Mute (no color, no sound).

Weightless and dark when I hit the water, ears pounding out a rhythm of pain where my heartbeat forces air through them, out into the open sea. I can't hold my breath, violently breaking the surface to suck in lungfuls of sparse clouds and pale sky. The birds ignore me, just another fish in their peripheral view, splashing quietly within the vast Pacific, pink against the heavy black teal of the waves this morning, something I didn't think I would touch until they took me from the land.

My brain drowns to silence but my ears refuse to comply, working just fine, thank you. Lochlan's voice cuts through the hard water just enough for me to catch the sound, but not the words.

What? I look up from my habitual panic-tread as I'm not strong enough to float the way the boys do, spreading their arms languidly in front of them, an easy challenge. I pant like a dog, fluster around and dip below ear-level. It's a fight I'm not sure I could win.

I said come out. He is standing on the dock in jeans and his boots. I notice he has placed his wallet and phone on the wood and his boots are unlaced. Just in case he's coming in to swim too.

Fine. I swim over to the ladder at the edge of the dock. There are four ladders in all. One wasn't enough. Now one at each side. They have to be close. The ease of swimming in the deep end of the pool all but disappears when the fear of not seeing bottom rushes in around the edges, setting my nerves on end, making it hard to breathe. From Lochlan's vantage point he can see no enemies but I don't have (and will never have) his confidence, though keeping me out of the water is hard.

He reaches a hand down and grasps my wet hand, pulling me right out and up to the dock before I can step on the ladder proper. He grabs the back of my head and plants a kiss on my forehead, before heading to the cupboard for a towel. I am wrapped up like a burrito and pronounced fine, untouched by sea monsters or sea lions (more likely than the monsters) and then ushered back up to the house for a quick shower and a long lecture, behind closed doors where PJ won't be able to referee the stern limits of a man running out of patience set on a girl running out of places to hide from herself.

I agree with everything he says because he is right. I know he's right. I play it as cooling off from the weekend's oppressive humidity and thanking the sea for yesterday's bead face-to-face but his fear speaks right over me and I agree to stick to the little swimming beach he has made far on the other side of our beach where the rocks are all but stripped away and the floor has been raked to a fine sand. When I run out of sand, I run out of freedom, he reminds me.

I know this. I just wanted to run and jump off the end of the dock. Sometimes you have to break the rules. Sometimes you gotta just be a kid. Sometimes you need to just do the thing your heart tells you to do even when your brain knows so much better. And besides, he was RIGHT THERE.

Was it fun? He whispers, pulling me in close once again, now clean and dry. Now safe.

Yeah. REALLY fun, I tell him and he grins.
 

Agains.

This is living. Holy shit. Woke up to another dim rainy almost-fall weekend. I was whisked up the road for brunch at Troll's and a walk at Whytecliff for beach glass (I FOUND A GLASS BEAD) and a view of the fat white sea lions before returning home to a a replacement gazebo roof (long story) free of charge from the company that sent us a defective one originally and we have been politely fighting with them ever since and a quickly-pulled together round of chores as tonight is Henry's main birthday party. I finished icing the cake I made. I finished decorating while I did laundry. I made a few lunches for tomorrow. I organized my lists and phone for the week. We fixed a bunch of random small things that were not working and now I feel somewhat heartened and ready to face a new week.

We're also trying something that seems ridiculous but is working great-going to bed at around ten every single night of the week and waking up early, even on weekends and it's working. I'm tired when I should be and awake perfectly without physical pain in the morning. I may be one of those insanely enthusiastic morning people at heart but I also despair when the alarm goes off in the morning because it hurts to have to wake up when I just want to sleep.

We're trying to fix that. I'll let you know if it works.

Hey honey.

Just home now from hosting a massive restaurant brunch. Now no one is hungry for dinner but it was such a huge success and marks a rare departure from the norm of flipped tables and bruised feelings. This time I looked after the bill and everyone sat and talked long after the poor waitstaff wished for our departure, I'm sure. Graciously they hung back and we soon moved out to the street before saying our goodbyes and taking off for home. I'm tired but content. The kids were all amazing. The budget came in far below my own estimate. The food was terrific. The boys were on their best.

What a great day. Even Caleb kissed the top of my head and told me I was a warm hostess and did a really good job.

I did, didn't I? I came down this morning in a dress, returning upstairs to match the casual of the boys in smart pants, a wraparound halter blouse and flats. I left my hair down, now past my chin and no longer a cute french bob, instead a longish pageboy. God, I hate it. Not quite sure if I should chop it all off back into a pixie or let it grow back to the point where it becomes everyone's security blanket, full of bees and peanut butter, always caught in doors, watches and plates.

Yeah, come to think of it, I never minded the bees.

Better but only kind of.

I have had three hours sleep (long story, but sadly not a fun one so let's all pass, shall we?), some leftover salad and a cursory first listen to Dope Lemon's new album and now I have to drive across town to see a man about some balloons. It's Henry's birthday weekend and I'm once again ridiculously emotional about all of it but also way better organized than I first thought. So time is short but emotions are tall, as always. Happy Friday! Also it's thirty degrees in the sun. When I get home I'm heading straight for the pool.

You know when you have a favorite shirt and you see a thread so you pull it and you figure it will come out and the shirt will be perfect again, and then it unravels slightly and you're disappointed?

That's what I feel like only the shirt is my skin and the thread is my nerves.

I told them I felt this way and they said nothing at all.

Arrivals.

We discovered that if you play Bruce Springsteen's The River one of you will sing along. The passenger will invariably start singing The Animals' House of the Rising Sun over the top of that and the girl in the backseat will be belting out Bon jovi's Born to Be My Baby before it's through. That song is a chameleon. It's a sham. It's a classic and yet it sounds just like everything else too.

***

The subject came up abruptly after dinner. I am two glasses of wine in when he changes the subject almost rudely.

I have a position in London. Actually, I have several if you truly want a change of scenery. 

London? 

Yes. Ireland is next door. You could live there and work remotely. 

Remotely.

Via computer. He is impatient. Almost rude again.

How long is this available for.

The offer? Say four or five years. 

Perfect. 

Would you consider? 

Of course. Just not now. Henry is too young. 

Alright. We'll revisit it in a few years. Can you see yourself living overseas? 

Yes. 

Good. It's something to consider. 

***

Still okay with our conversation? I get a text during dinner. He wants to make sure everything is okay. I didn't go home last night, I was with him, and so tempers have flared, singeing the edges of everything in sight. I head over but he's already on my patio steps when I come outside.

Looking at real estate. 

That sounds like you're okay to me.

I found some things. 

For all of us? 

No. I think if we left that would be it for the Collective. 

You said last week you wouldn't break it up for anything. 

Hey, I'll invite them but they have to be willing to come with us. 

You don't think they will be? 

It's a gamble. 

Life is, you mean.

That too. 

He kisses the top of my head. Don't worry about it today. 

Uh-huh. Now it's all I can think about. Congratulations, Batman. You got me to consider the future for the first time since 2007.

Can we not find a way to ban Mondays already?

Everything's fine. I just don't appreciate Mondays enough.

But it's Tuesday now and I have a huge cup of hot coffee and right now I'm listening to Koda sing a better version of Radioactive than Imagine Dragons puts out and I'm absently playing the piano on the desk while I try and reply to a hundred emails and write and get my budget done and read the news on the side, but mostly I don't want to see the news.

I mean, a grandad dropped his grandchild eleven stories off a cruise ship. CHRIST. Who wants to read about THAT? Why did they put that in? Is it a cautionary tale on why we don't balance babies precariously on windowsills?

Just don't tell me. Please. I'll live in the soundless dark with my music piped directly into my mind.

That's my next plan. Become a world-famous brain surgeon that discovers a way to bypass hearing in order to send music directly to my amygdala. Mine is so large. There is room for all of it, trust me.

I just need help passing high school biology first or I can't get into the sciences program at school. Just like last time I tried.

Pause and hold.

Today is a paint-headache, french fry, Fleetwood Mac kind of day, sunny with a chance of rain, boys with a chance of heartache kind of day, a good day to call it a Monday and go to bed at eight o'clock with a big glass of whiskey and Netflix kind of day.

An I'll post tomorrow kind of day.

Fire and rain.

Well, the move is a bust before I even begin to pack, as none of the boys want to leave the point, let alone the country. Sam plants a kiss on my cheek as we get out of his car. He motions for me to wait as he comes around to my side, umbrella held high. The ground isn't shaking today but it is soaked right through with more rain falling all around us. I take his arm and we head into the church. It's early. He needs to turn the heat on and do a quickie clean. He prefers to have Jesus beach in July and August, but just a single service instead of two a day and there will only be one today but it has to be in the church due to this humid wet weather. When we get inside, he shakes out the umbrella, leaving it open on the floor. We go our separate ways, him to the thermostat to crank up the heat, me to the broom closet to fetch the mop and dusters. Between the two of us we get the whole church ready inside of forty minutes and then he asks if I can set out the hymnals while he turns on lights and prepares his notes for service. He disappears down the hall to his office while I got row by row with the cart, three bibles and two hymnals per row. There are never enough so people need to share but no one minds and he's actually not one to dredge up unfamiliar songs, in fact he's the opposite, making one inevitable leap past Jacob and leading the congregation in a rare popular/secular hymn refrain, which is always fun and appreciated as we don't need the hymnals then at all. James Taylor is always a frequent choice. I'm not sure why but I appreciate the lighter fare.

Church turns out to be somewhat quiet and ill-attended anyway. For a rainforest people here seem awfully afraid of rain. None of the boys come later on, and so I stay behind to help Sam wrap things up, collecting forgotten umbrellas and sweaters for the lost and found box, loading bibles and hymnals back onto the rolling library cart and wheeling it back into the storage room. Sometimes the church is used by the community for outreach and for meetings and bibles disappear if left out so Sam put up a sign on the hallway door that says if you need or want a bible please check in at the office and if people do he has wonderful ones that are brand new sealed in beautiful cloth wraps that he inscribes with your name or the name of the recipient.

It's kind of nice to see in a dying industry. Not Christianity, but in people willing to devote their lives to spreading the word.

I wouldn't be able to do it. I have an abundance of questions and a deficit of patience. I'm also a card-carrying heathen so it would be hypocritical for me to ask people to accept the lord and live a Godly existence when I....don't?

Maybe I try to. In some parts of my life. Just not all.

When we get home PJ and Lochlan have been driven by guilt to set out a hot lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for us, complete with homemade crackers and chocolate milk.

I'm warm again. I went to change into warmer clothes and Lochlan follows me upstairs.

Did Sam talk you out of the move? 

No? Was he supposed to? 

When you get a bug in your brain, I never know where you're going to go with it. 

Oh, I know we're not moving. 

We can, it would just take a lot of planning. And if some of them don't want to go-

I'd rather we stay here and stay together. 

He visibly relaxes. Me too. 

I'm not going to disband the Collective. Not in a million years.

Looking at real estate now.

Ack.

I was so happy to leave hurricanes, hills and wind in the Maritimes, and then we had to deal with tornadoes, floods and extreme cold in the Prairies and then we come here to the 'Hawaii of Canada' and there are earthquakes. All the time. And did I mention we're surrounded by volcanos? Oh and can't forget every time one or the other makes a peep we get tsunami warnings too.

Usually I pretend none of the threats exist but that's been a little tough the past few days as the earth moves mightily all around us. I remember the only time I truly was concerned about Tornadoes was one evening when the sky turned black. I actually put all of our shoes by the basement door, our bug-out bags beside them. It never materialized and truth be told I was resigned to seeing the house flattened and it didn't scare me all that much. Maybe I haven't seen as many tornado disaster movies. Two. Wizard of Oz and Twister. Maybe they don't bug me because I have a truck now. Because I would just pack us all up and leave. Same with hurricanes. They'll blow the windows out and the roof off and then you just replace all of it.

Floods freaked me out a little more. We had six inches of water in the basement once in the castle but it was a tree root thing and a nice plumber came and drilled the whole thing out. Never had another problem after that but watched the water approach all around our neighbourhood every damn spring. I hated water by the time we left, granted, I hated everything by the time we left.

But earthquakes. I don't know. The movies are so devastating. All of it ends in piles of rubble and &people trapped and things caving in and collapsing and I was all but hyperventilating last night when we went to bed, wondering if the point would collapse and crush us, wondering if the yard and house would just cleave off into the sea. Wondering how many people we can safely get out of here on the various small watercraft down below on the docks (five Sea-doos, 3 kayaks, 7 SUP boards and various oversize ridiculous floaties like golden swans and tropical islands.). Plotting to find a perfect place and buy an emergency, just-in-case yacht. Looking for some sort of out so I don't have to deal with it. We're prepared. We have water, generators, weapons, headlamps, and food and medical supplies, warm clothes, camping gear and a whole fleet of trucks.

But we're still sitting fucking ducks.

Where can we live that has zero threats? No natural disasters, no terrorism, nothing to fear?

Scotland, says Loch. But it's highly boring. 

There are no issues, though? 

Well, we have lake monsters, endless rain and Outlander tourists, but otherwise it's perfectly safe.