2022. Feels futuristic and apocalyptic (or maybe that's apologetic) all at the same time.

Two weeks ago I called our favourite Indian restaurant and pre-ordered dinner for tonight and we're leaving in ten minutes to pick it all up. I was so apologetic. They were thrilled to do a whole nights business in one transaction or maybe they were horrified. I don't know but they said no problem and here we are. 

All the alu gobi and keema naan a girl could want. Pakoras up the wazoo. PJ will make me a mean gin martini with three fat olives and Lochlan will have a whiskey with ice (that he'll make himself) and we'll resume watching the Get Back documentary on Disney+. 

We roll hard here on the point. 

Happy New Year. I'll write more tomorrow. There wasn't much time to do it today. I did write my resolutions today though. I wrote them across August's arms with a good sharpie. Things like more sleep, less sugar. More calm, less panic. More happy, less sad. 

Here's hoping.

Yesterday was exceedingly difficult and when I woke up I was alone, PJ was in the big chair by the fire and didn't stir when I shook his shoulder. He was out. He looked exhausted and yet when I went to bed everything was fine (fine being relative). My anxiety is far worse at night and Duncan is in charge of the Christmas gift I mentioned the other day and I get a whole bunch of it right before bed and then I'm out like a stone and it's almost funny. I sleep right through but it's only been a couple of nights so we'll see if it holds. No one liked that mention of the gift in particular which is interesting. It is fully legal here and he bought it legally and for the record I did not know what to do with it exactly but he said not to worry so there you go. 

When I went downstairs, Ben is asleep on the big couch in the kitchen. No lights are on. The sweet part is that Lochlan is beside him, one arm threaded all the way through the kangaroo pocket on the front of Ben's hoodie. He used to do that with me when I was a child and he was afraid I would awaken and go somewhere while he slept. I find it sweet that he covered all his bases and sent PJ up to watch me and I find it sweet that I guess Ben fell asleep first and Lochlan didn't want to wake him up to move him. 

There's a rogue whiskey bottle halfway down the big long kitchen table, but it hasn't been opened. The plastic is still around the top.

(It was $15 a week, and that was a fortune at the age of 11.)

Duncan wants to hear a story and so Lochlan always starts with the music. 

Aldo Nova was playing through my speakers and there was a group smoking in one of the cars-

It was Triumph. I interrupt. Dude. I know this one, I think to myself. I'm IN this story. 

Lochlan pauses. I think you're right, Princess. It was Triumph. Lay it on The-

Moonchild, I correct again. Sorry, but if you're trying to set the stage-

It was Moonchild, he laughs. So a cigarette butt lands at my feet and I look up and this group of kids is coming around with lit cigarettes and they're smiling at me like they're daring me to call them out for smoking on the ride and there are two carts full of them and they're all early twenties so I ignore it and just pretend I didn't see it, but then Bridget comes back from getting a hotdog and she brings me one and she hands me the food and marches right out in front of me at the control box and when they come over she yells, HEY! NO SMOKING ON THE WHEEL, ASSHOLES! 

Duncan covers his face. Oh my god. This is so easy to picture. 

Right? And they all look at me and keep right on smoking as they go around again and when they come down again Bridget puts her hands on her hips and yells I SAID, NO SMOKING!

What are you going to do about it, kid? The prettiest girl flicks her hair and smiles at Bridget.

I'M TURNING OFF THE RIDE. GET LOST.  

They all look surprised. Like they wasted their tickets and I shrug even though I'm not even seventeen yet because the lady gets what the lady wants and technically Bridget's right, I just didn't want to deal with people trying to intimidate me. She turns to me and points backwards and says Turn it off, Locket. 

I did as I was told and the group slunk off while Bridget glared at them. It was hilarious. The boss ended up giving her an official title and a weekly stipend because he said she was making sure to keep everyone on their toes. 

Wow that was generous of him. Dalton laughs. 

Not really. He took it out of my cheque. 

I turn around with my mouth open. Wait, what? You said I could spend it any way I wanted. 

And I meant that. 

But that was your money! 

And I clearly didn't do enough to earn it. 

Why didn't you tell me, so I could have bought dinner sometimes?

Like I said, it was yours because you wanted a job like the rest of us and you were so happy to have it. I didn't want to burst that bubble. Things were hard enough after...everything.

The black cloud moves back in over the point, blocking out the sunny warmth of a memory just remembered and enveloping us in a memory that will never ever be forgotten.  

After what? Duncan asks, forgetting it all.

After everything changed, I say softly and Lochlan nods, his eyes black with regret.

I can give you a bunch of details but they're not the ones you want.

I don't know what day it is. I just know that we put Christmas away today, I had my fourth brunch in two weeks, I never did find the spirit and I am solidly a DC girl, as opposed to Marvel, after seeing the new Batman trailer. My knuckle cracked and bled from the cold and then my nose started bleeding just as someone handed me a gin martini with three olives just now and well, here we are. Have I covered everything?

No? 

I saw five accidents on my way out and home today. I wasn't in any of them, thank God. There's only one spot in the neighbourhood where I can kick out the ass end of the Jeep and slide just enough for a thimbleful of thrills. Perfect. People with all-seasons need to stay the fuck home though.

I watched Don't Look Up on Netflix. This is exactly how it ends.

I got a whole pottery studio for Christmas. Yes, I'm going to go pro, apparently. But they ran out of time and the electrician is all that's left to change the plug for my kiln (also a gift) to make sure I don't burn down the point. This is not in the stables, this is a tiny shed all the way out by the orchard. The kiln and the wheel and my dry supplies will live out there. The clay must come in to be warmer so that will be stored in the stables instead and someone will bring me what I need when I need it. Glazes too, probably. Better safe than sorry and since I'm a newb and hardly know what I'm doing it's the plan as I learn more. I can make a mean cup via slab. Slabs are everything, I haven't thrown in years. Should be a fun time but I'm hoping to enjoy a good solid learning curve and then begin making things for other people 

I also got an ounce of really nice weed and my shoulder blades are marshmallows and my brain sponge toffee tonight. 

Goes well with this ice cold gin martini with three olives. I didn't get any actual medication over Christmas (because they suddenly decided it was cruel) so this is the way to go. Otherwise my default is someone who's skin has been peeled off and they've been left in a salt mine. The anxiety is always completely off the charts and that's the only way I can describe it anymore.

Right. Horrifying, isn't it? I don't know if that's Jake's fault or Caleb's. I don't know if I care. Caleb gave me the prettiest pair of diamond earrings and said they looked really good on me when I wasn't wearing anything else and Ben agreed but promised not to eat them. There were no teeth at all to be found and on Boxing day Lochlan let Daniel cut off all of his hair. Daniel handed me a curl and I thanked him and Lochlan asked why I wanted it. 

A keepsake, I promised. 

Voodoo, he worried.

Never on you. I said it softly and he smiled and pulled me in as I put my hands up to ruffle his short half-curls. His hair is so shiny. I'm jealous. 

Oh my God, you're so fucked. 

Only a little. 

Maybe always though. 

I nod and show him my teeth in a goofy smile and he laughs out loud. 

Long week, Peanut. 

The longest, I agree. We entertained Caleb with our magic and he fired back with his intensity and generosity. We worked. We rested. We celebrated. We had our big dinner, rescheduled due to weather and we made a loose plan for the new year. The only thing left is to write our resolutions for Friday night and count the remaining bottles of champagne. 

Also I need to order a case of soap from the rocky mountain soap company. It really is my favourite and I learned that after buying a ten dollar pretty bar of cold pressed soap at a gift shop only to find out it gave me a rash and had no smell at all. 

Live and learn. Hahaha. That's all I ever do now. 

(Totally doing voodoo, by the way.)

Spirits.

Hope is a feather plucked from a capable wing, now suddenly captive in the breeze. The sand is ice-cold underneath a fresh layer of new fallen snow and the gifts remain wrapped and under the tree as Sam and I pack up our coffees, tie into our most capable snow boots and warm coats and head down to greet the sun on this Christmas morning, Sam half-ruined with joy already and me half-awake as ever but somehow we made it and I got to bear witness to a monologue the likes of which the church never sees but should. The sun warmed our faces while his words warmed my heart and I am reminded of why I refused to follow Jacob into the abyss of nothing. There's no heaven. All of this is it and you better not squander this chance at it because it's on earth. It's now, not after. It's Christmas every day if you want it to be. 

Merry Christmas to all of my readers. Even the ones who hate my guts. Jesus loves you no matter what disdain you have for me and no matter what thoughts go through my head any minute of any hour. He loves me even as my hands touch upon someone I shouldn't and even as I foolishly wish for things long lost, even on His birthday.

A kiss lands on top of my head as I look out at the snow crunching up the top layer of the sea in a rush to hush it all down into a magical holiday scene. I look up and Lochlan is looking down at me, his face cracking into a smile. 

Merry Christmas, Peanut. 

I turn and there's an army of men, carrying a fully lit Christmas tree. They set it up on the beach, back far enough to stay out of reach of the tides, but far enough out to make everyone gasp and then smile if they see it.  Someone has a picnic basket and they begin to pass out juice boxes, croissants and more coffee thermoses. Wreathes are hung along the posts all around the dock and music begins to lilt out from a speaker someone has. Just soft enough for magic and just loud enough for me to hear. 

But then they all start to sing. 

It's the best sound I ever heard and the tears are freezing on my cheeks, mixed with snow. 

When the song is finished everyone eats their waterside breakfast, sitting on the dock and then Lochlan pulls me into his coat. A kiss lands on my nose and my glasses steam up.

Merry Christmas, Locket. I love my present. Wow. This is incredible. 

His eyebrows go up. This isn't your present. 

But you've spent hours off rehearsing

Actually that song wasn't part of the plan this morning so we weren't practicing, but also that isn't your present. You'll get that this afternoon, because we're still not finished it.

Yeah, I can't do this. Please send help.

Hahahaha. The houses are full. There is nowhere I can go to get away. Lay in the bathtub for an hour with my headphones (Ben gifted me with my own set of really ridiculously good headphones) listening to sad songs and drinking champagne and I think I'm almost ready to start the day but honestly not quite. Making dinner for twenty-nine today. Don't have any reserves for patience left. Losing it so slowly I'm like a balloon that gets those tiny puckers all around the edges and you know it's not long for the world.

And you wrote to me and said you wished you were me. 

That was dumb. Hope you've changed your mind.

You're the ocean. I'm the pond.

The concert of the century continues as I get up at six am sharp, open all the doors save for Henry's wing and blast them with my renditions of all of my favourite love songs, lyrics changed. Raise a showgirl, expect a performance, I say. 

(Raise a freak, expect a freakshow.)

Guess there is something, and there is nothing
There is nothing in between
And in my eyes, there is a tiny dancer
Watching over me, she's singing
 I'm a I'm a lady, and you are just a boy
She's singing I'm a I'm a lady, and you are just a line without a hook

Lochlan comes down and closes the cover on the keys. On my fingers. Enough. 

You're enough. 

I hoped I would be, at one point. 

And now?

Now I don't know anymore. 

You invited him for Saturday. I would have been fine until Ostara. 

Right. 

You don't know me. 

I do though. Better than I know myself. 

If that were true-

Oh, please, go on. 

You would know that yesterday's projections were off the mark. 

Prove it. 

Trying my best. 

He stands his ground and waits. I pick up my phone and send a one-line text. 

Saturday's off. 

The reply comes in seconds. Tell him to stop being so paranoid. Lochlan, stop being so paranoid.

I hold the phone out, the bitter twisted smile forming a portrait background, our blurred scenery making it so hard to focus anymore it's almost criminal. 

Told you, I say victoriously as his face crumples into tears of relief. Now stop trying to ruin Christmas.

Longest night indeed.

Things not what they used to be
Missing one inside of me
Deathly loss, this can't be real
I cannot stand this hell I feel
Emptiness is filling me
To the point of agony
Growing darkness, taking dawn
I was me, but now he's gone

 We had to bail on the beach part as the freezing rain began at five sharp and Ben almost wiped out and that was that for those treacherous stairs because he takes his sweet time now and had that been PJ or Duncan charging down at full speed we'd be pallbearers today, every one of us. 

We took the party to Schuyler and Daniel's house and sang and played and ate until far past my bedtime and I yawned at last and by this time the whole point was encased in ice and everyone was leaving and so Lochlan and I clutched each other's hands and were the last out the door, dragging each other down the slick path to home. It took us an almost comically-sad moment to get up the steps to the patio doors which were locked and so we had to wait in the icy rain, calling Ben and then Dalton and finally Henry who came and opened the door and pulled us in. He went back to his rooms and we went upstairs after getting orange juice and oreos and we were only a bit drunk, not the maudlin stage yet but slightly past silly so just serious enough to do what we do best. 

Fight. 

It was quiet and heartbreaking though, because a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts and so when Lochlan grabbed my by the shoulders he gave a good soft shake and waited until I could focus on him.

You didn't even look at him. Didn't leave my side. You stayed put and I'm proud of you. 

My eyebrows go up and I set my teeth together, tongue in the middle, cracked in half. 

What's the look for?

 

I can look at him. 

 

And I can still kill him. I open my teeth in horror. Lochlan might be mean and sometimes he gets a little too jealous but this isn't hyperbole. 

 

Stop it. Locket. Please. 

 

Imagine-

 

I need to sleep and you need to stop talking. 

 

What if we had what we used to have? What if you still loved me the most?

I DO.

Little liar.

 

I'm not.

 

And this morning, well, you should hear my acoustic piano arrangement of Fade to Black. I don't know which one of them hates it most but I hope it's Lochlan.

The start of winter.

I'm not getting up yet today. I'm lying in bed with a roaring fire going, playing A Good Snowman Is Hard to Build (the latest ios craze in this house even though I haven't even remoted finished decorating my village in Christmas Puzzle 3 and all of the townspeople are going to HATE me) and waiting for Lochlan to bring up breakfast in bed. My coffee is late. My head hurts. I've thrown my phone twice across the room and then went and got it because Dalton finished the game last night and I can't even solve the first level yet but I'm determined. In any case Lochlan offered to make omelettes and coffee since he kept me up half the night to watch The Witcher's second season which was so so good (Jaskier's monologues and songs. What a ride.) and I fought to stay awake. I am tired now because I go to bed at nine each night and then I actually sleep from two to six. 

But that is not important. This is.

Tonight we're having our solstice dinner on the beach, complete with dress code (interpretive dark victorian/gothic formal) with sparkling virgin cider made here on the point. The menu is pot roast, root vegetables (grown here) and dumplings, apple pie and then I have sparklers and streamers for dancing after dinner. My windproof candles are ready and the boxes are beginning to be lined up near the patio doors as it will take the rest of the day to cook and set up but it's so worth it. Especially if it rains. I am excited but I still need a little more rest first, as it's the shortest day of the year and already it's packed to the stars.

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.