A reproduction of life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read you like a true surprise.

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

People like Lochlan.

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

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

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

For the thrill.

Come set me free.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aspotogan gets a reprieve for just a little longer.

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

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

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

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

What does this remind you of?

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

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

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

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

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

Slow falling.

If chaos drives, let suffering hold the reins.

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

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

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

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

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

Which brings me to review number three.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hallo pooh. Happy birthday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Out by the tracks.

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

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

Jake.

2 years ago tonight.

Just don't.

Crunchy-frosty (lounge fly mix).

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

It was a pretty good version, you know.

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

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

Enjoy the sun.

I can't live this way
please refill my soul

One fast move or I'm gone.

Jacob would have adored this.

Pretty cool, I think.

This is cool too. Like REALLY cool.

Princess out. Places to go, lunch to eat.

Volume One: Warming up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so now we go.

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

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

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

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

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

I'm not going to miss that part.