Herein lies a Mennonite, a weasel, and some (presumably) burnt frozen pizza, which I suppose is oxymoronic.

While watching the news this morning, I was surprised to see a colorful Death Matters mug sitting in front of the meteorologist. (1. If there are mugs in sight, they typically hold the station’s logo. 2. Death Matters? (Sure it does, and an exit plan is important, but still. Weird.)) After a short weather update, Antoine Stormcloud (let’s pretend that’s his name) held the mug up and said, “I want to thank our producer for giving me this mug today before the show. He knows I love this time of year.” What? Really: What?! I paused the television (because we live in a magical world) and walked the six steps required to put face to screen. Sweater Weather. The mug said Sweater Weather and I’ve been wearing the same glasses for three years now. Time to make a call.

Fluid Pudding is dusty and smells like Doritos and gin, and most of us haven’t played games over here in four months. BUT in 2038 I know I’m going to wonder if it’s true that I once stood in a room with a prisoner and a Mennonite. That’s when I’ll slowly hobble my way over to Fluid Pudding and: Yes! It is true, and it happened on September 11, 2023.

Here’s all the stuff I may want to remember:

Harper finished high school in January and then worked nearly full time as a barista until she officially graduated in June and then moved into her dorm in August. That sentence holds a lot of life stuff, and Harp handled every bit of it with intelligence, humor, and grace.

Everyone: Oh, man. You’re empty nesters now. HOW IS THE EMPTY NEST, EMPTY NESTERS WHO ARE EMPTY NESTING IN THE EMPTY NEST?!

Me: If we decided to live our lives according to sitcom tropes, I would be drinking wine from a jug as I sob and flip through old baby photos. BUT, I don’t drink wine, my meds don’t allow me to cry, and most of the girls’ baby photos were lost several years ago when our iMac crashed.

Here is a photo that loosely represents my life as an empty nester who is empty nesting:

Back in June, Tempe and I went to prison. We also went to a Yayoi Kusama exhibit, a swoon-inducing pen store, a tiny Amélie-esque café, a museum of surgical science, and a really great neighborhood bar.

The above scene took place at the bar, and it is the perfect example of why you should never send away the weasel. (Related: I saw Ani DiFranco last night, and during the show she said, “I’m at the age where if it’s a good story, that’s all that matters.” I’m sure Ani is not a weasel sender. (She also said, “I’ve never taken a poll.” and I giggled like an 11-year-old boy because Meredith’s friend had purchased a round of kamikaze shots for the table, Poll sounds like Pole, and I’m a lightweight.))

Kusama at WNDR!

Joliet Prison! (We pronounced it HO-lee-yet, not because it’s correct, but because it’s funny.)

Rough Segue: SPEAKING of PRISON!
(Search Words for 2038 Me: Prisoner! Mennonite! (Also, Hi. Are you happy? If you made it this far but can’t do the math for whatever reason, you’re 68 now. And while we’re talking about math, did you ever figure out how to construct the equation about driving X mph until there are X miles to go? Also, do you still have that weird freckle on your leg?))

It sounds dumb to say things like:

• “He’ll be a great president because he’s reading a book about Reaganomics!”
• “We captured the fugitive and then decided it would be really cool to take a group photo with him! Say CHEESE, motherfuckers!”
• “Hopefully I’ll see you back here before another four months go by!”