Hello Darling Ones,

A voicemail from my Poor People’s insurance company just prompted me to burst into tears.

The message was about connecting me with Second Harvest Heartland in case I needed help securing food. The tears were a mix of gratitude that I don’t need that kind of help and sadness that so many do.

‘Tis the season, ya know.

After Minnesota Octobers and the Boys’ High School Hockey Tournament, Christmas is my favorite season. And the older I get, the more I love it.

In the past I did not have good Christmases. Poverty and an emotionally-volatile dad triggered by Christmas ruined many a holiday as a kid. It took me a long time to figure out I could make Christmas as magical or mundane as a I wanted. Even longer to realize the point is enjoying making the magic and not so much waiting for others to delight in the effort I put forth.

Since I have $0.00 to spend on Christmas this year, I’ve been working my fingers to the bone making all the gifts. Past, more financially-secure me was quite the yarn hoarder. Thanks, you money-wasting ding dong!

I’ve been diligently crocheting tiny owls, chickens, dinosaurs, and more as prizes for the A Very St. Martin Christmas races. This is a game I invented last year whereby my family each pick a wind-up toy to race across the coffee table. The winner of each heat gets to unwrap a prize or steal from someone else.

I told my cousin Billy this year will be even better than last year. I want tears, jealousy, and vows of revenge, I said. He pretended to be excited, because he loves me.

At some point after Christmas Jaycie & Max will get homemade sweaters. On Christmas they’ll get yarn and buttons and the choice of patterns.

I’ve been enjoying the hell out of my magic making time. I work listening to either The Cider House Rules or that new Snocaps record. At night I crochet while watching gameshows from the early 60s and laugh like a goon. Frankly, it’s delightful and seems to be enough to keep my mind off everything I could be anxious about (periodontist appointment (Fri), MRI (Wed), no income, and appointment with the neurologist(Jan).

ALSO, and most importantly, last night I learned that I’m the same age as The Grinch, which feels like vital information to know.

Banging the Gah-Ginker,
Jodi

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Hi Darling Ones,

As you now, I’ve struggled through November. It’s rough. When people ask me how stroke recovery us going I say, “It’s difficult (or annoying or frustrating or a pain in my ass), but I’m lucky I got to be annoyed/frustrated, etc. I could have died!”

In my deep-dark, icy-robot heat I’m shouting “THIS IS TOTAL CRAP. NO FAIR!” and also, my old standby “WHY CAN’T ANYTHING EVER BE EASY.”

Empotionallly, things are getting a little bit better (see below) and I did find a few things to enjoy this crappy month.

Pink Pony Club (Chappell Roan cover) led by Waxahatchee

My pal Solace shared this on Bluesky and it made my week. In a month where I’ve struggled to find joy, this singalong with one of my favorites was a nice hit of it.

The 25 Most Important Recipes of the Past 100 Years

This is worth a scroll if you like to eat, and worth a read if you like to learn about food. There were some surprising omissions Schrödinger’s Meatloaf and any kind of hotish (though that’s probably older than 100 years). Though they do have something called “Green Bean Bake” that is a casserole and includes cream of soup (which is a necessity in my definition of hotdish). There’s also “Tunnel of Fudge Cake” which sounds like poop and I’ll probably name for bookclub because it uses my beloved bundt pan.

Holiday Prep

The winter holidays are pretty fraught for some people. I’ve done battle with them myself for a good portion of my life. Some of my most horrific childhood memories concern Christmas. Yes, memories, plural. Thanks, dysfunctional family!

As a grown-up I’ve taken back Christmas. With my friends and family we’ve slowly built much loved traditions.

Like lots of women, I put a lot of work into Christmas. Shopping, wrapping, cooking, hosting, crafting, etc. I used to get really stressed out about it, and in my weaker moments I still do. What I’ve realized, and what I yap about a lot now, is if you don’t find joy in doing it, don’t do it.

I legit love getting ready for the Holidays. I ordered 200+ chocolate truffles yesterday. There’s five different kinds of coffee creamer in my freezer. My sister mentioned how that’s one of her favorite parts of Christmas. The different creamers.

Tonight I’m gonna crochet my fingers off while watching a professional wrestling documentary my nephew told me about, and then I’m going to look for a vintage butter dish for my niece. It’s tons of my favorite things at once. I’m so lucky.

Ho-ho-hoping the holidays make it bright,
Jodi

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Well, Well, Well, Darling Ones, we meet again…

After sleeping until 10 a.m. this morning and taking two naps, I’m happy to announce I have survived the holiday social gauntlet thus far. I have not spoken to a human in the last sixteen hours. While I’m not quite back to my usual fortysomething in late-stage capitalism during an unceasing pandemic levels of tried, I have stopped praying for the sweet relief of eternal sleep. In fact, my throat kinda hurts a little today and I’m actively hoping to not die.

Darling Ones, how are your holidays thus far?

Mine have been surprisingly delightful. Despite the post-Thanksgiving sister fuckery, things went really well. There was no petty bickering or awkwardness or passive-aggressive snark. We had a really good time up until we realized we forgot to get our mom the new smart TV we promised her for Christmas. Oops.

We are awful children. Thankfully our mom has a good sense of humor and found pure joy in our horrified reactions once Sister #4 said at 9 p.m. on Christmas night, hours and hours and hours after gift opening brunch, “Fuck. We were supposed to get you a TV.”

Speaking of wayward Christmas gifts. . . I got my 23-year-old nephew a whittling kit for Christmas. Maxwell loved it and spent a lot of Christmas afternoon playing with it. He loved it so much that he was in the hospital getting stitches on the 26th. There’s a reason they called me Aunt Bad Lady when they were younger.

The best part of the holiday has been hanging out with my niece, Jaycie. I haven’t seen her since August 2020, which is the longest period of time I’ve gone without seeing her since she was born. She really is one of the Top 10 all-time greatest people I have the pleasure of knowing. For Christmas I got her a Joan Didion print by my friend and fabulous artist, Amy Abts. We both cried when she opened it, with Didion’s December 23rd death weighing heavy on our hearts.

Later that night she explained how much Didion’s Play It as It Lays means to her and how she found the book in a really dark time of her life. I bawled like a baby while continually whispering, “that’s beautiful.”

Last night before Rock & Roll Bookclub, we were listening to the Family Mix playlist on Spotify. It’s the playlist where they shuffle up a bunch of songs you all listening to individually. My brother-in-law Ben had a ton of influence over our list because it was filled with the mope rock her loves — The Cure, Depeche Mode, The Smiths — barf!

We were all discussing the music we like and have been listening to.

“I listen to a lot of Big Star,” Jaycie said.
“What?” I said.
“The band Big Star,” she repeated. “I listen to them a lot.”
“Alex Chilton?” I asked. “Like, I never travel far without a little Big Star?” I sang and Sister #2 joined in.
She nodded her head at me. “Yeah. I really like them.”

My heart grew three sizes that night, and that’s even before Rock & Roll Bookclub started.

Having all of my people in my house for Bookclub is the second best part of the holiday. It was shouty and slightly drunken and very loud. The Dirty Santa game was extra competitive this year thanks to some help from my cousin Cathy (who once again complimented me on how cool by house is) and her daughter, my first cousin once removed, Lindsay (this is the one cousin who is part of our Wedding Party group chat).

Also, thanks to some post-game negotiating I traded some electronic gadget to my friend Atom for eleven wheat pennies.

Winning at being social,
Jodi

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Dear Darling Ones,

Yesterday BFK walked into Supergenius HQ toting a giant, glittery-snowflake dappled bag with tissue paper peeping out of the top. I took one look at it and said, “If that’s for me I’m gonna be pissed.”

She grimaced at me as she dropped the bag at my feet. “You said you only want presents that make me think, Jodi needs to have that.”

I scowled and made huffy breath noises, because I did say that. I say that a lot, actually. I’m old and I own tons of crap. I don’t want people to feel obligated to buy me stuff for any of the gift-giving occasions. So I say, a lot, the thing about only wanting gifts that make people think of me. If I never get another gift again because people don’t think of me, that’s okay. I’ve gotten eighty-kabillon thoughtful gifts in my lifetime. Wheat pennies and used records and vintage dishes and signed books and just today Sister #4 sent me some Grover Bombas.

As BFK dove into her lunch I started to gingerly pull tissue paper from the bag, and then I folded it neatly.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said.
“Uh, yeah I do,” I said. “We’re not wasting this. I’m gonna fold all of it neatly, put it back into the bag, and you’re going to take it home so you can reuse it.”
She rolled her eyes at me.
“It’s my gift to you.”

Darling Ones, I did not get her a gift. I didn’t even think about it because from Thanksgiving up until yesterday I’ve been super depressed.

The first thing I pulled out of that bag was a small container of peanut butter blossom cookies. “These are my favorite!”
“Those aren’t part of the gift,” she said. “Those are just what was leftover from the cookies I made.”
“I don’t care,” I said. “They’re still my favorite.”

The next thing I pulled out of the bag was a gift so sweet and thoughtful I thought about crying, but didn’t.

“YOU GOT ME DONUTS?!”
BFK nodded.
“You saw donuts and thought of me?” I asked.
She nodded again.
“This is the best present ever,” I exclaimed.
She sighed. “That’s not even the real gift,” she said.

The real gift was a Funko Pop of Wonder Woman riding on Pegasus. She said she got it for me because Wonder Woman is an Amazon and Pegasus is from Greek Mythology and because I love Funko Pops. I told her that her gift logic passed muster and that I would accept this present. I didn’t say that. I thanked her profusely and told her I loved her.

I’ve been a little Ponyboy Curtis today with only two things on my mind, neither of which are Paul Newman or a ride home. My mind has been pre-occupied by the thoughtful donuts and the TV show “Succession.” I’m in love with this show. I’ve got like five more episodes of the third season and then I’ll be done with it. I’m kinda ready to be done with it because I spend all the time I’m not thinking about donuts thinking about the Roy siblings, Connor Roy specifically.

Connor is the oddball, not entirely in touch with reality eldest Roy sibling. He’s a half-sib, like me. And he’s played by Alan Ruck who also played my fictional soul twin Cameron Frye in “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.” And another thing about Connor? He likes donuts too.

Stay gold,
Jodi

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Hi Darling Ones,

Nobody in my family will let me cancel Christmas. I even offered to postpone it until we can all be together, but Nooooo. We must go on with the gifts and ham even though most of us won’t be here.

My mom came over for her annual Chinese food and online shopping event. Except when she was eating at the other side of the dining room table from me, she wore her mask the entire time she was here, “just to be safe.” She had cataracts removed last week and she didn’t want to take a chance on me getting the covid.

“Christmas is going to suck and I’m going to hate it,” I said over my orange chicken.
“I know,” she said. “But you still need Christmas presents.”
“No, I don’t,” I said like a petulant brat. “I just want to go to bed tonight and wake up on inauguration day.”

She ignored me and bought gifts for my sibs and nibs. It sucked and I hated it. I was such a brat that I didn’t even spend all my allotted Christmas money. I was such a brat that I decided the sadness record I bought earlier this week would count as one of my gifts.

“You still have $60,” she said as I was readying to checkout.
“Can I just not?” I asked.
“I’ll veemo it to you and you can buy something when you think of it,” she said. She loves the Veemo and no matter how many times we tell her it’s Venmo she doesn’t get it right.

I don’t want to do this. I want all Christmas or no Christmas. If I can’t have Christmas Eve Eve and Sister #2’s birthday and a Very St. Martin Christmas and Boxing Day Lunch and Rock & Roll Bookclub Dirty Santa, what is even the point? And as I typed that I realized I’m not even gonna get the one night a year I get drunk (Dirty Santa night). BahFUCKINGHumbug.

Everything sucks and I hate it.
Jodi

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