Yesterday was busy and while in a meeting my phone rang. I looked quickly and saw Bill Hartman’s name flash on my screen. He’s a friend that doesn’t expect me to drop my life and answer his calls. I love that about him. I was super busy and made a mental note to call him back tomorrow.

I rose early this morning to drop my car off at the auto repair shop, then headed to await the outcome at a nearby coffee house. Snuggled in with a hot cup, I started going through yesterday’s emails, then pulled out my phone to retrieve my voicemail. I knew when I heard Bill’s wife’s voice it wasn’t going to be good news. 

“Jodi, I’ve got some really sad news” she said though tears. “Bill passed away this morning and I wanted to let you know myself, I sure didn’t want you to read about it on Facebook. I’m so sorry to leave this message for you, but I had to let you know because you were such a good friend to him.”

The unexpected news hit me like a ton of bricks.

After I shook off the shock of it all I thought, “Good for you friend, a quick exit. It’s what you said you always wanted and you got it.”

Bill lived life on his own terms from the day we met some 30 years ago right up until he crossed over. We’d both agreed living life this way was one of the perks of choosing not to have kids. When you’re childless you can pretty much do whatever you damn please without worrying if you’re messing someone else’s life up in the process. 

I opened my laptop and started looking for photos of us. Sadly much of our friendship predated the digital era and there weren’t many. Because we lived a great distance from each other, most of our relationship had continued in the last few years by phone.

I did get lucky and stumble onto something that made me laugh and it is this story in particular that brings me here today.

Before I had to drastically change my diet and lifestyle due to my autoimmune thyroid disease, Bill and I were foodie friends. Hardcore foodie friends. Trust me, our mutual love of food was renowned and while we no longer lived near each other, we still talked about food over the phone. Ad nauseam.

For many years we had an especially soft spot in our hearts for Little Debbie and her very delicious but deadly snack cakes.  There were many jokes for decades about Little Debbie and her box. “Little Debbie loves you” was a frequent sign off from our phone calls.

There was a 5 year stretch where I went to Las Vegas to stay with Bill and his wife, Toni, during the Christmas holidays. In 2005, the year Katrina hit and the levees broke, Bill and Toni worked hard to bring some joy into my really messed up reality.  

They succeeded.

Bill decided that this particular Christmas we were going to make a gingerbread house but instead of using gingerbread, we would build it with Little Debbie snack cakes.

“Uuummmm, okay” I said hesitantly.

Bill had built a house form out of cardboard, and we’d use the snack cakes to decorate the outside it.

It was an hysterical trip to the supermarket to buy supplies – frosting, mini marshmallows, peeps, pastry bags and such. 

Laugh? OMG I cried I laughed so hard.

We spent hours with exacto knives cutting, measuring and sticking it all together– eating “remnants” as we plowed through.

I sat back in my chair and looked out through the bean covered plate glass window with a big fat grin on my face.  It was a terrifically happy memory.

A few minutes later my mechanic called and told me to come on back to the shop. 
“We had to order a part and it’s not going to be in until tomorrow.”

Relieved I didn’t have to sit in the coffee shop crying for the next several hours, I packed up my laptop and started walking back to the garage.

It was still early by New Orleans standards and the retail shops along Magazine Street had yet to open. The street and sidewalks were nearly empty. Up ahead on my right I saw a lone woman sitting on a bench outside a closed retail store. As I got closer I could see that she had some tattoos on her arms and legs. When I got up really close I saw that she had a Little Debbie tattoo on her  upper left arm. 

Coincidence? 

No freaking way.

Thanks for the fly by on your way out, Bill Hartman! It didn’t go unnoticed!  

I’m loving you from here, friend.