Nothing lasts forever, especially alternators. On the drive home Monday my battery light kicked on and after some multimeter tests the diagnosis was final. Hank and I hit Auto Zone for a rebuilt alternator and we planned for Randy to come by and help within the next few days.
Randy arrived, headed to the bathroom to change into some work clothes, and left standing his orange bucket filled with sockets, pry bar, and a light. Henry was excited in a 100 different ways so I decided to give him a clean socket wrench for him to click away. Daylight was burning so off we hurried. Henry was told to stay inside, finish his dinner, and wave goodbye to the guys that were going to fix Daddy's truck.
Becky reported that he made it halfway through dinner before running around the living room, collecting up his plastic hammer and drill, and heading for the door. Soon Randy and I were welcomed by the curious foreman. Henry spent some time staring at us, the dusty engine, and our filthy hands.
It all worked out and after a jump the engine roared while the multimeter read thumbs up. Randy and I did not speak it out loud at the time out of fear of invoking a curse, but it was way too easy -- 40 minutes with the jump.
It's all sled dogs, butterflies, crackers and fruit chewies up here.