Hola Darling Ones,

Tomorrow, March 6th, marks the third anniversary of my stroke. Time flies when you’re learning how to be disabled, struggling with money, and grieving.

Three years since I called 911 and none of those men believed me when I said I had a stroke. Three years since I heard the cop making fun of me, “She thinks she had a stroke. She googled.” All cops really are bastards. I will never not be a hot ball of fury about how those first responders treated me.

Three years since I walked or drove or generally felt normal inside my own body.

It’s kinda nice the world outside of me has been pretty tame allowing me a singular focus on getting stronger. No wars. No ongoing military occupation of my state where thugs abduct or murder neighbors. No fascist overthrow of the US by the dumbest and cruelest humans led by an evil delusional gameshow host.

On this strokeaversary I’m so proud of how far I’ve come. Reading those early days after the stroke is rough. I was so beaten down and scared.

But even a damaged brain can’t keep a good spinster down.

Aside from my finances (my dole hearing is April 10) and the fascism, I’m doing pretty well. I think perhaps, maybe, I have finally accepted that this is the way things are gonna be and status quo is not a bad thing. Or maybe this is like grief and I will always be accepting it in some way.

Now that I’ve stopped beating myself up for failing at recovery, I’ve got a lot time on my hands, and so I’m starting an art/creative practice like its my job.

While I still crochet and write, it’s not the same as before. When I’m engaged in those activities there’s a whispering voice saying “this weird. why is this weird? what is wrong with you?”

To get that voice to shut up already I’ve taken up water colors. I want to try some drawing and collaging too. I’ve always been drawn to visual art and envious of those who create it, but haven’t taken an art class since seventh grade. Instead, I drifted toward photography and graphic art in school. That all came together when I discovered blogging and so I let crochet be my unplugged creative way to calm the brain weasels.

Now I need more. My brain weasels are bigger, damaged, and rowdy. I wanted something relatively cheap I could do with my hands. Something I haven’t done before.

My magical thinking has decided this new practice will be good for my Floppy Scoop and work some kind of wizardry my brain. It won’t fix the wooshiness that is my constant state of being, but maybe it will make it a little less gusty?

I’m only five days into the practice. It took me awhile to find cheap/free supplies and get over the fear that I’d art wrong and the world would end because of it. Right now I’m following a 30/60-day sketchbook challenge from Andrea Nelson on Instagram.

This old spinster is learning some new tricks. It’s fun to start a new practice and challenge myself to try something new that I’m not good at. Be gentle when I start subjecting you to all my creations. I’m just a baby at this.

Happy to be still kicking,
Jodi

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Dear 2000 Jodi,

Hey you! You’re never going to guess what 2025 Jodi did today. She? We? I? made an appointment at a Seating Clinic. Did you know that was a thing? Neither did I, but apparently it’s what you gotta do to get a better wheelchair. Also, we need a wheelchair.

I know! We’re only 53, but the 2020s have not been kind to us. However, you’ve kept this blog going for 25 years. How rad is that?

While I have your attention you 28-year-old ding dong, let me drop a little bit more wisdom I’ve gained over the years. I know you’re screeching, Don’t tell me what to do. I’m gonna try anyway

1. You worry too much about men loving you. It doesn’t matter. They will love you in the best way possible, maybe not always the way you want or when you want, but they will. Love you.
2. Stop ignoring your body. You’re gonna have a stroke when you’re 50 and it’s gonna suck.
3. And while we’re at it, stop with the all lowercase thing. We get it, e.e. cummings, you’re sensitive and literary. You’re also embarrassing your future self. Knock it off.
4. Your stroke is gonna make typing and seeing and reading really really hard. Type more while you can. Some day you’re gonna dictate these blog posts into a Notes app and each paragraph ends with “paragraph no no new paragraph no.”
5. Yeah, there is a five. “There is no five” was fucking annoying. I’m glad you knocked that off years ago.
6. That stupid blog you start when you’re smoking cigarettes in Prior Lake is going t change your life. It’s going to get you up for a career in marketing and freelancing. It’s gonna go on for 25 fucking years and bring the absolute best people into your life. It is your life‘s work.
7. I got some bad news. Grammu died. So did our dad. Uncle Danny died. Uncle George died. So did all dad’s brothers. Jodi Hanson‘s mom. Betty died and so did Burger boy. A lot of people died. Your heart breaks 1 million billion times and yet you go on. You love harder than you ever have before. It’s fucking amazing .
8. 2020 is gonna suck and 2021 and then your dad‘s gonna die and then you’re gonna have a stroke so buckle up, buttercup. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride. You’re gonna be fine.

Listen up 2020, 28-year-old Jodi, I know you’re one lonely motherfucker. Here’s the thing, you haven’t met all the people you’re gonna love yet. Here in 2025 you have so many people you love who love you right back. It’s bewildering and amazing. The hold you up in your darkest, bleakest times and rive you the strength to go on when life takes a hard left.

It’s all good and beautiful. You need that reminder right now. Not only do you have to go to a seating clinic, you gotta find a Social Security attorney. The government won’t let you on the dole. It’s a whole thing I won’t get into now. It will probably work out. Something will happen.

Love you, ding dong,
2025 Jodi

P.S. Darling Ones, I legit need a Social Security attorney. The government denied my appeal and so I can’t get any further in the process alone. Know anyone or where to look? Thanks! XOXO, Jodi

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Hey Darling Ones,

Today is the 24th Anniversary of I Will Dare(.com). The song is 40 years old. It was released in July 1994, according to Wikipedia. I’m sure I’ve remarked on the July coincidence before, but it feels like brand new information to me.

I also learned that the 24th anniversary is the opal anniversary. Feel free to send me this tiny opal kitten (or one of each color).

Usually I love to revel in I Will Dare’s anniversary and marvel at my life’s work. Chronicling your life online for twenty-four years is quite an accomplishment.

Instead of marveling and reveling, I’m mourning. Sister #2 had to put down Walter yesterday. Losing a pet, even one you only had occasional responsibility for is heartbreaking.

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Though I haven’t written about it much, I’m really trying to focus on the love and joy in my life. Walter’s death is giving me a chance to put that into practice. I’m sad that he’s gone, but I’m also happy that he can rest now.

He’s been on a steady decline for a few years now and his dementia was making him agitated. He was constantly pacing and unable to relax. Sister #2 said his decline was really noticeable when she returned to Oregon from her stay here in June, and that’s when they made the decision.

I’m so glad I got to have Walter in my life for ten years. When he was here over Christmas he could still recognize me and I got to say to him, “Hey, peanut buddy, you love me. I love you. We love each other.” Then I sang him the “puppy butt” song that I made up for him. I called him my peanut buddy because he was here when I first watched “BoJack Horseman.” Walter wasn’t a Mr. Peanutbutter kind of dog, but definitely my peanut buddy.

My heart hurts today, but I know it’s bigger, better, and stronger for having loved Walter.

Here’s to another year of iwilldare.com.

Still only a little bit of heaven & a whole lot of hell,
Jodi

The post I Will Dare (.com) is 24 Years Old (The Song is 40) appeared first on I Will Dare.

Hi Darling Ones,

If you’ve had any experience with toddlers, you’re probably familiar with the “I can do it myself” phase.

This is where the toddler wants to do it themselves. It can be anything from putting on their own socks to zipping up their coat. Usually this takes way more time and tears than if the toddler just accepted some help with the task.

I’ve always been a big I can do it myselfer, thanks to sheer stubbornness and a fierce independent streak.

After all, I created this website all by myself 23 years ago today.

At age 51, 147 days after having a stroke, my I can do it myselfness has took a turn toward the toddleresque. Even though I recognize that by doing it myself I’m making things harder for everyone involved, I can’t stop trying.

This comes up quite a bit in the physical therapy for treating my lymphedema.n This is different than the physical therapy for treating my wobbliness and poor stamina, which are not to be confused with my occupational therapy. That’s for treating my Floppy Scoop in hopes of making the awful heaviness go away.

I have physical or occupational therapy four times a week now, so I have a lot of opportunities to try to “do it myself.” This includes everything from trying to wrestle my walker in and out of the car to putting on my own socks.

Yeah, putting on my own socks.

Facing a chronic condition requires you to make yourself vulnerable over and over again, to strangers and the people who love you. Every day I find myself shucking another layer of humility, and I’m always stunned there’s even any left.

I thought I’d left all of my humility on the emergency room floor back in March when the medical staff kept reaching around and under my left breast to attach wires, exposing my breast to BFK and the rest of the room. Or maybe it was later that night when I had to ring for an aide every time I needed to go to the bathroom.

But I still had more humility to lose when my kind and wonderful lymphedema therapist took off my socks during our first meeting to look at my dry, calloused, thorny-nailed toes and swollen ankles.

It was the socks that prompted me to shout “I can do it myself!” I said it so much during our first appointment she has begun to tease me about it. “Do it mine self,” she says, mimicking what her kids say when they want to do something themselves.

The thing is that no matter how much I want to do it myself, I cannot.

That’s why I’m writing this update and once again asking for financial help.

I cannot do this myself, recover from the stroke, pay off my medical debt, and support myself. I’m trying!

Some things are getting better. I can now make a turkey sandwich in under 10 minutes. My eye doctor is pumped by my progress and I might be able to get new glasses soon. The swelling is going down in my legs, and my physical and occupational therapists kicks my ass harder every week because I’m getting stronger.

Still, I only managed to bill $850 worth of work in June. July is even worse, at $650.

The stroke side effects + the vision problems caused by the diabetic retinopathy and macular edema make working difficult, and I don’t have the time (see all the therapy above) or stamina to chase new business like I used to.

So I’m once again turning to you, Darling Ones, for help.

If you have the means, could you donate $23 to my GoFundMe in honor of I Will Dare.com’s 23rd Anniversary?

If at some point in the last 23 years I’ve moved you with my writing or made you laugh or introduced you to a beloved book or your new favorite song maybe you could throw some bucks my way? Or maybe you’re just a super kind, generous, brilliant, and obviously good looking human with $23 to spare.

And if you can’t spare the money, I get it! I’m the one asking the Internet for money, but maybe you could share this with people who do have $23 to spare?

Thank you so much for being with me all these years. I cannot do it alone, and thanks to you, Darling Ones, I haven’t had to.

Love,
Jodi

The post 23 & Me & You & I Will Dare appeared first on I Will Dare.

Hello Darling Ones,

i think i might have finally caught on to this. color me impressed.

That is the entirety of my very first post on this very blog. July 31, 2000. That means today is the 22nd anniversary of I Will Dare dot com. If this blog were anything like me at 22 she would have spent last night getting shit-faced drunk at all the bars on Water St with her high school bestie, Nikki, and friend, Graham.

I don’t have a lot to say in honor of this anniversary. I said most of what I was thinking about blogging & this blog back in May.

What I do have to say is, thank you. I owe every single darling one of you a high five, or fist bump, or shudder to think, a hug. Y’all have come out hard for me over the last year. Whether it was defending me against abusive comments or donating to my BFK after her restaurant caught on fire* or sending me money to buy records, that’s a lot of fucking kindness from strangers.

I could weep if I think about it too much.

To be fair, not all of you are strangers. Some of you are friends I know in actual life. Some of you are friends I’ve known for decades but haven’t yet had the chance to meet. All of you are my favorite weirdos. I’m honored to associate with you.

Thank you so much. Thank you for reading or commenting or emailing or messaging or hearting a thing on Instagram or Twitter. Thanks for making existence a little less lonely. Thank you for paying attention to me. If you hate read this, thank you for keeping that to yourself.

Colorfully yours,
Jodi

P.S.
I almost used the Gin Blossoms’ lyric in the header last week when I wrote about the Gin Blossoms, but was smart enough to keep it for today. Go me!

P.P.S.
The gnat situation which prompted the Gin Blossoms’ post has gotten significantly better though there’s still some of those fuckers around.

 
*The Windmill is still closed because insurance is slow moving, also, in my opinion, a little bit of con.

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