Tag Archives: nostalgia

One Perfect Childhood For Sale

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

Sprinkler Amusement

Football Pick-Ups and Camping Out

Football Pick-Ups and Camping Out

The Hoosier Hoop

The Hoosier Hoop

Delicately Decorated

Delicately Decorated

Old Dogs, New Tricks

Old Dogs, New Tricks

Calgon Moments

Calgon Moments

Picturesque Street

Picturesque Street

Quintessential

Quintessential

Piece

Piece

Of Americana

Of Americana

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Throw-Back-Monday: High School Graduation

It’s that time of year where graduations are everywhere. High schools and colleges, even pre-schools have graduations now. Actually, pretty much any level of education these days owns the opportunity to recognize individuals making it through another compulsory year of academic trials and tribulations.

Which brings me to my high school graduation. It wasn’t some momentous life-altering occasion where I waxed nostalgic and feared the future. I welcomed my graduation with open arms because of the need to explore what was beyond the confines of my one cop town, not because I actually hated high school.

See, High School and I were fast friends. We had a wonderful relationship. It treated me pretty well and I didn’t complain too much. No real attachment on either side. It was what every casual relationship should be: hassle-free with as little emotional investment as possible.

Me being in a casual relationship with High School.

Me being in a casual relationship with High School. Little emotional investment.

Me teaching how to line dance to the spanish teacher (even though I took German).

A hassle-free moment… me teaching line dancing to our High School Spanish teacher (even though I took German)

It also helped that two of my siblings had blazed a trail of success in their wake. And though that set a rather high academic and behavioral bar that I had no intention of hitting,  it also greased my teachers’ expectations enough to allow me infinite hall passes and a bit more lenience when  I inevitably did or said something stupid. (Thanks, Siblings!) I also kind of had an “in” with the Vice Principal thanks to Darewood (you totally know that’s why we became friends, right?).

Darewood!!! Thank God your dad was the VP.

Oh Darewood!!! Thank God your dad was the VP – the catalyst of our enduring friendship.

But even though we had a pretty great relationship, when it was time for High School and I to part ways, there were no tears to shed or hints of regret eaking in. There was no wallowing in “but these are the best years of my life” moments.  Hell, if the best years of my life were going to be at the ages of 16, 17 or 18, then life has an exceptionally cruel sense of humor.

The bottom line about graduating was that I was ready and elated. It was time to move on and that was exciting to me, not scary and sad. Like I said, I didn’t hate high school. I just used it to my advantage and left it in bed without so much as a phone call the next day. I wasn’t going to miss it like some people (i.e. those still showing up at every home football game in their letter jackets at the age of 23 — you know who you are). And though I thoroughly enjoyed most of the people I went to school with, and firmly believe to this day that I was part of one of the best classes to ever grace the hallowed halls of Fairfield Jr.-Sr. High School, I was totally ready to say good-bye and start the next chapter.

I wanted to love graduation and not be saddened by it. So when it came to prepare for our final bow, I was all in. You only live once. I joined the senior or rather the graduation choir. That’s a big deal for me because I’m tone deaf (which can probably be confirmed by the lucky few who got stuck next to me on the risers at the ceremony). I think the tile in my shower hates me for belting solo renditions of anything Madonna produced in the latter part of the 1980s. But hey, I wanted to partake. I wanted to be a joiner in those last few weeks of school. I tried to have conversations with people that I normally didn’t get to have a conversation with. I thanked my teachers. I put my affairs in order and participated to the best of my ability.

I don’t remember too much about the actual event. I do remember sitting on uncomfortable folding chairs in the middle of the gym floor for a really long time while whoever spouted whatever cliché insights should be spouted to 18 year olds about to attack the big White Whale we call adulthood.

I remember the senior choir getting to sing some Green Day, which was a pretty big feat in 1998 in the rural uber conservative parts of Northern Indiana. Kudos to whichever classmates got approval for that one.

I do remember shaking our principal’s hand for the last time.

Look at that. total freedom just minutes away from this moment.

So this was totally rehearsed btw.

The most memorable and laughable moment by far was when our entire class was forced to stand and face our friends and families, taking the lyrics of Friends Are Friends Forever that had been carefully placed on our seats, to croon the sickly schmaltzy song whilst holding onto our neighbor like it was a Hands Across America repeat performance.

Yep, singing to the very friends and family who had already sat through a rather painful hour and a half of pomp and circumstance only to be serenaded by eighty-odd off-key teens taking the sentimental diddy to a whole other level of unacceptable. People cried. No, they ugly cried. It’s like our school and Michael W. Smith conspired to move the audience and graduates to feel the feels they had at the end of Schindler’s List all over again. So wrong on so many levels.

However, I didn’t cry. I smiled wider than ever before as I sang each cheesy word knowing this was the last thing the institution was ever going to be able to make me do. I found our nice casual relationship was suddenly bordering on Clingy Ex territory. It just didn’t seem like it was going to let go, and then finally, it did. It was over and people were still ugly crying but they were hugging and wishing each other well.

That was the last day I saw a fair amount of my classmates. Some of them I’d been to school with since Kindergarten, but it was ok. I enjoyed them while they were there, while we shared classes together, hit puberty together, failed miserably at magazine sales together and we were all going to take that next big step onto something greater than high school together.

All 80 something of us in our cap and gown glory. The Fairfield Jr.-Sr. class of 1998.

All 80 something of us in our cap and gown glory. The Fairfield Jr.-Sr. class of 1998

Experiences like graduation shouldn’t make us sad about what’s ending. They should make us thrilled about what’s to come. 17 years later hasn’t changed my view on that whatsoever. Enjoy it while you’ve got it and happily move on when it’s time to go.

So, what was your high school graduation experience like?

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Throw-Back-Monday: I Liked English Class

My parents moved down here to Atlanta maybe seven or eight months ago. With a move like that, I find myself constantly unearthing little mementos of days gone by whenever they hand me a box labelled Libby. Of course most of these keepsakes are related to my high school years.  These tiny tokens of nostalgia remind me of where I came from and who I was maybe 17 or 18 long years ago. I remember interests I’ve long since forgotten, friends that were close to me that I haven’t spoken to since graduation, teachers I adored and hated, things that I thought were SO important and seem so silly now. Is this how people feel at their 20 year reunions?

Today I found an essay I wrote for Mr. Harvey’s College English class. Oh, how I loved Mr. Harvey! I think any student that appreciated real wit and dry humor loved Mr. Harvey. He could be a true task master, but he was awesome, too. He’s one of the teachers that I actually appreciated while I was in his class.

I completely forgot how much I loved English. It was one of my favorite subjects – even the grammar segments had my heart. Yes, I was the tennis playing art geek in my formative years, but I had other pursuits and hobbies, too, and finding that essay reminded me of them.

I read the composition and laughed at how terribly written it is on so many levels (though I did snag an A which was no easy feat with Harvey’s standards). I mean I used commas as much as Elaine used exclamation points. I laughed because it’s just so funny glimpsing at my 17 year old voice as it emerges from the pages. It’s hilarious because now I have a blog and others actually read what I write regularly. I think Mr. Harvey might be pretty proud of that, though he’d be cringing at my horrendous use of grammar (or lack-there-of) in all of my posts.

It’s a good thing to be reminded of what we enjoyed in our younger years. It brings a freshness to the soul.

So for today’s throw-back, I thought I would share with you my 17 year old self as it desperately struggled to construct a piece of creative writing (I think it was a 2000 word minimum) requested by one of the toughest and best teachers on Earth. I typed it below (took me like two hours to do it) Read at the risk of engaging in poor writing choices.

Here’s to remembering other passions we once held dear and to you, Mr. Harvey – wherever you are …

That's right. This girl got that grade. Thanks, Mr. Harvey!

That’s right. This girl got that grade. Thank you, Mr. Harvey!

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