Slow to warm up.

Little surfer, little one
Made my heart come all undone
Do you love me?
Do you surfer girl?
(Surfer girl my little surfer girl)

I have watched you on the shore
Standing by the ocean's roar
Do you love me?
Do you surfer girl?

He is determined.

Hours climbing up and down probably active volcanoes, across suspension bridges, down semi-washed out footpaths and herded like human touristic sheep onto creaky, rickety gondolas in order to be ankle-deep in snow, still in my t-shirt and sneakers from the twenty-degree broiled city sidewalk a half-hour previously. Hours in the deep dark woods chasing slugs across footbridges and marveling at the width of the giant redwoods. Standing inside the hollow ones, climbing over the fallen ones, everywhere a carpet of pine needles and fresh new beginnings, found just under the moss.

Everyone says Don't you just love the mountains?

I'm not all that sure yet, truthfully. Apparently this one is covered in snow and the other four are volcanoes. What do you think? Oh and should I love that it will cost me eleven thousand dollars to snowboard for a half-day?

I don't say that out loud though. I merely look down the mountain toward the beach and point silently but then off we go in another direction at three thousand miles an hour. And then finally at the end, a slow drive home with a detour into the park and through to the ice cream stand and down to the beach where I found two huge colorful pieces of beach glass in less than ten seconds flat and then the dog started EATING sand so we had to leave before we had ever really arrived.

We can go back, I think. The sand beaches with endless sandbars, covered with shells are what I crave but these are almost too civilized, too close to people and buildings and cars. And the other ones are creepily remote and covered with huge rocks and violent and downright dangerous.

(Bridget definitely isn't in Kansas anymore, is she?)

I can appreciate the radical difference between the edgy, wild pacific coast in sharp contrast to the holiday-postcard Atlantic seaside. I can relish it. I will sink my teeth into it and digest it like it's the singlemost important meal of my life. I will embrace it, collect all of the glass from it and tell it my thoughts, wash away my worries and soothe my tired, broken skin in it and we will be forever friends, lovers reunited so closely that everyone steps away for fear of being crushed with the weight of mutual admiration.

He was wearing his heavy jacket and we were tired. And the dog was eating sand. And so I said my silent goodbyes and I vowed to come back and I'm somewhat sure now that there's a well-planned effort underway to keep me off the beach and away from the ocean for more than just a few minutes at a time so that I don't come completely unglued.

It wouldn't be the first time. She's a powerful force, you know.

Bridget. Not the ocean, silly.

Me.

Until you learn to control her, it's best not to do anything that might get her going. You know how it is. He's doing his very best to find the balance between massive relief and total damaging surrender, and I don't blame him for it. Not even a little bit.

He's doing a really good job, actually. The very best one can.

Scriptlash.

Avert your eyes. Don't stare in wonderment at the living accident in front of you. And whatever you do don't stand so close to the flames. They may char the wreckage but they'll also lick at your heels until the backs of your perfect polished shoes are blackened sufficiently to remove the reflection of the people you're always walking away from.

The words are hardest when the sleep is lacking. Or maybe not. The writer has no desires when she doesn't sleep. No writing, no eating, no plans to be made. No brushing of the hair, no effort to find those proper black polished shoes, no effort to play nice or be aware. Just tiny annoyed raising of the eyebrows over heavy black circles for eyes (buttons if you wish) and a gloss-painted scowl shaped in a bow.

I keep my hands behind my back because otherwise in return I get the tall dark scowls hidden by beards as I type my letters on everything. Palms of hands, arms, shoulders, the back of Henry's head. The armrest built into the door of Caleb's car. The counter while I wait to ask the concierge directions and the cold marble shelf in the lobby where I sometimes wait for the car. White tablecloths in restaurants where I struggle to pronounce the offerings and Ben orders for me instead or I point and smile and do my best and then they remove the cards and I can resume the endless parade of finger-words playing a story out across my travels that amuses me endlessly.

I don't need to be entertained and if you watch me long enough, neither do you.

Thank #$*& it's Friday, Mom.

The day has bested me. But all's well that ends well. We're just hanging out listening to some music, eating pizza, taking pictures and sitting with our toes up on the railing. You can too.

Here.

Here too.

And this.

Best for last.

No, this one. I really love this one.

Larger than life.

September sun blowing golden hair
Now keep in mind son
She was never there
October's rust
Bisecting black storm clouds
Only the deaf hear my silent shouts

Yet in the dark, still he screams your name
Nights living death with witch rhymes insane
Ten years amassed, para toda mi vida?
Lost man in time, was his name Peter?

Peter's gone.

And I have a pain that stretches from the center of my back all the way up into my neck and under my hairline and the ranks close in tightly as the sun goes down. This is not fair. And it isn't right.

What a very long day.

God Sends.

Today I am thankful for the health and happiness of my children. My husband's patience, affection and humor in difficult times. I'm thankful for cheese and generous dog owners who like to socialize their pets. I'm thankful for creaky elevators that reach their floor successfully and for rainbows at five in the afternoon after a rainstorm missed by only seconds. I'm thankful for Advil Liquigels as always and for Kraft Dinner, in a pinch.

I am thankful for choices, options and offers and for a cool breeze on a hot day. I'm thankful for the view of the water and for the future and routine within, eventually. I'm glad we are here. I'm thankful for wine and for sleep and for being held when I just can't take another minute and I'm thankful for the afternoon coffee that is slowly getting better or maybe I just don't care anymore. I'm thankful for fat wallets and blue t-shirts and brand new socks and clean mirrors. I'm thankful that I finally stopped being afraid of things and took a leap when I wanted to bury myself in a closet full of things and hide until they all stopped looking for me. I'm thankful for chocolate chips at breakfast and salt at dinner and everything in between. I'm thankful for the pennies we found today by the fountain for double wishes and I'm thankful for another day to fight my way through because it's worth it.

Stereo types: Notes from a city, three weeks in.

At first glance I didn't think I'd be able to figure anything out. My only thought was sheer panic when I discovered that we really didn't bring enough clothes. Not by a long shot. I had organized for five outfits each, consisting of layers because we arrived here in spring. Summer is coming but the mountains are also RIGHT there, so snowy clothes but also things for a hot sunny seaside-walk kind of day.

Good luck.

Ruth has already lost one sweater, and Ben and I discovered that most of our regular wardrobe fell victim to renovating and construction on our previous house and none of it is city-worthy, for when you look closely you can see flecks of paint, some tiny holes and a lot of wear from spending winters up to our earlobes in hardware and tools. All of this stuff is better suited to the aisles of Home Depot and not trendy Hollywood North, oh no, not at all.

(Henry's only issue is that he averages a size a month in growth and is already out of two outfits completely.)

I learned quickly on to eliminate the prairies entirely from conversations when someone would ask me where I am from and talk about Nova Scotia instead. I learned that a cup from Starbucks in hand here doesn't make you stick out like a sore thumb, it makes you fit in. I learned that I can't afford to shop downtown much at all, unless I stick to mass-market chains because I have no use for D&G jeans or anything that cost more than $50, frankly. I mean, look at what I brought! Obviously I can't be trusted with nice things.

I also learned things about Vancouver that really surprise me. There are places that charge a mint to let a family explore and places right next door to those that are free. Both will be equally fun and equally impressive and equally busy.

I learned everyone here smokes.

I learned that everyone is from somewhere else and no one is fond of the real estate prices here. I learned how to walk uphill and how to navigate an elevator with a small perky dog, a coffee, umbrella, handbag, two children, a bag of groceries and the stupid key fob that must be pressed when the floor button is pressed with some sort of coordinated finesse or you'll end up stuck in the lobby for all eternity.

Which has happened so many times I am ashamed.

And people here love dogs and blondes because both are usually undeniably approachable and I learned that men who drive Rolls Royces and Ferraris are somewhat desperate after a certain age. And no one closes their blinds, EVER, but I may have mentioned that before.

I learned I should have packed a printer and fax machine and a third phone for when I'm waiting for callbacks and I learned that cats will shed for weeks after air travel. On everything.

I learned that no one blinks when a celebrity walks by but traffic will come to a standstill when a group of Japanese girls reaches the corner. Especially if they are in plaid skirts and high heels. Most of them seem to be but I don't see any private schools around here. And I would like them to teach me how to walk uphill in high heels because I can't seem to figure it out on my own.

I learned what DTES really looks like. Now that the Olympics are over, the tarnish has returned along with the people under the Shakespeare windows at the Carnegie Centre. When I am driven past them in my expensive new car I see people shooting up, I see people having bad trips, and people buying more bad trips. I see people organizing their belongings for the night on the sidewalk and I see men dressed like women soliciting for sex on the corner and then you blink and you're driving past Gucci, then Hermes, and then Coach.

It's ironic and frightening and sickening and suddenly part of my life as I lament the state of my wardrobe and fret over how long it took to get the money for the sale of my beautiful castle in a far away land. I can't help them. That much I know. I learned that the emotions that play through me when we drive through are not unique but felt by everyone.

I have learned I can't look at the pictures of my old house yet. I can't allow a second to poke around in the dark corners of my head to try on how I feel now that we've been away from it for twenty-three days. I am too busy getting to know this new place. A place where the pizza and donairs taste just like home and the seaweed smells exactly the same but a place where you can walk on the beach at night and not get mugged and mercifully also not get stared at for that tiny hole in the front of your favorite shirt (but only because it's night time and you're on the beach and all of the pretension has fallen away in favor of the awe of sunset over the water. And because you put on that jacket at the last minute. Face it, Bridget, you have a long way to go, style-wise.)

This is a place where you can raise your eyes to the mountaintops and see snow collecting there while down beside the water you collect sweaters from the children because they are sweating. I am learning. Sweaters before lunch, not after.

Tomorrow I have another list of things to get done, and I'll still be amazed by the fashion and the money and the people who smoke with one arm and hug trees with the other. I'll add to the weekend-list of things to see when Ben doesn't have to work and I'll continue to chip away at things like standing out and blending in and enjoying this new alien landscape where everything is beautiful except for the parts that are ugly. Vancouver is a human being. The water is her heart, the DTES is her worst day spent and the endless money is her passion. What a woman. What a place. What a strange and wonderful place.

Ben says I type too hard and broke it. Hahaha (Wait. Really?)

It was supposed to be a moment of high regard. A brightness that would leave you speechless, a sight that would render you blind. A force that would be remembered for all eternity and eventually a legend.

Instead it's going to be a quiet, miserable non-event. A painful misery no one will ever see. It will be over before anyone has time to say Is anyone there? before they move on to the next leaf, reading the stories with their rapid-fire schizophrenic attention spans, most likely while talking on the phone and perhaps eating something. In a hurry. Distracted. Busy.

Dumb luck is a gift some would pay for and yet it's never available when one goes shopping. Relax is a state we are not worthy enough to consider. Try to read too much into anything and I will horrify you with my efforts to keep you the hell away. I will be behind it in the dark with my apron gathered up tightly, picking up the leaves and stacking them alphabetically in one hand while I wipe away tears with the other.

It was supposed to be instant. Like a cake mix. Like a flash from a bulb.

Ben and I have been very busy rescuing ourselves (long stories, all of them) from all of the hazards and pitfalls lately, left to defend ourselves from life like teenagers the first week out of the nest. I went from having to be in charge twenty-four hours a day to not having enough resolve left to deal with fuck-all and so I turned around and upended the load into his lap and he picked it up and dealt with it and things are better now.

Maybe it's him after all. Ben and daylight and warmth and a whole new jar begun of sea glass just from two short sunset walks on the beach and plans to spend time and have fun and it would be great if Bonham would stop click-clacking all around at night, tap dancing into the bedroom and chasing the cat out, standing up on my side of the bed wanting to cuddle or maybe take a walk outside at some ruthless hour. Argh. The furry baby who doesn't sleep through the night. I really really need sleep. I need a vacation. I need time to get used to this...Pacific Northbest.

Anyway, Lochlan has cobbled my machine together long enough to say hello to you and I am the stubbornnest little thing you will ever meet because I'm not spending money on another goddamned laptop in this lifetime unless it's made of pipe dreams and free-range cheese so take what you can get and know if I must I'll send word via BlackBerry which is the modern day method of princess telegram anyhow. Ask anyone. I've been running a mobile office for weeks with it already and at night I park it in a cold glass of water because it's usually smoking by the time I go to bed.

Wait. Don't take that literally. BlackBerries don't like water. They do like being used and used well. I just wish maybe the screen were a tiny bit bigger and then I could chuck the damn computer right out the window. I might anyway.

PS. I saw a Nissan Pao today and I want one! One painted in shades of lime and tangerine, please, with a stainless steel roof rack for my snowboard. I told Satan (oh, he of the 350Z) that he would soon be outclassed and he laughed and laughed and then forbade me to buy one.

You know what that will bring. Nothing but misery for him.

(Snort.)

Precedent.

Late into the evenings I would pull on dry jeans and a damp t-shirt over a still-soaked bathing suit and comb my fingers through my wet, tangled hair. I would fetch the stick I had leaning up against a tree, tied with a frayed piece of pink yarn so that none of the boys would steal it and I would seek out Lochlan, throwing myself down beside him at the campfire. He would pass me a hot dog and I would roast it slowly while I listened. That was my space. As the evening grew late I would get tired and rest my head on his shoulder. When he got tired of that he would shrug violently until I woke up and sat up straight, and sometimes he would find a hoodie and wrap it around me and put his arm around my shoulders and hold me close while he nursed a single beer for hours and smile quietly at nothing in particular. Those were some of the best sleeps I ever had. He lives at one hundred and forty degrees.

Like everything with Lochlan, it depended on his mood. Something that hasn't changed much since he was fourteen. Sometimes I think those were the very best days of my life and other times I see how little I have changed, and how I grew to crave that physical intimacy of touch beyond anything else I will ever need. How he will sit back and wait for me but never come to meet me halfway. On anything.

He is still like that. Hot and cold. In the mood or not. You can ask him what's wrong and he'll look at you like you have suddenly sprouted an extra nose or a third arm, or he'll mutter something about being tired to blow you off. The cues leading to that question would be the same. Maddening. So like Lochlan.

Yes, for the past thirty years, he has been the same.

Hey Bridget, here's your hot dog.

What's on it?

Dried mackerel flakes. Just try it, you'll love it.

Really?

Trust me, I know you, princess.

And he smiles at nothing. I still don't understand him at all.

Now everything is easy cause of you.

So. We bought a house. A very big house in the forest with a wonderful yard and a veranda (verandah looks so much nicer, and is as proper, according to my sources), a huge kitchen, and more closets and bathrooms than I think I have ever seen in one place at one time. There are many fireplaces and outside you can hear crickets. There are places to hide inside and out. It's not too far from a good school or from the water (frontage for days, all around a point) and the weather here is mild, so ironically, there are big coat closets in each entryway but we will never need our big coats again. (Unless we go snowboarding, which will be often, let me tell you, though I still currently get hives when I see snow. Think that will pass?) The house has a time machine also. Ben was quick to point that out. I won't have to wash dishes! A breakfast bar. New construction so no hundred-year old surprises, it was built after Henry was born. Modern character. Good, we were due for a change there. We finish up our details over the next week or so. Inspection, final banking details, driving past it repeatedly (though we can barely see it from the road) with big smiles if all goes well. I will promise to try to be excited but by nature I tend to be on edge until every last i is dotted and t is crossed and then I am thrilled. Only then. Maybe talk to me after the bank, after the inspection and after the moving truck is gone and I see happens with that. So early May, come back and get your barometer then, when all of it sinks in. Really I'm still just getting used to this. I've been here just two weeks now and we already have a house. Ben and the children are excited beyond words, so I will just grab their coattails and ride along on their happiness. It is exciting overall. New starts are good for the soul, but new starts in breathtakingly beautiful places are even better. This city is a gift and suddenly every day is my birthday. Even in the rain, even when I can't sleep, I can say that I fell in love again but this time it brings no jealousy. Maybe this only makes sense if you're here. Like when Ben was trying to describe it and I dismissed his words before. Now that I'm here I totally get it. And I hope that the rest of April goes smoothly, right on through and into May and then I will have another one of those birthday things and will spend it unpacking I bet, unless Ben comes up with a plan to sweep me off my feet for the day. Both would be equally wonderful. In our new house. With room for EVERYONE. (Fine, I'm excited. A little.)

My offer was accepted.

Holy fucking shit.