Judi-ism
For Judith Ann Carney (1947–2025)

She came in loud, in leopard print,
With sass and sequins, full of glint.
Born San Diego sun and sand,
She later bloomed in Benton land.

Did dementia with dramatic flair—
Black hair flowed where blonde once dared.
The dye grew out, and who knew then?
She rocked her roots like few have been.

Best-dressed queen of her high school scene,
Pink bra, green blouse—a fashion dream.
She stitched her life in threads of art,
From vintage wigs to cooking's heart.

Her trailer? A palace (minus a wall),
But PRETTY AF, in spite of it all.
With chipped décor and missing floor,
She glamorized a hardware store.

From Max Factor to Valley Dolls,
To Hogan's sets and Hollywood calls—
A teased-up hive of Aqua Net,
False lashes thick as you'd ever get.

She raised her voice, her glass, her kid,
Said things out loud no one else did.
Judi-isms flew like sparks,
Sharp and funny, bold remarks.

Yes, sometimes wild and rarely wise,
But stars don't dim just to disguise.
And though her choices caused some pain,
The laughs she gave still warm the rain.

One canvas only, now hangs proud,
A flower soft, a message loud—
Good Fortune in its blooming face,
A mother's love, a daughter's grace.

They danced through storms, fought through the mess,
Still met her death with tenderness.
A trying bond, a tangled tether—
But love, in spite, and maybe because of weather.

So raise a toast, or spice your stew,
With herbs from '82 (she would, too).
Live out loud, in color true—
And say the things she taught you to.

She wasn't perfect—wasn't meant.
But damn, she burned so jubilant.
Long may her stories, laughter, flair
Float like perfume in the air.