I hope this letter reaches you, through all the emails, phone calls, and daily memos. I just wanted to say thank you for all your given to me personally as a woman, and a tennis player.
I even think my dear mother would thank you. She listened to the endless sound of tennis balls hitting our garage door, as I stood in the gutter, and blasted my serve just like I saw you do so many times on TV. I mimicked every move. I would pick a spot and try to hit it over and over again. The returning ball was my constant opponent, so I never lacked for a rally. I don't recall ever doing this after my dad came home from work. I think after a long day at the Chevron service station, he was tired, and wanted to enjoy his easy chair, can of beer, and the evening news. It wasn't the case with our next door neighbor. The back door would open, as they would plead for me to stop. I just changed locations, and found a wall in the alley to continue my match.
I played when I was a kid in Southern Calif, in the 60s. I learned on the public courts, and every summer would sign up for every session. I played all the local tournaments, and won, not only in my division, but as I played up. An eight year old, beating the 16 year olds was a victory for me, and devastated the older kids. I listened in on my friends private lessons from the pros, and immediately put into practice what I heard. Even today, I listen in on the pros at my tennis club and smile. It takes me way back, to when I was just a kid, wanting someone...anyone to discovery me...and give me a chance in the big leagues.
I became too cool for tennis during my teen years....the lack of opportunity for women to compete was replace by wanting to fit in with my peers. I even tried to hide my tennis tan...I was the only one with white feet! But not now! I wear my tennis tan proudly. My white feet are a testament to the pure joy I have on the clay courts. I play on lots of teams, and take lessons from the pros. I pronounce to my family, every time there is a tennis tournament on TV that the HD set is mine! No Sponge Bob Square Pants this week!
I know you have received many deserving awards. My gosh, the mecca of tennis is named after you. But I want to stand and applaud you, for giving this young kid a vision for greatness and a reason to hit thousands of tennis balls on every wall in Ventura. I am 54 now, and I have people stop me often and say "you have such a classic style of tennis...you play like Billie Jean"...or they say..."you look like someone..." "yes, yes, I know. I look like Billie Jean". I live in Sarasota Florida. Martina lives here, and I often see her eating at Simons, a local hangout. One day we passed each other at the exit. She did a double take, looking at me. I let her have her privacy, but what I really wanted to say was "Yes, yes, I look like Billie Jean!"
The other day I was filling out one of those online question/answer survey. Who would you like to meet....no hesitation here - Billie Jean.
If your ever in Sarasota Florida, Please stop by. I know a few walls, that could use a match or two.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Art with Ann.
Artist & Friend.
My mom lost my dad and her best friend within months of each other. I think she missed Norma more than my dad. Over the next year, when my mom was feeling down, and lonely she would ask me "Where do I find another best friend at my age?" Mom was 83. I told her she probably would never have another best friend like Norma. They come once in a lifetime, but that there where many other people that could be her friend. I volunteered wholeheartedly. I wasn't exactly what she was looking for, but we made it work. Sadly, she died earlier this year, and I lost my best friend.
I've realized that people come and go, and lives are touched and smiles and tears are shared along the way. I just never know when a friend will show up, and take a hold of my heart. I had just become a volunteer for Tidewell Hospice. I do all sort of things, like delivering medicines and dressing up as a clown and visiting nursing homes. A request came in for someone to visit an older lady once a week and paint with her. She was an artist. My hand shot up....pick me, I thought. I'm an artist. She would be my first client. I could do this.
An so one Friday, I met Anne and my heart melted. Many Friday afternoons are spent doing watercolors, as I watch her finish painting after painting. My one watercolor a week, can't keep up with what she produces. We talk endlessly about the beauty and gift of not only being an artist, but the gift of life. There is a moment in creating, that the world stand stills and you enter the "zone". Its a marvelous moment. Each week I watch Anne as she enters that world, and watch her work. Her hand is so steady, as she chooses the next color and brushes in the details. Its thrilling to watch. We critique each others work, and talk about colors and composition. She knows when a painting isn't quite done, as she "putskies" around with it, until we both say "it is finished".
"Anne, I think we should have an art show of your work. Would you like to do that?" Her eyes brightened, and I started planning. We worked for weeks, finishing up paintings, making sure we had enough. The date is set. Its coming up in a couple of weeks. Brushstrokes. Art by Anne Krum, Centenarian.
I just never know when a friend will show up in my life. Anne and I have become friends. We are both artists. She is still full of life, her mind is crystal clear, her hands are steady, and she is 103.
Judy Robertson
Sarasota, Fl
8.21.07
My mom lost my dad and her best friend within months of each other. I think she missed Norma more than my dad. Over the next year, when my mom was feeling down, and lonely she would ask me "Where do I find another best friend at my age?" Mom was 83. I told her she probably would never have another best friend like Norma. They come once in a lifetime, but that there where many other people that could be her friend. I volunteered wholeheartedly. I wasn't exactly what she was looking for, but we made it work. Sadly, she died earlier this year, and I lost my best friend.
I've realized that people come and go, and lives are touched and smiles and tears are shared along the way. I just never know when a friend will show up, and take a hold of my heart. I had just become a volunteer for Tidewell Hospice. I do all sort of things, like delivering medicines and dressing up as a clown and visiting nursing homes. A request came in for someone to visit an older lady once a week and paint with her. She was an artist. My hand shot up....pick me, I thought. I'm an artist. She would be my first client. I could do this.
An so one Friday, I met Anne and my heart melted. Many Friday afternoons are spent doing watercolors, as I watch her finish painting after painting. My one watercolor a week, can't keep up with what she produces. We talk endlessly about the beauty and gift of not only being an artist, but the gift of life. There is a moment in creating, that the world stand stills and you enter the "zone". Its a marvelous moment. Each week I watch Anne as she enters that world, and watch her work. Her hand is so steady, as she chooses the next color and brushes in the details. Its thrilling to watch. We critique each others work, and talk about colors and composition. She knows when a painting isn't quite done, as she "putskies" around with it, until we both say "it is finished".
"Anne, I think we should have an art show of your work. Would you like to do that?" Her eyes brightened, and I started planning. We worked for weeks, finishing up paintings, making sure we had enough. The date is set. Its coming up in a couple of weeks. Brushstrokes. Art by Anne Krum, Centenarian.
I just never know when a friend will show up in my life. Anne and I have become friends. We are both artists. She is still full of life, her mind is crystal clear, her hands are steady, and she is 103.
Judy Robertson
Sarasota, Fl
8.21.07
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Final Trip Home
Since three yesterday afternoon, my mom had been failing fast. My travels home were filled with delays. I had plane flights canceled and even left a day later. We got turned around in LA on the way home, and it took us 45 minutes longer that usual. My siblings kept telling my mom that I was almost there. They even had a laptop computer to show her my flight pattern. "She's over Texas now, hang in there mom...she's landing...she driving...she's just around the corner."
I walked into my mom's room yesterday to a scene I always knew would happen, but tried to will away. My whole family was surrounding my mom, as she rested in the hospital bed that was delivered that day. Her breathing was slow, her eyes glazed. "Please God, I cried, let me have just a moment with her" I took her hands in mine, and whispered her name. "Mommy", I said. "I'm here...I love you" Her eyes focused for a moment and she puckered to kiss me. "My Judy" she said, and then tried to utter words that I couldn't understand, but knew they meant "I love you" "Mom, I'm so glad you have you teeth in" and she chuckled. and I knew she heard me.
When my dad died 14 months ago, his roommate died without his teeth in. He was alone. My dad had his teeth and looked so much better. The scene haunts me to this day, that man dying alone without his teeth. Its one of the reasons I became a volunteer for hospice. No one should die alone. My mom and I had a running joke about her teeth, I made her promise me that when she died she would have them in. She did, and it was the most beautiful chuckle I ever heard.
I slept in her room last night to the sound of her snoring. My sister came to check on her, and listened to both of us snoring together. Every time I woke up, I listened. The noise that drove me nuts as a kid was heavenly. I knew she was breathing.
At 11:10am today, my mom died at home. Away from the hospitals we all hated. Away from machines and tubes. She got her wish, and we were all there. Her kids, her grandkids, her dog. The absence in my life seems unbearable. She was my biggest fan. She was an artist, a plumber, a builder, and computer geek and her love of tennis never wained. She raised 5 kids who loved her dearly. About 2 weeks before she died, she told me of a dream that she just didn't want to end. She was healthy and played the tennis game of her life.
I'm sure right now, she's trying to get a game together. Oh, how I"ll miss her.
I walked into my mom's room yesterday to a scene I always knew would happen, but tried to will away. My whole family was surrounding my mom, as she rested in the hospital bed that was delivered that day. Her breathing was slow, her eyes glazed. "Please God, I cried, let me have just a moment with her" I took her hands in mine, and whispered her name. "Mommy", I said. "I'm here...I love you" Her eyes focused for a moment and she puckered to kiss me. "My Judy" she said, and then tried to utter words that I couldn't understand, but knew they meant "I love you" "Mom, I'm so glad you have you teeth in" and she chuckled. and I knew she heard me.
When my dad died 14 months ago, his roommate died without his teeth in. He was alone. My dad had his teeth and looked so much better. The scene haunts me to this day, that man dying alone without his teeth. Its one of the reasons I became a volunteer for hospice. No one should die alone. My mom and I had a running joke about her teeth, I made her promise me that when she died she would have them in. She did, and it was the most beautiful chuckle I ever heard.
I slept in her room last night to the sound of her snoring. My sister came to check on her, and listened to both of us snoring together. Every time I woke up, I listened. The noise that drove me nuts as a kid was heavenly. I knew she was breathing.
At 11:10am today, my mom died at home. Away from the hospitals we all hated. Away from machines and tubes. She got her wish, and we were all there. Her kids, her grandkids, her dog. The absence in my life seems unbearable. She was my biggest fan. She was an artist, a plumber, a builder, and computer geek and her love of tennis never wained. She raised 5 kids who loved her dearly. About 2 weeks before she died, she told me of a dream that she just didn't want to end. She was healthy and played the tennis game of her life.
I'm sure right now, she's trying to get a game together. Oh, how I"ll miss her.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Letter to an Exchange Student
I have a friend, Maggie who is an exchange student in Belgium . I've know her since she was justs a little girl. She grew up with my kids. We are like family. She is also, one incredible young lady who will go on to change the world. Here is a letter I sent to her, on one of her low days.
Hi Maggie,
Well, I just happened to be staying in your room on the "I almost blew up the house, while Travis watched TV" episode.
Yes, it could have been a disaster, but the house was spared, and I don't think Travis lost too many brain cels. We did go to change the batteries in the smoke alarms, and found out that the alarm for carbon minoxide didn't even have a battery in it!!! The house is well aired out, though, and you know how much your mom loves the outdoors!
I woke up and read your email, while laying (lying) I never know which lay to use, in bed----on my Treo phone. It was an effort on that 2 in screen, but I did it.
Don't worry about fooling us with your cultured, artsy side. Those of us who know you realize this is a ploy to get out of the house, and into the throngs of people. They might be strangers, but I'm sure you can feel like you aren't a "trapped teenager" Think of Harry Potter in his closet, and then you won't feel so bad! We all know you are a TV junkie, and love to be on the computer.
About your re-entry into America! Mothers have to say it will all be fine....its written in our genetic code, that is released at the moment the child is birthed and cries for the first time. Everyone thinks the cry is for joy. I for a fact, know that what the child is screaming while taking its first breath is "Will it be ok? I wanna go back to where its safe, and I'm protected" We, as the birthing vessels always shout "It's ok, It will be fine" and under our breath so no one can hear us quietly say "No way in hell, will I let you back in. Your on your own, baby!"
I spent a few years away as a missionary. The thought of home was always a comfort. Somethings were always constant for me. My parents, my siblings. I knew I was part of a family, no matter how weird they are. It was home. But when I came back, everything looked just a bit different. They didn't change, I did. They still loved me, but the skin I wore when I left, was tight and even though it had my name on it, it didn't fit right. I imagine it will be like that for you.
You will be back, and there will be lots of partys and hugs, and everyone will want to hear ALL about your adventure. It will be wonderful, and you will be the queen bee. But the hard part, will be after they stop asking...its like post partum depression, I think. Your left holding the baby. That's when you TAKE A BIG BREATHE, and let it all out. Your friends, and family all love you, and you will just have to find your next adventure. I'm glad you have school in Austin coming up. I love that town. How can anyone study there, and not spend every hour partying, is beyond me. (ask your parents)
So in summary, my friend
1. Your house still stands
2. Its hard to read your long emails on a Treo phone
3. You have not fooled us with your artsy adventures
4. Mothers have to say "it will all be fine"
5. You need a new outfit, in the "I'm more of an adult" size
6. The queen returns
7. Friends will always be there for you
8. Watch out world, here she comes - that's you Maggie, that's you!
love
Judy
ps....Buster still thinks he's starving, and no one will feed him enough!
Hi Maggie,
Well, I just happened to be staying in your room on the "I almost blew up the house, while Travis watched TV" episode.
Yes, it could have been a disaster, but the house was spared, and I don't think Travis lost too many brain cels. We did go to change the batteries in the smoke alarms, and found out that the alarm for carbon minoxide didn't even have a battery in it!!! The house is well aired out, though, and you know how much your mom loves the outdoors!
I woke up and read your email, while laying (lying) I never know which lay to use, in bed----on my Treo phone. It was an effort on that 2 in screen, but I did it.
Don't worry about fooling us with your cultured, artsy side. Those of us who know you realize this is a ploy to get out of the house, and into the throngs of people. They might be strangers, but I'm sure you can feel like you aren't a "trapped teenager" Think of Harry Potter in his closet, and then you won't feel so bad! We all know you are a TV junkie, and love to be on the computer.
About your re-entry into America! Mothers have to say it will all be fine....its written in our genetic code, that is released at the moment the child is birthed and cries for the first time. Everyone thinks the cry is for joy. I for a fact, know that what the child is screaming while taking its first breath is "Will it be ok? I wanna go back to where its safe, and I'm protected" We, as the birthing vessels always shout "It's ok, It will be fine" and under our breath so no one can hear us quietly say "No way in hell, will I let you back in. Your on your own, baby!"
I spent a few years away as a missionary. The thought of home was always a comfort. Somethings were always constant for me. My parents, my siblings. I knew I was part of a family, no matter how weird they are. It was home. But when I came back, everything looked just a bit different. They didn't change, I did. They still loved me, but the skin I wore when I left, was tight and even though it had my name on it, it didn't fit right. I imagine it will be like that for you.
You will be back, and there will be lots of partys and hugs, and everyone will want to hear ALL about your adventure. It will be wonderful, and you will be the queen bee. But the hard part, will be after they stop asking...its like post partum depression, I think. Your left holding the baby. That's when you TAKE A BIG BREATHE, and let it all out. Your friends, and family all love you, and you will just have to find your next adventure. I'm glad you have school in Austin coming up. I love that town. How can anyone study there, and not spend every hour partying, is beyond me. (ask your parents)
So in summary, my friend
1. Your house still stands
2. Its hard to read your long emails on a Treo phone
3. You have not fooled us with your artsy adventures
4. Mothers have to say "it will all be fine"
5. You need a new outfit, in the "I'm more of an adult" size
6. The queen returns
7. Friends will always be there for you
8. Watch out world, here she comes - that's you Maggie, that's you!
love
Judy
ps....Buster still thinks he's starving, and no one will feed him enough!
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