Tag Archives: lamb roast

The 10 Year Anniversary

Ten years ago today, I wed Clifford Stanislas Geiselmayr in a little white church at the bottom of a mountain near Gatlinburg, Tennessee. It was probably the best weekend of my life and not just because I was marrying that silly South African I met the second day of orientation, but because I was surrounded by love, not just Clifford’s, but our families’ and our friends’ as well.

I wanted to write this amazing post dedicated to our day, divulging every detail, but words really can’t articulate what I want to say. When I think back to that weekend and our wedding day, my heart just fills – with what? I can’t really explain. It just fills

I thank God for my now brother-in-law who documented the whole weekend because it was such a whirlwind that when it was all over, I couldn’t remember much at all. Thanks to him, I have proof that it wasn’t a dream. And pictures do say what words can’t convey.

So with that said, I’m going to give you the Cliffs Notes version of events. It’s the version that my Cliff would prefer anyway.

There was a rehearsal.

The rehearsal was short and sweet.

The rehearsal was short and to the point.

There was a rehearsal dinner. With a lamb roast. It was an all day affair.

Preparing the lamb.

Preparing the lamb.

The lamb roasting.

The lamb roasting.

The lamb still roasting.

The lamb still roasting.

The lamb finally done.

The lamb finally done.

The best wedding gift ever!!! My Stylist Extraordinaire gracing us with an acaplla version of Sweet Transvestite. Love this man!

And then this happened. The best wedding gift ever!!! My Stylist Extraordinaire gracing us with an acaplla version of Sweet Transvestite. Love this man!

The Big Day.

My amazing mother-in-law the morning of the big day.

My amazing mother-in-law the morning of.

Chelle mentally preparing for her speech that night.

Chelle mentally preparing for her speech that night.

Two beautiful sisters preparing to decorate.

Two beautiful sisters preparing to decorate.

Getting Ready.

Getting ready to get ready.

Getting ready to get ready.

Still have a phone glued to my ear.

Still have a phone glued to my ear.

Makeup check.

Makeup check with my sister-in-law.

I'm a sucker for suspenders and he knows it.

I’m a sucker for suspenders and he knows it.

My mom and grandmother and one of my nephews ready for the big event.

My mom and grandmother and one of my nephews ready for the big event.

Best brother ever being my bitch for the day.

Best brother ever being my bitch for the day.

Stranded and forgotten on the mountain top. Saved by my father-in-law. Late to my own wedding.

Saved the day. Hauled ass up the mountain to grab my girls and me to take us to the church wearing his tux and some tennis shoes. Couldn't ask for a better father-in-law.

Saved the day. Hauled ass up the mountain to grab my girls and me to take us to the church wearing his tux and some tennis shoes. Couldn’t ask for a better father-in-law.

He can wear a suit. The man can definitely wear a suit.

He can wear a suit. The man can definitely wear a suit.

Walking down the aisle with my dad. One of my favorite photos ever.

Walking down the aisle with my dad. One of my favorite photos.

The shortest ceremony in all Creation. (it was seriously like 10 minutes in all – there were witnesses and I’m sure my dad was looking at his watch, so he can probably verify it. It’s fine, the preacher had to get to a Tennessee game anyway. He had season tickets.)

Done. This is where the flute blasted This Will Be (An Everlasting Love). Yeah ...

Done. This is where the flute blasted This Will Be (An Everlasting Love). Yeah … the flute.

So it happened. The wedding party was thrilled …

10 minutes that have lasted 10 years.

10 minutes that have lasted 10 years.

I think we were in the middle of the road here ...

I think we were in the middle of the road here … fake laughing or something?

Yep.

Dudes being dudes.

My gorgeous sister-in-law.

My gorgeous sister-in-law.

Then we had the reception back at the lodge. The top floor for dancing, the main floor for food and the bottom floor for football. No matter your interest, there was something for you. So we ate, and we laughed, and mingled. Then it was time to cut the cake.

Now I’m going to pause for a second in my visual narrative because the cake cutting really shouldn’t be a Cliff Note.

It was time to cut the cake and feed each other. It’s tradition. Clifford was totally adorable. He was smiling so much and just so full of joy (which is not a thing ANYONE would EVER accuse my husband of being). He knew nothing about feeding the cake to each other. Every little thing about getting married was totally new to him. Bless his heart …

We cut the cake together and he carved out a small piece to feed me first. It was one of the sweetest moments I have ever shared with Cliff. Anyone that knows him, knows he’s not one for sentimentality, or feelings, or caring about anything in general really, but this moment he was so engaged and so happy. I loved it. I absolutely loved it. I ate the cake he fed me, smiling back at him adoringly. He looked down at me all starry eyed and glowing. Then he opened his mouth for me to feed him in return.

Now, I readily admit I am probably a very wretched wretched human being for what I was about to do, but I’d made a promise to myself when I was a girl that no matter who I married, this was going to happen. So know that if I’d married you, I would have done the same damn thing.

I took the cake and held it up to him. He leaned in … then I smashed it in his face. And then I smeared it all around after I smashed it. Clifford was STUNNED. He just looked at me with the most stricken expression I’d probably ever seen him wear. Everyone was laughing. After a moment, he laughed, too, but he kept giving me a look like what the hell? He never saw it coming. It was priceless. But because I love him, I leaned up and kissed him, getting it on my face, too.

So beautiful.

So beautiful.

So sweet.

So sweet.

So naive.

So naive.

I think the part that sealed it for me was when we were cleaning our faces in the bathroom. There was purple icing everywhere (I was going through a purple phase – don’t judge). As we were wiping things down, Clifford looked at me. He’s only given me sad puppy dog eyes once in my life and this was it. The saddest, most pathetic puppiest of puppy eyes were on me as he said, in his little South African accent, “Why would you do that to me? I don’t understand.” I just can’t with this one!

I started laughing all over again. He looked even more confused. I explained to him it’s a thing. It’s a tradition to feed the cake and shove it in their face. I watched his eyes as he was trying to process what I was saying and then as understanding set in. “Oh.” He began to laugh. Then he laughed harder.

Clifford, suddenly not laughing:  “But wait, then why did I go first? Because I didn’t know…”

Me: “Because you didn’t know.”

Continuing on with the abridged version of events.

Chelle smoaking hot.

Chelle smoaking hot after giving a great speech.

Darewood being Darewood.

Darewood being Darewood.

Our first and only dance. Ever.

Our first and only dance. Ever.

My Stylist Extraordinaire once again demonstrating how he is seriously the coolest Cat I know.

My Stylist Extraordinaire once again demonstrating how he is seriously the coolest Cat I know.

Did I mention Stylist Extraordinaire may have had a DANCE OFF with my dad? …. Yeah. They did – and to all who know my dad, seriously, they did.

Two words - Dance. Off. It was real. This is evidence.

One word: Evidence

The only drink I had all day. I know, right?

The only drink I had all day. I know, right? And there was an abundance of booze, let me tell you.

Living it up.

Dancing? Singing? I don’t know, but having one hell of a good time.

Did I mention my dad looking at his watch? PROOF!

Did I mention my dad looking at his watch? Always with the watch.

It had finally come to an end. My last memory of our wedding reception was walking to Chelle’s cabin with my husband in tow. We were staying there for the night. As we peered through the sliding glass doors to the bottom level of the lodge. There was my father, Clifford’s father, and my uncle opening another bottle of wine. It was 3AM.

Just add my father-in-law to this exact scene and that was 3AM on my wedding night.

Just add my father-in-law to this exact scene and that was 3AM on my wedding night.

And that’s what happened ten years ago today. I love you Clifford Stanislas Geiselmayr.

That moment.

That moment everyone should have.

 

 

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Throw-Back-Monday: A South African Brai

It was … a while ago. My future sister-in-law was graduating high school. The one thing I was quickly learning as I became more attached to the Geiselmayr Clan was they knew how to throw a party. With a family composed of South Africans, an Austrian and a Pole, how could they not know how to throw a party?

Yup. They know how to party.

Yup. They know how to party.

Their big thing? A good old brai (or barbecue).  But not in the sweet-tea-on-the-side-Southern-BBQ kind of way.  A South African brai is essentially a meat roast of epic proportions and the preferred protein for this family for this event was lamb.

I had never had lamb. Yes, they have the Lamb Barn at the county fair where they sell lamb burgers and the like, but I don’t eat burgers, and lamb never stuck out as a must -have meat moment in my book.

In preparation of my future sister-in-law’s big day, I was tasked with assisting my future mother in-law and her in picking up the animal to be sacrificed for the sake of celebration (…and nourishment of our bodies???). Now mind you, I was maybe 19 or 20 years old at best. My experience in grocery shopping was very limited at this point in time. So when we showed up at Harry’s Farmer’s Market to get the lamb, I hadn’t really wrapped my brain around the idea that it was a whole lamb. Why not? I don’t know. I mean I’d been to hog roasts in my youth, but for some reason as the butcher brought forth the deceased swathed in white paper, I was a bit jarred. The lamb was easily the size of a small child. With its legs bound, sticking out forward and in back, I remember thinking, “this is how those movies start.”

After many stares from passersby and making it through the check-out line without incident, we headed to my future sister-in-law’s silver Volvo. We struggled with where to put the not so little guy. It wasn’t going to sit in the back seat with me – that was for damn sure. We had no rope or string or anything that could secure him to the roof (do people actually secure dead meat to the roof?), so the only real option was the trunk.

However, he didn’t quite fit in the trunk. So we carefully tried to make him fit.

But ultimately carefully lost to violently.

Very Violently ...

Very Violently …

And then we were off. Making the twenty minute trek back home.

I remember laughing and chatting about the party. What we needed to do, how heavy the lamb was, would the homemade rotisserie hold it … we talked about guests arriving and then the next few moments were a blur. My future sister-in-law took a left turn onto the highway. I don’t know that it was the sharpest turn I’ve ever taken, but it was enough to shift the beast sitting in back from its (in hindsight) rather precariously stowed position to another … on the highway.

It looked like a dead body had just dropped from the back of her boot.  Cars began swerving, yet they kept going. No one stopped. Now if I was behind a Volvo, or any motorized anything for that matter, that looked like it just tossed a corpse from its trunk, I’d like to think I’d pull over and I don’t know, investigate the situation further. Perhaps call the cops? But that must just be me because these drivers kept on trucking.

My future sister-in-law hastened her way to the next available u-turn allowing us to circle back and retrieve the cadaver from the road. She pulled over, but traffic wouldn’t stop. What is wrong with these people? Wrapped in the paper with its legs sticking out, the lamb LOOKED LIKE A DEAD BODY!!!??!!!

Anyway, my future in-laws exited the car while I sat staring in my pajamas in the back seat being pretty useless and contributing nothing. Did I forget to mention I was in my pajamas? This was supposed to be a quick early AM trip, and remember, I was a college student. Casual was the order of the day.

What? It made sense at the time.

What? It made sense at the time.

A truck finally pulled over behind us. A man hopped out, willing to help retrieve the carcass from the middle of the bustling roadway. You know, the carcass that actually looked like a dead human being haphazardly wrapped in torn butcher paper while getting plowed by cars and trucks left, right, and center.

After the lamb was retrieved from the highway, the man was kind enough to help toss it back in the trunk. For some reason, maybe because of the unexpected vehicular tenderization, he fit in the trunk a lot better this time around.

Much better.

Much better.

Oh, and yes, it totally looked like we were shoving a dead body into the back of her car once again. This time, not in the privacy of Harry’s parking lot, but in the great wide open for all the world to see. Nobody blinked an eye. Wow.

We got back to the house and unloaded that night’s dinner. I remember Clifford emerging from the garage to come and grab the lamb to prep it for the brai. He took a look at the mangled mass lying in the trunk and then looked at us as if we’d each grown three heads. We played it cool at first, like the butcher just sold it to us like that and nothing was out of the norm. Then Clifford saw the skid marks. The skid marks sold us out. Clifford was went from this …

Mildly frustrated.

Mildly frustrated.

To this …

Disappointed and angry.

Disappointed and angry.

To this …

Like pretty livid and weird.

Like pretty freaking livid.

We tried to explain what happened. Then we tried to add the positive spin that, you know, the meat might have a little more earthy goodness to its flavor, it was definitely tender now … and we assured him the heat would cook off the skid marks eventually. This was his response …

He didn't want to hear it.

He didn’t want to hear it.

He didn’t buy it. I don’t blame him. He jerry-rigged the ribs back in place so it could rotate on the spit properly. But for what it’s worth, 12 hours later, that was some of the tastiest roadkill I think one could ever have.

For those of you who attended that party, you know what I’m saying.

That's right.

Yeah, that’s right.

 

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