Hi Darling Ones,

Using a wheelchair “out in the community” is a trip.

My unjanky wheelchair arrived Thursday, delivered by a man with tiny American flag jewelry on his shoelaces. I’m not entirely sure what to call it. It was like this little flag pins politicians wear on their lapels, but on the laces of his brown leather shoes.

Because nothing scares me more than being alone in my house with a white guy my age, I learned so much about him. He has two daughters, one’s 26, he’s 48 and 5’10”, and has worked in medical mobility/medical equipment for 20+ years. His wife is much shorter than he is but her legs are the same length as his. He tried community college in Ely, but it wasn’t for him. Sometimes his older female clients flirt with him (to which I replied, “that’s creepy”). He likes taking things apart and putting them back together again. He has to do that frequently with motorized scooters. He agreed with me that most medical equipment is not built for people 6’5″.

Anxiety is fun!

Now that Ruby Vroom (dubbed so because she’s red like my truck and vroom because it’s funny and also “Ruby Vroom” is the name of Soul Coughing’s first album) is in my possession, Sister #4 is taking me on small outings so I can build up arm strength.

I need to get my stamina up for the John Cougar Mellencamp concert in July and the State Fair in August. That’s right, ya girl is FINALLY gonna see Johnny Cougar in concert. He’s playing in Shakopee at the, as yet unfinished, Mystic Lake Amphitheater. It’s practically my backyard and it’ll be a gentle first concert in Ruby Vroom. Sister #4 got me tickets for my birthday. I told her I’d get the chili dogs.

For Rube’s inaugural outing I got my hair cut and then went to Trader Joe’s.

And, as I said, it was a trip.

Aside from a short trip to Michael’s last summer, I haven’t been inside a store since the before before times. We’re talking before COVID and before my stroke.

I don’t know if it was the wheelchair that made me invisible or if people have grown alarmingly inconsiderate and unaware since the plague. People acted as though I wasn’t even there. There eyes glided right over or through me. They didn’t move or make even the slightest accommodation for me and Ruby.

Normal-sized Sister #4 said this was how people always acted. I was floored. Rarely, in my life, did I go so unnoticed. I was used to being stared at wherever I went. People moved out go my way either consciously or unconsciously because of, I suspect, my size. Maybe people can tell when someone is looming above them.

Is this how y’all live on the regular?

There was one woman who did see me, thankfully. I got stuck in the flower section, Sister #4 away in the bread aisle, and could not get out of a tight corner. There were jackasses behind me so I couldn’t reverse and a bucket of purple flowers in my way so I couldn’t make the turn. A kind woman saw my distress and moved the buckets for me.

Aside from nearly taking out an entire display of tulips due to bad steering there were no major calamities. Sister #4 did almost dump me outta the chair trying to power me over a curb cut, but we recovered, barely.

She was pushing me so hard my ass came off the chair and I was nearly horizontal. “Oof,” I said as I eyed the nearing pavement before falling back into the chair. A young woman watched the whole thing with a bewildered look on her face as Sister #4 and I burst out laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe and I was crying.

“Oof,” I said repeatedly on the way home laughing and crying the whole way.

Getting there,
Jodi

P.S. I’m too frugal for Trader Joe’s goodies. Thanks to my apathy for tulips I only spent $28 on carrots, potatoes, beans, coffee, and a small bag of dark chocolate peanut butter cups. If they had dahlias or zinnias I’d be bankrupt right now. The flowers sure did smell good though and that was enough.

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Hello Darling Ones,

Today was the big meeting with my Social Security Disability lawyer. It was an appointment I’ve anticipated for ages. I’ve spent a lot time imagining how it would go and making a case for why I should qualify for disability.

Seriously, I wasted hours upon hours searching for the best way to describe the feeling inside my head, the distorted vision, and the right-side fuckery.

Good thing too, because the call lasted exactly six minutes and I probably said 100 words other than yes (seeing neurologist & retina specialist since June 2025) and no (to medication side effects).

He asked me why I was unable to work and I explained how the macular edema distorts my vision so that I lose letters and punctuation when reading.

“That’s important in your work,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “It is.”
“Well, we have what we need,” he said. “I’ll call and get you ready a few days before you hearing in April.”

That was it.

Six minutes.

I was prepared to talk about the distortion in great detail. I was going to explain how I used my giant TV as a computer monitor for a few weeks but the letters were just BIG & distorted and no easier to read. There was an entire soliloquy about sans-serif vs serif fonts and the difficulties each presented, an ode to the importance of quotation marks in HTML.

So now I’m even more curious what he’ll say in the hearing and how it will differ from the case I laid out in my disability application. Twice. It ought to be super compelling. Otherwise why would the government require most disability cases get to the hearing stage where you need representation? It wouldn’t possibly be so people lose hope and give up, right?

I love government bureaucracy.

Hoop jumpingly yours,
Jodi

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Hola Darling Ones,

Have you tried the Selena Gomez Oreos? They are the best thing to happen to me so far this summer. Even better than the duck that stopped by to visit while I was at the Blue Ox Oasis (Sister #4’s backyard pool).

They are cinnamony and Oreo-y and totally delicious. I’m generally a poo-pooer when it comes to all the stupid flavors of all the things. Remember when Oreos were just Oreo-flavored? We had two choices – regular-stuffed and double-stuffed — and we were happy with that.

Cranky old goat? Maybe. Anti-capitalist who can see through a marketing ploy? Definitely.

But, these little bastards are good and I blame Sister #2 for bringing them into my life. Now that I love them they are sure to disappear from shelves in a minute. See: Diet Coke with Lime, Peanut Butter Cheerios, and a bunch of other things I can’t remember.

The worst thing to happen so far this summer is breaking my wheelchair.

After using the stupid thing about three times, Sister #2 decided we were gonna take a curb and the wheelchair had other ideas. A few of the plastic spokes cracked and a big chunk of one flew off. So, we learned the chair was not built for off-roading.

She tried to fix it by putting on a new wheel, but it’s too big and so my chair leans to the left. It still does the job, I guess. I kind of hate it.

While it does make getting places a little easier, I can tell it was built for a regular person and not a giant. The seat feels too short for my thighs and so I always feel I’m sliding right out of it. I’m gonna be the Goldilocks for wheelchairs.

Just rightly yours,
Jodi

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