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Judy's House

Judy

Hello Everybody, and Welcome to Judy's House.

It started innocently enough.  My 85-year-old mother asked me to drive her to the supermarket one day.  The parking lot was jam-packed.  As I started to circle about to look for an available parking spot, my mother said, "Don't worry, dear.  Let's use this..." and she proceeded to take out the most magnificent item from her pocketbook.  It was a valid "handicapped parking" sticker!  It glowed like the Holy Grail as Mom placed it atop my car's dashboard.   Viola!  I slipped effortlessly into the BEST SPOT IN THE LOT!  The joy I felt was immeasurable!  After dropping Mom off at her house that evening, I realized that I forgot (as did she) to return the valuable sticker to her handbag. That's when the trouble began...

The next day I was off to the races, or more appropriately the malls, outlets and specialty shops.  ZIP!  I was in and out of each establishment in record time.  What I saved in time and frustration was unequaled.  I was not unlike a low-flying bird, swooping and navigating each parking lot with incredible grace and ease...

Day Three.  To "cover my tracks" I purchased a cane, and limped (ever so slightly) when entering and leaving my vehicle.  When a senior citizen gave me that "knowing smile" when passing me and sporting her own cane, I felt a tinge of guilt.  The dark feeling of deception immediately lifted the moment I saw MY CAR awaiting me right outside the entrance...

Day Four.  The sickness inside me bubbled to the surface.  My mother called, leaving me a voice message.  Had I seen her sticker?   Did she leave it in my car by accident the day I took her to the grocery store?  She went on to say that she needed to go to the hairdresser later that day, and was hoping to be able to park near the front door.  I stared into space for over an hour.  Wouldn't the extra few steps Mom would walk do her some good?  After all, her knee-replacement surgery was performed over a year ago...she should be better by now, right? Right?  RIGHT?

Right.  I drove over to Mom's house and dropped off the sticker, along with my brand-new walking stick.  My mother never questioned as to why I was giving her a "spare cane".  All she said as I was leaving was, "Judy, there's a fine line between having "special needs", and being "especially needy."

How true, Mom.  How true.

May all of you get what you truly need, and need what you truly get,

Judy



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