Sabina's folks are in town. It's been the long-standing joke; her family doesn't drink much, one's even born-again-apparently the first time didn't work-they're the in-laws. Then, there's my family; drink, some drugs, my little brother has a record, bootleggers, klansmen, politicians, and a midget wrestler-lawyers, guns, and money!-making them the outlaws.
Of course they are...
It's a chance to play ketchup and for me to show off a recipe or two I'm proud of. I enjoy visiting with them. However, their visits are when I get see Sabina's control-freakishness in all its...something. The daddy-do projects. This year it's retiling the floor in the loo and a proper screen door up front. Not trivialities, but, not being mechanically inclined-growing up on a farm, I know enough to bluff through the simplicities before disappearing for a walkabout across the pastures-I know to stay out of the way.
"If you need a place to hide out, I have booze," a neighbor told me.
"I spent two hours down-valley getting used books for a reason," I said with a wink.
As Sabina hammers and curses away, I get ready to start making dinner; Cuban chicken a la chorrera. Hopefully, it'll come out well. Hopefully, they'll not be too exhausted to enjoy it.