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.

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.

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 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.

A reproduction of life.

This is the weirdest thing ever. I woke up in LA and tonight we're going to see Great Big Sea.

Ironic because they are from home, and I am so far from home right now.

I heard myself sing again. After much magic, the final result is umm..well, remember the beginning of Astrocreep? That's pretty much what my part boiled down to. Hot but distant and totally forgettable. Unless you're into that sort of thing. PJ, I'm looking at you. Or Ben, but Ben is here nodding like everyone already knows how freaking depraved he is.

Home overnight. Busy day tomorrow. Sleeping on airplanes is really awesomely weird and decadent. Okay, Caleb's plane is decadent maybe. Commercial flight is not.

I promise I'm not a snob. I'm simply following the advice of Eleanor Roosevelt. She said to do one thing every day that scares you. I bet people could wind up dead following advice like that, and I'll be happy to get back home. I'm not all that much of a big-city girl, contrary to popular belief.

Like everything else here in the city of angels, it's an act.

Read you like a true surprise.

I love waking up in the mornings aching and raw. My philtrum is razorburned to within an inch of it's life, I will spend much of the day applying and re-applying a soothing beeswax lip gloss to try and quiet the sting. My arms and legs are quivery-weak today from being forced down under Ben, his jawline against my nose and mouth, his mouth against my ear. He doesn't let up. Not an inch, not for a moment and I have developed a kind of fortitude of my own to match his effortless endurance. Always the gentle brute, a study in opposites with his corrupted and selfish love for me. He wants to wind me out because that's what he likes, having developed his mercenary appetite over the years before I became part of his picture. Now together we're untangling that beautiful mess, in favor of a worse one. It's glorious. It scares people.

People like Lochlan.

Who automatically assumes that I'm most comfortable in the shadow of Cole's legacy. Or maybe Caleb's. He would be correct but the difference is Ben's end goal is not to cause pain, that's just a hazard of the job. It seems so simple to us and so incredibly complicated to Lochlan, and I'm left in the cloying darkness trying to make him take back words he doesn't need to say to keep me safe. I am safe. Deliciously, dangerously safe.

And I think sometimes...well, I think he gets off on fear too.

The red on my skin leaves me with no outward credibility and his looks could kill. But they don't because behind the recalcitrance lies his ardent devotion and the fact that some of these marks are from him and that, my friends, is what allows me to continue to walk my tightrope. Lochlan holds the safety net. For my life. Ben holds the scissors.

For the thrill.

Come set me free.

There’s a hole in the neighborhood
Where the shadows fall
There’s a hole in my heart
But my hope is not in me at all

Today was a nice departure from the usual melee, the emotional carnival that never seems to pack up and move to the next town, most likely because we are the carnies and who in the heck would operate the rides and the cotton candy booth if we were left behind?

I had a superlong run this morning to say goodbye to my old shoes, and let PJ run a commentary through my skull for a bit about nothing in particular, mostly about all of the future snowboarding to enter back into my life shortly, and then I walked the dog and spent a long time organizing the house and putting things away. I cleared out most everything except for the desk and the sofabed in the den, because Lochlan's house already sold and he's going to move back in to my house until we travel west still. He's lived here before. The house is large. I would have given him the guest wing but Daniel and Schuyler already live there so what's a girl to do? At least the den is semi-private, he has almost the whole back of the house this way. Like I said, I'm organized.

After lunch Ben went to meet Caleb for some meetings and Lochlan took me shopping. Which is always fun because he's really efficient too. I got my keys fixed (the ones I had made didn't work, now they do), bought new running shoes and a copy of Hello Hurricane (which came out today and I have been practically salivating waiting for) and then poked around. Loch bought me a Noel Nog, which is the yummiest coffee/egg nog concoction ever because we're trying to reacquaint ourselves with Second Cup now that the novelty of having Starbucks in Canada is finally wearing thin for our group. We opted not to stay out for lunch and so of course now I'm home and positively starving.

But I don't really care because I still have a little coffee left to enjoy and music has filled my ears, taking some of the stress and all of the pangs of hunger and homesickness with it.

I needed this. Even if it's very temporary.

Aspotogan gets a reprieve for just a little longer.

(Pay me no mind, I'm just talking to myself).

I've figured one thing out. When it comes to Big Scary Decisions (like the one to move the rest of the 2300 kilometres to the Pacific ocean) I have a tendency to deal a lot better when Ben isn't handy.

Like today. I went to work this morning, for Satan, which consisted of him verifying that I was wearing the new watch, carrying the white Blackberry, and then complimenting me on my shoes, which I'm enjoying as we have some unseasonably warm temperatures. He had me confirming hotel reservations. For Benjamin. In December. Which Ben was supposed to be off the hook for but not surprisingly, he isn't.

This is probably Caleb's fault. Caleb promised to have his lawyers fix that obligation and instead Caleb found a way to make it work to his advantage. Yeah, in more ways than one. So Ben will be traveling through most of December and will almost miss the move to the coast.

What does this remind you of?

I have exacted voluntary promises that this will not happen to me twice, that I've built all the character I can handle and there will be no more required but somehow I don't see how that can't happen, all I can remember is every long day has a coffee break right in the middle, and if I do sort-of okay with all of this chaos when he isn't here then maybe that will carry me through.

Yesterday the advice given to me was to not worry about the things I can't change because it's a waste of energy. I'm trying desperately to remember that.

On the big mental list was a clothesline, an acoustic guitar, a hell of a lot of wind, an SUV for heading into town, and a white-painted house facing due south on the south shore of the most beautiful province in the world.

Which is probably why lately every day when Ben comes through the back door and leaves his shrapnel of skull rings/watch/wallet/coat and shoes everywhere, I have this new habit of bursting into tears. Not because I don't want to go (hello, warmest city in Canada) but because it's overwhelming and scary and that much farther away from Fox Point Road, where I've pictured my life since I was a little girl.

There. I said it. But I won't worry about it because it's fast becoming one of those things I can't change. Kind of like Ben having to keep traveling.

Slow falling.

If chaos drives, let suffering hold the reins.

Hmm, here's something of a Sunday evening audit.

Firstly, I never told you about the Metallica concert. Supported by Lamb of God and Gojira, it was a pure metalfest from beginning to end. I never sat down. I put up my horns and rocked out as if I were on stage and I thanked my lucky stars I wasn't in the mosh pit down below us because damn, teenagers are rough.

I'm so much more delicate and besides, I'm not dumb. I like having a chair to sit and wait for the show to begin and then a place to put my coat while I'm busy hanging off the back of Ben's shirt. Man, people must hate sitting behind Ben because he stands up the whole show and you'd have to be three rows back to see over his shoulders.

It rocked and I'm totally plotting a trip to Wacken. Seriously. These are fun times we live in.

Secondly, Jacob's birthday party was a hit. My big plan was to get shitfaced and go sit in the pantry and Lochlan could wash dishes and then maybe Ben would sit outside the door and sing me into blackness but instead everyone presented a token and a story in honor of the birthday boy. I drank water and then coffee and I laughed until I cried and cried until I laughed and John and Dalton washed all the dishes while I sat and talked and then mercifully everyone was gone before nine, and we got the children to bed, I scrubbed my face raw and put on pajamas and Ben stoked up a light fire and we settled in to watch a movie.

Which brings me to review number three.

Gerard Butler. In P.S. I love you.

Wow. Probably shouldn't have watched it, but I did. Just like I watched Catch and Release. I have yet to see The Time Traveler's Wife but I read the book (and never reviewed it. Hmm, I should maybe do that. Another day, okay?).

We both cried through the whole damned thing. And we laughed. And we cried some more. We made some sentimental, foolish and profound promises to each other and then I began to notice the main character had a gorgeous wardrobe of coats and boots, and this was before some of the big life-changing revelations she made in the story. Shallow-deep, shallow-deep.

I was sort of glad I watched it and even more glad that Ben was the first one to tear up so many times. I'm not into girly movies all that much overall. I like documentaries and all things scary and precious little in-between.

Maybe that says things about me that I don't feel like acknowledging tonight. Maybe I would prefer to stick with talking about coats and how interestingly Lisa Kudrow's face is now that she's aging a little and frankly how the metal god of the universe will happily sit through two hours of fluff without batting an eye.

Maybe it's all good. Maybe everything will be okay. Just like in the movies.

P.S. Ben and the kids are playing Warcraft again. I would like a noggin-fogger elixir too. It sounds divine.

Hallo pooh. Happy birthday.

In the stack of books beside my pillow where I sleep in the loft of feathers and dreams that won't be kind, are photographs of people who will no longer show up on thermal imaging, hidden in the pages so I will find them unexpectedly. The only way to keep their places are through memories that seem to be always stuck behind faded, fogged up and scratched glass. Not even glass. That see-through plexiglass plastic that becomes muddled far too soon.

Every now and then the wind brings me one as clear as day, up and over the barrier and it hits me in the face, making my eyes sting, blowing my hair straight back from my forehead like water. That happened last week when I took Bonham up to the tracks to walk hard, and I could see Jacob throwing the frisbee for Butterfield and then trying to wrestle it away from him again. He was wearing his faded blue jeans and a blue plaid work jacket, steel-toed boots and he hadn't combed his hair yet, it looked like a nest of wheat on his head, straggled into his eyes. He grinned and waved when he saw me and I started to cry again and I only knew that that was a new memory presented to me from over the glass and I knew it was because I had to work harder to remember this place where I would run along the tracks and every single time the train came I was afraid because the noise was so loud and at the same time I had comfort in knowing I could just cross too closely and end my own misery. Because of that I'm not generally allowed up here alone anymore.

And so I took a picture of them playing, just so I could keep it. Only I got home and looked at it and Jacob and Butterfield are missing and I knew they would be, it's okay. A blurry little picture as a reminder of absolutely nothing of consequence to anyone but me.

See? Blackberries suck at photos, for the record. Shaky princesses suck even more at taking pictures.

It gets a little easier as time goes on but at the same time it's really fucking selfish that he gave up and left us behind to figure out the hard parts. At least there is someone there now to take care of my dog.

I'm having a party tonight. A quiet, solemn and important one. I'm gathering everyone to mark what would have been Jacob's thirty-ninth birthday with a dinner and a few words and then I'm going to pack his memories away so that my mind is clear to focus on the move. To focus on the living. To focus on the good. We're going to eat whatever, most likely roast beef and gravy and roasted vegetables and cake because Jacob never really had a favorite dinner, he just liked large quantities of whatever I would cook because he was a bottomless pit, energy expended from a guy that only sat down to read and counsel or sometimes play guitar. Jacob was not a metal guy. He liked acoustic songs, deep songs, save for the famous Across the Universe warbling that made me laugh so hard I thought I would explode. I hurt for days after that incident and he was banned from playing it ever again. It's too bad, really. I would love to hear it now.

Jacob would have found my blackberry confusing. He had an old Motorola flip phone, the silver paint worn off the plastic long before the phone was toast, and it was always warm because he hardly ever stopped talking on it. Talking to Sam, talking to August, talking to Ben about me. Making sure I was okay when I had taped up ribs and a sling and a bruised ear. Ben would lie and say I was doing fine, because Jacob couldn't handle the alternative answer and so he would rush through his hospice and the chaplaincy shift and come home and find lilacs on every table and me with a little color in my face from a short walk and Ben making an oddly-efficient nursemaid, having scheduled pizza delivery and figured out who belongs to what laundry now sort-of folded and sitting on our beds to be put away.

Ben. Who is long past thirty-nine and approaching forty-two very soon and thinks this dinner is a very good way indeed to bookend the memories of Jacob so that I can bring them with me. Ben, who always drops his entire life and steps in when things go wrong because he doesn't care about himself and maybe if he did a little more he would be in better condition, instead of so rough and torn around the edges and in need to so much reinforcement these days. And Ben isn't so much an acoustic guy, he likes metal. Hardcore heavy metal that draws out all the pain and leaves you refreshed and exhilarated. Only he isn't allowed to play Across the Universe anymore either because frankly he mangled it and that was a travesty because the Beatles deserved to be done well and he demanded to know what Jai Guru Deva Om meant and I couldn't tell him, because I have no idea.

I bet Jacob knows what it means. That and a host of other mysteries have probably been solved. I hear that's one of the rewards you're given when you're sent to heaven. He told me so himself.

Out by the tracks.

Before I took his picture and printed it to tuck into a book, to find some other day.

Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Jake.

2 years ago tonight.

Just don't.

Crunchy-frosty (lounge fly mix).

That was my description, relayed to Ben with breathless amusement, of the leaves this morning as PJ and I ran down the sidewalk in the blazing morning sun. The cold overnight weather curled and hardened all of the elm leaves quite deliciously, I think. Ben laughed and went back to his appropriated song, Master of Puppies. The dog was entranced.

It was a pretty good version, you know.

It's been so beautiful the past few mornings. Kind of a final fall ironic kick in the pants, actually and it's not lost on me that usually by now we're in full winter gear. Here I figured I would be so late getting my snow tires on, I'd be the menace of the neighborhood. I guess I got my Indian Summer after all.

There are some other amazing things going on in this universe of mine, complete with the black filigreed edges and amperaged-up emotions. There just isn't time to share them with you right this minute. Perhaps later on.

Enjoy the sun.

I can't live this way
please refill my soul

One fast move or I'm gone.

Jacob would have adored this.

Pretty cool, I think.

This is cool too. Like REALLY cool.

Princess out. Places to go, lunch to eat.

Volume One: Warming up.

Here I lie forever
Sorrow still remains
Will the water pull me down
And wash it all away?

Come and take me over
Welcome to the game
Will the current drag me down
And carry me away?

We're moving. Yes, all of us. Save for Nolan and Sam, for now. At least that's the plan. Nolan will never leave his farm and I want to come visit anyway. Sam is Sam. Good luck with that. He loves his congregation and his church (notice I said his church) and isn't going to budge anytime soon.

PJ was a waffler to the bitter end. Time to leave the nest, Padraig. We all said it. It didn't take him long to come around.

The new umbrella company will be based in Vancouver. Caleb and the others want to get their show on the road, so to speak and so it's time to head west. It's time to shutter up this beautiful house and drop the keys into a stranger's cold, dry hand and blow a final kiss.

This house found me. I needed it and I got it and for a time it was my safety until I realized that I'm my safety and adventure isn't the end of the world and really remaining here has become nothing more than a huge test of endurance.

And so now we go.

We go where there is wicked snowboarding and mountains and the Pacific ocean and the Aquarium and holy, the Olympics too and this is going to be one hell of a complicated adventure this time, but thankfully the last time I cut my teeth on a cross-country move I did it with a three year old, a fifteen-month old and a husband who had already flown on ahead to work so really it can only get better from here.

Off we go. I will bring my memories packed carefully between sheets of vellum and newsprint, wrapped in blankets for extra security. I may or may not open that box when I get there, I may be too busy doing new things.

May never have a hundred year old Victorian house with stained glass and secret passageways ever again but it's okay. Maybe we'll have a crazy-modern open concept place jacked into the side of a mountain. Just think of the natural light. Just think of the warmer temperatures. No more square tires and frostbite in seventeen seconds flat. No more feeling cold and demanding pure wool socks and scarves because nothing else is good enough.

No more middle of the road. I'm picking a side. With a little shove, mind you, but it's happening. Ben and I need a fresh start without all these layers of memories and waffle-knit cotton between us.

Did I mention winters are cold here? The coldest city in the world, by some reports.

I'm not going to miss that part.

Not for you.

Raked leaves, baked banana bread and blueberry muffins and then the bottom fell out. Hanging on my my fingertips and someone I don't even know is standing on them. What the fuck. Turn it off, Bridget.

Look on the brightside. You knew it was there, the shadow of inevitability lurking in the corner like a stranger with a streak of familiarity. You know the high points and you know the low ones and nothing was ever gained by crawling under a blanket and pulling it up over your head.

Those people don't go forward and you're not supposed to envy them.

The fortunate turns aren't for the faint of heart and yet the hard parts are all you see.

There is nothing to be gained by standing here hoping they can't see you. The fear isn't going to get you moving this time. It could be worse.

IT'S BEEN WORSE.

Open your eyes. Take a deep breath. Now let go.

Still no new cupcakes.

Still no cupcake replenishment but I believe I'll do some baking tomorrow. Banana bread and some brownies to get us through the rest of the week. I had a little luck in shopping, thanks to Sears holding their 50% off children's snowsuits today, like right now. It was kind of like yelling Bingo only without the smoky hall and rows of bluehairs. Not that I mind bluehairs. I've totally had blue hair before. And pink. And green.

I realized I got the biggest sizes so next year the kids will be shopping in the adult department.

Wow.

That always stuns me.

I had some keys made, which didn't fit the lock when I came home, the dog is determined to shred the ottoman where Ben keeps his xbox games and I am finishing a cup of coffee alone while I wait for the kids to get home from school and check out their new gear and I started Christmas shopping even, which totally never happens. Ever.

So there.

Day accomplished. Bring dinner and broad shoulders and a movie and I'm done like toast.

Small individual cakes for your consideration.

Go fuck with someone else, and drag them down
I see nothing wrong, in my perfect life
Take me as I am
Take it while you can

What a day. Listening to old Demiricous and Mindfeed. Why? It's Monday and I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open and I've got a list a mile long of all the things I have to go get but it's cold and I don't want to go outside, honestly. I'd rather crawl in the dryer and go for a tumble and become so warm my watch melts and my hair peels away but ew, okay, nevermind. Metal wakes me up, anyhow.

Ben ate my last lip gloss. I was putting it on in the truck yesterday as we drove home from lunch and he made the funny kissy face that he makes when he wants a kiss and afterward he smacked his lips together and I laughed and then he ate the rest. Seriously. I think he has a chemical deficiency or something. A shortage of Revlon.

In other news the toques and newsboys have come out on the boys, as have the heavier flannel jackets and leather. Yum. The temperature dropped overnight again and the leaves are crispy and the dog was very efficient this morning. As in too efficient, too cold to stay outdoors for long. I'm looking at him thinking Oh you just wait until January if you think it's cold now and trying to embrace the fact that it's still sixty degrees warmer now than it will be then.

So aside from needing lipgloss, all of which I plan to hide and not brandish about recklessly when Ben is nearby, I need jackets for both children. Because #&@%!*%& fucking zippers don't work for very long. What a lovely quiet scam that is, for Henry has probably had fifteen coats in the eight winters he has lived and I have bought expensive, cheap and in-between. And they aren't worth having repaired. I've tried that.

And we're out of cupcakes. I wish I had more. They're like cake only totally PORTABLE! Who knew?! Well, I knew, but frankly I really enjoy the fancier cake on a plate with a silver fork, okay? Princesses do that shit.

Without a king.

It's one of those hazy-lazy Sunday afternoons, pre-winter. Pre-Christmas. Pre-the next thing. Just a moment to exhale fully and enjoy this moment because there might be a few more like it as we go on.

The woodstove is on low today, it's not particularly cold, just damp-cold, like home. Post-Halloween cold. Lights are on. The pumpkins are in the composter, the skeletons have been taken down, the candy has been inspected and Ben is probably right now finishing the very last of the orange-chocolate cupcakes we picked up at the bakery in a fit of it's-not-cake, or as we like to call it, being in the spirit of the holiday.

It's not even a holiday, really, but we embraced it anyway. At 6:30 sharp the children appeared on the sidewalks out of nowhere, and after one hundred and thirty-two releases of a handful of mini-chocolate bars into pillowcases, green bags and plastic pumpkin pails, we turned off the lights and called it a night. The kids had hot showers and one treat each and then they were tucked into bed and Ben, Christian, PJ, Lochlan, Daniel and I made some food and settled in to watch Practical Magic. Scary-lite. Then when the movie and the food were over they found Iron Man on the television and I was asleep before I could point out we've seen it half a million times at least.

I was tired. In my defense, I slept little Friday night. Friday night was Caleb's costume party and Ben and I rolled into the house around ten on Saturday morning. Which was fine, the kids were at sleepovers and instead of an open alcohol bar the party featured a specialty coffee and dessert bar and I drank coffees all night long and chattered and danced a little and entertained a whole lot of cheek kisses and warm hugs and it was the usual assortment of characters that Caleb bumps elbows with in his world which I exist on the fringe (in the center) of. At my advanced age with narcoleptic tendencies I couldn't believe it when two rolled around and even PJ had packed it in and I was still wide awake so finally the last people had bid us a good evening and we were three.

Hm. Oh, stop it.

We divided the rest of the cheesecake into three large slabs, poured some tea and retired to the projection room and spent the rest of the night watching movies and talking lightly.

No one believes me, but that's fine. Honestly if Caleb had pinned me down and made me cry, I would simply say that. But he didn't. He's only evil when he needs to be, and he didn't need to be Friday night. We had a blast. We'll do it again sometime.

Exhale, inhale. A little break from the rigmarole. A little work, a few days a week, a chance to look after the interests of my boys. A little shopping toward Christmas. Getting my car serviced before winter. Continuing, doggedly, to make the house warmer as the cold temperatures crowd in. Looking after teaching the puppy good habits and getting the children to do their chores with some regularity save for the threat of allowance withholding. Writing, writing and more writing and hopefully a little more feedback and a lot less waiting. Raking the leaves that never stop falling. Pushing away the dark just a little more.

Just for a few more minutes. Then I will turn back into the high-strung, clenched-fist over-scheduled little blonde worrywart you all know and love. Jacob's birthday is this coming Saturday and he isn't here to enjoy it. I'm trying to work on not being shattered by that. None of it comes any more naturally than sitting here doing nothing. But I am working on it.

I'd also like to be working on one of those cupcakes but Ben really did eat them all. Greedy.
Pft.

On becoming the Baroness.

Got a lot of things straightened out today, most noteable a recent underlying threat to the new permanent peace that threatened to shelve the entire deal. Caleb has lawyers. Caleb is fixing. And true to form the price is that I suck it up and attend his yearly Halloween costume party.

Which I will now that I have crawled out of my shell long enough to eat some lunch, hug my husband and PJ too and be sociable enough so that my beloved friends were able to talk me into it, though, really they will leave before I do and have no real idea what it's like after that.

Attending the party is not the price. Nevermind what is. We've been over this before.

One year later, the party is not for me but instead is a toast to the new business collective. I am unmedicated and not planning on doing any drinking whatsoever. I need my wits, we'll be on Satan's territory as a group, one of those rare and special circumstances he calls "fun'. Perhaps it will be.

Though...

No, I'll leave it there. I'll try to remember to bring my shoes home, and call that enough, okay?

Snap out of it.

I don't feel like going to a party tonight. I don't feel like smiling. I don't feel like getting dressed. I don't feel like taking a shower. I don't feel like talking. I just feel like staying in bed with the covers up over my head and listening to the rain only because I think I can hear it on the tin roof at the back of the house but it's probably a placebo-sound because I can look out the window and see it falling.

See it...falling.

August, I'm keeping this flannel shirt. It reminds me of your friend. As do you. Thank you for keeping watch.

Time to change has come and gone
Watched your fears become your god
It's your decision
It's your decision

Overwhelmed, you chose to run
Apathetic to the stunned
It's your decision
It's your decision

You feed the fire that burned us all
When you lied
To feel the pain that spurs you on
Black inside

No one plans to take the path that brings you nowhere
Here you stand before us all and say it's over

Headphones and white and black striped tights today. No one will bother the freak on the bench. This is the space in which I exist, between the four elm trees that frame my house and here in the park between life and death. Between sadness and euphoria, between normal and so not normal it hurts.

That's me.

So not normal.

This is all wrong. Everyone being here for me, it's wrong and it's what he did in an effort to oh, gee, finally make me better. Make her happy because you won't like her miserable. It wasn't right then and it's not right now. And I don't know which one of you canceled my efforts to have these removed. Maybe I should thank you, I expected to show up and have to sit on the ground but there they were, the benches that represent arms that won't hold me anymore because I killed their hearts dead dead dead. I killed my own and then in some sort of murderous, euphoric glee I killed a few more.

Then I woke the fuck up and as usual I'm playing freak girl in the park while everyone else goes about their lives, totally fucking oblivious to me save to say, wow, she's pretty. It's too bad she dresses like a clown. It's too bad she has all those words tattooed all over her body.

It's too bad you're so fucking narrow-minded, too, but beggars can't be choosers and my mind is wide, baby. Wide enough that the little short-term memories fall out easily and the long-term ones dig deep. So deep they leave huge bloody gouges down the side of my head and my hair is all matted and black and maybe it's not the tights that make them stare. No, it's probably my brain falling out of my head because it's so big now and it would explain why my ears and my mouth don't work now doesn't it?

I did nothing to help them further the cause of tightening to support net around me because the only person who will be saved by that is already dead. Pretty but totally fucking dead inside and that can't change because dead is permanent.

Three, four, better lock the door.

Good morning. It's 8:45 and I have already had breakfast with the devil and a ride in the gorgeous little silver 350z. All that and I still have coffee here to finish from the gigantic stainless steel glass I like to nurse until lunchtime.

I'm at the loft at my beautiful desk doing absolutely nothing because no one is in until at least nine for most of the places I have to call in confirming final details for the party Friday night. I need to look after this mostly because Caleb likes the organizational part of my brain and because a woman's touch is always appreciated and yet I am the only woman he trusts.

Not sure if that's a comfort or a curse, come to think of it. But I will rock the doll dress and the high heels and smile sweetly and speak only when spoken to and allow him to parade me around like the final rose of the season while all the while plotting to stick this sharp and lovely letter opener in his back.

Hey, a girl can dream. Besides, if it came down to a fight to the death, I would most certainly lose, as he would shed his mortal trappings and rise to his full height, which is whatever the hell he wants it to be. Satan has that gift. So instead I will permit his objectification with a little of my own, and keep it incredibly clear that he only gets away with this shit because I let him and he is just as vulnerable to my charms and my whims, should I ever invoke them in his presence.

Even though I probably never will again.

I save them for Ben. Ben is headed to his own meeting today and then will meet us for lunch after he gets the children fed and back safely to school. We have reservations at 'the' restaurant. Caleb's favorite one, that one we were asked to leave after a food fight broke out quite purposefully last time.

I am ready this time, Benjamin. Waterproof mascara and everything.

It happens every time. They all become blueberries.

We are the music makers and we are the dreamers of dreams.

Joel has come to rescue the day.

Probably a bad idea.

Joel is truly the adult equivalent of the friend you call when you want to skip school and venture to an uncharted territory in which you will bravely face teenage danger and possibly break stuff.

What I mean is, in that regard, he's worse than Ben.

Hard to believe he was ever in charge of my head. Or maybe it all makes sense now. In any event, if we ever conquer the tension between us, he could totally be a close friend. But sadly and because we are adults who act like teenagers, I hardly ever get to see him anymore.

But here he is with Vietnamese takeout for four (because I'm not stupid, Ben and Daniel are home too) and a full rehash of all of the action last night from the Leafs winning their first game of the season. Because like a comforted idiot, I was busy watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. And it was glorious. When I was a kid the Oompa-Loopas scared me something awful. But I've been since scared by worse so instead I found it hilarious. It was on late and so it was eleven again before Ben and I made it to bed, where I turned the electric blanket up all the way and forgot to mention it. I sort of roasted my husband and he didn't sleep and so today has been reduced to puttering around a bit, making a few calls, filing some papers that have been up on the fridge too long and basically waiting for something to happen.

Joel's here to see that something happens. Most likely we will finish lunch, go outside and stare at the trucks for a little while and talk about the weather and then soon enough Ruth and Henry will be home from school with their fall pictures and chaos will resume and we'll invite Joel to stay for an early easy dinner and then Ben and I will take the children to the rec centre for their swim lessons and then home in bed by eight.

Unless there is something wonderful on television again.

Most likely there will be.

Damn, I wish I was your singer.

Oh dear lord. Apparently talent is not available through transmission of bodily fluids because I absolutely cannot sing anywhere nearly as well as I did on Rock Band. No way. Uh-oh. I will stick to playing the violin and the ever-obsequious groupiedom, thank you muchly for coming out and wasting time on me. You're all very good sports for putting the deaf girl in the booth.

Ben got what he wanted for the song anyway. I can't say I'll ever listen to the finished product unless they work some inane amount of magic on it, I sound like a hardcore chipmunk doing her best impression of Sophie B. Hawkins. With a head cold.

On the upside, the studio? My brother in law bought it. For my husband and his friends. Which is interesting to say the least.

Night nights.

Black cherry and Butterscotch.

I have candy sticks from the sugar village in those two flavours today. I'm saving them for work tomorrow. Nothing major, just have a few final preparations to attend to for Caleb's big costume party this weekend and I want to make sure that everything is in place so I don't spend the entire first week getting organized. Trying to work while unorganized just erodes what's left of my brain.

PJ's trip to the candy store and subsequent peace offering was warmly welcomed. I invited him to stay for lunch and we pulled out all the stops, eating Mr. Noodles and sharing a half a box of cheese nips. Which are really gross. Like goldfish but with a greasy aftertaste. So of course I couldn't stop eating them and now I'm vaguely unsettled. Maybe tea later will help. I'll try to fit that in around the coffee, of course because I had a cup yesterday afternoon and at ten last night I could still answer questions coherently and that NEVER happens. So the coffee stays so that I can have a life because Ben is a night owl and really sometimes that's when he appears out of nowhere and wants to spend time with me. By that time of night I am mostly toast. If he could just fly out of bed at six every morning without swearing he would be the awesomemest husband ever but beggars can't be choosers and choosers can't be choosey, sometimes.

I'll take Ben snarly and sleepy in the morning. He's freaking adorable. Especially on the days when the first order of business is washing the dog's butt. Oh yes. We're all glamour all the time here. Which is why PJ was mad at me in the first place. I refused to indulge him and drop a name. I don't do that. Probably never will. He wanted back up in a conversation and I feigned total deafness instead. Which sent my message loud and clear, ironically enough and he eats crows made of candy today as a result. Again, glamorous to a fault.

The good news is there actually is a little glamour in the day, planned for later. We're going to the studio and Bridget is going to sing. Truth. It will be recorded I mean, and you might even hear it eventually. See if it winds up anywhere special. And no, it's not a Christmas album, though there has been talk of that as well (Fuck, guys, I'm kidding. Holy.). Just something that was slated to be done once a certain level of private loyalty was achieved. I think we're there now, and I'm ready.

Wish me luck and tape the glass, boys. I'm going in.

Ben has promised to hold my hand.

Decisions carved into granite and flesh.

And I won't live your weak wicked lie
You pull me in
I'm one step behind

Show me where it hurts
And I will make it worse
Are you holding on?
Keep holding on
Dilated eyes
Shine for one last time
Are you holding on?
Keep holding on

Every year when it grows cold I lament the amount of hours I didn't spend reading in the front porch. There's now three chairs and a table there, and with eight ripply-glass windows with their crisp white curtains it's a cozy, sunny spot to curl up in for a few hours to process some stories. Only I didn't really do it much this summer and now summer is over. The tiny white lights will be on perpetually through the winter now, if only to lend a little magic to the distended winter regret that settles over the neighborhood once the last of the leaves fall.

The leaves are making things treacherous. Yesterday I slipped and slid down the wet pavement until I made it to the stairs and the railing was wet so I hung on for dear life and by the time I made it to the concrete room I was breathless, filthy and sure I would never make my way back without a cracked ankle or broken skull. I can't wait until the ice returns.

I ducked into the room and turned and for the first time, I closed the door behind me, giving the rusted mechanism a spin with pointless flair, for it hardly budged. I turned around and wiped my dirty, dripping fingers on the front of my coat. Then I tried to smooth my hair, pulling a lock from the corner of my mouth. And then I met his eyes.

He was sitting, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, equally filthy hands and feet but pristine blonde hair and wings as always. He watched me with love, with curiosity.

Why are you here, princess?

Where else would I be? It's an anniversary.

You didn't come on our wedding anniversary.

I don't acknowledge that one.

I see.

What's wrong with me, Jacob?

What do you mean?

Why did you leave?

Bridget, they'll be looking for you, especially today.

I'll go back in a while.

You should go back now.

You should have stayed.

I was not strong enough there. Here, I am.

Then come back now.

It doesn't work that way.

Change it. I need you.

What's wrong?

It's time to come back. I'm done with this game. I don't like this game.

What's happened?

You aren't there for me.

What else?

That should be ENOUGH FOR YOU! Don't you love me?

I do. So, so much.

What a sight we must have been. I'm standing again, screaming at him and he has tears spilling out, down his cheeks, helpless against my rage. Like all of them. It takes me finally getting mad and fighting back for them to see, for them to really see what they do to me.

I can't do this anymore, Jacob.

So let me go and you don't have to come back here anymore.

You're coming with me.

Bridget, I ca-

YES YOU CAN!

I reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt.

And I connected.

I connected.

He was warm.

He was real.

He was alive.

His hands came up and he froze and then he put his hands on my arms and he pulled me into his embrace and I rested my head against his chest, throwing my arms around him. His arms locked around my shoulders and I let out the breath I held. I let it out so slowly my lungs were aching with the effort. And then I began to sob, because I wasted so much time and he was here all along and he wasn't dead and they didn't listen and I was right and now I have to admit to him that I really screwed up, like so badly, like he didn't already know and somehow he has to understand that now Ben will have a bigger part of the equation because I really love Ben and I wouldn't let him go even if Jacob comes back and he's going to have to understand and it's all just pouring out and I doubt it made any sense at all and then suddenly there were other hands on me, hands pulling me away and back into the warmth and shaking me just a little and I opened my eyes and there was Ben, and I was so relieved that he found us and he knew too and everything was going to be good again and Bridget wouldn't be sad and I threw my arms around his neck and hung on for dear life as my heart popped and stretched and grew out of the black stitches that were holding it together and it hurt so badly and he held me in surprise and then he burst the balloon and I was plunged into black once again.

You were crying in your dream. It's okay now, everything's going to be okay.

It's so easy to make promises that someone else will have to keep. I just stared at him for a moment and then I got up and went to run a shower, hot as Hades, knowing he would not be far behind. I stepped into the claw foot tub, standing under the spray, and I watched the dirt run off my fingertips in black sandy rivulets, circling down into the drain along with any shred of hope that I can ever bring Jacob back to this place, back into my life that has changed so drastically since he left I hardly recognize myself, let alone anyone else.

Seconds later, Ben stepped into the shower, naked, gloriously beautiful with his tattoos in contrast to his pale skin, and put his arms out, stepping under the spray, shielding me from the needle-sharp barbs of hot water.

Ben, what if I told you Jacob was still alive?

Then bring it on, Princess, because you talk in your sleep and I already know how this will go down.

Rambling through my nightmares, unconscious and fearful, it never occurred to me even once that they are still conducted out loud.

Promise me you'll always remember you're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.

~Christopher Robin to Pooh

Benposta and the curse of touching Cole's girl.

Tomorrow.

(Ohnoyetpleaseinsuchagoodmood)

Hit like a ton of goddamn bricks because I have things to do. Five loads of laundry. The house is a mess. The children are battered, fried and done and Ben is back on track after yet another magnificent stab at falling apart and failing. Because that's what he does when things go wrong and Bridget was doing terrific, all things considered and then some fucking idiot asked me what the date was and I looked at my blackberry and the world stripped away, the sky peeling back from it's neat edges, trees sucking back into the ground, a layer of dust settling over what remained, with black crowding in where the blue once was.

October 24th is tomorrow.

And I've already got a run-date and a lunch-date and a gallery-date and a movie-date. And that's just tomorrow! The week has been filled up, appointments and plans made and cross-checked and coordinated because last year we cleared the week and I didn't manage so well, but that was the first one. This is the second and so that makes me a veteran of enduring the Hard Days of anniversaries where bad things happen out of the blue. Like Jacob leaving, the week before he jumped from a high building because he was a magnificent fucking hypocrite and a coward.

Nothing brought more clarity to me than going into that house and seeing the shrine of a bedroom and sitting down to hot soup for lunch and knowing that I was still here, living, breathing, laughing, crying and where is Jacob? Locked in a concrete room in my insane little head because I don't know what to do with him and whatever is left of his ashes in the box which didn't wind up in the ductwork of my house isn't him so that doesn't even count and there's a marker by the ocean at the house but that doesn't count either so he's just trapped where I can hold his memories and none of them will leak out and they are safe but dammit, I'm the one enjoying his mother's soup and homemade bread and asking her about her garden and taking her to have a girlie day with Ruth at the hairdresser.

He shouldn't have left but he did and I can't help that. I can only help the big firecracking idiot Benjamin who threatened to take a drink every second we were there until Jacob's father got a hold of him. I don't know what was said but Ben came out of that day white as a sheet and on his best, and he renewed his position with a fortification that he must have checked out of the library because you certainly can't buy the sudden resolve that he was drenched in any more than Lochlan thinks he can charm the universe into presuming that he is the one running this circus.

You aren't paying attention. I run it. It's my show and I finance it with money from my brother in law that I get in exchange for things you don't want to know about. I know no one is thrilled I'm going back to work for someone I repeatedly have to unleash my lawyers on, but that's all part of the game and the game is maybe something I play because self-preservation is all or nothing, same as it is for Benny. There are no more secrets. There is nothing left to do with my love except to swing it around overhand and see who I can clock with it. I knocked Ben right out, apparently and he's been seeing stars ever since. But he hung on, down to the minute-by-minute and managed to white-knuckle Lochlan's bullshit and Caleb's smug ruggedness and he came home straight and narrow and incredibly upright, where he sagged into Nolan's arms at the airport and then I found out how afraid Ben is that every time the circus passes a Hard Day mark he waits for me to upend the tent and run off with some other clown. Because I've done it. Because I've ruined everything before. His solution is to make everyone hate him while he dies of fear.

As you can imagine, it's not very productive and almost assuredly counterproductive but Ben is Ben and he is slow to change.

JUST like BRIDGET.

There never seems to be anything BUT change anymore and we're attempting to force routine and permanence and we get burned repeatedly. Ever seen a circus tent go up in flames? I have. It goes up fast and it burns so hot. Permanence has come whether we rushed it or not. Routine will follow. Ben is planning to get a vacation loan to hang on to this library-borrowed strength until he can find some more ways to keep it going and me, well, I'm back in town so the circus is once again on.

All day, every day, half-price on weekends.

Hi, honey, we're home!

but true to form, the boys ate all of the food, so I must drag my sorry butt to the market. I'll be back this afternoon.

We're heading home. I'm going to see if I can find a thicker skin to wear, Ben is going to get better and we're going to find some kind of routine. The rules are changing slightly, in that I will only be going to the loft two days a week, the other two I will work from home, with Fridays off as always.

Should be okay.

I have other things on my mind today.

See you tomorrow.

Never more than this, princess. Never more than this.

Poetry by the Sea (chills courtesy of Lord Byron).

Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart,
A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art.
No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep,
But living statues there are seen to weep;
Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb,
Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom.

Quiet observations, but only the very good ones.

Good coffee.
Honey on the table.
Clean green paint on my chair.
Twelve pairs of gloves and three pairs of mittens by the door.
Fish are not pets, says Grampa, and he laughs again, pointing to the boats in the harbour.
Boys are speaking to one another.
Children seem to be over their colds.
We will conquer sleeping on feathers, just as we leave.
Movie and dinner plans for tonight, both acquired, for there is nothing here to go to.
The phone charger has come back to life, Dalton.
729 text messages and fifteen calls in three days.
All is well at home.
The sun is shining. It's not cold, and twenty-five years later I can still quote Highlander from beginning to end.
Ben is still sober.
God lives here.
And Jacob does not.

Theatre of idiots.

Jacob's dad walks into the kitchen early this morning.

Doing a little writing, Bridget?

No, just checking the news.

I don't know why I lie about the writing. They know I write (hello), they know I write daily if not hourly and that I chronicled every single day that I spent with Jacob. In some ways my writing is far too personal to even acknowledge which is ironic, knowing the mediums I use. I guess it's the journal that was/is private, began in secret. Cole was so surprised to learn of it, I've never been the one to bring it up since.

Jacob's parents are incredibly glad to see all of us, most especially the children. They are almost thrilled that nothing ever changes and the first order of business today will be to replace the window in the garage and take Lochlan in town to the dentist, since Ben and Lochlan already managed to conduct a fist fight in the side yard, complete with broken glass and teeth. God Bless Lochlan but he really needs to think before he opens his mouth because he is the smaller of the two and it's always his teeth in the grass. Ben couldn't quash an impulse under threat of death and frankly I think the whole throw down in Bridget's honor is not nearly as honorable as it once was, you know, back when we were in high school. Nevermind the fact that I didn't go to high school with Ben.

No worries, they made up five seconds later, and Ben gets to be the one to take Lochlan in town and then Lochlan gets to be the one to explain to the children why it's wrong to punch people.

Jacob's father laughed, while his mother ran to get ice in a towel, marveling exactly how little has truly changed in all these years.

I could say the same.

Jacob's parents are love. They both look well and as good as they ever will be, missing Jacob so dearly. Life remains black and white for them, and their daily routine changes little. It's nice to poke around a little and make the calls that will bring someone to fix the things that they put up with and chip away at making their lives as easy as we can. They are so proud, it isn't an easy job.

I have not gone into Jacob's room yet. The door is open, I got halfway down the hall. The kids went in and I had to send August in after them because I was afraid they might disturb things. They didn't, and Ruth and Henry were more touched then I expected them to be, to be here again. They have been back with Caleb so their last visit was without me here and maybe everyone is just backing off a little and seeing how I am doing and not pushing and it's all very gentle and quiet but the wind still blows. The relentless wind.

I'm trying not to be difficult, trying to find the good in all the little things and I've been eating the feelings as they come up, dry-swallowing the hard parts before my eyes get too stingy and my hands start to flutter. But no one is dumb. The only thing is I probably would have cracked but the fact that the boys followed me here to continue to be my knights means I now have an obligation to pull the fuck together and make it a successful visit that doesn't end with those grim looks over my head as they wonder exactly how long the road back will be this time.

I would say I'm faring a lot better than Ben and Lochlan, who will be heading up the immature end of thing this time but that's only because I waffled yesterday and basically hammered Ben into the ground and I'll atone for that when he atones for the equally unfair things he does.

Trust me when I say we are even, and forgive me when I fail to tell you why.

Sometimes I hold all the power which makes life difficult when one would prefer to fall apart. I've done that so much it hardly seems worth the fallout anymore, especially this far from home.

And so instead I sit in this kitchen which boasts so many coats of paint over the years it has lost its corners and is growing smaller, and look out over the ocean that still makes me cry and try to understand how I would have ever been enough to make Jacob change his plans of coming back home after graduate school to live in the town he grew up in and instead come chasing after me.

Bridget versus the ocean? It seems like such an easy choice.

At least to me.

I'm sure there's going to be many emotional rollercoasters to ride before we leave here on Thursday. I'm thinking that for some of them I may just wait at the bottom this time.

And now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go walk on the beach before lunch. Out here, that's where he is.

I am slow. the distraction of a day and a bit in Montreal gave Lochlan, PJ, John, August, Andrew, Duncan and Sam time to get to Newfoundland ahead of me.

So they would be here when I needed them.

Good morning, Jacob.

I am still in Montreal. We crashed Sophie's party last evening and she seemed touched that we are continuing on to Newfoundland this morning. She looked well and whatever jealousy issues I have with her didn't seem to come up even once. She wrote a hasty note to bring along. I sealed it in a hotel envelope because I didn't want curiosity to get the better of me and it would have. Her relationship with your folks is far different than mine. I don't know which of us got the best of you. I am always hoping it was me.

I'm leaving soon to fly out. We've had a few delays and I'm reduced to emptying out my head because I've done everything else. They are off looking at the plane. The kids have fallen asleep here beside me as I sit in this stupid molded chair. I have all our coats bundled around them to make it comfortable. It isn't.

Once I get where I'm going you will be different. Fondly remembered, anguish in the time that has elapsed since your death. Everything you ever did, said or thought was good to them and I won't have it any other way. The flight was a desperate action. Uncharacteristic but understood because they have no choice. Horrible feelings to have to have but overall they are so proud of you. You are still Jacob with your beautiful white-blue eyes and white-blonde hair and your size fourteen feet. Oversized in every way.

In my concrete room, you are twelve feet tall. I walk in and look up and up until it hurts. I could hide in your wings if I could bear to touch you.

I don't actually know why I'm here.

I guess I do, in a way. Ben is trying to tick off whatever list I can come up with of things I need to get done before the week that I would like to take back. If only I could do anything in this entire lifetime of mine it would be to take that week back. October 24 right through November 7, 2007 because right up until that moment I thought I had my forever.

I fought too much, Jacob.

I fought to make you everything and it wasn't fair.

Bear with me, I've got to get this out now, because I'm really sure that I'm going to step out of the truck and step into Jacob's father's arms and he'll smell like Jacob and talk like Jacob and I'll waver ever so slightly like the old Bridget and the world is going to end. I wager I have about five hours left to my life if that's the case and why anyone would want to allow my children to witness that I will never know.

I'm sorry.

He was everything and now he's missing and I filled the space in with Ben because Ben seems to be able to take a lot and keep on going and he's not smart enough to understand that he made a big mistake with me and maybe that's okay because better me than some vacuous tramp who wants to ride his coattails. I'm not good for him, Jacob. But I know why you did this and I know you're there standing in the middle of the room right smackdab between us when we argue. I know you watch when he touches me just as much as he ever did and I know that unlike everyone else Ben isn't going to just get up and walk away from me and never come back.

Sad that the flightiest, flakiest, most immature one of the lot is the one who turns out to be the pillar of strength, isn't it?

I'm talking about Bridget.

I don't think I should go anymore. I know I'll disappoint them. I don't think anyone has a sweet clue how hard this is going to be on me and how much it will serve to reverse time and take me back to when things were different. I've been numb for so long. The dead lurches in my chest from when Ben says or does something so unlike him serve as my emotions now.

You have all ruined me, but you, Jacob, most of all. I am not your game. I was not some prize to be passed around and you guys all seem to think that my feelings aren't as important as your egos and your places among the others in this twisted brotherhood. I am tired of being the target.

I can see Ben from here now. He is walking toward me from the other end of the concourse. He's got a blind focus that means we're leaving now. Caleb is walking beside him. Sorry, gliding on hellfire that he carries around with him as a party trick. I'm supposed to keep my shit together and start working for him next Monday, a week from today. Right now I think I'd rather impale myself on one of the barbed wire fence-posts that barely keeps people from venturing over the edge of the cliff where the pretty white house sits where you grew up. These two dark overlords are running this show and I'm not all that sure that it's right.

I have made so many mistakes and I have let myself be taken in by charming words and smothering attention and Ben's peculiar, incredible generosity and loyalty and a private history with Caleb that has now driven Lochlan away. I'm not sure I've done the right thing, truth be told. I'm confused. They're exploiting that.

And now I have to figure out how to put it all together while everyone who matters watches from the sidelines. It's far too late for changes.

You could have prevented all of it and you didn't. And for that, I won't forgive you, even though I will love you to the end of my days.

Yours forever,

b

Waking up in Montreal.

We lock our souls in cages
We hide inside our shells
It's hard to free to the ones you love
Oh when you can't forgive yourself
forgive yourself

Last night I panicked. I didn't want to go from the frying pan into the fire and for as much as I love the thought of seeing Jacob's parents and getting another immersion into him proper as much as I can without venturing into the place where I keep him in my heart, it's not an easy thing to do. Add in Caleb traveling with us and I may as well just implode.

I tried to but it didn't work all that well and so Ben pulled out the music and started playing it and he was focusing on upcoming bands like Switchfoot because hell, if you don't know the story of the words wrapped around my ankle from one of their songs and how I think sometimes music is sent to save people who don't want to acknowledge God just quite yet then there is a way for you, my friend.

Ben is more aware of this than anyone in the entire world and he grabbed the headphones and twisted up the dial and rocked me until I stopped shaking and then he rocked me just a little more.

And then he finished packing for all of us which is why I have two unmatched black stiletto boots in my bag and not a single bra. Which will be interesting and at some point I'll have to rectify that but for now he is my life raft in a sea of trepidation because I suddenly don't want to go on to Newfoundland and it's only because I want to be selfish. I want to sit back and take in as much Jacob as I can take in at my own pace because otherwise he just steamrolls over me and I'm reduced to the tiny Bridget who is rescued without any input at all and do you know what means? That means that you're always holding the bike up and steering that bike and then you proclaim that the rider is riding! Only you can never let go again or the rider will fall. I am the rider and he is always holding the bike. Ben doesn't hold the bike. He points it out. He might even stand it up and dust the seat off. Then he stands back, admiring me on it and suggests I bike down the street. Slowly. He says he will wait right here. With bandaids for my knees.

And then he'll close his eyes.

But that's okay. Maybe that's better than always holding me up. He can't and shouldn't always hold me up. He can't save every day and step in and take over as the replacement hero because there is no hero in my story unless it's me. Only I won't get on the bike because honestly I don't like bicycles. They're too high up and they make me nervous and I had a lot of steep hills in my universe growing up and too many boys egging me on to go faster and I could never pull it off quite like they could and it's so easy for them to forget I'm not as capable as they are.

So the trip is a bicycle, the arrangements are Ben's encouragement and the bandaids are Ben and Caleb for when I fall off and shred my skin like ice on the pavement. The music was Ben's way of reminding me that I might not fall off. That I should just keep listening because oh, in a little over two weeks Hello Hurricane comes out and it must be meant for me to keep because that is a post title from June of 2007 that I made (!) that now rests in the archives of Jacob, long off the internet and maybe they will come and play here another time and into the future stretches song after song that I can sing the words to until I know them by heart which leaves no room for errant short-term memory like phone numbers, times and people's names (sorry, H.) and I have that weird inner peace of mind that I can conjure up from that.

I keep getting waylaid by forever and forget to live in the present. Forever is overwhelming and expectant and pressure. Forever demands results and plans and intentions and forethought. Then now is a rush, a clumsy trip over a discarded idea because what if it's not good enough? What if the results are different from the plan? What if none of it works? How do you balance going and getting a coffee and watching a movie when it doesn't further the future? How do you continue to believe in promises and breathing deeply when every time you slip and get comfortable everything gets ripped away from you?

Constantly living on edge. Neverending fear. I've yet to find a professional or a drug that can take those two things away from me, and yet both disappear in two instances: when I get a hug and when I listen to music.

Now you know.

I'm off to get coffee and go explore Montreal. One of those weird living in the moment moments, I guess.

If you see us, come and say hello. Be prepared to give a hug.

New money.

One of the joys of sometimes being able to charm Caleb into the use of his private jet means that he will weigh in on the traveling plans altogether. While I was off collecting Ruth from her class he was deciding that our week should involve a little more fun just in case.

So we are leaving tonight, making a day and a half stop for a little adventure before continuing on to St. John's. Ben thought it was a wonderful idea, a brief chance to spoil Bridget before she starts working again. A little fun for the children before Bridget surrounds herself with the History of Jacob and cracks up again.

Caleb is determined to bestow whatever brotherly advice, assistance and attention he would have spent on Cole on Benjamin instead, and I just get attention period because he is like that with me. And so on that note, I will have to review the concert when I come back. In tandem with our trip. I'm really going to miss the guys but I'm taking the big one with me. He is enough trouble all by himself, but boy, am I glad he's coming too.

See you Friday!

Ridiculously talented cro-magnon men.

What a desolate day. I got up at seven to walk the puppy, having learned I clench my teeth in my sleep and maybe that explains waking up with headaches all the time. It was still dark outside. Winter is knocking on the door. I have it barricaded. Hopefully it will hold for a while.

I'm about to drive downtown to pick up Ruth, who has an early art class each Saturday at a lovely gallery downtown. She will come home with paint on her clothes, clay under her nails and fresh inspiration, for she loves art as much as her father did. As much as the boys do. It keeps them civilized when otherwise I think they would grunt, accept a plate full of meat, beat their clubs for entertainment, go slay another wild animal with their bare hands and then invite me to be wrapped in the animal skin blankets they make and keep me safe through the night. I get all that now plus music and visual arts to keep us refined!

Maybe it's a silly day. Maybe it's just going to be a quiet day.

Maybe something great will happen.

Or maybe I will try for a nap. I do that every five years or so, just out of the blue.

PS I realize I never reviewed the Metallica concert. I will, perhaps tomorrow! It still feels like it was all a dream.