FOR SALE

One perfect childhood in New Paris, Indiana.

Every memory was carefully selected and quality crafted. Highlights include a large backyard with sprinkler amusement, capture the flag contests, star gazing, campouts, football pick-ups and lawn mowing thrills, a full basement for hide and seek, a spacious playroom for Barbie’s Dream House and Star Wars schemes, epic ping pong battles and large yet comfortable tornado cover, a lovely den perfect for Commodore computers or long Atari nights, a driveway with the state’s seemingly mandated Hoosier hoop and double car garage for tapping tennis balls till all hours of the night, beautiful trees that capture TP just right, the smells of fresh cut grass and burning fall leaves, and glorious corner rooms that overlook cornfields and back country roads.

Entertain in grand fashion in a living room graced with a wood-burning fireplace for cold winter nights, toasting marshmallows and warming feet, perfectly ornamented by a delicately hand-decorated Christmas Tree to celebrate the holidays in style. The chef’s kitchen is clad for washing dishes, popping corn, making drinks, cooking comfort food, impromptu dance parties and teaching old dogs new tricks. Sliding glass doors in the living area showcase fields of dreams and soft pillowy snow drifts depending on the season while opening up the home to even more light and the smell of fresh made burgers being brought in from the grill.

One dramatic hall on which little girls draw in carefully chosen crayon leads to sibling rooms for game playing and make believe, including a roomy bath equipped for makeup applying, hair crimping and those Calgon moments that take you away. Though the master bedroom is the ultimate retreat for daddy/daughter sports watching and mother/daughter movie marathons complete with beauty makeovers.

Built in 1977 as a home for five that grew to seven, 18844 CR 142 is perfect for those wanting to experience that quintessential piece of Americana on one of the most picturesque streets in the quaint little town of New Paris. If you want to create the best memories in the best place in the best town, look no further. She could be yours, and she won’t last long. Buy her today!

Sprinkler Amusement

Football Pick-Ups and Camping Out

The Hoosier Hoop

Delicately Decorated

Old Dogs, New Tricks

Calgon Moments

Picturesque Street

Quintessential

Piece

Of Americana

I found my old elementary annuals earlier this summer.

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

They were mixed in with some stuff leftover from my parents’ move.  Primary school memories are one thing, but revisiting them through actual imagery is pretty hysterical.

Little Libby in Kindergarten at the start of my public school education. Probably the most innocent I’ve ever looked in my life.

Now I have to preface all of this with the fact that I do understand that elementary is a battleground for a lot of individuals. Not like high school where maybe you weren’t popular or didn’t hang with the crowd you would’ve liked, but you could still maybe find a friend. Flying solo or being the odd duck wasn’t as humiliating as it was in those early formative years on the playground where nothing but fitting in was what was needed to build a healthy self-esteem. There’s no sense of self at that age. There’s no attitude of screw it, I don’t need these people.

And, kids are cruel. I think about the stuff we said and did and it was just plain mean. And I had a fairly good group in my grade. I don’t mean just cruel to each other, either, but cruel to the teachers and staff, too. I remember our art teacher. She was really one of the nicest ladies in a lot of ways. Was she beginning to go bald? Yes. And when you’re 7, 8, 9 and 10 years old (and sadly beyond), you don’t think about how mean it is to make fun of a grown woman who is losing her hair. You don’t understand hormones and menopause and genetics. You see a round older woman with bald patches in her dye job. How is that not funny when you’re that age? I think one of the things I heard was someone put glue in her hair. Rumor or real, I don’t know, but who does that? Kids. Kids do that. And their parents have no clue. We were really no different then to kids today in a lot of ways. It’s the same approach, just a different landing because of the era in which we live. We were bullies. We got bullied. The accessibility may not have been the same, but the intent was identical. Insecurities and influences abounded affecting our behavior as we grew and learned. Just like today.

But for all of that, I have mostly fond memories of elementary school. I didn’t always like my teachers. I didn’t always do what I was told, but I had a lot of fun doing whatever it was I did. One of the cool things about finding the yearbooks was looking back at the people who taught me, helped mold me, and nudged me in some way towards the person I am today.

Mrs. Hopkins! My Kindergarten teacher. Loved this lady. Look at us baby faces saying the Pledge of Allegiance. Do schools still do that today?

Old Mrs. Meyers. The most feared elementary school teacher around. She gave me my first and second detentions ever received … out of two. 

Mrs. Berger! My 2nd grade teacher. She was a total joy and what every elementary school teacher should be. Around The World was my favorite game in her class. Probably the only time I enjoyed math.

Mrs. Sherk was my 3rd grade teacher. I stayed in more recesses writing apologies for stupid things I said or did than I care to admit because of this lady. Her husband was a pilot, though, so that was pretty cool.

Mr. Hornberger … he was the perfect fodder for rotten children’s ignorant sensibilities. From his crazy haircuts, to his feminine mannerisms, he was the butt of many many jokes. But he was actually a wonderful teacher. He taught my mom, so he was kind of an institution.

Mrs. McFarland was my 6th grade teacher. Never met a teacher that played favorites like this one. I remember she tried to convince us one day we were getting a new student with AIDS just to guage our reactions and teach us about prejudices and ignorance. Like what color do we think the student is (to her all white class) and would we share the water fountain with them or if they were cut and bleeding all over the playground would we help them or just let them bleed? In hindsight, her mastertful trickery playing into children’s fears was probably borderline inapporpriate…

One of the funniest things was looking at the labels and practices used back in the day. Most of which you can’t say today without a lawsuit directed your way. For example, my folks used to tell me my kindergarten teacher  said my class had a lot of Chiefs but no Indians. You can’t say things like that anymore.

So here’s a little throw-back to the way things were…

Our principal and also my 5th grade teacher. He chose my year to go back to the classroom before retirement.

Of all the candids they could have used …

And then we have poor Cindy Packer – professional door holder. They couldn’t at least invent some sort of title for her?

I wasn’t “home” for the happiest of situations.  I was home because Joe had passed away. Ruth and Joe are Chelle’s parents. Those of you who read my blog regularly know Chelle’s my best friend in this world.

That’s us. Two besties playing it bad ass at Ruth’s and Joe’s. That’s how we rolled. Still do.

Ruth and Joe were like second parents to me. They were ridiculously supportive in my formative years and beyond. They welcomed me and all of Chelle’s friends into their home asking us to make it our own.  And we did.

The house is down a long gravel lane set back from a country road (for those of you not from these parts – everything is off of a country road). The moment I pulled in, this time in my Acadia in lieu of the old high school Ford Taurus Sedan, I still peeled down the drive like I always did leaving a cloud of white dust in my wake. I remember every time he saw me do it, Joe would say, “There’s Lib. Driving like a bat out of hell.” And yet he still trusted his daughter’s life in my hands as we’d take off for our next big adventure to parts unknown. Ok. They were always known; we were teenagers. So maybe to like the Friday night football game?

Anyway.

I stayed at their house for one night while I was up there. Just walking through the front door brought so many memories rushing back . Maybe some of the furniture had changed, but the feelings the house evoked hadn’t changed at all. I was left alone in it for a little bit, locking things up before the viewing that day.  I took the opportunity to wander around, not knowing when I’d be there again, and smiling as certain moments from events past sprang to mind (For the record, Ruth, I was totally not creeping in your house—  just wandering and reminiscing, NOT CREEPING. I promise!).

Apparently some furniture had stayed the same. I found one of the old couches we used at every get-together. I was surprised we hadn’t completely destroyed it all those years ago.

One of many goofy photo ops on Famous Couch

Just another case in point.

It was still sitting upstairs in the loft. That’s where we would always be – upstairs in the loft. We’d play euchre. We’d watch movies. We’d enjoyed games like Truth or Dare.

A little Twister here and there.

We had slumber parties.

Chelle does have pants on. I swear …???

Superbowl parties. Dinner parties.

Typical bunch of misfits having dinner at the house.

We did makeup and hair…

After my brief stroll down memory lane (in a not creepy way remember), I had stepped outside to let the dogs do their business (one was Chelle’s and one was Ruth’s and Joe’s) . I was promised neither one would run away. Apparently that rule only applies when squirrels aren’t in the picture as I watched, completely mortified, as Ruth’s and Joe’s little sweetheart tore off for one of the speedy rodents across the property towards the open field.  So there I was, running over the lawn in sharp high heels, screaming at the top of my lungs in 25 degree temps, trying to stop him when suddenly all of the nights we spent playing capture the flag hit me, too. We’d don black clothes and divvy up into two teams. We’d run covert ops through the woods and over the grassy knolls with only the moonlight to guide our way… For those still worried about the dog, Barkley did make it back to the house while I was lost in my mind – crisis averted. Thank God!

I remembered bonfires and swimming parties. I remembered teepeeing those woods more than once  and hauling ass with Darewood down that damn gravel drive (we’d park by the country road so we wouldn’t be seen – it’d always seem like a smart idea before we tossed the tissue in the trees, but it became the dumbest idea ever as we sprinted back like half a mile in the middle of the night as if our lives depended on it).

I remembered Chelle’s engagement celebration. I remembered sitting on the back porch sharing a glass of wine with Ruth and Joe.

As much as things feel a bit foreign when I’m back now, Ruth’s and Joe’s house made me feel like I was home again. That feeling wasn’t because of the house they’d built, but because of the love they provided to anyone and everyone who stepped foot inside. I am so lucky and thankful for the Blackburn clan who unconditionally adopted me into their family so many years ago. I would do anything for those people as I know they’d do anything for me. I can never thank them enough.

The Blackburn Clan

I didn’t mean for this post to get so sappy and sentimental as basically every story I have relating to Ruth’s and Joe’s is actually rather crazy, comical, or fun. I was just a bit surprised that day because though I was brought there under sad circumstances, I found my heart wasn’t filled with sadness at all. It was filled with the purest  joy and love as I wandered around reliving those amazing moments we shared. And that’s the way life should be.

For Joe …

I’m not sentimental, but I am nostalgic. I used to keep a lot of things to remember little moments like all of the notes I passed with friends in school (we didn’t have text messages back then, you know, in all of 1996) or the corsage from my sister’s wedding. It’s hard to part with things that remind you of the times you would never take-back.

Luckily I’d read somewhere last year that if you take a picture of an object, the photograph will actually conjure the same memory and feelings the item evokes. I’d say it works. I couldn’t possibly keep all of that stuff, so I took pictures. I created a visual soundtrack to the movie that is my life, or was, in a small town in Northern Indiana. The result has been fantastic. The photos have helped me remember all sorts of cool (and uncool) things.

For instance – my brother and two of my sisters in really cheesy (mega uncool) heart-shaped frames. (c’mon, my sister was selling stuff to raise money for her music program. I had to buy something … it was charity, really … the kids have to sing!)

A clear example of “uncool”. Of course these particular pictures didn’t really add anything to the “cool” department, either.

A can of SPAM from good old Darewood. All the way from the North Carolina on a mission trip I had to miss.

His obsession with SPAM was far beyond the reaches of my understanding – which is like wicked far, by the way.

A ceramic bowl made for me by a Finnish foreign exchange student I became good friends with through tennis back in the day. Marianne was awesome.

Marianne was so talented and the most amazing chick from a faraway place I’d ever met.  Had a killer forehand to boot.

My Elmo phase. (I also had a keychain, a backpack, a toothbrush and several other Elmo-themed things). I still have the original Tickle Me Elmo in my studio.

I can’t explain it, either. He was furry and red and spoke like a baby, yet I was totally mesmerized. Oh, and I was like 17.

A gift my grandfather built. I was a cabbage patch fiend.

So sweet. The cabbage patch girl had my hair!

The first pillow I made. Um … yeah. Sally Home-Maker I am not.

So sad. I wish I could sew.

The wave machine from Spencer’s I’d been dying to own (my brother got it for me for a birthday).

For not really doing much, it was one of the coolest gifts ever.

There are just so many great things I unearthed while cleaning house. It was cathartic, I think. There was really only one WTF moment in the lot. This was that moment.

Creepy paper mache puppet child wizard with a monkey? in his hand.

No, seriously. WTF? Totally disturbing paper mache puppet head with a felt dress. Was it supposed to be a child? A wizard? An evil soul-sucking conjurer with a monkey in his hand? What I was thinking when I created this, the world will never know. Sometimes your memory has gaps for a reason. This is one of those gaps.

Now I realize the simple things, like cleaning out a closet, can become the most unexpected no-take-back of your week. Savor the little stuff. There’s no need to horde. Take pictures. It’s the memory, not the material, that we really want to keep.