The first thing I should mention about Hazel is, I don’t
remember her last name. But Hazel was larger than life, like a few other people
who go by just one name. She was a big woman, bony and bold, with a gravelly,
deep voice like nothing I’d ever heard.
Hazel lived in Decatur and had her own business, a big store
where she taught decoupage classes and sold decoupage supplies, including
paints of every color and the most amazing papers. There was a big craft table
in the middle of the store where friends would gather and spend hours working
on projects, talking, laughing, sharing snacks and tips. I spent many happy
hours there one summer learning the finicky and patient art of decoupage, which
involves carefully cutting out pictures using an exacto knife on a glass plate,
gluing them onto an object you wish to decorate, and then applying many, many
coats of finish with sanding in between to create a perfectly smooth finish.
Hazel was never too busy to suggest an idea for color or pattern, to help with
a tricky bit of cutting or gluing, or to join her customers at the craft table.
Hazel might have been old to my 12-year-old eyes, but she still
lived with her mother. Hazel’s mother gave her an enormous diamond ring, a
family heirloom, and told her, “You might was well have this while you’re young
enough to enjoy it.” Which I found funny at the time, considering Hazel was in
her 70’s. Now it doesn’t seem quite so funny. Hazel was like a young bride
showing off her engagement ring, flashing that diamond at every opportunity.
She never took it off, even while immersed in some messy decoupaging.
I don’t remember ever seeing Hazel outside of her shop, and
I don’t know how she and my grandmother became friends. Most of my grandmother’s
friends were in the library business at some point or another, but I’m not sure
Hazel was in that category. Hazel was one of the first women I met who ran her
own business. In the world I knew, of librarians and teachers and secretaries, she made independent entrepreneur look easy.
