Hi Darling Ones,

I hope wherever you are Autumn is in full effect. When the sun shines, the light in Minnesota is exquisite – golden and buttery. In the afternoon the sun hits my tree and when the wind is blowing I watch the shadows of the dancing leaves around my living room sighing in contentment.

Fall really is the best. Though I miss the pool, I’m glad soup season is here. I’m making stock for chicken noodle soup as I type.

So, I wanted to tell you about my cousin Lindsay’s wedding last week. This was my first big family event and social outing since my stroke (March 2023). The whole experience was beautiful and emotional and overwhelming.

I can never tell if it’s my ignorant inner-ableism or my eldest-daughter perfectionism, but every time I learn something new about navigating life in a wheelchair I’m astounded. Like, for instance, when one uses wheels to get around one should not where a long, flowy skirt that is destined to get tangled up in the aforementioned wheels. This probably should have been obvious, but it was brand new information to me.

The skirt situation left me stranded at my table most of the night, which was 50% bummer and 50% a-ok due to the overwhelm. Even if I had been more appropriately dressed I would have struggled around all the chairs. Big event spaces seem accessible until there are people and chairs in them. Going to the bathroom was a literal obstacle course and I had to have someone clear the way for me. It was humbling.

Because this was the first time I’d seen so many of these people since my stroke there was no small amount of awkwardness. One of my cousins had no idea what to say, so he just kinda looked at me and my wheelchair and shrugged. A few other cousins kept tell me how good I looked. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was dressed up or because they expected me to be a shriveled prune. I never found out.

What I did learn is that where strangers used to constantly remark on my extraordinary height, now they compliment my glasses. Perhaps I have an appearance that just begs to be remarked upon.

Various wedding guests told me how cool my glasses were. It happened at least five times. Which is. . . weird? I love my glasses but they aren’t particularly noteworthy. My guess is that because my height is unnoticeable and the wheelchair is quite noticeable people went with the next most obvious thing. I bet if I weren’t wearing glasses my hair would have been a hot topic.

As I like to say whenever I come home from a successful outing, nobody died. Though a few very well-meaning men nearly died when they tried to help me over a small lip that separated the room from the deck. At one point I had to say, “I just need you to all back off!” I easily got over the bump when they gave me enough room to turn my chair around and handle it backwards. Chivalry, while not dead, can be a pain in the ass.

Looking so good,
Jodi

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Hola Darling Ones,

Hope you made it out of August of unscathed. I did, barely.

As per usu August was a jerk to me right until the very end. I racked up a of failures in August. I lost battles with my Homeowner’s ASSociation, myself, and my self-confidence. It was a rough month, but I made it through.

To make up for August being a little the bitch, the universe out two good things in my lap. Back to back even.

Yesterday I got to spend the day catching up with my friend Ray, who I’ve known since the 90s. Ray lives in Madison, so i only get to see him very few years. Yesterday he stopped over before the Sugar show at First Ave. We spent six house sitting in my living room talking about absolutely everything — politics, music, aging parents, sleep apnea, marriage, generational differences, medical concerns, and how all cops are, indeed, bastards. It went by way too quickly.

The older I get the more I appreciate my long-term friends who have known so many iterations of me and loved all of them.

Hanging with Ray was great and all, but the best thing happened today.

Sister #4 took me to get my hair cut this afternoon. We have a formal wedding to go next weekend and so it was family day at Great Clips today.

As I was wheeling out of the place, a kind young black woman held the door for me. The Great Clips doesn’t have a handicap door button.

While I made my way through the door I thanked her profusely.

“Your hair is snatched,” she said as I got outside.

My face burst into glitter and rainbows and I thanked with even more gusto.

I’m going to be riding that compliment for the rest of the month. Me, snatched!

In other news, I’m going to spend the rest of the day making my own vanilla extract.

Snatchedly yours,
Jodi

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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

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Hi Darling Ones,

Like a good GenXer Sister #2’s laptop is filled with personality-defining stickers. The one I’m most envious of is the duck-duck-grey duck one.

Like a total ding dong who lacks any real, concrete spirituality I get a lot of life guidance from those stickers.

One of her stickers is a the James Baldwin quote “I can’t believe what you say because I see what you do.” It’s a bit from his 1966 essay “A Report from Occupied Territory” that ran in The Nation.

I love this quote. I love it because it goes really well with my favorite piece of writing advice that also works well as a principle to use in guiding your life, “Show don’t tell.”

The Baldwin quote is always rattling around inside me, but today it’s a little louder because it’s his 100th birthday and the Internet is filled with celebrations of his genius.

It’s also giving me some peace around a decision I made recently about the end of a twenty-two-year friendship.

After months of abusive texts and the return of gifts disguised as a belated birthday present I got a very generic “I’m sorry” text. Every bone in my body melted and as I deflated something in my soul shouted “NOPE!”

Even though I hadn’t responded to any of her attempts to bait me into drama, I was still giving her so much of my brain real estate. As they say, she was living rent free in my head. But after that limp apology I was done.

As soon as I had the inner moment of nope I felt good, resolved, at peace. Yet, despite the feeling of resolution I had a small, nagging worry that I was not approaching life with joy and love whenever I could. I was worried I was being cold and unforgiving, that my icy robot heart was taking over.

But then James Baldwin turned 100 and I spent some time reflecting on his words and boy, howdy, I feel totally at peace with my decision.

I can’t believe she’s sorry because I saw her give me zero grace for making a mistake five months after a life-altering stroke. I saw her continue to make baseless accusations throughout the year, and most damningly when I told her I loved her and missed her she said, “thank you.”

Thanks, James. Happy Birthday.

Showing instead of telling, hopefully,
Jodi

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Dear Darling Ones,

I like to do big deals on the 6th of the month. Be born (June 6th). Have a stroke (March 6th). Face cold, hard facts (July 6th).

What? You might be asking yourself. What cold, hard facts? Today is July 6th and I’ve seen exactly zero facts faced. Cold, hard, or otherwise.

Well, I’m here to tell you about not 1, not 2, but 3 cold, hard facts I am facing.

Cold Hard Fact #1

I have to apply for Social Security Disability.

Just typing that sentence makes my stomach roil. I’m both scared and kind of ashamed. What if I don’t get it? Am I disabled enough? Will they just think I’m lazy?

I would love to be able to work at full capacity. But the distortion caused by my macular edema makes spending hours trying to read a computer screen exhausting and difficult. Having to blow up my screen to 200% makes web design so slow.

Neither of these things make work impossible, just slow going. I’m still working for my most loyal clients and it makes me so happy. However, I don’t have enough work to support myself nor do I have the visual capacity to work more hours.

And physically, I’m kind of a nightmare. I can’t stand unassisted for more than 90 seconds. I can’t walk without my walker. And with the tremor in my right arm, I’m ill-suited for any work I can think of.

While it might seem I’m trying to justify this to you, Darling Ones, I’m really justifying it to myself. Not being able to support myself is humbling, but then so is begging the Internet for money, which is not the keen financial strategy it looks like.

Cold Hard Fact #2

I’m not going to finish my State Fair Blanket in time for this year’s fair.

Ugh. I hate failing. I also hate when reality interferes with my magical thinking.

But, I’m just not going to be able to create a bitchen, blue-ribbon worthy blanket in the next 24 days.

What was I thinking? For all the reasons work is difficult, crocheting is also difficult. Not impossible, just slow.

Plus, I vastly underestimated how long it would take me to translate my idea into yarn. It took me six weeks and many failed prototype just to get a single motif for the blanket to work. I’m being purposely cryptic here because I want to final reveal to b e a surprise.

So, next year will have to be my year. Thankfully, the State Fair accepts submissions that were made within three years of the submission date.

Cold Hard Fact #3

My twenty-ywo-year relationship with the woman who was my best friend is over.

This is the toughest, coldest fact to face. Last July 6th, I wrote this about her, However, I did repeatedly remind her what a good person she was while murmuring out loud to myself that she really is the best friend.”

A lot can change in a year.

This person who so kindly filled out my physical & occupational therapy intake forms last year is also the person who, last week, wrapped every gift she won from Rock & Roll Bookclub Dirty Santa in pastel tissue paper, put them in a colorful gift bag, dropped them off on Sister #4’s doorstep, and texted my mom that there was a “belated birthday gift” outside for and my sister.

Yeah.

Actually, factually, yours,
Jodi

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