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Who is Judy?
Does that date say January 1, 2026? I wasn’t sure that was even possible. I checked my calendar, and yes—it’s correct. Time seems to be moving at warp speed these days.I moved back to Beaver Dam, Wisconsin, in 2014. It has now been twelve years since we returned home. My husband passed away in 2023, so three years have passed since that life-altering moment. This is the sixth “Who Am I?” writing I have done and the final entry in our fifth book featuring Sidetracked Stories.
My life has been a combination of major changes and steady constants. I am still living in Beaver Dam, in the same house, and I enjoy being on the same city block as two of my Sidetracked Sisters. My greatest challenge continues to be adapting to life as a widow. I think about Michael every day and deeply miss our relationship.
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The Jaguar That Went Boom
My husband loved flashy cars. After his Acura died from driving back and forth to Milwaukee every day, he had his eye on a great-looking 2009 Jaguar sedan. It was cherry red and in pristine condition. He drove by the car at a local dealership every day. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He went in and negotiated a deal for his dream car. -
The Carpeting That Killed My Cat
A long, long time ago, I lived in Northern California. All my life, I had enjoyed having pets, but at that point, I was away from home all day, working full-time. It didn’t seem fair to have a dog waiting inside the house alone for so many hours.Around that time, one of my customers stopped by and mentioned that her mama cat had just given birth to a litter of eight kittens. She showed me a picture, eight tiny black kittens nestled together in a big basket, each wearing a little red bow around its neck. I stopped by that afternoon to see them in person and, as you might imagine, fell head over heels in love. They were all solid black, glossy as satin, and completely irresistible.
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Towel Trials
The topic of towels causes me to dig deep into my imagination. Being creative here is almost out of the question. Towels are, after all, the quiet accessories of our bathrooms. Still, they play an important role. With the right colors, patterns, and textures, they can enhance the entire space — complementing the paint, the floors, and even the fixtures. Chosen well, they add warmth and charm. Chosen poorly, they can drain the life out of even the most handsome room. -
The Secret Lives of My Tools
I often say that I don’t clean the house. That isn’t entirely true. What I really mean is that I have a thing about having the right tools at my fingertips so I can get the job done easily.When Michael was alive, he felt he should help clean while I was at work. Each day, he would choose an area to work on. I always thought that was a kind and loving gesture. The only problem was that when I wanted to clean, I couldn’t find my tools. I kept my cleaning supplies in a certain place, rags, brooms, sprays, all together, and by the time I had hunted everything down, my motivation had usually vanished. I was ready to move on to another project.
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Growing Older With Frustration
When I put on an angry face, it’s not because I’m angry. When I put on this face, I am usually frustrated. My greatest frustrations are with myself. I ask myself deprecating questions like: Why am I so clumsy? Why can’t I remember to do this process correctly? How many times do I have to do a thing before I finally do it the right way? More often than not, the person I’m most frustrated with… is me.As I grow older, I find myself bumping into frustration more often than I ever expected. I recently returned to work in the banking profession, a field I’ve known for most of my life. Yet the tasks that once felt instinctive now leave me wondering what on earth has happened to the muscle memory I used to rely on. It’s as if my brain occasionally misplaces its reading glasses and then pretends it never owned a pair.
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Tangled Roots
I moved back to Wisconsin in 2014. My front yard garden was planted with several things I didn’t care for, random choices that felt more like leftovers than a plan. A tall cactus stood awkwardly like an uninvited guest. Nearby, a bush resembled Pampas grass, except it wasn’t. Nothing flowed. Nothing belonged. The whole yard looked as though the plants had been tossed there in a hurry, each one competing for attention without harmony.One day, while wandering the garden center at Fleet Farm, I found a spirea bush I loved. Its name hinted at the warm autumn colors it would show in fall. I brought one home and planted it proudly. My husband adored it instantly and guarded it as if it were a rare treasure. When my sister asked for a cutting, he actually stood on the front porch to ensure she didn’t take more than a polite snippet.
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Disaster Houston Style
In the mid-1970s, I relocated to Houston, Texas. I had never set foot in Texas before. This was my first experience living in a big city, and I found it both intimidating and exciting. I interviewed with several banks and was offered a position with Houston Citizens Bank and Trust, located right in downtown Houston. I was thrilled with myself for landing a job so quickly.After adjusting to the roaches that emerged from the faucets and scurried back into the walls the moment I turned on the kitchen light, I slowly settled into my new surroundings. My biggest challenge, however, was the ever-changing weather.
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The Quiet Side of Wealth
I’ve been a banker most of my adult life. I’ve seen people flaunt their money, living well on the surface. They always seemed to have the means to buy the great house, the fancy car, and all the luxuries that spoke to the world that they were rich.But I’ve also known many wealthy people. They lived comfortably, yes, with lovely homes and nice cars, but more importantly, they woke each morning without the dread that comes from living beyond their means. They had peace. To me, that’s what true wealth looks like.
Wealth is more than money; it’s the ability to live life on your own terms. It’s having enough resources, financial, emotional, spiritual, and relational, to feel secure, generous, and free.
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Was It Fate, or Just a Yes?
When it comes to the idea of our lives being controlled by Fate, I have very mixed emotions. Some of my friends shrug and say, “Stuff happens,” as if life is completely out of their hands. Another one of those phrases is “It is what it is,” again implying that we’re ruled by fate. I’ve always had a hard time with that idea.I believe our consequences come at the end of a process that begins with our thoughts. What we think about shapes how we feel. Those feelings lead to actions, and our actions create results. In Catechism class and Sunday School, I was taught that we’ve been given the gift of free will, the ability to choose our own path. It’s those choices that determine how our lives unfold.
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Kool-Aid on The Rocks
When I was a kid, my mom wasn’t a fan of Kool-Aid. She thought it was nothing but sugar and dye, a shortcut to bad teeth and hyper kids. If we asked for something sweet, she’d say, “There’s always water,” like it was the treat of the century. Every once in a while, though, a few packets of Kool-Aid would sneak into the cupboard, and that felt like rebellion in powder form.I didn’t really fall for Kool-Aid until my mid-teens. Spencer, my boyfriend back then, and I would whip up a pitcher of cherry Kool-Aid and make grilled cheese sandwiches. We’d pour our bright red drinks into glasses, carry everything out to the picnic table in the backyard, and giggle like we were getting away with something.
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Fireplaces, Firepits, and Fond Memories
I love fireplaces in their many shapes and forms. Whether they’re made of stone, brick, or surrounded by polished wood, they seem to say, “Come, sit for a while.” A fireplace is a natural focal point in any home, a gathering place for warmth, reflection, and connection. There’s a special kind of beauty that comes from gazing into the flickering flames and glowing embers. My mind often drifts and dreams as I watch them dance. Faces appear, stories unfold, and before I know it, I’m miles away in thought. It’s a meditation of sorts, quiet, grounding, and endlessly soothing. -
Sunday, Time to Reflect and Reconnect
Sundays have a rhythm all their own. They mark both an ending and a beginning, a soft pause before the rush of another week. Depending on the season, they can be a doorway to something new or a gentle reminder to wrap up what’s unfinished.
When I was working full-time, I’ll admit, Sunday nights were my least favorite. No matter how productive I tried to be, the day always slipped away too quickly. By bedtime, I’d feel that familiar twinge of dread. Monday was waiting, and I wasn’t ready to meet it.
As a kid, Sundays had a very different flavor. The day began with church. I loved getting dressed up and sitting with my mom and sisters, listening to the sermon and wondering how it applied to me. Afterward, we’d change into comfy clothes, and Dad would settle into his red recliner for the “game of the day.” Football, baseball, golf, he loved them all. Before long, his interest would give way to a nap, and we’d hear the familiar sound of soft snores coming from his chair.
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History: From Then to Now
I remember when I was little, I used to hide under my grandmother’s quilting frame and listen to her and the women in our family complain about how expensive everything was. I asked Mom why Grandma liked to make quilts. She said it was too expensive to buy them already made.
I loved our handmade quilts and thought Grandma was wise to know how to do things like make jam and jelly, can fruit, bake bread, and make pies. She learned practical things, and she knew how to save money.
Growing up in the 1950s, my world was filled with hopscotch, saddle shoes, and black-and-white TV. Elvis was everyone’s heartthrob. We were practicing “bomb drills” in our school basement. The fear of “the bomb” was real, even if we didn’t understand it. Moving forward to my grade school years, we used to buy movie tickets at school. They came on a card with perforations. Each ticket cost $.25. The whole card cost three dollars and would allow us to go to the movies every Saturday afternoon for 12 weeks.
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Polish, Parenthood, and Puppies
Fingernails were not an item I paid much attention to as a kid. Many of the other little girls would come to school with their nails painted. I was much more interested in being a tomboy and playing cowboys and indians. In about the fourth grade, we had a teacher who kept a chart on each of us and checked different areas every day. One of the areas she emphasized was hygiene, which included checking our fingernails to ensure they were clean and well-shaped. I always received a negative mark in this category. I also chewed my cuticles until they bled. This didn’t add to a nice-looking nail experience.
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Cat Scratch Fever
Back in the early 1980s, I was invited to participate in a fashion show. The show was being held at a Champagne Winery in the Napa Valley. I lived in the valley and worked for the local bank. The owner of the shop supplying the clothes asked people in different occupations to be guest models. I was excited and pleased to be asked.We met with the store owner and selected several fashionable looks to showcase for the show. I remember I was to wear a cream-colored knit jumpsuit belted with a wide belt featuring a stone buckle. With it, I wore a necklace with a stone matching the buckle. Another item chosen for me was a mohair coat in shades of gold and cream. I would wear it over the jumpsuit.
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Forget the Books, Listen to the Flowers
The flowers I grew up with filled my summers with beauty. My mom made it a point to plant them in different spots around our yard. I loved the moss roses and the geraniums, and the borders lined with white and purple alyssum. Tulips appeared in early spring, but where they came from, how they grew, and where they should be planted was a complete mystery to me.I was the youngest of three girls and considered too little to handle something as important as planting the flowers that made our home beautiful. My sister Sandy always seemed to know what she was doing. I’ll admit it, I was jealous.
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The New Face of Truthfulness
The practice of being truthful has changed. Years ago, being truthful was more about personal character and reputation. Handshakes often sealed a deal. Neighbors, coworkers, and family knew if your words matched your actions. Truth was simple, face-to-face, and rooted in trust.Today, truthfulness feels more complicated. With social media, we are tempted to share a version of ourselves. Information overload makes it harder to separate fact from opinion, and sometimes even the most well-meaning people struggle to know what’s really true. The face-to-face element of being truthful no longer exists.
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Adding Kayaks to the List
When I was a teenager, I loved to go canoeing. We would head out on Beaver Dam Lake as soon as the spring sun warmed the air and work on our tans. It became a ritual for the eight of us each year.At Girl Scout Camp Blackhawk, canoeing was a major activity, and I loved every moment. We spent hours learning how to paddle correctly and steer accurately. Time passed, and after I moved away from home, I never had the chance to continue canoeing or to try kayaking.
When I returned to Wisconsin in 2014, kayaking had become a popular sport in town. There was a rental spot at Waterworks Park and a launching area that made getting in and out of a kayak simple. My sister and I would pass it often on our daily walks and always said, “One day we’ll try it.” But we never did.
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Enthusiasm Makes the Sale
Yesterday, my orthopedic surgeon sold me on something I swore I’d never buy: two new shoulders. And he did it with nothing more than pure, unfiltered enthusiasm.Years ago, when I was trained as a sales trainer, I learned that 85% of any sale comes down to enthusiasm. The same words spoken in a monotone simply won’t get the same results. Yesterday, in that exam room, I got a masterclass in just how true that is.
Several years ago, I began having severe pain in both shoulders. An MRI revealed that my rotator cuffs were irreparably torn. My doctor suggested injections to help manage the pain. The first two rounds, spaced 90 days apart, worked well. But when I went for the third injection, nothing. No relief at all.
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Fighting Exhaustion
Exhaustion has been a constant in my life. Some people know stress. Others know heartbreak. I know exhaustion. For as long as I can remember, I have needed 8–10 hours of sleep to feel refreshed. When I was a toddler, I would often sleep until noon. Mom would wake me up so I could have lunch with my two sisters when they came home from school each day.Going to grade school required a battle to get me out of bed in the morning. I remember my Dad shouting, “I want to hear two feet on the floor,” multiple times before I complied. I recall falling asleep at my desk during my first hour class in both junior and senior high school. I could fall asleep anywhere.
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Driving Inhibitions
Picture this, I was sixteen, just after graduating from high school. Now, when you reach the ripe old age of sixteen, what is the first thing most teenagers are hell bent on doing? Getting their driver’s license, of course. To say I was terrified to attempt this next feat would be an understatement. First of all, I needed a car. The family car was a gift passed down from my dad’s father to my father. This vehicle was also taken out of the garage and used exclusively for personal purposes, as he drove a company car for work. This created a problem as he wouldn’t let anyone drive his beloved garage car, and consequently left me without a vehicle to practice driving on. Thankfully, I had a boyfriend who had a car, a very nice vehicle, I might say, a big black Plymouth (with wings). Since I know very little about cars, I don’t remember what year it was, but it became my wheels during the driver’s license training period.
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Anchors and Safe Harbors
Some anchors are forged in steel; others are made of love, memory, and place.When I think about the anchors in my life, the metaphor naturally expands to include my safe harbors. A safe harbor, for me, is made up of the people and places that ground me, those that keep me steady when life feels uncertain. I am happiest when I am in Wisconsin. Having lived in multiple states, including Iowa, Texas, California, and Colorado, I have felt most at home, most anchored, when I am here.
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Anniversary of Teenage Years
It would have been sixty-three years this year, not to mention the several years of dating before our marriage. We got married on July 6th, 1963, and I swear it was one of the hottest days of the year. -
Sidetracked Anniversary
Thirty years ago, we weren’t writers -we were women with glue guns, glitter, and a dream. The Sidetracked Sisters started as a mom (Sandy), her two daughters (Lisa and me), and her sister (Judy), selling hand-painted crafts in someone’s living room. -
Ocean Shm-ocean
People talk about their first ocean experience like it’s some sort of spiritual rebirth.They say things like, “The vastness made me weep,” or “I finally understood my place in the universe.”
I looked at the ocean and thought, “Cool. But… where’s the pit toilet?”
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Middle School Nightmare
I don’t often remember my dreams. Occasionally, I will take a notebook and set it on my nightstand with a pen to write down snippets of the dream to ponder on later. There is one dream that I have repeatedly. It is the first day of school. I’m in the middle school age group. I’m excited about going back to school after summer break. I enter the school and realize that I haven’t signed up for classes, and I have no idea where to go first. I know I’m supposed to have a locker, but I have no idea where it is. I know that if I can find it, I’ll find the books I need to attend my classes.
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Who is Judy?
The year 2024 began with me feeling like a fish out of water. I was grateful to have my banking background to fall back on, and I truly enjoyed returning to that work. It brought back many memories. There were several areas where my skills were strong—cash handling, customer service, and working with people. The gorilla in the room, frankly, was once again my technical computer skills. I was thankful to be part of a great team, and I did grow in that area, although I still have a ways to go.Living life without my husband, Michael, continued to be difficult. He was a deeply supportive and kind influence in my life, and I am eternally grateful for the thirty-seven years I shared with my soulmate. I am still adapting to cooking for myself. Michael was amazing in this area—he did all the grocery shopping, planned the meals, and cooked wonderful dinners. I was relieved to discover that I remembered how to cook, even though it had been quite a while.