A Custom Clif Crate

Our dad likes to build stuff.  While I was in Houston, he was building a crate to send some stuff to my brother - stuff that he's had forever and has lugged across the country multiple times.  Our folks' move from Oregon to Ohio took four Penske truck trips that, of course, dad insisted on driving himself over a period of a few months.  But, I digress.  Anyway, here's how to build a custom crate.

Make sure you have your favorite tool nearby - a roofing square.

Start cutting 2x4s.  Remember to always measure twice and cut once.

Get some screws from...the Costco candy isle?  Dad had to sacrifice and eat a whole lot of candy to collect enough containers to hold his vast collection of fasteners.  I bet that random blue lid up there is going to drive him crazy.

Ignore your cardiologist's orders to "take it easy" before your upcoming heart surgery.

Finish the base of the crate.

Start loading the crate with really big heavy things - with the help of your tiny wife who's your same age.  Then make sure to anchor things down so they don't slide around during the trip.

Finish loading the two-sided crate, just as you visualized it before you ever began the project.  (This is why I'm good at Tetris.)

Dress up and play army man one last time before you send off your old army gear.

Call a strapping young guy with a forklift and a big truck to load and haul away the crate for you.  There you have it folks, nine easy steps to making a Custom Clif Crate.

Dad's Eccentricities

My step mom told me about it, but I didn't believe it until I saw it the next morning.  I really wasn't THAT surprised.  It seemed like something dad would do.  His many eccentricities just make me laugh.

He carefully places raspberries, open end up, on top of his cereal.

Then he pours honey into each raspberry.  At this point, we had a conversation that went something like this:

Me:   You sure have to have a lot of patience for that.

Dad:  Good things come to those who wait.

Me:   What happens if you miss?

Dad:  I don't miss.

Here they are, honey-filled raspberries.  I think dad should trademark this before Kellogg's catches wind of it.  He could call them Clifberries.

This reminded dad of something that happened many years ago.  He was taking baby gerkins out of the pickle hotel - I call it a pickle elevator.

(source)

As he took each one out, he would bite the end of it off and stand it on end next to the others already standing in formation on the counter like little green soldiers.  After he had a nice little troop of them, he would eat them.  My brother was watching him and said, "You'd drive a psychiatrist crazy."

This may seem unrelated to handicrafty sisters, but it's totally related.  It has to be...somehow.  What do you think?