COLUMBUS _ ``Getting pretty good with that knife,'' said Uncle Chet as he squinted up at my spackling job.
``The closer you get, the worse it looks.'' I reached high into a corner at the top of the stairs.
``No one's going to look up there too closely,'' he said. ``How tall is that ceiling?''
``Over 12 feet.'' I felt a stab of anxiety, glanced down, realized that if I fell I'd probably land on the drill case and break my back!
``Want a beer?'' Hon asked him.
``I'll wait for him,'' said Uncle Chet.
``How much longer?'' she called upstairs.
``Not long.'' I eyed the seam I was working on. It was too wet for a sponge, too dry for the blade, too aggravating to play with any longer. ``As a matter of fact, I'm done.''
I climbed down the stepladder carrying the stainless-steel mud pan, washed my hands in a bucket of water, then went downstairs and joined them for lunch.
``So, did you watch the grand white party and the beauty queen?''
``Read about it.'' I took the proffered Rolling Rock.
``A legend was born,'' said Uncle Chet. ``She's the new Davy Crockett.
``Born on a mountain by the Bering Sea, biggest state in the land of the free. Stayed in the woods till she knowed every tree, skinned her a moose when she was only 3. Sarah, Sarah Palin, queen of the wild frontier.''
``She was born in Idaho,'' Hon said dryly.
``Don't get lost in facts, it's the lies that might elect her,'' he said, ``her and angry old Mr. Budweiser.''
``I can't believe the country's going to fall for this,'' said Hon.
``It's really a national IQ test.'' I raised the cold green bottle. ``Do we want affordable, national health care or thermonuclear war with Russia?''