Where I am in the vineyard is invisible from the house, patio, balcony, driveway and pretty much anywhere else, tucked down between the thick, overgrown vines with my tiny jackknife blade open, culling them back so that they expend all of their energy into the grapes and little more into lengthening, choking vines. We don't even know what we're doing but it's fun growing fruit in the backyard. If the local wildlife don't make off with the bunches like they did last year, I plan to make wine. Wine or something resembling wine, anyway.
Having offered to help, Ben works in the row next to mine. We trade hushed words in sporadic bursts but mostly remain quiet, content to feel the beads of sweat rolling down our temples and down our backs under our clothes in the hot sun, I in my sky blue strappy sundress with his black cowboy perched on the back of my head, he in that amazing kilt and a thin white tshirt.
For the better part of fifteen minutes now he has been teasing me about christening the vineyard.
I tell him he is crazy and awful and the grapes will die and the vines will shrivel up and suck back into the ground in a whoosh, leaving us exposed and naked for the world to see.
He laughs, the sound traveling out over the water and then he asks exactly how much I will wager on my scenario.
I pick a number out of his cowboy hat, which he plunked onto my head as we were walking out the door. It's been hanging on a hook since the move. It might help slow the proliferation of freckles across my nose and prevent the ridiculous pink sunburnt cheeks I get.
Fifty.
So you're going to give me fifty dollars if I can get away with this without anyone knowing.
Yes. The money's in my bag. Good luck to you.
He abruptly stops cutting and puts his knife down. The smile on his face could melt granite. He stands up and walks down to the end of his row, turns and comes up the row where I sit in the dust. He reaches down and takes my knife from me gently and then tosses it on the ground halfway back down the row. He reaches down again and takes my wrists, pushing me to the ground, blocking out the sun.
****
An hour later we trudge back up to the house, hand in hand, Ben picking leaves and dirt out of my hair as we go. He is wearing the cowboy hat, I am holding up one strap on my dress, and we're both beyond filthy. PJ looks up as we walk in through the back door, off the kitchen. Andrew is busy typing on his phone. Gage smiles broadly.
All finished? (They start laughing.)
Fuckers. Ben is laughing. I'm flushing from embarrassment while I try to pin the strap together on my dress temporarily.
Andrew puts down his phone. He is so dry. At least now we have a name for the wine.
What's that?
Dudes Saw Everything Cabernet.
Ben makes a suggestion. Look Away Next Time Zinfandel?
PJ throws in his offering. Don't forget She Blushes Blush.
I find some sort of control and speak up at last. I don't really know whether to laugh or cry. That's a Rosé, PJ. You need red grapes for that.
Oh, they're red now, princess. Trust me on that. Just like you.
Friday, 5 August 2011
Thursday, 4 August 2011
Just hush while I put it somewhere because there isn't any room and it's heavy.
(This is just..nothing for you. Unless you like to read in circles.)
I am feeling better today, thank you. My nursemaid has red hair and a stern gaze and I bet he looks just like The Joker in a nurse's uniform except he'd be missing the 'crazy' as an accessory. Or would he?
I need to backtrack a little here.
We are back. Back to reality. Back to alarm clocks and packed lunches and parking passes and navigating payroll and new jobs, new bosses, new offices and no time.
Lochlan came home Monday night and picked a fight and I am stung but cognizant of his efforts to push me away so I don't mortally wound him with my actions, even in absentia. When Lochlan goes away Caleb fills in his place, sliding smoothly into first, taking over memories, attempting to top up his brainwashing, trying to talk me into all the bad things I don't want but sometimes do, in my deepest, darkest thoughts, and sweet-talking Benjamin into all sorts of games for the three of us, better left unexplained here. Therefore when Lochlan returns hell does indeed break loose because before he drove down the drive beside the house hell was neatly contained in my eyes and now it's plum everywhere.
From all directions, fireworks set into the undersides of clouds to be blown directly into earth, explosions, lights and noise deafening me, dropping me out of my skin down into the gutter where the hardcore boys play, they fired their sweetest deals, hitting home. Headshots, deadshots, I don't think I have any right to hear these things when I'm not planning on changing anything. There's enough change without me adding to the fray. There's enough misery without them turning screws and tightening the holds they keep on me, respectively.
Caleb was not predictable. Instead of his usual dry suggestion that things could be easier he found me around four Sunday morning, standing in front of the fridge. I am wearing his shirt and drinking orange juice straight from the bottle.
He takes the bottle from me and gets two glasses and we sit at the island in the kitchen and never once do I say a word while he tells me things could be different. We could travel anywhere I want. I would have time. Time with him. Alone. Time to process. To breathe. To choose the life I want. To exist within the past or the present, my choice.
He could return to his role as the good brother, hell, he could be whatever I want. Even Cole. Whatever your little heart desires, he said, over and over as if that were even possible. Finally I turned to him and asked him again to just bring the dead back to life and then leave me the hell alone. His response was to get up and walk out on me, which made me feel small and ungrateful but not guilty in the least. When I'm sober, when it's daylight, he isn't Cole and that's enough to tinge our dark whiskey-soaked nights with sadness but sometimes it's enough to pass for almost real and that's where I find the trouble, a fast-moving river you can swim in or drown by, your choice.
Maybe that's what he's counting on.
Lochlan's outburst was the polar opposite, by divine design, out of habit, into familiar roles. We know all the words. Less than half of our exchange is out loud. His plea is one borne out of simplicity. Let him give me his name and he will see that nothing ever happens again. Everything bad will go away and we will return to the unlikely world in which cotton candy is a food group and we have nothing but the clothes on our backs and the love in our hearts. We will breathe in the lights and eat the present, we'll grow fat on basic happiness and keep true to our words and to our plan. The plan, Bridgie. Everything could fall into place so easily and you would never ever cry again. Everything standing in our way would become a distant memory.
I cock my head curiously. I sometimes take liberty to imagine what things would be like if I did that and then I remember exactly what happens when you take a pure-hearted, barely educated red-headed unpredictably-temperamental Scotsman and ask him to compromise. I remember the fights. I remember the resentment and I remember that weird sick feeling of missing him so badly when he would be away from me, wishing he would get swallowed by the sunset when he rode his motorcycle west. I remember how I agreed with him when he told me we would never have a peaceful relationship and we would probably fight to the bitter end, but that he would love me more than anyone else ever in the whole wide world and even if I had to let go of everything else, he always would.
For the record, I still believe he does, and maybe that's what he's counting on.
But neither of them are counting on this. When I step to the side, you can clearly see Ben, sitting in a chair, table still strewn with dinner dishes and guitar picks. He has his headphones on, head bowed and he's playing, playing, playing, nonstop, he is broken and ruined and a perfect match for what's left of me. When we fight, it's important, when we cry it's painful and when we love it's for always. It fits and it's not for want of memories or an easier life or anything other than the fact that I love his face and his brain and his broad shoulders and ridiculous sense of humor and his sense of romance too.
He's reassuring when you don't think it's manageable and he's not the least bit worried about Caleb or Loch. He's just trying to figure out the bridge in the goddamned song and then maybe we can go to bed. Or maybe we'll make some toast. Or maybe we'll watch a movie or read books side by side or maybe we'll rip all the sheets off the bed when he smiles that smile that melts my knees into my toes. Maybe we'll fight and then fall asleep halfway through making up. Maybe he'll ban Caleb from the universe and then Lochlan will follow close behind. Maybe the sky will still be blue when I wake up tomorrow and maybe the status quo works just fine too, thank you. He is generous and not nearly as possessive as they are. If you can even believe it, it's true.
Maybe here the river swells and pools into shallow dips in the rock, maybe here we float lazily downstream for a bit. Catch our breath. Cool our toes. Block out the noise. Block out the words. Just for a bit.
I am feeling better today, thank you. My nursemaid has red hair and a stern gaze and I bet he looks just like The Joker in a nurse's uniform except he'd be missing the 'crazy' as an accessory. Or would he?
I need to backtrack a little here.
We are back. Back to reality. Back to alarm clocks and packed lunches and parking passes and navigating payroll and new jobs, new bosses, new offices and no time.
Lochlan came home Monday night and picked a fight and I am stung but cognizant of his efforts to push me away so I don't mortally wound him with my actions, even in absentia. When Lochlan goes away Caleb fills in his place, sliding smoothly into first, taking over memories, attempting to top up his brainwashing, trying to talk me into all the bad things I don't want but sometimes do, in my deepest, darkest thoughts, and sweet-talking Benjamin into all sorts of games for the three of us, better left unexplained here. Therefore when Lochlan returns hell does indeed break loose because before he drove down the drive beside the house hell was neatly contained in my eyes and now it's plum everywhere.
From all directions, fireworks set into the undersides of clouds to be blown directly into earth, explosions, lights and noise deafening me, dropping me out of my skin down into the gutter where the hardcore boys play, they fired their sweetest deals, hitting home. Headshots, deadshots, I don't think I have any right to hear these things when I'm not planning on changing anything. There's enough change without me adding to the fray. There's enough misery without them turning screws and tightening the holds they keep on me, respectively.
Caleb was not predictable. Instead of his usual dry suggestion that things could be easier he found me around four Sunday morning, standing in front of the fridge. I am wearing his shirt and drinking orange juice straight from the bottle.
He takes the bottle from me and gets two glasses and we sit at the island in the kitchen and never once do I say a word while he tells me things could be different. We could travel anywhere I want. I would have time. Time with him. Alone. Time to process. To breathe. To choose the life I want. To exist within the past or the present, my choice.
He could return to his role as the good brother, hell, he could be whatever I want. Even Cole. Whatever your little heart desires, he said, over and over as if that were even possible. Finally I turned to him and asked him again to just bring the dead back to life and then leave me the hell alone. His response was to get up and walk out on me, which made me feel small and ungrateful but not guilty in the least. When I'm sober, when it's daylight, he isn't Cole and that's enough to tinge our dark whiskey-soaked nights with sadness but sometimes it's enough to pass for almost real and that's where I find the trouble, a fast-moving river you can swim in or drown by, your choice.
Maybe that's what he's counting on.
Lochlan's outburst was the polar opposite, by divine design, out of habit, into familiar roles. We know all the words. Less than half of our exchange is out loud. His plea is one borne out of simplicity. Let him give me his name and he will see that nothing ever happens again. Everything bad will go away and we will return to the unlikely world in which cotton candy is a food group and we have nothing but the clothes on our backs and the love in our hearts. We will breathe in the lights and eat the present, we'll grow fat on basic happiness and keep true to our words and to our plan. The plan, Bridgie. Everything could fall into place so easily and you would never ever cry again. Everything standing in our way would become a distant memory.
I cock my head curiously. I sometimes take liberty to imagine what things would be like if I did that and then I remember exactly what happens when you take a pure-hearted, barely educated red-headed unpredictably-temperamental Scotsman and ask him to compromise. I remember the fights. I remember the resentment and I remember that weird sick feeling of missing him so badly when he would be away from me, wishing he would get swallowed by the sunset when he rode his motorcycle west. I remember how I agreed with him when he told me we would never have a peaceful relationship and we would probably fight to the bitter end, but that he would love me more than anyone else ever in the whole wide world and even if I had to let go of everything else, he always would.
For the record, I still believe he does, and maybe that's what he's counting on.
But neither of them are counting on this. When I step to the side, you can clearly see Ben, sitting in a chair, table still strewn with dinner dishes and guitar picks. He has his headphones on, head bowed and he's playing, playing, playing, nonstop, he is broken and ruined and a perfect match for what's left of me. When we fight, it's important, when we cry it's painful and when we love it's for always. It fits and it's not for want of memories or an easier life or anything other than the fact that I love his face and his brain and his broad shoulders and ridiculous sense of humor and his sense of romance too.
He's reassuring when you don't think it's manageable and he's not the least bit worried about Caleb or Loch. He's just trying to figure out the bridge in the goddamned song and then maybe we can go to bed. Or maybe we'll make some toast. Or maybe we'll watch a movie or read books side by side or maybe we'll rip all the sheets off the bed when he smiles that smile that melts my knees into my toes. Maybe we'll fight and then fall asleep halfway through making up. Maybe he'll ban Caleb from the universe and then Lochlan will follow close behind. Maybe the sky will still be blue when I wake up tomorrow and maybe the status quo works just fine too, thank you. He is generous and not nearly as possessive as they are. If you can even believe it, it's true.
Maybe here the river swells and pools into shallow dips in the rock, maybe here we float lazily downstream for a bit. Catch our breath. Cool our toes. Block out the noise. Block out the words. Just for a bit.
Wednesday, 3 August 2011
Burn.
Lochlan took one look at my face when he walked into the kitchen and immediately crossed to me, putting his hand on my forehead.
How do you feel?
Tired. My teeth hurt.
Yeah, you're burning up. He frowned. I know it's just this ridiculous flu/cold thing hanging on. I have to get a little more rest and good food into me before I can shake it, I think. Now that we're returning to a normal sort of routine it might get easier but so far things are still a little strange and new. My favorites! No, actually I love Strange. New? Not so much unless it comes in the form of new people.
They look so incredulous when Lochlan gets parental with me and if you know of our thirty-eight-year history you don't even blink. If you don't know of it then you would think he is weirdly gentle and attentive and concerned and maybe somewhat overachievish.
Gage was sort of standing there watching the exchange and Lochlan looked up and clued in and said Look at the red lines across the bridge of her nose and her watery eyes. She's running a high fever.
Gage nodded in understanding and then said that I seemed fine, I was in and out all day, keeping up, etc. Lochlan nodded too. Yeah, she won't stop moving until she drops so you wouldn't know by her actions.
Gage remained impressed, I believe. He'll catch on as fast. He understands the proximity of our moods and our germs even. Lochlan and the rest will likely be sick by Sunday. The thermometer has proclaimed me to be 103 degrees of hotly awesome. My earrings are melting and so I get to miss Slayer and Rob Zombie. In a way I'm a little glad. The concert will get out just as the Celebration of Lights is over so instead of the usual crush of twelve thousand people leaving a place at once, there will be three hundred thousand people headed home. And, well?
No, thank you. Doubly no when sick.
Ben, PJ, August, Corey, Duncan and Andrew went anyway. Crowds don't bother them. Neither do germs, apparently. A hotly-awesome sausage fest, if you ask me but..
...I don't remember where I'm going with this, since my brain is deep-frying. Goodnight.
Princess down.
How do you feel?
Tired. My teeth hurt.
Yeah, you're burning up. He frowned. I know it's just this ridiculous flu/cold thing hanging on. I have to get a little more rest and good food into me before I can shake it, I think. Now that we're returning to a normal sort of routine it might get easier but so far things are still a little strange and new. My favorites! No, actually I love Strange. New? Not so much unless it comes in the form of new people.
They look so incredulous when Lochlan gets parental with me and if you know of our thirty-eight-year history you don't even blink. If you don't know of it then you would think he is weirdly gentle and attentive and concerned and maybe somewhat overachievish.
Gage was sort of standing there watching the exchange and Lochlan looked up and clued in and said Look at the red lines across the bridge of her nose and her watery eyes. She's running a high fever.
Gage nodded in understanding and then said that I seemed fine, I was in and out all day, keeping up, etc. Lochlan nodded too. Yeah, she won't stop moving until she drops so you wouldn't know by her actions.
Gage remained impressed, I believe. He'll catch on as fast. He understands the proximity of our moods and our germs even. Lochlan and the rest will likely be sick by Sunday. The thermometer has proclaimed me to be 103 degrees of hotly awesome. My earrings are melting and so I get to miss Slayer and Rob Zombie. In a way I'm a little glad. The concert will get out just as the Celebration of Lights is over so instead of the usual crush of twelve thousand people leaving a place at once, there will be three hundred thousand people headed home. And, well?
No, thank you. Doubly no when sick.
Ben, PJ, August, Corey, Duncan and Andrew went anyway. Crowds don't bother them. Neither do germs, apparently. A hotly-awesome sausage fest, if you ask me but..
...I don't remember where I'm going with this, since my brain is deep-frying. Goodnight.
Princess down.
Tuesday, 2 August 2011
Or to put it the way PJ described, "She's flouncing around slamming things with a pout so big her lips are, quite possibly, balloons."
You know how you sort of clear the entire day to do something and then you mentally pencil in the other remaining free days to tackle other projects? Yes, well, not only did I navigate the groceries with the children and PJ in tow but we were home by eleven. And then from eleven until three I chipped away dutifully at tomorrow's big ticket item. I did not finish it but that's a four hour headstart and that's good for something, right?
Yeah, well, kiss my ass then. It's been a really long day.
The boys started working for Batman. I'm mostly missing them and hideously short on words as a result because if I start thinking about things too much I'll implode and then there will be little bits of Bridget everywhere and they'll be gathering them up for hours and it wastes a lot of time so yes, I think I'll go put in another hour on my project and then I'll be that much further ahead.
Or something.
I really miss Ben. I had him home for five weeks. It was amazing. We did NOTHING for vacation. Well, we built a fence and some gates and went to the beach and the lake and had some dinners out and lunches and we cooked and we laughed and we slept and we watched films and listened to music and it was just totally awesome and wonderful and so today just...sucks.
PJ would like me to thank him for putting up with me.
THANK YOU PEEEEEEEEJAAAAAYYY.
You rule.
Yeah, well, kiss my ass then. It's been a really long day.
The boys started working for Batman. I'm mostly missing them and hideously short on words as a result because if I start thinking about things too much I'll implode and then there will be little bits of Bridget everywhere and they'll be gathering them up for hours and it wastes a lot of time so yes, I think I'll go put in another hour on my project and then I'll be that much further ahead.
Or something.
I really miss Ben. I had him home for five weeks. It was amazing. We did NOTHING for vacation. Well, we built a fence and some gates and went to the beach and the lake and had some dinners out and lunches and we cooked and we laughed and we slept and we watched films and listened to music and it was just totally awesome and wonderful and so today just...sucks.
PJ would like me to thank him for putting up with me.
THANK YOU PEEEEEEEEJAAAAAYYY.
You rule.
Monday, 1 August 2011
Highway 99.
I'm heading out for a drive. Lochlan will be home from his solo camping trip in an hour. I have Caleb's car on loan and all my memories knotted safely along a baby pink shoelace, tied around my wrist. I'll head up the highway along the ocean and back and then hopefully when I get home Lochlan will be here. Hopefully Caleb won't. Maybe I'll be home early. Maybe I'll be home late. All I know is I need to get away sometimes too and even vacationing inside my head just doesn't cut it.
It's the boys' last day off. Tonight the bubble bursts and tomorrow they're all owned by fucking Batman and I still don't know if this is better or worse.
It's the boys' last day off. Tonight the bubble bursts and tomorrow they're all owned by fucking Batman and I still don't know if this is better or worse.
Sunday, 31 July 2011
Deliver me from evil. On second thought, let's get this over with.
I ran in and slammed the door as I went, almost losing ground and winding up on my ass. The door swung, picking up speed until it smashed into place and the latch clicked automatically. You would click too, at that speed. I turned around and felt along the wall for the light switch, obscured in the dark, under spiderwebs and months without touch.
I didn't even have to turn back around to realize he was there. He spoke first.
What in the hell are we doing back in this room, princess?
And I did not know what to say so I smiled and then I covered my mouth. I watched as he carefully made his I don't approve but gosh, you're adorable when you're bad face and then my smile fell off my face. Too dark anyway. He is faded around the edges but still himself. The accent as thick as ever to the point where I still need to count a beat to make sure he said what I think he said, based on the thickness of his words and the ridiculous amount of words just to say something like wow or how bout that.
His smile followed mine into the dark. We are so serious sometimes it would make you cry.
It's summer, princess, don't you have a beach to visit?
You never liked the beach.
I liked the ones I found you on.
That wasn't me, just an ideal.
That was you. You need to get back to that.
It's a busy time. Batman is taking over the guys.
I know and I don't understand. Caleb has really stepped back.
Batman does that to people.
What about the rest?
They're waiting and watching.
And what about you, princess?
I smile again, just enough. It's not a question, it's a statement. What about me? I will take the affection of anyone who gives it freely. I will throw it in the face of the next one to question it and I will die on my feet, jumping up and down wanting to be everything to everyone, in place of oxygen and light and blood. Make me more powerful than Satan and God put together. Die for me, always. Live to breathe me as air, and whatever you do, don't question the inside of my head because it hasn't been mapped yet.
Or even deciphered, for that matter.
And boy, am I ever drunk right now and I opt to sit on the charcoaled floor, drawing cute cartoons in the dust and Jacob sits down too, even though he'll probably ruin his khakis and his white shirt. He had eight plain white dress shirts and all of them were so threadbare I couldn't even pass them along to the boys, I wound up throwing them out. I kept the blue shirts. I slept wearing it for the better part of three months until it stopped smelling of sandalwood and patchouli and started to smell like roses and lilacs and then I knew I should have sealed it into a ziploc bag but now I know for number three, don't I?
Caleb is here tonight.
I know.
He does not approve of all this.
I know.
He's being freakishly hands-off.
It won't keep, Bridget.
I know.
My hands are fluttering and he frowns again.
You should go inside. Go find Ben or Duncan. Lochlan even. Stay close to them. I don't trust Batman or Caleb right now.
It's nothing I can't handle.
He shakes his head and starts to get up but then he turns to me, while still on his knees. He gathers my hands together in his and kisses the tips of my fingers and when his face breaks into a smile I see the lines around his pale blue eyes and the depth that is a gift, like the deep blue sea and for the first time he starts to say something and can't finish and he's getting up and it's over.
It sounded like I'm sorry.
Only I couldn't hear him all that well.
Before I could ask him what he said I was led back through the door into the hallway, back toward the patio lights, back toward hot coffee and maybe an early, discreet excusal from the boys until the dark singular hours when evil comes calling and I go out to head it off, saving the rest, sacrificing the present and the future for some sort of fractured, manufactured truth of a past that never should have happened in the first place.
But first, another drink, for the kitchen is empty and their hands will be rough. Like their words and their hearts, after all. Jake isn't going to go very far away until Caleb does. I gotcha. Figured it out, probably the slowest, since I'm the smallest, after all. Which is why they shouldn't let me have more than three glasses of wine.
But I know why they do. The words flow freely, and the veneration too. Everybody loves a princess, unsteady on her feet. There will be no saving grace tonight, I do believe I spent everything I had.
I didn't even have to turn back around to realize he was there. He spoke first.
What in the hell are we doing back in this room, princess?
And I did not know what to say so I smiled and then I covered my mouth. I watched as he carefully made his I don't approve but gosh, you're adorable when you're bad face and then my smile fell off my face. Too dark anyway. He is faded around the edges but still himself. The accent as thick as ever to the point where I still need to count a beat to make sure he said what I think he said, based on the thickness of his words and the ridiculous amount of words just to say something like wow or how bout that.
His smile followed mine into the dark. We are so serious sometimes it would make you cry.
It's summer, princess, don't you have a beach to visit?
You never liked the beach.
I liked the ones I found you on.
That wasn't me, just an ideal.
That was you. You need to get back to that.
It's a busy time. Batman is taking over the guys.
I know and I don't understand. Caleb has really stepped back.
Batman does that to people.
What about the rest?
They're waiting and watching.
And what about you, princess?
I smile again, just enough. It's not a question, it's a statement. What about me? I will take the affection of anyone who gives it freely. I will throw it in the face of the next one to question it and I will die on my feet, jumping up and down wanting to be everything to everyone, in place of oxygen and light and blood. Make me more powerful than Satan and God put together. Die for me, always. Live to breathe me as air, and whatever you do, don't question the inside of my head because it hasn't been mapped yet.
Or even deciphered, for that matter.
And boy, am I ever drunk right now and I opt to sit on the charcoaled floor, drawing cute cartoons in the dust and Jacob sits down too, even though he'll probably ruin his khakis and his white shirt. He had eight plain white dress shirts and all of them were so threadbare I couldn't even pass them along to the boys, I wound up throwing them out. I kept the blue shirts. I slept wearing it for the better part of three months until it stopped smelling of sandalwood and patchouli and started to smell like roses and lilacs and then I knew I should have sealed it into a ziploc bag but now I know for number three, don't I?
Caleb is here tonight.
I know.
He does not approve of all this.
I know.
He's being freakishly hands-off.
It won't keep, Bridget.
I know.
My hands are fluttering and he frowns again.
You should go inside. Go find Ben or Duncan. Lochlan even. Stay close to them. I don't trust Batman or Caleb right now.
It's nothing I can't handle.
He shakes his head and starts to get up but then he turns to me, while still on his knees. He gathers my hands together in his and kisses the tips of my fingers and when his face breaks into a smile I see the lines around his pale blue eyes and the depth that is a gift, like the deep blue sea and for the first time he starts to say something and can't finish and he's getting up and it's over.
It sounded like I'm sorry.
Only I couldn't hear him all that well.
Before I could ask him what he said I was led back through the door into the hallway, back toward the patio lights, back toward hot coffee and maybe an early, discreet excusal from the boys until the dark singular hours when evil comes calling and I go out to head it off, saving the rest, sacrificing the present and the future for some sort of fractured, manufactured truth of a past that never should have happened in the first place.
But first, another drink, for the kitchen is empty and their hands will be rough. Like their words and their hearts, after all. Jake isn't going to go very far away until Caleb does. I gotcha. Figured it out, probably the slowest, since I'm the smallest, after all. Which is why they shouldn't let me have more than three glasses of wine.
But I know why they do. The words flow freely, and the veneration too. Everybody loves a princess, unsteady on her feet. There will be no saving grace tonight, I do believe I spent everything I had.
Saturday, 30 July 2011
Where the baptized drown.
Pale in the flare lightWe 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).
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
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
Friday, 29 July 2011
I will be there on his behalf.
Follow me into the desertJacob 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.
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
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
Wednesday, 27 July 2011
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.
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.
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