Slower.

    Let's slow the evening down
    Slow it down slow down
    Please slow down down down
    The stars are coming out


Last night found me on the porch swing, listening to the thunder roll in from the northwest, watching the rain pound straight down on the sidewalk and thinking if things didn't level out soon I might implode.

Jake came out with two mugs of tea and asked me what I was doing.

Craving mediocrity.

He gifted me with his larger than life laughter, which is a rare and wonderful treat. I used to get this vibe from him that underneath his laid-back mellow self lurked a really high-strung insecure fellow. That insecurity, and him being wound tight as a drum under the cool exterior is gone. He strung himself tight to get through encounters with me. He rarely laughed like this. It was hard on him. His life is easier now, so he says. That makes me laugh. As I look at the remnants of my injuries and a calender full of court dates and appointments I find it somehow priceless.

He should ask for his money back, I wasn't the picture that was painted after all.

He agrees that mediocrity would be wonderful. He suggested a trip to the library, peanut butter and jelly for lunch and old movies tonight on TV. I pointed out that that isn't mediocrity, that is heaven.

And the picture, Bridget? The picture I was shown is exactly what I received.

The wish jar reappears.

It went missing just before Mother's Day and no one would claim responsibility. Until now.

Don't pinch me. Again, I will hurt you if you even pretend.

Today is our Sunday. A lazy fun day, a few chores and mostly a pretend weekend, because weekends are so busy in the life of a minister's family. That's right. It's sounding way more comfortable. Ownership of this life of mine.

So Jacob went out to get bagels. A ritual, they have to be fresh, he is addicted to this Monday routine. And he was gone for an hour and a bit. That happens a lot-he talks his way through the neighborhood. We had some juice and started schoolwork.

He comes back with bagels, croissants, coffee, hot chocolate and a large envelope full of
paperwork. And an anticipatory smile. It threw me off.

Open it.

Oh, do you have to work today?

Just open it, Bridge.
What a strange smile. Brochures fall out. And itineraries. Receipts.

Happy belated birthday.

What is this?

This is your summer vacation.
I spied the destination before he said it. Essaouira. For four people. Two adults, two children. In August.

Oh my God. There's a mini-trip to Casablanca in there.

He doesn't forget a thing. It's unbelievable. He knew I wanted to go there years ago when he went off to Tibet and Bangkok for a trip and I almost cried. Then again he went to Peru (for the second time). Then Chile. Then Spain. He's been everywhere. I have been almost nowhere.

He's not finished.

Keep looking.

What's with all the Tortola stuff?

Christmas. If you want.

Not very many people can render me speechless. He handed me back the now empty wish jar.

I have no use for it now.

Rated R for some sexual content.

Did you know if you eat peanut butter pie you get thirsty? And add to that good conversation which leaves you unwilling to get up from the table in which the only beverage making the rounds is several bottles of the nicest dry white wine I have had in a while and you get...

..well, you get Bridget the Sex Machine.

Oh, no I didn't really embarrass myself at all. Quite the opposite actually. I was fine, I was sitting down, having a great conversation about the Japanese experiment in which a man was locked in a room for a year and he had to enter contests and live off the winnings and the psychological ramifications of that endeavour. It got later and later, the conversation jumped around to world cup news, tropical destinations and a big debate on whether or not knitting needles and crochet hooks are indeed allowed on flights originating in Canada or not. Finally our friends bade their farewells and Jacob saw them out and I started gathering up glasses. Only I was slightly clumsy.
And then it hit all at once. Down she goes.

Jacob comes back in and I'm sitting on his chair all bright eyes and spinning a million miles an hour.

Uh-oh. Bridge, I knew when I saw that last glass that you tipped your favor.

Right. I'll be fine. Give me a minute.

No come on. The dishes can wait until tomorrow.
He picked me up and carried me to bed. Very romantically, I might add. No effort at all. He is all muscle. I am just over a hundred pounds (yeesh, I need to gain a little bit) of slithery slippery rubbery sex kitten by now.

Because when I'm drunk two things always happen. Which is why I usually police myself so strictly as a rule. (Because Jacob used to be a guest at these dinner parties. Are you following me?)

1) I get very excited. Affectionate would be an understatement. I'm not ashamed. Okay horny would be the appropriate word for what I get, but it sounds so....er...cheap.
2) I crank it right into high gear. Top volume, off the charts. Again, I really have no shame.

He stood me on the bed. Now we're at eye level. That never happens. I look into his eyes and put my arms around him. He's grinning. I kiss him so hard he steps back to keep his balance.

Of course once he's stabilized he can give it as good as I can. I get a lovely long drawn out kiss that left me breathless. He's very good. He's also getting really excited and trying to play it cool. Which he never did very well.

Oh no, no, Bridget. You need some water and some sleep.

Nohwaaaaay! I need YOU. Cos I have talens you haven'seen, baby.

No, sleep.

I will change your minds.

Haha, you're toast, girl.

He forgets how good I am.

My eyes get all teary. I bit my lip. (Hi, no shame. At all.)

Jakey. I need you.

I love you baby. I think you should sleep, much as I'd like to play right now.

The begging part I whispered. And I won't tell you what I said. But it works. It works very well.

Jacob couldn't win a bet with me if he tried. And strenuous sex is a very good way to sober up so I felt great this morning. Well, a little ahem, sore, but very very happy. Sated for hopefully 12 hours or so. I'm becoming Diane Lane in my old age. This sexual peaking for women over 3o thing is a never-ending gift. Just you wait.

Now I get to go to church and hope he doesn't look at me and lose his train of thought with visions of last night.

But you know what? All is well. And life is good again. And no one is allowed to pinch me. Ever.

10 simple pleasures.

An open tag from Cody, via Beth.

10 simple pleasures:

1. Feeling the flush from wine.

2. Stars. Millions of them.

3. A kiss. Not a crazy Brokeback Mountain kiss, but a soft, breathing-the-same-breath very long kiss.

4. Enjoying a new CD.

5. A really good belly laugh (which comes after everyone trying to imitate Henry's evil laughter).

6. Jumping during a really good horror movie.

7. Fireworks.

8. Catching someone smiling at you when they didn't expect you to look.

9. the smell of something baking in the oven.

10. Waking up in the morning to find new flowers have bloomed.

Consider yourself tagged, because this is a happy idea. Thanks Cody!

Peanut butter kisses

After the movie I was watching a little of the MTV movie award reruns and happened to catch the best kiss category. Jacob walked past the living room and scoffed that we could outshine every single entry without any effort. I was nodding when they showed the kiss from Brokeback Mountain. We both sort of dropped our mouths at the same time and said maybe we did have some competition.

Because wow. That kiss outshines even the one at the barn a million years ago. Because, well, I'm not a big rough cowboy. Jacob could be. Yum. That's a vision. Even though he looks silly in a cowboy hat. I'm not even into the whole cowboy thing, never was. I like the long-haired deep hippie artisty types. Oh yes. Oh. yes. yes. yes!

Now I have to go. Lots to do, having a small dinner party tonight. Casual. Chicken, potato salad, raw veggies, and I made a peanut butter pie for dessert. Maybe the rest of the kirsch if I can pawn it off on my friends. Probably not, so maybe a nice pinot grigio instead.

Have a nice weekend!

Bonus round.

I cooled off. We spent the morning doing our chores and work and then in the afternoon Jacob came home and we took the kids to see Cars, the new Pixar film. It was great to spend a few hours zoned out in a dark theatre. It's one of my favorite places in the whole world. Pixar never fails to impress me or my kids. Bravo.

I had a fresh outlook when we came out. The kids were on sensory overload. We stopped and picked up a few groceries and dropped Jake at the church and came home to make strawberries and waffles. I got the kids bathed and in bed after a zillion stories and I'm about to go hang out and watch Skeleton Key while I wait for Jake to get home.

More good news came this afternoon-Cole has agreed to let Jake buy him out of this house. So the house will be in mine and Jake's names as soon as his house sells and closes. One problem solved for the time being. Having moved in only 8 months ago I'm not anxious to move again. There aren't so many memories as to ruin it for either one of us, believe it or not, and the thought of uprooting the kids yet again so soon kills me. Jacob and his church are a good fit, the kids have a good school and I'm the freewheeling writer. As long as I have a laptop I will travel. So yuck, I don't get to self-destruct and run back to the East Coast forever, but I finally have a reason to keep living in this city that makes it bearable.

The word of the day, or Beating this to death.

Wow, it's so nice to have a few quiet days without extra people around. Not that I don't love and appreciate my team of bodyguard boys and all but a girl needs a break now and then from the stifling testosterone fumes and we're safe for now.

I hung out my lacy unmentionables on the clothesline and sang silly songs with the kids. I plucked my eyebrows (try doing that with Ben going through your makeup bag and threatening to eat your cherry lipgloss if you don't feed him lunch soon.). We walked to the store and bought chips and were able to eat them instead of watching them disappear into PJ.

We watched Bear in the Big Blue House without a single singalong in off color language.

We played outside without looking over the fence to scan the sidewalks four hundred times in half an hour. Jacob came home early with the pizza and the surprising awful Kirsch, which is a sickly sweet brandy but we made a toast and planned the next Hemingway adventure.

So what's with the word of the day, you ask?

Puerile.

That word was in my email, because some of my readers have reduced their contact to namecalling.

The simple solution would be not to come visit my journal if you don't approve. Simple. Easy. Bye.

And I don't think so.

I can say that I am, but you can't. Hypocritical to the maximum and yes I put everything all out there so I should expect judgement. But your judgement is ignorance in the extreme, because you haven't lived my life.

Had you walked miles in my shoes then you can stand back and speak from your place of all-knowing.

Jake says to ignore it all.

I can't.

Maybe not a good day to read emails. Here's the difference. It's luck. I'm lucky. How could I be lucky? Being smashed into walls by someone you once loved with every filament of your soul hurt like hell. Being passed off to a friend like you were no longer useful stung. It was exactly what I wanted but the undercurrent still stung. Cole didn't start fighting for me until I was long gone. He never gave a shit. Halfway through the euphoria of this whole thing I realized I didn't mean so much to him. Or maybe I did. I have no idea. But is it luck? I'm lucky I ended this standing upright with my heart intact. So yeah.

I'm not spoiled by life. Life has dealt me illness, near-death, life and death, cheating death, and more death. Life has brought me total abandonment and isolation of the worst kind. And then brief respites with the euphoria in between.

You really sit there and think I write about everything?

I don't. Unapologetically I write about what I want to write about and if that forms a skewed picture that doesn't quite mesh for you then I can do no better. Take each entry for what it is, string them together to sort of see the history of Bridget and never forget that it is mostly undocumented history. Some things I will never ever write about because I would rather forget. Wouldn't we all? Everyone has those times. I am not special. I could horrify you with my words but that only dredges up pain for me so what's the point? This is voyeuristic enough.

I have spent my life being judged for what people see on the surface. Long blonde hair and a pretty face will get you almost everything your heart desires. To a point. Being demure and sexkittenish gets you a little further. A lot of times that will bring you the wrong kind of attention. And Ben's right. It's a put-on. A long cultivated put-on that took over my personality sometime shortly after I grew boobs and discovered the power I had over men. A power that was in place long before I ever met Jake or realized that Cole was looking at me, and not the same way he used to when he was 12 and I was 9. This was a new look. And suddenly I couldn't turn it off anymore.

The rest is chance, fate and kismet and you have less control then you might think.

So yes. I make mistakes. A lot of them. I alternate between having an ego that shines so bright people might go blind and being so low I'm under the floor and no one can find me. And Jacob makes mistakes. He is human, though I know I have elevated him to angel status too many times to allow anyone to consider him to be just a man anymore. He had two goals in his life and he has achieved them both. One was to be closer to God and the second was to be closer to me. The means to this end he will struggle with forever. And he does.

And he will never be just a man to me and I will never apologize for that to him or to you.

Or maybe I'm just tired and sensitive this morning. And sad listening to the singing preacher boy this morning singing the bitter songs, like Best of You. I wish he'd stick to happy stuff some days.


    Has someone taken your faith?
    Its real, the pain you feel
    The life, the love
    You'd die to heal
    The hope that starts
    The broken hearts
    Your trust, you must
    Confess

And now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go saw the chip off my shoulder. Perhaps the Friday afternoon rhapsody will bring about a happier second entry to end a very long week with. Cross your fingers. And think about how much better you would have handled your life if you were in my place. Good luck with that.

A promise.

I forgot to write an entry today. I'm sorry.

This is what happens when you wake up with a present on your pillow.

An actual gift, not a present like the dead spider presents the kitty leaves for me in the kitchen like little spindley dead trophies.

This present was wrapped in green paper and tied with a pink satin ribbon.

Jake got up and went to work early this morning. I didn't get up until 7:30. I usually am up by 6:30 to work out and jump in the shower before anyone else is up. He left early so he can come home early. He doesn't have Thursday night sessions anymore for the summer and we were planning to toast the Hemingways with Kirsch and pizza, since we finished A Moveable Feast last night.

I called him before I opened the box. He told me to go ahead and open it. Inside a blue velvet box was a beautiful white gold band with Gra Anois Agus Go Deo engraved inside. He asked me to translate.

Gaelic? Gra is love....something something, I'm so rusty...Deo is God?

Close. It says Love, Now and Forever. I wanted to give it to you a week ago but the jeweller misspelled it.

I wouldn't have cared.

You would have. He had Dea instead of Deo. Which I think means Nice. So it would have said Love, Now and for Nice or something like that. Do you like it?

I love it. But, Jacob...is it a wedding band?

No, Bridge, it's a promise.

A jewelry-induced lobotomy of that calibre is a good way to throw off the entire day. It's a good way to throw off an entire Bridget too.

Because all I do is talk

There were some strange offers in my inbox this morning, but no, I'm not going to plot to kill Cole. I think he's digging his own hole just fine. Instead it looks like we'll be playing Survivor and everyone gets to see who can outwit, outplay and outlast each other. I guess I should make a flag. Yes, I can joke. Life is a circus, jokes keep me from falling apart. Resiliency is key here.

And I am nothing if not resilient.

I'm used to waiting for good things. I'm used to having large blocks of time with which to think. I'm a writer, I'm used to exploiting my own emotions for great material. I can wait him out to have control over my own life once again. I can do this.

I got a lot written last night. That after hours of reassurance from Jake that yes, Cole is in jail now and he screwed himself out of even his supervised visits with the kids for the time being and possibly screwed himself out of his job. But none of it matters, what matters is we are safe for now and we'll live each day brand new and just deal with that day as it is given to us. I sound like Jake now. Too funny.

Then he started speaking my language and stepped out of his reverend shoes. He was surprised and disappointed that I even dared to consider the possibility that he would get tired of Cole's shit and walk away from us. I reminded him that we never expected Cole to flip out either so why should I expect no surprises from Jake? Despite popular opinion I have no fucking control over anyone.

That drove him right outside. Fine, go. I've got enough of my own hell to work through, thanks. Let's meet for breakfast at sunrise.

He was back inside before I finished a page. He looked half-crazed. He yelled at me. Strike one buddy, I'm so not in the mood for this.

Is that what you think? Do you think that I'm going to flip out and hurt you like he did?

Shhhhh! You'll wake the kids up Jake. Stop. yelling. at. me. I don't know what I think anymore.

My God, Bridge. I would never hurt you.

He just stopped talking and shook his head. Then he turned and went back out. I followed him downstairs to the front porch and we took our familiar places on the swing. He put his arm around me. I am still so angry. I can't speak. He is shaking. Well, that's new. How to push Jacob's buttons in the exact wrongest way ever.

I'm not leaving you. I don't care if Cole shows up with Satan's army. Fuck him. I will keep you safe.

How noble. (because I'm on a posturing roll here.)

Bridget. Don't. Don't project this on me. Use me to get your anger out and don't make it about us.

Right. Okay then.

Stop it. (I do)

I can't. Because it just keeps going and I wish we were far from here. THIS makes me nuts. I hate being scared, I hate being angry. I hate that you yelled at me. In my head I acutally gave you one strike.
He laughed, in a totally half-assed tired way you do when you're incredulous.

I'm sorry. That's hilarious. I only raise my voice when you stopped listening to me. I wasn't yelling at you. I know your eyes when you do that, don't think you have me fooled, Bridge.

You're good.

I know.

Stop it. I can't joke right now.

Then don't lose faith now. And don't doubt me. Ever. If there is one thing I could have given you over the past ten years I would have hoped it would have been the reassurance that I am here for you no matter what happens and I always will be.

Could I have that thing that you just said engraved or tattoed on something?

Could you stop doing that and just believe me?

I do.

You don't. And I don't know how to fix that and it makes me crazy.

Who said you have to fix it?

Because I fix everything.

So you're saying you have your own issues.

No, I'm saying I want you to lean on me with no doubts ever. I know that's asking a lot.

Why, Jake. Why do you let me do this?

Because I love you, Bridget. And you are my gift and I want for nothing more.

Aw geez. I guess I can remove the strike.

So then what should I do if you're not listening anymore. Since I can't yell?

Kiss me instead.

I can do that.

And this is the sort of post you will get after 8 cups of coffee and zero sleep. Now I'm wondering how many days I can just post conversations and get out of writing a real post. Ha.

Sleep and security are overrated.

Guess who went back to jail.

Fuck. FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK.

Sorry. I swear when I have no words left and yet if I don't keep writing and talking with my hands I might lose the shredded, worn corner of sanity that I'm still clinging to here.

Jacob just brought me a coffee and it's 8 pm. The kids are in bed asleep at last. Ben played xbox with them for 2 hours straight after dinner. Which he brought because I'm too fucking stunned to move.

Shortly after lunch Jacob decided to go in to his office at the church to make some calls. If it's noisy here he walks over and has relative peace to do his calls there. He was putting on his shoes and the doorbell rang. He figured PJ was early. Cole was standing there. On the front step. Possibly 500 yards closer to me than he's allowed to be by law.

But he didn't see me, I was behind Jake. Jake is tall, all muscles. His shoulders fill a doorway. Cole had no idea I was there. So I stepped sideways right into the living room. Jake went outside and shut the door, having locked the knob from the inside. I could barely hear them. Jake' voice was thin on patience and threaded with a malevolence I haven't heard for a long time. Cole wanted to know if I was there. If I had read his letter, if he could just see me for a few minutes. Alone. His voice sounded scary. I didn't want to hear it. I went upstairs and took the kids in my room and locked the doorknob there too and I called the police.

Because I have had enough of this. Five minutes later and I would have opened that door. And been alone with him.

I'm not sure if he's trying to kill me, scare me or just wear Jake down with his foolishness. Jake says he can outlast whatever Cole brings. I figure Cole will come back next with a gun. Maybe not next month, maybe in 3-4 years, when we're happy and life is trucking along seamlessly again he'll just show up out of the blue and kill us all.

And this feeling is exactly what he wants. A gnawing fear that is never going to go away.

I'm going to have to kill him first. I can't hope for anyone else to do it. I can't picture Jake doing it. He couldn't. He could kick Cole into next week but I'm not sure he could actually take his life.

Me, I could do it now. But the odds of being physically able to before he'd kill me first are so small. Too small for that plan.

And I used to be a good person. When Jake told me Cole had overdosed on pills I instantly hoped he was okay and when I found out he was I was glad. Imagine that.

Denial, fear, shock. It's like picking a fucking bouquet.