Help for Dani
Donation protected
Before anything else, thank you for taking a minute to even make it to this page
As I begin to write this, I’m sitting on the tailgate of my 66 Chevy in the north pasture at my Dads. I’m about 20 feet from my most favorite spot to sit on the whole property, beneath the towering tree where we placed a plaque in commemoration of him. The same tree permanently inked on my arm. It’s so peaceful here right now. The sun is going down, the days warmth remains but with less of a grip on the stifling heat. Birds are singing their evening song, an occasional hoot of the neighborhood owl, and the wind brings a soft whiff against the grass around me. Arya (my 4 year old pup) is stretched out at my feet, Saleek (Aryas brother) not more than three feet away. Complete peace.
Here I can quiet the rest of my mind, and solely focus on this.
I’m just going to be straight with you.
I need help.
If you know me, like REALLY know me.. not just see me once in a while and hold conversations that never get past the weather or how my back feels or what I’m doing for work these days.. I mean truly know me...you know that asking for help is extraordinary difficult for me. Especially when it comes to money. I swore up and down to myself I would never start one of these things, it’s way too vulnerable of a position to willingly put myself in. But here we are, writing all this out in hopes (and extreme anxiety) that it won’t be taken as a “poor me” fund, or worse, people feeling sorry for me. But, with that said you will take this as you will, and I don’t have control over that.
But I do want to tell you my story.
I mean if someone is going to donate money, I feel as though they deserve to know why.
It’s an extraordinary long story, one that I could spend hours typing into here, but who wants to read all of that? So I’ll explain why, the short version.
In August 2016 my dad was killed in a freak accident at his shop. It was completely devastating not only to me, but my sisters and so many other people. He didn’t have a current/active will, and he had fallen behind on his life insurance payments, so nothing was willed to the six of us (his children). Not legally. After the sale of our Vancouver home early last year I moved into his house here in Silverton, and have been here since. I absolutely cherish this place, my childhood home. I literally grew up here. This place is a major part of the memories I have of not only when I was a child but also as an adult. I came to live here after college, and then again years later. And of course, now.
This is the house that built me.
These walls, the vast columns, the memories they hold. Not purely the internal structure but surrounding it and the forest and the land. I learned to drive a tractor in the field beneath my feet, how to combine and swath and till and sew seed. I dug the 1200 ft ditch across the pasture with a backhoe over 2 days when I was 16. Dad and I laid the water pipe for the trough my cows drink from and all of the animals before them. We fell trees along the driveway and nearly took out the garage in the process. Here I’ve raised animals for harvest, helped babies be born and grow and become mothers themselves. I’ve knelt in the dirt with them as they’ve taken their final breaths or brought new life into this world. On the back deck of the house is where I had my last conversation with my Dad, two days before he was killed.
Okay okay, You get it. It’s important to me. But you don’t. I don’t truly believe anyone can fully understand without being here and experiencing it yourself. Even then, it would never be enough.
And all of this is about to go away.
The bank that owned his shop property hired an attorney to open his estate so they could foreclose on the shop, and it was only a matter of time before he came for the house. And that time is here. I had planned with some family members to try and purchase the house once it went into foreclosure, then to auction. We would fix it up and sell it eventually, but I would still get to live here.. but the attorney wanted to sell it before the foreclosure process finished. The house was put on the market (unbeknownst to me until a for sale sign showed up on the driveway) and it sold in less than 72 hours. And now I have to be out by July 16th. Head spins. Panic. Stress.
I will save you all of the details involving the grief that is resurfacing throughout all this, because that’s an even longer story. And one that continues. I do want to say, I have met the buyers, and they are good people. The best kind of people I could hope to live here and raise their family and make their own memories in this beautiful place. I have to remember in this process that they are not the bad guys here... but it’s difficult to remember that when you have to leave your home so someone else can make this their own. After everything. More than anything in this world I don’t want to give this place up. But I don’t have a choice in that.
So right now I am in search of a new place to live, with my animals, and that’s where help is needed. We know that moving isn’t easy, or cheap. I need to find a place to live, and that means security deposits and rent and a moving truck or storage unit and boxes and packing tape and all the other shit people pay for when they move.
On top of this house stuff, my medical bills just continue to grow. Some of you know of my health shit- spinal stuff, heart stuff, kidney, etc. Last October I had a bad loss of consciousness episode and sustained a concussion that kept me out of work for months. I essentially lost my job at Irving Street Kitchen because of it. And eight months later my doctor at Ohsu will still not clear Me for more than part time work. As much as I hate to admit it, she’s not wrong. My body just can’t handle that kind of stress and physical demand of full time. Even though I need and want to, my body says no.
I recently had a kidney stone turn into a kidney infection that kept me home from work for ten days.. and if you’re like me and budgets are tight- that’s a lot of lost income. I normally see 3-5 providers a week (acupuncture, chiropractor, massage, ortho, pt, cardio, injections) to keep my pain level beneath a 7 and to manage my tachycardia condition. Without the maintenance, I cannot function. At least not at all effectively. And the meds, Guh, don’t get me started on the number of medications and what they cost. Its crazy!
The point of all this is, I need your help. I know money is tight, and you have a lot of things to pay for. Believe me I understand. Even if you just took the time to read this through and just can’t spare it, I am okay with that. Maybe share it with your friends or co workers or family, maybe someone else can chip in. $5 makes a difference. That’s $5 to go towards a medication refill or towards a moving truck or gas in the car or health insurance payments. I’ve heard many times from people to holler if I need something. I’m hollering. And hollering loud.
Maybe you can’t donate money but you can donate time. I need help packing and carrying things, organizing, cleaning, Manning the sale I’m having July 5-7. Going through things and separating out what is not to be sold from what is. Physically lifting many items in my place are out of the question for me. So I’ll take any help you’re willing to give. That anyone will give.
I thank you, whoever you are reading this. I hope this is not too much to ask. Thank you for hearing my story, and listening to my truth.
The sun has gone way below the hills now, the evening still aglow with life and song. I am loving these warm nights in my favorite place. And I’m trying to root them in my memories as much as I can before it all comes to an end.
Dani
As I begin to write this, I’m sitting on the tailgate of my 66 Chevy in the north pasture at my Dads. I’m about 20 feet from my most favorite spot to sit on the whole property, beneath the towering tree where we placed a plaque in commemoration of him. The same tree permanently inked on my arm. It’s so peaceful here right now. The sun is going down, the days warmth remains but with less of a grip on the stifling heat. Birds are singing their evening song, an occasional hoot of the neighborhood owl, and the wind brings a soft whiff against the grass around me. Arya (my 4 year old pup) is stretched out at my feet, Saleek (Aryas brother) not more than three feet away. Complete peace.
Here I can quiet the rest of my mind, and solely focus on this.
I’m just going to be straight with you.
I need help.
If you know me, like REALLY know me.. not just see me once in a while and hold conversations that never get past the weather or how my back feels or what I’m doing for work these days.. I mean truly know me...you know that asking for help is extraordinary difficult for me. Especially when it comes to money. I swore up and down to myself I would never start one of these things, it’s way too vulnerable of a position to willingly put myself in. But here we are, writing all this out in hopes (and extreme anxiety) that it won’t be taken as a “poor me” fund, or worse, people feeling sorry for me. But, with that said you will take this as you will, and I don’t have control over that.
But I do want to tell you my story.
I mean if someone is going to donate money, I feel as though they deserve to know why.
It’s an extraordinary long story, one that I could spend hours typing into here, but who wants to read all of that? So I’ll explain why, the short version.
In August 2016 my dad was killed in a freak accident at his shop. It was completely devastating not only to me, but my sisters and so many other people. He didn’t have a current/active will, and he had fallen behind on his life insurance payments, so nothing was willed to the six of us (his children). Not legally. After the sale of our Vancouver home early last year I moved into his house here in Silverton, and have been here since. I absolutely cherish this place, my childhood home. I literally grew up here. This place is a major part of the memories I have of not only when I was a child but also as an adult. I came to live here after college, and then again years later. And of course, now.
This is the house that built me.
These walls, the vast columns, the memories they hold. Not purely the internal structure but surrounding it and the forest and the land. I learned to drive a tractor in the field beneath my feet, how to combine and swath and till and sew seed. I dug the 1200 ft ditch across the pasture with a backhoe over 2 days when I was 16. Dad and I laid the water pipe for the trough my cows drink from and all of the animals before them. We fell trees along the driveway and nearly took out the garage in the process. Here I’ve raised animals for harvest, helped babies be born and grow and become mothers themselves. I’ve knelt in the dirt with them as they’ve taken their final breaths or brought new life into this world. On the back deck of the house is where I had my last conversation with my Dad, two days before he was killed.
Okay okay, You get it. It’s important to me. But you don’t. I don’t truly believe anyone can fully understand without being here and experiencing it yourself. Even then, it would never be enough.
And all of this is about to go away.
The bank that owned his shop property hired an attorney to open his estate so they could foreclose on the shop, and it was only a matter of time before he came for the house. And that time is here. I had planned with some family members to try and purchase the house once it went into foreclosure, then to auction. We would fix it up and sell it eventually, but I would still get to live here.. but the attorney wanted to sell it before the foreclosure process finished. The house was put on the market (unbeknownst to me until a for sale sign showed up on the driveway) and it sold in less than 72 hours. And now I have to be out by July 16th. Head spins. Panic. Stress.
I will save you all of the details involving the grief that is resurfacing throughout all this, because that’s an even longer story. And one that continues. I do want to say, I have met the buyers, and they are good people. The best kind of people I could hope to live here and raise their family and make their own memories in this beautiful place. I have to remember in this process that they are not the bad guys here... but it’s difficult to remember that when you have to leave your home so someone else can make this their own. After everything. More than anything in this world I don’t want to give this place up. But I don’t have a choice in that.
So right now I am in search of a new place to live, with my animals, and that’s where help is needed. We know that moving isn’t easy, or cheap. I need to find a place to live, and that means security deposits and rent and a moving truck or storage unit and boxes and packing tape and all the other shit people pay for when they move.
On top of this house stuff, my medical bills just continue to grow. Some of you know of my health shit- spinal stuff, heart stuff, kidney, etc. Last October I had a bad loss of consciousness episode and sustained a concussion that kept me out of work for months. I essentially lost my job at Irving Street Kitchen because of it. And eight months later my doctor at Ohsu will still not clear Me for more than part time work. As much as I hate to admit it, she’s not wrong. My body just can’t handle that kind of stress and physical demand of full time. Even though I need and want to, my body says no.
I recently had a kidney stone turn into a kidney infection that kept me home from work for ten days.. and if you’re like me and budgets are tight- that’s a lot of lost income. I normally see 3-5 providers a week (acupuncture, chiropractor, massage, ortho, pt, cardio, injections) to keep my pain level beneath a 7 and to manage my tachycardia condition. Without the maintenance, I cannot function. At least not at all effectively. And the meds, Guh, don’t get me started on the number of medications and what they cost. Its crazy!
The point of all this is, I need your help. I know money is tight, and you have a lot of things to pay for. Believe me I understand. Even if you just took the time to read this through and just can’t spare it, I am okay with that. Maybe share it with your friends or co workers or family, maybe someone else can chip in. $5 makes a difference. That’s $5 to go towards a medication refill or towards a moving truck or gas in the car or health insurance payments. I’ve heard many times from people to holler if I need something. I’m hollering. And hollering loud.
Maybe you can’t donate money but you can donate time. I need help packing and carrying things, organizing, cleaning, Manning the sale I’m having July 5-7. Going through things and separating out what is not to be sold from what is. Physically lifting many items in my place are out of the question for me. So I’ll take any help you’re willing to give. That anyone will give.
I thank you, whoever you are reading this. I hope this is not too much to ask. Thank you for hearing my story, and listening to my truth.
The sun has gone way below the hills now, the evening still aglow with life and song. I am loving these warm nights in my favorite place. And I’m trying to root them in my memories as much as I can before it all comes to an end.
Dani
Organizer
Danika Klein Stadeli
Organizer
Silverton, OR
