by Freida Marie Crump
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Greetings from the Ridge.
I was called a new name. Oh, I suppose I’ve been called names before, but this one came as a surprise.
I’d been shopping with my friend Teresa and we’d stopped for a sandwich on our way back to town. After my double-calorie-cardiac-burger was gone, I wiped my mouth, neatly folded up my napkin then threw it into the trash bin. Teresa looked at me and said, "Freida, you’re quirky."
Quirky?
I suppose in the grand spectrum of possible names to be called, "quirky" wasn’t exactly a cause for an argument, but I was curious. "Quirky as in… what? You ate the same meal as me."
"Your napkin, Freida. You folded your napkin before you threw it away."
"So what?"
"I’ve seen you do that before. In fact, you do that every time you eat."
"What’s wrong with that?"
"Nothing. It’s just… you know… quirky."
Okay, the whole quirky incident was over in seconds, but it was one of those off-hand remarks that just eat on you through the ensuing week. Quirky? Me? Maybe I come by it naturally.
My grandmother, from the time the town got its first bank until the day she died, would never fill out the end of the amount line on her checks when the total came to an even dollar. Where most folks will write, "And no/100," she’d leave it blank. Grandma always said that she felt the clerk would think she didn’t trust her if she filled out the rest of the line. "But Grandma," I’d say, "they can fill out anything they want on the rest of the line!"
Grandma would always respond, "Better lose a nickel than a friend." I guess Grandma was quirky.
Herb still pumps his gas pedal before he tries to start the car, even though he knows that the need for this went out with the last carburetor. According to Herb, it still does some good. I think it makes you quirky.
My Uncle Elroy eats a slice of watermelon from the outside in and he carefully carves each mouthful with the final product being a small red Empire State Building of melon in the middle. A quirk melon.
Aunt Florence would refuse to use a checkout lane if she were the only one in line. I have no rational explanation for this odd behavior. Maybe she was afraid of cash registers and always wanted company lest a rabid cash drawer attacked her. I think she was just plain quirky.
A good friend of mine would never allow her teacup to be washed. Ever. She claimed that it would forever ruin the taste of her brew if so much as a paper towel was used to wipe the thing. Her husband died and the family came in to spend the weekend with her. A uninformed son-in-law took command of the kitchen and when she walked in and saw him washing out her teacup the family narrowly averted a double funeral. A fatal quirk.
The Eastman brothers are pillars of our community. All four men hold respectable jobs, volunteer their time for every community project, and none of the four will wear a red tie to church. In fact, young Charlie Eastman was once on a church mission in a neighboring state and found himself needing a tie on Sunday morning. His host for the weekend offered him his red tie. Charlie went to church tie-less. Who needs a tie when you’ve got a quirk?
It’s funny how a delightful eccentricity on our part becomes an irritating quirk when in the hands of another. Frankly, I’m a quirk fan. Makes the world more interesting. When we were in grade school we used to argue about which would be the worst way to die. I always opted for boredom. Long live the oddball and weirdo! Of course this may just be a quirk of mine.
You ever in Poosey, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.