"What was that?" I asked.

"The remote," she said and brought it into the kitchen. "It was wrapped up in the blanket on the couch and I didn’t see it."

"It doesn’t look broken." I examined the black plastic case, gave it back.

"No, but it went through the wash. I dropped it when I pulled it out of the machine," she said, on her way to the living room to test it.

She pressed the buttons, to no avail.

"Nothing on there but lies and hype, anyway," said Uncle Chet, who was sitting at the computer. "I get three stations at home, but I never watch any of them. Get all my TV off the Internet now that I have a DSL modem."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Like ’The Daily Show,’ ’The Colbert Report,’ Amy Goodman."

"Sounds bo-ring," said the little miscreant, who was on the couch, playing with her Game Boy, little Buddy glued to her shoulder.

"You’re showing your ignorance," Uncle Chet cautioned.

"Just my taste," she said.

"How does ignorance taste?" he asked.

"How soon till lunch?" Hon asked.

I was stirring sausage, peppers and onions in an iron skillet, had rolls in the oven for hot grinders. "Three minutes," I predicted.

"Don’t hurry on my account," said Uncle Chet, who had come over today to set up a couple of tree stands. "I’m in no mood for trichinosis."

"What’s trichinosis?" asked the little miscreant without lifting her eyes.

"Worms, in pork," said Hon, who was still trying to fix the remote.

"Yuck!" The eighth-grader bolted up, as did her little brother. "I’m not eating worms!" they cried.

"They’re OK as long as they’re cooked," Uncle Chet said. "It’s the raw ones that are bad for you."

"Fish like raw worms," Buddy noted.

"True," I said, "but I’m going to dump this pan in the garbage and serve stale bread and water if I hear any more about worms until after lunch."

"Sorry," Uncle Chet said, reading something on the monitor. "Hey, tomorrow’s 9/11, you know."

"They call it Patriot Day now," said Hon, changing the batteries.

"When did that happen?" I asked.

"I don’t know, but it’s on both of our calendars."

"It says here that ’Bush has a heavy heart on the eve of this anniversary as he prepares to fly to New York,’" Uncle Chet said.

"Probably because he didn’t catch Osama yet," I said.

"They killed Osama at Tora Bora," Uncle Chet said. "That’s why you don’t see any videos of him, only old clips and fuzzy audio."

"Well, maybe the war in Iraq has him down," I said.

"I don’t think so," he said. "Aren’t the oil companies making record profits?"

"Actually, the price of gas has been coming down a little this week," I said. "I saw it at $2.89."

"Sure, they raised it a couple of weeks ago to gouge the holiday travelers," Uncle Chet said. "Now they’re easing back on gas, getting ready to jack up heating oil. Do you think that would give the president a heavy heart?"

"Maybe he thinks he’s a failure because people don’t like him," the little miscreant said as we gathered at the table.

"But he’s not," Uncle Chet said. "He’s succeeded, miraculously, given the raw material. Even though his father was president and his mother’s family is rich and powerful, he could have been doing time for drunk and disorderly. But he’s president of the United States. He’s our education president, which we’ll always remember because five years ago he was sitting in that classroom in Florida reading ’My Pet Goat’ as the airliners hit the World Trade Center."

"A day that will live in infamy," I said.

"And don’t even ask me about ’compassionate conservative,’" he took a bite.

"I won’t," I said.

"Hey, this stuff’s not bad," he said.

"Are there really worms in it?" asked the little miscreant.

"Of course not," I said.

Just then, the television flickered to life, and Hon held up the remote in triumph.

"I guess you can wash these," she said, "as long as you change the batteries."

———

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