COLUMBUS — The wind was howling and snow was blowing sideways Saturday night when we sat down to lasagna, salad and homemade bread.

"Winter’s back," Alice said. "Maybe we should spend the night."

"You’re welcome to," Hon said. "I just changed the sheets."

"Uncle Chet can sleep in the barn, and Alice can have my bed," said the little miscreant.

"Thank you, Condoleezza," Uncle Chet said. He was hunched over a bottle of New York state red wine, twisting in the old wooden-handled corkscrew. "But I think I’ll take the couch, next to the fire."

"Whoever sleeps there’s got to tend the fire," I said.

"Fine." He grunted and his forearm popped up, trailing a cork. "I only sleep four hours at a time, anyway."

We passed our plates around the table, and Hon filled them up. The kids drank milk and Uncle Chet circled the table with his bottle, dosing the adults.

"This looks great," Alice said, unfolding her paper napkin.

"I like zhania," Buddy said, grabbing his fork.

"I propose a toast," Uncle Chet said, sitting down.

"To good friends," Hon said and raised her glass.

"To good wine." I raised mine.

"I’ll go with ’good friends,"’ Alice said.

"And to impeaching that traitor this year," Uncle Chet said as the glasses clinked.

"Which traitor?" I asked and sipped.

"You know he means Bush," said the little miscreant.

"It’s a fair question, but she’s right," Uncle Chet said. "He swore an oath to ’faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States,’ but he hasn’t. He lied about spying on people illegally, and he lied when he took us to war, pretending Iraq was a threat to our national security. He ordered the United States to attack a nation that had never attacked us, an attack and occupation that’s killed 50 times more people than died on 9/11 — including 2,200 American dead and 30,000 injured."

"Congress doesn’t have the guts," I said.

"His administration condones torture, puts people in secret prisons, holds them for years without charging them with anything, in violation of the principles of the Constitution. He, or one of his lieutenants, illegally told Robert Novak about an American spy, Valerie Plame, and Novak told the world. As a result of this treachery, not only Plame, but the entire CIA Brewster operation was scuttled, leaving our nation more vulnerable to attack."

"Whatever happened to that case?" I said.

"He’s failed his duties domestically, as well, and New Orleans was the window to see how he operates. When Katrina struck, a part of the nation was in dire need and the commander was derelict in his duty, more worried about his five-week vacation than any ole hurricane."

"Is that an impeachable offense?" Hon asked.

"I dunno," Uncle Chet said. "I suppose you’d have to see if there’s a pattern of appointing unqualified social acquaintances to positions that are essential to the security and welfare of the United States, thereby endangering our welfare."

"Like that joker at FEMA," I said

"Precisely," he said. "And there’s more."

"We’ve heard enough," Alice said. "I don’t think anyone here disagrees with you."

"You’re preaching to the choir," I said.

"Dig in," Hon said.

"It’s good, Mom," the little miscreant said.

"I know," Uncle Chet said. "I just get worked up that Bush is exporting our jobs, spending us into oblivion, dithering on health care, and making us billions of new enemies around the globe, and where is the opposition in Congress?"

"In recess," I said.

"And to think that the House impeached Clinton for lying about Monica, but is going to let this guy go after lying about a trillion-dollar war; it’s unbelievable."

"I guess they both lied," I said.

"But when Clinton lied, no one died," he said, and then it was quiet, except for the wind outside.

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Cooperstown News Bureau Reporter Tom Grace is traveling with his Uncle Chet, who he says is imaginary. Grace’s column appears twice monthly.