SO HAPPY.

(These posts, albeit being from a broken stream of consciousness where I'm not detailing every moment of the day make me sound Bipolar. Surprise! I'm not. We're home and I need to tell you about something. I'll still be in my dark hole dealing with ghosts and their presences and absences but with new music, because...priorities.)

You guys. I found them.

Since the jet had wi-fi, I lost three hours mindlessly surfing and something I always do when that happens is to see if Deepfield ever surfaced after the two perfect albums they put out, the last of which was over six years ago.

Well, guess what? I found a reference to Baxter Teal on an instagram feed from some radio station saying his new band was going to be appearing.

The name of the band is Gravesend. They have an EP out and yep, it's him with a bunch of other guys from other decent bands, but they re-did Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea. And it's incredible. As usual the only social media they seem to have is a half-assed Facebook page but I already bought the album on iTunes and damn. Dead and Gone is amazing. Forty seconds into it even PJ was leaning over my shoulder saying Who is THAT?  

Hopefully there will be more from them. Soon.

(Since someone's going to ask, what did you do the other two hours of the flight, Bridget? I'll clear it up early. I ate. Caleb had that plane well-stocked. I ate my way to Lake Tahoe and back. Happy now? I am. First time I've tasted food in forever. Usually I have no use for it.)

(Also note: there are two albums by Deepfield Gravesend on iTunes. Ignore the Celebrity EP. It's so terrible I don't even think it's them, oddly. If it is it should be pulled and burned or rerecorded or something.)

Winter circus.

We're heading out now. We have a two-hour drive, and then a five hour flight and then another hour drive and then we'll be home. Home to see why August didn't come out, home to see if Gage survived alone with the dog. Home. Home where Jake never lived in life but haunts in death in a way I can no longer explain. He's there, I just can't see him. I wonder if I'll stop feeling him in the same gradual way.

I hope not. Death shouldn't be about having to forget to cope with the absence. I don't like this empty hole. Life is a series of distractions and in between that hole digs against me, leaving a painful wound.

Death is a catalyst for change, Bridget. He brought Lochlan back to you. He brought Ben back to life. He brought me to a better place. He brought you your army back. 

Caleb says all of this against the top of my head. I am almost asleep. We packed up last night and then settled in by the fire for one last drink. It won't take long to wrap things up here, a place that is quickly becoming shelter in even the quietest of storms, like this entire week.

Mmmm. He did. 

I'm grateful to him for this chance. I will always credit him for this. 

Credit me. He bailed. 

What if he was never real? What if he was just an angel sent to bring us all back together as a group? 

That makes me a sacrifice. 

No.

Yes. Always the lamb to slaughter between all of you. 

He pulls away and looks at me. He's frowning. Is that what you see yourself as? 

I don't answer, instead tucking my head back down against his chest, holding on tight. He doesn't say any more and I fall asleep soundly until he stirs again and Lochlan takes me over, standing me up, leading me back to bed. I tell him to say goodnight to the lamb and he kisses my forehead hard. Goodnight, Bridget. He doesn't even question it. His arms tighten around me until I can just get in a breath and I fall asleep to the quiet, dependable thud of his strong heart against my weaker, much-repaired one. I dream of circuses in the snow. It's beautiful. Why no one's ever put the two together blows my mind and for just a little while it's the nicest distraction in the world.

Day 3650 without you.

Ten years tonight. The proverbial lifetime. I just want him to walk through the door so I can wish him a happy forty-seventh birthday. Then I want to kill him for doing this. For leaving me stuck in my very own life like a bookmark, holding his place. Unable to reread or even read ahead. This is where I am today. As always. Not a great place but I don't want to move from it in case he comes back. Wouldn't want him to lose his place.

He's not coming back, Neamhchiontach. Caleb says it softly, to eleven-year-old Bridget because that's where he bookmarked her.

I don't believe you, she says belligerently in return, lower lip stuck out for extra stubbornness, while the rest of them look nervously at the ground, wondering if she'll run or seek refuge among them. It's always one or the other.

It's snowing.

Give me a name
Something to save

(This is beautiful.)

If you look at me straight-on today you can see right through me. I'm made of tissue paper, easily torn, easily destroyed and I can't find my strength, can't stick to something stronger.

Yes, you can.

Lochlan is smiling at me. He's standing in knee-deep snow, hair wild, ice packed in around every crease of his jacket and jeans. When I woke up this morning I came downstairs to an early birthday party. We're not celebrating the end but the memory that lives forever. There's a huge cake in the butler's pantry. There's a Ben in the living room. There's a Sam, a Duncan, a Dalton, a Christian, an Andrew, a Schuyler and a Daniel too. Ruth and Henry are outside playing in the snow with the aforementioned redhead and PJ too. There's a Batman bringing up the end of this parade and I watch it go past my eyes with wonder. They all arrived while I was still sleeping and now it's a woodland party. Tiny white lights are strung up in the timbers, up the staircase and all over the dining room, the outside of the house and the trees as far as I can see.

The chef is here early so that he can be sent home early too. He's making a half-dozen shepherd's pies, one of Jacob's very favorite foods. And fresh pickles because he loved those too.

There are presents on the sideboard, but they're not for Jacob, there's something for every one of us. I think that's Caleb's work until closer inspections shows me they drew names. Someone put my name in and Caleb's too. Bless them.

And every time I waver and begin to crash to my knees from the weight of this memory, old and new, someone reaches down and brings me to my feet, holding me up, keeping me going.

Every time. Just like they always have.

Jacob would have liked this, but he didn't stick around. I'll be eating his share of food tonight, because I can. Take that, Preacher.

I hope in our next lives he's here for these good moments. My loves took a sad event and turned it into something beautiful. They do this a lot. It's worth sticking around for.

I have to go. I was just invited to the snowball fight. We aim square and pack them hard. No one is ever off limits. If you're hurting you're alive, or so they always say. If you can manage a two-day party it doesn't get any better than that, does it?

What are you waiting for? Caleb's smile is new, satisfied and hopeful all at once. He wanted to be on the inside so badly he would have done anything. Now he's here. Taking a place I didn't think he'd take but look what he brought to me. Look at this.

(Like I said, this is beautiful.)

Jesus Devil.

When I woke up the fairy lights he put up around the bedroom were still on and a fire crackled gently in the woodstove. I sat up to see that he was in the big overstuffed chair across from the bed. He leans forward, sniffs, wipes his eyes with his hand and takes a sip of his drink.

Go back to sleep, Neamhchiontach. 

But his eyes are red in the strange light and I tell him to come back to bed. Why is he up? What's going on?

I'm just watching you sleep and thinking about how awful I've been to you. 

In the past-

Your entire life. 

Caleb-

Please, Bridget. Go back to sleep and just let me wallow in my misery. This is my penance.

This should be your redemption. 

I don't deserve grace from you, Neamhchiontach. Let's head home while this trip is still a good memory for you. Before I continue to ruin everything. 

He promised me nothing and I took it.

Good evening from Lake Tahoe. We arrived in the middle of a snowstorm and made it safely to the lake house with only a couple of harrowing moments on the road. The driveway was plowed, all the lights were blazing when we pulled in and the house was warm and well-stocked with everything my heart desires and a chef who will be visiting twice per day to cook for us while we are here.

The lake looks cold but beautiful from my vantage point in the master bedroom or from the hot tub on the deck. He's had heaters installed outside for my comfort and all of the generic cabin-themed bedding has been replaced with vintage inspired patchwork quilts in washed ivory and tea-stained hues with furs layered on top.

He's listening.

We had a whiskey toast and then some simple cheese toast for dinner, light since we arrived so late. I had a hot bath and an early night and slept until noon today. No dog to wake me up, no sounds of the house stirring with music playing or loud deep-voiced laughter to rouse me from my dreams.

And surprisingly no Diabhal on this trip. Just Caleb, somehow anxious to make sure I do nothing at all, and anxious to add nothing to my anxiousness overall. Today all we did was watch the snow fall and watch a couple of scary movies on Netflix.

What would you like for dinner this evening, Bridget? 

A Monte Cristo. With a pickle on the side and french fries. 

Always with the Cristos. 

They're so good. 

Still? 

Yes. 

Done. Any dessert? 

Naw. Maybe an Irish Coffee. 

And then more sleep? 

Yes, please. 

Hibernaked/The violent circus.

Yes, I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.
                   ~Oscar Wilde

Today is a cutting-wind kind of day. A whitish-gray bitter sky kind of day, a day to stay inside kind of day with fresh coffee, darkened rooms with a fire going, tiny white fairy lights on for the only light besides. A day for homemade cinnamon buns and a hot turkey sandwich dinner planned for later. A day to rest. In pajamas or not. I chose naked. While hibernating. Hence hibernaked. My new awkward but appropriatedly inappropriate portmanteau for this snowy Friday. Hello. Welcome to my weird.

(Besides. Gas went up again. We're walking everywhere from now on, so we may as well hunker down. Gas is 1.45 a litre. That means it'll cost almost three hundred bucks to fill each truck so yeah. Nevermind leaving the house ever again. Like, ever. I can have groceries air-dropped. Schuyler and Batman can work from home. Sam will have to beam into his church to do Sunday service and gosh, I guess Caleb will have to buy ice cream to keep at home instead of driving up highway 99 for the good stuff. Do they do Skype AA meetings? Nevermind, Ben knows them by heart. And our next concert isn't until February so we can ride this out I suppo-

Wait, what?

I still can't hear anything. I had my face melted off last night and I'm not even sorry. I went in thinking I might die and emerged baptized brand new in liquid metal, arms full of merch because goddamn.

Goddamn. 

Four bands in one show meant a five-hour concert. A terrific value for forty-five bucks a ticket in the first place and we got our favorite tables so bonus awesome. I got a seriously affectionate pat-down and a drink order within seconds so double bonus.

But then...then...Avatar happened. Oh my God, where have they been hiding? (Sweden, if you're wondering.) They were incredible. Death metal at it's finest but with a circus bent. No one told me. I squealed through their entire set, when I wasn't being hammered into the floor by it, I mean. They had costumes! And makeup. Thanks to a quick Youtube search I was expecting Mercyful Fate when we went in and left a new hardcore fan. Jesus. Why the fuck does the internet hide this stuff from me? Hail the apocalypse indeed. Also dreads. Forgot how much I love dreads.

Then Of Mice and Men happened. They were the most straightforward of the night. No costumes. No makeup. Just a band out to prove they are still heavy even though Austin is no longer with them and Aaron is doing the clean and the dirty vocals almost at the same time. He could manage it all just fine. They didn't do any power ballads, which slay me every time but I gather they wanted to prove something and they did. Also headbanging in unison is my new favorite thing. Not to do (are you mad?) but to watch. SO awesome.

Hollywood Undead was the outlier. Kind of a heavy-pop party sound with so much rap I was like...how? But they were charming enough to make it work by working the crowd so hard we didn't even realize how much fun we were having until they were done. The masks are cheesy and the fact that every women is a 'bitch' in their songs (Just. NO.) hardly distracted from watching them play off us and each other with lightning speed. Solid show.

But then the curtains opened on Maria and the blood girls and Travis (who I think is nailed to the front of the stage possibly, I need to go back and check) and I cried. Whoops but yeah. Fangirled so hard you would laugh at the pictures and video I managed to get. It's shaky and jumpy and awful but I didn't care. But honestly the whole set was too short, too smoky and too theatrical. They could have fit three more songs in rather than have huge props to change out, as Ben pointed out, through his own melted face hole. However they sounded so fucking good live and were a band I never expected to see in person that I instantly forgave the technical downsides of their set for their sheer perfection. They played Burn. And Whore. Win.

We were home by one-thirty this morning. My face is never going to grow back. I have a pentagram hoodie now, which oddly fills a hole in my wardrobe I didn't know I had but did until now. And I'm happy that I survived and didn't stay home like I threatened to yesterday. Music is transforming, restorative and life-changing. I bought some more tickets this morning for another show.

We love you, Vancouver! indeed.

Okay I can't do two big concerts in a week. Help.

I feel as though I've finally reached that level of je ne sais quoi where we have enough champagne to furnish a wedding reception still but not a bandaid in the house. I always wanted to be one of those moms, believe it or not, who didn't plan everything within an inch of its' life.

Come on, kids! We're out of food, let's go to McDonalds! 

But I've never been that kind of mom. I'm the mom who has enough groceries stocked to outlast the end of days. Seriously. If the toilet paper supplies in any given bathroom fall below twelve rolls in the cupboard I get apoplexy. So while it's no big deal to run out of something for most people, in this house it's downright uncharacteristic.

But I have bandaids now and I finished fixing the dishwasher by putting a chair up against the door and then climbing underneath it. I also reversed my technique and attached the spring to the linkage first and then into the hole in the track instead of the other way around. Done and done.

I did my smoky eye three times before Ruth offered to do my makeup for me and I refused because she'll use a thousand products and frown that something doesn't work on me because she doesn't have the miles of laugh lines I do. I settled for mostly lipstick and mascara, as always. Don't fix it if it isn't broken, I always say, but that's a lie. I usually say Fuck, I should have exploited my looks harder twenty years ago. And then I remind myself it will be dark. Also my earrings hurt. Gah.

I tried to give Henry instructions on dinner and he said he'll be fine.
He'll eat all of the chocolate in the house, stay up too late and try to take Friday off. Not sure I disagree with that plan.

PJ is at the door, whining to go already. Like a puppy. He loves metal. Goes to every show he can catch.

Ben is asleep somewhere and so not ready yet.

Lochlan isn't even going.

They're still calling for snow.

And I just found out the set times. In this Moment goes on at 10:50, because I forgot about Hollywood Undead so now it's four bands instead of three. That's at ten to eleven. Very much past my bedtime, as I've been up since four this morning.

Wish us luck. (I mean, this is a dumb thing to even discuss but I'm from Halifax, the city that thinks it's doing okay if they get one big rock show every eight years, and there was a void growing up where we didn't get any bands worth filling a stadium for. At all. Okay Bon Jovi came in '93 and '94 and Aerosmith in '94 also but that was it. In Vancouver you could go to three huge shows a night and still have to miss things until you figure out how to clone yourself.)

I wish I could clone myself right now.

Multibasking.

I would've loved you for a thousand years
I would've died for you
I would've sacrificed it all my dear
I would've bled for you
Till death do us part
You were unholy right from the start

I was never a Judas Priest fan but I love Rob Halford singing with Maria Brink on Black Wedding. It's a campy, raunchy metal romp with a blistering sample of Billy Idol's White Wedding bringing up the conclusion of every chorus. We're going to see In This Moment tomorrow night and I'm SO excited! Especially since Burn is on the setlist. And Whore. And Sick Like Me. Did I mention how excited I am? Because I can't wait.

I'm listening to the setlist while I've almost got the dishwasher fixed. There's a broken spring in the door. I almost had it but then the door fell on my head and now I have little birdies singing In This Moment songs in tinny little radio loops around my head and I had to crawl away from the kitchen and lie down for a minute.

Then I figured it would be better to wait for someone to get home, since I'm bleeding (the hinge chewed up the back of my hand too) and I'd feel really fucking stupid if I was crushed to death by a fourteen-year-old dishwasher on the eve of a really good rock show.

So yeah. I'll wait. Got a band-aid? We're out.

End of harvest.

Today marks the beginning of the dark half of the year. Boy, does it ever. This week I've finished a Drawlloween and an Inktober that Christian found online and we spent the month filling our sketchbooks. I accepted a short trip invitation from the Devil and I helped Henry finish his Halloween costume in record time. I baked six loaves of flax bread. I had a beer with Duncan. I helped PJ paint the back door.

And it's going to snow on Friday.

 I have mini-chocolate bars but we don't have trick or treaters thanks to the gate and the signs and the general unwelcomeness of the front of the property and so instead we will pop some more of this leftover champagne and continue the Samhain party as it were. Caleb says he bought me a present to mark the occasion and because I accepted his offer to not be at home wallowing on Jacob's birthday for the first time in history. I don't know what it is. I hate surprises.

I need a coffee.