Afterwrath.

I have my nose pressed up against the glass, money in my hand. I didn't want to put wagers on my soul but here we are, PJ, Ben and I, watching Lochlan and Caleb duke it out in the snow in the front yard. Only Caleb isn't fighting back at all. The wind is gone out of his sails, or maybe hurting Ben is what finally changed him. Maybe this is his penance, though I pointed out to Lochlan that none of this was Caleb's fault and he almost believed me until he found the carefully hidden bite mark on the back of my neck, almost in my hair, that wouldn't have broken the skin but it did. 

Now it's his fault, apparently, because he can't seem to not mash his teeth all over me, or maybe I'm just that delicious. Either way, there they are. Lochlan's lost all of his steam from shouting and is now swinging for the hills, but Ben remains with one hand on the door, ready to go out and break it up if anyone is about to get seriously hurt. Including Caleb. 

PJ just wants to wager, as he knows damn well Caleb wouldn't hurt Lochlan. He wouldn't dare. The fifty bill is just to see who stops first and it's only a valid bet if they aren't stopped by a third party first. I bet Caleb would stop first only because I know Lochlan as well as I do. 

And I was right. Now I'm fifty dollars richer, my nose is cold and pink and I told Lochlan to stop hitting people. 

I will when you stop fucking them, he said. 

NICE. I spat back.

I was out in the cold doing something NICE for YOU, he yells. 

I DON'T NEED NICE. I NEED PRESENCE. 

Right. PRESENTS. 

No, PRESENCE. 

What the FUCK, Peanut?

This would be better written down and then you'd see. 

Go write it then. Humiliate me some more. 

But then he winked and I don't even know which end is up and if you make me a bluff I'm going to call it so here we are. Immature Christmas 2021. Nothing has ever changed and nothing ever will. Also I think I need stitches. Oh and he invited Caleb for Boxing night.

Give my loaded gun away.

I was playing piano. House is virtually empty, as every handy-hand on deck is currently out working on my Christmas surprise and I'm about to be on Santa's naughty list as the Devil's warm hand slides around my throat. I hit a series of dramatic chords and he lifts my face up. Leaning over the piano bench from behind he kisses my mouth upside-down with a chuckle at my choice of musical accompaniment. 

It's cool down here. Come up to my room and have a drink with me by the fire. 

(Don't panic. Most of the dens in the various wings of the house have natural gas fired fireplaces. They are small but cozy and built into the big built-in bookcases.)

(Oh, you weren't panicking about that part. My bad.)

He pushes his index finger between my lips and I taste the sweet burn of the whiskey he just dipped into. 

The low pop-thrumb of the flame igniting distracts me ever so briefly and the hesitation lobs doubt into the atmosphere between us. 

My apologies, Neamhchiontach. Old habits. His face. Oh Jesus he looks completely defeated in a whole new way that I never get to see and I know it's bald-faced manipulation and I let it run unchecked. After all, 

It's Christmas. 

I nod and stand up and he holds out his hand, glass in the other. We go upstairs and down the long hall to his door and then inside. He closes but does not lock the door behind us. Once inside the fire grows before my eyes and he turns to pour my drink while I take off my earrings, leaving them in the little dish on the shelf. They were past their time to remove as it was but I got distracted when everyone headed out. No car keys or wallets so the surprise is home-based, at least. 

He holds out my glass and clinks his against it. 

Salut, he says with a smile that's gone in a flash. 

Sláinte, I reply, taking a sip. Aw, it's my dearest Lagavulin and I can lick those gravestones to my heart's content. 

No, he says abruplty to no one in particular and he rips the glass out of my hand, pulling me up with him. He pulls my face to his in a long, violent kiss and I am walked backwards down the hall to his bedroom, clothes being unbuttoned and left along the way. I am turned and shoved facedown on the blankets and his full weight keeps me there.

Christ, Cale. His hand covers my mouth. I squandered my brief shot at mercy like a goddamn newbie and now it's gone and while Caleb takes what he wants I go to the fair instead. His Christmas lights are the midway decorations to bring the village down at night and his onslaught fades into the background as I whip around the Ferris Wheel, my hair pulling against my backpack, where it was tucked inside the straps. 

Oh, I think I might black out here. I turn to look at Lochlan in the cart beside me but he's gone and I hope he didn't fall out and then I am turned and the hand leaves my face. I take a huge gasp of air and Caleb stands up and is gone. 

Another three minutes and the outer door of his wing closes. And he's gone. I get up shakily and walk down the hall, collecting my dress, my sweater. My tights. The bobby pins that I can find. I put my earrings back on and I put my glass in his bar sink. I dress as fast as I can and run out the door. He is sitting outside on floor outside the door, drinking his whiskey, staring at the wall. 

You know, when you were young I decided I never wanted to try and have the level of responsibility that Lochlan has for you and I never wanted to get married until you needed someone there to take care of you and the good news is that I think I'm back to the former because the latter would be nothing but heartache. 

That's our currency, Diabhal. 

Indeed, Neamhchiontach. 

Does that mean I can go?

You know the drill, Dollface. Run before I try and keep you nonetheless.

He said he was re-adventing himself. Har.

It's just freezing and pouring down sheets of rain today and I love it. We were supposed to get all snow but that's only up at highway levels. Down here on the water it is miserable and glorious all at once. Sam is doing tomorrow and then he's off on sabbatical at last. 

Just a few months. He needs the rest. This pandemic and all of the changes it brought has worn on Sam and he's taking a rest break. He wants to go back renewed and reenergized, not perpetually beaten down with zooms and streams and phone calls and front porch baptisms and field weddings where everyone has to shout and delayed funerals and bullshit orders. It was submitted forever ago. It was approved this morning and he called to tell me from across the driveway and broke down in tears on the phone. 

So I went over and crawled in between them and hung on tight. The feeling is so familiar. The soul is so new.

Eight legs to chase you.

It's hard to believe Christmas is a week from today. Or, Christmas Eve, as that's when we're having our big dinner. I'm excited. I'm thrilled to have a full table this year. All hands on deck. All boats ashore, as it were, since we're bringing the tables in to set up that we use when we have dinner out in the orchard, and every time we talk about it PJ says Spiders! in his Pennywise voice and I laugh but then I wonder. I had a small stepladder outside to help me reach the hanging plants that were too far from the hose to water and when I brought it in for winter to store in the back closet, there was a large crunchy wolf spider chilling under the top step. Where I usually put my other hand. 

I told the spider he was in the right place because this is definitely the wolf den. 

We're not going to talk about why I had no post yesterday. Let's just say it was a very bad day but also I changed my lights on my tiny Jeep to all LED and I made plans to someday fix my defrost when it's warm again. I also dropped a screw. Right in front of the Jeep on the driveway with it's giant grooves for the brickwork and dried leaves stuck to the clay. I couldn't see for shit so Dalton brought out the metal detector and he found it and all was well. I didn't want a screw stuck in a tire this time of year when we tend to go out only when we need to and hardly ever when the weather is bad. Not because we can't but because everyone else insists on trying to get places with summer tires up on the highway and it just isn't worth the stress or the risk. 

Besides. Who would want to leave? The tiny lights are always on, the trees are lit, music plays through the common parts of the house but not in the quiet zones, and we are warm and safe. Ruth comes over to draw, Henry stretches out with his phone and the dog, Duncan is usually sprawled in a chair reading his poetry. Ben stands by the Keurig, sipping his ever-present coffee, lost in thought. Outside the red-haired magician does tricks that leave you gasping, with an audience of no one. I stand nearby, at the ready in case he goes up in flames and I know I'll be (and I have been) burned, but I don't care. I can't take my eyes off him, even as the only time he looks at me is to make sure we're following fire protocol and I'm hoping by Christmas he is speaking to me again or I'll have to turn the spiders on him. 

(Update: he came in laughing because I was singing Line without a Hook at the top of my lungs again. I got a kiss on the head and he asked if I was ready to apologize for yelling at him in my frustration. Of course not, don't be silly. I'll die on this hill, at long last. The largest, scariest wolf waits in the wings to see how it all turns out.)

Back to Blinding Lights on the piano because someone (name starts with L) turned off the wi-fi and it came on promptly at eight. Which is too late, mostly for me to get my writing done (not just here, Jesus) and I walked into the server room at seven, looked around, checked the modem which was flashing and couldn't figure out the power cord or anything and had to leave it in case I screwed up something else (told many times: Don't. Touch. Anything.) but took a moment to appreciate how all the cords are ziptied in organized groups and I had a sudden fleeting thought that I should just burn the whole house down and walk up the road but then I remembered my steps. It's a first world problem. I should just swallow my feelings and distract myself. Everything that is unhealthy for us as humans is conveniently also what keeps us comfortable and most importantly, I'm not going to let him win with an irrational reaction because sometimes saving the day makes him happier than anything in the world. So that's out because I can deny him shit too.

Give me 80L or give me..uh...not death. A 4xe Jeep. Yes. give me one of those.

No, that white vehicle in the picture is not ours. I was just trying to get a shot to show you my favourite place but traffic was coming and we had to go anyway so I'm sorry I didn't frame some sort of aesthetic viewport for you. You can look up the restaurant yourself. I'm sure there are better pictures of it online. I told you I wasn't a photographer and I always tell the truth. 

Still dreaming about lunch though. I would do that every day but for the fact that we only venture out when everyone else stays home. 

Gas restrictions are ending today, however and I'm grateful for that too, Sam. Measuring out thimblesful of fuel for the big trucks is tough and a full tank brings me a huge measure of peace of mind that I can't afford to have restricted. 

My Jeep is on half and I hate it. It's snowing all week. I want a lot of gas. I won't go anywhere in it. Caleb wants to zoom around in his pretty new A7 with me instead. That car is sexy but I bet it doesn't handle as well as mine in the snow. 

I bet it does. 

Delusional millionaires. I roll my eyes. They think money can buy everything from happiness to pavement traction. Holy Christ. 

In any case I am brining chicken thighs for dinner. I make a mean honey-mustard one-pan dish that everyone destroys in seconds and I don't have to do anything major to pull it off so my card finally got pulled. Today we're just going to go fuel up and then stay home and...fuel up. 

(Can you tell we have houseguests? Yes you can tell. I have no time to myself to write. I don't mind though. It's a nice change.)

우린 뜨겁게 살아

Ventured out in actual public for the first time in a thousand years. Lochlan asked what I wanted to do and of course it's an easy answer. Hit a different beach and go to my favourite restaurant. Which also happens to be the ONLY restaurant in the village where you can get a good meal and spend an hour before getting on or after getting off a ferry from the island. 

So I rarely get to go because it's really busy and I don't like people. But yesterday the stars aligned, no one was taking ferries due to the threat of cancellations from high wind and snow and we were able to have a leisurely lunch there, with prolonged, multiple coffee refills and everything. 

I told you I wasn't pretentious, and I'm also a sucker for thick white unbreakable restaurant dishes and any menu that features both an all day breakfast and a really good club sandwich. 

And a wine list. That I gave back because I was already hungover. Ha. Too much dancing to k-pop with Daniel and Lochlan all weekend. Jesus I am too old for that now. 

In pajamas now with a glass of white wine so it's okay.

I don't know if we're going to talk about snowplow blade markers or why they're so expensive or who might be the one who needs them since even with two booster seats she can't see where her fenders end but perhaps I should look into figuring out how to make my own out of pipe cleaners or something.

Daniel laughs in tall. I am tagging along with them while they Christmas-shop, get good barber-cuts and close hot-towel shaves and concurrent manicures and we did lunch too. I am overheated, thirsty and unable to keep up. I guess it's like taking out a small child. They have a lot of energy, aren't having hot flashes and also spend thoughtfully on gifts. They stop often for coffee or for fresh-pressed juice. They will stroll along looking in windows and talking with salespeople. They sing along with carols in stores. 

I found some of the Christmas music a little heavy. Not sure I want to be looking at bespoke chocolate while listening to Greensleeves. Wish I had a bottle of water. If I had known they'd be out all day I might have stayed home but I also don't complain. I took off my coat, stole an ice cube straight out of Schuyler's juice with unwashed fingers and went and sat on a quiet bench a little out of the way for a bit. I texted Lochlan who thought I was funny and probably just improperly dressed (because I tend to overheat so easily you can set your watch by it. He said as soon as I get home I can change and then we'll make some drinks and watch movies tonight. He talked me into rejoining the boys just as they were finishing with their Christmas haircuts and we finished up shopping at the bookstore.

When we got home it took two trips to load their purchases into their front hallway and only one for me. I bought an ornament and an outfit for Henry. I have everything else I need. 

Everyone is so sad and disappointed that I didn't get any spa services or a haircut or anything for myself but merely withstood and endured. I don't know. I'm not a shopper. I did enjoy spending a day in the presence of Savage Garden while also fully clothed. That hardly EVER happens so lets just call it a win.

Per Sam's request.

I am grateful for:

Found not-stale hot chocolate and seasoned wood piles, new-vinyl record smell and cracking a fresh bottle of perfume, a surprise brandy given without expectation of company. Woolen legwarmers and cheesy Christmas movies, cheeseburgers and everyone jumping back on the Pokemon Go bandwagon with me while I attempt to finish the game (they say it isn't finishable but I choose not to believe that). being on the last fifteen pages of Billy Summers and really enjoying it even as I waited for the horror that never came. Men in 2021 getting cancelled for shit they thought they'd gotten away with (Caleb notwithstanding. Did he get away with it? Maybe, maybe not. Depends on who you ask or what day it is.), and women being strong. The health of my children and my boys. Nachos. Bad fountain pop from fast-food drive-throughs and well-fitting masks. Finding a hair elastic when I need one most, because my hair is that fun stage, just past my chin where it's not heavy enough to stay tucked behind my ears but I can make a Rescuers Pennyesque ponytail that sticks straight out. The hearing I have left. A whole host of good series just begun. The new tires in my possession tomorrow replacing what I didn't know was old and unsafe. Grateful for means and generosity always. Grateful for the daylight that filters through the giant windows facing the ocean and for the perpetual dimness in the front forest, toadstools included. For the imagination to travel when under duress and the weightlessness to be easy to restore. For the support and the love, affection and outright sick enjoyment of feeling wanted all the time. For all of it. Every last thing from the unbent forks we still use daily for pie to the extra-long generic phone cord that sometimes works and sometimes doesn't so I can sit up and surf my phone while both boys sleep with me as the meat to their bread sandwich. For cheques I can write with money gifted by a friend who really did say he wouldn't add to the heat and he stood by that oath and for new k-pop videos that make the kids dance even as they talk cars and careers in the front hall when Ruth stopped by on her way somewhere this morning. 

I don't take a thing for granted. Not a one. You know this.

We are struggling along today. Got a little bad but not truly unexpected bad news. Was a long one. Am I relieved? Not really but kind of. Is life fair? Never, ever, ever. Do we soldier on?

Of course.

AM BEING FESTIVE COME BACK LATER.

I was expressly forbidden to go outside this morning unless I wore a helmet. 

Hilarious, guys. 

The boys were doing some tree-limbing/trimming/chopping. Usually my job is to cut up the smaller branches and then stack them in a neat pile and we use them (don't laugh) to make sculptures for hanging lanterns, boardwalks on the beach, even Blair-witch style warning sigils for the woods on the point. A huge pile goes in the dry port for future woodstove/fireplace use and Lochlan burns the rest in the bonfire. I used to be allowed to wield the little electric chainsaw but not this winter. Nope. I was relegated to the racheting garden shears, using my left hand.. At least they're sharpened so it was easy work but also dumb. While I was out there I cut back the barnsley and the phlox that I forgot to do in October and completely ignored the wall of lemon balm that's encroaching on everyone and everything.

It's all done and I came inside while they cleaned the gutters (again. Trees. Gah.) and washed up and pulled a warm sweater on over my clothes and made a hot chocolate. I plugged in all of the Christmas trees and turned on all the lights and fired up Ali & Theo on the stereo. 

Duncan comes in, face twisted in amusement. Whatcha doing, Bridge? 

Getting ready for a long winter, same as you all, I said. I really hate that it gets dark at like lunchtime now so my solution is to turn on every light in the house.

Dear Santa.

(I saw him yesterday. I wasn't ready even though Ben tried to drag me over. I couldn't.)

When I woke up the Christmas spirit was already here some how. The music seemed to fit better without being harsh and intrusive. The lights glowed with a brighter hue, the snow is quickly receding and I've come to peace on a lot of issues as of late. My anxiety though, remains through the roof and I don't know if I could fix it. I've dallied with becoming a quiet alcoholic. A functional drug user. I've tried shutting down and opening up. I've distracted and focused too. I've ranged far and wide looking for solutions. Even the woo-woo ones.  I buy crystals. I've had Reiki, acupuncture, cupping and IVs of vitamins. I've danced in the salt at Burning Man and had a candlelit dinner for two at the Eiffel tower. I've cried in the ocean and screamed into the void. I've howled at the moon and I've spent hours and thousands on talk therapy. I've had my brain zapped. I tried Lithium once. 

I went away. Three times. 

I think maybe anxiety is my spirit animal now since Matthew Good got cancelled a while ago. I still think he's a genius songwriter, just maybe not the greatest person. 

Who among us is though? 

I'm probably the worst of all. I cast no fucking stones ever. I'll forgive fully-realized monsters because that's what we're supposed to do and all we can acknowledge is our own faults at the end of the day and try and change. 

This one thing though, I can't change. 

Maybe Santa can bring me some courage that sticks. That's what I would like this year.

Fourteen beams of light.

I'm having a productive day. Changed my own oil and filters. Did an inspection on my (little, old, not the new one) Jeep and ordered new tires for it since the ones on it are from uhhhhfar too long ago. Made a date to pick them up and have the old ones swapped off the rims. Regretted nothing. 

Bought a dress. 

Read that it's the thirty-second anniversary of the Montreal Massacre. That's a very long time. I still mark it though, every year. 

Bought groceries. It was snowing. We were up at five, geeking out. We headed out before seven and figured we would just get things done today. 

We wolfed down coffee and croissants. And fried potatoes too. 

We did not shovel anything except the dog ramp and Duncan's steps. And now we're making supper. French Dips and fries. Yum.

Jesus Ice Patch.

I may have curled the dog out the patio door, down his little ramp and into the soft grass. I'm not going to score any points on my end and the dog was rightly offended but we lived to tell the tale and he is back inside now, under the big beautifully- and constantly-lit Christmas tree in the great room. He lives for having a tree in the house but he's never mistaken it for one he can use. 

The house is still quiet this morning. Lochlan's working on his guitar lessons (he's playing Fly At Night. He plays, I sing and change all of the lyrics until he laughs. He says I am detrimental. He means to his practice. I think in general.)

I am mainlining the Butterscotch coffee he found for me. I drink it black but I like the smell and the bittersweet aftertaste. 

This song is the radio twin to Fleetwood Mac's Say You Love Me and I might be right as they're only three years apart but both were out and established by the time I moved to Campbell and that's where this all started.

Fleeced.

It snowed this morning. Not enough to leave anything on the pavement but the gardens were covered for a few hours and there's touches of it here and there. 

Wow. And it's only like November. So early this year. 

Lochlan stares at me. It's December fourth. 

No it isn't. But the trees are up. The lights are on, the presents are sent, wrapped and planned otherwise and the turkeys are in the freezers. I've been ready for weeks now. Also these drugs make it so the days run together and I have to concentrate way too hard on the numbers and days of the week specifically and that's WAY too much work so I don't bother. 

Lochlan is wearing his warmest hoodie. It's got soot marks on the cuffs and a little on the hood. That won't come out. He has his hair tied back with one of my velvet elastics. We've made a pact not to cut our hair until 2025. Just for fun. His hair grows lightening-fast. Mine is slow but I currently have the tiniest baby ponytail that ever was and if I move it will probably all fall out. But I also chopped mine last year. He only comes along every five or six years and buzzes his hair short and then just starts all over again. 

I also have one one of his ancient warm hoodies on. That's tradition. Mine doesn't have soot marks but it does have tearing along the seams of the hood and the arms from where he's pulled me in/back/over/around something and tested his faith on fabric instead of anything less tangible.

When you don't speak the language but you nod along and smile.

In endless surprises once again Caleb asked for and was granted permission to take me somewhere as long as he didn't let go of my hand. Fridays are his day that we go down to the beach and after our walk today (in which he did not let go, even as I tried to reach down to collect pretty bubbles of tiny beach glass) he kissed the back of my hand, shot a cuff that didn't exist (long sleeve thermal tees and Patagonia jackets make that move difficult and pointless) and said in ten minutes we will have some visitors. 

My heart turns to ice, thread, staples and all. It's the Russians. Coming back when they realized I wasn't joking when I said not to acknowledge Caleb any further. He thought I was being sweet, in deference to their power but I was being honest. Stop. Go away already.

No, I have a colleague from the old days who retired out here as well and it turns out his daughter and her husband sell crystals and they're going to come by so we can do a little personal shopping. 

Really. How?

They have a well stocked van and they do trade shows and online sales and so they're bringing some things to show you that I thought you might like and if you like them they will sell them on the spot. I get a little discount since I'm a friend of the family but they have some really nice pieces. 

You're looking at my wishlists again, aren't you? 

Perhaps, but I also see some pretty pieces on the windowsills and I know this could be a fun way to add to your collections. 

By the time we left our treasures by the door to be washed, cleaned up and put on masks for our company the van was slowly coming down the driveway. Lochlan came out to see what was up and then went away just as quickly as it wasn't anything as alarming as last week. 

And. OH MY GOD. 

SO MANY PRETTY THINGS. 

I know damn well if I had just asked Caleb if they could leave their whole inventory and just bill him he would have said yes without hesitation, but in the end I tried to have restraint and chose only the pieces that called to me, which were a beautiful tower of angelite, a flourite owl, a yooperlite tiny skull that looks like he's on fire when you shine a black light on him, ocean jasper worry stones (2 different oval-shapes because I couldn't choose), a blue goldstone point and a citrine palm stone which is bigger than my palm but Caleb wouldn't leave it alone so I think I might give it to him. I got a bracelet of gorgeous, glossy, highly-polished flame jasper beads for Lochlan and an opalite rabbit carving too. I think the rabbit and the owl will be for Ruth and Henry and the rest I will keep, as no one else is into crystals in the main house and I like to keep it simple, overall. 

They threw in a selenite bowl and a carved agate one too and a wonderful selection of smaller tumbled assorted pieces (I see rutilated quartz, picture jasper, chalcedony and a piece of rose quartz that was positively singing) plus two big points of carnelian and a half-dozen obsidian points for near our egress doors. Oh, Schuyler, eat your heart out (don't worry I will give them some too.) and then as a final gift, they gave me a beautiful carved angel wing of labradorite so flashy I don't remember seeing them leave, I couldn't stop looking at it. 

Merry Christmas, Caleb says. He's very proud of himself. The box weighs a hundred pounds. I'm sure if I didn't make him broke before, I have now. 

Okay, well, that was really fun, I admit. Damn.

I surfaced to shove you under.

It's a rowboat through the season, through the living room full of presents and decorations, past the Christmas trees and into the wet leaves and sodden mashed-down grass of the lawn. If you row hard enough you can fly off the cliff, catch some wind on a cloud and land in the higher tide, the softer one, in my opinion. The low tide is full of surprises, sharp rocks and errant logs jamming themselves against the shores, keeping your tiny boat from beaching yes, but also keeping you from venturing back to dry land after your navigation is complete. 

(And that lifejacket isn't going to save you. It hasn't yet and it's not going to. The only reason you can breathe at all is because he has you by the collar and he's keeping you aloft-)

From now on anyone who wants me for anything has to clear it with Lochlan first. Except for Ruth and Henry. Even Ben. That raised some waves, right there, and the storm took forever to clear. That's why I'm posting so late today. 

(Also because he took my Wifi but I can whore for a hotspot better than ANYONE ALIVE.)

I live to enrage you (part II).

When I returned (safely, to everyone's disappointment), Caleb was on the patio steps. He grabs me by the upper arm, steering me inside. I think he's pissed that I was going to Batman's (even if I didn't stay) and instead he says we have a Christmas visitor and I am to play dumb and stay out of reach. It's a hiss and a serious warning and he isn't fucking around and I am steered all the way down the hall through the house to the front hall. 

In the front hall are three men I recognize, going back years and two I don't recognize at all. Bodyguards. I ask them to wait outside. I won't have guns in my home. They head outside, as apparently it is a quick visit just to leave some gifts, as it's been a long year once again and they are always thinking of our/my wellbeing. There are two cases in the front hall and an envelope on top of one. I am instructed to enjoy the gifts with my friends before the old man asks if I need anything. 

Actually I do. Caleb has stopped trying to talk over me finally and watches. He isn't worried but he's plenty worried, and his body language has him standing a quarter-width in front of me, just in case. 

Anything for you. Name it. 

If Caleb calls you, please don't pick up. 

And he laughs, a loud ringing belly laugh and comes forward to kiss both my cheeks. Caleb doesn't even budge and it's a bit of a shuffle. And with that he is waving goodbye over his shoulder, collecting his sons and rendezvousing with his bodyguards who stood on the porch waiting. 

One case is vodka. The other is vintage art tools and new supplies from Saint Petersburg, things I've been coveting for some time but only knew one way to get and I wasn't going to choose that way. Apparently it chose me. I did send them off with a family Christmas card, because we keep a ready stack just in case, as there are always producers or managers swinging by to drop off a gift or a card and we learned quickly.

Send it all back to the Motherland, Lochlan says when he sees the cases. 

If you're smart that's the last thing you want to do, Caleb reminds him. As long as we only see them once a year and they seem content to spoil Bridget, then we can manage. 

Do you even hear yourself? You've made her the focus. When has that EVER served to be a good idea?

Lochlan, take a breath, please. It's over. Everything is fine. 

Maybe for you. I want no part of this. And she won't be at the next meeting. 

There are no more meetings. 

Gift exchanges. WHATEVER, DIABHAL. NO MORE. 

I live to disappoint you (Part I).

Last night was a doozy, holy. 

I made my way over to Batman's. August's eyes boring a hole in my back as I went. He offered. I'm sure Batman could see right through me to watch this too, as it was the walk of bears and pre-shame, or so they thought, but I refused to have company on the walk as I was busy gathering courage as I went, like fallen leaves. In reality I regretted this decision from the very first step as the path was exceedingly slippery but I wasn't going to give August nor Batman the amusing schadenfreude of seeing me slip because that's going to be metaphorical only today, thank you very much. 

Only none of them know it and that's the part that I'm irritated about. Like, pay attention here. This isn't hard and while I'm sober I'll shine bright enough to scare off the bears and the wolves alike. 

Bridget, Batman says when I arrive, an affectionate kiss ready to plant against my temple (I wrote temper there first. Lord. The MOOD.) I wasn't sure you'd come. 

Here, I resist my sophomoric urge to laugh. (Because I'm never sure. It's likely but you just never know.) He takes the gifts from me. There is wine with a big bow and fresh flowers. He loves flowers. 

I'm not staying. I'm sorry. I don't think it's a good idea. 

With that my phone goes off. I look at it. It's Caleb. I need you for one quick moment.

JUST A MINUTE. I reply, smashing buttons. Shouldn't have looked it. But if I don't, it's either Ruth with a question or someone will keep texting til I reply. No one has chill. We are feverish instead. 

I see you've received a better offer. 

No. I brought you a nice wine to drink and some pretty flowers for your table and we both know that right now is not a good time and so we're adults and we're reasonably intelligent and so we can be mature about this. 

If I were the one bringing you flowers when you hoped for more?

I would have more respect for you. Not less. I say it quietly and he softens, relaxing his whole body, slumping against the doorframe. 

Well, there's something that can keep me warm, he says. He sticks his face in the flowers and takes a deep breath. Go find your Devil, Bridget. I'll watch from here. 

I hurry away before he says anything else. Down the treacherous path, into the trees. Home.

OMG this fucking RAIN.

Before the storm.

 Up early again. I like to have a couple of hours to just move slowly and have coffee and toast and frozen summer grapes today for my fruit, and read or watch something or write or draw. My ipad is charging. All of my supplies are out in the stables studio. I'm seriously considering turning the whole thing into a potting shed but it's a huge output and I am not as ambitious as I would like to be, perhaps. I'm going to make some mugs and see if I like where it goes and then decide. Or maybe I won't. I don't know. 

I just know unless I am heavily drugged I don't sleep anymore. At all. I hate it. I went to sleep at eleven thirty after Lochlan yelling at me to put my book down (I have a tiny clip-on book light. He hates it. Not much has changed in forty years. I would sleep with the lights on if I could. I would probably just read all night, if I could. To wait out the night.

At two-thirty I got up to pee. That's normal. 

At five I got up to take aspirins, pee again and take off my earrings. 

At seven I gave up, showered, dressed and came downstairs to make coffee. Ben is deeply asleep and doesn't stir. Lochlan is comatose, helpless and exhausted and mutters something about not going outside. 

PJ lurks the halls. Pretty sure Loch texted him in a haze of sleep and effort. I'm not going outside. It's raining again.

Yay but also booo but also yay.

Every final weekend of November starts the same way now. I defied Black Friday (online and in person, mostly) and went to mail the packages heading East and South, and overseas. I like to go before the packages hit the mailstream from people shopping online. My stuff always arrives in lots of time for Christmas this way. 

I was the first in line at the post office (which is at the back of the drugstore) and on the way out I picked up snacks for the upcoming rainy weekend. We gassed up the Jeep (well, thirty litres since we're rationing gas here due to the floods) and that got me a little less than half a tank which is pretty nice. I feel rich.

Home again, listening to music (random Youtube) and drinking hot chocolate so heavily spiked it's almost illegal and I'm singing at the top of my lungs and chugging along in my Christmas machine like a little maniac. I have all of Ruth's gifts wrapped and ready for her home. Everything else (at least forty percent of the wrapping is done) stays here on the point. I have to pull out the ornaments next as we do our trees and figure out which ones belong to her. It's pretty easy-we (...I?) gave the children matching ornaments every year for a long time so if there's two of something, one goes to her. 

It was weird trying to address cards and gift tags and not putting her name as I sign things from the family, proper. Nuclear. Immediate. I don't even know so I didn't. I signed it all from Us. With a heart. Just Us. Everyone knows who is who and who buys the gifts and who wraps them and who makes things and who does the extra touches. 

 It was even weirder slowly stopping to watch the Ghost video from Justin Beiber. I know why they didn't let me see it but well done (even though it's pop superlight and it reminded me of the Charlie Puth song See You Again, oh, wait it's Wiz Khalifa, a LOT), save for the easy-pop top on the urn at the beach. They weld those things shut so you can't just WHOOPS open it up, sprinkle a little beautifully, Diane-Keaton style and then close it up and come home. 

Ask me how I know this. 

Maybe don't. *covers eyes*

Maybe it's different in America. But he's Canadian. I don't even know anymore, but Happy Thanksgiving. My work here is done.

Vampires and empires.

What if God's not real
And everything we are
Is just a moment here
Where we're only growing older
What if God is real
And everything I've done
Pushed me down this path
And it's only growing colder?

Batman is standing in the back hall when I come down this morning. A hulking shadow, an unfamiliar sillhouette in the early morning darkness, an uninvited guest with an open-door invitation clasped in hand, written in my own blood by my own design. 

I've heard enough over the past few days that I thought it was time I paid you a visit. As you haven't been to see me. I thought I would see you after Asher left. And with that his reluctant, almost sour wave of loneliness washes over me and I turn away to go make coffee, throwing an offer of a cup over my shoulder, not watching to see his response and so having no idea if he's going to follow me or not. 

He does follow, so I pull a second mug from the cupboard. He sits at the island, eyes boring holes through my head, like I need more. The opal marbles I collected and stuffed inside spill out, bouncing all over the floor as I turn to chose flavours among the drawer of k-cups, grateful for the mindless domestic distractions, aware that I am now flushed of face and trembling just a little bit as I fit a cup into the holder and pull the handle down. 

He's amused. He's not blind to match my deafness. He's actually hyper aware of my moods and well-versed in my endless, obvious efforts to appear cool even as I lose my shit. 

Bridget, you need to come see me and check in. Or did someone else get my dance card? 

I see not only Lochlan was pissed at the full weekend I spent with Caleb for no reason other than I wanted a yes-man for two fucking days, just for a break from the constant weight to do better, be better, be more, fix everything and somehow hold up the fucking sun and the moon at the same time. 

I was busy. I shrug and hold a mug out to him. Starbies Jesus blend. Perfect for his casual sanctimony, timely in that no one's tried this flavour yet. We stocked up on holiday coffee since it seems to keep us going and so we just bought whatever and it turns out the maple/herbal whateverness is pretty good, though it's not really helping me find the holy spirit of Christmas. And neither is this man. 

Maybe we can watch a Christmas movie together. 

Maybe, I remain doubtful, pressed against the dishwasher, I guess Frigidaire has my back this morning, since none of my army is anywhere to be found. Don't think they don't get bonuses in their accounts to to throw a race or even just steer off to the side for a few minutes, giving him a chance to overtake the leader and try to win. 

He's never won and he's kept my respect all these years with a decided lack of pressure and desperation and so I think when he's ready to go I will turn and add some whiskey to my coffee otherwise I might walk around for the rest of the day with my eyebrows on the roof, getting washed down in this unending deluge of destructive mountain rain and the surprise of these raw emotions. Batman's a washout, he's a natural disaster this morning holding a cup of grocery-store coffee and all of his hopes in the same hand. 

How about Sunday? I say abruptly as he returns the cup to me. He's not a sipper (or a slurper, like me), he drinks coffee like a construction worker with only a two-minute breather and freezing cold hands. 

This Sunday? Are you free? We can do a Hallmark dice roll and make some pizza. 

Yeah. That would be good. Did you decorate?

I had the house decorated, yes. 

Of course. Good. That will help with the spirit. 

Anything else I can do in advance? 

I shake my head, slurping my coffee. Prepare to wage war with my army, the one getting tired of my efforts to destroy myself by become stretched so thin I break and then the veil will be gone and the ghosts of Christmas past will crowd in even closer?

It's not going to happen. Just make sure you're home by midnight, Lochlan thinks inside my head. I turn but he's not there. Maybe it is the self-regulating. Maybe it's wishful-thinking. Maybe it's a hard rule that I'm faster than. We shall see.

You.

PJ brought me up a water bottle with an immunity booster tablet in it and I get to wear my pajamas all day today. I have a dent in the side of my head that is bruised but otherwise I'm fine. A little sore but nothing I can't manage. I have five kinds of coffee and one kind of hot chocolate and I'm making stuffed green peppers with ground beef, tomatoes and rice tonight for dinner because it's finally my turn again, though I bet now they won't even let me help much at all, if I even get to go in the kitchen at all.

In the meantime I'm spending the rest of today wrapping and addressing packages, as our mailings should go out early next week if not the end of this week. It's supposed to rain more. It's supposed to rain a metric ton but I don't think I care too much. 

I just want to sleep. Lochlan woke me up repeatedly last night just to make sure I didn't have any issues and we are hyper-aware of the kind of damage repeated head injuries or knocks can do, and I have had my fair share over the years. 

But I'm fine. I'm just tired now.The young doctor was by today just to be sure. He didn't do any tests Lochlan didn't already do and he thought observation and rest were the best prescription. He also checked George and George is fine too, I'm wearing my brace as long as I'm awake now. Trying to slow down and looking everywhere for the Christmas spirit. I haven't found it yet but I'm sure it's close. 

Thanks for the kind emails. I'm fine.

Glitter scavengers.

We had a bit of a fight last evening and Lochlan didn't come up last night. It might have been about my ear or about a second night with Caleb so he disappeared and Ben took over babysitting duties and I fell asleep curled around Lochlan's pillow, not sleeping at all after an hour or so because the bed was cold and Ben was out-cold and non responsive and I wish I could sleep like he does. I really do. 

I eventually fell asleep after leaving him twenty messages that he read and did not reply to. I don't remember falling asleep, I remember texting at four or maybe it was five in the morning and then when I woke up there was a little wooden box on the bedside table on top of my phone. 

(When I was little Lochlan used to make these all the time for me out of things he would find. Little treasures along the way. He said it was an offering to the magpie in me. The girl who loves soft things and things that shine.)

Inside was a dried tiny rosebud. Some shells. Sea glass. Chips of tiny gemstones. A tiny pinecone and a tiny acorn. A perfectly round white opal marble. A dried starfish baby. A garden quartz point wrapped in a bit of sterling wire. Some bleached bird bones. A pretty pink glass bead and an iron skeleton key. A small bit of green velvet ribbon and a carved wooden heart that he made (he's always making pocket hearts), stained with a turquoise-blue diluted milk paint. Glitter. 

(Always glitter.)

I was so enamored with my tiny fairy treasure haul that I carried it around all morning, marvelling at all of the little things he found and included. I even brought it outside with my coffee to have under the glass pergola in the rain this morning, staring intently at the way the change in light made different pieces glow.

And did not notice the patio heater base sitting directly in front of me and wiped out.

The coffee flew, splatting on the stamped cement floor of the patio, running dry into the design in rivers of wasted caffeine and shattered ceramic. The box flew and smashed against the hard cement too, stones flying everywhere. 

I fell and banged my head really hard. Stars and birds in a rainbow aura flew up immediately and I shook my head, feeling instant throbbing. 

Duncan (great) runs out. Hey! Shit. Sorry. I should have moved that. He is picking me up, pulling me to my feet. I am dizzy and uncentered and really upset about the little box. The coffee mug was bespoke too but I can probably commission a replacement. 

Lochlan comes out, worried and yelling (because that's how you know he's concerned, he becomes almost aggressive, unchecked panic and in charge all at the same time). I am in tears and I tell him the box broke and everything is everywhere. Duncan has the pieces of the cup, and Lochlan tells me just to sit on the floor while he finds the pieces. 

How will you know that you've found everything? 

There were fifty things in the box. It's always fifty. And I can grab another box. I have a crate full of them in the closet in the downstairs hall. I'm just glad you're not hurt. 

I have another concussion. I made sure to fall whole-body and not try to catch myself. I'm so talented it worked and my back and shoulder hurt along with my head. I crashed into the wrong iron bench and table. And the four chairs stacked behind the bench. Ha. Go big or go home, I guess. I should have gone big because I am home.

Lochlan hands me back the two halves of the box, filled with my treasures. George grabs it eagerly. George is so happy I put him first and he laughs with delight that our fairy treasures are intact. I'm just happy he is intact.

Rift.

I didn't want to face the world, the weather, the week or the news and so I stayed where I was, maybe for the first time ever, and for that I was rewarded with a bite mark right through the top of my ear. I don't know if he could help himself, I just know that he did, but I am small and all gristle, no meat, according to Caleb and so eventually I was thrown back and Lochlan was so impressed. SO. Impressed. He decided it didn't need stitches or professional medical care but he cleaned it really well and dipped my whole ear in iodine and then put antibiotic ointment and wrapped it in a big bandaid, folded over and now my balance is off. 

Good, he said. Serves you right.

I didn't bite my own ear, I remind him. 

Oh, I know.

Jesus, George.

I didn't bother recanting my entry from yesterday as this is my diary, not theirs and I won't be doing this one either, because of reasons and instead of editing I ended up saving my night from within the arms of the Devil even as we rolled over into Sunday morning. I saw every hour marked. My anxiety was bad in the night but he kept me pressed hard against him, in his lap, my arms around his neck, knees raw by the bitter end as I need a little leverage as he's...umm..on the big side of life, and no, I'm not going to let loose and let him drive as much as I can hold him back or I'd get my lobotomy all right but they're not supposed to conducted from the neck to the top of the head, like a stick through an apple at the fair. 

Which is truthfully how I feel to him, most times. Like he's Bridget with her violently-executed sweet tooth and I'm that fresh glossy candy apple waiting to be bought for only a dollar (midway staff price) and that's why they were my fruit servings every damn day of the fair. 

Oddly, I don't hate them now. Bring me one and I will drop everything, devouring it on the spot. Sort of like Caleb did to me, but luckily I only have one barest imprint of his unique bite, and he had enough mind to not fuck up his own Christmas plans by sampling the princess, especially when the desperation and insanity makes her extra-sweet, no sir. 

I think he may have moved George though. George doesn't feel so hot right now.

He's still there breathing down your neck, except he has to do it through his nose, because I took his mouth away.

Jacob's standing on the patio, right at the edge by the waist-high wall that now keeps the bottom garden delineated from the patio itself. It used to just end and become grass but Emmett and Ransom helped transform it into some sort of palace gardens and now you have practically walk a labyrinth to get anywhere. 

Or parkour. 

(There's a vision.)

We unintentionally chose matching coffee cups AND black clouds this morning as I woke up with a rager of a headache, crawling down the centre of the bed in order to let Lochlan and Ben sleep in. I need coffee, an aspirin and a super-hot shower. I need a lobotomy. I need to have not woken up today considering how yeah, we're in the fifteenth year of this and I think I have it under control but then I see you and I don't. 

I don't. 

I thought I did but I don't and you don't deserve this. No you don't. You don't deserve to take any more of my life when you wouldn't let me keep yours in return. 

You're selfish, Jake. 

He turns to gaze at me, amused smile behind his cup as he takes a sip. Am I now?

Yes. You won't go and let me get on with my life. 

There's room for me. Just like there's room for Ben. And Caleb. And August. I'll keep going, Pigalet, if you want. 

 I didn't know ghosts could be jealous. 

Then you missed the last dozen-something years of Cole screeching in my ear. Sitting on my back. Making me carry him everywhere in spite. 

Where is he now? 

I have no idea where you hide him, Princess, but I hope I don't end up there too.

(Like pieces into place).

Please when it comes time for someone to steal my life story make their movie (MY movie) make sure you get Taylor Swift to direct. Because Jesus. 

She just destroyed Lochlan in ten minutes flat, though it started after about three minutes in and the glassy-eyed stare, stubborn jaw set and vocalized irritation at being forced to watch Taylor Swift videos at six in the morning because apparently the one we watched the other day, with the fun wedding and Miles Teller (I bet you think about me) wasn't the right one. 

This one is called All Too Well.

By ten minutes in the glass had broken and the tears were starting a slow path and by twelve minutes Lochlan was RUINED. 

And he is the hard ass, usually. It's tough to get him to cry. The bar is high for music (unless it's particularly nostalgic. Anything newer doesn't rock him) and stupidly high for videos but there he goes and he's still shaken and it's been an hour now. I don't know. It's still dark. I have an ulcer I think that might be new and the coffee went bitter from the sombre mood here now as we wait for some life and some light and someone to realize that could have been us but maybe those stars that we watch finally aligned just a little bit and I'm almost regretful that we are older and worn-smooth, eroded in that sort of twenties-passion that looks so beautiful on celluloid and hurts so bad in reality but at the same time I love to watch a story be told and that's the best part here. 

I know, he says. Maybe you should direct your own film.

Some many folks asking: My favourite tiktokkers (? is that the word) are MaiaKnight, Jrizsea, chantyb97, and Yurilamasbella. Oh and Stalgia! And no you can't have my username. Ha.

Oh God, I'm ordering champagne and some assorted necessary supplies for a party here, just before Christmas and maybe all through and after it too, possibly spilling into 2022 because we deserve a clean slate with nothing already written on it, crossed out, hastily erased and covered with scratch marks. 

Glossy, shiny and new. 

We are throwing a joint party this year for Ben's birthday and Andrew and Christian's anniversary. Ben will be fifty-three, Andy and Chris? Married three years. Makes it easy to keep track, if you ask me and no, none of them are having champagne. That's for me because I find it physically painful and somewhat exhausting to plan parties. 

It was Ben's idea, Ben who never liked to be written about and no longer wants to be the centre of attention, having turned from a brash ego-driven bull in a china shop into a humble, exceedingly thoughtful young man who can dial in a room with a word, for it will be so softly spoken. Who might never take the stage again but will send you a recording for your song (and thank you for thinking of him). Who wants to celebrate love all the time and puts no hierarchy on us anymore, even as we try and hold it up for ourselves. 

Who went with me all over town today, while I tackled my big list of errands, things I needed to get but never bothered to tackle but yet another state of emergency has weirded me out so I gassed up the jeeps, got the pets caught up on food supplies and stopped to see Ruth. I did some banking and bought my mother's Christmas gift and some art prints from a local artist here in the neighborhood and then we brought home a surprise lunch for everyone. He helped me check the attic and put out the bird feeders (I got sad looking at the birds in everyone else's yard.) and we sorted recycling and then he painted my nails while I showed him tiktoks. 

And he laughed a pure Ben-laugh every time. 

He let me paint his nails to match and we did our household chores together. 

It was a really good day. I think the party will be pretty low key. My only thought is to fill the hot tub with melted brie and get a breadstick as tall as I am and eat my way through the new year. 

Ben thinks this is a fine idea.

TGWLTG, redux. Forever, maybe.

Hey, Bridgie, stay there okay. I'm coming to you. 

He's unnaturally loud and strict suddenly and I turn very slowly. It's dark. I'm wearing my glasses which are actually shit for distance but I persist. But I know by the sound of his voice what's up.

Where is it?

Between us, coming down along the garage. Look at the door. 

I look at the door. It's white and brick and then it's half gone, the light sucked into the velvet darkness of a black bear's fur. 

He's only a baby. Aw. I exclaim out loud. I'll make no effort to blend in and the bear comes toward me for a breath before veering off toward the upper woods of the front yard. Had he made a left at the studio to go through the orchard I might be dinner. Lochlan is circling it on the outside, trying to shush it along but also making sure it moves to the right and goes up away from me. Honestly he missed his calling as he could have wrangled the big animals at the circus. Sadly by the time we got there the big animals were being phased out.

Bye, bear. I say it softly. He made no noise. I would have walked right into him on my way to the back door, following Lochlan back to the light of the house from where we had ventured up into the legacy gardens where the darkness is already thick to see the stars. It's nice not to have to wait until ten at night to see them but seeing a bear instead means Lochlan will leave the floodlights on around the clock now until at least Christmas, when he forgets the thrill of being so close to nature and returns to the thrill of WANTING to be close to nature..

This is exactly what it looks like. PJ cockblocked Duncan and so he got shut down.

I made a move to get up last night from where I was jammed in the corner of the couch between PJ and Lochlan. Duncan wanted to show me something and PJ actually barred me from getting up.

Tomorrow. PJ tells Duncan. It's late. 

Lochlan keeps reading and didn't say a word. 

I see. Duncan's face twists into a sly smile. Got your ride or die back, eh Bridge?

I'm busy staring at PJ, who has somehow claimed the night with confidence and it takes me a minute to reply. No, he's right. I'm on my way to dreamland in a minute anyway, if it's okay if it waits til tomorrow?

Of course. He leans in, is careful not to jostle Loch, elbows PJ hard in the ribs and kisses my cheek. 

Oh, sorry, Padraig. Didn't see you there. So close. PJ laughs and rubs his side.

I talk quickly. Goodnight Dunk. Love you. I'll come down and wake you in the morning. 

Holding you to that. He backs away, pointing to me. Don't be too late. 

It's Wednesday tomorrow. I'm up before the moon disappears. 

Love you too. He winks and is gone and I turn back.

PJ what was that?

I need some space to find my bearings again. 

You don't have to shut Duncan down. 

Maybe I do. 

Not your job. 

Lochlan looks up, sideways at me, then at PJ. Should I get out of the way so you too can fight to the death?

No, you can be the voice of reason though. 

Lochlan sighs. Padraig. Leave her be. She's got her own mind. 

I know. PJ sighs. It's just been a while since things have been normal. 

Both Lochlan and I burst out laughing. Normal? Us? Here? PJ's face falls and I apologize quickly. We're not laughing at you, just the idea that we have any normalcy here at all. 

You know what I mean. 

Yeah. On that note. Goodnight, Padraig. I kiss his cheek and climb out from behind him on the couch. Tomorrow is an early day. 

Lochlan snorts and kisses PJ's cheek too. She's right. And it's normal for you to go to bed alone. He mock-glares at PJ and PJ puts his hands up. 

I tried. 

You gave it your best. 

Jesus, Bridge. Don't agree with me. It makes it worse. 

Jesus H. Rainclouds.

Blue skies finally and the sun goes down in around an hour. During the warmth at the end of the storm we did the Christmas lights around the front of the house (only the eaves and high lines of the houses have the lights left up all year round. Doors and porches and railing no because they get abused and it's better to clean it all up for the spring/summer/fall. Except today it all went back out and Lochlan didn't even seem that nervous to have me up a ladder (albeit a stepladder not the big one) and attaching lights to the porch rafters. 

Until the wind came up stronger than ever and then suddenly he said he had things to do and we could finish it later on, that all we had left was the door and so that's good until the weekend, we got the bulk of the lights done. This was neat because he usually freaks out and tells me to get down, that the wind is too high, that he knows it was a bad idea, that he isn't okay with me being up high or helping him and he shouldn't have listened to me when I talked him into it. The king of doubts, always, second-guessing as an art-form here. 

The rain is coming back so I will put a fresh towel under the leaky studio door (South-facing, all the exposure, should have fixed it but we didn't get to it this year and now we have to wait for it to dry out) and then go get yelled at by Caleb, who is even less impressed than the rest that I am up a ladder doing lights without a brace on my hand or a net, for that matter and yes, it figures. Leave Lochlan in charge and look what happens. 

So now there'll be a fight, but honestly I'm not letting Lochlan take the blame for this. It's mine. He tries his best.

And everything, it changed overnight.

(No church this morning! Sam called it in due to the Pineapple Express. We can't even see through the rain and no one on earth is going outside today so he published some writings yesterday and has gone viral in the church because at least thirty people have viewed them so far. We are very proud and also happy he didn't make us go outside in this freaking deluge to see Jesus, who probably slept in too. Actually I'm pretty sure it had something to do with Matt, naked, asleep, under the rain pouring against those glorious skylights in the boathouse. If you know, you know and you don't leave until you absolutely MUST.)

I am better this morning. I woke up and went downstairs for coffee, Ben's faded Ucluelet sweatshirt down to my knees, covering my hello kitty pajamas because it's cold in the mornings on the skin and I'm not a robe-person, I'm a boyfriend-sweater-stealer. 

PJ has the kitchen the way I like it this morning. My tiny fairy lights are plugged in, my iTunes Christmas playlist is on low, Matthew Thiessen's voice easily lulling through In Like a Lion (Always Winter) and I can shift gears here, finally. Coffee is ready and waiting, all I have to do is press a button, and PJ himself is in and out. His cup and his phone are on the table. A plate is beside the sink and I hear water running in the bathroom. He comes back down the hall a minute later and grins when he sees me. 

The bird's early again. 

Have to give the cats their meds. 

I can do that. 

No one says you have to get up early. 

I'm programmed. It's going to be decades before I can sleep in naturally again. 

I know the feeling. 

Ali & Theo spool up. My alltime favourite (Where are you Christmas?) and then I remember after that is another Relient K that I love, I Celebrate the Day. The boys are pretty cool with morning Christmas music from the middle of November right through until New Years Day and I love them for it. 

We got nachos for nine last night at the new Mexican place down the road (so. good.) and watched a movie on Netflix (Red Notice. A good ride, though Ryan Reynolds plays himself, the Rock plays himself, and honestly Free Guy was too recent for me to be ready for another. I want Ryan to play a psychopath so badly.)

Oh. Another Ali & Theo. Let it Fall. I can't wait to see if they record another Christmas song for this year. I hope so though every year so far is a gift. Theo Tams is a gift. A much unappreciated gift but his tendency in music is not what I would have expected. I wish he would skew Folk, honestly I do. 

Where was I? 

Does it matter? I am still medicated up to my eyebrows so maybe it doesn't. No credibility here. Thank God I have a team since I can't legally sign for anything right now or enter into any contracts. Maybe it's nice. I'm only responsible for seeing that Henry eats some fruit here and there and I book his haircuts at his favourite barber for him. He gives the best hugs and he also doesn't mind the Christmas music. 

Oh. Eisley's Walking in the Air. It's been on this playlist for a whole decade and I still get goosebumps from it, but thankfully today my tattoos are not raised anymore. That's my sign to zone out, relax, calm down and distract. That's my sign that I have pushed too far.

Did I tell you I finally got into my newest Stephen King book? It's called Billy Summers and it's an incredible mashup between the early beautiful pages of Doctor Sleep and...Joyland, of all things for style (curiously both are from 2013) and I freaking love it. I didn't love the series on Bill Hodges, and I was afraid it would be closer to that but it's not, it's legit. 

(Did I ever talk about A Little Life? No, and my apologies because I promised to, but honestly that was roundly squashed early on, as I sped through it (it's a big, painfully difficult read and it's so so beautiful) and the boys watched me while they bit their nails. Caleb threatened actual, permanent violence if I did a deep dive review so I did not so whatever I've said so far will have to stand. He knows I discuss my childhood here, my teenage years, my early-adult years and everything up to Henry's birth and then Caleb's eventual return. He does not want to see a dissected list of his crimes transgressions, as there's no statute and he still has wiggle room for a defence? Explanations? Proof that since he's still here with us so how bad could it have been? 

I don't know. It doesn't matter anymore. It's Christmas.

You know when you wake up and the outlines on all of your tattoos are raised and you can't breathe and you have a headache and your nerves are shot, anxiety is through the roof and you clench your teeth so hard you fear they'll break earlier than later? 

And Lochlan (well, not for you probably) takes your head in both his hands, keeps you tight against him and whispers in your ear to take deep breaths and talks about taking a walk on the fairgrounds late at night as the cleanup is finished but before they turn off the coloured lights in favour of the security flood lights? Once everyone leaves and it's quiet. Once the day is finished and the time is our own again, the long walk back to the lot where our camper is, and we can have a late dinner and a long sleep. 

And I won't wake up feeling like this.

Flight tracker open and watching.

Unpinning poppies as I find them this morning, coats hung on hangers and hooks and draped over benches in various stages of organization. We've been up for hours and hours to see Asher off on his travels. Batman came too and Asher has promised to visit in the late spring. He's taking a vacation before Christmas and then will go back and spend time with his family and has a bit of a breather before he needs to figure out his next step but it will probably be one taken as an executive assistant for some famous, as Batman has reached out to some of his people and good EAs (make that trustworthy EAs) are always sought-after. 

I am fine. It seems like there is a hole here but at the same time I feel like you do when you have a long-term houseguest leave. Like everything can get back to normal now. The boys are watchful for any stress I might exhibit once his absence truly sinks in as to me he was a bit of an echo-chamber and a...a...manservant, if you will and so it seems fitting that the cast is gone and now I have less of a need for a dedicated minder. 

The weekend is supposed to be insanely rainy (as always) but again I will take that over a heat dome any moment. We've got a good supply of junk food and movies to watch and Christmas decorating to do and I feel like I can breathe. Everything feels normal right this second and for that I am so grateful.

Like a brother.

I know it's early but I am busy negotiating the largest Christmas bonus of my young life (you don't even want to GUESS).

No, not for me. For Asher. Who leaves tomorrow. He isn't coming back. Well, I mean he might come and visit us as he visits Batman every couple of years, but I suppose that depends on if he actually gets out of here unscathed. The night is still young and the upheaval is like a roiling sea. Just when you think it's going to grow calm the tide comes in and it just ends up deeper still, and I want to make sure this seafarer finds his next port with his pockets already lined with gold. 

It was a good six months and Asher did an incredible, thoughtful and intuitive job. He gets glowing references and a fistful of networking leads and he always and forever has Batman as his doting Godfather so honestly he won't twist in the wind for too long, unless he wants to.

But PJ wanted the job. Here we thought we were doing PJ a favour, giving him a break from the heavy lifting after twenty-odd years of being the closest thing to a mother Ruth and Henry had after me. He was Dad, maybe. Backup but in-charge. On it. He worked his ass off looking after them and with Ruth moved out and on her own now and Henry with a few months of university left we really thought he would like living on his own terms. 

Lo and behold, he did not. In fact, he hated it but Padraig has always been a giant nurturer, a huge teddy bear, a solid gold (t)hug. The original Hunkle. He needs to look after people. He needs to be needed. And he's been resentful and angry ever since the rest of them steamrolled him with this new (not new, he's been around for a decade) purpose-driven man when PJ could handle it (me) all along. 

PJ found unlikely allies in Caleb and Duncan who both moved in and became a living, breathing, bearded bulldozer to gently push Asher out. We had a family meeting and after I was for some reason congratulated for not losing too much of my shit this year (drinking) and bouncing back so fast (drugs) everyone graciously agreed that after a good trial period Asher can be freed up for greener, less incestuous pastures and PJ can breathe a sigh of relief and take back control of the house. 

***

What's interesting here is that we were all so concerned with PJ's swallowed feelings that no one thought to ask me what I wanted, as I actually tend to defer to the boys on damn near everything so it's not like we forgot, it's just something we don't do when it comes to their strong opinions.

And I suddenly had the realization that I just gave up some of the control I got back when Asher arrived, even if it was only on paper and not even true. A little false-independence gets reeled back in. The world gets a little more smaller and a lot more regimented and I had a moment where I was almost mildly disappointed, if I can even call it that.  

I'm not explaining it properly.

I don't think that I can call it disappointment. I love PJ to absolute bits but I still feel like it's a step backwards for me. He gets his role, his command, his status back. His ego. His satisfaction. His occasional night back. His place as that fucking pain in the ass but he makes her happy so leave it designation. His rules. His plans and his routine. His rule.

He has a third of my guardianship so it makes sense and it's also a huge conflict of interest but then again everything around here is. That's part and parcel of who we are. 

We already had an argument. It remains unresolved.

This is actually great. He's very lucky I love him so much or I think I'd send him out to sea.

Ways of acceptance.

I went over to collect Ben, or at least visit him. He was there for a few days, a sort of sleepover in the end. He and Daniel do it a few times a year where they binge on take-out and several film or television series and doze and talk and just spend some time together alone, as brothers should.

I think that's great except by about three days in I start to worry that he might fall for Schuyler again and never come home. 

Which is really paranoid on my part. And that's what everyone worries about when it comes to me. Let's just say if anyone spends a good amount of time with Schuyler he is prone to pull them right in and it's frightening how easy it is for everyone to crush on him, and hard. Not just the fleeting appreciation of good looks like we do with Duncan or the earnest love everyone has for Sam or the dutiful adoring subordination Lochlan commands with a flick of a red curl. 

No, this is like a quicksand-molasses kind of hole and it's warm and nice and it's true, you never want to leave. 

I don't have that problem. Caleb laughs bitterly. He does nothing for me. 

You're the only straight man here. 

That's not true. 

I just stare at him until he concedes, in his head. If you two agreed on things more often you would totally get sucked in. 

Maybe. But I do see how Ben was confident you had navigated things and was free to relax. I wish the same for Lochlan now and would love to have you join me this weekend. 

Are we having a movie marathon?

We can do whatever your heart desires. 

Let's have a seance and we can formally introduce George to Cole and Jake. So he's in the loop-

Jesus Christ, Neamhchiontach.

I mean, if he wants to come. You can ask.

Shut up.

He refills my champagne, but only a quarter of the way this time. 

It's early, he explains, with a shy smile for him. Shy is not the way you would describe Caleb, but he is always trying on new and different personalities to try to appeal to my heart. My heart will never respond in the way he hopes. It might have early on but he made sure to take on the villain/monster role the moment my crush on him went through puberty. 

And that was that. Goldilocks in the woods. The wolf. The shadowy bad man you're warned about if you go out at night. The monster you know. Always a friend. Always a near-relative or someone close. Always with his eyes on me. Always trying to wedge himself in. 

And I still let him. The crush is long gone but the payback lives forever. 

And I still love him, too, but I can't explain that at all. I will forever appreciate his efforts, violent as they were, his work ethic and the fact that he has never changed his story, not even once and has never tried to deflect blame or minimize our tragedy. I appreciate his presence and his familiarity. 

I appreciate his whispers as he makes it so I can still hear him in spite of his efforts to be quiet thanks to Lochlan still sleeping (but probably not sleeping) on my other side. 

(Ben is at Daniel's having a movie marathon. We had a free moment and Caleb asked if we wanted the bottle to celebrate getting my cast off (ha) so we took the bottle and the offerer, too.)

Update on George.

(You'll be pleased to know I pay for the two-tier medical system in order not to take up space for those who need it more considering ninety percent of our medical issues are self- or other- inflicted. We also have a doctor-team on retainer that we only need to give two days notice and they come to the house for anything we need. It's exceedingly expensive but if you've been reading here for a while you'll know that Caleb pays for everything and so I don't care what it costs.)

(which also means he gets to go to these visits so there's that.)

George was very happy to be set free on Saturday. My cast came off in the water because it was in rags anyway and I didn't look after it. I'll admit that. I swam back with one hand (no I didn't, I just let Henry pull me to shore) and PJ went out with the jetski to retrieve the cast that was floating around and I didn't want to leave it because litter. 

So I called the office and pointed out my cast has...uh...fallen off and they asked me on the phone if I cut it off and I was offended and said of course not, it came off when we were cliff-jumping and I was expecting to be fired as a patient but instead they were incredibly apologetic because it was supposed to come off THREE WEEKS AGO and the office is behind because Covid so no one followed up as of yet. 

(This is comforting. Isn't it?)

So they fit me in this morning. Was again irradiated and will proceed to glow in the dark through Remembrance Day, and George is doing great (fucker) and I was upgraded to a splint that I need to wear overnight, when cliff-jumping or when doing anything sus that might fuck up my wrist again. 

I looked at George, he looked at me and we both laughed inappropriately because you all know it's going in a drawer and it's never-

Except Lochlan exists (to foil my wonderful plans of comfort and freedom) and he over-laughed my laugh and said that I'd be wearing it more than not. I scowled at him and he winked and the doctor looked from me to him and back again and I finally conceded that I will wear it but only for a month. Then I get another round of Pictures of Bridget's Tiny Bones and then I start trying to use my stupid hand, but gently. Great. 

Then the doctor looked at my semi-black eyes and probably-broken nose and asked if he should take a look. 

So the good news is my nose is not badly broken and they don't need to do anything to it. The bad news is Caleb has a probably-fractured cheekbone but they're not going to do anything about it either as it isn't moving and his eye seems fine with all sensation and no numbness. It's bloodshot as fuck from when I put my arms up at the last minute to try and deflect and I think I nailed him in the face with the cast that then bounced right into my own nose as we went down. 

 If you ask me I think that secretly George doesn't even LIKE Caleb. I told Lochlan that on the way home and he laughed that desperate, frightened laugh that he does and said nothing. Caleb just looked at me in the rearview mirror and swore.

One breath apart.

I woke up with a start in the still-dark hours, time granting me one more hour of my own misery within which to drown, hands stretched out to help me pushed away by the sheer weight of the memories pressing in like waves, their cold tendrils of thoughts unfinished washing over my skin. 

Lochlan is standing in the doorway with a single cupcake, lit with a lone birthday candle. 

Wish the fucker a happy birthday and let's get on with our goddamned lives. 

He brings me the cake and I blow the candle out, carefully. Then he takes the candle out and we divide the cupcake in half, eating it for breakfast, leaving crumbs in our bed. He kisses me before I am finished and I laugh but it ends in a sob and suddenly I can't speak. 

Here's to the fifty-one you didn't get, Preacherman, Lochlan says spitefully, stretching out on his back to look at the ceiling while I finish my half. I nod to myself in the dark. Jacob's fifties would have been incredible as he finally got the respect he wanted so badly in his thirties but between his good lucks and unconventional ministering style it was hard for people to take him seriously, though once you knew him it was exceeding easy to balance him on a pedestal so high you could no longer see him for the reach, and then for the sun. 

I figured out why you're stuck, Peanut. I am finished my cake now, licking my fingers and thinking about ghosts who take up so much space in my life even filling it the way I have still leaves these wide open spaces and they're all holes, today. 

Why is that? My hands are beginning to shake. 

Because. Lochlan leans toward me, leaning on one elbow. He is the only man who ever fucked up your life and never came back to try and fix it.

I am surprised. He's not wrong. Lochlan came back, making sure he always had a hand in my life, that I've never been too far out of reach, Caleb came back to try and atone for his sins, and Ben changed every single face of his entire existence in order to be who I needed him to be.  

But Jacob just left. It's the biggest betrayal of all and I don't know what to do with it. 

Jacob leans in and whispers in my ear. He just wants to look good and make me look bad by default. 

And I laugh and choke on icing and tears as a shiver runs down my back. 

He's not wrong either. 

Too bad he doesn't get a say anymore.

My grief is a teenager now (Part I).

I'm unstoppable
I'm a princess with no brakes
I'm invincible
Yeah, I win every single game
I'm so powerful
I don't need batteries to play
I'm so confident
I'm unstoppable today
Unstoppable today
I'm unstoppable to-

I was picking out notes and trying to sing. I think I'm so brave but then I can't finish it. I can't hear it anymore. I can't believe it's been fourteen years and even though I've promised everyone including Jacob that I won't mark it as an anniversary anymore my blood is electric in my veins. My head is pounding in time with my heart and I will go to my own grave in absolute awe that Jacob chose nothing over everything. That leaving his life unlived would be better than living it with us. That his decision was the best he could make for everyone involved and that I wasn't worth it. I know damn well Henry would have been worth it but we had such big doubts and it seemed so unlikely and-

I know. I promised. 

So did he though and look where I am now. 

I look around. The note has long since ended and I'm still holding the key down. I let go and turn to look at Ben, dozing in a chair, head in hand. Coffee cup forgotten on the table in front of him. I abruptly jump up and run. Through the living room, down the steps, out the patio doors and across the lawn. 

I hear shouts and I try and speed up. Ben is no longer faster than me but the rest still are. The grass starts to dip now into the slight incline and I am twenty feet from the edge, ready for the rush of flying without dying and then I hear a new note in the din of voices. 

MOM! 

And I stop in my tracks and turn around just in time to see Henry running for me and just in time for Caleb (in the lead) to crash into me so hard we both go down in the grass. 

Fuck. You stopped so fast, Bridget. Oh my God. 

My teeth feel loose. My nose is bleeding and he's got me in a sudden vice grip as he pulls us both back up and Henry is there and suddenly I have to answer to this beautiful child who deserves more than he ever got from both of his parents. 

Mom. You can't do this. 

Swim with me. I need to. I just need the cold. I need to touch the clouds.

It's five degrees. 

Just come with me. Just once. Please.

He stares at me, Jacob's expressions in his face. The same annoyed surprise. The same impatience. The same kind and generous understanding. 

Only once, Mom. 

That's all I need, Henry Jacob. I wipe the back of my good hand across my nose, leaving a streak of red.

On three, then, and he took my hand, wiping off the blood, then gripping it tight and counting.

(I was an impossible case.)

And you make me talk
And you make me feel
And you make me show
What I'm trying to conceal
If I trust in you, would you let me down?
Would you laugh at me, if I said I care for you?
Could you feel the same way too?
I wanna know

The name of the game

 

I am fielding a lot of early questions about the track listing on the new ABBA album. I don't know if I know any producers who usually strongarm an idea or a theme, do I? I do and I'm not naming names but HEY, did you know there's ALSO a new Slipknot song out today? Right! There is and it's a barnburner of a song so there you go. SO MUCH NEW MUSIC. Don't ask me any more questions. It doesn't matter who I know or who you know, the point is, we're all in this together. 

(My favorite ABBA song is not actually Gimme Gimme Gimme (A man after midnight). Sorry. It's the The Name of the Game. It's the closest kin to any Fleetwood Mac that I was literally weaned on. Angeleyes. Knowing me knowing you (God, That one HURTTTTTS so good.))

But yeah. Thanks for the comments. You're all great.Who doesn't love ABBA and want to bend over backwards to help bring them full circle here? 

***

Fun fact: Jacob's favourite ABBA song was She's My Kind of Girl. It's so Beatles. No one ever was surprised by that. Hardly anyone knows that song though.

***

Also I don't know but these drugs are just perfectly balanced and Bridget's on a cloud. A good cloud, not a black one. Not under it, on it. Not too cold, not too soft. Not too high. Goldie, Loch's. Ha. Okay, that one's debatable, but let's just say the hole is all the way across the room and I haven't fallen in it. Maybe they just needed to give Lochlan a little more credit and a little more time to prepare. By them I mean me, of course.

Over (size).

We are snuggled in the great room this morning in front of a roaring fire. I can't get warm, it seems, though we have the heavy blanket around us and hot tea. Coffee was over hours ago. It usually flows seamlessly into Lochlan's tea time though so don't worry.

We're reading gift idea lists for the people in your life. They are everywhere on the internet. Just everywhere. And they are so, so bad. It's like they were written by an AI that was tasked with learning about humans via adventure books from the early twentieth century.

For example, suggestions that appear near-constantly on every list for men between the ages of birth and oh, a hundred and fifty years are whiskey stones, an axe, a cheap pocket knife in a case with a handy belt loop and field notes, with a space pen. Sometimes drones, woolen scarves and a plasma lighter appear. A moka pot. A backgammon game, but for travel.

It seems the robots think men are huntsmen. Highly literate ones, at that.

It's okay though. Every list for women in her....ah...middle ages includes a watering can and an electric milk frother. A shimmery scarf with butterflies and an icing-decorating set, but in timeless stainless steel.

It's all so.. tone deaf. And I can't tell you exactly how many whiskey stones we own, for a house that's fully half in recovery, but apparently also filled with generic huntsmen, but there are a lot. Like mountains of them.

***

(Want to know what men really want for Christmas?? 

No, Jesus H. Not that. I mean for gifts. That they can open. In mixed comp- FINE, in front of their grandparents. 

A blanket. The next year a snugglie. Then an Oodie the year after that. Something large, warm and very soft and comfortable. Something they can burrito in. 

These are what they love. I promise. And they must have several different kinds of warm and cozy for different activities so that's why this will serve you for years.)

In Lumine Luce.

Right across my throat, a beautiful necklace with tiny glowing golden letters set in enamel? Ceramic. Gold chain. An early, singular Christmas present, and I struggle with my latin. 

Shine with knowing? 

Shine in the light, Peanut. 

I knew I heard the phrase before. A kiss on the nose after he said it and I was in the spotlight, high up in the centre of the big top, as I swung across to my platform to wait for him to come to me and we would perform our aerial routine for eleven very long minutes (for us) and in a blink (for the audience). 

I smile. I remember the gut feeling just before and then when he said that suddenly the light made that feeling go away, and all I could feel was his warmth. And then for real as he grabbed my arms as I abandoned my trapeze and I never heard the gasps, never saw the wonder and disbelief even as we did the pretend miss and he would go to one hand. He would have held on to my bone, leaving marks in the smooth whiteness. I never once thought I was in danger. Now I see that I was naive. Now I know I can never perform again. It feels like my hand will never be strong again and that's a new sort of grief, even as I made my peace with my age, responsibilities, centre of gravity and life choices. I knew I could still do the routine, however, and suddenly I'm aware that I can't. 

I love it. I breathe. I can have this memory forever. It's not going to fade. It's not going to be forced from my brain for my own good. It's not going to be twisted or ruined by time. 

I love you, he says in return with the same urgency. Forever and ever, Peanut.

A movie of convenience.

Right this minute things are okay.

I finished my wine last night. PJ made it into a sangria for me since it no longer tasted good and was room temperature when I like my drinks icy-cold. I watched Hustlers, and am a little stunned by it today. How simulated sex and a few pasties got an R-rating. Maybe it was the drugs? Maybe the swearing? I don't know. I didn't think it deserved an R unless you're a kneejerk conservative but then why would you be watching a movie about strippers, drugs and crime? 

I was impressed by Jennifer Lopez though. She was FIERCE. I was gobsmacked by all the girls insistence on not relying on anyone else only to be ruined the minute the industry dried up as they had used their independence seemingly only to buy big apartments, canvas Gucci bags and Louboutins. 

Which had the sugar baby in me screaming at the screen, Jesus Christ. 

(I have those things. Louboutins are overrated and uncomfortable. Coated-canvas bags are crap and I know they're one-season bags and aren't supposed to last years but for the prices they fucking should. Big-city apartments aren't worth it, trust me and goddamn, women, if you want to be independent, invest.)

It was miserable. They also seemed to have people on tap to look after their children twenty-four-seven. Also, men aren't that stupid and bartenders aren't that blind. So the montage of drugging the drinks of the guys wouldn't have even been a thing, considering they went to the same bar over and over. 

Maybe they took liberties in the name of entertainment but honestly I guess I liked the slow-motion shots of J-Lo entering every room and not a lot else. I find it hard to believe that it's a true story because the only thing truthful about it was that men will pay a lot for company, in the end. For example right now, I am writing this and Caleb thinks I am writing him an email, with links, for my Christmas list. 

(Okay, maybe men are a little naive but not to the extent they were in that movie and before you say Bridget you wouldn't know, trust me. I danced. It was brief but I fucking know. Being a sugar baby is much preferred, though actually not a whole lot different in the end. You're still purchased company, but at least the faces are always the same.)

Liars and leaves.

There's around four hours left of sunshine in our universe until probably June and SAD has hit me in the face, knocking me to the ground, yelling stay down as I try and struggle back to my feet. I have finished Christmas shopping (BE JEALOUS) and put away all of the Halloween decorations. I won't get the Christmas decorations out until December first because otherwise I resent them long before the year turns over into a new one so I no longer plan it out for the minute Remembrance Day has been observed and tucked away. 

We finished the garden cleanups just after lunch, a task that would have been so much faster if not for Lochlan and Caleb attempting to gang up on PJ who was letting me do stuff too. I was digging out leaves from around the plants and cleaning up beds and pulling out dead canes and weeds as I went. He said it saved his back. It didn't save mine, and I was glad to stand up and stretch and he would move in with the rake. The big garden now has a fresh cover of leaves for winter and the rest is fine. We wrapped the delicate lime and olive trees. We don't worry about anything else. 

When they started shouting PJ waited until they were finished and then pointed out She sleeps better when she's been outside DOING THINGS and they didn't know what to say to that. 

My cast is rigid. I can do stuff. It's like having a flat shovel on one side with my fingers poking out the top and my thumb in it's resting bitch place in a separate hole. Kind of stupid if you ask me but the design mimics a hand at rest. 

(It'll be EIGHT WEEKS TOMORROW PLEASE SOMEONE COME TAKE THIS OFF)

So he, of many broken bones in the past, knows exactly what I can and what I can't do and when he figured I was completely worn out, jacket off, sweaty t-shirt, red-faced and filthy he declared we were finished. We even did the front up by the gate and everything. There's only a few leaves left to come down and we'll let them and I came in, stripped by the back door and went upstairs for fresh clothes, choosing a fleece one-piece number with bear-ears that I somewhat live in now that it's cold. Ben said it made my ass look cute. Lochlan laughed and said what ass? but then tried to make up for it as he is right, I have nothing back there, and I remarked that he needed a matching one and then I could tease him as they aren't supposed to be flattering. It's literally a bear costume. 

And then Netflix sent me an email and asked me if I wanted to see a movie I searched for a couple of months ago. Hustlers with Jennifer Lopez. I do, actually, thanks Netflix. That can be my rainy afternoon rest. I earned it! I earned the martini that's going to go with it! THREE OLIVES THIS TIME, PADRAIG.

Pacific Ghost Trail.

We did indeed drive out into the valley to our super-secret stargazing location, discovered by accident on a drive a few Christmases ago. We were at kp4 heading to a lovely 5 or 6 number and all signs seemed good but then by the time we got there everything shifted away back towards the East, dropped to a solid, unyielding 3 and we knew the night was a dud. 

But was it? I danced down a dirt road in the starlight. We stopped for late-night burgers and fries on the way home and we had a good time, out after dark, which seems like such a rare occasion these days. 

Everyone is still asleep this morning even though it's Halloween-day. 

There are leaves to rake. But instead I took the dog for a long way and then warmed up a muffin and had another cup of coffee under the watchful eyes of PJ who is fulfilling his initials this morning, still in pajama pants and his favourite Opeth t-shirt and he swears he's only on watch until Lochlan wakes up and then he's going back to bed.

Niche Bees.

 I slept last night despite the vague stomach ache from half a jar of smoked olives. Or maybe it was the vodka. Maybe it was Lochlan's incredibly dark and beautiful acoustic rendition of Kryptonite on the front porch long after dark. 

You called me strong, you called me weak
But still your secrets, I will keep
You took for granted all the times, I never let you down
You stumbled in and bumped your head
If not for me then you'd be dead
I picked you up and put you back on solid ground

 

If I go crazy, then will you still call me Superman?
If I'm alive and well, will you be there and holding my hand?
I'll keep you by my side with my superhuman might
Kryptonite

 

Today we're going to harvest the seeds from the pumpkins we haven't given away and we're going to drive way out into the valley tonight where it's dark to see if we can see the Aurora. It's been so long since I've seen them with my own eyes. I need a miracle and they seem like a good choice.