Tag: Quirky Domestic Tidbits

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Quirky Domestic Situations, by Ricky

Me? Quirky? I don’t think so. I’m perfectly normal in every way even for a gay guy. Very nondescript, average looking, wonderful personality (so I’ve been told and I choose to believe it) and nothing quirky about me. So, I felt very secure in asking my oldest daughter if she thought there was anything quirky about me; knowing all along that she couldn’t think of anything even if she thought more than her 30-second attention span for caring about anything I say.

Apparently, it was a case of me not seeing the forest because the trees were in the way; or (as the Bible puts it in Matthew, Chapter 7) a case of “mote” “beam” sickness. Let’s see if I can remember accurately. My daughter thought for all of 3 seconds and came up with “The Lord of the Rings”.

Apparently, every time we have guests over I always ask them at some point if they like to read books and if so what type. (My daughter keeps track of these things somehow; I don’t keep count.) Not long after the topic of books and movies turns up, someone, not always me, will bring up “The Lord of the Rings”; at which time a 15 to 30 minute discussion of the book and movie will follow. My daughter has grown very tired of hearing it over and over.

The last time it happened was two weeks ago. She had invited the church missionaries over for dinner. I was on my way home from somewhere and called to let her know. She informed me that the missionaries were there for dinner so I asked if I was invited or should I eat before I came home. She told me to come on home. She told us all later, that at this point she wanted to add that I could come home to eat, if I did not talk about “The Lord of the Rings” but she did not say it. I came home. We all sat down to eat and during the small talk, my daughter asked one of the missionaries where he lived and went to school. He replied, “Sacramento.” My daughter thought to herself, “Oh no.” I said, “I went to college in Sacramento.” When asked where I replied, “Sacramento State College” and I flunked out after two semesters. (My daughter is now screaming in her head, “No. No. Nooooo.) When asked why did I flunk out, I couldn’t lie so I said because my English 101 teacher made us read “The Lord of the Rings.” After the ensuing 20 minute discussion, my daughter told us what she did not tell me when I called and then she said, “and I ended up giving the lead-in question to the topic I hate.” I think my daughter is the quirky one.

I’m sure I’m not quirky, but quirky things seem to go on around me. For example, my daughter’s mother-in-law, Maria, was raised on a collective farm in the old Soviet Union. As a result, she has worked all her life. When she came to live with us no one asked her to help around the house but she doesn’t know how to be “retired”. So, she is constantly cleaning, cooking, doing laundry (until the washer broke), and generally being every man’s ideal housewife. When she does want a private time, she goes to our old tool and garden shed where she has made herself what I call a “nest”; goes in and hides. It’s rather cozy actually, but she is the quirky one.

Maria’s husband, Gari, who also lives with us, is a bit quirky or maybe just eccentric. He walks ¾ of a mile to the grocery store and back and generally ignores the traffic signs for walk and don’t walk; at least until last month when he did it in front of Lakewood’s “finest” and received a $79 ticket for walking across the street at an intersection against the don’t walk sign. That’s the first time I’ve ever heard of someone getting what is essentially a jay-walking type citation. I don’t know if he is quirky or if it’s just the situation that’s quirky.

My daughter’s husband and Maria’s son, Artur, is rather quirky. Today when I told him that our Himalayan cat was pregnant he became his quirky self. At first anger stating that he would throw her out and then a few seconds later he demanded we get the cat an abortion. When my daughter pointed out that he always had said he wanted the cat to have kittens, he responded that it was true but not by an alley cat (paraphrased). Once it was explained that the father was ½ Persian or ½ Himalayan he calmed down a bit. In a day or two he will be fine with the situation—that’s his quirk. In fact, we don’t know for sure who the father is. The only cat we’ve seen in her company was the one we mentioned. I also will not tell him that on the weekends when he and his mother are gone all day, I repeatedly let the cat out knowing she was in heat. I did it for two reasons. I got tired of listening to the cat yowling and I like kittens. Maybe that’s my quirk.

© 17 Apr 2012

About the Author

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com

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Quirky Domestic Tidbits, by Ricky

          Me?  Quirky?  I don’t think so.  I’m perfectly normal in every way even for a gay guy.  Very nondescript, average looking, wonderful personality (so I’ve been told, and I choose to believe it) and nothing quirky about me.  So, I felt very secure in asking my oldest daughter if she thought there was anything quirky about me; knowing all along that she couldn’t think of anything even if she thought more than her 30-second attention span for caring about anything I say.
          Apparently, it was a case of me not seeing the forest because the trees were in the way; or (as the Bible puts it in Matthew, Chapter 7) a case of “mote” “beam” sickness.  Let’s see if I can remember accurately.  My daughter thought for all of 3 seconds and came up with “The Lord of the Rings”. 
          Apparently, every time we have guests over I always ask them at some point if they like to read books and if so what type.  (My daughter keeps track of these things somehow; I don’t keep count.)  Not long after the topic of books and movies turns up, someone, not always me, will bring up “The Lord of the Rings”; at which time a 15 to a 30-minute discussion of the book and movie will follow.  My daughter has grown very tired of hearing it over and over.
          The last time it happened was two weeks ago.  She had invited the church missionaries over for dinner.  I was on my way home from somewhere and called to let her know.  She informed me that the missionaries were there for dinner, so I asked if I was invited or should I eat before I came home.  She told me to come on home.  She told us all later, that at this point she wanted to add that I could come home to eat if I did not talk about “The Lord of the Rings” but she did not say it.  I came home.  We all sat down to eat and during the small talk, my daughter asked one of the missionaries where he lived and went to school.  He replied, “Sacramento.”  My daughter thought to herself, “Oh no.”  I said, “I went to college in Sacramento.”  When asked where I replied, “Sacramento State College” and I flunked out after two semesters.  (My daughter is now screaming in her head, “No. No. Nooooo.”.) When asked why did I flunk out, I couldn’t lie so I said because my English 101 teacher made us read “The Lord of the Rings.”  After the ensuing 20 minute discussion, my daughter told us what she did not tell me when I called and then she said, “and I ended up giving the lead-in question to the topic I hate.”  I think my daughter is the quirky one.
          I’m sure I’m not quirky, but quirky things seem to go on around me.  For example, my daughter’s mother-in-law, Maria, was raised on a collective farm in the old Soviet Union.  As a result, she has worked all her life.  When she came to live with us no one asked her to help around the house, but she doesn’t know how to be “retired”.  So, she is constantly cleaning, cooking, doing laundry (until the washer broke), and generally being every man’s ideal housewife.  When she does want a private time, she goes to our old tool and garden shed where she has made herself what I call a “nest”; goes in and hides.  It’s rather cozy actually, but she is the quirky one.
          Maria’s husband, Gari, who also lives with us, is a bit quirky or maybe just eccentric.  He walks ¾ of a mile to the grocery store and back and generally ignores the traffic signs for walk and don’t walk; at least until last month when he did it in front of Lakewood’s “finest” and received a $79 ticket for walking across the street at an intersection against the don’t walk sign.  That’s the first time I’ve ever heard of someone getting what is essentially a jay-walking type citation.  I don’t know if he is quirky or if it’s just the situation that’s quirky.
          My daughter’s husband and Maria’s son, Artur, is rather quirky.  Today when I told him that our Himalayan cat was pregnant he became his quirky self.  At first, anger stating that he would throw her out and then a few seconds later he demanded we get the cat an abortion.  When my daughter pointed out that he always had said he wanted the cat to have kittens, he responded that it was true but not by an alley cat (paraphrased).  Once it was explained that the father was ½ Persian or ½ Himalayan he calmed down a bit.  In a day or two, he will be fine with the situation—that’s his quirk.  In fact, we don’t know for sure who the father is.  The only cat we’ve seen in her company was the one we mentioned.  I also will not tell him that on the weekends when he and his mother are gone all day, I repeatedly let the cat out knowing she was in heat. I did it for two reasons.  I got tired of listening to the cat yowling and I like kittens.  Maybe that’s my quirk.
© 17 Apr 2012 
About the Author 
I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach.  Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I was sent to live with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.
When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966.  After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11-2001 terrorist attack.
I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010.   I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.
My story blog is: TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com 
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Quirky Domestic Tidbits by Will Stanton

Nothing particularly quirky goes on around my household. As a matter of fact, not much goes on at all. I don’t live with a quirky partner who has quirky habits. I don’t have dogs or other pets that do quirky things. If I have any quirky habits, there is no one living here to observe them. And, I am probably too close to the subject to be aware of anything out of the ordinary. So, I guess that I’ll relate a few quirky things that I or close friends have observed elsewhere.

I once knew a couple of guys who lived in an apartment not far from here. They invited me and a few others over for dinner. The self-designated head-chef had decided to make cheese fondue his main course. He never had prepared fondue before. I am told that no host should experiment with his guests. Apparently, he did not know that fondue, or heated cheese dishes of any kind, needs to be prepared over slow, low heat. Otherwise, the cook will “vulcanize” the cheese, turning it into a tough, hard lump – – which is exactly what he did. We guests in the living room began to hear increasingly loud exclamations emanating from the kitchen, and we went to investigate as to the cause of the chef’s frustration. We arrived just in time to witness the angry chef ramming the hardened glob of cheese down the garbage disposal. Our quick advice not to do so obviously was not quick enough, for the chef flipped the switch. The garbage disposal started up, made a loud groaning noise, and then self-destructed, thoroughly plugging up the drain. We enjoyed the dinner out at the restaurant despite the occasional grumbles from the disgruntled, would-be chef.

A friend of mine once lived in Houston, a city that does have some cultural advantages such as their opera. He, being the handsome, charming, erudite gentleman that he was, hobnobbed with financial-social elite. Frequently, a wealthy couple of gentlemen would invite selected friends to their elegant home for an après-opera dinner. All the gentlemen, dressed in their fine suits would stand about with their cocktails, chatting amiably with each other until dinner was served. Apparently, one of the hosts had a habit of imbibing regularly in the kitchen, where he insisted upon preparing by himself one of his specialties.

Now, I know enough about alcohol not to find addiction or abuse in itself funny. I have to admit, however, that on occasion, circumstances can catch one as somewhat amusing, especially when remembered retrospectively or if pretended, as in the case of Foster Brooks or the Carol Burnett Show. I suppose that what occurred next was made more amusing by the fact that all these gentleman held themselves in high regard. At least, their expensive suits indicated that belief. After all as Mark Twain once said, “Clothes make the man.” A large apron or even a wet-suit might have been more appropriate for the co-host. Once everyone was seated and the several bowls of food were being passed around, the inebriated gentleman distinctly began to feel the effects from his time in the kitchen. He did manage to wait until the large bowl of mashed potatoes appeared right in front of him, whereupon he chose that moment to pitch forward, face-first, right into the mashed potatoes. His friend hurriedly assisted the host into an upright position. The guests momentarily were stunned observing the host’s potato-covered face, which had a remarkable resemblance to an ancient Greek theater mask. The embarrassed friend realized that, as the mashed potatoes began to slither down upon the host’s fine suit, that the host appeared to be incapable of removing the potatoes himself or preventing their further spread. Two of the guests, having recovered from their initial surprise, volunteered to help the friend carry the host into the bedroom where they removed the potatoes and the dinner jacket. Fortunately, the host eventually recovered; and the guests complemented him upon the delicious specialty that he had prepared, although none said anything about their having declined the mashed potatoes.

And last of all, here’s a quirky tale of a very different nature. How many of you have seen a big, old, Victorian mansion, an Adams-Family-style house. My roommate did when we were freshmen in college. He lived back East. His great aunt lived alone in just such an “Adams” house in Marietta, Ohio. She told him that, as long as he was passing by on his way to college, he could stop by to see her and spend the night. He agreed to.

After supper, they chatted for quite a while and eventually retired to their separate rooms. His bedroom was rather large and with a high ceiling. The bed was a big four-poster sitting on a wooden-plank floor. At the foot of the bed was a large seaman’s trunk. Late that night, he began to hear strange noises. Eventually, the sounds became so unsettling that he turned his light on several times to see what might be causing those peculiar sounds. He never saw anything that would explain the noises. When he was about to fall asleep, he suddenly heard a very loud, extended scraping noise. Terrified, he turned on his light and immediately saw that the seaman’s trunk now was on the complete opposite side of the room. That was absolutely enough for him. Without further thought, he immediately threw his clothes on, grabbed his bags, and without saying a word to his great-aunt, fled the house. He preferred driving throughout the night to the college rather staying a moment longer in that house. Now that is one quirky house!

© 03 February 2012




About the Author



I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.