Occasionally, he’d read a clue aloud, and the brain trust would go to work.

"What’s another word for African antelope?" he asked.

"Gazelle," I said.

"Only five letters," he said.

Hon went to the computer and Googled "African antelope."

"How about oribi?" she said.

"Is it five letters?"

"O-R-I-B-I," she said.

"That works," he said as the little miscreant came in after running some reluctant laps around the field, getting ready for eighth-grade soccer.

"I’m drenched," she said. "I should have run on the road."

"You never know who’s going to be driving down the road," Hon said, glancing into the bedroom where I was nailing up a piece of clear pine. I nodded in agreement, continued nailing and countersinking, trying to finish before lunchtime.

"Do I have time for a shower?" the little miscreant asked.

"A three-minute shower," Hon said, and the girl disappeared.

"What’s a three-letter word for ’Bush backer?"’ Cousin Bruce called out.

"Like George Bush backer?" I asked.

"Yes, capitalized Bush," Cousin Bruce said.

"Try ’Lay,’" Hon said, and Bruce filled it in.

"Wonder what happened to him?" I mused.

"He outlived his usefulness," Bruce said.

The aroma of homemade pizza suffused the downstairs of the house, and just before it came out of the oven, Uncle Chet and Alice arrived in her Subaru.

"He has a nose like a dog when it comes to lunch," Cousin Bruce said from the armrest of the couch.

Buddy ran to the door, pulled it open.

"Hi, Uncle Chet," he said.

"How’s my favorite 5-year-old?" He picked up the solid load. "You must weigh 60 pounds!"

"Fifty-two," Hon said, taking a ceramic salad bowl from Alice. "Perfect timing, guys. Let’s sit down and eat."

Everyone but Cousin Bruce headed straight to the table. He was fighting with the words and asked, "How about ’gourmet food or untamed cabinet member’?"

"What kind of puzzle is that?" Uncle Chet asked.

"It’s called ’Hoodwinkers," Bruce said, rolling off the couch.

"This pizza’s good," the little miscreant said with a mouthful.

"What’s the clue again?" I asked.

"’Gourmet food or untamed cabinet member.’ Two words," Bruce said, setting the puzzle next to his knife and spoon.

"How many letters?" Hon asked.

"Eight."

"I don’t even know the crooks and liars in that cabinet anymore," Uncle Chet said.

"Except Rice," Hon said.

"There’s someone who can’t handle the job," he said. "She was practically laughed out of the Mideast. Can you imagine going over there and arguing against a temporary cease-fire?"

Bruce dropped his fork to snag the pencil. "Wild rice is a gourmet food, isn’t it?"

"That’s it," I said. "’Wild Rice."’

"And she probably is," Uncle Chet said as Alice looked askance at him.

"That makes ’fake bombs’ start with W." Bruce was writing. "Abbreviation, three letters, must be ’WMD."’

"What’s WMD?" the little miscreant asked.

"Weapons of mass destruction," Hon said.

"How about the ’the bucks stop here,’ 11 letters," Bruce asked.

"Buck or bucks?" Alice said.

"Bucks. Starts with H."

Uncle Chet counted letters on his fingers, then announced, "Easy. Who’s been raking it in every day since Bush got elected?"

"Who?" I said.

"Try Halliburton," he said, and Bruce nodded while penciling in another correct answer.

———

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