Because I hate mysteries.

Pull in here, Benny.

Okay, need something?

I want to put air in the tire.

Okay.

No, I want to do it.

Go do it, princess.

Come help me.

Fine. Okay, take the cap off.

It's off.

Press the button on the machine, Bridget.

Okay.

Grab the hose.

Now what?

Put your purse down.

No. Ew! It's dirty here.

Give me your purse. Now stick the hose on and hold it there.

For how long?

Just a minute.

Ben, what if it blows up? Ben, hello? Where are you going?

Here.

What is that?

Take the hose off.

But the air will come out.

Take the hose off and put this on.

Okay but I can hear air.

What does it say?

I have no idea. It's not digital. Where does it read?

Look at the bottom.

Too small.

Okay, 30 psi.

They said 32 on the page.

So put some more air in.

I'm going to fill it until it looks less flat.

Check it again.

42 psi.

Okay, let some out.

It still looks flat.

I'll let some out. Okay, there. 34 psi. That's good. The rest are good. Put the cap back on. You ready?

It still looks flat, Ben.

It's fine, Bridget. And you just filled your first tire.

Yay! So what if I had screwed up and flattened the whole thing by mistake?

Then you would fill it back up again.

Oh. Gotcha. Can I have my purse back now? Yay me!

Friday night lights

Just a moment of gratitude I need to park here. A whole heaping pile of prayers were answered, and to add compliment to favor, the car dealership fixed my key fob for my little Mazda while I drooled over the newest model. They said it was the battery, but since it's the second time in a year, if it happens again I get a new one. Yay for sweet end-of-week blessings and the end of a very long day. We are all stuffed full of Thai food and Ben is making a fire in the woodstove so I'm going to go curl up in his arms now and most likely sleep through a movie or two.

I can't presently think about the move or anything else right this second. Maybe tomorrow or the day after. I just need a little rest right now.

Have a good one.

The Strip.

Home. For those of you who think I stumbled off a private jet severely hungover and missing my dignity and my shoes, having spent the night in some luxury suite in Las Vegas after drinking a whole what in the hell was it again? Five glasses of champagne?

Well, you'll be pleased to know I have my shoes.

Caleb does his business on handshakes and bubbly and the paperwork will be done by Monday. There is money for the new company. So much money I stopped trying to place zeros and started drinking and dancing and really the rest is so not important, the important part is I bring the charm, he brings the power and Ben brings the talent. Then we switched and I brought the talent and Ben brought the power and Caleb brought the evil. I'm glad I brought something, because apparently I left my inhibitions at home. I'm a big girl. I understand that this is my fault and yet the only one blaming me is..me.

So really I'm just going to go now and find a little more aspirin and the ice pack for my head and take a long hot bath and pretend I'm still as naive as I was before I got on the plane yesterday. I really thought we were going to go to a few meetings and then a show in seedy LA and hey, wasn't I cutting edge and world-experienced?

I do know I think having a butler is totally the way to live. As is whatever it is Satan does when he picks up a phone and shit just magically happens. That part rules. He says all I need to do is smile and I can exact the same results, but I only tried it twice. He was right. I think it's more power than I would like and it frightens me, but just a little.

Ben did not lose his head until the bitter end and then not in a bad way either. Supposedly at one point I asked Caleb if he would just buy me and then I could live like this all the time. I was positive he said he already had, something he now denies. So in the spirit of saying what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, I'll give him a pass for it and hope I heard wrong.

I tend to do that sometimes.

Life is safer that way.

Whoops, found my inhibitions, and on that note, I must go. My bath is ready.

A reproduction of life.

This is the weirdest thing ever. I woke up in LA and tonight we're going to see Great Big Sea.

Ironic because they are from home, and I am so far from home right now.

I heard myself sing again. After much magic, the final result is umm..well, remember the beginning of Astrocreep? That's pretty much what my part boiled down to. Hot but distant and totally forgettable. Unless you're into that sort of thing. PJ, I'm looking at you. Or Ben, but Ben is here nodding like everyone already knows how freaking depraved he is.

Home overnight. Busy day tomorrow. Sleeping on airplanes is really awesomely weird and decadent. Okay, Caleb's plane is decadent maybe. Commercial flight is not.

I promise I'm not a snob. I'm simply following the advice of Eleanor Roosevelt. She said to do one thing every day that scares you. I bet people could wind up dead following advice like that, and I'll be happy to get back home. I'm not all that much of a big-city girl, contrary to popular belief.

Like everything else here in the city of angels, it's an act.

Read you like a true surprise.

I love waking up in the mornings aching and raw. My philtrum is razorburned to within an inch of it's life, I will spend much of the day applying and re-applying a soothing beeswax lip gloss to try and quiet the sting. My arms and legs are quivery-weak today from being forced down under Ben, his jawline against my nose and mouth, his mouth against my ear. He doesn't let up. Not an inch, not for a moment and I have developed a kind of fortitude of my own to match his effortless endurance. Always the gentle brute, a study in opposites with his corrupted and selfish love for me. He wants to wind me out because that's what he likes, having developed his mercenary appetite over the years before I became part of his picture. Now together we're untangling that beautiful mess, in favor of a worse one. It's glorious. It scares people.

People like Lochlan.

Who automatically assumes that I'm most comfortable in the shadow of Cole's legacy. Or maybe Caleb's. He would be correct but the difference is Ben's end goal is not to cause pain, that's just a hazard of the job. It seems so simple to us and so incredibly complicated to Lochlan, and I'm left in the cloying darkness trying to make him take back words he doesn't need to say to keep me safe. I am safe. Deliciously, dangerously safe.

And I think sometimes...well, I think he gets off on fear too.

The red on my skin leaves me with no outward credibility and his looks could kill. But they don't because behind the recalcitrance lies his ardent devotion and the fact that some of these marks are from him and that, my friends, is what allows me to continue to walk my tightrope. Lochlan holds the safety net. For my life. Ben holds the scissors.

For the thrill.

Come set me free.

There’s a hole in the neighborhood
Where the shadows fall
There’s a hole in my heart
But my hope is not in me at all

Today was a nice departure from the usual melee, the emotional carnival that never seems to pack up and move to the next town, most likely because we are the carnies and who in the heck would operate the rides and the cotton candy booth if we were left behind?

I had a superlong run this morning to say goodbye to my old shoes, and let PJ run a commentary through my skull for a bit about nothing in particular, mostly about all of the future snowboarding to enter back into my life shortly, and then I walked the dog and spent a long time organizing the house and putting things away. I cleared out most everything except for the desk and the sofabed in the den, because Lochlan's house already sold and he's going to move back in to my house until we travel west still. He's lived here before. The house is large. I would have given him the guest wing but Daniel and Schuyler already live there so what's a girl to do? At least the den is semi-private, he has almost the whole back of the house this way. Like I said, I'm organized.

After lunch Ben went to meet Caleb for some meetings and Lochlan took me shopping. Which is always fun because he's really efficient too. I got my keys fixed (the ones I had made didn't work, now they do), bought new running shoes and a copy of Hello Hurricane (which came out today and I have been practically salivating waiting for) and then poked around. Loch bought me a Noel Nog, which is the yummiest coffee/egg nog concoction ever because we're trying to reacquaint ourselves with Second Cup now that the novelty of having Starbucks in Canada is finally wearing thin for our group. We opted not to stay out for lunch and so of course now I'm home and positively starving.

But I don't really care because I still have a little coffee left to enjoy and music has filled my ears, taking some of the stress and all of the pangs of hunger and homesickness with it.

I needed this. Even if it's very temporary.

Aspotogan gets a reprieve for just a little longer.

(Pay me no mind, I'm just talking to myself).

I've figured one thing out. When it comes to Big Scary Decisions (like the one to move the rest of the 2300 kilometres to the Pacific ocean) I have a tendency to deal a lot better when Ben isn't handy.

Like today. I went to work this morning, for Satan, which consisted of him verifying that I was wearing the new watch, carrying the white Blackberry, and then complimenting me on my shoes, which I'm enjoying as we have some unseasonably warm temperatures. He had me confirming hotel reservations. For Benjamin. In December. Which Ben was supposed to be off the hook for but not surprisingly, he isn't.

This is probably Caleb's fault. Caleb promised to have his lawyers fix that obligation and instead Caleb found a way to make it work to his advantage. Yeah, in more ways than one. So Ben will be traveling through most of December and will almost miss the move to the coast.

What does this remind you of?

I have exacted voluntary promises that this will not happen to me twice, that I've built all the character I can handle and there will be no more required but somehow I don't see how that can't happen, all I can remember is every long day has a coffee break right in the middle, and if I do sort-of okay with all of this chaos when he isn't here then maybe that will carry me through.

Yesterday the advice given to me was to not worry about the things I can't change because it's a waste of energy. I'm trying desperately to remember that.

On the big mental list was a clothesline, an acoustic guitar, a hell of a lot of wind, an SUV for heading into town, and a white-painted house facing due south on the south shore of the most beautiful province in the world.

Which is probably why lately every day when Ben comes through the back door and leaves his shrapnel of skull rings/watch/wallet/coat and shoes everywhere, I have this new habit of bursting into tears. Not because I don't want to go (hello, warmest city in Canada) but because it's overwhelming and scary and that much farther away from Fox Point Road, where I've pictured my life since I was a little girl.

There. I said it. But I won't worry about it because it's fast becoming one of those things I can't change. Kind of like Ben having to keep traveling.

Slow falling.

If chaos drives, let suffering hold the reins.

Hmm, here's something of a Sunday evening audit.

Firstly, I never told you about the Metallica concert. Supported by Lamb of God and Gojira, it was a pure metalfest from beginning to end. I never sat down. I put up my horns and rocked out as if I were on stage and I thanked my lucky stars I wasn't in the mosh pit down below us because damn, teenagers are rough.

I'm so much more delicate and besides, I'm not dumb. I like having a chair to sit and wait for the show to begin and then a place to put my coat while I'm busy hanging off the back of Ben's shirt. Man, people must hate sitting behind Ben because he stands up the whole show and you'd have to be three rows back to see over his shoulders.

It rocked and I'm totally plotting a trip to Wacken. Seriously. These are fun times we live in.

Secondly, Jacob's birthday party was a hit. My big plan was to get shitfaced and go sit in the pantry and Lochlan could wash dishes and then maybe Ben would sit outside the door and sing me into blackness but instead everyone presented a token and a story in honor of the birthday boy. I drank water and then coffee and I laughed until I cried and cried until I laughed and John and Dalton washed all the dishes while I sat and talked and then mercifully everyone was gone before nine, and we got the children to bed, I scrubbed my face raw and put on pajamas and Ben stoked up a light fire and we settled in to watch a movie.

Which brings me to review number three.

Gerard Butler. In P.S. I love you.

Wow. Probably shouldn't have watched it, but I did. Just like I watched Catch and Release. I have yet to see The Time Traveler's Wife but I read the book (and never reviewed it. Hmm, I should maybe do that. Another day, okay?).

We both cried through the whole damned thing. And we laughed. And we cried some more. We made some sentimental, foolish and profound promises to each other and then I began to notice the main character had a gorgeous wardrobe of coats and boots, and this was before some of the big life-changing revelations she made in the story. Shallow-deep, shallow-deep.

I was sort of glad I watched it and even more glad that Ben was the first one to tear up so many times. I'm not into girly movies all that much overall. I like documentaries and all things scary and precious little in-between.

Maybe that says things about me that I don't feel like acknowledging tonight. Maybe I would prefer to stick with talking about coats and how interestingly Lisa Kudrow's face is now that she's aging a little and frankly how the metal god of the universe will happily sit through two hours of fluff without batting an eye.

Maybe it's all good. Maybe everything will be okay. Just like in the movies.

P.S. Ben and the kids are playing Warcraft again. I would like a noggin-fogger elixir too. It sounds divine.

Hallo pooh. Happy birthday.

In the stack of books beside my pillow where I sleep in the loft of feathers and dreams that won't be kind, are photographs of people who will no longer show up on thermal imaging, hidden in the pages so I will find them unexpectedly. The only way to keep their places are through memories that seem to be always stuck behind faded, fogged up and scratched glass. Not even glass. That see-through plexiglass plastic that becomes muddled far too soon.

Every now and then the wind brings me one as clear as day, up and over the barrier and it hits me in the face, making my eyes sting, blowing my hair straight back from my forehead like water. That happened last week when I took Bonham up to the tracks to walk hard, and I could see Jacob throwing the frisbee for Butterfield and then trying to wrestle it away from him again. He was wearing his faded blue jeans and a blue plaid work jacket, steel-toed boots and he hadn't combed his hair yet, it looked like a nest of wheat on his head, straggled into his eyes. He grinned and waved when he saw me and I started to cry again and I only knew that that was a new memory presented to me from over the glass and I knew it was because I had to work harder to remember this place where I would run along the tracks and every single time the train came I was afraid because the noise was so loud and at the same time I had comfort in knowing I could just cross too closely and end my own misery. Because of that I'm not generally allowed up here alone anymore.

And so I took a picture of them playing, just so I could keep it. Only I got home and looked at it and Jacob and Butterfield are missing and I knew they would be, it's okay. A blurry little picture as a reminder of absolutely nothing of consequence to anyone but me.

See? Blackberries suck at photos, for the record. Shaky princesses suck even more at taking pictures.

It gets a little easier as time goes on but at the same time it's really fucking selfish that he gave up and left us behind to figure out the hard parts. At least there is someone there now to take care of my dog.

I'm having a party tonight. A quiet, solemn and important one. I'm gathering everyone to mark what would have been Jacob's thirty-ninth birthday with a dinner and a few words and then I'm going to pack his memories away so that my mind is clear to focus on the move. To focus on the living. To focus on the good. We're going to eat whatever, most likely roast beef and gravy and roasted vegetables and cake because Jacob never really had a favorite dinner, he just liked large quantities of whatever I would cook because he was a bottomless pit, energy expended from a guy that only sat down to read and counsel or sometimes play guitar. Jacob was not a metal guy. He liked acoustic songs, deep songs, save for the famous Across the Universe warbling that made me laugh so hard I thought I would explode. I hurt for days after that incident and he was banned from playing it ever again. It's too bad, really. I would love to hear it now.

Jacob would have found my blackberry confusing. He had an old Motorola flip phone, the silver paint worn off the plastic long before the phone was toast, and it was always warm because he hardly ever stopped talking on it. Talking to Sam, talking to August, talking to Ben about me. Making sure I was okay when I had taped up ribs and a sling and a bruised ear. Ben would lie and say I was doing fine, because Jacob couldn't handle the alternative answer and so he would rush through his hospice and the chaplaincy shift and come home and find lilacs on every table and me with a little color in my face from a short walk and Ben making an oddly-efficient nursemaid, having scheduled pizza delivery and figured out who belongs to what laundry now sort-of folded and sitting on our beds to be put away.

Ben. Who is long past thirty-nine and approaching forty-two very soon and thinks this dinner is a very good way indeed to bookend the memories of Jacob so that I can bring them with me. Ben, who always drops his entire life and steps in when things go wrong because he doesn't care about himself and maybe if he did a little more he would be in better condition, instead of so rough and torn around the edges and in need to so much reinforcement these days. And Ben isn't so much an acoustic guy, he likes metal. Hardcore heavy metal that draws out all the pain and leaves you refreshed and exhilarated. Only he isn't allowed to play Across the Universe anymore either because frankly he mangled it and that was a travesty because the Beatles deserved to be done well and he demanded to know what Jai Guru Deva Om meant and I couldn't tell him, because I have no idea.

I bet Jacob knows what it means. That and a host of other mysteries have probably been solved. I hear that's one of the rewards you're given when you're sent to heaven. He told me so himself.

Out by the tracks.

Before I took his picture and printed it to tuck into a book, to find some other day.

Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Jake.

2 years ago tonight.

Just don't.