Caterwauling

Mom was always the one who worried about hurricanes and tornadoes and whatnot.

Honestly I can’t name anything she didn’t worry about.

She knew someone who died doing just about any activity you could name.

Like, she never wanted to wear too much deodorant because it causes cancer.

The irony.

She would get so frustrated when I had to apply it for her and I used “too much.” Then I’d take too light of a touch and not get any on her at all.

But I wasn’t allowed to try again. You get it right the first time or not at all.

Strange bird, that Robin.

Now if someone ELSE dared criticize me, well fuck them. You and me against the world, she always said.

That was the last song I played for her. Hours before she left.

I’ve been doing good lately. I mean, depression-wise. Started eating better and knocked out a bunch of little goals.

Not on the way to being skinny or sane. But, not hating life as much as I probably could or should.

That is, till Hurricane Milton was projected to hit my area.

He’s coming in a few hours. But he’s going to ruin the other coast, rip through the Orlando area and probably submerge St. Augustine.

Down here, other than a tornado hitting near my office and near Amerant Arena, where I saw Bon Jovi at some point in my life, it’s fine. Windy AF. That’s about it.

The airport is closed, which is interesting. Mostly because I have a FLIGHT SCHEDULED. Sigh. I’ll deal with that shit another day. Not today.

Even though I’m really not in harm’s way, I’m still distracted. I mean, when am I not, right?

But when I remember I have to meet with my boss tomorrow, I’m just like ugh.

I made progress on my goals but probably not enough. I was doing other stuff.

What that stuff was, well, was a mixed bag of driving through a rainstorm to meet a VIP at my job, attending a bunch of meetings, trying to help a friend who WANTS to work with us (which involved myriad calls with myriad people) and well, staring into space.

I do that a lot. I’m not working a side job or goofing off (much) on Amazon’s Prime Days deals. I stare at the fucking sky.

I really need a job where I can make money and stare at the sky. Or the ocean. I am SO GOOD at it.

Anyway I kind of made myself cry-laugh today when I thought, “Baby’s first hurricane without her momma.”

She would do the worrying and I’d do the working. She’d have this place cleaned top to bottom so we could watch the rains through sparkling glass.

I had so many things to do this week. Because, flying out. But other than hiring a cat sitter, that’s about it. I’ve slept a lot. At least I washed every piece of linen and every towel in the castle. I could go to bed right now but I should at least remove my nail polish.

Meanwhile I am watching the meteorologist I loathe most. Momma, at least Vytas isn’t wearing his ugly green plaid jacket and red tie and blue pants and beige shoes. Which he wears at least twice a week.

The classy meteorologists with the nice suits are working with him tonight. What a visual contrast. Vytas did step it up a bit, so good for him.

The cats are doing good. They keep looking to me to see whether they should be concerned with the howling winds. But I don’t care. So, they are actually lounging by the flimsy window and snoozing like champs.

I miss my Cocoa too. I keep wanting to see if she’s hiding under my bed. She wasn’t ever afraid; that child loved fireworks more than anyone. She just didn’t feel good and tried to hide.

I feel like I let her hide too well sometimes. Even mom used to say, “Go get your baby.” And I’d drag my feet a bit because she would just hang for 10 minutes and run right back. So why disturb her?

I know why now. I know so many things now that would have been more fucking useful than telling Mom no. I should have disturbed her because she needed to know her Momma loved her.

The same way my Momma tried to love on me and I didn’t often let her.

Man, in the last couple years, she was so fragile that I barely hugged her. She would hug ME tight but I was so scared with all her pain that I would cause more. And all she ever wanted from me was a damn hug.

Anyway. I’m not drinking my way through the hurricane. And other than demolishing a giant bag of popcorn, I don’t have any hurricane snacks that aren’t fruit and tomatoes.

Quite different from spending 15 years of hurricane watches and warnings with my momma.

It’s funny, the things you miss.

Yes the big things like vacations and days that used to be celebrations.

But also clinking glasses and forks. “Click click!” she’d say with the forks. “Cheers to my Momma / Cheers to my baby!” we’d say in unison.

And watching Jim Cantore look SO BORED like we didn’t just thaw him for this one day and we’ll freeze him in a few days so we can thaw Mariah Carey for Christmas.

Hope Momma and Cocoa are somewhere beautiful. Because this ain’t it. And whatever happens to our beloved Ft. Myers (again, sigh) will depress me all over again.

Sorry to say but I’m almost glad it doesn’t have to break her heart again too. That poor lady suffered enough.

Someone on Xitter wrote that “The Golden Bachelorette” is their weekly dose of hopecore.

I like the show and the way they described it.

Joan and so many of the bachelors are widowed. They know great loss.

And unlike shows like “Below Deck” and of course the more youth-oriented Bachelor/ettes, there really aren’t drunken orgies. I mean, there was Jack, who loved his cocktails and cannonballs. But the decorum is pretty high overall.

It’s interesting to watch people help each other through their guilt and discomfort and feeling some joy. And it’s fascinating to see how otherwise well-adjusted people can be thrown back in time by an anniversary or a sign (in the form of a hawk, a memory, whatever).

I know my loss wasn’t a romantic one. But it was profound in every other way.

I do wonder about the guy who said his wife woke him up and left him. Out of the blue, really? Or just out of the blue to you? Red flag core, yo.

I could say I don’t have a lot of people to talk to, which is true. So I see myself in these guys who suddenly have a support network. How they can be vulnerable. How they can get information they never had access to.

Charles L. had no idea why his wife died with a mouth full of blood. And Guy the ER doctor said she bit her tongue. And the relief that this one little fact gave Charles was palpable.

This is the first real instance I’ve seen on any of these shows with actual brotherhood.

I like it.

I do have a support network. My cousin and best friend. Everyone on my staff lost a parent this year, too.

While we don’t talk about it all the time, it’s very namaste. We see the gods and goddesses in each other, and also the deep, deep scars we incurred that double as matching tattoos.

I, for one, am still just bewildered. I walk past Mom’s door and say out loud, “How on earth is there a world without Wobin?”

Like, I literally just bought a ticket to Kennywood. KENNYWOOD.

I must say, Magic Kingdom is so much more efficient and effective. I made a mistake on a ticket and the gate agent fixed it right there on MY phone.

I did NOT make that mistake with K’Wood. I have the PDF receipt (not the app, sigh) to prove it. But still, friction.

Anyway, my hopecore is also leaving town. I seem to come back stronger every time.

Well, I come back sad as fuck but then after a week I’m OK.

I couldn’t do any of this before. While others were sitting around blah blah blahing about all their stupid plans … and then posting boring-ass pictures because they don’t know how to make plans … I was just here happy we were all still alive.

Now my family of five is three.

And at the rate I’m going, imma have three bucks in my account if I don’t ease up on the accelerator.

Anyway, I have a pint-sized queen to meet. And I cannot wait.

I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time for sadness as we remember all who came and left before us. But, I’m glad we can meet at all.

Nothing like meeting a one-year-old to give you a reason to want to stay on this side of the veil for a few moments longer.

I couldn’t watch that debate last night.

I mean, you’ve got smarmy Garbage Pail Kid on one side, Vladimir Futon.

On the other, America’s Dad. Which, you can tell the so-called right wouldn’t know a functional fatherly relationship if they saw one, so they don’t know how to handle it.

From the beginning, I could see Walz was a touch unsure and uncomfortable. And his answer to the first question — which, let’s face it, any debate coach will tell you to get your message out there, not the answer — didn’t really dazzle me.

Anyway, at the first sign of hating the bought-and-paid-for candidate less, I switched to the RHONY season premiere and was not disappointed.

That said, I was thrilled to see Norah O’Donnell and Margaret Brennan as moderators. They were my mom’s favorite journalists. She would have enjoyed seeing them together in such powerful seats.

I busied myself, too, catching up with a friend from my Kauffman’s days. I always thought she was magical. And after 30 years, I finally used those words. Because she still is.

She lost her best gray kitty friend this week. And her mom, back when we knew each other.

I of course lost my best gray kitty and my mom this year.

And I am so thankful to my beloved friend — or as I told her, she was a glittering, golden, Stevie Nicks-esque enigma who inspired awe — for reaching out to me first, to offer comfort.

I hope I was able to do the same.

We knew each other when she was 30 and I was 23. That just hit me.

As did this:

“She’s still 23
Inside her fantasy
And you’re sitting in front of me
At the restaurant, when I was still the one you want< Cross-legged in the dim light Everything was just right I, I could feel the mascara run You told me that you met someone Glass shattered on the white cloth Everybody moved on."

I’ll just be over here with dust collecting on my pinned-up hair, if anyone is looking for me.

Actually after I posted this, I remembered we did meet up again in Baltimore about 15 years ago.

She called me to meet. Then she was over an hour late but she was charming and intoxicating and introduced me to the most amazing beer I ever tasted.

It probably wasn’t all that amazing. But I still remember its name and how it felt on my lips.

Anyway, just funny how all the memories from 23 are the ones that came rushing back first.

The tarot cards keep telling me I’m about to be surrounded by admirers, and that half of them are going to be longtime ones.

Mom’s prediction would be that one from the 2018-’19 era would be first in line. So, maybe not first, but there’s still time for that prediction to come true yet.