Athbhliain faoie mhaise daoibh!

We're going to make spaghetti and watch The Hobbit. I'm excited to do nothing for New Years Eve. We actually spent half the day removing Christmas from the point as I remain overwhelmed and overstimulated and all of the extra decorations and trees were sending me. I couldn't get away from it. Even outside as the gardeners put up huge pine bough wreathes on just about every door and window. They are so pretty. Someone can come and take them all down next week. I wasn't worried about the outside, just the inside. I will tell you they found big fat ribbons that looked like navy blue velvet from a distance but were waterproof so they made it through the deluge of rain we had over the past two weeks. 

Our exterior colours for Christmas are multicoloured lights and then blue and dark green for everything else. Interior is traditional seventies red and white and green and gold, though I am slowly adding blue and copper to the mix over time. We've changed it up a few times. Not often because it's wasteful but it's easy to change out ribbons on the trees inside and tree toppers too. The ornaments and lights (also multicoloured on the trees and single colour otherwise) never change. 

My resolutions are ready to go. Reframe stressful moments as a puzzle to solve, with prizes for successful solving. Stop touching Caleb. Stop letting Caleb touch me. Stop getting that delicious shiver of daring when Lochlan's voice breaks when he says to stop letting Caleb touch me. It's a mantra and a prayer at this point. It's a wish on a star. I can't seem to grant it or fulfill it. No one's winning any prizes over it, except for the devil himself and that's the biggest constant thread through the fabric of our Christmases. 

We finished all of the turkey, stuffing and gravy. Nothing remained to freeze or make soup with. We have enough chocolate and cheese-board ingredients left to snack our way through the remainder of time itself, surprisingly and I only say that because if I make a snack board with olives, artichokes, cheese, crackers and fruit PJ takes it upon himself to eat as much as he can, as if he has never had a meal before and I didn't expect to have so much left. 

The clementines. Holy Lord. We're on our seventh box. Lochlan eats at least five a day in between his pleas for me to grow up already (literally the last thing he ever wanted, freezing time was his preferred resolution to keep me small and dependent forever. What changed? Nothing, that's what) and in the end every year will be a bunch of empty promises and a half-arsed effort for us to be reasonable people instead of the historical monsters we truly are, and that's okay too. 

Happy New Year. 2026 is going to be lit. Or something. 

The stellars jay sounds like a machine gun and oh, here's a poem that's on the fridge. It's been removed six times in two days. I have a two-foot stack of printer paper in the cupboard.

'Twas the night before Christmas, when next to the sea

Not a creature was stirring, not even a Bee;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that her sugar daddy soon would be there;

The manboys were nestled all snug in their beds;

While visions of Bridget herself danced in their heads;

And Ben in his snuggie, and I in his lap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

We sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window we flew like big flashes,

Tore open the shutters and covered our asses.

 

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,

Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,

When what to our wondering eyes did appear,

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,

With a little old driver so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment he might not be a dick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

"Now, Duncan! now, Samuel! now Lochlan and TJ!

On, Matthew! on, er...Batman! on Henry and PJ!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the housetop the coursers they flew

With the sleigh full of toys, and our devil did too—

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney Diabhal came with a bound.

He was dressed all in glitter, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of cash he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a chiseled face and a washboard belly

That grew taut when he laughed, not at all like a bowl full of jelly.

He was cut and he was kind, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I still regard him with dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned, like a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—

“Another year with us, Bridget, make sure you sleep with one eye open!”

 

(No but really, I like to poke him and he gives me money in return.)

 

 Merry Christmas! My plan for 2026 is to return to writing every day. I have a lot to tell you.

Bridget's Christmas Progress Report.

It's December tenth today and Christmas is just a little over exactly two whole weeks away. I have the turkeys, the stuffings (we love boxed and frozen mixed now, who has time to make it from scratch?), the desserts, the butterflake rolls, the carrots by the dozens of pounds, potatoes too, wine for those who want some, eggnog and rum for the others, and fancy drink, AKA cranberry juice mixed with ginger ale for the teetoter boys.

I mailed the Christmas packages home today. It's not a record by any means. I've been so sick since our trip. I've been struggling to get things done and God bless, everyone is helping but then there's so damn much to be done it'll never all get done and that's okay too. 

The trees are up. Decorated and lit. The garlands and candles are out. The wreathes. The tiny trees and snowglobes are poking out from around books and skulls (not human. Actually bear but that's a whole other post) and vases. The lights are on outside all the time, around the clock now. I have a few things for Ruth and Henry and one thing each for the boys but as far as shopping goes I'm screwed because I am still completely under the weather and not able to run around. I did get a few huge rolls of wrapping paper after deciding I didn't want the plain brown butcher paper after all. I have probably five hundred feet of it because I'm a crunchy minimalist at heart but I'm also a raging Taurus so it's fine if some things are wrapped in champagne bubbles and velvet. Right? 

Right???

 So yeah, I guess the next two weeks will be pure shopping and cooking. I already hate watched Meghan Markle's 'Holiday' special where she elevated a bunch more stuff. They should just make a character for her on the Avatar series on Netflix. She could go around elevating all the things! For fucks sakes, that's enough. She interrupts everything and injects this forced casualness that comes off as pure arrogance. I know rich people and she's trying too fucking hard. 

I need candy canes to stir into my hot chocolate, but cinnamon flavoured ones, not mint because I don't like that much mint and I do love cinnamon. 

I got four packages of Christmas crackers to pull at the start of Christmas eve dinner and will be making more tourtieres for Christmas day dinner. It's supposed to snow a little! It's going to be amazing. 

Ali and Theo should write a Christmas song about me.

Peeling leaves off the pavement with the rake feels akin to peeling my skin off my bones when I go through the photo album in my head, plagued with favourites, shot dead with videos I've forgotten until they play idly through my mind like good dreams turned bad, rotten like the leaves on the driveway. 

They can fossilize there. I flap my hands at the uselessness of it all. 

Who cares if the leaves become part of the fabric of this Collective? Who cares if I abdicate any proof of one season into the next by force or neglect? Is there a clear winner? Is there any difference? Who cares if I buy Christmas presents when what we needed and never received was time? You can't give time. It's a construct, an idea brought in to force routine and routine and habits are what we live by.

Who cares if fall ends and winter begins? I'm not a winter person but I try to embrace it with oatmeal and hot chocolate and tiny lights, with Christmas movies and fresh-baked bread and long racuous or sometimes quiet dinners and sledding in the mountains. I don't snowboard any more. Too many serious injuries. We are too fast and too violent for sports like that. The competitive spirit comes alive and we will run over or throw down each other in an attempt to be first and when one of us (me) is completely deaf to the shouted warnings and five feet tall you don't want to be responsible for hurting her. 

Ha. 

Irony, like snow, is rare here on the point but on point always.

The lights are on though. The leaves are gone and done and we'll put up the tree in honour of those who only get to celebrate Christmas through us, by proxy sometime maybe in a week or two.  

Did you miss me?

I am home! We turned on the Christmas lights tonight. If you know my house just shut up and if you don't enjoy! Pretty sure you can see them from space but also really happy that they all work and they light up the dismalness of the west coast this time of year. 

I am tired. I am caught up on laundry, have made my peace with not hitting just about every single thing on my list, and am ready to throw myself into the holidays because I have nothing done. Absolutely NOTHING. Wait, I have two things purchased and that's it. Hahah. I have a cart full of things I'm thinking about on a website I like to gift shop from and the timing will work as long as I decide by Friday? 

I dunno, some years will be like this, especially with a huge trip in the middle of peak Bridget Holiday Planning Seasons so I'll do what I can and what doesn't get done will suffice. 

 That said, it's really nice to be home.