Where the baptized drown.

Pale in the flare light
The scared light cracks & disappears
And leads the scorched ones here
And everywhere no one cares
The fire is spreading
And no one wants to speak about it
Down in the hole
Jesus tries to crack a smile
Beneath another shovel load

And I heard it in the wind
And I saw it in the sky
And I thought it was the end
And I thought it was the 4th of July

We were on our way mid-afternoon, Ben and I, searching out a romantic restaurant for our dinner date. We found it and had another stellar dinner, with amazing food (steak, halibut and Bombay Sapphire for me on Satan's recommendation) and even better company (each other). By nine-thirty we were watching Soundgarden chug through their catalogue, the boys smiling from ear to ear (complete with obligatory patented bad Bridget pictures. Oh, no, not those Bad Bridget pictures. Hush, you).

I tried to enjoy it. Still tired. Still a little wobbly on legs from overdoing it but I will catch up later, when the boys go back to work and the hedonism ends.

Overall the concert wasn't the worst one I've ever been to. Not by a long shot, but we arrived late, missed the Meat Puppets, failed to be charmed by Queens of the Stone Age, and someone in our far vicinity began to throw beer very early on.

It's inevitable.

Only this turkey was throwing large amounts of it and he kept nailing Ben. NAILING him in the shoulder to the point that Ben's shirt was soaked and he finally lost his cool on the third deliberate shower. He has a lot of cool for kids at concerts but this was just dumb. He went and dealt with it (don't ask) and came back and that was the end of the beer showers.

So now, finally we could enjoy the show.

Or rather, the boys could enjoy the show. I had to run on memory for the night, since every tenth or so show we go to has a sound mix that doesn't work with my hearing impairment at all. This turned out to be one of them and it's incredibly frustrating to be at a concert and only be able to hear the drums and a lot of feedback. That's what it's like for me. I could pick out the songs I knew best and I was thrilled to finally see a band I have listened to seemingly forever and then some and for me that was good enough.

And later on, in the wee hours of this morning we made a few new ardent memories to the strains of 4th of July that leave me clinging to the day with no strength left even though it's barely underway. Ben is like that. And by like that I mean dedicated, seductive, perverted and completely depraved.

Just like the music.

Now I'm in control
Now I'm in the fall out
Once asleep but now I stand
And I still remember
Your sweet everything
Light a Roman candle
And hold it in your hand

Cause I heard it in the wind
And I saw it in the sky
And I thought it was the end
And I thought it was the 4th of July

I will be there on his behalf.

Follow me into the desert
As thirsty as you are
Crack a smile and cut your mouth
And drown in alcohol

Because down below the truth is lying
Beneath the riverbed
So quench yourself and drink the water
That flows below her head

Jacob used to play Soundgarden at full volume. He adored the lyrics of the songs and sang loudly. He used their music as an aphrodisiac (anyone remember the post about the broken office chair?) and as a panacea too, the band only taking second place to his beloved Stone Temple Pilots, in any case. The Pilots were in his blood, the Garden was in his head and now I get to go to their shows and relive every last song with his baritone overlaying the vocals in my mind. He was not a self-conscious singer, my Jacob, and to this day I appreciate that in a way most people don't understand. Jake, this show is for you. I will enjoy it, I promise.

I left her in the sand
Just a burden in my hand
I lost my head again
Would you cry for me

Just a burden in my hand
Just an anchor on my heart
It's just a tumor in my head
And I'm in the dark

Songs for the deaf.

A little more reassurance, and a little less all at once. A little peace of mind and a little different kind of worry. A little step back and a tinier hop forward. A little sun behind the cloud. A little noise beyond the quiet and a little girl, hands clasped, fingers crossed, heart set.

Sharper image.

You're so clever and yes, you're exactly right. Posting my Princess Tourist photos from yesterday doesn't help you get to know me any better, now does it?

In all honesty, I think I've told you a lot. Seven years of uncensored emotional magnetic resonance images from my brain and you don't think you know enough? You're like Ruth if she's given five squares of chocolate. If there is a sixth square still in the package, she wants it and she won't stop complaining and begging until she gets it.

For the record, she never gets it. Once I say no, I keep to no. That's what good parents do. Follow through. So readers, whatever you are looking for, if I haven't already shared it then please stop holding your breath and fill your lungs now.

There. That's better, isn't it?

Some times you just have to take what you are given.

In other news, we gave the children Swiss army knives. Not because we are foolish but because all talk over here is always Lord of the Flies, Peter Pan and The Hunger Games, and so since I was gifted my first jack knife (Oh, such a veritable tomboy child I was, since I wanted to be a boy, briefly) around this age it seemed fitting to pass that sort of incredible adventure and power on to the children. After a long and detailed briefing on proper storage, use and what not to do, I sent them out to the backyard to look for fallen wood. They are now, as we speak, out there whittling magic wands for themselves, completely unsupervised.

(I'm sure by the end of this week they'll have lost their new treasures when they try to pull a knife to sort out a playground dispute but so far so good, you know?)

All the boys are geeking out on this. It's awesome.

You want to know more about me, then know that yes, I still take awful photographs.

Now, for my day, since doesn't everyone spend Tuesdays in the woods?

The very first thing about today is that we set out to explore, and explore we did. We turned down roads and followed signs to places I normally wouldn't venture without some spare bravery and we did it with enthusiasm! Say hi to the chief. The second thing about today is bears! Bears everywhere! In the neighborhood overnight, and in Callaghan Lake today. Three bears eating blueberries along the road. More if we had looked. Apparently there are grizzlies and cougars and mountain goats and moose there too! I was happy we were only surprised by the black and brown bears. We stuck to the highway and they stuck to the treeline, and everyone was happy. That park is just CRAZY nature. And yes, I brought my handbag. And Ben took this picture, since he was closer. I was busy screaming and shit.

The third thing about today was that Whistler was incredibly lackluster this afternoon. Arrive early in the day if you want to do alot, otherwise you will be shopping, drinking coffee and people-watching. Which isn't as fun in Whistler as it is on Robson Street.

The fourth thing about today is that Brandywine Falls is a whole hell of a lot more cohesive than it was twenty years ago as well. Back then it was a path off the highway. A sketchy one! Now it has walking trails and lookoff opportunities and ample parking. And a sign-story. And washrooms. What the fuck, progress, can't you leave anything alone? On the upside, it was easy to find and not sketchy. Big huge plusses when you are exploring British Columbia.

The fifth thing is Trolls Chowder. They brought me a bowl as big as my head and I ate all of it before Ben was even halfway through his. So delicious. It's becoming a thing, me and Trolls.

The view from my favorite booth. Almost home, princess.

The final interesting thing about today is that when we arrived home, a good ten, eleven hours after venturing out, I was grateful to be home. Happy to be safe in our warm, softly-lit, inviting home. I haven't had that feeling in this house before. Such an amazingly good feeling at that. It's about time.

Dance card full.

A tiny crown for a tiny princess, he said, as he put the ring on my finger. I haven't taken it off since.

Best. Weekend. Ever.

I'm going to just go ahead and concede defeat now. The weekend has kicked my ass and I keep turning and walking straight into Ben's shirt for a brief dark snooze in the black jersey and then I'm turned back out in short order because he is doing things and he will meet me later for sleep.

(If he stops singing the songs from Rango. JESUS. DUCT TAPE IS IMMINENT.)

I spent half the day in the vineyard and the other half at the lake. You know what's cool about the lake now? I can stay on shore and watch the kids swim for hours without having to be right there because they can swim very well now. You know what's not cool about the lake? The kids are still only 12 and 10 and I need to watch them every single second. It's about as relaxing as playing singles tennis. AKA It isn't. I came home fried and overheated and all jacked out on nerves.

I came home to my kickass vineyard which is finally under control and the buds are starting to plump up nicely. I need to put the nets up still but otherwise we are go for fruit. And wine!! Yay! This is all I need, more wine. Dear God, please, no more wine. I think this is quite enough.

I am also worn out from the carnival yesterday, from standing up too long, from too much sugar and too much sun, not enough sleep, endless cooking and apparently I didn't get the memo. Ben did and he read it out loud. It said:

Dear Bridget,

You are not twenty anymore. You can't run on three hours sleep and a ton of work and too much sun and all this bad food and alcohol and nonstop action.

Love, your former self, who totally could and still does run on air.

OMG. She is such a bitch and I hate her.

Goodnight. I am tiny toast, burnt and done and done and eaten. Snort.

Eight arms to hold you.

Around and around and around we go.

This I can manage.

Late in the evening on a weekday the trucks roll in, slowly down the highway, a caravan of freaks with the best manners you have ever seen, a quiet spectacle in the growing darkness. Everyone is busy with midweek jobs, errands and chores and quietly a field becomes a parking lot and a parking lot becomes a carnival, rides are assembled and rode until tested to be safe. Checklists are checked, recited and signed off on. Permits are obtained and with seventy percent complete, the signs go up.

Through the waning warmth of the week's end, the trailers are set up and lights are strung across the top edge of each roof or on poles, depending on the site. Locals are hired to cover traffic, first aid and dining clean up. Now the real work begins. Pull in the people, the midway is here! Make their dollars count, make 'em spend, make them keep riding long after they've said they should stop. Keep the fun flowing until the sun goes down and the music cues on the mainstage. Pass in your report to the safety coordinator when the rides shut down at ten and then fall into bed, dirty and exhausted, content.

The carnies have arrived.

No, I am not letting them stay in the house (because I only know a few of them, two of the older ones are the ones who gave Lochlan his start once upon a time) but here in the house we have double-bunked PJ and New-Jake in with Dalton and Duncan respectively and our guests have full use of the boathouse for the next three days until pack out Monday morning which gives them a break from the trailers which are smaller than we'd ever admit out loud. The guys are loving this. Sam has a few of them as well. The shower will run endlessly and the kitchen here will be pressed into hard service until they leave. I sent the boys grocery shopping for the crew. If they are anything like we were, fresh bakery items, fruit, veggies and seafood will be what pleases them most for those were the hardest items to find on the road.

Everything else is gravy. Yes, there's gravy too. I think there is, anyway. I have reminded them repeatedly that they can let me know if they need or want for anything, and they were grateful to the point of thanking me repeatedly, calling me Miss Bridget, which is sort of funny and kind of insulting and reminiscent of the scary men Jake employed at the church on the Prairie. These ones did not believe that I used to do this for a living until Lochlan confirmed, and then they were impressed because I am so delicate and sweet we functioned within both with the full-on circus and with the midway too. Lochlan is now teaching several how to throw fire and I've been cooking since dawn, it seems. Ben is highly entertained and I do believe the children are prepared to pack their bags and join the tour when it leaves town. I'll be watching to be sure that doesn't happen.

Yet.

When they're a little older they can decide for themselves. Pot, kettle, black, yes, don't I know it. But it's still a nice reprieve from the war between Satan and Batman so we will live vicariously through these wild boys for the weekend and then send them on their merry way. Great fun! If you go, get a wrist bracelet for unlimited rides. Tickets are like water out there. They flow right through your fingers and suddenly you thirst for more.

Speaking of thirst, I am making tea for twenty five. It's taking a long time, I am doing it in shifts. Never in a billion years would I want to cook daily for a crowd of hungry, unruly boys-oh wait, nevermind. Kind of shot myself in the foot right there, didn't I?

Posting may be sporadic this weekend. Not only are we on the guest list so I plan to spend my entire weekend on the Octopus, but breakfast is in like eight hours so I should probably start cooking.

The indoctrination of Bridget Reilly.

My apologies for writing such weirdly dramatic and accusatory blog entries late at night. Clearly I can build a mountain out of a molehill faster than most of you can sneeze.

Batman is trying to help and he's doing what everyone does when they want me to move on something, they give me a time limit. You know, since it worked for Jake and all.

Only Jake was such a pushover, he gave me a decade and with three days left and time running out I fulfilled his request. I haven't quite managed to meet a deadline since, however and that's sort of weird and really not surprising at all if you knew me and Caleb insists he isn't afraid of Batman in the least and perhaps they hold equal power through history, the only difference being Caleb is completely open and accessible to me and Batman is, well, he's Batman. 'Open' and 'accessible' are not options on his table at this time, or ever in the time I have known him, which is almost two decades now.

Both men requested a removal of yesterday's entry here, but I have opted to write an apology with clarification instead. I'll let it be known that I haven't changed my outlook from last night to this morning. Though instead of confirming that I've been, that we've been sold out to a greater evil maybe, it's been softened to remind me that the boys are free agents who work for whomever they please, this is simply an effort to distill their talents once again into a few new projects under a different umbrella that won't be closed so tightly around them perhaps, but outwardly nothing much will be different.

Even though it will. It already is.

***

If I'm done with the public flogging I'd like to move on to a new topic this afternoon. The one about the girl who went deep into the woods halfway up a mountain and came out alive.

No drama, just a wrong turn on a long trail and we were knee-deep in mud and panic. Well, I was. Ben was FINE because he could hear the lake and the traffic and whatever stupid navigational angels whispering in his ear that I didn't come with. My navigational skills are legendary, beginning with parking my car at a shopping center in Halifax and walking away from it and instantly forgetting where I parked, therefore spending an extra forty-five minutes walking the lots hitting the emergency button on my car keys until my car beeped at me at last, to that time I blithely jumped into the car to drive downtown to meet Ben for the first time after moving here and after two hours of driving around...um...lower Delta I finally made a teary call to Ben to ask where I was because I had set off without a map or a GPS. My bravery is not of the intelligent sort, in any case.

(I have a GPS now. I call her Moneypenny and she's a bit of a snippy bitch.)

Ben can be like Cole in these situations. He just knows certain things and he knows when he's not in over his head. He's a fixer of a different sort. His cockiness is less dark and perfect and more comical. We lived because you can't die on a two-kilometer trail that runs around a lake. Because even if you get lost, the lake is right there and you can sort out a path and eventually just barge out of the thrushes or you could turn around and take the trail back or hell, Bridget, you could just jump into the water and swim to the dock. Just like you used to when they didn't hear you but you needed to be close to them anyway. Even though you're a terrible swimmer and a worse navigator and maybe a bad judge of character too.

There, there. These are their jobs anyway. You have other functions in life, things you excel at, things you were born to do. Things that cannot be bought or sold but can only be given freely. Your redemption comes at different cost, in a currency that no one else would ever recognize save for the fact that they robbed the bank and now you're trading on good graces and serendipity alike.

Like a path through the woods. It should seem obvious, except when it isn't.