Waked goods.

How the faces of love have changed turning
The pages
And I have changed oh, but you, you remain
Ageless
I turned around
And the water was closing all around
Like a glove
Like the love that had finally, finally found me
Then I knew
In the crystalline knowledge of you
Drove me through the mountains
Through the crystal-like clear water fountain
Drove me like a magnet
To the sea

Today is decidedly fall-like. PJ snuck some maple rum cream into my coffee, Duncan pretended he didn't see it. Caleb did see it and began to protest before receiving a swift kick under the table to the shins from Ben. The leaves are halfway down now, piled everywhere and I drank my coffee and then went outside to lie in the biggest pile, listening to Stevie Nicks on my air pods, plotting maybe some breakfast when I went back inside, but later and maybe more coffee since I didn't feel awake. The rain threatens but holds, clouds obscuring the blue this morning. Ben came out and threw me off the cliff at nine sharp and then I had to change into dry clothes and suddenly needed woolen tights with my dress and Lochlan's ancient cardigan with the big wood toggles. 

I didn't need any more coffee though. I'm awake. 

I'm awake.

I made eight dozen chocolate chip cookies, boys all but hover-drooling around me as I worked and they quickly volunteered to clean up afterwards while I took a plate of fresh cookies to Batman's. When I left his house Lochlan was waiting by the path. He took my hand and we automatically went the long way, through the grass at the top of the cliff. To the sea. To the sea, I hummed inside my head.

My airpod batteries died hours ago but I can recharge them. I am currently also recharging myself.

Jacob, the elephant in every room, on the lawn, floating in the sea, sitting on a cloud. You name it, I can see him.

A beautiful blonde elephant and I chose not to mark his death or his birthday, though I may have poured a whole scotch into the ground for him right in front of Lochlan but I didn't say anything out loud, I only said it in my head. 

Happy birthday, Pooh. Wish you were still here. 

Fifteen years on and I don't know what to think anymore. It physically hurts to imagine him or think about him or hear his voice and see his face in a video or in my brain. It cuts my heart in half on an hourly basis and I don't know what you want from me, truthfully. I thought I would grieve and then live and move on but I just tuck the grief in under my elbow and go about my day and I'll forget it's there until it falls to the floor and rolls to the centre of the room and then everyone looks at it in horror until I snatch it back up and tuck it back next to my ribcage where my heart lunges for it and just about kills me, every single time. 

It's a giant hole and the boys did an amazing job not filling it but padding the sides so it's like a trampoline I can jump into and then bounce out of again. Lochlan's done an amazing job filling my field of view with his hesitant smile and his huge red curls, his easy hands and endless affection. I never have to ask for a hug or a kiss. My hand is always held. I am always in his arms. He is always right there, keeping his promises safe. 

The pills remain a necessity. With them I am brave. With them I can easily navigate things. I can deal with the thirst, the sudden narcolepsy and the late night wakefulness. I can deal with being benign about everything and emotional about nothing now. It's better than the fear that shadowed me my whole life thus far. I still cry. I still laugh like a teakettle someone forgot about, red in the face, tears streaming. I still feel things but they don't sink me in the quicksand sorrow I swam in daily before. Writing is so hard. Painting is so hard. Creative things are fleeting and difficult to begin but I am still here and before this I didn't want to be, in all honesty. I thought the kids were grown and independent and I could just disappear. I don't want to anymore. Thank the boys for that, they've been working so hard on this and I didn't say much because yet again I thought I would be a dismal failure to everyone. 

Jacob seems happy that it's working. I still look for his approval. I still look for his permission. 

Maybe that will change eventually too.

Am I home? I don't know, check the itinerary. Check the flight. Check the time. Check the gate. Don't check the bags. Check my brain.

Sorry. I know it's Wednesday. We arrived home last night due to a bunch of semi-comical and also tearjerkingly awful delays and we are just in time for storms everywhere, except here. I am happy to be home and I can tell you with great certainty that I am never flying commercial again, if only to erase the horror of listening to some woman chat up a guy so obviously (and he was so oblivious) for seven hours straight without even a fucking BREATH and when they got to zodiac signs and he said he was a Scorpio and she screeched Oh I lovvvve Scorpes! Lochlan and I almost howled out loud with laughter, two rows behind them. 

That almost made up for four hours of misery. Let me tell you. I am five foot nothing and those planes are made for preschoolers. Also people are so entitled. They put their carryons overhead and then proceed to stand there and organize the contents while the lineup grows behind them. Like what the fuck, get it later. SIT DOWN. 

And then when the plane lands? SIT DOWN. GOD. 

Yeah, I can't do it anymore. Call me a carbon slut but don't make me fly with the peasants. 

(Don't worry, I am the original peasant, dirty knees and all. Two dollars in my fist for a coffee and a sandwich, it's the first food I've had all week, thank you.)

(That statement for those who are blissfully unaware of how poor we were and are ready to rake me over the coals I stole to keep warm.)

I walked the empty beaches. I found rocks. I forgot about the rocks and damn near got ROASTED at the airport in security. I ate. I drank. I did not sleep at all and am ruined, mostly. I navigated (!). I cried. I heard bagpipes in person and I paid the piper. I bought silly souvenirs like good tourists do and I may have smuggled so much food home in our luggage we considered throwing away all of our already-worn clothing to accommodate it but in the end we rolled everything tightly and it worked. We had a wonderful week. 

We are exhausted.

We are never doing it again.

God's menu.

Packing for what kind of weather I don't know and he won't say. We leave tomorrow. Tickets in hand. Checking in to a flight tonight for twenty-four hours notice. Going a little crazy but also flying commercial. It's been a while. I am spoilt but I also know I can buy food after security and bring it aboard. Probably water or juice and then drink on the plane. 

Muhahaha. Am I kidding? Of course not. 

Am I crazy? More than a little, but we all know that already. 

Will I miss my boys? Of course but this is a Lochlan-exclusive trip. See you Monday (actually probably Tuesday.)

Jake.

His singing voice kicks into my head every time I stop moving. I've washed all the curtains, radically trimmed the huge tea-rose bushes around the back side of the backyard gate and pet the dog so hard I might have worn a hole in his fur, if not for PJ whisking him out of my arms and telling me I was in need of a good drink or maybe something even better. 

I tried that too. I went to Duncan. Then a night at August's. Then I kept Lochlan and Ben up all night the next night and then I ended up with Caleb because Lochlan and I are going away later this week and he won't see me for a few days so he wanted time. 

It doesn't work, PJ. Pour the drink. 

Get a grip on it, Bridge. It's just the time of year. 

Yes. I know it is. The weather turns cold and dark and rainy. The trees blow hard against their roots, surrendering their leaves the sky and to the earth. The pavement is slick and reflective. The heater comes on. The dog burrows in closer to the abandoned blanket someone left on the couch and my mind instantly flicks a switch on a mechanism slowed by rust from a million oceans of tears. 

The hard part is I don't know what he's singing, and so I catch myself listening. That's always how he ropes me in and one of the reasons I can never get too far from him. Time is not distance, it's just time. Space is meaningless because he follows. Trips are good for fun restaurants and distractions and I think I'll be okay but he'll still be singing, just out of earshot.

Herds and herds of grass-fed bread.

It's raining and cool and I get to have a forbidden glass of red while I make dinner, which tonight is two large down-home turkey, broccoli and pasta casseroles, with a healthy serving of garlic bread. I should just start a garlic bread farm. We go through a lot of it. Like loaves and loaves a week. It goes with everything. It fills up the boys in a season where groceries now cost a third more, which means we're spending close to a thousand dollars a week on food. 

I know that sounds weird. There's a lot of boys in my army. There's a lot of mouths to feed in this Collective. There are a lot of fancy things to be made. 

Like you know, turkey and rotini casserole. With cans of mushroom soup to make gravy and copious sprinklings of salt and pepper. But didn't everyone save for Henry absolutely love it and come back for seconds. It tasted like growing up in the seventies. 

Tonight we're watching the rain roil the sea, enjoying the calm between storms, Ben is off on a tangent, playing Yes' Starship Troopers on a loop, and Lochlan is practicing braiding PJ's hair for Halloween. Caleb has already retired to his rooms as he did not sleep last night, and I am going to watch a few videos on my Youtube feed and then turn in early, I think. It's the most lazy, laid-back Halloween weekend I have ever spent and I am really looking forward to doing absolutely jack-shit. 

I might offer to help Lochlan. It's been a long time since he's done braids. He used to braid my hair for me and then weave them up over my head like a milkmaid. It made him worry less, somehow. 

Getting your hair caught in a ride is the worst thing that can happen at a fair, he said, forgetting it isn't.

No actual spoilers..

We watched Halloween Ends. Or rather, I did. 

Ben gave up and wandered away somewhere in the middle, just when major characters were starting to call each other, and the plot holes of Halloween Kills out on screen. I almost expected a fourth wall moment from Jamie Lee Curtis but instead got what I thought was going to be knitting-needle redemption arc but aw shoot, no such luck. 

And then the credits spooled up and I was profoundly sad, suddenly. Sure it was campy and poetic and existential and downright masturbatory in places but it's also one of my all-time favourite franchises, right down to knowing the difference in movement between James Jude Courtney and Nick Castle. 

(I prefer Nick Castle but I do not prefer to hear the stupid heavy breathing sounds. He shouldn't grunt when he fights, he had almost a supernatural immortality thus far and this is dumb.)

Let's see who pulls out the new direction card next. Gosh I hope it's some insane director like Bernard Rose or Todd Phillips or hell, give it back to Rob Zombie. Or don't and call it a day. Either way the Blue Oyster Cult was a nice touch and it's the first time I managed to see one of these before Halloween instead of after!

If you bought a Camp Crystal Lake sign for your house I already hate you.

It's Sunday and I had hot chocolate and a banana for breakfast but then PJ brought us coffee and muffins so second breakfasts all around. I caught up on my chores and then some, and now I've moved on to things that are regularly ignored. One of the best ways to spend a Sunday is with an ipad with a good movie on it or a book, or both, time-permitting. I might bake some bread but then it will just vanish. Plus my hands and arms are so sore. So, so sore. 

The rain stopped but is due to come back right after dinner tonight so I am debating whether anything needs to be done or brought in outside. I think we're good, honestly and the leaves aren't going to stop for the next six weeks so no rush there. 

I will rake them up before Halloween to minimize slipping, however. Our sidewalk up by the end of the driveway gets very slick though it is supposed to pour rain so we may not even do Halloween. I used to love Halloween but it's exhausting now. It's also that I am sick and tired of bones and black and fire. I'm sick of death. I want earth tones and soft cleansing rains and Hygge. I want cheap decorations to disappear. I want things that are different. 

But like Halloween, it's a stage and it will end and on to the next one. 

Lochlan is plotting a little getaway for us, for fall. He won't tell me much, but said to pack in layers but pack light so I am doing my very best. It's almost two weeks away but it's exciting still. 

Off to finish watching Imitation. Wish it had at least five seasons instead of just one. So good.

Elitist, ignorant, ivory-towered. You pick. I'll wait.

The internet has become my forgotten child, I'm afraid. It's full of such...trash and also the place where all my entertainment comes from. Does that make me trashy? 

Oh, probably. Especially if you ask my readers. Does that include you, specifically? I don't know. I don't look at email these days. My ego is fragile and asleep, woken only if startled, eyes wide in the darkness before pulling the blanket closer and nodding off again. 

I did see that Jacob Hoggard got five years in prison for sexually assaulting women. I read every article that came across the news out loud in the room so that Caleb could pin and then also count his lucky stars. He would get far more than five years and there's no statute on that crime anymore here. 

But I also would have ratted him out years before if I was ever going to at all. The news just reminds him to be grateful and relieved. 

In other news I spent the night with Duncan. We were watching movies and I couldn't stay awake and so he tucked me in and left and slept on the couch in their living room. So I guess I should say I spent the night at his place (downstairs in my house) and not with/with him. Lochlan came down in the morning and was pleasantly surprised, since at the very least if I'm not going to get a black mark for the week on my Good Bridget chart I will be used as a human body pillow and snuggled to pieces. This time it was neither. 

It's raining this morning. Finally. I regret everything. It's dark and miserable but also infinitely cozy. This is what Pacific northwest dreams are made of. No more wildfire fears. No more brown grass and wilted plants. No more thirsty trees. 

Of course, now the floods will come because the ground is bone-dry, compacted and unable to absorb anything. This should be interesting. It doesn't flood where we are, just seemingly everywhere else. 

Sea lions on the beach this morning and so we couldn't go down. Sad. They are the size of my Jeep sometimes and so I don't bother them. Also animals are faster than you think if you are too close. Google a video of a bear chasing someone and you'll see. Fucking fast.

But the BEST news this morning? They're going to open the vehicle lanes back up in Stanley Park, since the park board is ABC-led now (the slate that got elected and have the mayorship, council and park board) and that is amazing (Note: I don't live in Vancouver, proper). Bicycle riders have the whole seawall and they can ride on the road as well, not sure why they pushed to have yet another lane. There's a very weird vibe in Vancouver where super-rich people who live right downtown in skyrise condominiums and bike everywhere or walk want to gatekeep the city by keeping out vehicles. I guess they want rickshaws delivering goods and supplies or something. They were trying to toll downtown, hospitals and all, and the park was a huge polarizing fight over the past few years. 

It was those people versus everyone else and I guess majority rules. But I will be glad to see the park open and less traffic getting in and faster to get around and then zip, over the Lions Gate bridge toward home. Yay!

A house around the sea.

Yes, I know I have to vote. As soon as Henry is up and dressed so around noon or one or something. He promised to go with me today but said he wouldn't get up early to do it. Ruth said she'll do it after work. I am trying to raise civic-minded people who make an effort to at least elect the people who align with their own thoughts on infrastructure, development, recreation, trails and property taxes. It will be important later. For now it is learning. 

Also the boys. They are being taught as well. They are not as civic-minded but they also bitch and winge about traffic and development and trails and taxes so BOOM. VOTE, MOTHERFUCKERS.

In the meantime, I did all of the winterizing, or as much of it as I could do over the past week. Cutting back plants, taking down hoses and covering the spouts. I'll turn off the inside valves before it gets really cold. I will leave the one hose out by the side door due to it being where I clean my tools and buckets from throwing clay. The clay goes into the garden and I get clean tools and I don't have to worry about the plumbing. 

I brought in cushions off the patio and took down some of the more delicate globe lights. I put the cut plants in the mulch pile. I raked up the garden beds and flattened them out. I covered the little baby cement fountain that lives in the orchard and Lochlan has already put another coat of clear stain on the swing to protect it from the eventual rains. I pulled up the big stepping stones and stacked them in a pile at the edge of where the grass turns to soil and I harvested the remaining rosemary that I want with a plan to plant holy basil all along the path next year and leave the path in forever. We change the pattern in order to maximize nutrients and grow things in different places. It's a weird habit but if you've ever grown corn you know that some things suck the life out of the soil, and some things suck the life out of the soil around everything else too so I try to rotate crops, as it were. 

I will watch the temperatures and do the remaining things just before it all gets really cold. They are covering the pool today and by that I mean the motorized walls that slide back are being slid closed today and the pool becomes a snowglobe for the next six or seven months. We can still use it but it's not half-outside any more. They are also servicing the outside gas oven and the sauna and the hot tub and everything will be spickity-span for winter. We want it all done so we don't have to do it later, drought be damned. 

The rain is out there. I know it. Climate change doesn't happen this fast. We just had a period of strange record-breaking weather and then it will return to the previous way it was. Wet and dim and mossy and gorgeous. 

We also are moving slowly. Recovering from the headache and stomach-ails of eating questionable Thai food last night. I made Pad Kra Pao from scratch and I probably shouldn't have. Haha. It tasted almost as good as the real thing but also nothing like the real thing. At least I tried.