Kelly Waterhouse

Dear Santa, I think we need to talk about what happened last Christmas. As you know, there was no Toyota 4Runner in my driveway on Christmas morning. I thought we had an understanding? 

There is a quote attributed to Mahatma Gandhi: “If you don’t ask, you don’t get it.” I’m not sure that was Gandhi’s exact wording, and I’m not sure he would appreciate my use of the phrase, but I thought I’d test this theory out with my spouse this Christmas. 

I am so glad you weren’t here to see this. I’m glad nobody saw it. 

I didn’t attend the Taylor Swift concert in Toronto. It wasn’t in the budget.

The Carpenter and I are about to be townies again. We’re packing up our life on the farm, we’ve re-homed all our feathered friends (honestly the hardest part of all), and we’re moving back to the town where we first landed in Wellington County 23 years ago.

It could have been any day of the week, but the fact it was a Sunday morning felt like poetic…

I owe you an end to my story of how I met my Carpenter. I’m grateful to those of you that have read along these past two weeks. The feedback has been fun. So let me close this chapter for you.

If you read this column last week, you’ll recall that in honour of our 25th wedding anniversary, I shared the beginning of the story of how the Carpenter and I officially met, walking up the aisle together in someone else’s wedding as bridesmaid and usher.

They say that when it comes to finding your true love, “The One,” you’ll know. 

You’d think by now that I’d have learned to keep my thoughts inside my head, but if you’ve read this column for any length of time, surely by now you know I’m not hardwired to hold back. 

I took my husband to see my boyfriend perform at Centre in the Square last week. A rare date night with my two favourite men: the Carpenter and Jim Cuddy.  

He tore out the advertisement  from last week’s newspaper and put it on the kitchen table where I couldn’t help but see it. He’s subtle like that. 

She handed me a stone like she was handing me a bar of gold and something about the gesture felt as if that’s exactly what it was: gold. 

The Carpenter and I have entered year two of an NFL pool and this year, I’ve deflated my water-wings to dive in with an enthusiasm he wasn’t quite prepared for. Yep, this football season, I’m making waves. 

She dangled from the eavestrough of the barn, upside down and balled up, completely content in a matrix of invisible thread. She was about the size of a toonie.