Author Archives: Lib

Throw-Back-Monday: The Proposal

With a milestone anniversary just around the bend, I thought I would dedicate these next few throw-backs to the year I was wed and all of the planning and prep (or lack thereof) that came along with it.

I’m starting with The Proposal.

Today is ten years to the day that Clifford proposed. We were married approximately 31 days later on October 1st in 2005. Sounds like a quick engagement, right? Let me backtrack just a bit. Ten years ago today was the day Clifford officially proposed (because he had to). The notion of marrying me and throwing it out there as the world’s most grand and romantic gesture a gal can receive actually happened in January of that year.

Clifford was visiting me in Savannah just after the New Year. He’d finished his Masters and had found a job up in the Atlanta area, near where his family lived. Clearly, I was still living and working four hours away. Being the sappy son of gun that he is *cough*, I remember the moment as plain as yesterday – although I shouldn’t use that phrase. I can hardly remember what I had for lunch let alone what happened yesterday. But I digress …

I was sitting in my apartment on 49th Street. I was working on something on the couch with the TV on in the background. Cliff was wandering around and casually passed behind me saying, “I guess you can go ahead and plan a wedding if you want.”

Totally taken aback and not really believing what I was hearing, because this was the guy that was NEVER getting married, I looked up at him and laughed.

He looked confused, “What?”

I said, “Very funny.”

He said, ”Just go ahead and plan it … or whatever.”

Me:  “Are you being serious right now?”

Him: ”Yes. Why not? Might as well.”

It took me a moment to process what was happening. We had discussed how we wouldn’t do an engagement ring if this ever happened with us so we could save money (though we did browse a store once a couple years before with me talking about my likes and dislikes while Clifford aimlessly stared at the ceiling with a pained and somewhat constipated look upon his face), so the fact he was quasi-proposing without a ring wasn’t what was confusing me. It was the fact he was quasi-proposing at all.

I looked up at him from the couch and said, “Ok.”

He said, “Ok. So when were you thinking?”

Me, “I don’t know. I love fall. How about October? Does that work?”

Cliff, “Sure. Whatever. Just make it happen and I’ll be there.”

So I was engaged! Kinda …

I ended up picking October 1st. So, less than 10 months to plan a wedding. It could be done. Especially after I realized that I wasn’t as into the party planning as I thought I would be. I’ll focus on all of that in other posts, but just know for today’s throw-back that the next several months were spent organizing the wedding here and there.

It was July and he had just told his parents. Why he waited almost six months to share the joyous news with them, I have no idea, regardless, things were coming together. We’d secured the venue, a preacher, yadda yadda yadda, and that’s when I realized I’d never been asked. Clifford never actually asked me to marry him. In the words of some SNL skit – What’s up with that?

I pointed this out to my supposed fiancé. He shrugged. Don’t shrug at me. I told him he needed to actually ask me to marry him. I told him that if he didn’t ask me by August 31st, I was going to call the whole thing off and I didn’t care. He and I would both cut off our noses to spite our faces. We are those people. We are argumentative. We are button pushers. We are the killer of dreams. And we do this to constantly one-up each other in an unspoken yet understood war of Winning At Everything that has been raging between us for years.  That’s how we roll. That’s also why we are stuck with each other – no one else would put up with that shit.

So, weeks went by. Never a word from this man. I had finally moved from Savannah to Atlanta. I was bunking with my sister-in-law before the wedding while Clifford was rooming with some old friends from high school. Before I knew it, August 31st had arrived. Clifford calls.

Clifford: So…want to maybe go get dinner tonight or something?

Me (knowing full well it was the 31st): Okaaaay. What did you have in mind?

Clifford: I was thinking maybe Aspens (a fancy shmancy restaurant patroned by people like us only for special occasions or, you know, never)

Me: That sounds good. I’ve never been.

Clifford: I know. We’ll go at 8.

So we went to Aspens. It was lovely. Of course I knew what he was up to the entire time. Leave it to Clifford  to leave things till the very last minute because I’m telling you, that deadline was firm. I was as serious as a heart attack when I tossed him that closing date.

We’d made it through almost the entire dinner and he still hadn’t asked me to marry him. You have got to be kidding me. Then he started looking around like people were watching us and without making any eye contact whatsoever, he grabbed my hands in his beneath the table. Finally he looked at me and said he had something to ask me. Here it was. I WAS ABOUT TO GET MY PROPOSAL!!!

His hands kept fidgeting and he had the biggest grin I think I’ve ever seen him wear as he slowly shoved something in my hand and said, “So …I was thinking … maybe … would you want to marry me?”

And though I totally saw this coming all day, I couldn’t help but laugh and smile and say yes. Typical Clifford. Then he shoved my hands away as he said, “Ok. So I did it. Happy now?” Also typical Clifford.

Then he asked, ”Aren’t you going to look at your hands?”

I had actually forgotten he’d put something in them because there was this totally sweet, completely sincere moment being had that like never happens between us. I looked down and it was a box. I opened it and inside was the most beautiful engagement ring I could have possibly asked for. He. Nailed. It. Everything I’d said and pointed to in that jewelry store like two years before, had been heard. It was exactly what I wanted. I knew he had to have sacrificed big time to get it. I teared up. This I did not see coming.  Love that man.

LibandCliff proposal1

Our engagement photos … I know what you’re thinking – they are so happy and beautiful. Oh, young love … blah blah blah

LibandCliff proposal 2

The truth is, we were totally pissed at each other that day. We’d been yelling at one another so loudly they had to have heard us in China, and we continued to do so right up until Jelena (my college buddy, dubs partner and photographer extraordinaire) showed up to take the shots. Fake it till you make it, right? I laugh so hard every time I look at these because clearly pictures can be deceiving. 

To be continued …

facebooktwittergoogle_plusreddittumblr
twitter

My Foray Into Fantasy Football

Where I grew up sports and farming was where it’s at. I’m no farmer. I was more a live-for-those-Friday-night-lights, tailgates, rivalries, whooping and hollering and overall merrymaking at any and all football games. I know I’m a Hoosier, so not liking basketball is like a grizzly bear not liking small children for dinner, but football has always been my preference.

Which means I am super psyched about Fantasy Football. I’ve never played in a Fantasy league before, but I love football. That was the biggest disappointment in attending an art school – there wasn’t a team. And being stuck in the South with SEC lovers, watching games just isn’t the same. Sure, I can appreciate other regions because when you enjoy something, you enjoy it across the board, but again, it’s not quite the same as a Big Ten mashup in my book.

Though I typically take collegiate anything in sports over pro, I’m all in on this one. So I have a team. I am the owner of the Rendezvous Reaganites (formerly the Suburbia Reaganites). Though I prefer playing sports to watching them, there is something intriguing about owning a team, making the trades, deciding who plays – you know, being the Big Cheese. It’s strategy, and a little bit of luck (like Andrew Luck who is my top draft pick, Chelle, and the quarterback you will not have – just saying.) It’s why I prefer doubles to singles now; it’s like a chess match. Well, a chess match that relies entirely on outside forces affecting my team and plan beyond my control such as my players remaining unharmed, making wise decisions of their own accord and not doing anything stupid to ruin the offensive and defensive lines I’ve carefully constructed prior to game day. So not like chess at all really …

Our  league’s draft day is Labor Day. I’m pumped. An entire season of trash talking and winning over other adults in the name of football is truly appealing to me on a number of levels. Let’s hope I get my lineup right.

Do you play Fantasy Football? If you have any tips and tricks, I’ll take them because I fully intend on winning this one for the Gipper.

(all credit to http://gifsgallery.com/ronald+reagan+gif)

                                        My team’s logo.                                         (all credit to http://gifsgallery.com/ronald+reagan+gif)

facebooktwittergoogle_plusreddittumblr
twitter

My Fantasy Football Logo

That’s right. I am joining a Fantasy Football League. I will be the Rendezvous (as in “with destiny”) Reaganites. Details to come …

(all credit to http://gifsgallery.com/ronald+reagan+gif)

(all credit to http://gifsgallery.com/ronald+reagan+gif)

 

facebooktwittergoogle_plusreddittumblr
twitter

Total-Take-Back: Frankie’s Parking Brake

I’m not sure if I really consider this a take-back. More like a probably-shouldn’t-have-done-it kind of moment? It was Christmas break and I was visiting a friend in Boston. I’d flown out for the New Year and then he and I were going to drive from Boston to Chicago and then back down to Savannah for the new semester of school.

Anyone who knows me knows I am all about road trips. I will drive pretty much anywhere given the choice. I don’t mind flying, it’s a control thing. I like having control. That combined with security lines, airport hassles, delays, tarmac waiting, and crying babies in an oxygen deprived confined space makes driving my preferred method of travel, if time allows.

So there we were, Frankie and I, driving cross-country from the North East Coast to the Midwest in the dead of winter. The plan was to take turns driving. Not a problem for yours truly, used to trekking long distances via four door sedans. Although I can’t remember if Frankie’s car was a four door sedan. It was a Kia. Like a 2000 Kia. Did they make four door Kia’s back then? Oh, and it was the size of a matchbox. Regardless it was Frankie’s precious vehicle and likely most prized possession next to his Macintosh computer.

We’d taken off in the evening, planning to drive overnight and miss most of the daytime traffic. It was my turn once we hit New York State. Somewhere near Buffalo, a solid 300 miles of me behind the wheel, is when I realized the parking brake was on. Frankie was fast asleep on the passenger’s side. It was like 2 in the morning. So I did what any person realizing they’re driving with the parking brake on at speeds upwards of 80mph does – I nonchalantly released it. And totally swore to NEVER do it again.  And I didn’t. Till after the rest stop in Pennsylvania… oops.

In my defense, who uses a parking brake to actually park? Especially on a solid flat surface? I never told him what I did. Not really sure he had any parking brake left after I had at it. Probably should have told him …The lesson should be don’t let me drive your car, but really I think we all know it’s never to use your parking brake unless you’re in San Francisco.

facebooktwittergoogle_plusreddittumblr
twitter

Throw-Back-Monday: Back To School

There is nothing like going back to school. It’s a mix of emotions, at least for me it was. There’s the completely disturbing and utterly depressing reality that the summer is officially over. Back to the grind. But then there’s that little bit of excitement about starting anew. Old habits could be left for new vices. Friends that weren’t quite working out can be left to last year. The slate is clean and to be done with as you will. Hope and promise…two of the best concepts in any culture anywhere in the world.

I found my old elementary annuals earlier this summer.

New Paris Elementary School. Now some Bible college, I believe.

New Paris Elementary School. Now some Bible college, I believe.

Continue reading

facebooktwittergoogle_plusreddittumblr
twitter

Clifford & Libby Attend A BBQ

Clifford and I were invited to a BBQ this past weekend. Our standard go-to, well, rather Clifford’s standard go-to, when invited to a social gathering of any kind is “no”. So it is usually up to me to determine the two or three things we will actually attend as a couple throughout the year. I can’t get him to commit to more than that. Of course this year, there will be a fourth because of the whole “dinner with the neighbors/new friends” incident several months back. He owes me for that one.

Back to the BBQ – generally I fly solo but this invite came from a former coworker of Cliff’s. He’s rejected every offer to dine at their house for probably two years. They’d had a third kid for crying out loud since the last time we were there (and that’s at least 9 months and some change in the making). It was time to show up. Continue reading

facebooktwittergoogle_plusreddittumblr
twitter

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BIG BROTHER!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BRO!

A big OLD Birthday shoutout to the best big brother a girl could have! I’m not even going to embarass you with stating exactly how many candles should be burning your cake today, but I will absolutely embarass you with a little throw-back montage.

Adorable back in the day...

Adorable back in the day…

IMG_2220

IMG_1934

IMG_2198

Mark Bday Hat

IMG_2328

IMG_1966

IMG_2015

IMG_1982

 

IMG_2352

IMG_2394

IMG_2397

Look at the fire on that cake!!! And that was EONS ago. Imagine how the fire marshalls must be waiting in the wings these days…

facebooktwittergoogle_plusreddittumblr
twitter


Total-Take-Back: The Miracle Of Childbirth

I admit that when it comes to anything relating to having babies, I am not the go-to for answers. Sadly, Clifford knows more about the miracle of childbirth than I do (which says A. LOT.). I am pretty darn ignorant on the subject. Chalk it up to not really listening in health class and being completely disinterested in babies, the human body, and sometimes science.

So let’s just say, the day I learned vaginal blowouts are an actual thing … yeah, there’s no coming back from that. Ever.

So wrong. So very very wrong.

So wrong. So very very very wrong.

facebooktwittergoogle_plusreddittumblr
twitter

The Music Challenge: Elementary School

So I haven’t added to The Music Challenge and if I don’t continue to do so, I’ll never reach 365 songs by December 31st. The first song for today popped into my head literally out of nowhere this last week and I can’t get it out of my mind.

It took me back to Elementary School. I had to have been in Kindergarten or 1st grade. There was a talent show, I believe. The details surrounding the event are a little hazy. It was definitely a variety show of some sort. I remember this blonde girl who was probably in 5th or 6th grade (she seemed SO much older than me at the time) was going to do a dance performance to this slow sad song. It was beautiful, though. I fell in love with the song at the time — so so 80’s, but that’s ok. The dancer had this gorgeous baby blue costume that was so sparkly and soft and fluid. I could have watched her dance forever. The song was Don’t Cry Out Loud by good old Melissa Manchester – remember her?

Thanks to this memory hitting me hard,  I am adding my top most memorable songs from Elementary School to The Music Challenge. Enjoy.

78. Melissa Machester, Don’t Cry Out Loud (1978)

These next songs were sung by my entire grade at one of those end-of-year concerts the music program has to put on. The theme was Disney and my class was given The Little Mermaid. I remember belting out these two particularly.

79. The Little Mermaid, Under The Sea (1989)

80. The Little Mermaid, Kiss The Girl (1989)

I don’t know what possessed me really, but I tried out for choir in the 5th grade and made it. In their defense, I think they did accept everyone who wanted to join. I somehow did make the elite Double Ten as an alternate, however. The Double Ten were the top twenty singers of the entire choir. They did special performances and competitions if I recall correctly like singing Christmas ditties at the Concord Mall. Granted, there were usually only 25 or so people in choir in all, so making the Double Ten as an alternate probably shouldn’t be as celebrated as the flattering success that it was in my mind. I think our choir director must have had a thing for Bette Midler because we were given Wind Beneath My Wings and this supposedly optimistic one as well …

81. Bette Midler, From A Distance(1990)

Another song stuck in my mind from those choir days is Take These Wings. Once it’s in there, you can’t get it out.

82. Take These Wings(19??)

And last but not least … Can they even play songs like this in school these days???

83. The Cat Came Back (wicked old folk song)

 

facebooktwittergoogle_plusreddittumblr
twitter

Throw-Back-Monday: Willie Nelson’s Golf Course

Have you ever been a part of a story that begins as an amusing tale, morphing into something epic, eventually becoming legendary? It’s almost like telephone. You know the game. One person starts with a word or a phrase, passing it on to the next person’s ear and so on and so forth and by the time the words get passed to the person at the end of the line, it’s developed into something else entirely.

Just like telephone, this story has been told so many times and passed on to so many people, I oftentimes question what is imagined and what is truth, even though I was there. Some of the details have become fuzzy or lost in translation over the years, but it remains that my family did end up on Willie Nelson’s golf course in a station wagon.

We would jest over the years how similar our family’s vacations seemed to those of National Lampoon’s. We even had the same station wagon the Griswold’s drove in Christmas Vacation. I-DENTICAL (said like the lawyer in My Cousin Vinny). Maybe my father was actually named Clark in another life…

We were them. They were us.

We were them. They were us.

We were doing a big vacay to see one of the coolest uncles a girl could ask for – Uncle Don. He lived in Austin, Texas (still does). We drove from New Paris, Indiana to Austin, Texas one sunny July back in the day. I remember sitting in the middle in the backseat, sandwiched between my older sister and my big brother. My younger sister was stuck in the front seat between the folks, and my oldest sister was probably relaxing with friends somewhere in Lafayette thanking her lucky stars she wasn’t crammed into the old Ford Taurus Station Wagon for 22 hours each way.

Fast forward and we arrive in Texas. My uncle is a fantastic host. For the next several days he takes us to The Alamo, to Sea World, to amazing restaurants and whatever else floats a family’s boat on holiday. We loved Texas! Everything really is bigger, including a vacation.

So here’s the thing, my uncle and my father have an interesting dynamic. Though my father is the younger brother, they both have a self-imposed need to know what’s best. They are each always right. Now when you have two different people, it’s impossible for both individuals to always be right. At some point, there will be an impasse. Theirs took place on Willie Nelson’s property.

My uncle was showing us, I don’t know what they were, condominiums, maybe, or townhomes? Attached to a golf course and all owned by Shotgun Neslon. I feel like my mom had all of his cassettes… Needless to say, we were definitely fans and being from a small Podunk town in Nowheresville, we were kids suddenly thisclose to celebrity.

Excited would be an understatement.

Excited would be an understatement.

We were oohing and awing and thinking how totally cool it was that we were driving around Willie Nelson’s parking lot. The men in our car were all golfers, so I think they were doubly impressed with the property for that purpose alone. But all fun things must come to an end, and it was time to move on from our little brush-with-fame detour to head back to the highway. Which brings us to …

This was in the day before Tom Toms and other forms of GPS. My dad and Uncle Don had to consult a map. An honest to God paper map. It was bound. It had pages. Multiple pages. They disagreed with how to get back to the highway. One would think that you’d logically return the way you came. However, logic is out the window when you have a need to be efficient. Oh, and the need to be right.

They went back and forth with one another claiming they each knew a faster route to the highway after digesting the map and triangulating our location. I kept hearing the word “shortcut” thrown out into the conflict-ridden conversational tide that was quickly sweeping over the sandy colored seats of the car.

Finally, a route was decided. With my father behind the wheel and my Uncle playing First Mate, we began to move.

As we left the condominiums behind, we ventured forth into the unknown, never looking back from whence we came.

The shortcut to the highway became narrower, but it was going to be a nice scenic route. There were lush green spaces on either side of the road. Trees overhanging here and there. It was beautiful. And the road continued to narrow making it a lovely and intimate stretch to traverse.

I don’t know who noticed it first, but as a golf cart was coming directly at us on the now barely one-lane road, realization hit somewhere. We were not on a scenic shortcut to the highway. We were on Willie Nelson’s golf course in our station wagon. Like literally on the golf course, or golf cart path if you want to be that guy.

I do remember my dad reversing. I don’t recall us turning around on the green. I had been relegated to the trunk of the station wagon because we were a bit beyond capacity (try crammed like sardines) with Uncle Don added into the mix (because you could get away with stuff like putting a kid in the trunk of a wagon in the 80s), so everything I was getting was second hand. I did see the golf cart as I peered over the backseat, but everything else was a blur. Cue people staring, though. That wasn’t a blur.

Staring hard.

Staring hard.

I feel it’s still being disputed who’s brilliant shortcut it was; neither my father nor my uncle now wanting to lay claim. The particulars have been lost to myth over the years, but the fact that my family had an extraordinary adventure in our little station wagon that could, in a most unexpected way, remains.

 The Red Headed Stranger provided a memory that will last lifetimes and he will never know.

The Red Headed Stranger provided a memory that will last lifetimes.

One of the best vacations we ever had.

 

 

 

facebooktwittergoogle_plusreddittumblr
twitter