Cosmopolitan backwoods and impossible to describe.

When she's near
The new years here
And there is not a resolution that I can't do
I see things clearly when she's near me
When she's near me all the world is new

I'm waiting for the day
When i am on her mind (she's all mine)
I'm waiting for the day
When loves no longer blind, blind

Remember all of those boxes I packed so carefully throughout March? Yes, well, they're here and the adventure part of the move is just about finished, aside from exploring our new surroundings thoroughly.

It's a tough adjustment when nothing at all is familiar. Learning the mechanisms of fledgling cities poised on the brink of cool. Figuring out recycling methods and schools. Did I tell you? The children begin school tomorrow. They have no supplies. I have not opened their clothes yet. Nothing is ready. It's full-day school here, they will not come home for lunch and with Ben returning to work tomorrow too I'm a little unsure how I will feel rattling around in my new ski-chalet type modern castle all by myself.

The kitchen is unpacked, as is the living room, or most of it. I sold my giant armoire with my old house and now I'm wondering where the heck I'm going to put things, even though this house is twice as large, and where the old house had a whopping three tiny closets, this one has eight, plus I have gone from four decent sized kitchen cabinets to fourteen.

No worries. Seriously. I will find space, though we will probably purchase more shelves. Because IKEA, you know. Do I need to say more?

Oh and the teeny tiny little robin's egg blue table? It's mine again! I have reclaimed it and I'm not budging this time.

The beard will go again today. I unpacked Ben's shaving kit so he will go from extreme wildman to civilized ken doll in a few swipes and some carefully navigated sideburns and then grow it out all over again. I wish he would leave it but I believe I can understand how it must feel to have hair on your face when it's twenty-three degrees in the sun.

And today is Mother's Day and I'm hoping to do two loads of laundry, make three lunches, unpack at least twenty more boxes and maybe slip out to see Iron Man. My own mom is in New York this week and I won't speak with her until she comes back and so I'm foundering a little bit but we don't make a huge show of these days anyway, so I would much rather call it a nice Sunday with full sunshine and a wide open schedule than anything else. I hope there are a lot more of these in our future, because the fridge is full, the lawn is mowed and I have candles around the bathtub and finally enough dishes to run the time machine without feeling guilty.

Did I tell you how much I love this house? Everything is digital. I push buttons and things come on. I can turn on more than one light per floor without blowing a fuse and the furnace was born after my children so I don't have to worry about being cold. Ever again.

Oh and yesterday my neighbor informed us that bears wander over sometimes. Right into my yard.

If you've been a reader since the beginning you have heard how much I love bears (I do not, that's pure sarcasm) based on one of the final camping trips Cole and I took to Keji before we moved to the wild west. I won't tell the story again, I need to go wake up the children. I'm not going to think about it again until one appears with a picnic basket and a jar of honey.

Happy Mother's Day.

Good on purpose.

Tomorrow if all goes well we'll be plunged back into a sea of cardboard, but we'll have our things back at last. This is especially poignant for Ben, who has been living out of a hockey bag since New Year's, and is ready to stop now.

I tried to make today good on purpose. It began at five in a flurry of sheets and toothbrushes and then once Ben was off to work at 6:30, I opted to make the kids breakfast and then I ran a hot bubble bath. The big soaker tub is my favorite thing about this house and I plan to use it more often than not. Coffee, in a borrowed pot, strong and black. Then some laundry and playtime with kids and pup and then we opted for a long walk to check out the route to school and a park along the way. Met another mom and her children and then we set out for the mailbox and home. Lunch and then some more serious cleaning. Washed all the floors, washed down the walls, did the window panes (again) and tracks.

I kept finding bumblebee carcasses jammed between the locks and the sills. So not happy having to pluck out the crunchy little bodies with my fingernails but now everything is clean. Brought in the recycling bins. Drove down to the farmer's market and found there was no parking, they're setting up tents for a plank salmon supper tonight, oh and if we are around Sunday there's a fair with free gifts to the first fifty moms. And welcome, we are happy to have you here.

I have gone backwards in time.

Made another pot of coffee and put my hair up in a low twist, tonight we have a party to go to and then tomorrow the truck arrives. I haven't decided how they are going to fit an eighteen-wheeler up this hill yet but they insist I shouldn't fret about that sort of thing.

Right.

Then I'll be down to organizing bagged lunches and changing our address, fiddling with the neverending budget and finding my way around. That and looking forward to late nights with Ben. Once the kids have put out their lights and gone to sleep we go and fill the soaker tub to the brim with bubbles and we light candles and have a nice long bath together before bed. It's rather glorious, thank you for asking, and though sleep is still short, it's been deeper. Maybe that routine will change eventually but for this week I cherish it.

And Henry and I came to an impasse at the store. He wants spaghetti every meal. And cookies, but that's another story. The spaghetti request never ends. Should you ask him twenty minutes after eating spaghetti what he wants for his next dinner he'll say spaghetti. Lunch? Spaghetti. Breakfast? Spaghetti. Snack? Spaghetti please. But I persist, and cook it once a week but no more. We all like spaghetti but every six or seven days is lots. So today I see the canned Chef-Boy-is-Mommy-Lazy spaghetti and I point it out to Henry, thinking he will want to buy twenty cans and proclaim me to be the best mom on the planet.

He wrinkled up his nose and said he didn't want to buy it. Not even one can to try.

When we came home I asked him why he didn't want it.

It's in a can, mommy.

So?

So...so that means it's like two weeks old.

Good point, little man. Gross.

Thirty-nine is a freshwater lake in the mountains and it seems beautiful but it's cold and unfamiliar so I am sticking my toes in and then retreating. I'm going to take my time easing into it. I will get used to it eventually. I will define it and own it. I'll be able to say it without the accompanying facial expression that leaves people incredibly amused.

What the fuck? Thirty-nine? But I don't look OH MY GOD THAT MEANS FORTY IS NEXT.

It is but we'll cover that next year, okay? Please. It's been a long year. One step at a time.

I'll just spread my towel here by the water's edge and consider the breeze for a few moments.

On Tuesday night Ben built us a bed. It's low and large and more solid than anything I've ever seen. We choose a very good proper adult mattress for it and new king-sized pillows. This followed a trip to buy beds for the children. It doesn't seem like the moving truck is ever going to arrive, though I am receiving daily updates, presently it is in the prairies but working slowly toward the coast and should be here on the weekend but really at this point I have come to expect nothing and will keep you posted.

Last night was presents and cake and song and paintings of a girl with yellow hair and it was wonderful and touching and overwhelming and I am exhausted. I had such a wonderful day. Ben chose the most wonderful gifts for me and I'm rather stunned by the expense and afraid to touch anything because I'm sure it's too much and we should send them back but at the same time I really really love what he's chosen and the fact that he wanted me to have such nice things. He's thrilled to be in the house. Thrilled with his bed. Thrilled with everything about the neighborhood we chose and the decisions we have made. Content would be a better word. He's got his commute down to a science and he loves the distance due to the ability to decompress on his return trip. Leave the bright lights behind, rockstar, and come home to the woods.

I'm not sure I enjoy the added time away from him but I will adjust.

I'm up to my ankles in the water now but you haven't been paying attention, have you?

And today I realized that I have caught some stomach bug that has left me with painful cramps and a blistering headache and crushing fatigue. I chalked it up to stress. To being Miss Rigid-Can't-Relax but then it grew to epic proportions and Ben began to complain as well. We've caught something somewhere. It will pass. I'm going to run errands shortly and then come home and rest. Nothing else is necessary. I'm waiting and doing little things. I'm not used to errands that require a car. We are far from certain things. Though there is enough within reach that we don't NEED to drive, it will be a necessary evil most of the time. Like birthdays and waiting for moving trucks and weathering illnesses, learning how to manage stress and sitting on the floor because you don't have a chair. Like ice cold glacier-fed lakes, volcanoes, giant slugs and black widow spiders.

Like turning thirty-nine.

Going for a quick swim, I'll be back later.

Threes and Nines.

I wiped my hands on my cheeks, leaving streaks of dust and dirt. I'm sure there's some poetic name for the color of centuries of dust mixed in with tears. If so, I don't know what it is.

You look even more tired. I didn't think it was possible.

I'm doing my best.

You keep telling people that. Is anyone listening, princess?

Ask them.

I'm asking you.

I ignored him. I always come up with these questions late at night, and I wasn't about to let him steamroll me with his Jacob Knows Better routine. I've seen it before. I lived it for a while.

Not long enough.

What does it feel like to know that I'm two years older today than you will ever be? What happens when I'm old? Will you still be the same?

Am I the same?

No.

Bridget, why do you ask me questions you already know the answers to? Don't you trust your own answers?

Nope.

Why not?

Everything that can go wrong does, Jake.

Last night didn't go wrong.

You have a terrible way of showing up for events you're not invited to, mister.

That aside. Ben built you a bed. Then he drew a bath. Last night was nice for you. Right through to leaving the house. Yes. And today is your birthday. Happy Birthday Princess. What did you ask for?

Sleep. Karma. Escape.

Any luck?

Nope.

Ask for something money can buy, then.

Money is evil.

Everything is evil, princess. Pick and choose. We've talked about this before.

It isn't fair, Jacob.

I know, baby. You're doing great thought.

Yes, please mollify me. I'm loving that.

Don't be ungrateful.

I'm telling you that's the last thing I am.

Then let it go.

I CAN'T.

Evil finds you then, princess.

So let it come.

You disappoint me, Bridget. I thought you were so tough.

I was but that's over now. Now I'm just me again.

The girl who doesn't like birthdays?

Yes. That's the one.

Extremes in coastal living: the early days.

Did you see the Krispy Kremes? I know. Those things are crack. I've had four doughnuts today plus birthday cake (again)(not mine) and I'll be rolling into the new house tomorrow at any rate. Thank heavens it's downhill all the way.

That's what it's been so far, hasn't it? We actually left the condominium a few days earlier than planned due to a mixup and came out into the countryside to hang out with Lochlan's family. We're surrounded by horses here. It's a lot like Nolan's only more lush and far larger than the the little grove on the prairie where Ben and I fell in love. It's downright picture-perfect, like a postcard only without a hint of familiarity so far and Ben keeps patiently driving me around my new neighborhood and we practice left-right-left so I can memorize the way home and the way to the grocery store because for the first time in oh, thirty-eight years or so I'm going to enter car culture, where everyone drives everywhere because there is nothing within walking distance and the hills are so steep I fear for my life sometimes.

The house is still remote but I'm finally beginning to get flutters of excitement here and there like fireflies you can see just after the sun goes down.

The very first thing I took notice of today were the outlets on the outside of the house. For my tiny white lights. The expanse of verandah that will hold my favorite all-weather chairs and the windchimes I hear best. I didn't catch them the first time, just like I failed to notice there's a blooming lilac and a dogwood tree in my yard and both are flowering presently.

Last evening we stood outside and listened to the frogs and peepers and crickets and holy, it was LOUD. I heard them before Ben had the door open all the way and it was glorious. It was just like Greenfield, actually, only without the Medway river muffling everything save for the sound of the occasional car traveling swiftly through on the way to lonely nowhere.

(I only spent a few weeks there each summer (for fifteen years, mind you) growing up and oddly that is the first thing this reminds me of.)

The farmer's market here is packed, the strawberries run cheap and there are honey bees and horses and waterfalls and festivals around every bend. Like a movie only not, once again because it's real life. Except that I have to drive to my mailbox. I don't know where it is yet.

We've decided to stay on here until our moving truck arrives, rather than try and rough it in the house. A relief and a setback, because if I can go in the house tomorrow I know I won't want to leave, but really we can't sleep on the floor and we don't have dishes and pots and pans and blankets and anything. It's all on the truck and it would just be more comfortable to stay on a few more days than risk getting out of sorts any more than we are.

And we are. Ben's going into month five living out of a suitcase and the children have run out of patience for change. Different foods, different schedules and the total lack of familiarity take a toll on everyone. We need to just hold out a few more days. That's all.

Just a few more. We can manage. Character building, they call it. Sigh.

No more cross-country moves ever. Stick a fork in me, I'm so done I'm burnt and completely inedible, looks like you'll have to get take out after all.

Adapt or die, princess.

Indeed, Jacob. I am doing my best.

Notes from nomads.

Good morning.

The only headlines you need to know this morning are that Rob Zombie is on his way here and that Gabriel Aubrey is single again.

There are not enough hours in the day for this princess, let me tell you.

More later, I have things to do but hey, thanks for the coffee!

Edited to add: I think Twitter will be where it's at for the next five days or so, we're moving into the house and everything should be hooked up and rolling by mid next week. Follow me and you can follow along.

It's worth it for this: http://splashpage.mtv.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/thor1.jpg

Damn. I love a man in armor.

You're welcome. Wish me luck.

Living reflection from a dream.

This afternoon I have resorted to snorting coffee off the table in rows and pinching myself until I yelp involuntarily just to stay awake. Not sure if it's the anxiety that makes me want to curl up and sleep or the exhaustion of this adventure. Either way when I do finally lie down beside Ben late at night my eyes blow open like the doors on the fire station after five alarms and I remain like that, watching the city, for hours until eventually they close. Usually against the sun because it's very bright first thing in the morning.

Tonight is our last night in the city-proper and maybe that will help. Maybe it's the loveliness of the view. Maybe it's the noise. Maybe traffic. Construction. Density. Hell, maybe it's the fumes from the seven dozen different Starbucks and Blenz stores that dot the downtown like raindrops.

I should maybe switch to tea but Jake tried that already and all I did was sip it like a proper lady and every single time I would ask him if it was supposed to taste all canny and weird and hot-watery like this and he would sigh and offer me milk and sugar and I'd wrinkle up my nose until it was halfway up my face and point out that the last thing a hardcore princess needs is sugar. Or milk for that matter.

Pffft.

I have pulled our things together and what a nightmare. Fourteen pieces of luggage because there are seven of us. Some are small pieces like backpacks and some are very large and heavy rolling hockey bags and I'm a little concerned now that it won't fit in my car but really we'll figure it out. Not like it all needs to fit in the trunk of a taxi to go to the airport in a hurry. I foresee an hour or two tomorrow in which we simply heave and squish the bags into different combinations to see what works. I foresee a very uncomfortable ride out into the mountains.

I'm rather glad I didn't embark on the crazy shopping trips I was offered. And I'm glad I deferred when we stopped at IKEA (three times) because really we travel incredibly light for a month on the road stretched across three seasons and four provinces, pets included.

So kiss my ass because everyone else offered this adventure basically said no, because it seems impossible so it must be.

It isn't.

You just need to be adventurous and step outside of your comfort zone and trust me, if I can do that, anyone can. In fact, I grew tired and wandered away from my old comfort zone in error and never found the darned thing again but Ben here, well, he promised he would just build me a new one.

And I'm holding him to that.

I'm also holding him to the promises that yes, all this shit will fit in the car and that someday I definitely will sleep. And maybe even breathe. Which means it must be a custom-fit comfort zone complete with nerve gas piped in.

I hope it has a coffee maker.

And a bed.

And a bowl of tangerines.

Overwhelmed as one would be, placed in my position.

My birthday present this year.

TOOL.

In concert.

This July.

Live. So that Bridget can hear them with her own broken ears.

Oh my GOD.

And I thought waking up to the news that they've possibly found Noah's Ark was pretty amazing.

"Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before." ~Mae West

Driven by the strangle of vain
Showing no mercy, I'll do it again
Open up your eyes
You keep on crying, baby I'll bleed you dry
Skies are beneath me
I see a storm bubbling up from the sea

And it's coming closer
And it's coming closer

You shock my bones,
Leaving me stranded all in love on my own
What do you think of me?
Where am I now, baby where do I sleep?
Feels so good when I'm home
2000 years of chasing taking its toll

I'm not really listening. I'm playing music in my head while I try to quiet the waves of frustration and fear rolling through my brain. It's not working, nothing is working and I'm forced to drop back into the present, into my chair in the flames in front of Caleb while he paces back and forth in front of me, annoyed that I interrupted his plans with family business.

Have you asked him how he feels?

He's feeding me your answers. Too much time with you. I don't like it.

John is well compensated for his loyalty.

That's how you buy company, isn't it, Cale?

You tell me, princess. Tell them how much you cost me.

Going after the rest of my friends isn't above you, is it?

He's very valuable to me. I enjoy having someone I can trust around.

Do you have to make this so complicated?

Yes, I do, Bridget. Things have changed. I have to position myself so that things like Jacob are never allowed to happen again.

Excuse me?

Jacob prevented me from spending any time with you or with the children. That can't be allowed to be repeated.

You killed him.

I beg your pardon.

You did something or said something to Jake. I don't know. You did something to him and then he was gone. What did you do to him?

Bridget, I think you need some rest.

Give me my friends back.

(Hysterical edge on that one. Whoops. Calm down. Breathe. Fail. Stand up. Be ready to run.)

You wanted a way to keep from having to watch them leave all the time and we found a way to accomplish that. And now you want something else. I can almost see why Lochlan is perpetually frustrated by you. You're never happy with anything even after we bend over backwards to try to please you.

I like the way you lump yourself in with them.

Why wouldn't I?

Because I'm the one always bending to please you and it's never good enough and you always want more.

Perhaps it's a family trait.

I'm not your family.

I wish you wouldn't say things like that.

You promised you would leave them alone in exchange for me.

And I DON'T HAVE YOU, DO I?

He bellowed it at me, right in my face and I shrank back and stumbled over the edge of the chair and sat down with a thump. Almost on the floor but not quite.

You have too much. Too much say. Too much power. Too much control.

And it's the only thing that keeps you in line.

It's a steel fairy tale, motherfucker. It isn't real and I hate you.

Oh. I love it when you mix trash with treasure.

Call Mike back. Then you can be creepy times two. John isn't going to be your puppet any more than Ben or PJ.

Then tell me something, Bridget.

What?

Who will you give up? Because I find this very interesting.

It isn't. I just protect my friends.

There's a very fine line here, princess and I think we both know you're playing a game without knowing all of the rules.

I'm done here, Cale. Goodnight.

He grabbed my arm as I stood up to pass him, squeezing it hard.

Sit down, Bridget.

I shook my arm but he didn't let go. He turned to stone and I cried out.

Let go. Fuck!

Everything continues as it has. No changes.

He pulled me in until we were eye to eye and I could let the rest of his face melt away, focusing on his eyes, pulling the shades up one after another until they were the medium shade of blue, somewhere in between Caleb and Jacob's blue eyes. Regular blue like Cole's with the long black eyelashes. Kind eyes suddenly, softened by proximity, blurred with fatigue, flashing resentment and undisguised want.

Bridget, are you listening?

Yes. (No, fucker, I'm not. DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE.)

You can surround yourself with as many friends and as much money as you can possibly find and I will still control you. Do you get that? Ben can't save you and neither can Batman. Do you understand me?

Yes. (At a loss here suddenly as the fear comes back and I start fumbling around in the dark, feeling for something in particular.)

Now we're done, Br-

I abruptly found the volume knob in my head and turned it up loud. I didn't want to hear anymore.

Heading to a family meeting. Just one thing.

When are you gonna come down
When are you going to land
I should have stayed on the farm
I should have listened to my old man

You know you can't hold me forever
I didn't sign up with you
I'm not a present for your friends to open
This boy's too young to be singing the blues

I hope the tooth fairy finds Henry tonight. He's not in his own bed. We're in transition you see, so we took the extra step of leaving the tooth in a mug on the counter with a note just in case she's not on her game. I think she will be though. She's pretty good about these things.

Ben and I are playing Youtube trivia (Elton John included) and I'm biting my tongue not to point out that Jackson Browne's Running on Empty is a little too close in style to Say you Love Me by Fleetwood Mac.

I don't know how. It just does. They're both good though. 8-track goodness indeed. The tooth fairy will probably skip us on account of how far down we can drag the coolness quotient in the room.

We'll work on it. I swear. Later. Meeting time.