So I'm off on another tack... Parenting. Marriage. And a bit of genteel husband-bashing.
I think all wives consider their husbands quirky, but I'm inclined to think mine is more quirky than most. (It's "quirky" when I'm feeling amiable; "aggravating"--or something unprintable--when I'm not!) To be fair, I daresay he can make similar assertions about me. But I figure he can start his own blog if he wants to enumerate them!
So what do I mean by quirky? Well, for instance, he's convinced that a tin star hung on someone's house indicates membership in some kind of secret society, probably one with dark motives. I've explained over and over that it's just a decorating fad and not a cult, but he's not quite convinced.
He's also adamant that a garage sale sign on bright pink poster board, with a very particular shape of arrow, automatically means there will be nothing but kids' clothes, horrible Happy Meal toys, and a table of baked goods. Seriously.
Now, granted, he's often right--but that's because around here there's a significant population of large families with Nordic roots and it's just the law of averages that we're going to bump into a lot of those kinds of sales. I've told him time and again that the signs are pink because it's usually women making them, that women like pink, and that there aren't that many colors of poster board to choose from anyway. But he still insists he can tell.
I have been driving along a desert highway when my husband suddenly shouted, "Stop the car!", leaped out, and grabbed a massive gopher snake he'd spotted along the road, climbing with it into the back seat to introduce our then-toddler son to the wonders of reptiles. (I can still remember my son remarking wonderingly, "He don't got no feet!" while I cringed in the driver's seat, hoping the thing wouldn't get loose from them and slither up front.)
On a similar occasion, he spotted a bullfrog in the middle of the road, braked and scooped it up, and deposited the startled creature in my daughter's red patent leather handbag until we could get a proper container for it. (Is it any wonder she once lamented, like Myrtle Mae bewailing her demented Uncle Elwood's shenanigans in the 1950 film Harvey, "Oh, Mother, people get hit by trucks every day! Why can't it happen to Dad?")
This is a guy who, as a kid, reportedly poured molasses all over the kitchen floor when his parents were out, so he could "skate" in it.
I could go on and on. I imagine every wife reading this could! Isn't it funny how we all think the grass is greener over the fence? (Well, in my case it would be, because my husband has a thing against those two-wheeled green lawn "weed-and-feed" spreaders and so we just mow our yellow dandelions.)
But seriously. Years ago, a friend shared a little ditty with me which I've never forgotten:
If we each took our troubles and hung them on a line, you'd keep yours, and I'd keep mine.
A man's discretion makes him slow to anger, and it is his glory to overlook a transgression. (Proverbs 19:11)
"Glory to overlook a transgression." Wise words.
Last week, I came across a post on another blog I follow, and the author graciously gave permission for me to share the link here. I got a great laugh out of it (the part about King David is a riot!) and it set me thinking, too. I recall the old TV series, The Pretender, and its hard-nosed female character, Miss Parker. In one of my favorite episodes, she states of her subordinate Broots, "I know he's an idiot, but he's my idiot." Now, I wouldn't use the term "idiot" about my husband. Proper respect is in order. So let me put it into my own vernacular:
He may be a crackpot, but he's my crackpot. And he can be quirky if he wants to be!
Do check out this post!
It's nice to know I'm not alone!