If we had only known...
Papa's clock
Alan C. Libby In Memory Those of you who knew Alan Libby know that he had a personality that would fill the room. Wherever he was, the room was loud and filled with energy and laughter- even though, at times you ended up being the punch line- but always followed by him playfully teasing, “I jest, I jest.” It was not uncommon for him to pull strangers into our conversations- sometimes to convince him to take HIS side of an “argument” we were having, but sometimes he would call them over simply to ask them an embarrassing and at times, somewhat inappropriate question for a total stranger to be asking. These interactions would make you want to shrink away and pretend you weren't part of the group. But somehow, no matter how embarrassing the question, he would get away with it (well, most of the time, at least.) I’m pretty sure it was the glint in his eye. He was a great story teller- though at times it was hard to know how much was embellished. His stories would come to life as he would tell them. Some people use their hands to talk- he used his whole body to tell a story- each expression and movement became a part of the tale he was crafting. (Don’t burn me papa, Don’t burn me!) Even his emails could pull you in as he would relay a comical story that had happened in his life that day. He had a passion was fishing and being on or near the ocean. His fish tales grew and grew with each telling. It didn’t even matter that he was literally sitting under said barracuda in the story, that is now stuffed and mounted above his doorway; according to his fish tale, the fish rivaled Ernest Hemmingway’s tale “The Old Man and the Sea”. He enjoyed his time being a part of the fishing club in Florida- often talking about how he would someday have his very own fishing boat so he could take us any time we wanted. He never did get his fishing boat but the community and friendships the fishing club brought into his life were more important to him. He was a master “Re-gifter" even surpassing Tim Whatley on Seinfeld. Quitely, redistributing his own gifts to new family members he thought would appreciate them more, or more likely, just wouldn’t notice the recycled gift. That is, until THAT year at the family Christmas gift exchange when he gifted a gift back to the original gifter and decided the stakes were just too high to continue this tradition. Instead he would let you know if your gift made the cut or was destined to be returned. Truth is, he was a bit of a minimalist and just didn't want all the clutter. Except Fifi, who became a beloved member of his household, it was rare to find a gift that he would get excited about. (For those of you that didn’t have the privilege of meeting Fifi, she was not a pet, but the Roomba vacuum that would faithfully flit around the house tidying up. My mother still brags about this Christmas gift) He loved the card game "Oh Hell"- and he insisted on calling it that despite my mothers plea's to use the "clean" name of "Up and down the River". To which she would slap his shoulder and he would in turn give an overly dramatic shocked look to everyone in the room playing the victim and feigning a complete lack of responsibility for the whole interaction. His favorite night of the week was Cards night when all his friends and neighbors would come over to eat and play cards. He always insisted on being the score keeper, because, according to him, "the score keeper always wins". There are some that speculate there may have been some shady business going on behind the scorekeepers pen- but he denied it adamantly. He was a man who believed you should work hard for what you had... but, he also appreciated the power of grace and wanted to make sure his family was cared for- even if that meant paying the speeding ticket that his broke college student grand daughter deservingly received on her way down to stay with him for spring break. He hugged me and cautioned me to slow down as he slipped the cash into my purse. (I never told him that I was stopped for speeding on the drive back up to college as well- and earning another well deserved ticket.) If you ever went to visit him in Florida, you would find your time there was planned down to the minute and chock full of fun activities... a plan A, a plan B, and sometimes a plan C and D- just in case plan A and B didn't work out. Each plan involved a relaxing day at the beach in it somewhere because that was his happy place: just sitting in a beach chair with his toes in the sand doing a crossword puzzle. But don't plan on staying too long. He unapologetically would quote Benjamin Franklin and say "company is like fish, you begin to stink after 3 days" (so he paraphrased a little) and you knew it was time to move onto your next adventure:) He was proud of his family- don't let the fact that all family photos lived in the garage fool you. For Christmas, he would strive to find a family activity he could gift us that would allow us to spend family time together. Prior to Covid, our annual Train rides to the North pole to see Santa was our highly anticipated family gift, which has now become a tradition and will live on in the memories of my children for many more Christmases to come. I was lucky that my grandfather was able to live a full 85 years before losing him unexpectedly that Friday morning. I praise God that my mother and I were able to be there with him as he passed peacefully into the long sleep. I will miss his boisterous voice and laughter provoking a chain reaction of smiles around the room at all our family events. I grieve the fact that my children will never know this man I loved. But I am happy that he was independent to the end. His worst fear was to be unable to care for himself and be sent to a nursing home. In loving memory of Alan C. Libby, For those who knew Alan Libby, his presence was a force that could fill any room. Wherever he went, laughter and energy followed him, even if, at times, you found yourself as the punch line. Yet, it was always accompanied by his playful teasing, "I jest, I jest." He had a knack for pulling strangers into our conversations, either to champion his side in an argument or simply to ask them an embarrassing and sometimes inappropriate question. Despite the potential discomfort, he had a way of getting away with it, likely due to the glint in his eye. He was a captivating storyteller, although it was often tricky to discern the extent of embellishment in his tales. His stories came alive with each telling, his whole body becoming part of the narrative. (Remember, "Don’t burn me papa, Don’t burn me!") Even his emails could enthrall, relaying comical incidents from his day-to-day life. His true passion lay in fishing and being near the ocean. His fish tales grew more extravagant with each retelling. It hardly mattered that he was actually seated under the barracuda now mounted above his doorway; according to his stories, that fish rivaled Ernest Hemingway's "The Old Man and the Sea." While he never acquired his own fishing boat, the community and friendships from the fishing club in Florida meant more to him. He mastered the art of "re-gifting," surpassing even Tim Whatley from Seinfeld. He quietly redistributed his gifts to new family members or, more likely, those who wouldn't notice the recycled present. However, a memorable incident at a family Christmas gift exchange prompted him to discontinue this tradition. He'd inform you if your gift made the cut or was destined for return. He was a minimalist at heart, except for Fifi - not a pet, but the beloved Roomba vacuum he received as a Christmas gift, a source of ongoing praise from my mother. His favorite card game was "Oh Hell," a name he adamantly stuck to despite my mother's pleas for the cleaner alternative, "Up and down the River." His weekly Cards night was the highlight, with friends and neighbors gathering to eat and play cards. He always insisted on being the scorekeeper, believing "the scorekeeper always wins." While some speculated about shady dealings behind his scorekeeping, he staunchly denied any wrongdoing. He held strong beliefs about hard work and grace, ensuring his family was cared for, even if it meant paying the speeding ticket his broke college student granddaughter deservedly received on her way to spend spring break with him. He hugged me, slipped cash into my purse while cautioning me to slow down. (Little did he know, I earned another well-deserved ticket on my drive back to college.) Visiting him in Florida meant a meticulously planned itinerary packed with activities – Plan A, Plan B, sometimes even Plans C and D, all involving a relaxing beach day, his happy place: sitting in a beach chair, toes in the sand, engrossed in a crossword puzzle. But don't overstay – he unabashedly quoted Benjamin Franklin: "Company is like fish; you begin to stink after three days" (paraphrased slightly), signaling it was time for the next adventure. Though family photos resided in the garage, he took immense pride in his family. For Christmas, he sought family activities to gift us, creating cherished memories like our annual train rides to the North Pole to see Santa, now a tradition living on in my children's memories for many more Christmases to come. I was fortunate to have my grandfather in my life for a fulfilling 85 years before his unexpected passing one Friday morning. I thank God that my mother and I were by his side as he peacefully slipped away. I'll miss his booming voice and laughter, sparking smiles at all our family events. I mourn that my children will never know this man I cherished. Yet, I find solace in his independence to the end. His greatest fear was losing self-care and being sent to a nursing home. After I married, I received a surprising wedding gift from him – a beautiful pendulum wall clock. It has accompanied me through every move, a cherished addition to our home. Each time I wind it, I remember him and how he orchestrated me perched precariously on a stool. Only after his passing did Doris reveal his true intention: "No matter where she is, each time she winds the clock, she will think of me." For now, the clock sits silently. I've not found the emotional strength to hear it chime, but I know that every time I climb onto that stool, I'll fondly remember the man who sent it to me, ensuring I always have something to remind me of him in my home.
