Friday was my last day at Iler Campbell, the law firm I joined in 2005 as an articling student and for which I was co-ordinating partner for the last seven years. It was a great 17 years. Why’d I leave? Well, as I’ve written here and here, sometimes you just gotta take a risk and pursue a dream, letting go of things that, while still good, may be approaching their best before dates. This is one of those times.

Back in October, I decided to make a spider for the occasion. “What is she talking about?" I hear you ask. As a kid, I didn’t have advent calendars. Instead, while others had a chocolate treat at bedtime in the lead up to Christmas, I enjoyed brutally ripping a leg from my paper spider. When the spider was reduced to a body, it was the magical 25th. (Hey, I couldn’t make this up if I tried - just reporting my childhood.)

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.