Astronomical phenomenons like egos and moons.

The moon came up large and red. We toasted in the freezing cold rain with a flask that was barely more than half-full and that was fine with me. A few whoops and hollers at the sky and everyone mostly dwindled away, back to bed because it was too early to be navigating those steps in the dark.

I need to finish turning this point into my evil lair. I would dig down into the ground in order to have an inside access point that opens onto the beach. That would be perfect. Like Mirage in The Incredibles. A little door opens in the cliff and in you go.

The stairs were hard enough on the way down but going back up at six in the morning in a sleepy day-drunk sort of stupor was a hundred times worse. I asked Lochlan for a piggy back. He swore at me as John laughed and offered me one, if it was okay but Lochlan of course said it wasn't because if he doesn't trust himself then he's not trusting anyone else.

Story of my life, right there. But I'm still drunk so what do I know?

Anyway, the moon was amazing and now it's over, the frigid air newly felt after such an intense pause in life. The cool blue-grey of the morning belied the fiery red ball we witnessed and left a pall on an otherwise profoundly exciting way to start an average Wednesday in January. When we returned to the house, Lochlan fired up a pan of eggs and I methodically made toast to go with it. We fall into a weird traditional routine that hasn't changed much, even in spite of long absences from each other, in many years. He likes marmalade on his toast, I prefer honey. He likes his yolks easy, I like mine medium. He likes to read over breakfast, I like to talk.

Since he was mildly drunk and moderately tired, we got eggs over hard, jam on toast and silence as we both watched the birds out the window, vaguely sad that the spell of the moon was broken in such a pedestrian manner.

Caleb came in, rested and organized, having missed the blue moon party altogether.

Ah. Just the girl I was looking for. I'd like to borrow you in a little while, if I may. 

No, Lochlan said, but he never turned his gaze away from the sea. Not today. And he reached across the table and held my hand. He knew where it was without even looking.

A super-duper, blue-blood moon (Goodnight, Bridget).

Tonight is going to be very exciting indeed, as the skies have cleared just in time for the super blue blood moon and lunar eclipse visible to everyone who lives in this, the Ring of Fire, a lovely description but also a scary prospect, as every time there's a big earthquake somewhere I fret just a bit.

At least with tornado warnings, we knew what to do. We put our shoes by the basement door. In case of a funnel cloud, any basement worth its salt would save you.

Not so much an earthquake. Everything turns to ruin and your shoes better be by the nearest exterior door, because you'll have to leave. Or so I think. I have no training in what to do if one hits, other than if the house is no longer liveable or no one is home we have a meeting place away from the house where everyone is to go. That's where we'll regroup and figure out our next move.

(Honestly my only thought is that I'll present Caleb's black card at the Fairmont Pacific Rim and we'll live like kings until it all blows over. Lochlan says that isn't very productive, reasonable or mature and my only answer to that was look who it's coming from. Someone who isn't the least bit productive, reasonable OR mature but I'm also the person who packed the bug-out bags so be nice to me or yours will contain only useless items like a muffin tin, a rubber duck and a pair of leg warmers.)

Our meeting place is not the Fairmont Pacific Rim, or even De Beers or Tiffany, as I suggested.

(You said choose a landmark, Lochlan. 

I mean like a park or a mountain close by, Peanut. Something that will still be intact after the fact.)

It's easier to just pretend it will never happen.

We've survived a few tornadoes. A couple of floods. Some life-and-death moments, definitely some deaths. We've gotten through a shit-ton of hurricanes. We've had a 4.2 earthquake that rolled the floors once already and made me feel really fucking weird, but otherwise I'm not interested in the Big One.

Unless you're talking about something else entirely.

In which case, I'm all ears.

(As long as you're not all talk.)

***

The only reason I brought all of this up is because of the Ring of Fire designation for eclipse-viewing and the fact that people act weird when there's a full moon. Everything is hurried and strangely off, nothing is settled until the sun comes up again and it seems more prevalent on the coast for sure. Closer to the water, naturally where the moon tries to pull her sea-blanket up to her nose, maybe to be coy, most certainly to be destructive as she refuses to acknowledge that it's time to sleep, dammit.

Reminds me of someone I know, Lochlan says.

"Lot 666, then, a chandelier in pieces!"

In spite of this endless rain as of late (a sure harbinger of spring in the Pacific Northwest), the buds have popped on the cherry trees, blossoms threatening to bloom a pastel pink against the dark grey sky.

I can't hear them opening though, I finally replaced my Original London Cast recording of Phantom of the Opera, circa 1987 and it's GLORIOUS. It will join the others in a good solid stack of hours of listening and entertaining pleasure.

It was the first one I adored, quickly followed by Hair, Miss Saigon, Les Miserables and RENT. These five I can sing just about all the words to, with much enthusiasm if you ask anyone who knows me. These are the best ones, I think.

This is Lochlan's fault as always.

He proclaims to 'not remember the words' but he's biting his tongue, he's clamped his cheeks shut and he's trying not to laugh. Just like he used to once I came out of the shell I retreated into after transitioning from the midway to the circus, from childhood to adulthood, from victim to survivor.

From wallflower to performer, and I never looked back. These taught me I could be anyone and I was never shy for even half a second ever again.

So that's not a bad thing, and boy does this sound wonderful remastered, played on a whole-home hybrid system fine-tuned especially for my ears.

Say you love me every waking moment
Turn my head with talk of summertime
Say you need me with you now and always
Promise me that all you say is true
That's all I ask of you

Deluge Jesus.

It's pouring and black today, the sea calm enough to swim in, but who would want to and so we stayed home today, finishing off the jar of chunky peanut butter on homemade bread and drinking coffee while the water ran down the windows in thick rivers of soaking rain.

I kind of love days like this, truth be told. Ruth has her boyfriend over, Henry slept in, I slept in, the dog slept in and we're all up now, the kids are in the theatre watching Geostorm (so good!) and I just finished booking a bunch of our phones to go to Apple next weekend for battery replacements.

Because oy. Both kids' phones are on life support by lunchtime suddenly and Lochlan's phone isn't far behind and since we're all scattered so far during the days I need them to be able to make contact if they need to and not have a dead phone in an emergency. At least they're getting fixed. I have a seven plus, it fits in no pockets but the battery life so far is incredible.

And the pictures it takes are amazing but honestly it's HUGE as fuck and I don't think I'd get one this big ever again.

Sam went out for early service and left the lunchtime one to his second, coming home, running in the door, still soaked before realizing he left his satchel and had to go back out to his car and get it. Now we're making seriously belated grilled cheese sandwiches for whoever is around (I just put out a message on our group SMS but not the 911 one) and shortly they'll start funneling in. I hope we made enough.

Here's a little cautionary tale about how to miss your whole Saturday.

My love for Pad Kee Mao and other assorted noodle dishes caught up with me as we tried a new Thai restaurant on Friday night and barring the fact that we had to eat with surprisingly heavy forks (an ABOMINATION), were offered no chopsticks and the starter came at the glorious, bitter end I thought we might have found a new haunt. It's nice to have new places to eat.

(I should have taken all of those signs as an omen. But I was hungry.)

Then this morning I almost died, as the worst headache I've had in fifteen years woke me up, if not for the nightmares beating it to the job, and only when I threw up at eleven did I feel any better. I slept until three and it took me until seven to be myself again.

Everyone else is fine. 

I'm especially susceptible to Chinese Restaurant Syndrome, or so it's called, a bit of a misnomer as it seems to cover any foreign food and any symptoms but in the migraine headache world it means the worst headache you've ever had, and mine was right up there.

I'm stupidly sensitive to glutamate, but only in very large quantities so I don't know if I can research what is safe to eat on the menu or not, I just know I get all excited over noodles and new restaurants and I'm still thrilled we finally went to this spot as we've been driving by for a couple of years and never pulled the trigger before. Little did I know I was pulling it on myself.

So today all I had to eat was a slice of homemade bread with honey and then a small plate of mashed potatoes. My phone was off, my door was closed and everyone had to go out so Henry was tasked with keeping an eye on me with instructions to drive me to the ER if I got worse.

(Which I've only had to do about eight times. I love headaches.)

God bless him, he checked on me every fifteen minutes, scared to death. On the last check I was awake and up and sweaty. He wrinkled his nose and gave me a hug anyway, and sadly I don't think I can ever go back to our favorite new restaurant again.

Merciful, ferocious, fearless.

Carry me through this world alive
I feel no more, the suffering
Bury me in this cold light
I feed the wolf and shed my skin

Last night was Burns Night and I pulled myself together just long enough to roll out a very fancy, very Scottish dinner replete with whiskey and a piper near and dear to my heart.

I was hoping the cacophony from Ben's bagpipes (thanks to the rain he performed INSIDE which, well, never again) might obscure the fact that instead of haggis I managed to get my hands on a good sized Stornoway black pudding which I boiled up and served with turnips, carrots, potatoes and the bread I made earlier.

One bite in though, Lochlan noticed. I should have started serving him drinks at lunchtime.

Hey, so did you hear about the.....wait, is this...black pudding? 

He looks at our plates, then at me.

I forgot to pre-order. I'm sorry. It totally left my mind. But it's...uh...hagg-ish, right? 

He didn't say anything. No one said anything.

Then he started laughing.

And he laughed until he was red in the face and exhausted and silly and teary eyed.

And then he pulled his chair in closer, winking at me. Alright boys, we're having haggish! Dig in!

"It never appealed to me to be the same as everyone."

And when it comes to shove and I can't see you through the black
I'm going to scream your name till you come back

I realize I left you hanging back there in 2009, with Ruth about to turn ten when I was on the hunt for a replacement breadmaker.

She'll be nineteen on her next birthday. Jesus fucking Christ.

And I did get a new machine, in 2010. It's so industrial it makes three-pound horizontal loaves and is made by Black & Decker. I don't remember if I actually bought it at the hardware store but it's likely that I did. I was a little surprised to come home and realize that it didn't have to be connected to the air compressor to work, it just plugs into a standard kitchen outlet.

Now that I think of it, I suppose it's old now too, like the last one that lasted nine years. Should I start looking for a replacement? Must check and see if DeWalt or Ryobi makes them. I'll look next time we go back to the hardware store.

(I'm only kind of kidding.)

It's churning away right now, this monstrosity of a breadmaker, knocking around the counter in time with Demon Hunter. I hear nothing else. It's sort of funny. Who knew Through the Black had such a catchy beat?

Well, I did, but did Black & Decker do this on purpose?

(I'm not breaking any bottles today, so there's that. Though Joel and I went for a long drive last night, we accomplished little. I still mostly hate him but he seems the most knowledgeable at times and attributed my sudden lashing out to stress, and depression and a host of vague labels I abhor. He also said I'm not manic (for the armchair psychiatrists out there) and he's not concerned about anything else, as I have a good track record of being able to maintain a polite and thoroughly upbeat demeanor for the sake of the people around me that sometimes caves into a hole all at once. Only certain people set it off, however. Namely Caleb, which makes sense.

So I'm not going to offer him any bread once it's done baking. He can make his own.

(Also from that link, I never listened to David Cook again after that afternoon and I still haven't told you things that would make you like me more, but hate everyone else in the process so yeah. I shouldn't ever read back through this blog. Ever.)

I would hide from me too except I'm very easy to find.

Yesterday went from fun exciting office work to all-out stress and by ten I took Caleb's champagne offer, snatched the bottle from him, smashed the bottle against the rail, threatened him with the jagged glass of the neck I was holding and promptly burst into tears.

One should always be as threatening as possible while crying, shouldn't they? How do you hold and console a person who's trying to talk to you through great heaving, hitching sobs while they jab a broken bottle in your direction?

You don't. You leave it to a team who will corner and then immobilize her, take her fun new weapon and suggest she change out of her office clothes into warm pajamas and go the fuck to sleep, as the book goes.

And so she did.

I always wanted a reputation as a crazy, tough chick and yet I still don't have it. Instead this morning they're treating me like a small child. PJ made me hot chocolate for breakfast. Lochlan cut my toast into four strips, sprinkled them with cinnamon sugar and for a moment there I was worried he would try to feed me, too. They've got their kid-gloves on and they're concerned with my snappage as am I, but honestly Caleb just picked the wrong time, words and beverage and I'm fairly sure my next alcoholic drink will be served in a plastic cup, if I get a drink ever again, I mean, but really it's the end of January and shit's worse than ever but if you ask me to my face I'll tell you I'm doing just fine, though who's going to ask? Our resolution to talk for four hours a day already fell by the wayside. Or maybe they gave up.

Pretty sure Joel is on the way. Guess I can't exactly make bottlenauts while he talks, can I?

Tuesdays with Jesus (and Gayle Waters-Waters).

I was going to post a huge lengthy thing of monstrous proportions but then Sam got overwhelmed at work and needed an office manager for the day! So yippee! I got to put on a pretty dress and shoes (and a big sweater because it's freaking COLD in here and I'm still looking for the thermostat, of which Sam won't say where it is located for REASONS like the electricity/gas budget) and answer the phone and file things and organize his office and call for deliveries and schedule the shit out of everyone and oversee the continued efforts in unsticking the windows that were painted shut and should probably be sanded down, you know, if they ever get them open without breaking them.

The best parts include fielding excited/nervous wedding questions by phone and spoiling Sam rotten with bottomless coffee and decent food. In addition to stocking the kitchen I ordered Vietnamese food to be delivered for lunch. I don't think he ever has hot food unless he's home. We sat in his office watching Chris Fleming videos and snorting with laughter while we tried to navigate rice with chopsticks and it was over far too soon but he's super busy and didn't really count on just about everyone on his staff being out with the flu so there you go.

Yes, I sanitized everything. It was the first thing I did when I arrived. Went through an entire can of Lysol wipes. I may stop in on the way home and pick up a few more, just in case.

On the whiteboard it says 67 SLEEPS TIL EASTER.

No pressure, right?

Intentional shadows.

But you see it's not me
It's not my family
In your head, in your head they are fighting

I woke up with Ben's huge headphones on, my phone with three adaptors plugged in and the Cranberries on repeat because that's what Lochlan picked for me, and since he always picks the music he'll never pick metal if he can help it.

Supposedly while I slept they all trucked down to the beach for a family meeting by the sea, in the rain and wind, there out of necessity, eschewing comfort in case I walked in if they did it in the house or yard. The kids were off to school early and prepared thanks to PJ but no one woke me up as I was up very late and there you have it. I came down around nine-thirty and asked where Lochlan was and PJ says to me,

After the meeting he went for groceries with Ben. 

Well, first of all, I've got the list and second, WHAT MEETING?

Guess you weren't invited, Bridge. PJ grins at me.

Is there a body count? 

No and as an extra bonus we even talked Dalton out of leaving. He and Duncan were forced to make up and Caleb took a few hits from both of them for their ignorance.

I wouldn't call it that-

Call it whatever you want. They got their pound of flesh from Caleb and then somehow your husband wrangled it all back into a tightly-knit army. I watched him do it and I still don't know how he pulled it off. Then he decided he would look after the mornings' chores on your behalf. Text him if you need something specific that can't wait though. You know damn well all he'll buy will be bread, a roast and endless vegetables.

Aw fuck. Wait, Ben's with him?

Yeah.

Then don't fret. Ben will get the good stuff. Ben is a terrible grocery shopping but in the best way. Not only can he carry the entire load from the truck into the house without help but he can talk you into buying ice cream in bulk. So what's the verdict?

Everyone's cool. Feelings are smoothed over and Caleb has his Disney villain status fully reinstated. I think Dalton was one of the few remaining who didn't know the whole story.

Who else is left?

I don't know if anyone is left, Bridge. Maybe Gage. Andrew? Actually I don't know about that whole household, but you might want to hold your own meetings so that no one freaks out like Dalton did. This isn't the kind of thing you should keep from them, and what you've already said isn't enough.

PJ-

Times have changed, Bridget. We've changed.