Give me 80L or give me..uh...not death. A 4xe Jeep. Yes. give me one of those.

No, that white vehicle in the picture is not ours. I was just trying to get a shot to show you my favourite place but traffic was coming and we had to go anyway so I'm sorry I didn't frame some sort of aesthetic viewport for you. You can look up the restaurant yourself. I'm sure there are better pictures of it online. I told you I wasn't a photographer and I always tell the truth. 

Still dreaming about lunch though. I would do that every day but for the fact that we only venture out when everyone else stays home. 

Gas restrictions are ending today, however and I'm grateful for that too, Sam. Measuring out thimblesful of fuel for the big trucks is tough and a full tank brings me a huge measure of peace of mind that I can't afford to have restricted. 

My Jeep is on half and I hate it. It's snowing all week. I want a lot of gas. I won't go anywhere in it. Caleb wants to zoom around in his pretty new A7 with me instead. That car is sexy but I bet it doesn't handle as well as mine in the snow. 

I bet it does. 

Delusional millionaires. I roll my eyes. They think money can buy everything from happiness to pavement traction. Holy Christ. 

In any case I am brining chicken thighs for dinner. I make a mean honey-mustard one-pan dish that everyone destroys in seconds and I don't have to do anything major to pull it off so my card finally got pulled. Today we're just going to go fuel up and then stay home and...fuel up. 

(Can you tell we have houseguests? Yes you can tell. I have no time to myself to write. I don't mind though. It's a nice change.)

우린 뜨겁게 살아

Ventured out in actual public for the first time in a thousand years. Lochlan asked what I wanted to do and of course it's an easy answer. Hit a different beach and go to my favourite restaurant. Which also happens to be the ONLY restaurant in the village where you can get a good meal and spend an hour before getting on or after getting off a ferry from the island. 

So I rarely get to go because it's really busy and I don't like people. But yesterday the stars aligned, no one was taking ferries due to the threat of cancellations from high wind and snow and we were able to have a leisurely lunch there, with prolonged, multiple coffee refills and everything. 

I told you I wasn't pretentious, and I'm also a sucker for thick white unbreakable restaurant dishes and any menu that features both an all day breakfast and a really good club sandwich. 

And a wine list. That I gave back because I was already hungover. Ha. Too much dancing to k-pop with Daniel and Lochlan all weekend. Jesus I am too old for that now. 

In pajamas now with a glass of white wine so it's okay.

I don't know if we're going to talk about snowplow blade markers or why they're so expensive or who might be the one who needs them since even with two booster seats she can't see where her fenders end but perhaps I should look into figuring out how to make my own out of pipe cleaners or something.

Daniel laughs in tall. I am tagging along with them while they Christmas-shop, get good barber-cuts and close hot-towel shaves and concurrent manicures and we did lunch too. I am overheated, thirsty and unable to keep up. I guess it's like taking out a small child. They have a lot of energy, aren't having hot flashes and also spend thoughtfully on gifts. They stop often for coffee or for fresh-pressed juice. They will stroll along looking in windows and talking with salespeople. They sing along with carols in stores. 

I found some of the Christmas music a little heavy. Not sure I want to be looking at bespoke chocolate while listening to Greensleeves. Wish I had a bottle of water. If I had known they'd be out all day I might have stayed home but I also don't complain. I took off my coat, stole an ice cube straight out of Schuyler's juice with unwashed fingers and went and sat on a quiet bench a little out of the way for a bit. I texted Lochlan who thought I was funny and probably just improperly dressed (because I tend to overheat so easily you can set your watch by it. He said as soon as I get home I can change and then we'll make some drinks and watch movies tonight. He talked me into rejoining the boys just as they were finishing with their Christmas haircuts and we finished up shopping at the bookstore.

When we got home it took two trips to load their purchases into their front hallway and only one for me. I bought an ornament and an outfit for Henry. I have everything else I need. 

Everyone is so sad and disappointed that I didn't get any spa services or a haircut or anything for myself but merely withstood and endured. I don't know. I'm not a shopper. I did enjoy spending a day in the presence of Savage Garden while also fully clothed. That hardly EVER happens so lets just call it a win.

Per Sam's request.

I am grateful for:

Found not-stale hot chocolate and seasoned wood piles, new-vinyl record smell and cracking a fresh bottle of perfume, a surprise brandy given without expectation of company. Woolen legwarmers and cheesy Christmas movies, cheeseburgers and everyone jumping back on the Pokemon Go bandwagon with me while I attempt to finish the game (they say it isn't finishable but I choose not to believe that). being on the last fifteen pages of Billy Summers and really enjoying it even as I waited for the horror that never came. Men in 2021 getting cancelled for shit they thought they'd gotten away with (Caleb notwithstanding. Did he get away with it? Maybe, maybe not. Depends on who you ask or what day it is.), and women being strong. The health of my children and my boys. Nachos. Bad fountain pop from fast-food drive-throughs and well-fitting masks. Finding a hair elastic when I need one most, because my hair is that fun stage, just past my chin where it's not heavy enough to stay tucked behind my ears but I can make a Rescuers Pennyesque ponytail that sticks straight out. The hearing I have left. A whole host of good series just begun. The new tires in my possession tomorrow replacing what I didn't know was old and unsafe. Grateful for means and generosity always. Grateful for the daylight that filters through the giant windows facing the ocean and for the perpetual dimness in the front forest, toadstools included. For the imagination to travel when under duress and the weightlessness to be easy to restore. For the support and the love, affection and outright sick enjoyment of feeling wanted all the time. For all of it. Every last thing from the unbent forks we still use daily for pie to the extra-long generic phone cord that sometimes works and sometimes doesn't so I can sit up and surf my phone while both boys sleep with me as the meat to their bread sandwich. For cheques I can write with money gifted by a friend who really did say he wouldn't add to the heat and he stood by that oath and for new k-pop videos that make the kids dance even as they talk cars and careers in the front hall when Ruth stopped by on her way somewhere this morning. 

I don't take a thing for granted. Not a one. You know this.

We are struggling along today. Got a little bad but not truly unexpected bad news. Was a long one. Am I relieved? Not really but kind of. Is life fair? Never, ever, ever. Do we soldier on?

Of course.

AM BEING FESTIVE COME BACK LATER.

I was expressly forbidden to go outside this morning unless I wore a helmet. 

Hilarious, guys. 

The boys were doing some tree-limbing/trimming/chopping. Usually my job is to cut up the smaller branches and then stack them in a neat pile and we use them (don't laugh) to make sculptures for hanging lanterns, boardwalks on the beach, even Blair-witch style warning sigils for the woods on the point. A huge pile goes in the dry port for future woodstove/fireplace use and Lochlan burns the rest in the bonfire. I used to be allowed to wield the little electric chainsaw but not this winter. Nope. I was relegated to the racheting garden shears, using my left hand.. At least they're sharpened so it was easy work but also dumb. While I was out there I cut back the barnsley and the phlox that I forgot to do in October and completely ignored the wall of lemon balm that's encroaching on everyone and everything.

It's all done and I came inside while they cleaned the gutters (again. Trees. Gah.) and washed up and pulled a warm sweater on over my clothes and made a hot chocolate. I plugged in all of the Christmas trees and turned on all the lights and fired up Ali & Theo on the stereo. 

Duncan comes in, face twisted in amusement. Whatcha doing, Bridge? 

Getting ready for a long winter, same as you all, I said. I really hate that it gets dark at like lunchtime now so my solution is to turn on every light in the house.

Dear Santa.

(I saw him yesterday. I wasn't ready even though Ben tried to drag me over. I couldn't.)

When I woke up the Christmas spirit was already here some how. The music seemed to fit better without being harsh and intrusive. The lights glowed with a brighter hue, the snow is quickly receding and I've come to peace on a lot of issues as of late. My anxiety though, remains through the roof and I don't know if I could fix it. I've dallied with becoming a quiet alcoholic. A functional drug user. I've tried shutting down and opening up. I've distracted and focused too. I've ranged far and wide looking for solutions. Even the woo-woo ones.  I buy crystals. I've had Reiki, acupuncture, cupping and IVs of vitamins. I've danced in the salt at Burning Man and had a candlelit dinner for two at the Eiffel tower. I've cried in the ocean and screamed into the void. I've howled at the moon and I've spent hours and thousands on talk therapy. I've had my brain zapped. I tried Lithium once. 

I went away. Three times. 

I think maybe anxiety is my spirit animal now since Matthew Good got cancelled a while ago. I still think he's a genius songwriter, just maybe not the greatest person. 

Who among us is though? 

I'm probably the worst of all. I cast no fucking stones ever. I'll forgive fully-realized monsters because that's what we're supposed to do and all we can acknowledge is our own faults at the end of the day and try and change. 

This one thing though, I can't change. 

Maybe Santa can bring me some courage that sticks. That's what I would like this year.

Fourteen beams of light.

I'm having a productive day. Changed my own oil and filters. Did an inspection on my (little, old, not the new one) Jeep and ordered new tires for it since the ones on it are from uhhhhfar too long ago. Made a date to pick them up and have the old ones swapped off the rims. Regretted nothing. 

Bought a dress. 

Read that it's the thirty-second anniversary of the Montreal Massacre. That's a very long time. I still mark it though, every year. 

Bought groceries. It was snowing. We were up at five, geeking out. We headed out before seven and figured we would just get things done today. 

We wolfed down coffee and croissants. And fried potatoes too. 

We did not shovel anything except the dog ramp and Duncan's steps. And now we're making supper. French Dips and fries. Yum.

Jesus Ice Patch.

I may have curled the dog out the patio door, down his little ramp and into the soft grass. I'm not going to score any points on my end and the dog was rightly offended but we lived to tell the tale and he is back inside now, under the big beautifully- and constantly-lit Christmas tree in the great room. He lives for having a tree in the house but he's never mistaken it for one he can use. 

The house is still quiet this morning. Lochlan's working on his guitar lessons (he's playing Fly At Night. He plays, I sing and change all of the lyrics until he laughs. He says I am detrimental. He means to his practice. I think in general.)

I am mainlining the Butterscotch coffee he found for me. I drink it black but I like the smell and the bittersweet aftertaste. 

This song is the radio twin to Fleetwood Mac's Say You Love Me and I might be right as they're only three years apart but both were out and established by the time I moved to Campbell and that's where this all started.

Fleeced.

It snowed this morning. Not enough to leave anything on the pavement but the gardens were covered for a few hours and there's touches of it here and there. 

Wow. And it's only like November. So early this year. 

Lochlan stares at me. It's December fourth. 

No it isn't. But the trees are up. The lights are on, the presents are sent, wrapped and planned otherwise and the turkeys are in the freezers. I've been ready for weeks now. Also these drugs make it so the days run together and I have to concentrate way too hard on the numbers and days of the week specifically and that's WAY too much work so I don't bother. 

Lochlan is wearing his warmest hoodie. It's got soot marks on the cuffs and a little on the hood. That won't come out. He has his hair tied back with one of my velvet elastics. We've made a pact not to cut our hair until 2025. Just for fun. His hair grows lightening-fast. Mine is slow but I currently have the tiniest baby ponytail that ever was and if I move it will probably all fall out. But I also chopped mine last year. He only comes along every five or six years and buzzes his hair short and then just starts all over again. 

I also have one one of his ancient warm hoodies on. That's tradition. Mine doesn't have soot marks but it does have tearing along the seams of the hood and the arms from where he's pulled me in/back/over/around something and tested his faith on fabric instead of anything less tangible.