Sometimes Grandpa doesn't quite get the right word. I don't hold it against him; he's eighty five years old, for Pete's sake, and has had TIA's, after all. ( Transcient Ischemic Attacks...or if you like, strokes.) And very often the slip twixt the brain and the lip can be quite comical.
The other day I was sleepily eating breakfast to the mellifluous sound of a chainsaw somewhere in the neighborhood. I commented on its dulcet tones to the other occupants of the breakfast table- Grandpa and Aiden. However, Grandpa was not convinced that it was a chainsaw. He thought it might be one of those things that "...sweeps...clouds... or seeds." Strangely enough, I knew instantly that he was talking about a leafblower. I don't know what was funnier - his words, or the fact that I understood them perfectly.
It was a much more interesting way to say it, rather than just "leafblower." Sounded kind of poetic.