Tuesday 8 December 2009

All this and he's handsome too.

Christmas is all about slick sidewalks and icy cold city lights. Hazy piano bars soundtracked with whiskey-throated singers and eggnog that can be lit on fire. Tiny well-wrapped boxes belie things like diamonds and silver or money or a handmade ornament. It's about trees planted everywhere, directly in your path and crowds who are holding onto their sanities with ragged fingernails. It's about taking an extra moment to buy the completely ludicrous cookies at the bakery because they are snowman-shaped, and to drive around on a Saturday night looking for the block with the most lights.

It's about the chipped, ancient nativity set in the yard of the church further up from my house, the baptists who suffer the theft of Jesus and his manger every single year and yet somehow it's always returned in time for storage again, and it's about dipping into those bakery sugar cookies with the gritty, glittery sprinkles on top that always taste good no matter how long they've been sitting out on the plate. It's about the arguments over construction of the gingerbread house and the worries over money and the anticipation of the new year following close behind.

It's about family and friends. Yes, the spirit has hit. Rather abruptly as usual. Normally I wait for it to arrive just as the children have their Christmas concert at school. We didn't go this year so I've been patiently wondering how long it would take to kick in otherwise.

And then I got the phone call which let everything else fall into place. Sam has had his third phone interview with a church on the west coast and they're flying him out in February to complete the approval process and he will be moving too. It never occurred to me that he would now have enough time invested to be considered for endorsement. It never occurred to me that he would seriously consider coming with us.

I never actually thought that Sam liked me all that much, frankly. I am such a pain in the ass. I cut into his friendship with Jacob, I was the liturgical equivalent of Yoko Ono when Jacob chose to leave the church and begin teaching, and then I fought physically and emotionally against Sam through every single day of the program he enlisted to help me deal with my grief over losing Jacob. He's not winced when I've sworn in the sanctuary and he's chosen to always ignore the moments I would lean over his desk to show him something on his computer and realized maybe a different, higher-cut shirt would have been a better choice for the church office and he's calmly and rationally diffused the neighborhood gossip that focused squarely on me when he split with Lisabeth.

Better than that, he's embraced Benjamin as his friend and he loves all the boys as brothers, in spite of a huge mile-wide rift that sometimes divides them into two camps, one of Cole's friends, the other of Jacob's. He is the glue, as it were and has incredible patience. For the God jokes and the What would Bridget Do? braceletgate and stepping in to shoulder the hard parts where someone has to be put back together. He has sat outside my pantry door many a night on the freezing cold kitchen floor while I told anyone who would listen from inside the door that God didn't exist and to please tell me again why I should believe otherwise.

He put Jake back in the box after I dumped it out not once but eleven times so far.

He's a recovering alcoholic, which means he helps the rest of us understand what makes Ben tick, or better yet why he keeps getting run over by the wagon. He hasn't touched a drink in years, and never will again, and the other boys are learning volumes about inner strength and determination and compassion from the guy that was once referred to as Reverend Jake's mini-me.

He's God in Sam-form to most of us and we worship him accordingly. Which pains him but at the same time I think he's incredibly touched to understand how much he means to us as a group and individually and he has chosen to repay us in kind by remaining part of the family. An active part, instead of a former part.

I did not expect this gift, and it makes me wonder if we're on a roll. If so, I'd like a pocket big enough to hide Ben inside and a few people brought back from the dead. Also, bring a woman for PJ. He is far too in love with this Victoria's Secret commercial to notice that Michael Bay doesn't direct real life so his standards need to come back down a little. Perhaps they will, abruptly, just like my Christmas spirit.

If not I'm sure we can instead be incredibly thankful that our bizarre and unconventional and deeply loyal circus family will be together in the new year.

I'm going to go back to putting the lights on the tree now. The day has gotten a whole lot better. Ben is going to be so excited. Everyone is.

Too much time and then too little.

(Alternately titled Goldilocks and the 3 Husbands because it's funny.)

Someone sent me an email recently asking me what my deal is. That was it. One line. What's your deal?

If that wasn't a rude demand for something for nothing I don't know what is.

And then it occurred to me that I've removed all of the archives that would have led readers back to oh, 2004. Even though nothing much happened until 2006. That was the year I think the world as I know it exploded.

Here's a really truncated look back because I can barely do this but it's been demanded of me and who am I to ignore a direct command, ever? To match, it's staccato, and just as rude. There will be no poetry today.

I grew up on the shores of the Atlantic, with Lochlan, Caleb, Cole, and Christian. The moment I could I ran away with Lochlan (young love, don't you know, we were practically a Bon Jovi song) to join the midway and then the circus. You will find many references to it. I can't help it, it's in my blood. I read music lyrics like other people read the newspaper because I have a degenerative hearing loss that someday not so far off in my future will leave me with only the music in my head and I'll be damned if I'm going to forget the words when the time comes.

But let's skip forward twenty years or more, shall we?

In April of 2006, I left my artist/photographer husband, Cole. We had been married for twelve years, having just bought a house after he was transferred from the east coast to the Prairies. We had two small kids, Ruth, who was six at the time, and Henry, who was four. Cole was a sadist. I was submissive and already incredibly fragile. I left Cole for Jacob, one of our best friends. He, like many of our friends, had followed us to the middle of the country. Maybe I was never one to play very fairly. The separation began amicably enough but stopped the night Cole broke into the house when I was there alone and hurt me. He broke a lot of bones, I'm five feet tall and ninety-five pounds, fighting back was a fool's game. Jacob saved my life that night and Cole went to jail. Two months later Cole suffered a massive heart attack and died. He was thirty-seven years old. We were not yet divorced.

Something in my head broke and I was never the same again.

In August, Jacob took me for a hot air balloon ride. He proposed, I said yes. We were married two days later in his church. He was a Unitarian Christian minister/University prof. In September we got pregnant and in October we learned that the pregnancy was ectopic. We were doomed but we struggled mightily through the next full year trying to stay afloat. He was trying to fix everything and I kept trying to break it, trying to keep normal going when normal had packed up and moved away.

In October of 2007, Jacob left me. Left us. Just up and said he was already gone. That he wasn't a good person, that he needed to leave. I broke a little more. The resiliency of this one little human must be positively outstanding. I foundered around numb for a week and then on Jacob's birthday, my friends came and told me that he was dead, having taken his own life the night before. He left letters. Hundreds of them. Five years later I still can't get through some of them and so I don't know what they say.

This was when my head exploded. I did a lot of very self-destructive things and then I went away to a lovely place where they fix heads like mine. I came home weeks later, too soon, incapable of being any better off but loathe to abandon my children the way that Jacob had abandoned us. I continued to be self-destructive for a long time after coming home. Honestly I still am sometimes.

The winter after I came home Ben began to show me who he really was. I liked that person. I don't wait anymore. There is no point, I knew what he felt for me. Those of you who have read here for years have witnessed our comment wars and real-life difficulties. We've never had a dealbreaker, he's my boomerang boy. He always came back.

Ben has an unconventional job that I don't talk about much and he may or may not be on the road or in the studio for a good three-quarters of most years but if you ask me I will tell you he's a door-to-door tattoo machine salesman. Hell, we have enough tattoos between us to make a stab at the truth with that one. He is none of your business in that respect so don't ask me what his last name is or if he's famous because that is the only time you will ever catch me in a lie anymore. I'm fine with that.

By April of 2008 we were married and oh, here she goes just like Elizabeth Taylor but really, Ben and I bicker just enough to pass for normal, married people. So far so good. He's lost both of his parents in the midst of all this. He's been to rehab a number of times and fights hard to stay sober. He's been through more than I have, but that's for another day, again. He's a beautiful human and he values his privacy so I don't actually write about him as much as I once did.

When I'm not sharing too much information with the readers who wander in and out and number in the thousands now (thank you for the daily collection of outraged emails) I write short stories and novels too and I look after my friends and my two not-so-little kids (Ruth is now a full-fledged teen and Henry isn't far behind and yes, they were named for candy bars but it could have been worse if I liked Kit-Kats and 3 Musketeers) and I cook dinner for a crowd every night.

In the spring of 2010, the whole extended intentional family (the collective, as we usually refer to it) moved to the west coast. I sold the castle that Cole bought for me in the Prairies and we bought a house that juts out from a cliff, overlooking the beautiful Pacific ocean. Then we bought the one next door to it and now the whole point is ours. We decided to make it into a compound for our intentional family. Our collective. Others have called it a commune. Doesn't bother me one bit, as I would not trade it for the world now.

Caleb lives in the Boathouse, as it's called. It's a two-bedroom modern cottage a stone's throw from the main house. He is Cole's older brother. He's a lawyer/CFO/venture Capitalist/self-made man. He is the Devil incarnate sometimes.

I live in the main house with Ben, Ruth, Henry, Lochlan (like Cole he is also an artist, but more about him in a minute), Sam (Jacob's former student), Dalton, Duncan (Dalton's older brother), Gage (Schuyler's older brother) and PJ. The new house next door holds Andrew (my oldest and dearest friend), John, Christian, Daniel (Ben's younger brother) and Schuyler (Daniel's husband).

Jacob's best friend and my favorite sounding board August lives above the garage in a beautiful airy loft that I designed myself. 

Other friends I mention often include Corey, Keith, New-Jake, Joel, and Batman (a nickname for someone who flies into my life when I ask for him. I don't do that anymore.)

In 2011, Ben and I made a huge decision to include Lochlan in our marriage. Lochlan and I have been in love since I was nine. He raised me on the midway circuits and then later in the circus. I am who I am today (strange and wonderful) because of him. He's had a tough job being half-parent, half-lover, we struggle with that every day but some things are just meant to be. Some things just work, you know?

In 2015, Ben and I took a step back, reevaluating what we both want, changing things here, tweaking things there and chose to divorce each other but not break up. In the summer of 2016 I married Lochlan. Legally. He asked, I said yes, We ran off to Coney Island and sealed the deal on the Wonder Wheel. He's the one on the paper now and Ben is 'the main boyfriend' (I sometimes have another or two) and it works, so far. This is a dream I gave up on and then got back and it's one I plan to live to the end.

That's my deal, in a nutshell. What's yours?

[PS: I'm not on very many places on the internet. I am playing with Pinterest just a little. That's all. At last count I saw seventeen 'Saltwater Princess' accounts in one formation or another on Twitter and on Instagram, and people keep googling me, sending me pictures of other Bridgets and such. It's not me. Stop looking. In spite of the fact that I live in a commune, I'm actually a really private person without much internet time at all. The boys don't have any internet aside from the occasional facebook or instagram account but those are all set to private so don't bother. We don't talk to strangers anyway.]

Monday 7 December 2009

I played my best for Him.

Was going through my tech cupboard, deciding which things to keep and which to discard and on one of my old cellphones was a video of Jacob singing Little Drummer Boy in church to the Sunday school classes, Christmas Eve 2006.

Wow.

To keep, by far. I would post it if I still had the software to get it off the phone. Arms thrown back, messy blonde curls, eyes closed at the end. Dear lord, my boys singing Christmas carols is oddly especially stinging. All of them. It doesn't matter if PJ is crashing through the house singing I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus or Ben with O Holy Night last year.

It's just a thing, okay?

A really hard thing.

Upward, princess. Onward, go! he would say.

Crumb tinies.

I have a wicked awesome Christmas tree!

Which I would have skipped this year if the children weren't my big picture, because it seems really counterproductive to be moving and suddenly drop everything and erect a tree in the living room that we'll spend hours lighting and decorating only to take it all down January first.

I'm working on the bright side, the part that I can see up high if I stand on my tiptoes. And the fact that Ben will be away from us for a few months is maybe a price that must be paid for temperatures currently forty degrees higher than they are here. Maybe it's a small test before the easy part of life kicks in. Maybe it's par for the course and it will shake me out of my now harmless but annoying doom-and-gloom personality that throws shadows on these walls in the absence of light.

Maybe I will gain perspective.

Maybe I'll even get a grip.

Okay, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Let's just roll on with one foot in front of the other until we're up to our ankles in the saltwater of the Pacific.

We're going to see Santa this weekend, to ask him to stop bringing character-building kits as gifts and to throw up the horns for a rocking photo op. I may ask him for just a little more luck like the kind that Ben is to me, resplendent in full beard and flannel these days because he's cold and sad that he's leaving ahead of the move and pulling out all the stops to block my tears before they can make it over the falls.

Sorry, the melodrama is just everywhere today. I'm tripping over it and pulling it out of my hair, unsticking it from my lip gloss and clearing it off the window so I can look out. I'm not so sad this morning. Just determined. Frighteningly determined.

I really really really won't miss the cold. In fact, I'll probably rejoice for having made it so many winters here without going entirely crazy.

Wait. What?

Sunday 6 December 2009

A moment to remember a night that never should have happened.












* Geneviève Bergeron
* Hélène Colgan
* Nathalie Croteau
* Barbara Daigneault
* Anne-Marie Edward
* Maud Haviernick
* Maryse Laganière
* Maryse Leclair
* Anne-Marie Lemay
* Sonia Pelletier
* Michèle Richard
* Annie St-Arneault
* Annie Turcotte
* Barbara Klucznik-Widajewicz

Saturday 5 December 2009

Hex is fairly obvious, but that's it.

Not a lot has changed since 1987.

I spent the better part of the day passing tools to the boys, much like in the garage out in the country in high school where I would sit on the workbench and pass things.

Bridgie, hand me a Phillips.

Is that the star shaped or the straight slot?

Almost twenty-five years later I'm still asking the same questions, because it's dumb to give last names to screwdrivers when 'straight', 'star' and 'square' would suffice. The boys just sigh and calmly repeat it without the fancy names.

The star one.

Oh, this one! Here.

Today we finished putting insulation in the ceiling of the addition. I call it the addition because it's a rather large and wonderful extra entire house that was tacked on to the main house in the late nineteen forties and it accounts for why there are so many rooms within rooms in my house and very few hallways. It's wonderful. But it was very cold and had wonky doors and windows and odd wiring and coins and love letters in the walls.

All that is gone now.

I kept the coins and love letters. And the 1920 theatrical face paint sticks that I can't explain but somehow it brings joy to me to imagine that other performers lived here once upon a time.

The doors and windows are new now. The wiring has all been replaced and today the boys finished insulating all three floors that were virtually uninsulated up until now. It's so much warmer now. It looks clean and fresh and ready for plasterboard.

Yeah, yeah, just in time to move.

There are still two and a half rooms left. I know we'll run out of time but for now it's good to keep chipping away at finishing the house up to show.

I also managed to fit in a full grocery shop and lunch with chopsticks today. Ruthie had her final painting class (she'll follow her father's footsteps come hell or high water) and Henry helped at the hardware store.

Now everyone has scattered to the four corners of the house to read on laptops, listen to music, or watch sports on television and I'm cooking up a big dinner of beef dip sandwiches and green beans. Then after dinner we'll scatter again to rest up for another round of whatever we can come up with tomorrow to be productive imminent house sellers and human beans.

Off to study my screwdriver names while the garlic bread warms.

Friday 4 December 2009

Real and Imagined.

Here's this year's Christmas card, another Edward Gorey masterpiece. I love all things Gorey.

I've paired it with a matte pewter wrapping paper this year which is kind of pretty, actually.

I didn't go out for lunch today, instead I joined Schuyler in the tiny kitchen in their wing for some leftover mac and cheese and then I trailed around after the boys while they ran some errands. I didn't buy anything, and I even turned down a chance at Thai takeout for dinner because it's so cold and on top of things I just didn't feel so adventurous today.

My nose is running. I'm worn out. Tonight I hope to sleep more deeply and in larger blocks of time than in recent nights. I'm trying to keep busy, stay organized and remain calm in the face of future chaos.

This weekend is hopefully tree-weekend, and other than the tree, a wreath on each door and the lights damned near everywhere, I'm not decorating. I wrapped all the presents going home this morning, and now I have to find boxes to send them in. I have ordered and shopped for all the gifts staying in the house and need to get two more things for the children and I am finished.

Early for once. With it for once. Hoping to have a really nice peaceful Christmas with Ben before he's banished to never-never land once again and I forget what he looks like.

Okay, that part never ever happens.

I hope I do okay while he's away. That part has decidedly overshadowed just about everything else lately, because I'm dreading his departure. I don't want him to go. I don't want to be here without him. But this is one of those dumb things that must be done and so off he goes and here I stay and I can be peculiar and strange and lonesome and he will be invisible and creepy and uncommon. We'll be who we are apart and then we'll be who we are together and on the other side of this will be the remembered visit.

I'm still so cold though. Thinking of setting my sweater on fire.

But not really.

By Satellite.

Here. Go watch this. I'm going out for lunch.

PS. Not only are heights my absolute downfall, the dark is not far behind as enemy number two. Any suggestions for getting rid of either fear?

Thursday 3 December 2009

Midnight in the garden of evil only now.

Morning comes in Paradise, morning comes in light.
Still I must obey, still I must invite.
If there's anything to say, if there's anything to do,
If there's any other way, I'll do anything for you.

I was dressed embarrassment.
I was dressed in wine.
If you had a part of me, will you take your time?
Even if I come back, even if I die
Is there some idea to replace my life?
She extended her wings, full into the dark early morning. The snow fell gently on the stones at her feet, flakes landing in her hair, on her hands, clasped together with the remnants of wildflowers, placed there by the oldest child, a girl. Her right wing ached, chipped when the woman-girl with the wet eyes tried to move her to a new place and she was returned by the tallest man with the kind eyes.

Time to go.

She darted into the night, leaving the gate open behind her. When the man came out he admonished the tiny woman for leaving the gate open. The angel didn't stay long enough to hear the words, she caught the tone and was gone. The downside of explaining her absence would be to pin it on theft and gently place blame rather than to stand and explain miracles in the light.

This is what I choose to believe, because last night someone opened the biggest gate of the four that lead into my backyard and took the angel statue who lived there. Defying three security lights and two neighbors who are in and out at all hours of the day and night.

They just took her. She wasn't theirs. She was MINE.

I won't get her back. That's my out, my final farewell in a city that barely welcomed me and even though I love this house I never really felt safe here and hardly ever ventured out alone as a result.

I think someone was actually in my backyard when I brought the dog home from our early morning walk, because when I left the gate was closed and when I returned it was closed. When Ben went out it was open. I didn't use that gate for my walk anyway, so it's not like maybe I goofed and left it open. More likely someone had cased the yard and made off with the angel because everything is nailed down. The barbecue is locked down. The old stone garage is locked up tight. Good luck getting anything but I really thought no one would have the gall to steal a statue of an angel. How do they know it isn't very important or part of a memorial?

I hope they burn in their shoes, frankly, and when we make it to the pacific I will get a new statue and cement it to the ground this time.

Sometimes I really can't wait to leave.

In other news, box one of the Christmas clementines was a smashing success. It lasted four days and they were all good. Ben's birthday party was a smashing success also. There is leftover cake. The cake theme was monster trucks and Ben ate a hot wheels. Yes he did. Of course he will probably be sorry. That's okay, I say nothing.

No, wait, I actually said Are you going to eat the rest of your cake? Because if you don't want it, I do!

Damn thief.

Wednesday 2 December 2009

B is for Birthday.

Ben is forty-one today and the fun is just starting. Everyone is coming to dinner tonight and we had so many offers of breakfast and lunch it just seemed easier to bring extra chairs to the barn door table and cook up three packages of bacon and two of eggs. I really should get a bigger stove.

And I got the first gift, when his hand slid over my mouth before six this morning. So I wouldn't wake the whole household with joyful noises he was creating by touching different places. They slept on and we played until the sun came up and then very reluctantly tore ourselves away from our bed. Everything holds more meaning now again. He'll be spending the majority of the days of January, February and possibly March away from me.

Away.

Again.

Aren't you excited? You have all that to look forward to. A midwinter rollercoaster. Bring the de-icing machine and your best sense of adventure. This is going to be very tough. I will be packing. He'll be working in New York, mostly, I think. Again nothing is carved in stone and I swear I only cried once because we figure we'll get through it (he will, I will fall apart) and soon everything will come out okay on the other side (last time took years).

I really don't think I can do this and so I hope it's all just a bad dream. Only it isn't and I'm very immature and that's okay for today. I will just quietly fall apart late at night when everyone else blindly sleeps, secure in the fact that their lives are easier while mine is not.

I'm trying to find the silver lining. First I need to polish off all this tarnish. It's going to take forever, this is years of buildup and I'm not very skilled with optimism. I'll admit it. I will try and really that's all I can manage for today. Still not crying so maybe something will go less difficultly for ONCE IN MY LIFE.

Here's hoping. Here's to grace. Here's to Bridget with a smile on her face.

Anyway, yesterday saw one single egg lobbed very gently at my back by Daniel but it's okay, when he was otherwise engaged I went out and filled his boots with snow and brought them in to melt on the grate in the back porch. I am still waiting to see if he's maybe removed all of the tires from my car or replaced the Count Chocula cereal with dog food.

So at twelve we'll drive downtown and meet August, Sam, Dalton, Corey and Caleb for lunch and then some shopping at the music store and some of the record stores too and then dinner here (I can't say much more about that part because he reads this) and then maybe some late night fireworks or a long walk in the snow. Or maybe we'll just clear everyone out of here early and get the kids off to dreamland and we can finish what we started this morning.

Oh, look. Here's hope once again.

Nice to see it still thrives here.

Tuesday 1 December 2009

Food fight, twelve sharp.

Daniel and I are home today. Alternating kangaroo care and wrapping presents and cooking. It's snowing. It's actually snowing pretty hard but that's okay because we have lots of things to keep us busy. We're getting ready for tomorrow.

Tomorrow is a very important day. Ben's birthday. Which means.....

Yes.....

You got it right....

CAKE.

Monday 30 November 2009

Cringeworthy.

Caleb had a huge vase of cattails on the island this morning when I arrived at the loft. I asked him if that represented the remains of his weekend. He gifted me with his unabashed laughter. Pure joy, a rare display from someone who checks every last nuance obsessively. He told me Sophie had been in town for the weekend and a weird stabbing pain shot right through my body like a bolt of agony and disappeared into the floor.

I would have said something incredibly unladylike but I couldn't. It's Sophie. I don't have anything over her. She can run circles around me with...well, everything. The one person who still can make me feel like an incredibly unpulled-together chaotic mess and short and ungraceful to boot.

That and I'm weirdly jealous that she was with him for the weekend.

Oh my God, I am insane.

I'm not all that sure which part I'm jealous of. Maybe just that they had a fun weekend where I was at the farm feeling disconnected and shut out while the boys bonded and did man things and I was sort of an afterthought until late into the evenings and I am so short on affection and time and support right now it was almost an attempt to thumb my nose at Benjamin, coming here, only Benjamin wouldn't notice because he is busy being taken care of so he can be whole and manage without so much handholding.

I'm not sure it ever matters what I do because their eyes are blind and then other times I feel like every move is going to be the wrong one or a lesser one or a total incendiary action that will blow up my world again.

So I go to see Cale and feel even smaller and even less significant but vaguely evil and it's enough to keep a spark lit so that I feel like I have something to offer or withhold from SOMEONE only he isn't really doing it for me so I come home early and Benjamin is playing Sufjan covers and hardly looks up which means he is processing things and this is a good sign. So I go and track down PJ and PJ is all about food and what food should I make and I hesitate one second too long and so we wind up going out for Thai takeout and Ben doesn't say much and the kids are lost in their own worlds and PJ starts to zone out on me and I slip. Just a little. Knuckle to wristbone. Enough so that I get another jolt, only this time it's less jealousy and more plain old vanilla fear.

Stop it, Bridget.

Hmm?

You're worrying yourself to death.

Right, Lochlan. Think it will work this time?

Not funny.

No one cares.

I care.

I don't care that you care.

Stop being difficult.

Stop being an opportunist.

Okay.

Just like that?

Sure. If that's what you want.

I never ever get what I want.

You got all of us.

Okay, then I get everything I want.

Except?

Ben.

Bridget, I had this conversation with Ben word for word three years ago. This is hilarious.

What's so funny about it?

That you two are married and you're acting like he's dead.

We're all dead.

It's going to be one of those nights, isn't it?

Yes, Lochlan, it is.

What can I do?

Put a heated floor in Narnia for me.

What?

Nevermind.

Bridget?

Yes?

Time for some sleep.

Is it ever. Good night.

Sunday 29 November 2009

Pale Shelter.

I have this now on my Blackberries, which makes me very happy. It's lovely to be able to keep track of the games without having to plunk down in front of a television on Saturday night at six o'clock.

Speaking of television, the program we have settled on this winter is Ice Pilots NWT. It's very good. Much along the same lines as Ice Road Truckers. I loves me some Northwest Territories. I bet I'd do well there save for the 30 Days of Night-caliber vampires that might appear. But then again I do well anywhere, I bloom where I'm planted. Or maybe it's that I rot where I am tossed. Oh, the vampires will love me now. The sweet, sweet smell of decay and desperation could melt the snow for miles, and I will gather handfuls of blood into my handbag and keep limping along down the middle of the deserted street calling for someone to come and be my company. Or maybe for someone to just leave me alone.

We're heading home in the morning. Ben has been reinforced, patched and repaired and feels strong for having siphoned strength and wisdom from those ahead of him on the difficult path. The ones holding the flashlights while he trips gainfully along in the dark following my drops of blood and the smell of cloying fear that has lead him to me every night for the past two years.

Bridget is not reinforced. Bridget is a mess of sleeplessness and a runaway train of brewed coffee and frustration, a bundle of nerves and a frightful little thing right now.

Just frightful. I won an Ambien for my performance earlier. I plan to take it in about an hour and with a little luck I can begin the week on a better note. I have pulled all of our things together and I'll leave here reluctantly tomorrow. Looking back down the drive until I can't see the porch anymore. Wishing our visit had been longer or successful at all but instead we eat the wasted effort, a non-weekend. No do-overs, no time machine, no grace.

I can't help the past.

Off now to watch a bit of a movie (escape, Bridget) and snuggle down between Ben and Lochlan, human insulation from my relentless nightmares, deflection for the jealously I feel when Ben gets all the attention and I am left to slide.

Thank heavens I slide whoreizontally sometimes. I did not invent that word. Bet you can guess who did. But I can't say anything, I won't mess with the Witch-Lochtor when my sleep is at stake.

Will write when we are home tomorrow. We're leaving here super earlier. So early I don't know why I'm going to bed at all.

Saturday 28 November 2009

Important update.

Going to go with broccoli and cauliflower roasted with garlic and parmesan for vegetables.

And Nolan had these on my bedside table when we arrived. Are they not the prettiest damned things ever? Oh, I know, but sometimes it's the little things.

Lochlan is being nice. Still. A new record.

Hoping for sleep.

I'm making meatloaf for dinner. Everyone is turkeyed out, smoked out, worn out, rode hard and put up wet and there are places all over this house where you can find a boy with a beard and a book or a laptop and a hot cup of coffee and a lamp on low.

It's snowing again to add to the coziness.

It's grown dark so I went around and closed all the curtains in the bedrooms.

It's grown a bit chilly so I checked on the kids and saw that they were warm and I went and got one of Ben's hoodies because I always was a girl to steal a t-shirt/flannel jacket/suit coat from a man if cold.

Why not?

Ben has learned and he doubles up because he gets cold too.

Only now he has his beard to keep him warm and even though Movember comes to an end Tuesday he has been threatening to go all Wolverine on us and keep it. I love it, he looks beautiful with the longer hair and the beard. Wild, almost. Untamed.

Apt, perhaps.

We're missing Karsh by being here. We're missing the fake-ass black weekend pseudo-sales and the crazy Christmas traffic and the chaos of the city. We're missing the take-out and the noise and church tomorrow and that part is okay because Sam is here so we brought the God and the rest of them can suffer through substitute sermons and cold formal greetings. Tomorrow we'll have rock church in the snow, on horseback. Druid church more than Unitarian. Nature-worship while we still can.

I'm baking potatoes now too. One potato, two potato, just about six pounds total for one dinner. I'm still plotting vegetables, probably will use the rest of the cauli and call it good. Bread with garlic and olive oil. Wine for some, water for others. Milk for the children. Coffee for Ben. Coffee doesn't seem to affect Ben the way it affects me. Lucky boy.

Tonight I am planning to work my way through some more of Duma Key. Tucked in the crook of Ben's arm, warm, safe, full, sleepy.

Would like to just stay here for this. Maybe forever.

Calm before the storm.

Friday 27 November 2009

Forging halos

Good morning. I've come out very late into the new morning with bedhead and a growling belly. Jeans from yesterday and Ben's hoodie zipped over nakedness because I am so hungry. Nolan left a pot of cream of wheat on the stove for me and a fire in the fireplace and there's a note on the counter that tells me men and children are out on the trail and they will be home in time for a snack mid-morning. Which means I have another hour or so to myself.

It's so lovely here. When we arrived last night, Nolan had decorated for Christmas. Or maybe he decorated for Ben and Bridget and we can become a holiday that people can celebrate. Every tree had lights, the whole way down the long driveway into the woods. Then at the house, the roof, railings and windows were outlined. Multicolored lights because Nolan once said all white lights were less festive and more sophisticated, and Christmas should be a festive time. I agreed but no one questions me leaving my tiny white lights up all year around either.

It looked amazing and I didn't expect it. He doesn't do much in the way of decorating. He has enough to keep him busy. But he did anyway and I love him all the more for the effort.

We came inside, dropped our bags, got hugs and went to our rooms. I tucked the children in in the midst of a huge yawn and I don't think I managed to turn out the light on the table beside the bed before I was in dreamland. Maybe Ben turned it off.

He did not sleep in. Up early to worship the gods of nature and serenity, he's been anxious to get out and get away from it all, so the ride will be good for him. My legs still ache from Christmas shopping in high heels yesterday and I'm thinking a hot bath might round out my lazy morning. It's chilly here. The temperature plummeted overnight and it's hard to get used to the cold outside and even more difficult to get moving now. I could stay under the quilts forever in our bed here, it's hard to imagine that life out from under those covers could be as good as life under them, but I'm up, for what it's worth and I plan to enjoy today. We're having a belated turkey day today. Everyone is here. I couldn't ask for more.

Thursday 26 November 2009

So break yourself against my stones
And spit your pity in my soul
You never needed any help
You sold me out to save yourself
And I won't listen to your shame
You ran away, you're all the same
Angels lie to keep control
My love was punished long ago
If you still care don't ever let me know
If you still care don't ever let me know
This morning is Slipknot and chili lime pistachios while I write emails and pay some bills and wrap up Caleb's week in business here at the loft. I'm headed out Christmas shopping shortly and then to the school for parent-teacher meetings and then with a little luck by dinner time we will be in the truck to join the caravan for the trip to the farm for 'Merican Thanksgiving. Nolan is waiting with open arms and we really really need a lot of that right now.

Happy thanksgiving! Again. because we get two. Think we can try for two Christmases too?

I know. Always worth a shot though.

Ben is doing better. Thank you for your kind thoughts.

Wednesday 25 November 2009

Flakes, snow and otherwise.

Show me where it hurts
And I will make it worse.
I have been a busy little bee this morning. I went and bought wrapping paper and stocking stuffers. I found magic drip candles in a store and bought three boxes because I love those almost as much as magic rocks and fire, too. I made my list and tomorrow I plan to go back out and finish shopping for the children and for the out of province family and then I'll come home and finish packing for the farm.

We'd like to be out of here tomorrow evening. I have parent-teacher interviews tomorrow afternoon and then we're good to go. Might even have dinner on the road. Which kind of excites me, because really, Caleb's caliber of restaurant may be just lovely and easy to get used to, but nothing beats truckstop coffee.

And Bridget loves her coffee. I fell asleep in a cup of coffee yesterday afternoon which was a whole new narcoleptic low for me. I will blame the dog. He wakes up at five and so we put him up on the bed and he'll curl up against Ben's legs and sleep for the rest of the morning. But then hallo, Bridget's awake. Ben is awake too but he'll pretend he's asleep until the radio goes off an hour later.

I will sleep this weekend at Nolan's. Next week I will finish up shopping for the boys. Shhh.

I'm trying the Keeping Busy routine and hopefully I can recruit Ben into this plan and maybe we'll squeak through winter without any more upsets. Yesterday we laid low. Ben went to meetings with the boys. I stayed home with the other boys and wrote a little and tried to rest and got spoiled rotten and then Ben came home and rested too and I got a hell of a lot of cuddles and snuggles and a fire lit and kept and I went to sleep in tears anyway because I was worn out and overtired and not feeling so hot and totally frustrated. Ben put his arms around me and pulled me in tight against his chest.

While we slept the snow came, bringing with it a fresh start and a &#^@$* freezing cold morning. We do well when it snows. It's magic of a different sort.

Tuesday 24 November 2009

Hold harmless.

There is a sideshow school (!!) at Coney Island and I'm drowning in sleeplessness today. Ben and I each seem to average about three or four hours a night, less when we are being dramatic, more when we are tired of ourselves and each other and give up the ghosts in favor of healing rest.

It's the way it is.

I still harbor the great escape in my head. For times when I am sitting at the bottom of the pantry in the kitchen and everyone wants me out but no one wants to come in, I run away to join the sideshow freaks and they welcome me home and it's glorious and it's simple. They want bacon and cars from the seventies, they want to find some fun on a cool autumn evening and they want to be love. They want to get some mail and fresh wildflowers and a pretty ring. They want to entertain you for their dollars and they know how to boil life down on the rusted ring burner of an old electric stove in the back of a booth on the edge of the pier and they know how to eat what remains and thrive on it.

We, on the other hand, are just pretending.

Ben opened the pantry door, via the gorilla goalie method because I was already on the island and failed to hear his final warning and I was launched out of the park and back into his arms and he smelled like whiskey and love and cigarettes and sad. He yelled at Lochlan to back away and he put his hand over my ear so I couldn't hear him anymore. He is growing to be attached to my hair. Like the others.

Touch=safe.

He would do well to come back to the carnival with me. There are no devils in New York and no complications and no history of anything. Just grindstones and mermaids and cheap Louis Vuitton fakes and Production. Also there is the Aquarium but I haven't made it there yet, I fell in love with the gritty boardwalk and the lights and I can't be torn away from them, I must be physically carried until I can't see them anymore and then I'll walk under my own power.

I would love, oddly enough, to see that in snow.

I would love to be in the mermaid parade too.

Monday 23 November 2009

I found miracles there.

I'm at work. I feel like shit. I don't sleep or eat. I just runrunrun and try to stay upright as long as possible and when I get sixteen or eighteen hours into a day I can stop and sit for a bit and sometimes maybe I get a couple hours of sleep.

Right now I'm busy trying to scan in the kid's school pictures. Caleb has the past four years here too so I'm going to make a slide show that shows how much they have grown. Ben should be here any minute to collect me from my day in hell and we're going to go have coffee with Nolan and discuss the weekend. I want to go to the farm for our 'merican turkey day. I want to escape for a few days. I want to go back to where it was when Ben and I were the only two people on earth and it was dark and snowing and we broke the surface of life together and took a really deep breath.

That's what I want.

He's here. See you later.

Sunday 22 November 2009

(Getaway in) Stockholm syndrome.

I say hell it is love
You say I must suffer
She's a motherfucker
Resurrect me

Sleep well in your killing bed
Give a jig and show some life
Favor for a favor
Don't separate the
Pain from the knife
All the doctors sing
You got to suffer for the cure
As the world fades away
You wonder where you were
I can be bought for the price of a few pretty little things shipped from Agent Provocateur, so says Caleb yesterday as we were preparing to leave his loft. He laughed as if he was kidding only that's when you know he is not, just like he always smiles when he lies.

The tightrope is worn rather thin over that part of the city.

And he is right, for I came away from the weekend with some gorgeous new sets of black ribbons and ruffled pink satin, a favorite combination. Dress up the doll and put her on display. Use your timeshare wisely. All girls like to be spoiled rotten and treated well and not the other way around.

Ben's eyes grew dark as he fought to honor his agreements and quell his own appetites and I let the excuses of history serve as our joint confession. He goes with me into hell. I won't be made to choose between Ben's continued success and my intactness. It's a no-brainer. It's a wash. So I kept my apologies to myself and I took my husband by the hand, box under his arm and we took the car that was sent across town and fulfilled obligations that sometimes seem never-ending and decadent and possibly undeserving and sometimes seem as if they were scraped out of the gutter and presented in a silver teacup.

Kind of like how you can scrape a girl out of the gutter and dress her up in pretty pink satin and tell her she's beautiful when it's all a mistake and a miscommunication. An error in being. A flaw in time.

An aberration in humanity. Like a half-formed future reject off the assembly line that makes people, I appeared with broken ears and a broken mind and a heart that loses whole big pieces and a total lack of judgement that makes everyone who loves me want to alternately scream and line up for whatever sort of enkindled torture it is that I can produce for them.

None of this is true, mind you. I don't think I'm flawed, actually. Not all that much, anyway. Ruined for sure, but I can harbour enough of a reasonable facsimile of myself to make Benjamin so incredibly happy he married me if only for claiming ownership of a visual that is tactile for him. Everyone else must be content to entertain it in their dreams save for for a handful of others who have passes but they are only good for certain times and the only way I can rectify that inside the brokenness of my head is to embrace some other part of my personality that remembers these boys don't remark on beauty that isn't remarkable. That I am worthy or they wouldn't want me. And that no one rocks the pink and black satin like Bridget rocks it. Like she rocks everything.

There will be no remorse until tomorrow.

Here where the tightrope is thicker and I have better balance, the pink satin is tucked away in a drawer that sees less of a confident reflection and more than a little doubt, thinner skin with which to be stung by judgement and hurt by glances carelessly stripped of their intended ignorance and doubt bubbling up from a well that should see the most confidence in all.

It isn't a sport, it's an obligation. Hunting princesses in order to leave the knights alone, I have a real life monster who thrives on making me afraid but also knows how I thrive on the attention it gives me.

I am not one to apologize and I know it will be dismissed as Bridget being crazy in the first few years after Jacob..well whatever it is that they say and I pretend not to hear because I am too busy being Shocking and Difficult and Impossible. Too busy making sure everyone loves me.

Just in case.

Just in case something else happens and a little more of my heart gets crushed into glass. In case you fail to understand that there are actual rules of engagement, something I am not required to share. It's a rare and precious occasion for him to actually touch the satin, don't you see? He much prefers to view me like a movie, burning me into his brain. Trying to erase Benjamin out of the picture, maybe. I don't know. I don't ask.

You think I care that you don't understand?

I do not.

Not tonight.

Friday 20 November 2009

Black clouds with silver linings.

Very long day, bear with me. I need a vacation and not like the mini-Vegas one I just had. That didn't count. What will count is the fact that the children brought home their school picture orders and as soon as Ben gets home we are headed back out for Thai food. The fridge is restocked (so you can come back now, PJ) and neither Lochlan nor Caleb gave me a hard time today. August is a prince among thieves and I finally had a whole cup of coffee like ten minutes ago and plan to sleep the sleep of the dead tonight no matter what. Tomorrow has been canceled due to lack of interest and we're going to make fried potatoes, coffee and bacon and build a fire to keep all day long and watch movies. And it ain't even snowin' yet!

See I can be an optimist, I just need something to work with.

But damn, the day was long and difficult. So damned difficult. I'm done with that. No more please.
ARGHHHHHHH.

Thursday 19 November 2009

Benjamin is watching Hangry & Angry videos right now.

That is all.

(Snort.)

Presenting Miss Bridget Doolittle (oh, but doesn't Eliza Reilly sound more romantic?)

I’m becoming a monster just like you
After it all you’ll try to break me too
Falling forever chasing dreams
I brought you to life
So I can hear you scream
Because I don't know what else to do.

I'm not presentable. I'm not good in high society. I have a small town, south shore-girl accent and under my pretty dress I have dirty bare feet, and a chip on my shoulder that makes my dress hang funny. Awkwardly off my bony white shoulders and it lifts it up a little more and shows that much more thigh which is fine, they're one of my best features.

But no one is looking at my legs, they're always looking at my head because it's mayhem from ear to ear and beautiful chaos from my fivehead to the bottom of my overly pointy chin and Jesus H. Christ on a pancake, don't even get them started on my big quavery green eyes that appear to leak. Steadily. Drip drip drip. The plumber's been in, there is nothing that can be fixed.

How goddamned embarrassing it is and yet I want to yell fuck you into a crowd of people I'm supposed to live to impress and walk out. I don't want to be famous. I've seen what famous does. I've seen what infamous does as well. I want to be quiet and arrange my words and go for hugs when I need them and not talk for days if it suits me lest I open my mouth and all these unrefined and inappropriate emotions fly out and people wonder where you found me. She's wild, perhaps, they whisper as if I am their curiosity, even though ironically these are the same people who, for the price of a ticket, will come and bring their families and sit safely under the big top and watch the show in a controlled environment.

Reilly because I kept it. Couldn't do it, lost my nerve. Poor Benjamin, she doesn't trust him enough to take his name.

(Cover my bills, Mr. Higgins and I'll show you what talents 'high society' can learn from me.)

No, actually there were other reasons involved. Very significant and well-thought out reasons that led me to keep my last name and no one here had any issues with it whatsoever, especially Ben.

But you know what's great? He is so much like Cole. So much like him. Save for one thing. That quiet confidence. Ben only has that confidence in certain places and it's rather obvious. He's fallible. Forgivable. Unsure, even. Which is a far cry from Jake's unsure, because Jacob dealt with his weaknesses by hiding behind God and hiding behind rules that would Keep Bridget Safe and we all know how that went down. Thanks, asshole. You left me unable to trust the only guy who gave enough of a shit right through everything to stick around and pick up the pieces of me no one else appeared to want.

So now without Jacob's guidance and Cole's quiet violence we're left to do damage control while we're still busy wrecking shit and at this rate Eliza or Bridget or whoever the heck she wants to be today will never be presentable to your public, for your approval.

If you want her she and the big guy are busy putting on their tights and their makeup, there's a show tonight. We're billing it Pygmalion. For all the heartless guttersnipes like me who like that kind of thing.

I just know when you marry a girl from the circus your life becomes one. And it isn't always shiny happy exciting, is it?

Goodness, I've left dirty footprints on your silly marble floor.

Wednesday 18 November 2009

My favorite is the Creelman Blickensderfer.

For anyone who thought I was harsh on Lochlan the past little while, please remember this is the curly golden boy who says whatever will make him look best. Of course he'll finally have my best interests at heart. Of course he won't try to come between Ben and I.

Pigs. Flying. Look how pretty.

None of it matters because nothing can come between us. Ben and I are nothing apart and everything together and I have yet to be distracted from that. Okay, I was mightily distracted from it this morning as Ben wandered around the house with his coffee and his tattoos and his pajama bottom pants yanked down just perfectly and the hair all tousled and sexy and his Movember beard and moustache now at ridiculous lengths and we were the only ones home and took full advantage and now he has gone to some meetings and Daniel is home sick and sleeping, having gone to work and returned with perfect timing and so I am shut in the library hall with the tiny desk at the end of the room in front of the window with my pleats arranged just so on this black dress that shows too many tattoos in itself and black stockings, black shoes and a dainty little silver evil eye necklace. Hair in the customary disconnected, cascading chignon and black glasses halfway down my nose. I always make an effort to sit up very straight while I type and apart from lunch, which is soon, I have the remains of the day in which to arrange the words so that I like them.

It's been a while.

Sometimes we go off the tracks and weeks go by and something rocks me and I lose my focus and then suddenly it's there again and I can block out everything else and the windowsill corners get dusty and papers pile up on the table and I begin to forget to do things like buy groceries and follow Ben around unplugging his instruments and amplifiers because if I didn't sometimes we get a loud surprise from a trespassing cat or a curious Henry.

I don't actually forget to buy groceries, it's more like I put it off until we've done a pantry challenge and use up some meal ideas that have been waiting for a bit. That's all. If you think I could ever go a day without pouring hundreds of dollars worth of food into these growing boys, you would make me laugh. These are the three-cheeseburgers-in-one-sitting type of eaters and then I am given ample opportunity to curse their male metabolisms as I try and zip up my dress after half a burger, no cheese.

I'm relishing today with the cold winter sun hitting at just the right angles to avoid needing lights in here, the books lining the shelves all the way around have a tendency to darken this room and the rickety glass chandelier that I can't reach to change the bulbs does little to help one to read. That's why I removed the window seat in this room and Cole made a built-in desk instead and lower shelves for my collection of antique typewriters. Only it's so narrow it borders on unusable, except by me and sometimes Ruth when she is moved to come in here. There are whole areas of the house they just don't bother with and others you will always find them in.

They prefer the sunny back of the house to the gloomy front and I can see why. It's been a challenge to find a balance between warm family-friendly rooms and my penchant for medieval chill and gothic revulsion in decorating. The urge to paint every room black gets bitten back in favor of the weird warm shades, like the pumpkin guts color that wound up in my kitchen.

The urge to leave the words in a tangle on the table is gone as well. I've put it off, let it go, ignored it in favor of letting the low grade fear run through me, incapacitating my brain again, letting the boys call the shots, fight over me and run the show.

Sometimes it's necessary. Voluntary even, as my head checks out and I live on auto-pilot, breathing quick and shallow, pulling the ribbons on my dress tighter so I don't notice and sabotaging the moments of levity with the greater future threats and past weight that precludes just being who ever in the hell it is that I am.

Whoever she is has enough charisma to secure the means to figure the rest out. Everything else I will just blame on words.

Tuesday 17 November 2009

Biggest brownie I've ever seen.

One morning I woke up and the guard had become the thief. Jacob could always see things that much more clearly than the rest of us. Divine foresight through God. Yahweh for the win. Dumb Newfie luck.

We beat him to it last night and managed to reach a new level of understanding in the process. If only it serves to bring some comfort to Ben. I think he needs it very badly.

Perhaps I do too.

Lochlan and I got into it during dinner. He asked Ben if he knew of anymore concrete plans. When Ben is leaving. What the dates are. Was it before Christmas or right after? Perhaps through the bitter end of the cold weather and onward to spring? Let's talk, brother.

This, after I specifically asked for a moratorium on any talk of change for just one night. Please. One night of peace. One night of no bullshit so I can breathe deeply.

So I called him on it. I asked him what the fuck his problem was and if he was just going to be completely absent from me all the time while he was here he could go on ahead because I don't need his crap. He asked me if that's what I really wanted and what I really wanted was to stick it to him so I said yes. Go. Get the fuck out already. Give me some peace and quiet and stop doing whatever it is you do that unsettles everyone because you're judging us.

I'm making you unsettled.

Yes.

Holy Christ, Bridgie. Let me find you a mirror.

What the fuck, Lochlan. Where have you BEEN? Why are you doing this?

Because HE asked me to, and I'm trying to give the ape the benefit of the doubt.

We both looked at Ben. Okay, everyone at the table looked at Ben. Ben looked at the floor.

Benny, what have you done?

He checked the ceiling for holes and then he looked at me.

He'll have you all to himself. I wanted to know what that felt like.

You know, Benny. Christ, you already know.

No, I don't, Bridget. I've never actually had that.

You never wanted it, Ben.

He just stared at me while the revelations clanged into place all around me.

You asked him to leave?

No, I asked him to just back off and give me a chance. Baby, I don't know what I'm going to come back to. This is all I have.

You'll be coming back to me.

That's not what he says.

He doesn't know me anymore.

When I looked at Lochlan next, his eyes were glassy and he was staring at the table like it could put his composure back together on his behalf. I went and got the bourbon and I took his hand and pulled him outside, on the porch where it's freezing cold and we could be alone.

I thrust the bottle at him and he took a drink and passed it back. I took a drink and gasped because yuck. I could never understand how people can- warmth flooded me right then and I understood perfectly.

What really happened?

I offered to lay low.

Did he ask you to?

No.

So why did you offer? Why did he lie?

Ben is terrified he's going to lose you to me.

So then why does he tolerate you at all anymore?

Because you want me here.

Oh.

By now every sentence has been punctuated with a gulp and my knees have begun to vibrate. Lochlan's eyes are permanently glassy (he is a beer drinker and even then, not a good one) and we're losing the train of conversation.

But do I?

You tell me, princess.

I'm using you.

Why's that?

Because I know it hurts you and I want you to feel like I felt when you broke up with me.

Jesus, Bridgie, that was in 1986. You going to hold that against me forever?

I loved you.

And now?

I still love you but I'm not leaving Ben for anybody. Not you, not Jake and not Batman either.

I think Batman's chance expired years ago.

I do love you, Loch.

I know, Bridget. I love you too.

So stop being a fuckhead, please. You guys are impossible.

I think that was the end of the discussion. I remember seeing Ben's face and I remember telling him I loved him more and holy the house was warm inside and I don't feel so hot and he got me undressed and into the sheets and bam. Lights out.

But I keep my appointments because precisely at five before the sun even thinks about coming up I woke Ben and left Lochlan sleeping. I stretched my aching legs and we dressed quietly in darkness and went to see Jake. Because Jacob had asked for Ben. Because I go no matter what.

Princess, you look tired.

I didn't sleep. I used the Jack Daniels equivalent.

Something moved to my left and I looked and Lochlan was sitting with his back to the wall just inside the door.

What are you doing here?

Bridget, I've known you your whole life. I know where you keep them.

How did you beat us here?

I don't walk as slowly.

Is this your concern?

Jacob nodded.

Lochlan needs to hear this too. You both need to let Bridget lead because she's drowning in the crap you guys are throwing around. Did you notice she doesn't sleep? You fight over her twenty four hours a day and then you both give up to punish yourselves and she's the one who pays. Meanwhile, Caleb has become a refuge and no one even sees that. It has to stop.

They all looked at me. I looked from one face to another. Faces I know. Faces I love so much it's unbelievable.

What do you want, princess?

Ben, asking kindly in the way that he does because he's not above pointing out that he's going to put me first, and he probably does more than anyone else. To the point of overbearing claustrophobia and then he'll vanish in a fit of self-doubt. He permissions himself so strictly with me instead of letting himself be free to love me without guilt or second-guesses or a sense of entitlement. I wish he could do that with everything else, and not with me, but this isn't how Ben is designed, and he has to be told sometimes.

Lochlan has to be told things too. Since he doesn't listen to me.

Lochlan, can you do this?

If you mean can I be there for Bridget when Ben is away, preacher, I can.

Without pressuring her, without expectations? She isn't going to have a magical change of heart.

I laughed. It was nerves, or maybe I was still drunk. You don't describe things as 'magical' to Lochlan or you'll lose him completely. He deals in black and white.

Sorry.

I know, preacher. I've come to realize that things are different now. Bridget and Ben, well, they just work together. I'm not going to fuck with that. I love them both too much.

Ben reached over and squeezed my hand.

Then keep her safe and happy. Because she's come to me in tears every day for a long time now and I'm tired of being blamed for it.

And I woke up with a start.

Ben was flat on his back and I was wedged against him, my forehead against his elbow. Lochlan's arm wrapped around my shoulder. Unbelievable heat and I'm about to vomit and I didn't understand how Jacob could stand there with his wings and have a long parental conversation with the three of us so pedestrian-like. It was a sour-mash dream probably brought on by the stress and the fear and the fever and the arguments and it was odd to frame the resolution to a long-running upset in that light at all but I did it for a reason.

I was sick and while I was sick Ben woke up and he came and stood just outside the doorway. He would not hold my hair or he would probably throw up all over me because he's skittish about things like barf and cat poo and it's okay because he's fine with blood and he's great with zombies. Choosers can't be beggars and I can deal with the former if he can handle the latter.

I ignored him and went straight for the toothpaste and aspirin and then when I felt human again I asked him why he was up.

In case you needed me.

I do.

I know.

He put his arms out and I went straight into them. Because we work together. And we do not work apart.

Watching you lay into Lochlan at dinner last night was the best entertainment I've had in a long time, princess.

Careful or you'll be next, Benny.

No, see, I was smart. I gave you all my shit up front so any behavior I exhibit is an improvement over what you're used to. Lochlan isn't as bright as he looks, I guess.

I laughed. In spite of myself I laughed and then I went and threw up again. Oh my God, hungover. This time, Ben held my hair.

For brownie points, he said.

I awarded him seven million and twelve.

Monday 16 November 2009

Points made.

  • Am not drunk but here's hoping.
  • Switchfoot is coming back to town. Happy New year! Holy gosh.
  • Lochlan is being nice. Too nice too many drinks. Goodnight

Postalunchalyptic update.

I'm home. Caleb made sure I ate by taking me out for lunch at the diner and then for a little drive. When I came home August called to make sure I keep talking because when I stop it's a bad thing, and Ben is going to be in charge of making sure I get some sleep tonight because I'm headed for cases of baskets like it's nobody's business. Nevermind cases, warehouses full of the things. Baskets everywhere. Wholesale. Discount. Bulk.

I can't wait to sleep.

Run on.

That was a completely surreal experience, seeing Stone Temple Pilots. Completely surreal. The audience was freaky and small, we were tired and still it was a easy and fun experience and I'm so glad I went. Glad I didn't cry, because I was once married to the worlds biggest STP fan, who even sang in a cover band at certain deplorable bars and church (!) events and glad I knew all the words to everything save for Crackerman. The only thing that would have made it any better would have been a mashup encore featuring Still Remains and Gravedancer (from the Velvet Revolver side of things) but I'm the only person who would have liked that, I bet.

PS These guys? OH MY GOD. They ruled. We bought like seven copies of their CD.

The boys were sort of surprised that I didn't cry, because I do that sometimes at shows, right out of the blue and it's embarrassing. I did it with Dare you to Move at the Switchfoot concert, and when John Frusciante went to his knees for the first lead of the show for the Chili Peppers, and I did it for The Unforgiven at Metallica, and I did when I heard Your Love is a Song on the new Switchfoot record too...and I think I'll stop there because I could go on for a few paragraphs listing examples and it's a well-known fact I'm a crier. It's just what I do. If it moves me the tears will be your first and only clue.

When Ben sings anything that isn't screaming I cry. Case in point. He needs to give up metal.

And my heart doesn't even live on my sleeve anymore. Ben holds it for me because I can't be trusted with it anymore and he wanted the shards of it that I laced together because it's fascinating and disgusting all at once and he would totally go for that sort of thing.

And no way in hell will he give up the metal. Ben is metal. Metal and paper mache and muscle and rage and unfairness and grief.

So THIS is why I didn't go see Jake. Some days I can't get my head on straight and some days I know better.

Instead I ran with August in dead cold and silence and then I came into the office (har, I love calling this place 'the office') for a little harassment, coffee and to get rolling on the paperwork from our trip last week even though I'm falling down tired and always on the verge of tears today and when I walked in Caleb asked me how I felt and I told him to fuck off and he told me to leave at lunch for the day in the most disappointed voice I have ever heard from him. You would have thought he maybe was looking forward to spending most of the day with me, maybe taking a drive in the 350 because it's still bare in the streets and they're having a contest to see who can spoil me the most except the one who is going to matter a whole bunch shortly here (Loch) won't even play along and instead kissed the top of my head and gave me a huge hug and told me to take it easy when I left the house while he paints in the backyard because it's glorious out now that the chill is burning off so I can open the windows in the living room and play music really loud so I don't have to talk with Satan, who by now is on the phone pointing out to Ben maybe or maybe Duncan that I. haven't. talked. today and August will concur with that and Ben will come and stand in the doorway when I get home and ask me just to talk to him and why the hell should I?

Why should I talk to him? He wants to think it's all going to get better and I broke a promise to tell the truth when I agreed with him. I don't know what the fuck I was thinking but if he's going to climb to the top of his mountain he should let go because I'm dead weight.

He'll say he's not letting go. Ever. Everything will be fine. We'll deal with it just like we've dealt with all the other crap that has ever happened to us. I don't want to deal with it. I want it to just stop happening all the time. I want to be happy with no conditions, no limits. I want to soar through my life a foot off the ground, marveling at the beauty that is everything and humanity in all of it's glorious stupidity and I want to buy cute clothes and go out to movies and ice skate on the river and finish a book in less than a week and not be cold and I want to be able to talk with crying and live without fear and make progress without frustration and dammit.

It isn't going to happen, is it?

And yet I keep hoping.

My faith is not the same. He tried but it's just not the same and tomorrow I'll go, and tomorrow I'll take Ben and maybe we'll learn something we don't know since he didn't tell me why he needs Ben there. Maybe Jake will give me the answers I want. Maybe I've earned them at last.

Personally I'm beginning to think he just likes to see how Ben reacts to me when I look at Jacob. Maybe Jake wants to be cruel too. Who doesn't?

I'm going home now. I just can't do much good today. Will try again tomorrow after I see Jake. After we see Jake.

Sunday 15 November 2009

And some mysteries remain.

(This is downright maddening.)

What happened, princess?


I just sat there on the dirty floor with my hands picking at my dress, lifting and letting it drop in tiny pintucks of frustration. I shook my head. Nothing like that feeling of acting five years old in front of the only person I'll ever strive to impress.

It's not important.

Yes, it is or you wouldn't have come down here on what seems to be such an ordinary day.

I'm afraid.

Of?

Everything.

I know, baby.

Nobody KNOWS, Jacob. I'm well aware that none of you ever have any words of comfort or any promises you can keep when it comes to this issue. But it doesn't go away just because you want it to.

Then how do we fix it?

Oh, turn back time, keep the big promises, you know, the usual.

Life isn't so easy, is it?

Not on your life, obviously.

Did you come down to take it out on me?

Yes.

What can I do?

I got one promise fulfilled finally from you, and now I'd like another.

Ah. You think I had a hand in this?

Yes.

Bridg-

I'll keep my faith, you keep yours.

What's the promise?

If he can't stay because he never seems to be able to stay, can..

Can I make him?

No, can you stay instead?

Not in the way you need, Bridget. Where is Lochlan in all this?

He hates me.

He loves you.

No, he just wants me because then he can be better than everyone. It gives his platform credibility. He's the corrupt politician of Bridgetville.

Do you really think you and Ben are the only ones who struggle?

Sure seems like it sometimes. And I'm not interested in trying to further divide any loyalties or cause any more pain to Ben, which is why you're the answer, not Lochlan.

Because you're asking this your loyalties are already divided, princess. Pain happens because they all love you, they want to possess your heart. You're well aware of this.

I hurt them.

No, you live and you're not responsible for their feelings. You weren't responsible for mine.

Don't lie to me, Jacob.

It serves no purpose to hurt you now, Bridget.

Then you need to promise to be here when I come. Because I feel so alone. All the time.

You're not.

BUT I AM. The things I need I can't articulate. What I want is unreasonable and impossible and unfair. Life doesn't work this way, you all keep saying it but maybe it should and then things would be easier for me.

Aren't things getting easier?

Yes.

Are you happy?

Only when he's here.

And when he isn't?

I'm afraid.

Then go and be with Lochlan and spend time with the boys and try and have some fun and Ben will be back when he can be back.

So it was a waste of time to come here.

Was it?

Actually never. You won't come to me anymore.

Bridget. You built this with your mind. You put me here and I can't leave.

I built it with my heart. And good. Because you should be here. You should be here and we should be happy and none of this should be so hard.

Circles, princess.

Circles indeed. Fuck you, Jacob. See you tomorrow.

I love you, beautiful.

Prove it.

I did. I stayed for two years longer than I planned, and now I'm in this place. I gave up heaven for your purgatory. I gave up hell for you. I had heaven in you and the punishment for that is this and we're stuck here and I fear for you, Bridget. I really do.

But you can't help me.

No. Only you can help you.

But I love you, Jacob. And I can't do this.

You already are. We're going to have this conversation a million times until you see it for yourself. You're living. You're doing things, even the things that scare you. Things are getting better, and the doubt doesn't preclude the fact that you're incredibly capable. You just can't see it. Everything comes from within.

Is it okay if I don't ever believe you and continue to do this?

I don't have a choice, princess. I'm bound to you.

That's right. I call the shots now, preacher.

Does it help with the fear?

Sometimes.

Then go with that.

Cole made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob far above me from the dark. Jake didn't acknowledge it. Neither did I.

I'll be back tomorrow.

Bring Benjamin with you.

Why?

I need to talk with him.

Jake-

Just bring him, okay?

I stood up and wobbled. My legs were asleep and my dress was ruined but I smoothed it out anyway and then wiped my black hands on it for good measure. He laughed and I frowned. There's nothing funny about being here. Nothing cute about the extraordinary measures I have to take to get here, and nothing remotely safe about spending time this far away from PJ and August, who tend to take turns being my bodyguard when I leave the house.

Jacob isn't in the house, in case you thought he was.

He stopped smiling and gave me that concerned look, the tender one and my knees buckled a little more because he still has the most beautiful face I have ever seen and I'm so grateful it wasn't damaged. I choked on my own breathlessness and the tears started, not because I wanted to hurt him but because that look will always be the one that stops everything while I take my time climbing back on the earth after being flung off repeatedly. I'm a glutton for punishment. I'm the ultimate masochist.

I love you too, Jake.

No, go love Ben.

I'M TRYING.

Then try harder. Bring him tomorrow and don't be afraid of life.

That won't-

Try. Bridget. Just try.

I am. You guys make it impossible. Just give me what I want and we'll all be happy.

He laughed and I was on the other side of the door again. I don't know how he does that, but I wish he would use it for my trip down there instead of just as a party trick because he doesn't feel like holding the door for me.

Saturday 14 November 2009

Because I hate mysteries.

Pull in here, Benny.

Okay, need something?

I want to put air in the tire.

Okay.

No, I want to do it.

Go do it, princess.

Come help me.

Fine. Okay, take the cap off.

It's off.

Press the button on the machine, Bridget.

Okay.

Grab the hose.

Now what?

Put your purse down.

No. Ew! It's dirty here.

Give me your purse. Now stick the hose on and hold it there.

For how long?

Just a minute.

Ben, what if it blows up? Ben, hello? Where are you going?

Here.

What is that?

Take the hose off.

But the air will come out.

Take the hose off and put this on.

Okay but I can hear air.

What does it say?

I have no idea. It's not digital. Where does it read?

Look at the bottom.

Too small.

Okay, 30 psi.

They said 32 on the page.

So put some more air in.

I'm going to fill it until it looks less flat.

Check it again.

42 psi.

Okay, let some out.

It still looks flat.

I'll let some out. Okay, there. 34 psi. That's good. The rest are good. Put the cap back on. You ready?

It still looks flat, Ben.

It's fine, Bridget. And you just filled your first tire.

Yay! So what if I had screwed up and flattened the whole thing by mistake?

Then you would fill it back up again.

Oh. Gotcha. Can I have my purse back now? Yay me!

Friday 13 November 2009

Friday night lights

Just a moment of gratitude I need to park here. A whole heaping pile of prayers were answered, and to add compliment to favor, the car dealership fixed my key fob for my little Mazda while I drooled over the newest model. They said it was the battery, but since it's the second time in a year, if it happens again I get a new one. Yay for sweet end-of-week blessings and the end of a very long day. We are all stuffed full of Thai food and Ben is making a fire in the woodstove so I'm going to go curl up in his arms now and most likely sleep through a movie or two.

I can't presently think about the move or anything else right this second. Maybe tomorrow or the day after. I just need a little rest right now.

Have a good one.

The Strip.

Home. For those of you who think I stumbled off a private jet severely hungover and missing my dignity and my shoes, having spent the night in some luxury suite in Las Vegas after drinking a whole what in the hell was it again? Five glasses of champagne?

Well, you'll be pleased to know I have my shoes.

Caleb does his business on handshakes and bubbly and the paperwork will be done by Monday. There is money for the new company. So much money I stopped trying to place zeros and started drinking and dancing and really the rest is so not important, the important part is I bring the charm, he brings the power and Ben brings the talent. Then we switched and I brought the talent and Ben brought the power and Caleb brought the evil. I'm glad I brought something, because apparently I left my inhibitions at home. I'm a big girl. I understand that this is my fault and yet the only one blaming me is..me.

So really I'm just going to go now and find a little more aspirin and the ice pack for my head and take a long hot bath and pretend I'm still as naive as I was before I got on the plane yesterday. I really thought we were going to go to a few meetings and then a show in seedy LA and hey, wasn't I cutting edge and world-experienced?

I do know I think having a butler is totally the way to live. As is whatever it is Satan does when he picks up a phone and shit just magically happens. That part rules. He says all I need to do is smile and I can exact the same results, but I only tried it twice. He was right. I think it's more power than I would like and it frightens me, but just a little.

Ben did not lose his head until the bitter end and then not in a bad way either. Supposedly at one point I asked Caleb if he would just buy me and then I could live like this all the time. I was positive he said he already had, something he now denies. So in the spirit of saying what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, I'll give him a pass for it and hope I heard wrong.

I tend to do that sometimes.

Life is safer that way.

Whoops, found my inhibitions, and on that note, I must go. My bath is ready.