Hi Darling Ones,
It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written. I turned 54 a few weeks ago; got a motorized wheelchair named Jonas; planted a salsa verde garden; Sister #2 & Ben put laminate flooring in Supergenius HQ; and yesterday I ripped out my own beating heart and donated it to MPR.
Getting rid of Ruby was rough, and not just because Capital One was a pain in the ass about getting me a notarized letter saying that I did, in fact, payoff my loan in 2006.
Every time I think I’ve accepted all the stroke repercussions, that I’m cool with my new normal, a new one comes along to kick me in the shins. While I haven’t technically given up my driver’s license and nobody has officially said I can’t drive, I have chosen not to drive. Between my distorted vision and my feet’s refusal to respond to my brain in a timely manner it’s safer for humanity that I become a passenger princess.
Losing that autonomy sucks. I fought hard to get that license. I failed the driver’s test THREE times. When I finally passed, the DMV lady marked me as male on my license. It was a nightmare, and once I got the correct piece of plastic in my hands I vowed to never give it up.
1988 Jodi knew jack shit about what was to come.
Pete, the tow truck guy, was the only reason I did’t sit in my wheelchair (the non-motorized one named Ruby Vroom) crying my eyes out as Rubes was loaded up on the flatbed. He was a handsome and charming older gentleman whose wife, a total riot, helped him out. I love tiny, petite bossy women and the men who are smart enough to listen to them.
I loved Pete because he talked nonstop about how good Ruby looked for being a 27-year-old Minnesota truck. I could not have been prouder if I had manufactured her in my own uterus. We also had a nice chat about how wonderful MPR is.
When Pete finally left he shook my hand, and walked down the driveway, before he got into his truck her turned and said, “Someone will get her running again. She’s a good, little truck.”
Ahh, Pete, thanks for that.
Love,
Jodi, who is entering her snooty I don’t even own a car era