Emily’s Curio

One newspaper article in the obituaries read, The Gentle Giant, when my Dad was killed ten years ago this October. He stood, some say 6ft. 4. others remember him as 6ft. 6. He weighed 350lbs. Everyone knew him for being very careful and gentle. If anyone had anything to say about him otherwise it was a vicious Rumor. All my life I remember him carefully and tenderlly approaching his mother. I remember him talking carefully and tenderly to his big sister who never married. I remember him talking considerately to children. I remember him being ever so soft with his touch when handleing little wounded animals. But the things I think about most are that I never knew he had any problems with anyone. He was always good to people. Even those who didn’t deserve it. He always helped people out, and he looked past difficulties in personality, as well as in appearance. I have never met a person like my dad. He was a truly harmless person.  He didn’t see eye to eye with a lot of people, but he knew when to be blind. I will always be grateful to my dad.
Now I am married to my own gentle giant. He out-stands my dad by four or so inches but he doesn’t out weight him. He is the greatest thing in my life and I am grateful for his unfailing good example. He is always positive and looking on the bright side. I am always lifted up by him. He helps me out, he thinks about my feelings, he always wants to be there for me, and he’s the greatest friend.

There is an epidemic in our house. It all started when I found a box of crayons. Some of the colors were spilt out onto the floor. Most of the crayons were in tact except for one yellow crayon that seemed to be missing its wrapping. I gathered the crayons into the box and put them away in the plastic container we use to store them. Suddenly I noticed other boxes of crayons had been opened and were missing the yellow crayon. I found there wrappings spread confusingly about in the container. Later I found another naked yellow crayon under the couch. I found a partially stripped yellow crayon on Briighton’s bed, and one in KD’s crib. In the laundry room I found yet another scantally clad yellow crayon. You might ask, “how many boxes of crayons do you have in your home?” But I would have to reply that wasn’t the point. I want to know what has possessed these yellow crayons.

The other day Robin and I were out on a drive. On our way home a very impatient driver scurried in behind us. They made it very apparent we weren’t going as fast as they wanted to, and they kept a snug gap between us as we drove down the narrow two lane road. After about a block of rubbing bumpers Robin sighed heavilly and said,
” I hate it when I’m driving behind myself.”

I’ve seen my life in a series of sometimes doing pretty well, and then sometimes landing flat on my face for a long skid. My biggest worry is that I’ll die while I’m skidding.

My grandma was a well known gentle lady who wouldn’t hurt a fly. Well, a spider. She often had little crawly friends in her windows, and would never kill them. If you went exploring through her house you knew full well that there were undisturbed webs in the corners and cracks. A spider never had to fear for his life when in my grandma’s house. That, however, was not a trait I inherited. The smallest spider needed to fear, but seldom knew he should before he was smashed repeatedly with the bottom of a shoe, or the better side of a paper towel. It may seem inhumane the way I take the opportunity to schmear their little hides as thinly as I can across a three foot span of floor or wall, but I have good reasons. (may be shared at another time)
I have found that there is a better way to handle a spider. Recently, I have been sweeping out from under the kitchen cabinets when a spider would come chargeing out after me aggressively, or folding laundry I couldn’t get to immediately when a spider would jump out towards me, or, my favorite, going to do dishes and wringing the wet rag out slightly only to find that my fingers were playing along with something a little softer and more mobile, and looking down to find that little hairy something crawling despirately up my arm away from the wet rag. Interestingly enough the little darling did not try to bite me, and I was able to quickly put it out of its shock and misery by flinging it back into the sink and sending it to the alligators. If anyone would ask me, I’d say that is the best way to handle them.

There is a delightful little cookbook for sale at Borders called, “stupid in the kitchen”, and they are not joking. I thought it was quite a funny title so I opened it and read a recipe. It read something like this:
Take the one cup measuring cup and fill it with sugar, then add one small box of jello that reads 3 oz. on the bottom. put it in the same bowl as the sugar and then stir it.
That’s about the way it read, and I didn’t know weather to laugh or roll my eyes and groan. They have some very easy, tastey recipes in the book though. So stupid in the kitchen looks pretty smart.