The Turkey’s Going Flat

I’m still working on the new blog. With Larry’s input, I have decided on a new theme and layout. Alli helped me come up with a new name. I can’t describe the way we think and brainstorm together. If I shared the messages that went back and forth between us on this name game, someone would have us both committed.

Thanksgiving is here again ! This will be the first time in twelve years that we are not hosting my family and our friends. Alli is studying abroad in Paris this semester. My brother’s family has grown.  Dad has a hard time getting my mother out of bed before early afternoon. It just feels like a good time to take a break.

Thanksgiving, 2013 will be a quiet day with just the two of us. We will cook together, have great philosophical conversation and hot adult beverages around the chiminea, and against all my previous rules concerning no decorating before Thanksgiving, we will begin our holiday decorating.

I really can’t believe what a rebel I’m being this year. Not only are we not hosting Thanksgiving, we are also going to be putting up our first, ever fake Christmas tree. More on that later.

I hope to have my new blog up and running by next week. You’ll be the first to know!

Happy Thanksgiving. I’m grateful for you, my readers.

Libby Lu


The State of the Union

28 years ago we were told that we stood only about a fifty percent chance of staying married.

This grim statistic was given to us by a preacher during a mandatory counseling session  a few weeks before our wedding.

He was doing what he was supposed to do, just making sure that we were serious about our decision to spend the rest of our lives together.

But, in all honesty, if we had any doubt at all about our relationship we would have run from that place and each other. He scared us to death!

The odds really were against us.

Engagement photo by Dad – February 1984

But Larry is my best friend, and we knew different.

So, on September 15th, 1984 – a beautiful day in Nashville, surrounded by our friends and family, we were married.

And as usual, there was humor.

First off, Dad and I planned something funny that was our little secret.

During the rehearsal before he walked me down the aisle, we both put on our Groucho Marx noses.

Everyone, including the preacher almost fell on the floor with laughter.

That night, we went home to a phone message from our cake baker that the wedding cake, which was only supposed to have a light tinge of blue, had turned out “a little darker than expected.”

But really, people. Who has a blue wedding cake?

Overnight, one or more of my bridesmaids (No names mentioned, A.S.M.) changed the church sign out front to read,

Crew begins here, today

The day of the ceremony, my mother arrived with a friend leading her into the dressing room like a blind woman. Her head was back and she was holding a wad of tissues on her face.

She was having her first ever nosebleed.

While we were all getting ready, my Mom was sitting in a chair staring at the ceiling, tissues on her face and shaking with laughter. The thought of that now, just cracks me up.

My brother John, and his family arrived for the event in a police car. (Fortunately this time it was only because his car had broken down.)

I loved my wedding dress. It was layer upon layer of lace over a hoop skirt. I looked like a giant white bell.

No, not a belle, but a ding-a-ling bell.

Of course, I had to visit the ladies room about the time I got that thing zipped.

Let me just say that wrestling that hoop skirt in the bathroom stall was an experience. I was laughing out loud at the situation and was very thankful I was alone.

And last, but not least, I tried to marry my Dad.

Not really, but I had a minor case of nerves and when he walked me up the aisle, and with a strong grip on his arm, we bypassed the wedding party and I drug him right on up to the altar.

The Preacher Man, trying not to make a huge deal of our mistake, nodded his head toward where we had come from, and without moving his lips in pure ventriloquist style, whispered, “You need to go back.”

Okay, stairs were involved.

My dress was huge.

There was no way I could go back without taking the candles, the greenery and possibly the maid of honor with me.  And I’m pretty sure I would not have landed on my feet. And oh Lordy that hoop skirt would have gone over my head!

It’s true, I thought of that whole scenario in about two seconds flat before trying the ventriloquist thing myself and whispering to preacher man, “NOT in this dress!”

Preacher Man then nodded to Dad and whispered, “You go now” and then motioned to the best man, my brother, and the maid and matron of honor to join us at the altar.

The good part is that only the wedding party knew we had a major “train wreck” up there.

Oh, and guess who cried during the ceremony? My big brother, Gary. Bless him. Just look at him in this photo. (far right)  He’s looking off into the choir loft trying not to come undone.

Our reception was held in my hometown of Goodlettsville, at one of our favorite parks at the historic Bowen Campbell House. It was a wonderful reunion of our loved ones, with perfect weather and music…

And, a very blue cake which totally clashed with the tablecloth.

no words…

The next morning, when Larry found out that our limousine ride from the hotel to the airport would not be just the two of us, but that we had to share the ride with a Mr. Post, he was infuriated.

“Who is this Mr. Post?” he grumbled.

It was just a ride to the airport, but he had planned it out so well, and now we had a third wheel.

When Mr. Post joined us in the limo, Larry’s face lit up.

He whispered, “That’s MIKE Post, the composer!”

The trip to the airport was spent with Larry and Mr. Post talking shop.

As you know, we never do anything in a normal fashion.

But, we’re living happily even after. (No, that’s not a typo.)

Recently Alli asked me a few questions about marriage. It’s so odd that she is old enough to think of adult matters.She wanted to know if you grow apart the longer you are married, or if you get closer.

I told her that you get closer. You go through so much in a life together that the difficult times may seem to break you down, and pull you apart for a while. But you always come to the realization that this mate, this one person shares this union with you. In order to get through the low times, you have to be there for each other. In helping each other through a tough time, you grow even closer.

Always address the union.

For those of you who have found love, hold on tight to this treasure. For those of you who are looking for your soul mate, enjoy the search.

Happy Anniversary, Sweetbuns!

-Libby Lu