“Well, let me ask you this: is there any subject you can’t broach with her?”

::lying back, closing eyes thoughtfully:: “—”

“See, that’s not good: the correct answer is, `No.’”

“Well, thing is, I’m trying not to get ahead of myself. I can’t think of anything that I couldn’t broach with her, because we’ve already handled all the hard stuff where our hangups are, you know? I’m just trying to be fair, so I don’t jump the gun. Look, I’ve never known someone so honest. She’s so unjaded, so—I’m not used to not having things held against me, you know? So no, I’m unable to discover a subject we can’t talk about.” ::suddenly snapping to serious affect:: “Look, I’ve never been able to just `be’ with anyone like her before. We can read a book together and just—” ::deep breath:: “—be, you know?”

“Good. The important thing is that you feel more comfortable in your own house just knowing she’s around. […] You feel anxiety when she’s in the house, that’s a bad sign. But man, when she’s around, it’s just so good to know she’s right there with you. You know?”

::smiling broadly, almost unbidden:: “Yeah. Yeah, I do know.”

---

“Let’s have a night cap.”

“You know, Maker’s Mark is to Jack Daniels like Kalashnikov is to Grey Goose. You drink Kalashnikov and you taste potatoes and rubbing alcohol and you think, `Good grief, no wonder this shares its name with an illegal, automatic weapon.’ Then you have Grey Goose and you sink into bliss thinking with a sigh, `Ah, that’s vodka.’ Same with Maker’s Mark. Straight Jack on the rocks is great, but it’s like a punch to the gut—you have to brace for it to handle it. Maker’s Mark is like two gentlemen dressed in three piece suits sharing their secrets in spite of themselves.”

::contemplating his glass:: “Cookie, I’ve got to go to bed. It’s almost three in the morning!”

---

“You know, those Scandinavians just have it down pat when it comes to hard music. Have you ever heard my death metal voice?”

“Yeah, ah, I think you’ve used it on me once or twice. Mmmm-hmm!”

“I know, right? Thank God those days are gone. But really, you know, Americans are just so weak about [Christian rock]. Germans—oh man, the Germans—they get a guitar and have the the neck of the thing behind their heads like this, wailing on the riffs, just growling `Praaaaaaaaaaaise Goooooooooooooooood‘!”

::thoughtful pause::

“Son, have you ever considered acting?”

::laughter:: “Yes, yes I have.”

---

“Son,” she said, looking at my face, holding my hand, “I know you know I don’t like this, and I’ve said that before”—she scratches my goatee—”but I know you’re in style with it.” Smiling, then suddenly becoming grave, my grandmother’s beautiful dilute hazel irises yielding just so slightly to pupil—”Just don’t try too hard to be in style, you hear?”

---

Have you ever noticed that by the time that you get comfortable with extended family, it’s time to leave?

“Well, let me ask you this: is there any subject you can’t broach with her?”

::lying back, closing eyes thoughtfully:: “—”

“See, that’s not good: the correct answer is, `No.’”

“Well, thing is, I’m trying not to get ahead of myself. I can’t think of anything that I couldn’t broach with her, because we’ve already handled all the hard stuff where our hangups are, you know? I’m just trying to be fair, so I don’t jump the gun. Look, I’ve never known someone so honest. She’s so unjaded, so—I’m not used to not having things held against me, you know? So no, I’m unable to discover a subject we can’t talk about.” ::suddenly snapping to serious affect:: “Look, I’ve never been able to just `be’ with anyone like her before. We can read a book together and just—” ::deep breath:: “—be, you know?”

“Good. The important thing is that you feel more comfortable in your own house just knowing she’s around. […] You feel anxiety when she’s in the house, that’s a bad sign. But man, when she’s around, it’s just so good to know she’s right there with you. You know?”

::smiling broadly, almost unbidden:: “Yeah. Yeah, I do know.”

---

“Let’s have a night cap.”

“You know, Maker’s Mark is to Jack Daniels like Kalashnikov is to Grey Goose. You drink Kalashnikov and you taste potatoes and rubbing alcohol and you think, `Good grief, no wonder this shares its name with an illegal, automatic weapon.’ Then you have Grey Goose and you sink into bliss thinking with a sigh, `Ah, that’s vodka.’ Same with Maker’s Mark. Straight Jack on the rocks is great, but it’s like a punch to the gut—you have to brace for it to handle it. Maker’s Mark is like two gentlemen dressed in three piece suits sharing their secrets in spite of themselves.”

::contemplating his glass:: “Cookie, I’ve got to go to bed. It’s almost three in the morning!”

---

“You know, those Scandinavians just have it down pat when it comes to hard music. Have you ever heard my death metal voice?”

“Yeah, ah, I think you’ve used it on me once or twice. Mmmm-hmm!”

“I know, right? Thank God those days are gone. But really, you know, Americans are just so weak about [Christian rock]. Germans—oh man, the Germans—they get a guitar and have the the neck of the thing behind their heads like this, wailing on the riffs, just growling `Praaaaaaaaaaaise Goooooooooooooooood‘!”

::thoughtful pause::

“Son, have you ever considered acting?”

::laughter:: “Yes, yes I have.”

---

“Son,” she said, looking at my face, holding my hand, “I know you know I don’t like this, and I’ve said that before”—she scratches my goatee—”but I know you’re in style with it.” Smiling, then suddenly becoming grave, my grandmother’s beautiful dilute hazel irises yielding just so slightly to pupil—”Just don’t try too hard to be in style, you hear?”

---

Have you ever noticed that by the time that you get comfortable with extended family, it’s time to leave?