Crumb tinies.

I have a wicked awesome Christmas tree!

Which I would have skipped this year if the children weren't my big picture, because it seems really counterproductive to be moving and suddenly drop everything and erect a tree in the living room that we'll spend hours lighting and decorating only to take it all down January first.

I'm working on the bright side, the part that I can see up high if I stand on my tiptoes. And the fact that Ben will be away from us for a few months is maybe a price that must be paid for temperatures currently forty degrees higher than they are here. Maybe it's a small test before the easy part of life kicks in. Maybe it's par for the course and it will shake me out of my now harmless but annoying doom-and-gloom personality that throws shadows on these walls in the absence of light.

Maybe I will gain perspective.

Maybe I'll even get a grip.

Okay, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Let's just roll on with one foot in front of the other until we're up to our ankles in the saltwater of the Pacific.

We're going to see Santa this weekend, to ask him to stop bringing character-building kits as gifts and to throw up the horns for a rocking photo op. I may ask him for just a little more luck like the kind that Ben is to me, resplendent in full beard and flannel these days because he's cold and sad that he's leaving ahead of the move and pulling out all the stops to block my tears before they can make it over the falls.

Sorry, the melodrama is just everywhere today. I'm tripping over it and pulling it out of my hair, unsticking it from my lip gloss and clearing it off the window so I can look out. I'm not so sad this morning. Just determined. Frighteningly determined.

I really really really won't miss the cold. In fact, I'll probably rejoice for having made it so many winters here without going entirely crazy.

Wait. What?

A moment to remember a night that never should have happened.

* Geneviève Bergeron
* Hélène Colgan
* Nathalie Croteau
* Barbara Daigneault
* Anne-Marie Edward
* Maud Haviernick
* Maryse Laganière
* Maryse Leclair
* Anne-Marie Lemay
* Sonia Pelletier
* Michèle Richard
* Annie St-Arneault
* Annie Turcotte
* Barbara Klucznik-Widajewicz

Hex is fairly obvious, but that's it.

Not a lot has changed since 1987.

I spent the better part of the day passing tools to the boys, much like in the garage out in the country in high school where I would sit on the workbench and pass things.

Bridgie, hand me a Phillips.

Is that the star shaped or the straight slot?

Almost twenty-five years later I'm still asking the same questions, because it's dumb to give last names to screwdrivers when 'straight', 'star' and 'square' would suffice. The boys just sigh and calmly repeat it without the fancy names.

The star one.

Oh, this one! Here.

Today we finished putting insulation in the ceiling of the addition. I call it the addition because it's a rather large and wonderful extra entire house that was tacked on to the main house in the late nineteen forties and it accounts for why there are so many rooms within rooms in my house and very few hallways. It's wonderful. But it was very cold and had wonky doors and windows and odd wiring and coins and love letters in the walls.

All that is gone now.

I kept the coins and love letters. And the 1920 theatrical face paint sticks that I can't explain but somehow it brings joy to me to imagine that other performers lived here once upon a time.

The doors and windows are new now. The wiring has all been replaced and today the boys finished insulating all three floors that were virtually uninsulated up until now. It's so much warmer now. It looks clean and fresh and ready for plasterboard.

Yeah, yeah, just in time to move.

There are still two and a half rooms left. I know we'll run out of time but for now it's good to keep chipping away at finishing the house up to show.

I also managed to fit in a full grocery shop and lunch with chopsticks today. Ruthie had her final painting class (she'll follow her father's footsteps come hell or high water) and Henry helped at the hardware store.

Now everyone has scattered to the four corners of the house to read on laptops, listen to music, or watch sports on television and I'm cooking up a big dinner of beef dip sandwiches and green beans. Then after dinner we'll scatter again to rest up for another round of whatever we can come up with tomorrow to be productive imminent house sellers and human beans.

Off to study my screwdriver names while the garlic bread warms.

Real and Imagined.

Here's this year's Christmas card, another Edward Gorey masterpiece. I love all things Gorey.

I've paired it with a matte pewter wrapping paper this year which is kind of pretty, actually.

I didn't go out for lunch today, instead I joined Schuyler in the tiny kitchen in their wing for some leftover mac and cheese and then I trailed around after the boys while they ran some errands. I didn't buy anything, and I even turned down a chance at Thai takeout for dinner because it's so cold and on top of things I just didn't feel so adventurous today.

My nose is running. I'm worn out. Tonight I hope to sleep more deeply and in larger blocks of time than in recent nights. I'm trying to keep busy, stay organized and remain calm in the face of future chaos.

This weekend is hopefully tree-weekend, and other than the tree, a wreath on each door and the lights damned near everywhere, I'm not decorating. I wrapped all the presents going home this morning, and now I have to find boxes to send them in. I have ordered and shopped for all the gifts staying in the house and need to get two more things for the children and I am finished.

Early for once. With it for once. Hoping to have a really nice peaceful Christmas with Ben before he's banished to never-never land once again and I forget what he looks like.

Okay, that part never ever happens.

I hope I do okay while he's away. That part has decidedly overshadowed just about everything else lately, because I'm dreading his departure. I don't want him to go. I don't want to be here without him. But this is one of those dumb things that must be done and so off he goes and here I stay and I can be peculiar and strange and lonesome and he will be invisible and creepy and uncommon. We'll be who we are apart and then we'll be who we are together and on the other side of this will be the remembered visit.

I'm still so cold though. Thinking of setting my sweater on fire.

But not really.

By Satellite.

Here. Go watch this. I'm going out for lunch.

PS. Not only are heights my absolute downfall, the dark is not far behind as enemy number two. Any suggestions for getting rid of either fear?

Midnight in the garden of evil only now.

Morning comes in Paradise, morning comes in light.
Still I must obey, still I must invite.
If there's anything to say, if there's anything to do,
If there's any other way, I'll do anything for you.

I was dressed embarrassment.
I was dressed in wine.
If you had a part of me, will you take your time?
Even if I come back, even if I die
Is there some idea to replace my life?

She extended her wings, full into the dark early morning. The snow fell gently on the stones at her feet, flakes landing in her hair, on her hands, clasped together with the remnants of wildflowers, placed there by the oldest child, a girl. Her right wing ached, chipped when the woman-girl with the wet eyes tried to move her to a new place and she was returned by the tallest man with the kind eyes.

Time to go.

She darted into the night, leaving the gate open behind her. When the man came out he admonished the tiny woman for leaving the gate open. The angel didn't stay long enough to hear the words, she caught the tone and was gone. The downside of explaining her absence would be to pin it on theft and gently place blame rather than to stand and explain miracles in the light.

This is what I choose to believe, because last night someone opened the biggest gate of the four that lead into my backyard and took the angel statue who lived there. Defying three security lights and two neighbors who are in and out at all hours of the day and night.

They just took her. She wasn't theirs. She was MINE.

I won't get her back. That's my out, my final farewell in a city that barely welcomed me and even though I love this house I never really felt safe here and hardly ever ventured out alone as a result.

I think someone was actually in my backyard when I brought the dog home from our early morning walk, because when I left the gate was closed and when I returned it was closed. When Ben went out it was open. I didn't use that gate for my walk anyway, so it's not like maybe I goofed and left it open. More likely someone had cased the yard and made off with the angel because everything is nailed down. The barbecue is locked down. The old stone garage is locked up tight. Good luck getting anything but I really thought no one would have the gall to steal a statue of an angel. How do they know it isn't very important or part of a memorial?

I hope they burn in their shoes, frankly, and when we make it to the pacific I will get a new statue and cement it to the ground this time.

Sometimes I really can't wait to leave.

In other news, box one of the Christmas clementines was a smashing success. It lasted four days and they were all good. Ben's birthday party was a smashing success also. There is leftover cake. The cake theme was monster trucks and Ben ate a hot wheels. Yes he did. Of course he will probably be sorry. That's okay, I say nothing.

No, wait, I actually said Are you going to eat the rest of your cake? Because if you don't want it, I do!

Damn thief.

B is for Birthday.

Ben is forty-one today and the fun is just starting. Everyone is coming to dinner tonight and we had so many offers of breakfast and lunch it just seemed easier to bring extra chairs to the barn door table and cook up three packages of bacon and two of eggs. I really should get a bigger stove.

And I got the first gift, when his hand slid over my mouth before six this morning. So I wouldn't wake the whole household with joyful noises he was creating by touching different places. They slept on and we played until the sun came up and then very reluctantly tore ourselves away from our bed. Everything holds more meaning now again. He'll be spending the majority of the days of January, February and possibly March away from me.

Away.

Again.

Aren't you excited? You have all that to look forward to. A midwinter rollercoaster. Bring the de-icing machine and your best sense of adventure. This is going to be very tough. I will be packing. He'll be working in New York, mostly, I think. Again nothing is carved in stone and I swear I only cried once because we figure we'll get through it (he will, I will fall apart) and soon everything will come out okay on the other side (last time took years).

I really don't think I can do this and so I hope it's all just a bad dream. Only it isn't and I'm very immature and that's okay for today. I will just quietly fall apart late at night when everyone else blindly sleeps, secure in the fact that their lives are easier while mine is not.

I'm trying to find the silver lining. First I need to polish off all this tarnish. It's going to take forever, this is years of buildup and I'm not very skilled with optimism. I'll admit it. I will try and really that's all I can manage for today. Still not crying so maybe something will go less difficultly for ONCE IN MY LIFE.

Here's hoping. Here's to grace. Here's to Bridget with a smile on her face.

Anyway, yesterday saw one single egg lobbed very gently at my back by Daniel but it's okay, when he was otherwise engaged I went out and filled his boots with snow and brought them in to melt on the grate in the back porch. I am still waiting to see if he's maybe removed all of the tires from my car or replaced the Count Chocula cereal with dog food.

So at twelve we'll drive downtown and meet August, Sam, Dalton, Corey and Caleb for lunch and then some shopping at the music store and some of the record stores too and then dinner here (I can't say much more about that part because he reads this) and then maybe some late night fireworks or a long walk in the snow. Or maybe we'll just clear everyone out of here early and get the kids off to dreamland and we can finish what we started this morning.

Oh, look. Here's hope once again.

Nice to see it still thrives here.

Food fight, twelve sharp.

Daniel and I are home today. Alternating kangaroo care and wrapping presents and cooking. It's snowing. It's actually snowing pretty hard but that's okay because we have lots of things to keep us busy. We're getting ready for tomorrow.

Tomorrow is a very important day. Ben's birthday. Which means.....

Yes.....

You got it right....

CAKE.

Cringeworthy.

Caleb had a huge vase of cattails on the island this morning when I arrived at the loft. I asked him if that represented the remains of his weekend. He gifted me with his unabashed laughter. Pure joy, a rare display from someone who checks every last nuance obsessively. He told me Sophie had been in town for the weekend and a weird stabbing pain shot right through my body like a bolt of agony and disappeared into the floor.

I would have said something incredibly unladylike but I couldn't. It's Sophie. I don't have anything over her. She can run circles around me with...well, everything. The one person who still can make me feel like an incredibly unpulled-together chaotic mess and short and ungraceful to boot.

That and I'm weirdly jealous that she was with him for the weekend.

Oh my God, I am insane.

I'm not all that sure which part I'm jealous of. Maybe just that they had a fun weekend where I was at the farm feeling disconnected and shut out while the boys bonded and did man things and I was sort of an afterthought until late into the evenings and I am so short on affection and time and support right now it was almost an attempt to thumb my nose at Benjamin, coming here, only Benjamin wouldn't notice because he is busy being taken care of so he can be whole and manage without so much handholding.

I'm not sure it ever matters what I do because their eyes are blind and then other times I feel like every move is going to be the wrong one or a lesser one or a total incendiary action that will blow up my world again.

So I go to see Cale and feel even smaller and even less significant but vaguely evil and it's enough to keep a spark lit so that I feel like I have something to offer or withhold from SOMEONE only he isn't really doing it for me so I come home early and Benjamin is playing Sufjan covers and hardly looks up which means he is processing things and this is a good sign. So I go and track down PJ and PJ is all about food and what food should I make and I hesitate one second too long and so we wind up going out for Thai takeout and Ben doesn't say much and the kids are lost in their own worlds and PJ starts to zone out on me and I slip. Just a little. Knuckle to wristbone. Enough so that I get another jolt, only this time it's less jealousy and more plain old vanilla fear.

Stop it, Bridget.

Hmm?

You're worrying yourself to death.

Right, Lochlan. Think it will work this time?

Not funny.

No one cares.

I care.

I don't care that you care.

Stop being difficult.

Stop being an opportunist.

Okay.

Just like that?

Sure. If that's what you want.

I never ever get what I want.

You got all of us.

Okay, then I get everything I want.

Except?

Ben.

Bridget, I had this conversation with Ben word for word three years ago. This is hilarious.

What's so funny about it?

That you two are married and you're acting like he's dead.

We're all dead.

It's going to be one of those nights, isn't it?

Yes, Lochlan, it is.

What can I do?

Put a heated floor in Narnia for me.

What?

Nevermind.

Bridget?

Yes?

Time for some sleep.

Is it ever. Good night.

Pale Shelter.

I have this now on my Blackberries, which makes me very happy. It's lovely to be able to keep track of the games without having to plunk down in front of a television on Saturday night at six o'clock.

Speaking of television, the program we have settled on this winter is Ice Pilots NWT. It's very good. Much along the same lines as Ice Road Truckers. I loves me some Northwest Territories. I bet I'd do well there save for the 30 Days of Night-caliber vampires that might appear. But then again I do well anywhere, I bloom where I'm planted. Or maybe it's that I rot where I am tossed. Oh, the vampires will love me now. The sweet, sweet smell of decay and desperation could melt the snow for miles, and I will gather handfuls of blood into my handbag and keep limping along down the middle of the deserted street calling for someone to come and be my company. Or maybe for someone to just leave me alone.

We're heading home in the morning. Ben has been reinforced, patched and repaired and feels strong for having siphoned strength and wisdom from those ahead of him on the difficult path. The ones holding the flashlights while he trips gainfully along in the dark following my drops of blood and the smell of cloying fear that has lead him to me every night for the past two years.

Bridget is not reinforced. Bridget is a mess of sleeplessness and a runaway train of brewed coffee and frustration, a bundle of nerves and a frightful little thing right now.

Just frightful. I won an Ambien for my performance earlier. I plan to take it in about an hour and with a little luck I can begin the week on a better note. I have pulled all of our things together and I'll leave here reluctantly tomorrow. Looking back down the drive until I can't see the porch anymore. Wishing our visit had been longer or successful at all but instead we eat the wasted effort, a non-weekend. No do-overs, no time machine, no grace.

I can't help the past.

Off now to watch a bit of a movie (escape, Bridget) and snuggle down between Ben and Lochlan, human insulation from my relentless nightmares, deflection for the jealously I feel when Ben gets all the attention and I am left to slide.

Thank heavens I slide whoreizontally sometimes. I did not invent that word. Bet you can guess who did. But I can't say anything, I won't mess with the Witch-Lochtor when my sleep is at stake.

Will write when we are home tomorrow. We're leaving here super earlier. So early I don't know why I'm going to bed at all.