Dear Darling Ones,

One of the benefits of being poor is the insurance, or at least it is right now. Who knows what the future holds for poor people insurance? Probably nothing. The only thing America hates more than black people, anyone not generally white passing, LGBTQIA+, and women, is poor people.

This country hates poor people because, like the good capitalist robots we are trained to be, we equate wealth with intelligence, hard work, and moral superiority. Only stupid and lazy people are poor and they deserve to suffer for their stupid laziness. Naturally.

When I was younger people were often surprised to learn I grew up in poverty, a thing I mostly kept a shameful secret, because I was so smart. As if I couldn’t be poor and smart.

Well, here I am again – poor and smart.

Believe it or not, bellyaching about poverty is my point today. My point right now, in this moment, is about how I am content and happy and it’s due to my poor people’s insurance.

My insurance has a bunch of incentive programs to make their clients “healthier.” Through this Healthy Benefits program they’ll “pay” you for doing things like getting a mammogram, getting your A1C checked, and other things I can’t remember because I don’t think they pertain to me.

The more cynical corners of my mind think they offer this program because they think poor people are too dumb to do this. Really, it’s probably a good investment. The healthier their clients are the less they have to pay. It always comes down to the dollars.

As a poor & frugal person I got my mind on the dolla dolla bills too, y’all.

My idea when I first discovered the Healthy Benefits program was to use the money for co-pays and prescriptions. Seemed like a good idea to me. Only thing is that was not allowed. The Benefits had to be used to by “healthy” food at specific stores. Because, of course.

Since I can’t drive anymore this made using my Benefits tricky. In fact, a bunch of my money expired before I could use them. I didn’t have the mental or emotional capacity to deal with it, Not so this year. This year I made it a mission to use that $80 (I got $50 for a mammogram and $30 for my A1C).

After much digging through the shitty Healthy Benefits website and even shittier app I learned I could use Uber Eats and their ridiculously inflated pricing to get groceries delivered. I have been in battle with Uber Eats for weeks because every time I tried to place an order the app said it could not use my S3 Healthy Benefits card right now.

Why? I don’t know. I even called the Healthy Benefits support line to see what I was doing wrong and they were literally like, “we’re here to help people add the card to their Uber Eats wallet.” Not so helpful to those of us who know how to work phone apps.

For someone with zero patience, I am also incredibly stubborn. I have been trying to place that order and get it to charge that stupid card every day for like two weeks. Today it worked. My frugal persistence paid off!

I was able to get all the Thanksgiving food for our tiny Thanksgiving. It’s just me, Sister #4, and our mom. The West Coast fam stays over there for Thanksgiving.

The amount of pride I have right now is incalculable. I’m so happy I get to pay for and prepare dinner for my fam. My mom and Sister #4 do so much for me and never complain about it in front of me. So many appointments (four in December) and checking the mail and taking out the garbage. They’ve never once asked me for gas money or anything like that. And while I cook and bake for them all the time (last week was chicken soup with homemade biscuits and scotcheroos), this is special because it feels like I got all the food for free.

The only thing I love better than paying less for stuff is not having to pay for it at all.

Yay!

Poor but happy,
Jodi

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Dear Darling Ones,

Tuesday we celebrated the life of my Aunt Sherry, who died much too young (67) down in Florida where she retired with my Uncle Wayne.

I attended the celebration at the Savage American Legion along with a lot of my St. Martin family, what felt like half of Savage, and, to my delight, a few bowlers from the < a href="https://iwilldare.com/category/work/bowling/">Dan Patch Lanes days.

When Nancy, who bowled the Tuesday Womens’ league along with my Aunt Sherry and sisters, walked in, Sister #4 started hitting me in the should, “Look Nancy Westphal is here!” Then she turned to our mom and did the same thing.

“I’m acting like a celebrity just walked in,” Sister #4 said.
“She is Hot Randy’s mom,” I said.

When I die if I have a funeral/celebration of life that’s half as filled and lively as Aunt Sherry’s, I’ll be pretty damn pleased in the afterlife I’m not sure I believe in.

I’m so happy I went. There was never any doubt in my mind I wouldn’t go, which was also nice. It was the first time I’ve attended a social gathering in public outside my house since the stroke. Also the first social gathering in my janky-ass wheelchair.

This means it was also the first time I’ve seen so much of my family since the stroke. Boy, were they happy to see me, and I was thrilled to see them. What made me happiest of all, on a sorrow-filled day, is that I had zero anxiety about going or seeing any of them in what I often call my “new body and new brain.” Besides being infinitely hilarious, my St. Martin family makes me feel comfortable.

Toward the end of the afternoon I got a chance to talk to my cousin, Chad. He’s Sister #2’s age, about 50, and also uses a wheelchair. Fun Fact: between both sides of the family Sister #2 has five cousins that are her age. 1974/early-75 was a fertile period for the Chromeys and St. Martins.

“Nice chair,” I said to Chad, who has muscular dystrophy.

Even though my mom had told me Chad had muscular dystrophy about a hundred times over the years, I always assumed she meant multiple sclerosis. Everything I know about MD I learned as a child from the Jerry Lewis telethon and I decided it was a disease that affected children. Chad went to college on a baseball scholarship and as far as I know didn’t develop MD until his 30s or 40s.

“Wheelchair’s suck,” Chad said.
“But your’s is so nice,” I said. His had a joystick and glowing buttons and was the Maserati of wheelchairs as far as I’m concerned. Mine has uneven wheels and is the 1999 Chevy S10 of wheelchairs.

We spent a little time swapping stories about how much it sucks to be disabled. That was kida awesome finding someone in my own family who can relate. As they were kicking us out, yes we shut the funeral down, I put my number in his phone. Hopefully there’s more commiseration in the future.

Also, one more thing. My Cousin Jason & Uncle Wayne let me take home the enormous peace lily (pictured above). I’ve named her Sherry, obvs, and she joins the Sadness Garden with Muriel, a pathos I’ve had since Grammu died in 2003 and Eleanor IV, a peace lily that is named after my Grandma Chromey and a peace lily I had from her funeral in 1990 that Paco & Madison murdered in 2006. I’ve replaced her a few times.

Peace,
Jodi

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Hi Darling Ones,

I spent most of the week sulking. The glasses I pinned all my hopes on turned out not to be the panacea I dreamed it would be.

Turns out that while I can see clearer than before, which is a good thing, the distortion caused by the edema or the retinopathy is still a giant pain in the ass. Also, according to Dr. Google it could take awhile to adjust to the progressive lenses. Also, according to the wise doctor a lot of the things progressives may make you feel (like your eyes are swimmy, wobbly, etc.) are exactly the same way having a stroke has made me feel.

I’m having a bummer of a week. I went to the doctor Tuesday and things did nt go the way I wanted them to go. Nothing went wrong and I did’t get bad news, per se. It’s that I want the A+ in all things. Diabetes, blood pressure, stroke recovery and I DID NOT get A+s. I got A-s and I hate it.

So that on top of the glasses not solving all my problems has left me mopey. A+ in brooding.

I still have debilitating knee pain because of the arthritis. My blood pressure is still high. I’m still unable to discern signs of legit health concerns (blood sugar dipping dangerously low) and things that are just off because of the stroke. When things inside your body always feel wrong, you start to ignore everything. Nobody has declared their undying love for me. I’ve not discovered I’m some kind of billionaire heiress.

I continue to be broke and broken.

While I sulk, I keep whining about how I just need the universe to cut me one little break.

But, I don’t. I’m very fortunate. It’s hard. Gratitude and sulkiness don’t play well together.My Gemini nature demands I try to recognize both sides of everything. I can be both sulky and grateful.

I just I really just really really really really want one thing to go my way in this arena, but it did not happen and I’ve been sulking.

However, something did happen to prove the universe is wonderful and magical, and I have the best people in my life

My rest of my niece’s Christmas gift to me arrived. On Christmas Day she gave me a box with a soft, fuzzy grey scarf she crocheted herself. I immediately burst into tears. She said, “I made this for you because you’re the one who taught me how to crochet and it’s the first thing I ever finished.”

All of the tears.

She also told me she made a record for me of songs that remind her for me. It arrived yesterday before physical therapy.

More tears.

It is amazing. It has Modest Mouse and Counting Crows and Joan Jett and Liz Phair. It features a lot of songs on a mix CD I made for Jaycie and Max when they were kids. We listened to it all the time when I babysat them and we’d tool around in Ruby running errands and eating car breakfast.

The cover art features a picture of us when she was little. And, my eyebrows? Seriously, check out those ridiculous eyebrows. The aughts were not kind to eyebrows.

This record is in the top five most thoughtful gifts I’ve ever received. right up there with the signed Vonnegut and the 10 wheat pennies.

Sulky but fortunately yours,
Jodi

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Hi Darling Ones,

How goes your holiday season?

Mine started early this year when Sister #2 arrived on December 10 to help me around the house and hang out in Minnesota visiting her MN friends.

Max arrives tonight. Jaycie comes in tomorrow and then we’ll be holidaying it up — a Very St. Martin Christmas, Christmas, Boxing Day Lunch, and Rock & Roll Bookclub Dirty Santa. Everyone leaves on December 31st and by then I’ll be ready for a long winter’s nap with Wendell & Los Gatitos.

ANYWAY, Sister #2 is the reason I’m finally giving up Twitter.

My Twitter days have been numbered since Elon Musk started stinking up the joint. But, I kept making excuses not to leave because I love Twitter.

I joined Twitter in March 2007 and didn’t see much value in it until the 35W Bridge collapsed in August. I remember checking Twitter constantly, watching for my friends to check in.

Since then my love just grew. I looked forward to watching award shows with Twitter. I mourned losses with Twitter and celebrated with them too. I’ve watched some of these people get married, have kids, go through divorces, and loss of parents. I love the little clutch of weirdoes I follow on twitter.

Twitter has always been my social media choice. I don’t like Facebook and I like Instagram, but it’s not Twitter.

Why am I quitting Twitter? Because my sister asked me to.

When your Jewish sister (she converted) asks you to quit an anti-semitic hate farm, you quit.

It is, after all, the very very very least I can do. I can’t keep her and her friends safe. I can’t obliterate anti-semitism. I can keep my thoughts off a breeding ground for hate filled with people who want to bring harm to Jews.

It’s terrifying out there for her and Jewish people, so I quit Twitter.

It makes me sad to leave, but not as sad as anti-semitism makes me.

If you want to find my random musings and cute cat pictures you can find me on Bluesky. If you’d like an invite, hit me up — jodi@iwilldare.com

I’m jodiwilldare there and pretty much everywhere else, except here, where I’m just Jodi.

Love,
Just Jodi

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Hi Darling Ones,

My Aunt Tete died on June 16th — nine months to the day that her younger brother, my dad, died.

Even though Sister #2 was briefly here last week for the funeral, I did not attend. I’m not ready to display my stroke-addled carcass to the world.

Sister #2 talked about how weird it was to be in that space with so many people missing. Of the 10 siblings in my dad’s family, only two remain.

I’m sad I didn’t get to attend the funeral and mourn my aunt with my cousins, her many nieces and nephews.

While she probably didn’t call herself a spinster, Aunt Tete was the OG spinster aunt in my life. She forged the path I followed, though it took her death for me to recognize it.

Aunt Tete was fiercely independent, living on her own until she entered hospice the week she died. She was quite fond of saying, “I do what I want.” And this line from her obituary can be copied and pasted into mine,“Terese’s legacy of speaking her mind will continue to inspire us to be true to ourselves and to stand up for what we believe in, just as she did throughout her life.”

Though she never had children of her own, Aunt Tete helped raise a bunch of her niblings. She did, in fact, raise my cousin Christopher when his mom was unable to. She was a grandma to Chris’ kids.

My Aunt Tete was liberal as hell, which seems at odds with her devout Catholicism. It’s not. She was the kind of Christian who actually read the bible. As her priest said at her funeral, she lived a life of faith and generosity.

And, as my sister said, that’s a hell of a legacy to leave behind.

Love,
Jodi

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