Monthly Archives: April 2014

Hats

I’ve been pondering hats lately. In days gone by, everyone wore hats. Men would don their fedoras to go out for the day, while women would drool over new creations in windows of department stores. I remember an ‘I Love Lucy’ episode where Lucy spent way too much money on a hat and the whole show was about her angst trying to prevent Ricky from finding out. These days, most people only wear them to stay warm or unsquinty from the sunshine.

I love hats. I wish I had the guts to wear one a lot more often than I do. One woman at my church wears one almost every Sunday. She looks beautiful and everyone affectionately calls her the ‘hat lady’. Surprisingly, she is closer to my age than my mom’s, as it’s usually the older set who are church wearers.

Of course, some people look good in hats, while others……not so much. Melissa, the afore-mentioned church goer, looks great, as does my friend, Kristy, who occasionally wears a large, black one to her church. I bought Kenn an Ivy cap for Christmas and he looks great, too.

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And then there’s poor Jonathan. Several years ago, he was getting ready to go out into the cold. I had my back to him as he said, “Ya know, I just don’t look good in hats.” He is a very handsome guy, if I do say so myself, and I replied, “Oh honey, I’m sure you look fine.” Then I turned around. Now we parents are always trying to build our kids’ self esteem up, no matter what. That’s a parent’s duty, isn’t it? Well, I blew it as a mother that day. I laughed so long and so hard, I thought I was going to wet myself. Let me just say, he knew what he was talking about. I won’t include a picture of him, as I don’t want to risk my son disowning me. But two of my other kids, who also don’t look so great in hats, don’t have a choice about me adding pictures of them.

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Judy

What is that old adage? Some people come into your life for a day, some for a season, and some for a lifetime? I lost a lifetimer today.

I met Judy twenty something years ago at Northside Church of Christ, when my family and I relocated from Little Silver, New Jersey to Roswell, Georgia. It was a small church, with very friendly people. We fell in love with it immediately. I had twelve-year-old and two-year-old sons and Judy had an eleven-year-old daughter and a four-year-old son. Our friendship grew over the years, joining bowling leagues (we were one of the worst teams on the league, but we had a blast–we called ourselves the Holy Rollers since we knew each other through church) and doing lunch together. Then Nan, another lifetimer of mine, and Judy joined me in teaching at North Atlanta Preschool and the three of us became the Golden Girls. We took several road trips together, including hometown visits to Signal Mountain, Tennessee, Athens, Alabama, and Orange, Texas. We had so much fun cruising the Caribbean, leaf peeping in New England, and exploring the Outer Banks of North Carolina. We would laugh so hard–usually at something Nan said or did–tears would be rolling down our faces and our sides hurting!

In 2004, Judy was diagnosed with breast cancer. It returned in 2007, then reared it’s ugly head again in 2011. She fought a brave fight and finally lost the battle today.

Judy’s favorite color was green. Her favorite day of the week was Thursday. She loved a good cup of black coffee and occasionally a coke and juicy cheeseburger. She loved long baths, soft pajamas, and socks. She loved looking at maps and enjoyed trivia and card games. She loved washing her hands and had a hard time doing ANYthing without washing her hands first. The thing she loved most in life was her beautiful family. Her four-year-old granddaughters Ellaree and Hadley squealed in delight every time they saw Judy, who they called GaGa Jellybean. Well, actually, GaGa squealed, too, when she saw her beloved ‘little bitties’.

Although she was a quiet woman, she had more friends than anyone I know. I can think of at least a dozen women who could say she was one of their best friends. I remember when I had my ovarian cancer scare, I called her up and, without telling her why, said, “I need you. And pack a bag because I need you to spend the night.” She replied, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The next morning, I was crying and crawled in bed with her. She was cancer free at that time and I asked her, “When do you stop being scared?” “You don’t,” she said. But she comforted me as I cried.

You know, the only way to avoid the heartbreak of losing someone you love is to never love at all. I am so very blessed to have loved Judy and have her love me in return. Goodbye my lifetime friend. I’ll see you again soon!