Coasting.

I'm not sure where to start.

This could be a three or four-part ramble of extreme proportion. So many thoughts, so many realizations, so many changes and lessons and lightbulb moments that smacked me right between the eyes. Believe me, the euphoria of this trip was equally matched by emotional rollercoasters that left permanent aches in my soul. I think I said a similar thing once before, something about being built up only to be torn down over and over again. Well, it was like that.

We arrived and were instantly thrust into the arms of my entire extended family, who were anxious to suffocate us to death with family events and outings and get-togethers, and then we were alternately loathed at arms length when I reminded all of them rather bluntly that I was here for a reason and it wasn't human, much as I had warned them previously on the phone. I was here to reconnect with the ocean. And lose some mental baggage. And breathe deeply. And escape from two decades of being told what to do and how it would be done. I can't say it was pretty. Jacob even waded into the fray, exchanging some tense words with my father over how my first vacation in a very long time would be conducted with our own itinerary, and not theirs. Rather brutal but mercifully after that night everything evened out, everyone backed off, and I was on my way without guilt or remorse.

So I'm terrible. I'm also the youngest child of the family and my behavior is legendary. I did make sure to love up everyone until they were almost bruised from my attentions before we left so it all worked out in the end.

So our first order of business was to drop everything and run to the ocean. We opted to drive to Point Pleasant Park in Halifax and visit Black Rock Beach first. It was raining, windy, glorious.
I ignored the weather and the rocks and the general gray miserable expanse of shoreline and waded in, shoes and all, halfway to my knees. I instantly forgot everything I had ever known and was struck silent, dumbed and unable to move. I looked out and took a very deep breath. Oh my god my ears hurt so badly from the wind because my hood wouldn't stay up, I've lost the string on my sweater. Looking down amongst the garbage strewn from storms the rocks hid dozens of pieces of sea glass. We filled our pockets with that glass and it's now on my kitchen windowsill. I actually held myself together for a whopping forty seconds before I snapped and decided I had to move back.

Right.

Not to Halifax though. Too close to the masses, the suffocative blood relatives and friends that remain so small-town and unable to see past their own wants and needs, not that I blame them.

Nope. Shortly before Cole accepted a job out west we had settled into a pattern of taking drives from Halifax to Lunenburg via Bayswater, and we would pass through Aspotogan and the two rolling and winding coves that mark the beauty of this tiny dot of land. Of course there's a big white farmhouse for sale, there's land available and it's affordable even. I never told Cole I wanted to live there but I always wished I could. Jacob hadn't been through the area so as he drove I asked him what he thought and he told me we should write down the for sale sign information and look into buying something here because it was beautiful.

The smile didn't come off my face for days.

It did come off eventually though. I'm a realist. This move could take a year or two. Maybe more. But at least we've got a goal to shoot for, whether you'd call it a plan or a pipe dream. Because being there was a thousand times easier than being here, even with the problems of logistics and overbearing relatives, a higher cost of living and the wind. The damn wind I loved. So worth it. In every way possible.

Of course the next trip home won't have the exhaustive itinerary as we ambitiously set out to cover every inch of the maritimes with our presence. I'm sick to death of ferry rides. I have decided PEI and I weren't meant to get along well, so Bridge got on the bridge and left it. I missed Shediac by minutes. Minutes, girls. I was so close, and yet I was so close to a mental departure of sorts from exhaustion that Jacob left the road further down and we drove to Joggins instead, spending the entire afternoon looking for neat rocks and then being forced to drive all the way back to the south shore in the dark.

I met Newfoundland. Dear god I couldn't understand a word anyone said but I never laughed so hard in my entire life. And I saw every little part about what makes up Jacob, because his family is like one giant puzzle and when you put it together it forms a hug and you can breathe and you never want to not be in the middle of that. He lived there until he was past twenty years old and he goes back at least once a year. Amazing what that kind of environment can do for a human being to make them so damn good. I saw sides of him I was astounded by. He saw the rest of me. We left the east coast closer, stronger and more honest with each other than we were before, if that were even possible. We fell in love again.

The kids had a blast. They have even more grandparents and great grandparents and cousins now, they have new relatives who love them as if they have been there since day one and we are blessed beyond belief.

But really, I can't see the people. Every time I close my eyes I see the blinding sparkle of the waves on the sand, and feel the wind untying my braids with cool fingers and the salt painting a film upon my lips that tastes better than any cake I have ever tried. What a beautiful feeling.

Of course there was all kinds of bad stuff. Not today though. I'll write about it tomorrow. Then I promise we're going back to good writing about good things. And maybe a few pictures. While I feel brave. Or something.

Goodnight.

Brown girl.

Hey.

We came back. Surprisingly not reluctantly in the end. Armed with a plan.

It could take a while, but we're going home for good. Just maybe not quite yet.

I have a tan.

I have gone to 14 beaches. 14. No, seriously. Jacob is a saint.

I promise I'll tell you all about it. Just as soon as I catch up on the eleventy-nine-hundred loads of laundry that are calling my name.

And dinner. I need dinner. Almost 10000 miles of travel makes Bridget hungry. Even though I would prefer to sit here and marvel at the gorgeous tan color of my skin, we really need to eat.

Retuned to the sea.

This is goodbye, for a little while.

I'm jumping on an airplane in hours with my family, scared to death in light of recent news stories, disappointed in my fellow man for wanting to inflict such a level of hurt on other human beings but still high on life, high on love and with that tangible faith that I sought so awkwardly before, now worn from the inside out.

By me, little me, so cynical when all this started, now so sure of herself. At least for today.

First order of business is simply to get there. Home to Nova Scotia. Suddenly not home anymore after all. After all, I have everything I need right here. Well, almost.

There at first I will sleep some. Not much. I will be surrounded and accosted by family and friends I haven't really spent time with in over four years. I will carry Cole's ashes on the plane. They will be buried at sea. Not scattered at sea, buried. Dropped in a very heavy box very far from shore.

I will leave him behind. Forever.

Afterwards we'll have many days of playing on the beach, in the water and a few very out of the way trips in between, to PEI and to Newfoundland too. So the kids can get to know their new grandparents and their new auntie. So we can have a sort of honeymoon.

Happiness. True happiness in the best place in the world. The edge of my favorite ocean.

I might be different when I come back. Well, I certainly hope I will be. There couldn't be a better form of closure than to drop that goddamned box in the sea. That moment will signify the new beginnings for me, something I need. Something Jacob needs to have so badly, to bear witness to my closing of a door that I left open far too long. We're locking it and throwing away the key.

And then we can begin.

We're not taking much with us, also symbolic. No computers, no journals. No phones. No interruptions from life to encroach on our honeymoon and take away the magic. No writing to cause discord or create a temporary salve. Pure unadulterated freedom from the daily routines we have created to sustain us through the hardest days thus far.

No. None of that. This will involve waking up in rooms I have seen so many times before. White painted woodwork and threadbare quilts, a sandswept boardwalk that leads between the dunes and opens into the most breathtaking expanse of beautiful sand meeting sea meeting sky that I can't ever describe adequately enough to explain my love for.

I'm about to have my heart broken all over again when I see that wonderful place.

And then we can begin.

See you in two weeks.

Zen and the art of breathing slowly

Argh. The mood swings continue. They sort of come in cycles and I don't see it until I'm being really irrational. I haven't had enough sleep, I'm wound up over the wedding, the trip, everything. Besides, they are expected, anticipated, part of life now. An unwelcome part. A difficult part.

Why am I rationalizing?

Oh yeah, because I am reminded to slow down and breathe, I'm the last one to see my moods changing until it's too late. I grabbed Jake by the ears last night and kissed him gently and told him how much I loved him and he held me and said I really was having a rough time wasn't I?

Yes, I am. But it's easier because he's here. Everything is easier. Even the hard parts.

In other news, don't read the news! It can be rather detrimental three days before jumping on an aircraft. I bought some lottery tickets, if we win, we'll get our new vehicle early and drive that across the country.

That's B for Bridget. Brat. Doesn't really matter.

Dear Diary,

I didn't feel like posting much today. The first day of Jacob's vacation went about as smoothly as rocks in chocolate sauce.

Seriously.

It started with an argument after midnight. About the airplane fears, the tension with regards to flying. I was angry because he has been around the world twice over without me and he's going to make this stressful? I've only been on a plane half a dozen times and I was so excited until last night. He let his fears spread out over both of us. Contagious fears at that.

Going to bed mad is a difficult thing to do when you've been married a little over one hundred hours. We tried. We really did. We both said we were sorry and we didn't mean it at all. We tried to make up in bed, which basically led to angry sex, which looks fun on paper but isn't fun in real life, it's frustrating and miserable and so unhappy and raw. And Jake sort of liked it. I could see that and it made me feel better and I got very excited and got into it and he stopped. Cold. Frozen, and unwilling to go any further or cross any lines. The straight up guy that he is. I love him to pieces.

So I made things worse and I yelled at him and cried and I slapped him. He grabbed my hands when I went for the second strike and just held them, firmly. And I couldn't move or do anything or get away from him and he took over and just finished and I was left to cry. Because he went to sleep in the guest room. I told him he was a selfish bastard and I shut the door and cried and cried. When I woke up he was wrapped around me this morning, arms tight, face in my neck, much as usual. A relief.

I think we spent all morning apologizing and then we headed for our counselling session.

Where I proceeded to simply confirm that I'm a fucking idiot. Jake told the counsellor about last night and instead of offering help the counsellor simply repeated his earlier suggestions to take things slow and go from scratch.

Right. That obviously isn't and hasn't been working.

So I fired him.

We're done. Thanks, I think that's great. Tons of help. Bye-bye!
Jake was still sitting in the chair. I had the door open. Ready to go, come on, honey.
He just stared at me. Probably embarrassed. Ashamed that he married such a fucking wingnut.

Jake, are you coming? Because I'm done here.

Bridge, what are you doing? Sit down, baby, please.

No, just come with me. (ugly UGLY crying now spurred him into action.)

Yeah, Bridge, I'm coming.

God bless him, he got up and came with me.

Then he let loose in the truck. Because he wasn't about to let it go. Can you blame him?

Bridge? Bridget with a capital B for brat. What in the hell was that all about?

Not wasting anymore time or money with that useless man.

He's helping us.

He's doing nothing, Jake. You know the protocol too, just make a list and we'll work through it.

Do you want to risk everything on my subjectiveness? It's not that simple. Half the success comes from a third party keeping things calm and rational.

Calm and rational aren't my strong suits.

I see that. Does that mean tonight you're going to try to hurt me again?

I'm promising nothing.

Such enthusiasm. A complex girl. Difficult.

Yes. And you love it. When you should hate me by now.

Yes, because I didn't pick the bunny hill did I?

Right. You picked the experienced trail.

I think I picked avalanche alley, come to think of it. I knew what I was doing.

Jacob. Stop.

It's true. And truthfully if you knew how hard it is to get mad at you you might use it against me.

I wouldn't do that.

Then don't ever slap me again.

I wouldn't. Ever.

I can't believe you did it in the first place. Weren't you afraid of me? Not that I would slap you back but still.

No, I have faith in you.

You do? Thank you God. What's changed?

You were there when I woke up.

Of course. Where else would I be?

Anywhere else. I love you and I was never so relieved to wake up and be in your arms.

I love you too. And you'll never be anywhere else when you wake up, that I will promise you.
The day smoothed out eventually. I might never stop apologizing for striking Jacob, because I don't do that. I never spank the children and I have never hit anyone in my life. I wasn't even going for his face, I was trying to beat out my frustrations on his back, his shoulders and I just flailed in my misery and connected, but excuses aren't important. The important part is getting back to the hard work and hanging on to the good parts because the bad ones are crashing in around me. I'm coming down off the high and the issues are all still there, the time is still there ticking past and smoothing things out by the second. Slowly. Like molasses.

I can see I am not out of the woods yet, and the path isn't one you can rush over. Oh, not for a second will I be allowed to assume it is. One step at a time.

But no more violence. There has been too much of that. I crossed a line with someone I would never ever want to hurt in a billion years and I'm sorry. To everyone who had an ounce of faith in me, but most of all to Jake, who forgave me before I even did it. Because he would. I am sorry.

See you tomorrow. Hopefully the day will be better. Hopefully I will be better.

If not, well then I keep trying. And keep going.

Night.

B.

Permission to land.

(Sort of almost not an open letter.)

What I would say to you, knowing I love you and knowing that you're scared, despite going up and coming back down in one piece dozens of times, and yet alone. It makes a difference and this does not emasculate you because we're with you for the first time ever, and you're more concerned with what happens to your family then to yourself. That's beautiful but not logical, for we finally have you and we're not going to lose you now.

I know you can't see how it will work but it always does. Every day, every hour and we will be no different. Simply remarkable beauty that people might turn and admire, briefly, obscured by their own preoccupations and quickly forgotten as they continue their own paths.

We continue ours, of course. And we'll work our way through the hundreds of miles one leg of the journey at a time and when we get there we'll unclench our fists and open them wide and touch the sky and the sea all at once and taste the air, salty with the summer's gift to your girl.

Your girl, who will be enveloped in the cool brine of the ocean. Be jealous, for she will be swallowed by her lover and then reluctantly handed back to you on a wave, frothing with envy.

It's so worth it. We just have to get there. Do not be afraid of this. Not now. Not here, with me.
Don't make this difficult, like everything else has been.

For this, this is so simple. We make up the miles with camera and sweaters in hand and we go in search of the place where we first felt the lightning and where I didn't hear you when you said that I was so beautiful and so you need to say it once more in the same place. Because I have to hear it for myself. Because I never believed that you could ever be this wonderful, this loving, this...mine. And now I want to come back and shout it into the waves so it can be tumbled and polished and thrown back to the beach for us to pry out of the wet sand and bring home. The permanence of that alone gives me reason to do this. The need to rewrite a little history and all of the present and possibly some of our future in the places we hold deepest within our hearts. In the places where we'll hear the familiar accents and eat the same food we ate for most of our lives and the place that welcomes us, flawed, ruined and half-put-back together. That place.

You know it well, that one place you're going to have pull me away from, tears in my eyes once again at the mere whisper of goodbyes. It will not be easy.

Fear of dying is going to be the least of the worries this time. You can do this.

And I am not afraid. And I don't want to feed your fear but I feel like a shroud around you and I want you to shrug it off and if I could I would lend you my lengendary faltering confidence because it works for everything except me and so it would carry you there just fine.

But since I can't do that, instead I will hold your hand and squeeze it very tightly and remind you often to breathe, and it will be okay. So take my hand and let's go.

Reducing/Reasoning.

Sometimes you are just left, standing in the centre of yourself while the debris of experience floats to the ground all around you. You can never go back. The only path leads forward and yet you're nailed to the ground somehow, unable to move, hell, unable to react. Just standing like stone, lips apart in a gasp of total disbelief, eyes filled with tears that will not fall no matter how hard you try simply to move, to do anything at all.

Sometimes you are reduced to tears, surprised by yourself, surprised by your own strength, your own choices, your own will to change that path, to find a new one even though you know that you'll get scratched and bitten, that it's dark, dangerous, unexplored territory. Unexploited. Knowing that if you make the wrong choice you can't go back and so you can't fail, dammit. Only you're not strong enough and you can't find it by yourself and that's when you're so close to giving up you can taste the bitterness under your tongue and you refuse to savor it.

Well, that...that's when you know that maybe you're not as weak as you once thought.

Fragile, yes. Without a doubt in their minds, or even in yours.

Weak, no.

The unheard gasp confirms that you have faltered and then your words take the wind from your own sails, because you don't hear the questions. You don't hear your loved ones seeking out their confirmation. They are left to wait and watch and read, later on, when you can close your mouth and the tears fall at last. And then you write. You pour it out, a deluge, and it tumbles and spills all over the page and it's a mess. But you...you take your time, and you shakily get down on your hands and knees in the bright lights you have brought in just for this purpose and you arrange and reaarange those words on your canvas and soon the picture comes into focus and now they know. Now everyone knows and you can rest.

Because the letters mean everything, and the words mean nothing and sometimes it's the other way around and sometimes, just sometimes it's not clear and it won't become clear and you just don't care.

Nope. Bridget, sometimes you just don't care if anyone can figure it out.

The most touching thing in the world, in my world. Don't you see it?

I could sit here for hours arranging my letters, trying to give them meaning and failing.

I refuse to fail and so the hours pass unwillingly. My neck aches, my shoulders shake. I can't get it out. I try so hard and still nothing falls into place. Some days are like that. Sitting frozen at the keyboard. A statue of a girl who can seem so animated and yet so stiff.

And then two large, tanned hands slide over mine, arms around my shoulders to reach the keys, and the long fingers will type out a word, and isn't it ironic that it was the word I was looking for all this time. And the stopper is removed and then the meaning falls into the jumble and I can fish it out and rinse it off and nail it to the page and everyone knows then. They all know because all this time he knew. He knew exactly what I wanted to say, but he was never going to say it for me. No, he knows more and it comes easier for he rests without such a heavy heart. And when he is rested he holds the light and shines it so that I can see. And when I find it I fix it in one place so I won't have to look anymore.

Completing the sentences is why I am in this place. Because when I can't finish it, he can.

I promise he isn't depraved.

BRIDGE!

Yes?

I don't suppose you could edit that.

No, I really can't.

My God, I sound depraved.

You sound healthy and happy, Jake.

Right, better for the porn platform than the pulpit, Bridge.

I think you've got a good balance going.

You would, but what about the rest of your readers?

Jake, who are you married to? Everyone knows what to expect.

Oh right. Okay then I guess I got what I wished for didn't I?

Everything and more, Jake. Everything and more.

Can we keep the more part off the internet though? Please?

Oops I did it again.

He's lucky it's a holiday.

Jacob finished the Stoli last night. Without a glass because he finds it ever more satisfying to drink it off me. I think I was flat on my back on the dining room table for close to an hour before I was yanked to the edge so he could finish us both off. And to think I used to HATE that table because it's too big, too high and too ridiculous. It's perfect now. Oh please, your imagination is barely required for those images. And again, I have no shame. Maybe I can grow some. Naw, then I wouldn't be me anymore and God help this planet if I can't just be myself.

Uncensored, uninhibited, unapologetic.

Writing as it happens, life from my tiny corner of the universe. Oddly, as embarrassing as I am to Jake (please, he doesn't mind) and to my friends they mind it more when I'm all buttoned up. Surprise. Not really. You would mind me buttoned-up too. I promise. I'm the friend who sticks her entire upper body through the sunroof of the limo and yells Woooooooo! on prom night. Someone has to do it. Life should be fully experienced. Fully. There is no room for shy, no room for hesitation and no room for stifling of impulsive happiness. If nothing else, I have confirmed that.

I won't ever make that mistake again.

It's a provincial holiday today. No session for Bridget. I get almost a full week off, we only have Thursday (hideous) couple's therapy this week. It's sort of akin to being hung out to dry but thankfully basking in the extreme happiness seems to be keeping the wild emotional binges at bay. In other words, I'm trying and succeeding to stay pleasantly busy to ensure a smooth week all around. We've got a week of rest and the coveted mediocrity before we leave next week for bluer waters.

From the west coast to the BEST coast, chickens.

If you thought I was going to now go off the deep end waxing poetic on my love for the Atlantic Ocean you are granted a reprieve, I'll save it for when we return. Because, unfortunately, we have to come back here. The kids will begin school, new routines will settle in and then shortly after that the snow will arrive, the temperatures will plunge back down into the incredible numbers of ohmyfuckIcantbelieveitsthiscold and I will keep on working my way back to that place where I am most comfortable.

I will warn you now, you have six more days to get your Bridget fix before I leave you with a twelve-day dry spell. So far the plan is to not take any laptops with us, since they'll be a pain in the ass but Jacob is slightly concerned of the whole idea of two weeks without therapists or writing comforts close at hand. We'll see.

More tomorrow, I'm off to enjoy a relaxing day with my family. Taking the kids to the zoo. Or something. Something fun.

No, cake did not come out of my nose.

Someone's relaxed now.

It might not be me. Or it might be. In this entry, it isn't me.

Last night around 11 we collapsed on the couch. With sustenance. So tired. So starving. So damn worn out. We hung on to the living room just to stop the spinning for a few moments, to breathe. We'll resume spinning later.

We put on Hustle & Flow. Jake took a bottle of Stolichnaya from the freezer and poured a small glass for himself and poured me a glass of ginger ale. Then he brought out two warmed up slices of cake and we settled in to watch the movie.

In our unwinding mood we kept turning the movie up louder and louder so I could hear what the characters were saying. It got very funny because at first Jacob would repeat everything for me, and keep me up. Subtitled might have helped, even when I could hear it I couldn't understand a word. Then he started imitating the memphis accents and singing the hooks.

Then he poured stoli into my belly button and went through two more shots that way before I cut him off.

Anyone want to fill me in on the outcome of the movie? Because I was carried up to our new california king sized bed and positively OWNED for the rest of the night. Bridget dipped in Stoli is a delicacy, I have come to find out. Bring it. I may have been licked all over. I have no idea. I died of happiness sometime around 2:30 am. For a straight-up kind of guy he can be rather carnal but he takes his time. He makes sure I'm with him at all times. He doesn't go forward without me. I'm still working hard at not getting ahead of him.

Oh no worries though. We're still doing deplorably in the whole sex department but we keep trying because it's taking longer and longer to degenerate into frustrations and tears. I'll leave that for another entry on another day. Last night was mercifully absent of both.

And now I must go, to sit in the front row on the left and listen to Jake try to work his way through the service, slightly hungover with no sleep, happy as a clam, so excited to give the announcements this morning and mention his marriage and new family. So so happy.

I am so happy to be his wife. I couldn't get this feeling across to you if I even tried.

Spinning to resume after lunch.

Ciao.