Friday, 30 April 2010

Notes from nomads.

Good morning.

The only headlines you need to know this morning are that Rob Zombie is on his way here and that Gabriel Aubrey is single again.

There are not enough hours in the day for this princess, let me tell you.

More later, I have things to do but hey, thanks for the coffee!

Edited to add: I think Twitter will be where it's at for the next five days or so, we're moving into the house and everything should be hooked up and rolling by mid next week. Follow me and you can follow along.

It's worth it for this: http://splashpage.mtv.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/thor1.jpg

Damn. I love a man in armor.

You're welcome. Wish me luck.

Thursday, 29 April 2010

Living reflection from a dream.

This afternoon I have resorted to snorting coffee off the table in rows and pinching myself until I yelp involuntarily just to stay awake. Not sure if it's the anxiety that makes me want to curl up and sleep or the exhaustion of this adventure. Either way when I do finally lie down beside Ben late at night my eyes blow open like the doors on the fire station after five alarms and I remain like that, watching the city, for hours until eventually they close. Usually against the sun because it's very bright first thing in the morning.

Tonight is our last night in the city-proper and maybe that will help. Maybe it's the loveliness of the view. Maybe it's the noise. Maybe traffic. Construction. Density. Hell, maybe it's the fumes from the seven dozen different Starbucks and Blenz stores that dot the downtown like raindrops.

I should maybe switch to tea but Jake tried that already and all I did was sip it like a proper lady and every single time I would ask him if it was supposed to taste all canny and weird and hot-watery like this and he would sigh and offer me milk and sugar and I'd wrinkle up my nose until it was halfway up my face and point out that the last thing a hardcore princess needs is sugar. Or milk for that matter.

Pffft.

I have pulled our things together and what a nightmare. Fourteen pieces of luggage because there are seven of us. Some are small pieces like backpacks and some are very large and heavy rolling hockey bags and I'm a little concerned now that it won't fit in my car but really we'll figure it out. Not like it all needs to fit in the trunk of a taxi to go to the airport in a hurry. I foresee an hour or two tomorrow in which we simply heave and squish the bags into different combinations to see what works. I foresee a very uncomfortable ride out into the mountains.

I'm rather glad I didn't embark on the crazy shopping trips I was offered. And I'm glad I deferred when we stopped at IKEA (three times) because really we travel incredibly light for a month on the road stretched across three seasons and four provinces, pets included.

So kiss my ass because everyone else offered this adventure basically said no, because it seems impossible so it must be.

It isn't.

You just need to be adventurous and step outside of your comfort zone and trust me, if I can do that, anyone can. In fact, I grew tired and wandered away from my old comfort zone in error and never found the darned thing again but Ben here, well, he promised he would just build me a new one.

And I'm holding him to that.

I'm also holding him to the promises that yes, all this shit will fit in the car and that someday I definitely will sleep. And maybe even breathe. Which means it must be a custom-fit comfort zone complete with nerve gas piped in.

I hope it has a coffee maker.

And a bed.

And a bowl of tangerines.

Wednesday, 28 April 2010

Overwhelmed as one would be, placed in my position.

My birthday present this year.

TOOL.

In concert.

This July.

Live. So that Bridget can hear them with her own broken ears.

Oh my GOD.

And I thought waking up to the news that they've possibly found Noah's Ark was pretty amazing.

Tuesday, 27 April 2010

"Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before." ~Mae West

Driven by the strangle of vain
Showing no mercy, I'll do it again
Open up your eyes
You keep on crying, baby I'll bleed you dry
Skies are beneath me
I see a storm bubbling up from the sea

And it's coming closer
And it's coming closer

You shock my bones,
Leaving me stranded all in love on my own
What do you think of me?
Where am I now, baby where do I sleep?
Feels so good when I'm home
2000 years of chasing taking its toll
I'm not really listening. I'm playing music in my head while I try to quiet the waves of frustration and fear rolling through my brain. It's not working, nothing is working and I'm forced to drop back into the present, into my chair in the flames in front of Caleb while he paces back and forth in front of me, annoyed that I interrupted his plans with family business.

Have you asked him how he feels?

He's feeding me your answers. Too much time with you. I don't like it.

John is well compensated for his loyalty.

That's how you buy company, isn't it, Cale?

You tell me, princess. Tell them how much you cost me.

Going after the rest of my friends isn't above you, is it?

He's very valuable to me. I enjoy having someone I can trust around.

Do you have to make this so complicated?


Yes, I do, Bridget. Things have changed. I have to position myself so that things like Jacob are never allowed to happen again.

Excuse me?

Jacob prevented me from spending any time with you or with the children. That can't be allowed to be repeated.

You killed him.

I beg your pardon.

You did something or said something to Jake. I don't know. You did something to him and then he was gone. What did you do to him?

Bridget, I think you need some rest.

Give me my friends back.

(Hysterical edge on that one. Whoops. Calm down. Breathe. Fail. Stand up. Be ready to run.)

You wanted a way to keep from having to watch them leave all the time and we found a way to accomplish that. And now you want something else. I can almost see why Lochlan is perpetually frustrated by you. You're never happy with anything even after we bend over backwards to try to please you.

I like the way you lump yourself in with them.

Why wouldn't I?

Because I'm the one always bending to please you and it's never good enough and you always want more.

Perhaps it's a family trait.

I'm not your family.

I wish you wouldn't say things like that.

You promised you would leave them alone in exchange for me.

And I DON'T HAVE YOU, DO I?

He bellowed it at me, right in my face and I shrank back and stumbled over the edge of the chair and sat down with a thump. Almost on the floor but not quite.

You have too much. Too much say. Too much power. Too much control.

And it's the only thing that keeps you in line.

It's a steel fairy tale, motherfucker. It isn't real and I hate you.

Oh. I love it when you mix trash with treasure.

Call Mike back. Then you can be creepy times two. John isn't going to be your puppet any more than Ben or PJ.

Then tell me something, Bridget.

What?

Who will you give up? Because I find this very interesting.

It isn't. I just protect my friends.

There's a very fine line here, princess and I think we both know you're playing a game without knowing all of the rules.

I'm done here, Cale. Goodnight.

He grabbed my arm as I stood up to pass him, squeezing it hard.

Sit down, Bridget.

I shook my arm but he didn't let go. He turned to stone and I cried out.

Let go. Fuck!

Everything continues as it has. No changes.

He pulled me in until we were eye to eye and I could let the rest of his face melt away, focusing on his eyes, pulling the shades up one after another until they were the medium shade of blue, somewhere in between Caleb and Jacob's blue eyes. Regular blue like Cole's with the long black eyelashes. Kind eyes suddenly, softened by proximity, blurred with fatigue, flashing resentment and undisguised want.

Bridget, are you listening?

Yes.
(No, fucker, I'm not. DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE.)

You can surround yourself with as many friends and as much money as you can possibly find and I will still control you. Do you get that? Ben can't save you and neither can Batman. Do you understand me?

Yes. (At a loss here suddenly as the fear comes back and I start fumbling around in the dark, feeling for something in particular.)

Now we're done, Br-

I abruptly found the volume knob in my head and turned it up loud. I didn't want to hear anymore.

Monday, 26 April 2010

Heading to a family meeting. Just one thing.

When are you gonna come down
When are you going to land
I should have stayed on the farm
I should have listened to my old man

You know you can't hold me forever
I didn't sign up with you
I'm not a present for your friends to open
This boy's too young to be singing the blues
I hope the tooth fairy finds Henry tonight. He's not in his own bed. We're in transition you see, so we took the extra step of leaving the tooth in a mug on the counter with a note just in case she's not on her game. I think she will be though. She's pretty good about these things.

Ben and I are playing Youtube trivia (Elton John included) and I'm biting my tongue not to point out that Jackson Browne's Running on Empty is a little too close in style to Say you Love Me by Fleetwood Mac.

I don't know how. It just does. They're both good though. 8-track goodness indeed. The tooth fairy will probably skip us on account of how far down we can drag the coolness quotient in the room.

We'll work on it. I swear. Later. Meeting time.

Sunday, 25 April 2010

Torment, heretofore.

Ani ohev otakh.
Productive weekend. Managed to secure invites to three separate parties this afternoon and tonight I drove us back downtown from the new house, an hour outside the city, vaguely grey-knuckled and tense, seeing nothing but the lane in front of me because that's how I drive. Ask me to look at something and I'll veer right out of my lane and into a forbidden one. I requested the radio be on and was denied. Poor Ben rarely gets a chance to witness my driving skills or see the extent to which I blast music while I try and remember where it was that I was supposed to be going before I forgot.

I'm going to be a scathing riot in my Alzheimer years. Coupled with the narcolepsy I can see why I'm so popular now. (While she's coherent.) Eventually I'll fall asleep somewhere inconvenient and they'll just leave me there, propped against a large flowerpot and when I wake up I'll have forgotten where I belong and simply wander away into the ether. I'm not sure if that prospect is a comfort or a curse but it seems to be the only clear eventuality in a life where nothing can ever be nailed down, pinkie-sworn or planned too far in advance.

I'm running on noxious fumes at this point. Carbon monoxide and poisonous dreams lead to a hazy kind of tolerance and capability, floating just above the level of breathable panic, classed as on-alert without having to take ones feet off the chair to go investigate. Ready for anything, prepared for nothing, assume the worst, be grateful for the best and not budge an inch. The first things to go are grace, generosity and patience and they left in a hurry, forgetting important things like nice pens and monogrammed umbrellas.

The city is honking and blowing up like gangbusters here. Our team won! It's wonderful. It's warm, we're in shirts and sweaters. This morning I took the early chore of puppy walk and we ventured down to the water once again to smell the sea weed and greet the herons who are not afraid of me or the dog anymore. We have become fixtures, like statues, frozen, asleep, forgotten, forgetful.

Peaceful.

The confidence boost of a working machine loaded with fresh words, some pretty new things to replace old tired dresses that the boys are weary of seeing me in and some plans for a little fun ahead plus the achievement of driving far and driving early, home into the twilight sun, from the mountains into the glass and concrete jungle when I had planned to possibly navigate a drive around my new neighborhood around two weeks from now possibly a few blocks if I had a decent map, have given me a little tiny measure of oxygen to breathe to keep me going through the next tough part.

Closing costs. More lawyers. More appointments. More walks to the water and drives to the mansion. More kisses from Ben and cookies stolen by Henry. More pictures drawn by and taken of Ruth. More hockey. More sunshine. More waiting as we hope for a moving truck on time and a key for the mailbox. Which isn't anywhere near the house on the hill, perched above the water. Unreachable, untouchable, cold. More isolated than I expected, more comfort than I assumed.

More Bridget. Renewable resource. Thought I was done for at last, turns out I am not. Not quite anyway.

Saturday, 24 April 2010

Hello Steve.

Hi! Hi! Hi! Bridget's very excited tonight. Why?

Macbook Pro.

Goodbye windows (Jesus, just get the fuck out, I'm so done with you), goodbye cheap disposable laptops. As soon as I can figure out how to stop hitting caps lock and how to make the system font a little bigger for my tired eyes I'll be all set. Kind of like a new three-thousand-dollar typewriter ribbon makes everything clear as day.

Ben keeps talking about time machines and command keyboard shortcuts. I'm all just like "But how LOUD does it get?"

Because really, that's why I bought my car. Because there are sub woofers UNDER the front seats so you can feel the music. And now I have it in my fingertips.

And actually I didn't spend any money and this isn't a new Macbook. Ben got a new one and I was gifted his old one and that was really convenient, I think. I was just pretty much done with my old machine and he wanted the guts from the new rollout and a little more screen real estate. He's a big guy. He needs space.

I just needed something that works without a timer ticking in the background, rushing me over words, falling, stumbling, stuttering to the point where it was becoming a chore instead of a pleasure, knowing if I was very lucky I might get ten months out of my purchase.

And woah.

Ben just fixed something. He said he would never do it (I was supposed to fix my own problems and he would just be here but you know what? I spent the entire winter fixing everything and I am done) and so he did it. Thank you honey. And thank you too, Steve for saving me from Bill and his stupid Windows 7 upgrade. I think that pretty much finished me off.
I'm coming up only to hold you under
I'm coming up only to show you wrong
And to know you is hard; we wonder
To know you all wrong; we warn.

Really too late to call,
So we wait for morning to wake you
That's all we got
And to know me as hardly golden
Is to know me all wrong, they warn.

At every occasion, I'll be ready for the funeral

Friday, 23 April 2010

Madness mollified.

Last last night Ben dug out the hard drive that I protected with my life on the trip here. It contains the music. All of it. What could ever be more important that that?

I fired it up this afternoon.

And I've been relaxed ever since. It soothes. It fixes everything. It makes my brain orderly and quiet. And now the words are bursting at the seams, I am wiggling in my chair and everything feels a thousand pounds lighter.

Don't diagnose me, I'm just saying.

I AM NOT THE DIFFICULT ONE.

Snort.

(Now is not the time to point out that I have my Blackberry loaded up and headphones at the ready. It isn't the same. Not by a long shot.)

Ears burning/no flames.

She paints her eyes as black as night, now
Pulls those shades down tight
Yeah, she gives a smile when the pain comes,
The pain's gonna make everything alright

Says she talks to angels,
They call her out by her name
She talks to angels,
Says they call her out by her name

She keeps a lock of hair in her pocket
She wears a cross around her neck
Yes, the hair is from a little boy
And the cross is someone she has not met, not yet
Familiar places and feelings. Rough warmth. He slid his slowly lips down along my earlobe, tracing my skin, pulling my hair away and continuing until he ended the kiss in the hollow of my throat. His hands went around my hips, making a path of bruises he could follow home. He sighed and we fell into easy actions. I ran my hands over his skin. I always feel as if I can touch his emotions through his skin. He is all fire and passion, determination and quiet rage.

I fell asleep sometime between five and seven, tangled in sheets of pure silver, eyes closing in spite of the sun rising in front of me over the water.

I woke up to an empty room. I got up and wrapped the sheet around me and ventured into the hall and further, making a circuit of the entire loft and there was no one there. I frowned and went back to bed.

No, really. I did.

I'll wait. Someone will come back. They always come back. Bridget needs coffee. Bridget needs reassurance. Bridget needs something to wear.

I checked my phone for messages and the usual morning greetings from PJ and Lochlan were there. Fifteen texts from Caleb that I'll never read. I put the phone back down and I must have drifted off again because there was a gentle knock at the door and I answered abruptly, startled. Ben doesn't knock. What the fuck.

Who's there?

The door opened and Batman just walks right into my life after another long absence.

Hello Bridget, I brought you some coffee.

I thought you were a dream!

No, not a dream, maybe just a quick vision though. I have a plane to catch.

I'm glad you came though.

Me too.

I took the coffee he held out and suffered a rare moment of self-consciousness suddenly, tucking the sheet more snugly around my torso, lifting my chin in some outward effort to remain dignified in spite of the fact that I still had no clothes.

He laughed and held out a shopping bag.

PJ sent these along for you.

I took the bag and looked inside. Jeans. Plaid shirt. Hairbrush. Ballet flats. God bless PJ for having the brains I don't.

Another knock brought Ben back into the room with a wrapped warm croissant. Because Bridget needs coffee and also sugar for her thin blood. I took it and ate it in four bites. I'm still licking my fingers when Batman smiles and says it's time for him to go. Probably because Bridget has no shame. Same thing that would have brought him here in the first place.

What in the hell were you thinking about just now?

How beautiful you are, and how lucky this assclown is.

Mmm. He brings me breakfast. He gets all my love.

Something in his eyes changed and he repeated himself.

I brought you coffee.


The visit was over. Stinging. Wish he would stay too.

Thank you. For everything.

You have my new number?

Do I? Is it in my phone?

Yes.

Then yes, I have it.

He laughed again, formally this time and I got a kiss on the ear and a flash of memory again and then he and Ben left, ostensibly to talk about hockey and music and money on the way to the airport. I took another sip of coffee and then picked up my phone. He actually put it in my contacts under Batman. With a happy face.

I laughed. I'll only see him if something goes wrong again and even then, I am never the one who calls him. He calls me and all I have to do is not answer the correct way and he is on a plane or fixing things remotely. It's a power I have never abused on purpose and the boys have never questioned even once.

Ever.

That kind of power puts Satan to shame. And he knows it. You should see the messages from HIM in my phone. He wanted investors, I brought him the only investor he'll ever require. Speaking of electronics bursting into flames. Blackberry on ice today, just in case so no emails. I'm not even going to grace you with my attention today so keep your indignation to yourself.

Thursday, 22 April 2010

Revelry, reverie and wrong.

Bloody Mary breakfast busting up the street
Brothers fighting, when's the baby gonna sleep
Heaving ship too sails away
Said it's a culmination of a story and a goodbye session
It's a tick of our time and the tic in her head that made me feel so strange
So I could call you baby, I could call you, dammit, it's a one in a million

This is why people take vacations. To get away from it all. Instead I am zipping into that dress and those shoes and I'll tuck the newest pale pink lipgloss into my little bag with my BlackBerry and I'll go and stand and smile and press hands that won't let go and ignore eyes that won't stop looking and then Caleb's plans go smoothly and everyone profits and is happy.

They are the sandwich and I appear to be the meat.

As always, it's a little funny, a little sad and a little bit necessary too. But I will entertain myself with separate songs in my head and the amusing little thought that tomorrow I'm going back to the drugstore and I'm going to get myself one of the lipglosses I bought for Ruth, because it smells just like cake.

Who's going to pass that up? Not I, said the princess to the fly.

Ten more sleeps in the glass kingdom and then we go to the mansion on the hill for good. Then I should have routine. And words! I might even find them. I'm sure I packed them somewhere, hopefully in the box labeled Open Me First.

(I'm kidding. I have billions of words. They're just no longer compatible with this laptop/piece of shit. I'm still stubborn. I want to see it burst into flames and only then will I admit defeat. Hey, come to think of it, isn't that how Satan feels about his playthings? I guess I'm in for a rough night.)

Wednesday, 21 April 2010

Ben brought me an orchid. A beautiful white one, cut in a glass column. It's breathtaking.
Can't you just take a leave of absence?

I've had so much time away, princess. Staring at you while you sleep is fun and everything but I think Ben will be able to look after you just fine for a few hours each day and I'll be home by supper.

You really think Ben is the best choice for this? He doesn't have an unselfish bone in his body.

Who would you have chosen?

I don't know...PJ, Lochlan maybe.

PJ has his hands full with the kids, and he can't look after them if he's taking care of you. And Lochlan isn't a good choice.

Why.

That isn't a question so it won't be answered, princess. We both know why.

Because you don't trust him.

Because I don't trust you.

Ouch, Jake.

Exactly, Bridget, ouch.

August.

Working.

Dalt.

Leaving in two days. Ben is free right now and he's closest to you in a different way.

I don't think he's cut out for this.

Bridget, he loves you without needing anything in return. He's the only friend you have who doesn't pull selfish tricks in exchange for your time. I actually trust Ben.

Tucker. Have you noticed the nicknames he gives me? Do you know what MILF stands for, Jake?

Are you comfortable with him?

Yes.

Then there's nothing more to be said.

He smiled at me and leaned forward to kiss my forehead, careful not to touch my shoulder. Earlier that hour he had brushed it when he brushed my hair for me and I screamed in pain. Cole had dislocated it when he threw me to the wall. The splint did nothing. I wanted a full-body bubble and way more drugs than they gave me.

When is my next pill?

Jacob frowned.

You had it ten minutes ago, princess. Give it a chance.

They don't work, Jacob. It hurts.

He set his mouth in a line and looked away. I knew that it was taking everything he had not to go and see Cole and kill him but I needed him here. I needed to build my army against Cole and against Caleb and Jake was going to lead.

He was going to...lead.

He isn't leading and I need to ask him why because he promised. He promised so many things.

This morning I threw the jar against the window and I left the mess. No one is allowed in that room except for me.

Me and Jake.

Tuesday, 20 April 2010

Never Enough.

The second track is just epic in a sort of late-night, driving home from the beach on a hot summer night all sleepy-like kind of way. Yes, very Pink Floyd, Bridgie says Lochlan.

He would know.

Watched the rest of filming, then went for take-out of fish and chips. It was fun but it's cold tonight so we're inside. A far cry from last night, or last summer even, or the summer of 1985 if Lochlan wants to be REALLY picky.

(Lochie, in case you've already forgotten, the stereo in your father's truck was broken that summer.)

Two (Defined as synergy).

Two years ago yesterday I married the long shot in the crowd and I believe Lochlan is still pissed about it. In fact, I'm sure of it, since he told me so this morning just as Ben walked back in through the door with the wet dog, coffees for everyone and a blueberry muffin for his hungry, sleepy bride.

I love Ben. He goes out into the rain foraging for breakfast because I forgot to buy sugar yesterday even though I promised and he likes his coffee sweet. Because we went out for dinner to a family burger joint last night to celebrate and colored on the placements and watched hockey playoffs and lingered forever so that I could order wine by the glass because it's definitely wine for one for the rest of my life. Ben, Ruth and Henry have developed some sort of need to drink chocolate milkshakes everywhere we go as if they are milkshake critics writing for the New York Times.

Maybe they will be someday.

He has had patience and he's been difficult too, but I am mostly harder to handle so we exchange passes for each other and I continue to chip away at setting up life here and he continues to work long hours and shop for boats when he isn't working, even though he knows the idea of spending a lot of time on a boat alternately terrifies me and puts me in that unpredictable position of being the one who will say we should go for it and before you know it we'll have made another impulsive decision that sets the entire collective on its proverbial ear.

Why not? It seems to be our thing.

Actually, Ben is my thing, I think. He's the perfect blend of good and evil, tattoos and clean-cut swagger. Sweet and completely obnoxious. Flashing dark eyes and kind smile. He still eats my lipgloss and fights his demons and exhibits generous quantities of patience and he keeps my feet off the ground when I spend too much time worrying about things I can't control. I think he envies my push-button courage as much as I admire his endless disparaging optimism.

It was exactly how I picture normal life would be if anything about us were normal, but since it isn't then I'll just say it's pretty damned awesome.

All these years I have known him I still only know when he's kidding by weighing the ridiculousness of his behavior against the expression on his face. We're the character twins, content to do everything the hard way when everyone else rides along on the tide of status quo and fitting in. We never have fit in, always on the fringe of the group. Always watched. Life under the microscope is mostly a forgotten hazard of breathing now and we remain protective of each other in a way that bring most people to their knees. It isn't something we can help, it's just the way it is. It's powerful. It blows my mind.

And as we sat last night with our eyes glued to the home team onscreen and our fingers clutching sticky crayons in what has to be the loudest restaurant in the city it is clear we know exactly what we're doing.

We have a plan.

And it seems to involve a lot of french fries, penalties and tic-tac-toe.

Monday, 19 April 2010

Lightbulbs made of sand.

The ball is rolling, quickly, swiftly. Downhill. Picking up speed and snowballing into life on the west coast. I have called the movers this morning, while still in my robe, holding my coffee and pacing back and forth looking for the sweet spot that would enable me to talk without hearing the echo of my own voice back to me. They will return the call within a couple of days with a date for me to mark on the calendar to be at the new house with my checklists in hand so I can ensure delivery of our things. My music. My violin. A full ninety percent of Ben's gear. The children's toys and books and bedrooms and the big green comfy couch I can fall asleep on far easier than I ever expected. The big wooden desk that Jacob anchored himself behind and the pictures. All of the pictures. I have them here on DVDs but it isn't the same.

For those of you playing the rousing game of Where's Bridget? using my tweets, be brave, you have to apply to see them now. Hey, if I can be brave enough to post what I'm doing then you can come right up and say hello. It isn't nice to be stalked and the boys will not play that game. Open books all around and we will get along just fine. Okay?

Late last night Ben and I decided yesterday was the best day ever and he said that he was so happy we were finally here with him. That comment, spoken out of the blue served to melt about a thousand of the broken shards of my heart back together again. It was one of the sweetest things I have ever heard, which is good because he has said it before but last night he just blurted it out and it took on fresh meaning in the dark as we lay in the clouds of white cotton overlooking the harbor with all of the twinkling lights of returning sailboats and people spending the currency of their own evenings.

There will be more days like yesterday. So many more. I'm so happy here. It's like a giant weight has been lifted. The momentary frustration of a trip to the beach cut short was just that. I'm not mad. I just suddenly realized I'm not going anywhere. I'm home. And the beach is RIGHT HERE. I don't have to leave it.

Not anymore.

Sunday, 18 April 2010

Slow to warm up.

Little surfer, little one
Made my heart come all undone
Do you love me?
Do you surfer girl?
(Surfer girl my little surfer girl)

I have watched you on the shore
Standing by the ocean's roar
Do you love me?
Do you surfer girl?
He is determined.

Hours climbing up and down probably active volcanoes, across suspension bridges, down semi-washed out footpaths and herded like human touristic sheep onto creaky, rickety gondolas in order to be ankle-deep in snow, still in my t-shirt and sneakers from the twenty-degree broiled city sidewalk a half-hour previously. Hours in the deep dark woods chasing slugs across footbridges and marveling at the width of the giant redwoods. Standing inside the hollow ones, climbing over the fallen ones, everywhere a carpet of pine needles and fresh new beginnings, found just under the moss.

Everyone says Don't you just love the mountains?

I'm not all that sure yet, truthfully. Apparently this one is covered in snow and the other four are volcanoes. What do you think? Oh and should I love that it will cost me eleven thousand dollars to snowboard for a half-day?

I don't say that out loud though. I merely look down the mountain toward the beach and point silently but then off we go in another direction at three thousand miles an hour. And then finally at the end, a slow drive home with a detour into the park and through to the ice cream stand and down to the beach where I found two huge colorful pieces of beach glass in less than ten seconds flat and then the dog started EATING sand so we had to leave before we had ever really arrived.

We can go back, I think. The sand beaches with endless sandbars, covered with shells are what I crave but these are almost too civilized, too close to people and buildings and cars. And the other ones are creepily remote and covered with huge rocks and violent and downright dangerous.

(Bridget definitely isn't in Kansas anymore, is she?)

I can appreciate the radical difference between the edgy, wild pacific coast in sharp contrast to the holiday-postcard Atlantic seaside. I can relish it. I will sink my teeth into it and digest it like it's the singlemost important meal of my life. I will embrace it, collect all of the glass from it and tell it my thoughts, wash away my worries and soothe my tired, broken skin in it and we will be forever friends, lovers reunited so closely that everyone steps away for fear of being crushed with the weight of mutual admiration.

He was wearing his heavy jacket and we were tired. And the dog was eating sand. And so I said my silent goodbyes and I vowed to come back and I'm somewhat sure now that there's a well-planned effort underway to keep me off the beach and away from the ocean for more than just a few minutes at a time so that I don't come completely unglued.

It wouldn't be the first time. She's a powerful force, you know.

Bridget. Not the ocean, silly.

Me.

Until you learn to control her, it's best not to do anything that might get her going. You know how it is. He's doing his very best to find the balance between massive relief and total damaging surrender, and I don't blame him for it. Not even a little bit.

He's doing a really good job, actually. The very best one can.

Saturday, 17 April 2010

Scriptlash.

Avert your eyes. Don't stare in wonderment at the living accident in front of you. And whatever you do don't stand so close to the flames. They may char the wreckage but they'll also lick at your heels until the backs of your perfect polished shoes are blackened sufficiently to remove the reflection of the people you're always walking away from.

The words are hardest when the sleep is lacking. Or maybe not. The writer has no desires when she doesn't sleep. No writing, no eating, no plans to be made. No brushing of the hair, no effort to find those proper black polished shoes, no effort to play nice or be aware. Just tiny annoyed raising of the eyebrows over heavy black circles for eyes (buttons if you wish) and a gloss-painted scowl shaped in a bow.

I keep my hands behind my back because otherwise in return I get the tall dark scowls hidden by beards as I type my letters on everything. Palms of hands, arms, shoulders, the back of Henry's head. The armrest built into the door of Caleb's car. The counter while I wait to ask the concierge directions and the cold marble shelf in the lobby where I sometimes wait for the car. White tablecloths in restaurants where I struggle to pronounce the offerings and Ben orders for me instead or I point and smile and do my best and then they remove the cards and I can resume the endless parade of finger-words playing a story out across my travels that amuses me endlessly.

I don't need to be entertained and if you watch me long enough, neither do you.

Friday, 16 April 2010

Thank #$*& it's Friday, Mom.

The day has bested me. But all's well that ends well. We're just hanging out listening to some music, eating pizza, taking pictures and sitting with our toes up on the railing. You can too.

Here.

Here too.

And this.


Best for last.

No, this one. I really love this one.

Thursday, 15 April 2010

Larger than life.

September sun blowing golden hair
Now keep in mind son
She was never there
October's rust
Bisecting black storm clouds
Only the deaf hear my silent shouts

Yet in the dark, still he screams your name
Nights living death with witch rhymes insane
Ten years amassed, para toda mi vida?
Lost man in time, was his name Peter?
Peter's gone.

And I have a pain that stretches from the center of my back all the way up into my neck and under my hairline and the ranks close in tightly as the sun goes down. This is not fair. And it isn't right.

What a very long day.

God Sends.

Today I am thankful for the health and happiness of my children. My husband's patience, affection and humor in difficult times. I'm thankful for cheese and generous dog owners who like to socialize their pets. I'm thankful for creaky elevators that reach their floor successfully and for rainbows at five in the afternoon after a rainstorm missed by only seconds. I'm thankful for Advil Liquigels as always and for Kraft Dinner, in a pinch.

I am thankful for choices, options and offers and for a cool breeze on a hot day. I'm thankful for the view of the water and for the future and routine within, eventually. I'm glad we are here. I'm thankful for wine and for sleep and for being held when I just can't take another minute and I'm thankful for the afternoon coffee that is slowly getting better or maybe I just don't care anymore. I'm thankful for fat wallets and blue t-shirts and brand new socks and clean mirrors. I'm thankful that I finally stopped being afraid of things and took a leap when I wanted to bury myself in a closet full of things and hide until they all stopped looking for me. I'm thankful for chocolate chips at breakfast and salt at dinner and everything in between. I'm thankful for the pennies we found today by the fountain for double wishes and I'm thankful for another day to fight my way through because it's worth it.

Wednesday, 14 April 2010

Stereo types: Notes from a city, three weeks in.

At first glance I didn't think I'd be able to figure anything out. My only thought was sheer panic when I discovered that we really didn't bring enough clothes. Not by a long shot. I had organized for five outfits each, consisting of layers because we arrived here in spring. Summer is coming but the mountains are also RIGHT there, so snowy clothes but also things for a hot sunny seaside-walk kind of day.

Good luck.

Ruth has already lost one sweater, and Ben and I discovered that most of our regular wardrobe fell victim to renovating and construction on our previous house and none of it is city-worthy, for when you look closely you can see flecks of paint, some tiny holes and a lot of wear from spending winters up to our earlobes in hardware and tools. All of this stuff is better suited to the aisles of Home Depot and not trendy Hollywood North, oh no, not at all.

(Henry's only issue is that he averages a size a month in growth and is already out of two outfits completely.)

I learned quickly on to eliminate the prairies entirely from conversations when someone would ask me where I am from and talk about Nova Scotia instead. I learned that a cup from Starbucks in hand here doesn't make you stick out like a sore thumb, it makes you fit in. I learned that I can't afford to shop downtown much at all, unless I stick to mass-market chains because I have no use for D&G jeans or anything that cost more than $50, frankly. I mean, look at what I brought! Obviously I can't be trusted with nice things.

I also learned things about Vancouver that really surprise me. There are places that charge a mint to let a family explore and places right next door to those that are free. Both will be equally fun and equally impressive and equally busy.

I learned everyone here smokes.

I learned that everyone is from somewhere else and no one is fond of the real estate prices here. I learned how to walk uphill and how to navigate an elevator with a small perky dog, a coffee, umbrella, handbag, two children, a bag of groceries and the stupid key fob that must be pressed when the floor button is pressed with some sort of coordinated finesse or you'll end up stuck in the lobby for all eternity.

Which has happened so many times I am ashamed.

And people here love dogs and blondes because both are usually undeniably approachable and I learned that men who drive Rolls Royces and Ferraris are somewhat desperate after a certain age. And no one closes their blinds, EVER, but I may have mentioned that before.

I learned I should have packed a printer and fax machine and a third phone for when I'm waiting for callbacks and I learned that cats will shed for weeks after air travel. On everything.

I learned that no one blinks when a celebrity walks by but traffic will come to a standstill when a group of Japanese girls reaches the corner. Especially if they are in plaid skirts and high heels. Most of them seem to be but I don't see any private schools around here. And I would like them to teach me how to walk uphill in high heels because I can't seem to figure it out on my own.

I learned what DTES really looks like. Now that the Olympics are over, the tarnish has returned along with the people under the Shakespeare windows at the Carnegie Centre. When I am driven past them in my expensive new car I see people shooting up, I see people having bad trips, and people buying more bad trips. I see people organizing their belongings for the night on the sidewalk and I see men dressed like women soliciting for sex on the corner and then you blink and you're driving past Gucci, then Hermes, and then Coach.

It's ironic and frightening and sickening and suddenly part of my life as I lament the state of my wardrobe and fret over how long it took to get the money for the sale of my beautiful castle in a far away land. I can't help them. That much I know. I learned that the emotions that play through me when we drive through are not unique but felt by everyone.

I have learned I can't look at the pictures of my old house yet. I can't allow a second to poke around in the dark corners of my head to try on how I feel now that we've been away from it for twenty-three days. I am too busy getting to know this new place. A place where the pizza and donairs taste just like home and the seaweed smells exactly the same but a place where you can walk on the beach at night and not get mugged and mercifully also not get stared at for that tiny hole in the front of your favorite shirt (but only because it's night time and you're on the beach and all of the pretension has fallen away in favor of the awe of sunset over the water. And because you put on that jacket at the last minute. Face it, Bridget, you have a long way to go, style-wise.)

This is a place where you can raise your eyes to the mountaintops and see snow collecting there while down beside the water you collect sweaters from the children because they are sweating. I am learning. Sweaters before lunch, not after.

Tomorrow I have another list of things to get done, and I'll still be amazed by the fashion and the money and the people who smoke with one arm and hug trees with the other. I'll add to the weekend-list of things to see when Ben doesn't have to work and I'll continue to chip away at things like standing out and blending in and enjoying this new alien landscape where everything is beautiful except for the parts that are ugly. Vancouver is a human being. The water is her heart, the DTES is her worst day spent and the endless money is her passion. What a woman. What a place. What a strange and wonderful place.

Monday, 12 April 2010

Ben says I type too hard and broke it. Hahaha (Wait. Really?)

It was supposed to be a moment of high regard. A brightness that would leave you speechless, a sight that would render you blind. A force that would be remembered for all eternity and eventually a legend.

Instead it's going to be a quiet, miserable non-event. A painful misery no one will ever see. It will be over before anyone has time to say Is anyone there? before they move on to the next leaf, reading the stories with their rapid-fire schizophrenic attention spans, most likely while talking on the phone and perhaps eating something. In a hurry. Distracted. Busy.

Dumb luck is a gift some would pay for and yet it's never available when one goes shopping. Relax is a state we are not worthy enough to consider. Try to read too much into anything and I will horrify you with my efforts to keep you the hell away. I will be behind it in the dark with my apron gathered up tightly, picking up the leaves and stacking them alphabetically in one hand while I wipe away tears with the other.

It was supposed to be instant. Like a cake mix. Like a flash from a bulb.

Ben and I have been very busy rescuing ourselves (long stories, all of them) from all of the hazards and pitfalls lately, left to defend ourselves from life like teenagers the first week out of the nest. I went from having to be in charge twenty-four hours a day to not having enough resolve left to deal with fuck-all and so I turned around and upended the load into his lap and he picked it up and dealt with it and things are better now.

Maybe it's him after all. Ben and daylight and warmth and a whole new jar begun of sea glass just from two short sunset walks on the beach and plans to spend time and have fun and it would be great if Bonham would stop click-clacking all around at night, tap dancing into the bedroom and chasing the cat out, standing up on my side of the bed wanting to cuddle or maybe take a walk outside at some ruthless hour. Argh. The furry baby who doesn't sleep through the night. I really really need sleep. I need a vacation. I need time to get used to this...Pacific Northbest.

Anyway, Lochlan has cobbled my machine together long enough to say hello to you and I am the stubbornnest little thing you will ever meet because I'm not spending money on another goddamned laptop in this lifetime unless it's made of pipe dreams and free-range cheese so take what you can get and know if I must I'll send word via BlackBerry which is the modern day method of princess telegram anyhow. Ask anyone. I've been running a mobile office for weeks with it already and at night I park it in a cold glass of water because it's usually smoking by the time I go to bed.

Wait. Don't take that literally. BlackBerries don't like water. They do like being used and used well. I just wish maybe the screen were a tiny bit bigger and then I could chuck the damn computer right out the window. I might anyway.

PS. I saw a Nissan Pao today and I want one! One painted in shades of lime and tangerine, please, with a stainless steel roof rack for my snowboard. I told Satan (oh, he of the 350Z) that he would soon be outclassed and he laughed and laughed and then forbade me to buy one.

You know what that will bring. Nothing but misery for him.

(Snort.)

Friday, 9 April 2010

Precedent.

Late into the evenings I would pull on dry jeans and a damp t-shirt over a still-soaked bathing suit and comb my fingers through my wet, tangled hair. I would fetch the stick I had leaning up against a tree, tied with a frayed piece of pink yarn so that none of the boys would steal it and I would seek out Lochlan, throwing myself down beside him at the campfire. He would pass me a hot dog and I would roast it slowly while I listened. That was my space. As the evening grew late I would get tired and rest my head on his shoulder. When he got tired of that he would shrug violently until I woke up and sat up straight, and sometimes he would find a hoodie and wrap it around me and put his arm around my shoulders and hold me close while he nursed a single beer for hours and smile quietly at nothing in particular. Those were some of the best sleeps I ever had. He lives at one hundred and forty degrees.

Like everything with Lochlan, it depended on his mood. Something that hasn't changed much since he was fourteen. Sometimes I think those were the very best days of my life and other times I see how little I have changed, and how I grew to crave that physical intimacy of touch beyond anything else I will ever need. How he will sit back and wait for me but never come to meet me halfway. On anything.

He is still like that. Hot and cold. In the mood or not. You can ask him what's wrong and he'll look at you like you have suddenly sprouted an extra nose or a third arm, or he'll mutter something about being tired to blow you off. The cues leading to that question would be the same. Maddening. So like Lochlan.

Yes, for the past thirty years, he has been the same.

Hey Bridget, here's your hot dog.

What's on it?

Dried mackerel flakes. Just try it, you'll love it.

Really?

Trust me, I know you, princess.

And he smiles at nothing. I still don't understand him at all.

Thursday, 8 April 2010

Now everything is easy cause of you.

So.

We bought a house.

A very big house in the forest with a wonderful yard and a veranda (verandah looks so much nicer, and is as proper, according to my sources), a huge kitchen, and more closets and bathrooms than I think I have ever seen in one place at one time. There is a fireplace and outside you can hear crickets. There are places to hide inside and out. It's not too far from a good school or from the water and the weather here is mild, so ironically, there are big coat closets in each entryway but we will never need our big coats again.

(Unless we go snowboarding, which will be often, let me tell you, though I still currently get hives when I see snow. Think that will pass?)

The house has a time machine also. Ben was quick to point that out. I won't have to wash dishes! A breakfast bar. New construction so no hundred-year old surprises, it was built after Henry was born. Modern character. Good, we were due for a change there.

We finish up our details over the next week or so. Inspection, final banking details, driving past it repeatedly with big smiles if all goes well. I will promise to try to be excited but by nature I tend to be on edge until every last i is dotted and t is crossed and then I am thrilled. Only then. Maybe talk to me after the bank, after the inspection and after the moving truck is gone and I see happens with that. So early May, come back and get your barometer then, when all of it sinks in.

Really I'm still just getting used to this. I've been here just two weeks now and we already have a house. Ben and the children are excited beyond words, so I will just grab their coattails and ride along on their happiness. It is exciting overall. New starts are good for the soul, but new starts in breathtakingly beautiful places are even better. This city is a gift and suddenly every day is my birthday. Even in the rain, even when I can't sleep, I can say that I fell in love again but this time it brings no jealousy.

Maybe this only makes sense if you're here. Like when Ben was trying to describe it and I dismissed his words before. Now that I'm here I totally get it. And I hope that the rest of April goes smoothly, right on through and into May and then I will have another one of those birthday things and will spend it unpacking I bet, unless Ben comes up with a plan to sweep me off my feet for the day. Both would be equally wonderful.

In our new house.

(Fine, I'm excited. A little.)

Wednesday, 7 April 2010

My offer was accepted.

Holy fucking shit.
MAKE THE PHONE STOP RINGING.

Who in the hell wheels and deals at nine at night?

Not me. I want to go to bed now please. I can't take it.

Equivocal rain.

You feed the fire that burned us all
When you lied
To feel the pain that spurs you on
Black inside
Waiting for news sometime in the next hour. Could be good news and sheer panic or it could be relief and resolve. We shall see.

Last night I went along and dutifully weighed in on everything that was presented to me by strangers who want to spend my money the way they see fit and in the midst of it Ben and I decided we wanted to be the children and we fired up a lovely argument which made most of the evening unbearable and tense.

I stayed at the penthouse last night only because now when I get angry I tend to just give up and give in. I'll stand behind Caleb for a while and study my own fingerprints because he makes the biggest impact. I'm not sure if I like that or it's the only avenue because I'm exhausted and unsure and ridiculously relieved to be here. I don't know which way is which or which end is up. I'm not sure it matters now what the issue was. We made up. We made out. Case closed. As usual a collective sigh of resigned frustration rises in a chorus. She's not leaving him. Fuck.

(Ben, I mean. Jesus, people.)

In other news, Ben fixed my keyboard. Victory chores. We came out here and some of the goo must have softened and reactivated in the ocean humidity because suddenly all of the major important letters and directional keys were stuck fast and it was so incredibly frustrating. He pulled most of them off and then looked at me. I merely pointed out that I get my money's worth. I buy cheap, disposable laptops and I eat over them, drink over them and cry over them until the words are released in proper order and the letters are stuck down fast. Then a little over a year later I start again. This laptop is worse than the last one though because the old one had nice loud speakers and this one does not.It's been a battle to hear anything from the tinny little speakers and I've been due a new one for a while.

The boys insist it be an Apple product but I resist because I like the threadbare, worn, industrial-type machines, not the sleek hipster ones. I don't want perky bouncing icons and that strange reflective silver. I want something in black, as always and not something new to learn OS-wise, because my brain is completely full up and I am busy learning everything new again. Besides, the old letter placement and temperamental Windows is like a favorite old blanket: it no longer keeps me warm, it's just a comfort thing.

It has to be a magnificently sad day when a sixteen-month-old Acer Aspire is a comfort object. I must be losing my mind.

Wait. Oh, yes. There's one of the posters in the pile from a long time ago:

LOST: One princess mind. Last seen on the East coast, circa 1997.


I can't wait for the day that I get to bitch about my old Macbook Pro, like the boys do. Before they lovingly pet the things and possibly feed them treats. What does a Macbook eat, I wonder? Oh yes, cash. Om nom nom.

Really though, it is inevitable. I do understand that for what I pay in disposable Windows machines I have already paid for the computer I should have purchased, instead of the one that I have.

But the space bar. It works again! And shift. And $, ironically enough.

Not sure for how long, and as I said, I am waiting for news and that news dictates the efforts of the coming days. Cross your fingers or perhaps leave them open if you enjoy seeing me fail. It makes no difference to me at all.

I think I gave up and I gave out and then I gave in and somehow I woke up a state of comfortable flux, snow white duvet hiding the sins of the dark from the bright white of another day, another chance even. I took it. I took the leap. I made the calls and I signed my name and I took the papers I was given and I listened carefully to the instructions and maybe we will land somewhere safe or maybe we'll just keep falling for a bit. Either option is fine tonight, oddly.

Not a good thing, just the state of affairs this evening. It always frightens me most when I am just ambivalent and nothing more.

Tuesday, 6 April 2010

.skaerf lortnoC .uoy fo llA

I've seen all of the decadence one person can absorb for one night. Bathrooms that outnumber bedrooms, marble this, that and the other, gas stoves wider than my car, decor that is going to make my belongings look like third-rate castoffs and lovely protected green spaces all around everything so maybe, just maybe, I will be able to sit on my new front veranda and hear the crickets.

If everyone would just shut the hell up, I might.

I'm at the penthouse tonight if anyone needs me. Quiet here, no crickets, only flames.
(Princesses should not have to be brave.)

Whatever fire drove me straight out the other end of winter on the high plains has finally gone out and I can't seem to walk out the damn door today. Today of ALL days. And I need to. So I'm going. Jesus, help me or avert your eyes or something. Don't just stand there and watch.


Monday, 5 April 2010

And apparently all songs lead back to Freebird. Like six degrees of separation or something. Fuck it. Argh.

Relish and Catch up.

Mmmmm...listening to all the great covers of Wicked Game that are out there. So far I like Corey's best.

Also found the best color of nail polish in the whole world. Radioactive turquoise, Schuyler called it.

Quiet day, holy.

Versus best.

It's brighter somehow. I walk along the path now strewn with cherry blossom and magnolia petals, a path colored pink to my delight. The light shines down and everything is soaked, lush and clean. Glorious. It's cool but not bone-chilling, it's vaguely scary without being terrifying anymore.

It's also very hard to turn the wheel that opens the door into the concrete room when it's slick with rain.

He was waiting though, and I got it open because I wouldn't have accepted anything less. I just do it if it needs to be done even though I hurt my hand and pulled that muscle just a little more which means once again when I lie flat on my back and take a deep breath pain roars through my whole body and Ben likes that and presses hard against me. It's alright, I will just sleep on my side afterward, wedged in tightly under Ben's arm, my head pressed underneath his hard chin, his breath warm on my hair, my skin still flush from the agony. I won't move a muscle.

Sleep and heal, sleep and heal. It's the ultimate dragon to chase these days but I'm trying. I bought sleeping pills yesterday because I'm out of ideas. I never get the coffee I want at the right times so I'm not jacked up on caffeine, maybe it's just the adjustment of not being cold, not being alone, not being pushed down under the weight of an unwelcome Prairie sky, perhaps.

I held the magnolia blossom carefully, tucking it into my pocket when I opened the door. Once inside I took it out again, glad that it will still uncrushed, intact. Sort of the way Jacob must feel when he inspects me for further damage than what he has caused, that enables me to utilize his guilt to keep him here.

As if I could let him go.

Is that for me?

Yes. I want you to see what it's like here.

Are you still happy?

Yes. I needed the water back.

I know, princess.

I made a useless motion to touch him and he abruptly stepped back and frowned at me. Dark blue flooded into his pupils and his hair darkened too and he was suddenly closer to me and I dropped my chin accordingly.

Hello, Cole.

Hey, baby. You look beautiful.

Thank you.

Caleb's looking after you.

It wasn't a question, it was a statement, and I nodded in an almost unconscious admittance.

What does Ben say?

Ben's world is ruled by his wants, what do you think?

I think the world is ruled by what you want.

Ha. Then you don't know me so well anymore. maybe you've been gone too long.

I'm right here beside preacher man, and let me tell you he is no less annoying in this state once you get him started.

But it's okay? This arrangement? I know it isn't easy, Cole, but I need things to stay this way just for a little longer.

He desaturated and grew before my eyes and the face I adore beyond words cracked into another soft smile, the kind that melts butter into broth.

Then what, Bridge? What happens next?

I can't tell you that. Because then he will know.

Who? Caleb?

Yes.

He isn't allowed to hurt you. Be careful, princess.

It's far too late for that, Jake.

He frowned and suddenly I was the one bathed in the bright lights, which only served to pinpoint how small and dirty I was, especially on my knees and around my mouth, from keeping up this race in which the only winner is the one who pays the officials to look the other way while the spectators murmur in horror but do nothing. It's a trainwreck and you don't look away, now, do you?

Jacob shook his head and mirrored my gesture from earlier, the one that hurts worse than that muscle inside my body, because he wants to touch me too but for some reason we can't seem to accomplish it, haven't more than once or twice since he spread his wings and they failed him in a way that forever changed everything.

I ignored the failure and I threw myself into his arms and they closed but he wasn't there. He wasn't there and I could hear Cole begin to laugh because that's what he does when he feels pain because he doesn't like knowing that I don't care that he's dead and everything still revolves around Jacob and maybe Ben will never ever get a fair shake unless something changes.

I stepped backwards and stumbled and then I felt him, his huge hand with the nimble thin digits that have traced every millimeter of skin that I wear, closing around my elbow so that I didn't fold to the floor. Ice cold today. Uncharacteristically ice old.

You need to go, princess. This isn't safe for you either.

And then I blinked and he vanished into the rain again. I'm really fucking sick of not being allowed to ever say goodbye. I need to figure out how to leave him on my terms instead of his. He gets everything and it isn't fair.

They get everything and it. isn't. fair.

Sunday, 4 April 2010

I guess I'm learning, I must be warmer now
I'll soon be turning, round the corner now
Outside the dawn is breaking
But inside in the dark I'm aching to be free
The show must go on
The show must go on
Inside my heart is breaking
My makeup may be flaking
But my smile still stays on
My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies
Fairytales of yesterday will grow but never die
I can fly - my friends
The show must go on
The show must go on
I'll face it with a grin
I'm never giving in
On with the show
I'll top the bill, I'll overkill
I have to find the will to carry on
On with the
On with the show.

Church on the water.

Best Easter egg hunt EVER.

On a yacht.

Good morning and happy Easter. Yes, the champagne is still flowing and the children are eating chocolate and we're below deck because it's cool this morning but that's fine. Everything is gold plated so if you stare long enough it's just like looking into the sun.

I was skeptical of the wifi thing even and then Caleb told me that if I wanted something all I had to do is ask for it. The boys find this amusing but I don't run like this. I stay behind. I fall behind, mostly because I can't keep up with this sort of lifestyle. I'm too full of wonderment and innocence.

And so I asked for a Monte Cristo for breakfast and someone was dispatched to get it.

I believe the staff on this boat have their own staff. I believe that I may spend the rest of the weekend here. I believe in fairy tales.

Oh come on.

Shortly I'm going to turn back into a pumpkin and we're going to go to IKEA. Because I adore IKEA and I plan to scope out new dressers for the kids for when we are settled. And coffee. Oddly the coffee here isn't that good but I don't dare say anything because then they'll send someone else out and really I don't think this is reasonable anymore.

*poof*

I wonder if pumpkins talk when no one's there to hear them. I wonder if Sam is mad at us.

I wonder if these pigs are going to eventually block out the sun with their wings? Like Icarus but with bacon. Mmmmmm, crispy clouds .

Okay, enough champagne. We're headed home.

Saturday, 3 April 2010

The internet needs a breathalizer.

If you're in the mood, please take my place this evening. I'm exhausted. Thank you and goodnight. Enjoy the party. It's on your behalf. Or your bewhole. Something of the sort. Caleb's throwing it. Doesn't he always? He networks more than Telus and knows more people than Jesus. I would totally worry about that except for the fact that I already have proof that he is Satan and he already took my soul.

Rambling. Don't want to go, would much rather sleep. But that would be ungracious of my bewhole.

Haha.

Drinking, yes. Sorry. No other way to find courage for this one.

Home at last.

Yesterday we took the first chance we had to really escape from the city and explore up into the mountains a little. We drove to Whistler, which was so delightful, in spite of the bad storm that seemed to be happening in a bubble around us. To us it didn't seem all that bad, actually but I think we stayed ahead of it somehow.

Last time I drove the sea to sky highway was 1993. It's grown up so much, mostly in part I believe due to the Olympics. However, I'm not bitter, it was nice to have a mostly divided road and lots of places to stop along the way. We saw waterfalls and wildlife and North Face everything, everywhere. What used to be remote is now a tourist mecca and Whistler was awash in dollar bills. Lots of dollar bills.

And it snowed heavily the entire time we were up there. To the point where I turned to Ben and told him I was sure I said I was done with snow now, thank you, may we please go back to the city?

He thought I was joking and we did not go back until it began to get dark and by then I think our explorer urges were sated for one day anyway. Off to drink wine (me) and sit in dimly-lit restaurants eating yummy dinner and oh, wait.

That place.

I fell in love with it to a wicked extent. Like more than that other neighborhood and it seems vaguely more doable. Okay, it's completely doable. I'm not even sure I'm calling it by the right name, I just know that I pointed from the road and Ben nodded and Caleb called someone and really that's pretty much the way I operate when the boys are around. Bridget chooses, Ben confirms and Satan chips off a piece of the princess-soul and smiles his lies and things happen.

There are some islands and some beautiful glass houses chipped into the front of the mountain and it's all ocean and salt and beauty and yeah, it didn't take any sort of wonderment or questioning on my part. I know exactly what I want when I see it and so this part was almost too easy. Like things are when you have no soul left maybe, or because we've been fortunate in so many ways while being so goddamned unlucky in others.

Doesn't matter. The view is going to wrap around what's left of my soul and then I won't notice the huge pieces that are gone, that won't grow back, that can't be replaced.

I would have given the rest for this. I still might.

Friday, 2 April 2010

Delicious dark mornings.

There is rain pouring down the window beside me and it's so dark out this morning. I am currently waiting for Ben to wake up so we can drive up north into the rain and spend time together and maybe nail down which neighborhood we plan to terrorize for the rest of our quiet dark lives.

I noticed on my visitor information that someone searched for REAL FRENCH PRINCESS IN GLASS CASE THATS DEAD late last night while I slept, and was directed to my journal.

Welcome, Missouri. I like you already. But I'm actually not French, if that's something that's going to stand between us.

More tonight, my chickens. Adventure first, words later.

Thursday, 1 April 2010

Dragon breath.

I have my car!!!!

Yay!

Ben took us for a long drive all around the water. The ocean at night here is just as glorious as back home. Then we stopped for donairs (west coast donairs made Halifax style, no less) and came home because it's late. And it's been a long week. I'm happy that the car is here. I mean, having a driver is fun and all but it's not the same. I can make a mess in my car. You really think I can wait until we get home to sneak a few bites?

You've obviously never had a donair the way I like them: extra meat, sweet sauce, tomato and raw onions only.

My next plan is to kiss everyone in sight. Thank God I'm cute.

Muscles, metal and beards.

It's Clash day, dear readers, and lord knows, Bridget loves her knight movies. Muck, muscle, bring it, I'm there. It's my happy place.

Okay, it's one of many, but one of the few socially acceptable formats of escape.

I have more, I'm tired though so later. The laptop must be shared these days with a little blonde boy who likes to play warcraft. Who is going to say no to HIM?

Not I, said the spider to the fly.