Dear Darling Ones,

Yesterday as my last day of physical therapy and as we pulled away from 1601 St. Francis Ave I was a little sad.

Do you have any idea how much time I’ve spent there in the last 11 months? Hold on, I’m gonna go figure it out.

Between occupational, physical, and lymphedema therapy; gynecology; and orthopedics, I had 76 appointments at 1601 St. Francis Ave.

That’s a lot!

And now, I got bupkus on the books. Well, nearly bupkus. I have my mammogram next week & the eye doctor on July 23, and at some point I’ll have to see my regular doc in July.

That’s all I got. And it feels weird. I’ve spent the last year with at least one appointment a week and to now have nothing for weeks?

I’m adrift. It’s like I’ve been fired from my job, which was going to appointments in an attempt to recover from this stupid stroke.

Now I’m a freelance recoverer and that scares the shit out of me. What if I suck at it? What if I never get better than I am right now? WHAT IF I GET WORSE?

I’ve been especially tender about my lack of progress lately. A few weeks ago I got a text from BFK accusing me of discarding and disrespecting her once my sisters “took over my care.” I did not respond because I refuse to fight over text. Also, it’s not true. She’s the one who filled out all my OT & PT paperwork in July. She got mad at me in August.

The idea of “my care” hit me funny. I do not like it at all. Despite all the myriad ways people have helped me, I didn’t really think of it as care. But it is! It totally is. If it weren’t for all the care I’ve received, well I’d never had made it to those 76 appointments and Supergenius HQ would probably be in foreclosure.

But, now as I write I’m realizing it’s not the “my care” I have issue with. It’s the “took over.”

The thing that has taken the biggest beating since my stroke is my fierce independence. It sucks to have to rely on so many people. It’s also beautiful and heartwarming, but I’m an ogre and used to doing everything myself. I’m an eldest daughter and it’s always been my role to take care of myself and everyone else. So needing help? Needing care? Ugh. Barf. My icy robot heart is so displeased.

While my independence has taken a beating, my ability to ask for and accept help with grace and gratitude has grown three sizes! Still, the independence is strong. I still try to do as much by myself as possible. So the idea that anyone “took over my care” is hurtful and untrue.

You know who made those 76 appointments? I did. Know who made all the other appointments? Know who made sure I had transportation? Me. And while I still can’t get my groceries from the front door to the kitchen, I can order them, pay for them, put them away, and use them to make meals all by myself. Know who does all that with low vision, a floppy scoop, and a right side that refuses to feel like it weighs less than 800 pounds? Me.

So, maybe I’ll be okay doing the freelance recovery? Maybe I’ll need help, and that will be okay too.

This letter did not go where I thought it was going.

Sorry! Blame the brain damage.

Love,
Jodi

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Dear Darling Ones,

Today I called my BFK on the phone at 9:01 in the a.m.

“Hey,” she answered tentatively.
“I NEED HELP!” I shouted.
“Ok. What’s going on?”
“My smoke alarm is chirping every – ” CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah,” she said laughing.
“I don’t know what to do.” I said. “I disconnected the smoke detectors took out the batteries – ” CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP. “And now the wires are chirping, and I’m too afraid of heights to climb a ladder.”
“Do you need a ladder?”
“I have one in the garage.”
“We’re on our way.”

Thirty-ish minutes later, Atom & BFK walk into Supergenius HQ.

“So, it stopped,” Atom said when he wasn’t immediately hit with the CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP.
“NO!” I howled. “The wires are chirping.”
CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP
“You know,” he said. “Eventually, you’ll just used to it and won’t even hear it. It’ll be like the chime of a grandfather clock.”
I glared at him.
“The wires are chirping?” He asked with a dubious look on his face.

I calmly explained the smoke alarm fuckery saga that has been the bane of my existence for the past two weeks. We’re talking full-volume, unceasing, the house is on fire bleats at five in the morning. And 7:44 in the morning. I eventually changed all the batteries and thought my problems were solved. A few days later I was assaulted by intermittent full-volume bleats for like 22 seconds. Eventually, I unplugged the fuckers and replaced them with some janky-ass battery operated $7 specials until my brother-in-law comes and fixes them for real.

Atom listened calmly, flinching when the CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP startled us every forty-five fucking seconds.

“Now the wires are chirping?” He asked again with the dubiousness.
“YES! The wires in gaping holes are chirping.”
“Ok,” he said as he headed outside to get the ladder.
When he came back in and stood at the bottom of the steps he looked at me as the wires CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP chirped their song of madness.
“See?” I said. “The wires are chirping.”

He disappeared upstairs and two CHIRP CHIRP CHIRPS later we hear. “It’s not the wires.” Then he comes down with my crusty-ass carbon monoxide detector in his hands. “It’s this thing. It says error.”

“Ohhh,” I said. “I never thought of that thing.”

He put in new batteries and when it still chirped with the error message, he took out the batteries, and told me to get a new one.

“Chirping wires?” He asked again having driven a half-hour in 8º weather to solve my problem in 90 seconds.
“Yes,” I said. “My brain decided wires attached to nothing could chirp.” I showed him my phone with the google search history. “I googled hard. I don’t know how long it would have taken me to get to the carbon monoxide detector.”

He shook his head and laughed.

Darling Ones, I cannot recommend enough having friend who will believe your cockamamie magical thinking enough to come investigate a problem and only tease you a little bit for being bonehead.

Embarrassingly yours,
Jodi

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Dear Darling Ones,

I promise not to turn this into a blog about The Windmill Fundraiser. However, I have some more things to say.

When I was down with the COVID I had a discussion with someone about how I much I hated to ask for help. I thought this discussion happened in the comments here, but I can’t find it. It might have occured in my imagination. That happens sometimes.

The woman I had the discussion with was all, “Stop being a dumbass and ask for help when you need it.” And I just made a scowly face in return, which she couldn’t see because I think this all occurred on the internet.

When I told Sisters #2 & #4 about the fire at The Windmill last Tuesday morning their initial shock and sadness, and then they said, “we’ll set up a GoFundMe.” And I was all yes, of course.

Then I had to set up the GoFundMe. On the outside I was giving BFK & Atom lectures about how there’s nothing to be ashamed of, how this is not begging, and how people want to help. Sister #2 was also lecturing on community aid and asking for what you need. We’re fun at parties!

Let me tell you, Darling Ones, setting up that GoFundMe and clicking the share button are two very different things.

Asking for help is fucking scary. Pressing that share button felt like asking everyone I ever met at anytime in my life if they wanted to go on a date with me. It was like passing a note across a row of desks asking, “Do you like me? Circle one: yes no”

Is it irrational to pin any amount of your self-worth on a fundraiser that benefits your best friend as if this is a reflection of your actual value in the world? Uh, yeah it is.

I did it anyway.

Darling Ones, so many people circled yes that I’ve been an on & off emotional, weepy mess since Sunday. SO MANY PEOPLE! Bowlers said yes. Westernerds said yes. Old internet rivals whose gooey sweet center I promised never to reveal said yes. Darling Ones, many of you said yes. And those are just the names I recognized. A lot of people who I never heard of and who have no clue I exist said yes. So far 103 people have said yes. In just two days we raised enough for one week of pay for all the people left jobless after the fire. Now we’re working on another week. Every bit helps and every donation, no matter the amount, makes me so damn thankful I could burst.

That is amazing and touching and if work weren’t still kicking my ass I would sit and cry about it while contemplating the drive to help and the unending kindness of so many people I’m honored to share my life with in some way, shape, or form.

If I could, I would invite you all over for soup (though right now I have Cuban pork with mojo in the oven and the smell is probably what God smells like if I believed in an all-powerful deity like that) and we could listen to records and I would tell you all things that are amazing about you as a way to say thanks.

Instead, I included you on the tacky collage of a lot of my favorite things I could think of off the top of my head. I also included a pictogram of one of my favorite songs which nobody will get but makes me laugh and laugh and laugh and compliment myself on my own cleverness.

All my love,
Jodi

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Hello Darling Ones,

I’m not quite sure where to begin. This is gonna be a heavy one and I’m gonna cry while writing it, and that’s on top of already crying roughly 48* times today.

Okay, here’s a good place to begin. I want to tell you three things about my BFK (Best Friend Kari).

1. She was the very first person I ever called using a cellphone.
2. I love her so much I went to see the band Train with my own eyes and ears. In a parking lot. In July. It was awful.
3. She loves me & my family so much she got up at like 4 a.m. on her day off to take my parents, Sister #4, and her BFF Amanda to the airport.

Sometime during the night of Monday, January 24th, there was a fire at Kari’s restaurant. Her husband, Atom (of wheat penny fame), discovered the rubble when he went in to open the place at 4:30 Tuesday morning.

Nobody was hurt, because the restaurant was empty. The building is still standing, but the inside has suffered extensive damage. If you look at the pictures above you can see how the pop cups on top of the pop machine melted together. They melted!

Officials who know these things & investigated think there was a chemical reaction in a basket of freshly-laundered towels that caused the fire and all the damage. I guess in the exact right circumstance grease residue + laundry detergent + towels = catastrophe. Who knew? I mean, I kinda knew that greasy rags could spontaneously combust, but I had zero idea that formerly greasy rags that have been washed can do that.

Science, why you gotta be so weird?

Fun Fact: I have not done laundry since this happened and I’m kind of afraid to.

Do you know my history with The Windmill? My parents owned the restaurant from 2008 until they retired in January 2020. That’s when Kari & Atom took over, much to my sisters & my relief. None of us wanted to run the place and we also didn’t want it to sit empty or go to strangers.

Kari started working at The Windmill in March 2019 after getting laid off from her corporate gig. She needed a job ASAP while she figured out what to do next. I asked my mom and the rest is history.

So yeah, Kari & Atom took over in January of 2020. And we all know what happened in March of 2020. Remember how I became the proud owner of 30 eggs?

Despite government-mandated shut downs and all kinds of COVID restrictions, The Windmill kept on churning. Until Monday, that is. The place is a wreck, insurance is sorting things out, and rebuilding & repairing all the damage will take months. This means, that Kari & Atom and their eleven employees are out of work for, optimistically, six months.

Dang, this is already 600+ words long and I got so much more to say, but I will stop lest your eyes fall out of your head from reading so many words on the internet at one time. I’ll save the rest for later.

In the meantime, if you have the means throw a couple bucks in the pot for The Windmill staff. I’d appreciate it so much and I can 100% guarantee there will be tears of gratitude shed in your honor.

Gratefully yours,
Jodi

*This number change constantly, because I cry a little each time someone donates to the GoFundMe. I was a fucking mess this morning while we were setting things up and the donations popped in so quickly. I’ve cooled it a little now I only shed one or two tears each time I get the notification email.

P.S. I’ve had The Beatles’ “Help!” stuck in my head all damn day.

The post Help Us Get Their Feet Back on the Ground appeared first on I Will Dare.

The plane Luke Bucklin, President and CEO of The Nerdery, was flying is missing in Wyoming. Luke was flying the plane with three of his sons on board. They were headed home from a family vacation in Jackson Hole. You can read more details at the PiPress or on Luke and his wife Ginger’s blog.

As I mentioned earlier, I have an uneasy relationship with religion. But I have a very strong belief in the power of positive thinking and the energy that can produce.

If you’re the praying type, could you say a prayer for Luke and his family? He’s a very kind, intelligent, and generous man. He’s a strong, guiding force in making The Nerdery one of the awesomest places on Earth. Somehow the company manages to balance the aspects needed to be a strong, successful company with being decent human beings intent on helping people. You need only look at the Overnight Website Challenge to see some of the good Luke & The Nerdery have done.

If you’re the vibe-giving type, send some vibes his way so that he and his sons are back with Ginger and the rest of their family soon.

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