Caterwauling

Not for nothing but I just made some bomb ass autumn chili and jalapeño cornbread.

The recipe needs work. But for memory’s sake…

Pound of ground turkey, seasoned heavily with salt, pepper and poultry seasoning

Stewed tomatoes with hatch chiles

An extra can of hatch chiles

Cannelini beans

Can of pumpkin

Yellow corn

Black beans (I think? I don’t remember)

S&P (not Standard & Poor’s)

Cream of tartar

Pumpkin pie spice

Ginger

Red bell pepper seasoning (I should have cut up the peppers in the fridge for bite/texture)

I think that’s it. Fry up the meat. Dump it all in a stock pot. Voila.

I had a bowl with yellow corn tortilla chips and some Cholula cheese from Sargento. Very good but the beans needed some more time to steam.

Had another bowl two hours later with warm jalapeño cornbread. (Make cornbread. Add jalapeños and cheddar.)

Perfection.

And you know you’re living single if you can shove a whole freaking pot in the fridge and have plenty of room to spare.

Called my freelancer at the crack o’ me this morning. As one does.

He had sent the file I needed on Friday. But it never arrived.

So he resent it this morning. And of course we got to talking about everything but.

He’s 57 and single. I’m 51 and single. And we had some fun moments comparing stories over coffee today.

A comedian recently did a bit that said it’s not that being single is hard. It’s dating.

Both of us are filled with wanderlust. Owned by pets. Financial analysts. Writers. Traders. People with insatiable appetites for wine, good food and other pleasures.

We got to talking about how he’s saved so much money from not dating, he’s doing a trip to Europe.

I got to saying my travel buddy can’t make it to my upcoming trip to (X) and (Y).

So I said fuck it, added a day at the beginning and end, and I’m shoving two days at Z in the middle. Because I can.

Like sure, we both agreed it would be nice to have someone along. Someone to make decisions with. But, not necessary at this point.

The thing with both of us is that we want to leave our current places. But neither of us knows where to go. And we almost need someone to give us direction.

He’s going through the ailing parent thing. Which I am not about to touch with a 10-foot pole, for any man.

As T&T said to me recently (no not Taylor and Travis, but close), they respect me knowing that boundary and not negotiating it.

Taking care of my Momma and doing All the Stuff was hard but worth it. Because it was my Momma.

But I do not want to care for some guy’s parents that way. Even if the care is simply just Caring and not doing all the Stuff. Dealbreaker.

He was telling me about dating among his big friend group there. Which he may or may not leave behind once the parental stage has come to its natural end.

And I told him about some ghosts who follow me around.

Not in the good Momma ghost way.

But the way in which, if you aren’t careful who you give your energy to, they could become a poltergeist.

He’s like yeah, single life all the way.

In any event, Taylor Swift’s new album comes out Friday and I have a ticket to (theater name) to listen to it with all my new Swiftie besties.

One of the songs is “Ruin the Friendship.”

Some Swifties speculate that it’s about Blake Lively because unfortunately there’s a subset of our fandom that votes red and therefore has no fucking clue about women supporting women. (That’s the mother of Taylor’s four god-children, you nuts.)

In any event, I don’t know what it’s about. But I’m of the attitude that friendships are worth “ruining” for the relationship. It’s either going to deepen it or end it.

And for me, I’d rather know sooner.

I waited all weekend for one of my freelancers to send a file.

It never arrived. And yes, I checked my spam.

I did find a sweet surprise in my spam though. Micah! I am so glad you said hello. We DC Bloggers are the best humans. Sending love right back to you!

So I said fuck it and had my Saturday pool/Ross day. Where I had all those signs from Momma.

I did the same Sunday, but headed to Coral Springs to Ross-hop.

Had a few more surprising surprises.

At the second Ross — Mom’s and my favorite, despite (for her) and because of (for me) me falling on my ass in the crosswalk — the door opened automatically.

This is one of those old Rosses where you still use door handles.

Like … IT OPENED when I walked up to it.

I walked five steps in, smiling.

When … and I can’t even believe I saw this with my own eyes … a cart dislodged itself from the corral.

That cart rolled backward and stopped right in front of me.

Dude. There was not a breeze. Not another living soul around for 5 yards in any direction.

So … she opened the door and gave me a cart in the same minute.

Oh but wait, Shamwow fans. There’s more.

I also hit a couple TJ Maxxes.

At the first one, I found the cutest fucking shirt that said, “Look What You Made Me Brew.”

LWYMMD is one of my favorite songs on earth.

Problem was, they only had an XL and I was swimming in it.

Searched the whole store for another, to no avail.

Went to another TJs.

Found two cute shirts, but not that one. I said OK Momma, if it’s here, walk me to it.

I — well, WE! — found the shirt where we didn’t expect it to be at all.

It’s a very perfect-fitting medium.

Like, I would have been happy with an L and that’s what I was hoping for.

But the M fit even better than the two L tops I bought with it.

So, as ever, Momma knows. She knows what I want and what I need, and she managed to get me both.

I’m normally not a medium in real life. But I really felt her absolutely everywhere, laughing with me at all the stupid jokes I haven’t said out loud in years.

It was a good weekend.

The best.

“I had the best day with you today,” Momma. Thank you for that!

“You can say there’s no such thing as Santa.
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe.”

Anyone who doesn’t believe there’s a veil and they are on the other side of it … bye.

In my previous post, I mentioned how Mom seems to be in the air for her old friend and me.

What happened next made her friend spit out her cookie when I told her.

I sat out in the sun today. Where I broke my new Betsey Johnson tumbler that I picked up in Orlando. First use.

I’d remembered seeing an identical one at the closest Ross to me. So I tossed my cover-up over my wet bathing suit and drove to get it.

They had a million tumblers, but it wasn’t anywhere.

I went to leave, and I don’t know how, but my dress somehow got caught on a display.

I went flying backward … and saw the damn tumbler at the back of a lower shelf.

The second I saw those pumpkins, I said, “Thanks, Momma!” I knew she had scruffed me so I wouldn’t miss it.

The new tumbler was also broken, but in a different way than mine.

So I got 10% off. Now I have a perfect tumbler for the cost of two.

Since I was at Ross, I ordered from the Italian joint in the same parking lot.

They do a pumpkin ravioli with pancetta special every September, and I thought, get one in Momma’s honor.

I won’t talk about how I ate the entire loaf of olive oil soaked Italian bread in the car on the ride home.

But as I was sitting on the couch with a face full of pumpkin and pancetta, her song came on.

“She’s in love with the boy.”

That was her song for Scumby.

Oh he was such a loser. But she was always running out the door to jump in his tin can.

Now the odds of this song playing in my house …

As I’m eating a meal she loved …

After she pointed me toward something I wanted in Ross …

AND I forgot to mention that I thought of her today and asked where Tuggy (the tugboat) has been and TUGGY LITERALLY DROVE BY AS I THOUGHT ABOUT IT …

Are fucking zero. OK? Those odds are ZE. RO.

Taylor Swift Radio is back on Sirius 13 for another limited run. So I’ve been playing that for the cats.

How the fuck has the channel changed … and it’s playing Trisha Yearwood?!

Well, I sure hope she got to sneak a taste of pancetta, because it was superb.

Funny enough, as I sat dumbfounded over the song, each cat came up and licked some pancetta off the ravioli.

Well, Momma always wanted us to eat as a family.

I love that today, we got to do that again.

Love you, Momma! Thank you for your visit. Come back for the Taylor Swift listening party on Oct. 3. And Practical Magic 2 is coming out! You better come get a “midnight margarita” with me!

Also … “Fly Me to the Moon” is playing now. That was on the “Once Around” soundtrack from 1990. Which we LOVED!

Keep DJing tonight, Momma. Loving it! And you!

Mom’s friend texted two days ago to say she was up all night thinking of Mom.

It’s her birth month. The veil is thinning. I wasn’t surprised.

But I noticed I hadn’t really been picking up signs from Momma in a while.

I thought of her last night, as I do every night, but for a few reasons.

One, I was watching the “Golden Girls” series finale. The one where Dorothy met the love of her life and married him. At whatever senior age they were.

That was a very dashingly handsome Leslie Nielsen.

Her mom Sophia was supposed to move out of Blanche’s house with her. But she decided to stay with Blanche and Rose. And let Dorothy have this phase of her life to herself.

I cried so much. I mean, all those amazing actors are dead. But also, I remembered thinking that would be me, you know? I’d meet someone in my advanced (hah) age and hopefully Mom would have had someone to be with, too.

At least Sophia got to see her daughter’s wedding.

The second reason I thought of Momma was because I am trying to redo a vacation that’s been booked for months.

She always told me to put the questions into the universe before I fall asleep. She used to awaken with answers that way.

Well, I was more confused about my trip than ever this morning. And I thought, What Would Wobin Do?

Well, other than tell me I’m going to get myself killed and I should stay home, I mean.

I used to feel like she doubted me. But she never did. She would have told me, “My baby got everything handled.”

So I did a “free writing” session. First, I wrote what I have planned. Then I wrote WWWD — What Would Wobin Do — and told myself, ok, now write down your ideal itinerary.

Man, that was easy.

I already switched around some hotel nights. I put some tickets up for sale on Ticketmaster. And basically put a wish out in the universe to sell one so I could put the proceeds toward a better ticket.

There’s still some flight juggling to do. But, I really do amazing things when I know Mom’s pushing me to do them.

But she was far from done with me today…

I keep blowing through my data plan.

Was trying to get around D.C. on foot when AT&T said sorry, babe. Slowing your data. Have a nice life.

It wasn’t so bad because I was home. But still, annoying since I hadn’t been home in FIFTEEN YEARS.

I looked up some data plans from the safety and comfort of a Wi-Fi signal.

Honestly my plan — with two lines and no overage charges — is the best one.

But.

I could pay less per month if I dropped down to one line. And get better coverage, albeit piecemeal, like the old days of cell phone coverage.

As Kody Brown phrased it, that felt LIKE A KNIFE TO THE KIDNEY.

I have always intended to keep Mom’s phone number and line open.

My cousin canceled her mom’s service when she passed. (Us eldest daughters always pay for our moms’ cell phones and their service.)

And then she got a message from that line and it freaked her right the hell out.

Anyway that was the first time I thought about changing something big because she isn’t here to use it anymore.

Seeing memories pop up on the socials is weird too. OneDrive always sends me an OTD email, for example.

It’s fucked up as all hell to realize she’s been gone for two of these (insert dates).

Like, two birthdays. Gone.

I always knew the second year would be harder. The one that cemented the first wasn’t a blip.

I’ve started putting things on her bed. Most of it is stuff she cherished or wore. But now I have a couple overnight bags of my own there too. To keep Belly out of them.

And I thought, man I had bought her an excellent egg crate. A cooling one. She loved it. Got so mad at what I spent on it, but it cradled her.

I got to thinking, man everything hurts in my body after these Disney trips.

She would love it if I took advantage of it.

I guess it’s time to start using “her” stuff now that it’s mine.

But as for the phone, I don’t know. She wouldn’t want me LOST without data. But … if there’s a shot in a million that she’d call me from that phone, I don’t want to miss it.

I sat through a four-hour timeshare presentation Monday.

They put me up at a very fancy Delta. I mean fancy. It had a pool just like the Vistana’s.

Not that I had time to use it, as I was park-hopping all day.

And not that the people who gave me the stay provided the correct address.

I went to the wrong place.

Got a different address after some confusion.

Then then Siri took me to Twistee Treat, as that was the second address I was given.

Got to have Mom’s and my favorite order, as we had been to that location before together.

And of course I click-clicked the spoons.

Doesn’t everyone take photos of their mom and cat to dinner?

In any event, I saw a tall building in the distance and stumbled my way to it in the car. It was very nice.

Woke up early the next day. Didn’t know where I was supposed to go or what time. What an operation.

Checked out at 7:30 since there was ONLY decaf in my room. I knew the fancy lobby had a fancy coffee bar.

At 7:35, I got a text with where to go for this nonsense presentation. So I just headed straight there, thinking surely they will want to impress a potential buyer.

Hah.

Well there was no first floor entrance, just a giant stairway to the second floor.

I was also wildly early. I asked about coffee and they said they had none.

Should have left right then.

Waited forever and then some weird lady came and complimented my shoes.

I mean my Crocs are sparkly and all. But … they’re Crocs.

Well. Weird lady was my salesperson.

She took me in an elevator to the first floor … and there she waved me to the “continental breakfast.”

Six bagels in baggies. And a coffee urn.

I tried the coffee. It was FOUL.

She asked me to be open minded. And I was.

I mean, I knew this was a big potential expense at a hotel chain I’d never stayed at. But for as much as I go to Orlando, it’s not out of the realm.

The TL;DR, as if there is such a thing, was that I spent three hours hearing about her travels to Morocco, Paris, Qatar, Dubai and where the fuck ever else.

Every time she asked me a question about me, she Krispy Kremed.

I mean, they are selling the dream here.

She made me feel like I don’t dream big enough. Like just Paris? That’s your dream, really?

I said well, Greece, because I was supposed to go with a friend but she died young. And I want to see why she loved it there.

So I got to hear all about her trips to Greece. And her friend’s son who died young. Made me guess how many cars came to the funeral. Five hundred. With all the local emergency personnel.

She took me on a tour and there were a million people in one of the eight pools.

She said isn’t this WONDERFUL. Don’t you just LOVE meeting people.

I said no, I really don’t. I am very much a loner.

How about less about barbecues and more about how this membership translates to a available properties in Key West.

She said you’ll get to meet SO MANY other owners, isn’t that great!

I was telling K that I could get past her personality.

But when I asked about Key West, she threw her book at me and told me to look it up myself.

I said it’s not really in any sort of geographical order, can you help?

She said no, it’s not my book. I don’t use it.

I was done with her right then.

But no, she wouldn’t let me leave.

Would. Not. Let. Me. Leave.

The first offer was for $40k over 10 years. Plus $1,400 a year for maintenance fees.

Second offer, $30k.

I said yeah I’m definitely intrigued but no.

She fought me on that. I said well no is a full sentence. And she was NOT playing with me.

I said you keep selling me on all these two-bedroom condos in Idaho and haven’t told me anything about Italy. She said look at the book; it’s all in there.

I said I know my favorite hotel in Vegas isn’t there. You don’t have anything on the Strip.

So if I am paying this mortgage, paying for my favorite hotels, paying rent and cat sitters and food and whatnot … I truly thank you for helping me learn about my options but it’s a no for me, dawg.

She kept bringing it back to money.

And I said lady I can hand you cash for the whole thing today and you will never have to speak to me again for 10 years. It is not about the cash.

Ohhhhhh boy. Now she was ready to negotiate.

We got that $30k slashed to $23k.

We slashed that maintenance fee to every OTHER year … if I promised to refer people.

I said how many times do I have to tell you I am a loner. I am not sending people to sit in a meeting with you.

She goes on about how I can host family reunions! And get up to four units for the price of one!

And I can give my employees the gifts of a hotel stay if they just sit through a presentation!

I’m like nah we cool. I am hungry. Let me stop wasting your time.

She brought over a manager (lol) for a better offer.

The price dropped to $19k, $17k. Then $13k. Then $10k.

I finally put on my backpack and said thank you for a lovely four hours. What do I have to do so I can leave?

She melted down and basically asked what’s wrong with me. Is it that I don’t have the money?

“We don’t do credit checks. Everyone gets approved. You can use up to three payment methods. Give me three credit cards and it’s yours!”

I said you seem very responsible with money and I am too.

I am going to take that CASH downpayment, invest it and maybe come back to you in five years.

She and stomped and got the “manager’s manager.”

The big boss said I have one final offer for you … $6,300.

So I managed to go from $40k to $6,300.

Alas, I said I am super open to this idea. But I am just not in the headspace today.

Between you and me, Caterwauling fandom (so, three of you) …

I was ready to buy at $19k.

Do you know what I spent on The Eras Tour? On Vegas? On New York? On Washington, D.C.? On 17 Disney trips? On souvenirs for friends and family and myself?

Pretty fucking close. In a year. One year. Twenty grand.

A timeshare would have SAVED me money. I promise you.

Maybe if ya girl wasn’t tryna call me poor in a nice way …

And maybe if she helped me see me where I can stay in Key West, where a proper week costs $5k yet she could get me there for $299 TOTAL for 8 days …

We’d have had a deal.

I didn’t say any of this to the big boss.

In fact, the big boss said great — you saved me $500 that I’d have to pay her in commission.

So, here’s a $300 gift card AND a weekend stay at any of our resorts.

Thanks for coming in; we’d love for you to fill out a survey and we’ll take your name out of our system.

I do feel bad wasting the first lady’s time. But it wasn’t a waste to me.

I ate a very good lunch with my shiny new gift card.

With very good cocktails.

And I got some chocolate-dipped bacon and potato chips.

The chocolate wasn’t so great but it was fun to try.

Plus, now I know how to negotiate if I find a property I do want to have a long-term relationship with.

Parting thought — I literally told the lady how to sell me. I said quit harping on the legacy benefit. I don’t have kids.

And I was working while she was “talking to my manager.” I was like lady, I am on ROLLOVER PTO to be here. ROLLOVER from 2024.

How the fuck can I take 8 days anywhere?

Sell me on “you can work from your hotel since it’s only $299 a week and not a night.

But did she sell me on that?

No. She didn’t listen.

And so, I didn’t reward her.

Like Taylor Swift says about when she tries something that doesn’t work.

“And now we know.”

Indeed.

I’ve been traveling so much … eating so many cool things … seeing so many amazing things … and talking to so many awesome people …

And yet, anytime I want to write about it, I think about how nice it is that no one knows.

I miss sharing every detail with Momma.

But she knows. And that’s good by me.

I got to have dinner with some old friends on what would have been Mom’s 68th birthday.

“I’ll wear my badge
A vinyl sticker with big block letters
Adherent to my chest
Tells your new friends
I am a visitor here
I am not permanent.”

They took us to brunch on the day Mom and I left D.C. with Maddie and Kadie in tow.

So it was quite heart-warming to spend time with them on what could have been a much harder day for me.

I mentioned that it’s probably silly but I still keep up the blog.

They cheered me on. They knew how much I loved to write.

How I would have wanted to be a diarist if the world didn’t already have an Anais Nin. How it helps me organize my thoughts and improve my writing.

They also remember the events that led to me leaving D.C.

“The district sleeps alone tonight
After the bars turn out their lights
And leave the autos swerving
Into the loneliest evening.”

They recalled how I was finally starting to make a tiny bit of money.

That I’d gotten a good little group of girlfriends that I did things with.

How much time I spent in museums because those were free and, let’s face it, me doing better financially meant being able to afford a cocktail with my friends … not exactly to fill up the tank and take trips.

Incidentally, I had spent the morning at the Hirshhorn on Mom’s bday.

My favorite place on earth.

Like, I have some goober who thinks it’s cute to shitpost that I don’t go into museums.

Like I just stand outside.

I don’t need to counter because I don’t care.

Stood outside of this museum too !

In fact, I usually just laugh that I’m a topic of conversation.

My friends are also aware of this person. We agree she isn’t even the most interesting of my problem children.

That’s the cool thing for me.

They KNOW all my problem children.

Like, how fun is it to have friends who pre-date all the crazy?

Even better, that they’e outlasted all of them … and they are still here for me?

The only pic I took there, sadly.

They cooked me a delicious dinner after a day of protesting (for them) and sightseeing (I hopped over to Alexandria — my true hometown; Pittsburgh was just my birthplace).

I got wings (all flats) in Mom’s honor for her birthday at Hard Times Cafe.

And a Frito pie with Cincinnati chili.

In my honor.

But I ate just a few bites at Hard Times with my (Alexandria) Port City porter.

That way, I could enjoy every bite of the bolognese sauce and every sip of the very nice Sangiovese they had for me.

Can’t believe it’s been 15 years since I’d been home. Since I’d seen my friends.

Felt like no time had passed at all.

Nothing really changed.

Minus a whole Wharf, Harbor and water taxi popping up in the last decade.

Anyway they remembered how I felt “a way” about taking on Mom.

Which was icky to revisit.

But it was accurate. And validating, TBH.

They remembered how I wanted her to be independent. How she took care of herself and my grandfather just fine. But then came to me and wasn’t so independent anymore.

I did say I wanted to correct the record. She was sicker than I knew. Sicker than SHE knew. So she could finally quit pretending otherwise.

What I perceived as a lack of motivation was, in hindsight, the start of a whole lot of stupid shit in her body starting to take over.

I tend to get defensive when people start to say that I was absolutely valid in my feelings that her coming along might have changed my trajectory.

“I am finally seeing why
I was the one worth leaving.”

Like I might have stayed in DC. I might have met someone good.

Or I might not have.

But I might have had the money to enjoy DC properly.

And it blew my damn mind to buy and eat whatever I wanted now.

Like when I accidentally ordered two meals at Colada.

What I do know is I’m now the age Mom was when we moved to Florida.

And I’m glad I could give her a good life and peaceful exit from it. I just wish I’d been nicer about it.

Her last advice to me was eat good, be good and do good. Found this woman-made card at Shop Made in DC on the Wharf:

I had a revelation that day as I was in L’Enfant Plaza for the 14th time because it was the station that got me everywhere I needed to go …

“I’m staring at the asphalt wondering

What’s buried underneath.”

I thought Mom’s final gift to me was being here for my 50th birthday.

But here I was at 51, back in my adopted homeland, and I realized THAT was her final gift.

My freedom, while I’m still healthy enough to enjoy it.

Otherwise I’d be sitting in the house, watching the Rethuglicans attack Democrats over their Pumpkin King’s (my opinion) public execution of Charlie on live TV.

Like, it’s starting a whole attack on Democrats for how we vote.

They are costing people their jobs.

And why employers are so ready to reward these trolls and not employee loyalty/skills is beyond me.

And it seems to be happening to more women than men.

It’s a solid preview of what’s set to happen when the demons from the “Ghost” movie come for Habanero Hitler next.

Unfortunately, it probably only gets worse. Much worse.

Anyway.

Cheers to an amazing trip to D.C.

I got to see Ethel Cain.

I got to eat Mom’s favorite meal.

I got to enjoy a martini with ham in it.

I got to enjoy Bloody Marys with bacon and shrimp.

And extra bacon, as the server was out of celery so that’s how she made up for it.

I got to go to the Hirshhorn and lose myself in an amazing room painted by Laurie Anderson.

Whose song “World Without End” was one of my favorites, years ago.

I got to spend a few hours at the International Spy Museum.

Which my dumb ass walked to from the Wharf, not realizing it was sitting atop … you guessed it … the L’Enfant Plaza Metro stop.

Goddamn it.

I got to hang out at DCA, my favorite airport …

… despite its awful formal name.

And I stayed at the freakin Intercontinental Hotel.

Quite baller of me, if I say so myself.

But the waterfront was what was really spectacular.

I could live there. I really could.

I mean, if a studio didn’t cost the same as my 2/2 in Palm Beach.

There were so many highlights from that short trip. But I think “old friends are the best friends” is the highlight.

I thank them … and my city … for welcoming me back.

When the pilot said, “Let me be the first to welcome you home” as we flew over the Pentagon, I sobbed.

Welcome home, Goddess.

Just a “Gossip Girl” quote but feel free to clutch your fake pearls if you feel it applies.

Imagine posting shit about me and I’m just over here on a self-guided Gossip Girl tour through Central Park and the Upper East Side.

Started at Chuck Bass’ Hotel Empire on the Upper West Side. Gorgeous!

Went to the Empire Rooftop for the Gossip Girl brunch.

Made my way to the Lotte New York Palace Hotel. The van der Woodsen family home and plenty of courtyard scenes with the characters.

I have so more Gossip Girl inspired pics but I want to get this one posted before I post another vacation montage.

There’s a new coffee shop in town.

I went to the one in Delray once. (Which, if you’re following the drama, Ron DeSantis’ goons dumped dollar store paint over our rainbow crosswalk and now it’s a weird mix of colors. And there’s a whole lawsuit that’s cost him and us a quarter-million each.) But they were so rude to me, I walked out.

There’s another location of this shop across from the funeral home where I took Mom. I always blow a kiss toward the building where she was last on this earth. But I never dared to stop.

Today I did the kiss and blew past the shop. But I decided to do a U-ie and try something I’d seen pop up on Faceypages.

OK first of all, the PSL was the best I’ve had maybe ever.

The logo is a dead ringer for the Palm Tree Beach Club at the MGM Hotel in Vegas. So, that made me happy.

What else made me happy was the key lime bagel bomb. The thing on Faceypages.

There was no bagel. This was really like a boston creme donut but with key lime custard throughout and not just a squirt.

It was strange sitting across from the funeral home.

Nice. But weird.

Mom picked that place.

There’s another one closer to our apartment. They seem to have six snazzy hearses but not too many funerals.

They get high-profile ones, though. Ben Crump took on a high-profile death — when police killed a little Black boy on a bicycle in our roadway — and I forgot and drove past. That place was PACKED. As was the roadway. As it should have been.

In any event, Mom always said please don’t take me there. She had a better feeling about the one by the coffee shop.

Sitting there in the lot today with my bagel bomb, I thought about that day momma left.

One of my employees had a psychic flash about mom. She had texted me to say we were on her heart. She asked if I was ok.

I was like I’m good, thanks for asking.

That was a Sunday. The next Monday when Mom’s ashes were ready, I texted my managers that I needed to run out and pick up Mom’s ashes and that I’d be back in an hour.

They about fell over.

I just hadn’t wanted to tell anyone. That manager had just lost her dad. Another manager had just lost HIS dad. Like, we were a sad fuckin bunch. I kind of wanted to give them more time to mourn their parents before I smacked them with my own great big loss.

I also got to thinking about the funeral director. I was probably the only customer who ever asked for a tour.

I don’t mean a tour of the pink and blue viewing rooms in that old-fashioned place.

I’m like show me the office. The crematory.

TELL ME WHERE MY MOM IS. I can handle it.

And they showed me. I mean, they didn’t take me to her body. But they took me as far as they could.

I drove around the building to where she was being kept cold till her idiot doctor could come and sign the death certificate. It took forever because it was a holiday but also because he couldn’t find his ass with both hands.

Like I told her when I got her ashes, naturally the medical profession had to let you down one more time.

I was horrified to see the funeral home flag at half-staff today.

Mom would have been rolling over in her grave if I’d buried her.

She was the kindest person I ever knew, after my grandfather. She would have been absolutely outraged that a fascist, xenophobic, sexist, anti-intellectual twit with a podcast got that honor.

I often think about how she and my grandmother loved current events.

They were quite informed enough to be outraged about them. I get that from them.

My grandfather believed that too — you can be outraged as long as you are informed about it first.

Anyway, while I think Momma would have been outraged about that twerp on earth, I have no doubt she won’t run into him in the afterlife.

I follow some witches who said Twerpy (which is what Momma called Magic the cat; it’s they nicest thing I can type here) was quite confused on the other side.

It isn’t like he thought it would be.

He was still sitting on that stage wondering what the hell happened.

And when he realized he wasn’t exactly being welcomed into the almighty’s loving arms, he panicked.

The witches said a day or so later that his life review wasn’t going as well as he expected it would.

Ts and Ps.

Or Chants and Spells, as I say.

Anyway, I wish Mom could have tried that key lime bomb.

That would have meant she was in the car with me and that we were having a nice day together.

But my hope is she licked some of that icing and got to enjoy it vicariously.

And while I’m wildly sad that she won’t get to enjoy good foods again, knowing Twerpy will be reunited with his king — the Pumpkin King — soon enough gives me some joy to offset that.