Growing up, I knew I had an Aunt Judy. My Grandma Ruby told me stories about her: how she'd dress my dad up like a little girl when they were kids and other silly things. I could see her face in pictures hanging on the walls of our home, in the albums on Grandma Ruby's shelves. One time, she even sent me a real porcelain doll. I loved porcelain dolls, and, apparently, she did, too. I knew I had an Aunt Judy, but I didn't know my Aunt Judy. She lived way out in California, and, as far as I could remember, I hadn't ever met her.