Some part of his face

I absolutely loved going to Jacksonville even if I did find it boring, provincial, ordinary, and mundane. My father-in-law Ron had a big ranch house on the St. John's River with a breathtaking western view of the city's modest but shapely skyline. The house sat on a huge property. His back yard must've been the size of a football field. Our dogs jumped up and down in the way-back of the S.U.V. whenever we approached. It was easy enough for them to figure where we were, after all, with those rolling dips in the road on the final two blocks. Mike and I had an absolute terror named Chester; Alicia and Jay had a sweet little neurotic named Taylor. They were best buddies, and why not? Doggie-wise, they were first cousins. They loved going to visit Grandpa Ron's house.

Captain Ron always rolled out the welcome mat for us. He'd serve us a lunch of boiled ham, tomato and lettuce salad, and Cool Whip for dessert. Not bad -- really. Invariably dressed in short '80s shorts, a Florida shirt, and tennis shoes, he had a deep tan from years and years of boating. He hadn't worked since 8-tracks, Walkmans, and VCRs. He'd sold his business back then and had lived miserly on the income from it ever since. At least, his three wives called it miserly -- No. 1 Judy (Mike and Alicia's mother), No. 2 Becky (the O.C.D. one, mother to half-sister Tessa), and No. 3. I can't remember the third wife's name because she (a Serbian immigrant in search of a meal ticket and a permanent Visa) only lasted four months. I think her name was Sefia or something like that.

After lunch, we'd head out to the back yard for the dogs to run around, Jay and Alicia's 8-year old son Michael to play in the tree house, Mike to walk 1-year old Brookie Cookie around, checking out bugs, bushes, and branches, me to read my book. Hey, I knew I didn't always fit in with Mike's recreation-is-life family, but I always enjoyed the getaway aspect of Jacksonville and the way they liked me even if I was a brainy intellectual geeky nerd with a chip on his shoulder. Case in point ...

That afternoon I lay on Ron's living room sofa looking out toward the St. John's River, alternating between "Middlemarch" and logic puzzles. Ron came over. "So what do you think, Jim?"

Think about what, I wondered ... but his body language said it all. He turned his face toward me, rotating it a little to the left, a little to the right, chin raised a little, chin falling a little -- like Carol Merrill showing off a prize on "Let's Make a Deal." Groan. His recent facelift. God, was I supposed to gush? I wasn't in the mood so I decided to play stupid.

"Think about what?" I asked in my most deferential son-in-law tone of voice. "What do you mean, Ron?"

"This, right here." He tossed his jaw one more time to the left, then to the right.

I knew stupid could only go so far without becoming rude. "Oh, of course! How nice." It was the kiss of death in the Deep South to give someone the "how nice" compliment. Luckily Ron came from Detroit and was a good sport where I was concerned. Ron headed outside and I went back to the adventures of Dorothea Brooke and Will Ladislaw.