To those of you who celebrate Christmas, we made it. The December marathon has reached its peak. Whatever you haven’t done is likely going to have to wait til 2023 now.

Phew. No, seriously, phew.

Was it fun? Are you having fun now? For many, the answer is a resounding “no.”

Chantal Kreviazuk emphasized this in a pre-concert message she posted on social media on December 15. That day, if you recall, w

“Are you really building a house out of your garage?” people ask. Yup, that’s what I’m doing.

"Won’t it be too small?” they go on. Nope, indeed it will not.

And then, “Where will the car go?” Is their next question. Outside where it belongs. I want to add ‘wouldn’t it be better if we put people inside and inanimate things outside.’ I stop short though. I’m already nuts in their eyes.

I assume I’m not the only one to have felt the sting of words on top of the physical pain inflicted by the dental hygienist. The question “how often do you brush and floss” is generally posed with a hint of disdain, implying, “You obviously aren’t doing it at all or, if you are, you are clearly incapable of the simplest of tasks.” It’s generally asked a few minutes into the cleaning - or as they like to call it, the scaling - long enough in for the one wielding the tools to have determined you are dentally challenged. Or so it feels.

A couple of hundred heads, mostly women, all turned in unison in response to the clatter at the back of the lecture hall. Mine stood out in two ways - grey-streaked and pivoting more quickly than others, fuelled by adrenaline.

By now, you’re familiar with my dream of a laneway suite. It achieved long-waited municipal approval in early October and has started to take shape in my backyard and, even more so, in my mind’s eye.

Four years ago this week, my husband, Jack died. For the six months leading up to his death, I knew it was imminent and I thought of little else. For two years before that, suspecting the likely outcome, I thought regularly of it. For 18 months after Nov 19/18, it was my primary preoccupation and I measured time in days, weeks, months from the death date. I captured this in an earlier piece, “Mirrored Time.”

So said the White Rabbit in Disney’s 1951 adaptation of Alice in Wonderland.* The panic felt by our full-eared friend is something I have felt regularly throughout my life. Many of you may say, sure, we all feel that; no-one likes to be late. But, dear reader, I am in a different league, right there with Lewis Carroll’s bunny, quietly (or not so quietly) freaking out at the prospect of missing an appointment, a flight, a speaking engagement, court, a social commitment, or even a deadline I set for myself.

Regular readers will know my dream to build a house in my backyard moved to a new stage in early October when the City issued the permits for my laneway suite. If you missed that exciting and long-awaited news, be sure to catch up here.
Since then, I’ve been busy moving forward with decisions about how to make this space reflect the person I am. I would be lying if I said this isn’t daunting. Typically, when we move, we more or less accept the finishings of the previous owner, at least we did when we got this house. My dad once suggested people who move should accepted the finishings, the furnishings, and everything else of the previous owner. His view: it’s just stuff and we all have basically the same complement. He didn’t put much stock in personal taste.

It’s Halloween, and everywhere I turn in the streets of Weston I’m bombarded with ghoulishness. Skeletons hang from porches and sit on garden furniture. They all seem poised to wrap their bony fingers around the outstretched wrists of little children who are ready to fill their baskets with treats and hopefully get freaked out a bit in the process. I like the skeletons. They’re mostly human but birds and rodents are popular now too. It’s a nice nod to All Saints Day on November 1. Other houses have new sets of inflatables, and while I am eagerly anticipating the erection of oversized Santas in just a few weeks, I find the current batch of blowups trivial by comparison. Some houses in Weston go crazy with sound and light shows, an outlet for creativity which I admire.