John and I had a... what shall I call it ?... a kerfuffle. There was no more yelling than you would find on a ride at the fair, so I guess it was in the realm of acceptable. Each of us felt staunchly that we were right, but then again right can be lonely. 

John came down off his elevated steed first. With restraint he inquired why I had done things the way I had. Then I asked him, though I admit there were some residual jabs in the questions. 

The temperature came down out of the red zone, even as kids found reasons to widen the margin between them and us. I did not quite apologize, but offered to undo an action he found hurtful. Gradually my "point" if you can call it that seemed more blunt than the pencils in the bottom of a kid's back pack in late May.

As the afternoon eased into evening, I offered to help him with a project. He softened and handed me a hammer. At some point he hugged me, and the words slipped out with less friction than I would have thought.

"I'm sorry."

The next day, my Reasons seemed less sturdy than the drip castles I made at the beach when I was a child. Would it have been so hard to talk it over?

No.  

The next day things were cordial. Warm, even. 

But maybe that is because the the heat wave came back.