bed.
Mom said no Whaler today. There is no Whaler today.
Quantum mechanics, again, at breakfast. Brad understands more than he lets on. I am, on principle, classical.
Seventy-five years. He pulled the cord. I started. We are, against all reasonable expectation, still in this together.