The Story of Rex

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Happy Thanksgiving, friends! Recently I was looking through last year’s Ask Me Anything when I came across a question from my friend Steph (HI STEPH) that I had yet to address, ten and a half months after the fact. I did not mean to be so tardy in my response, but it turns out that the timing is perfect, as you shall see.

Steph asked: How did Rex come into your life? I remember you saying it was a surprise and I wondered what the story was. Saturday marked four years to the day since Rex came into our lives, but in order to tell that story, I need to first tell the story of Barkley, our beloved brown Labradoodle.

Barkley came to us in 2008 as a 13-week-old puppy, and the boys were 3 and 4 years old, so they all grew up together. The boys didn’t remember a time without Barkley; he was our childhood dog. He was a stuffed Gund toy come to life, fluffy and sweet and, like all Labrador-blends, a bit of a piggy. We all loved him excessively, but as an at-home parent, I spent the most time with him. We walked daily, he curled up by my feet as I wrote or sat with expectant and hopeful eyes while I cooked. He would never allow the boys to be in the back yard on their own, he had to be guarding and watching them at all times.

Throughout Barkley’s life, I vowed I would never have another dog; I loved him so deeply that I could not fathom my heart allowing another dog in. In January 2021, he was diagnosed with cancer in his mouth; I was given the option of giving him chemo, radiation, or removing his jaw. I said How about we just let him live out the rest of his life in peace? I did not think he’d last until the spring, however, he lived another year and a half. I think it’s because we completely stopped disciplining or scolding him in any way, and just fed him a constant stream of treats, since we just wanted him to be happy for whatever time he had left. Now THIS is worth living for, we assume that he thought, as he had his twentieth treat of the day. When he was, to my surprise, still there in the summer of 2021, I never told him to get out of the garden as he trampled through the hostas. They never did recover from that trauma.

I was so happy to have that extra year and a half with him, but as anyone who has had an old, declining pet knows, that year and a half was very difficult. The vet had told me it would be time for Serious Thoughts when Barkley stopped eating, wanting to go for walks, and being happy to get eyedrops, the latter of which was a strange but exciting part of his day. Indeed, until the day he died, he enjoyed all three of those things; in fact, the morning that he died he gobbled down his breakfast the way he had every day of his life. And so I continued with our everyday life, walking him on our slow-boat-to-nowhere route every single day, and every single day we would come home from our walk, with me on the verge of tears.

Barkley was very obviously not well, as anyone sighted could tell you. He had a very large lipoma on his side which did not hurt him or alter his mobility, but it was dramatically noticeable, and something I learned over those eighteen months is that people can be really, really thoughtless and cruel. Every single day we would walk and every single day someone would comment on his appearance. What’s wrong with your dog?, they’d ask, or, inanely, Did you know your dog has a lump on his side? One atrocious man passed us as we slowly ambled up the sidewalk and said sharply WHEN are you going to put that dog down already?

All of which is to say that when he died, on June 30, 2022, I renewed my vow that I would never have another dog. In addition to my feeling that I could never love another dog, I was sure that I could never go through the trauma of the decline again. I spent the summer radiating waves of sadness, walking around with a fuzzy, Barkley-shaped hole in my life and in my heart.

Meanwhile, as I was spending the summer staring at my ruined, dogless hosta garden and avoiding the dog park, my husband was in conversation with one of his colleagues who, for several reasons, was sadly coming to terms with the fact that she was going to need to rehome her Bernedoodle. I did not know about these conversations, which started in July. Barkley died, as I said, June 30. My husband would occasionally mention his colleague’s terrible predicament, and I would shrug and say That’s too bad. He would show me photos of this Bernedoodle, and I barely looked at them. In fact, I said I don’t think he’s cute at all, and asked him to stop showing me photos. As I sadly watched the grass in the back yard become lush and green again, he was secretly telling his colleague to please talk to HIM before anyone else, should she need to rehome the dog.

Eventually, in late September, the colleague had a trip to the emergency room, and her two little boys – who were responsible for the name T-Rex Stegosaurus – said We just want Mommy to be okay and for a family to love Rexie.

Well, I’m not made of stone.

I did have some reservations about bringing a hundred-pound dog into our little bungalow, but we knew his temperament was gentle and sweet, and – this is key – he was well-trained, well-cared-for, and was a year-and-a-half, so past the puppy stage but still young enough to adapt easily to new circumstances. And, as my older son said, We are a dog family, Mom. We need a dog in our lives.

I was not prepared for what happened. I was not prepared for Rex to immediately bond to me and I to him. I was not prepared to have a giant dog so gently and happily devoted to me from day one. I was prepared to take care of him, but I was not prepared to love him instantly and completely.

He came to us on Thanksgiving Monday, 2022, which was appropriate, because I am so thankful and grateful for such a gift, a gift of joy and happiness. I didn’t know how much I needed him.

To quote Jerry Orbach in Dirty Dancing, “When I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong.”

Weekly Reading

It was a HUGE reading week for me, thanks to some short books and quick, unputdownable reads.

Dolly All The Time. I’m only a little bit late to this party! This was a delight to read. Essentially, it’s Pretty Woman without the sex work, and in a good way. There’s fake dating that – surprise – elicits real feelings and life changes, and it all wraps up in a very satisfying way. More than that, there is a theme of putting yourself FIRST, of taking care of the caretaker, and of speaking up for what you need and want. These are lessons that I think most of us could take to heart. Truly a sweet, funny, and lovely book.

The Reservation. I absolutely LOVE books like this: heavy character development, tiny minutiae of everyday life, an ordinary day that is somehow extraordinary. This book takes place in a restaurant and spans about nine hours; each chapter is a delve into each person who works there. It revolves around mysteriously missing ribeye steaks, and the soon-to-be appearance of John Grisham for dinner. I found this exquisite, with one small quibble: the chapter in which the big reveal happens was very explain-y and the dialogue was quite stilted and did not ring true. I wondered if that chapter was added later in the editing process, and I wished that the reader could have been trusted to be able to come to the conclusions in a much more nuanced way. Otherwise, this was great and I enjoyed it so much.

The Vegetarian. This was a literal fever dream of a book, a story of a woman attempting to escape from oppression and gain autonomy over her body and her life, told – interestingly and importantly – not from her own point of view, but from those around her. It’s a harrowing story and it gave me Yellow Wallpaper vibes. It was very well done and well translated, and very upsetting.

Textbook Amy Krouse Rosenthal. This uniquely laid-out book is so beautiful and life-affirming. I spent a great deal of time gasping and then clutching the book to my chest, tears in my eyes. There is a quote it it attributed to Einstein: There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle. I FEEL SEEN. By Einstein, no less! Anyway, the entire book is just wonderful, made even more moving by the fact – told to me by my friend Elisabeth who recommended it (HI ELISABETH) – that Amy Krouse Rosenthal was dying when she wrote this. My heart. What a loss to the world.

Some Bright Nowhere. I have no idea what to say about this book. I guess….it’s an accurate portrayal of a woman dying of breast cancer, and it is breast cancer awareness month so…that’s good? I suppose the point of this book is Whose Death Is This Anyway? A woman stops her treatment and begins the palliative care journey, and she decides that she doesn’t want her husband of forty years, who has been caring for her through her illness for nine years, to be her caregiver anymore as she dies. Instead, she supplants him with her two best friends. And I will say that this was kind of awful to read. You all know I am no male apologist but wow, I felt so deeply for this husband, and I found the antics of the three women to be just cringey and awful. I go back and forth in my mind – a dying woman should be able to make her own choices, but the people left behind have to live with those choices forever. It’s a very descriptive story of the end of life, and so please be aware of that if you decide to read this book.

Some of you got an unintended preview of this post, due to my under-caffeinated self pressing “publish” as opposed to “save” when I was editing at 4:50 am on Friday. Whoops! If you too would enjoy getting the occasional accidental preview, or just my regular posts delivered to your email, why not subscribe? If you are viewing this on your mobile device, you will have to scroll waayyyyy down to just before the monthly archive menu, but if you are on a laptop or desktop, the subscribe button is in the top right of the homepage. You’ll never miss a post! I hope you all had a very happy Thanksgiving weekend, and I am thankful for all of you for being here. xo

Unwitting Road Race Participation

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Now that it is cooler in the mornings, and I don’t worry about Rex’s paws on hot sidewalks, I have been adding “urban” walks back into my weekly routine. I say “urban” because although the routes follow sidewalks and streets, we pass fields of cows and horses, flower farms, beaches, and the Country Club at which Rex is periodically boarded. Last Sunday we were taking such a route, a loop of 7 kilometres, when we came across a large amount of backed up traffic. I thought it was a construction delay, but no. As I approached the intersection it became clear that there was some kind of road race going on, and traffic was stopped to allow a seemingly endless amount of runners to pass.

This is my biggest grievance with this city: the lack of signage for roadblocks and sidewalk closures. I cannot count how many times I have been out walking and suddenly, without warning, the sidewalk would be ripped up or otherwise blocked off, leaving me with two suboptimal options: doubling back for blocks until I found a crosswalk, or jaywalking. Would it kill them to put up a sign? On this day, there were no markers indicating a running route, merely neon-clad people with stop signs at various intersections, gesturing that-a-way. In fact, not all roads were blocked off and it was apparent that the race itself was taking place on the sidewalks and bike lanes; vehicles were driving on the roads with the runners, but of course, were blocked from driving through the runners.

I witnessed a wild case of road rage, wherein a truck tried to turn right. He had been driving on the road with the runners, but was waiting for a gap in the crowd of runners to turn, at which point he would no longer be in the running route. He started to turn when there was a gap. I suppose he would have made it just fine, without, you know, mowing anyone over, but one of the race workers ran up and started hitting the slow-moving truck with his stop sign. The truck, unbelievably, kept going while the neon-clad man shrieked and pummelled his truck. How the fuck am I going to get to work? the driver of the truck screamed back at the neon-clad man. It was upsetting but also? Some signage to say that the road would not be passable would be nice. An ounce of prevention, etcetera. We do not condone road rage here at the Boyhouse, but I was reminded of one of my former bosses, who told me sometimes he really could understand Michael Douglas’s character in Falling Down.

As it was, I was standing there, unable to cross the street, wondering what to do. I was not the only confused pedestrian: there were many walking on the other, non-running side of the street. I desperately wanted to join them, but that would involve crossing through the flood of runners and also Frogger-ing through moving cars. I neither wanted to get run over nor pummelled with a stop sign. Rex was getting more and more excited with the crowd of runners and cheering people. Let me tell you something about Rex: he is a very good dog, he is well-behaved and affectionate, he listens and understands when I talk to him. However. When he gets excited, he barks. He does not bark when a stranger enters our home, but a friend? Bark bark bark. He’s the world’s worst guard dog. He is also huge, and so his bark is loud and deep and non-dog people can be unsettled by this. I suppose I could have turned around and retraced the way I came, but I was more than halfway by that point, and I didn’t want to add an extra three kilometres to our walk. I made a choice, and I went with it. Since I couldn’t cross the street safely, I short-leashed barking Rex and started to walk against the flow of runners, keeping as far out of the way as I could. I thought if I could just get past this mass of people, I could zip across the street and be out of the crowd. Optimism! It’s my downfall.

If the beach was the sidewalk and the Canada geese were runners, you can imagine what I was facing.

Unfortunately for me, as soon as I made this decision, the 2:00 pacemaker ran by (was it a half marathon? I still don’t know because THERE WAS NO SIGNAGE), and with him was a mass of people. Now we were fully in the crowd, but going the other direction. As the bystanders cheered, so did Rex. Bark bark bark. In this grim way we walked another block and a half, which was the longest block and a half of my life. I saw a small gap in the runners AND the vehicle traffic, and I immediately seized the day and my chance. I ran across the street and broke free of the crowd. Relieved, I thought I could wind my way down to Lakeshore Road and from there make my way back to the car.

See a gap, seize the gap.

What a great plan! Except that by the time I got to Lakeshore, it became apparent that it too was part of the race route, except now we were trapped walking WITH the flow of runners. Happily, these were the super-fast runners – the Catrinas, if you will (HI CATRINA) – and so they were few and far between. Unhappily, as they passed us at their high speeds, Rex got excited with the thought of running! With people! And so again I short-leashed him and tried my best to keep out of the way. Awww cute dog! the runners said as they passed. I smiled weakly. Rex barked.

Finally, I could see more neon-clad people up ahead, directing the runners to turn left. Traffic, again, was backed up massively. Now I had a plan! I could walk past the turnoff and keep going straight. I would be free! Hopefully no vehicles would angrily u-turn onto the sidewalk and run me over, given that traffic was backed up as far as the eye could see, but I could find my way back to the car. Eventually.

By this time, Rex had calmed down. He wasn’t trying to run. He wasn’t barking. Few people were running past us now, similar to the number of people who would run past us on a normal, non-chaotic day. We approached the corner where the runners were turning left. I could taste the finish line, as it were. Not the literal finish line – who knew where THAT would be – but I would be out of this chaos. And as I approached the turnoff, I heard claps and cheering and you can do it! type commentary.

But there was no one around me.

I looked around. The bystanders were cheering for me! I smiled a little sheepishly. I’m not…I’m not in this race? I said, which felt like a statement of the obvious, to which a woman replied We know. We just like your dog. Rex barked.

Weekly Reading

American Fantasy. I wasn’t prepared for a book about middle-aged ladies on a booze cruise that features a middle-aged boy band loosely based on the New Kids on the Block to be a moving statement on midlife reinvention and revival, but here we are. It took me about fifty pages to really get into this book, because there are so many characters and it was hard to keep track of who’s who. But once it got going, it really captivated me. I was never a NKOTB fan even though I was exactly the right age, but I knew a lot of girls who were, and this felt like a peek into crazed fandom. It also felt so resonant, the musings of middle age and what it is like to be in your fifties. It did not make me want to go on a cruise, let alone a musical cruise, but it made me smile and also think a lot about the little gifts that life gives us.

Clutch. This really seemed like a book I would love – five women navigating friendships, relationships, careers, and motherhood. But the truth is that I should have DNF’d it. I should have known after the first few chapters, when the women take mushrooms in chocolate form and then go shopping, that this book was not for me. And yet for some ungodly reason I pushed through. I found it incredibly dull and tedious, with excessive detail and telling, not showing, with no nuance or emotion. I did not care about a single character except for a horrifying scene involving dogs. I cared about the dogs. The rest of this was a total slog and I wish I hadn’t wasted my time. Ah well, onward and upward.

Limelight. I really enjoyed this author’s The Sweet Spot, so I thought I’d check out her back catalogue. This book is about a woman who moves with her family from Dallas to NYC, and through a series of events, becomes a personal assistant to an absolutely odious teenage pop star, with the job to get him ready for his Broadway debut. It turns out that I really don’t like reading about odious teenage pop stars, so this book wasn’t a win for me by any stretch. However, I really do love Poeppel’s writing style, so I am going to try again with another of her books. The writing style was what kept me going, despite disliking the story.

Happy October, friends! I realized, in preparing to do another Ask Me Anything, that I have not answered a question from the last one, ten months ago. Whoops! That will be for next week, and apologies to my friend and one of my longest-term readers, Steph (HI STEPH). In the meantime, don’t forget about Elisabeth’s walking club, the CBWC (HI ELISABETH) and perhaps you too can become an unwitting participant in a road race. xo

Tent Poles Of Life

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Last week I listened to a podcast on the case against convenience and efficiency in our modern life, and it was fascinating. Who DOES benefit from people being more “efficient” with their time? If we can get lunch delivered right to our offices, is that really better than walking to go pick it up? Who benefits? It’s not us, the people working through lunch. There is always a cost to convenience, and someone is paying. Sometimes it’s all of us, from an environmental standpoint, sometimes it is a workforce in poor conditions, sometimes it is through loss of personal security and identity. It has been many years since I have worked in an office, but this still resonated with me deeply, particularly the comment that we are all trying to save time, but what are we saving time for?

It’s a good question. Some longtime friends visited us this week, and we were talking about their upcoming retirements. I’m not sure if I can claim that I am retired since I’ve worked only part-time at most since March 2004, but my husband thinks that the key to a happy retirement is to become time-inefficient. This doesn’t mean that he’s lazy or unproductive, but instead it means that he doesn’t rush to cram everything into every possible moment of the day. His workouts are no longer a rushed hour before leaving for the office, but a whole-morning affair, complete with stretching and meditation. Yard work is no longer crammed into the few weekend hours that weather would allow, which is a good thing, since we have so much more yard here than we did in Calgary. Life is more relaxed and happier, particularly since there are no longer insane demands on him, like meetings at 10:00 on Easter morning, as an example.

How we spend our days is how we spend our lives, which is a sentiment I both love and also feel uncomfortable with, given that I spent at least five hours grocery shopping, driving to and from grocery stores, and putting away all the groceries this week. Is my life just groceries now? I suppose there are worse ways to spend my one wild and precious life.

One fun thing I spent time doing this week was make a double batch of cupcakes for my friend Sammi’s birthday (HI SAMMI). There was a big party for her, which was delightful. Happy birthday to my beautiful Sammi!

Speaking of friends and ways we spend our time, my friend Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH) is hosting her semi-annual walking club. It’s my time to shine! I am the QUEEN of the daily walk; I haven’t missed one since March 2020, and before that, I walked probably 99% of the days since Barkley came into our lives in September 2008. If my day is a tent, metaphorically speaking, then my daily walk is one of the tent poles adding structure to my life. It’s a time for moving meditation and podcast listening, gentle exercise and fresh air, enjoying being outside and the beauties of nature, such as this sight from last week.

Free candy! Hold me back!

Another tent pole in my daily life, for half the year at least, is the garden. At the party on Saturday, a friend’s husband asked me how my summer was. Great! I gardened all the time! I answered, garnering a puzzled and somewhat pitying look. Well, I love it, but garden season is coming to a close and I’m going to have to figure out what I did for all those hours in previous offseasons. Oh right, I wrote a book.

As will be obvious from my Favourite Things post last week, an important tent pole is my daily shower, makeup, and hair routine, together with, at the end of the day, my makeup removal, cream application, and dental hygiene routine. These are both very vital parts of my day, as in I cannot imagine my day without them. How would I function?

I saw something several months ago that I have thought of nearly every day since. A fairly well-known Canadian writer had posted a photo of herself in a t-shirt with something witty on it, and that was the point of the post. However. I cannot remember at all what the t-shirt said because the side note of the photo was that the writer was wearing two day old makeup. I cannot get over this. I have to remind myself that the world is a vast tapestry and we are not identical robots. Still. It’s hard for me to fathom not showering daily, let alone going TWO days shower-less, short of extreme illness, surgery recovery, or camping. It is harder still to imagine going two days without washing one’s face. What would her pillowcase look like? What does her skin look like? How does one have eye makeup on for two days without it devolving into raccoon eyes? WHAT KIND OF MAGIC MAKEUP IS THIS?

Well. As I said, we are all different and have different priorities and ways in which we choose to spend our time. I am comfortable with the tent poles that give structure to my days, and therefore, my life. Well, mostly. I would prefer to spend less time vacuuming the floor, which is a tedious tent pole of my day, but that’s the tradeoff for having this guy in my life.

Weekly Reading

Reading is, of course, an important part of my day, and I finished two very good books this week.

Big Little Lies. I first read this in 2017, but decided to reread in preparation for the newly released Big Little Truths, for which I am in the library queue. The queue is pretty long, so hopefully I won’t forget everything by the time my turn comes. Anyway. Rereading this catapulted me back into the days when my kids were in elementary school: the fundraising for Smart Boards, the mom cliques, the playground gossip. This is such a propulsive, funny, and very thoughtful read about a very serious subject: domestic abuse. Moriarty is an excellent writer, and I have a little six-degree connection – a woman in our Morocco tour group taught math to her daughter! I felt starstruck just knowing that! Also, Rex would like you to know that he’s not telling any lies, big or little.

Tunnel 29. Big thanks to blog reader Allison R (HI ALLISON R) for telling me about this excellent nonfiction book that reads like a novel! It details the creation of a tunnel underneath the Berlin Wall through which 29 people escaped East Berlin, but more than that, it is a picture of post-war Germany, the division of the country, and the very grim living situation of East German people, particularly those in East Berlin. I had no idea about the Stasi – the spy network – that infiltrated every part of East German life. This was a very fascinating book and one I’d recommend if you are interested in German and Soviet history. I clearly remember the Berlin Wall coming down, I was a teenager, and this brings so much more context to that event than I have ever had. 

If I were more on the ball, I would have been singing Earth, Wind, and Fire’s September this time last week, but alas. Perhaps I’ll change it to the 28th night of September, just for today. How has your September been? I hope you have a beautiful week, friends! xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Goodbye, Dolly Edition

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I am rarely, if ever, affected by celebrity deaths. Usually I am surprised, as I frequently think the celebrity in question was already deceased, although sometimes I feel great shock and sadness at the cause of death, such as that of Rob Reiner or Phil Hartman. I was greatly affected by the death of Princess Diana and then later of Queen Elizabeth II, and I was sad to hear of the passing of Alice Munro. Generally, though, I feel fairly detached when I hear of the passing of someone famous, but I was deeply saddened to hear about Dolly Parton.

Dolly Parton brought so much joy and goodness into the world; not only did she have the voice of an angel, but she had the demeanour of one as well. She did so much for so many, particularly with regards to improving children’s literacy and education. By all accounts she was a woman full of love for all; she was quoted as saying The Holy Ghost is that part of God that lives in everybody, and the way you sin against it is by not loving everybody with all your heart, for exactly who they are. Isn’t that beautiful?

I’ve always liked the saying that a woman at twenty has the face she was born with, and at forty she has the one she deserves. I think women, as they age, become more beautiful when they have a beautiful soul; their aura shines through. Their beauty comes from the inside out! But sometimes, I like to think of beauty going from the outside in.

What I mean is that I always feel like I’m my best self when I put effort into my outward appearance. I grew up in a house in which vanity was a flaw to be overcome, and I really do think that song is about me, so I have a little bit of low-level shame about my fixation on my appearance. As I have gotten older, I have become more and more comfortable with my own vanity and the importance my appearance plays in my life. I don’t care about looking nice for other people, I want to look nice for ME, and I don’t feel like my best self when I don’t look my best.

I think this is one of the reasons I love Dolly so much. She had a rich inner life AND she leaned in to her looks. She worked hard and donated massively to charity and meant so much to people, and she looked fabulous while doing it. Another quote: My joke of, ‘It costs a lot of money to look this cheap’ ‒ that’s so true because I like to look a certain way. I can’t just put on a little bit of makeup and think I look good because I don’t look good with a little bit of makeup. I like to wear a lot of makeup. It fits my personality. Even if somebody says, ‘Oh God, she was so over-made.’ Well, if it fits me then I’m going to make everybody around me happy because I’m going to feel good myself. Never have I related to something so much. One can be a serious person and also enjoy frivolities at the same time. Being sparkly doesn’t mean being stupid. Working on one’s outer beauty does not preclude working on one’s inner beauty.

This month’s Favourite Things is dedicated to glorious, glamourous Dolly.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Goodbye, Dolly Edition

Maybe She’s Born With It, Maybe It’s Maybelline

Like Dolly, I don’t like to wear a little makeup, I like to wear a lot of makeup, every day. This is especially true of mascara.

There are areas in my life where I like to splurge, but mascara isn’t one of them. I go through a tube a month and so I prefer a less-expensive drugstore brand. My favourite – and it’s been my favourite for YEARS – is Maybelline’s Surreal Falsies. It builds nicely, doesn’t clump, and I don’t feel bad if I go through it quickly.

I also love Maybelline’s Express Brow, which is essentially a mascara, but for eyebrows. It covers up the wiry white eyebrow hairs and patchiness that are part of my life now.

Love The Skin You’re In

I honestly think that laugh lines are very beautiful, and I also have deep forehead wrinkles and marionette lines from a lifetime of smiling, laughing, and raising my eyebrows. No regrets! What can I say, I’m a “facey” person with a lot of expression, and my visage really did freeze that way. Nevertheless, I do like to use night creams, not to erase those lines – that’s too tall an order for a mere lotion – but to soften, smooth, and hydrate.

I was standing in line at the Costco pharmacy, waiting to pick up my husband’s medications. I am trying not to look at my phone while waiting for things, and so I glanced around at the people around me, peeking into their carts and wondering about their lives. What are they doing with all that cheese? I’ll wonder. To my left was a long aisle of beauty products. Here’s the thing about buying beauty products at Costco: it’s a gamble, and a very tempting one. Everything is so economical and also so GIANT. I have found myself saddled with massive amounts of product that was wrong for me, which is wasteful and makes me regret my life choices. But there I was, in a very slow-moving line filled with elderly people filling prescriptions, beside all sorts of untried and promising products. I kept glancing at them. Minutes ticked by. I AM NOT MADE OF STONE.

I ended up with a two-pack of Cerave Skin Renewing Eye Cream and a THREE-pack of ROC Correxion Cream. It was a gamble, but one that paid off. I love both of these products, and, as a bonus, Wirecutter chose the Cerave as its recent number one pick for eye creams! Now, let’s hope they are back at Costco by the time I run out of them, which will be many months from now.

Nailed It

Until I was about 23 years old, I was a terrible nail-biter. Now that I’m not, I like to keep polish on them at all times to keep from reverting to bad habits. I have had three professional manicures in my life, and one of those was a gel manicure. That lasted several weeks without chips, but the downside is that it kind of wrecked my nails. I always get gel pedicures, so I don’t know what the difference was, but my fingernails were so weak and prone to splitting post-gel-manicure that I never got one again. Instead, I use Sally Hansen Miracle Gel polish, which lasts about a week before chipping, can be removed with regular polish remover, and doesn’t destroy my nails.

I love the look of dark nail polish – my toenails are always, always red – but I find that a light, natural colour is more forgiving in the chip department. I don’t know how one gets a job naming nail polish, but I wish it was mine. The colour I like is All Chiffon The World.

A Hair Affair

Recently my gorgeous friend Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked if my hair was naturally curly, and the answer to that is: not really. But it’s not straight, either. It’s more like weirdly inconsistent beach waves. Here is what it looks like wet:

And then this is with blow-drying:

Suffice it to say that it needs a little help, and so I love my curling iron. About a year ago I splurged on a fancy, expensive one, and I have never looked back.

It takes 5-10 minutes to curl my entire head of hair, depending on my precision and mood.

Then I gently comb it out, using a wide-tooth comb or my fingers.

I suppose I could blow-dry it straight, the way every hair stylist always does for me, but the truth is I don’t like the way it looks. My hair is so fine that it looks kind of flat and flyaway, and so I prefer the curls. I only wash my hair every three days, so it generally just needs a touchup or a bun on non-wash days.

It doesn’t take an eagle-eyed reader to notice the white roots! I don’t know when, if ever, I am going to allow my hair to go natural, because wow, does that feel like a process. At this rate, I’ll be the little orange haired lady in The Home. I started colouring my own hair during the pandemic and I never looked back, except to be low-level horrified by the amount of money I spent at salons for two decades. My current favourite is L’Oreal, and I am toying with the idea of going back to the chocolate brown of my youth. We’ll see!

Shine On You Crazy Diamond

As you may recall, I have had a lifelong goal to look like Mr T, when it comes to jewelry. More is more, I say! Just like I don’t feel like myself without makeup, I feel naked without jewelry. I like to wear bracelets, rings, earrings, and a necklace every day. I also wear my Garmin watch, but I’m not sure if that counts as jewelry.

Outfit of the Month

Nothing makes me want to shop my closet more than current pant styles. Everything is so wide-legged now, and I don’t love that style on me. Well, as Dolly herself said, Here you come again, and so slim-fit pants will eventually be back, but for now, I’m pulling out my old City Sleek Lululemons. I love these pants and I have several in different colours; I wore the charcoal ones with an old Gap tee and my Skecher sandals to a friend’s birthday lunch.

I am getting a lot of mileage out of that silk scarf I painted with my friend Sandi (HI SANDI) last summer. It’s the perfect lightweight scarf for a warmish fall day!

Face, hair, nails, clothes, accessories…I think I covered all my favourite frivolities, all of which Dolly made look so good. Goodbye, Dolly. You were an angel on this earth and now you are a literal angel. You were a gift to all of us. I will always love you. xo

A Baffling Situation

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During our semi-recent trip to Southeast Asia, my husband and I were chatting with some members of our tour group when the topic of travelling with best friends came up. One lovely lady, Helene, gestured to the man beside her. Well, she said, Nick is my best friend. My husband and I exchanged glances, both of us thinking at the same time that we had had the wrong idea all along. Oh, my husband said finally. I thought you two were MARRIED. Helene looked at us strangely. We ARE married, she said. I married my best friend.

I thought that was very sweet, and I am always happy when other people are happy, but wow, I cannot relate at all. Do not get me wrong: I love my husband, we are very compatible, and I enjoy his company immensely. I think we have a beautiful, fun, fulfilling life together, but in no world do I consider him to be my best friend. In my mind, “husband” and “best friend” are two completely separate concepts. If you marry your best friend, then who do you talk about your spouse with? The snake is eating its tail!

For a few months now, I have been intermittently thinking about a situation my friend Swistle (HI SWISTLE) found herself in: she had planned a coffee date with a former colleague, and at the last minute that colleague texted to say that her husband was going to come along. I’ll just let you digest that for a moment. A former colleague casually mentioned that her husband, heretofore unknown to Swistle, was going to join the coffee date scheduled between the two women. Frankly, I would have fallen over like a tree hand-chopped by an old-timey lumberjack with the shock, even if it was one of my friends whose husbands I DO know and am friendly with. Even if said husband was said friend’s best friend, as with Nick and Helene, I would STILL be distressed at the idea. What world do we live in where a coffee date gets crashed by a husband?

Under no circumstances could I fathom just randomly bringing my own husband along to a coffee date with a girlfriend. Still less could I fathom my husband suggesting that he join us. This behaviour is baffling, to say the least. But then! It happened AGAIN. Swistle made another coffee date with this woman and, AGAIN, at the last minute the friend informed her that her husband was going to join them. Twice makes a pattern, in my mind. Once? It’s weird. Twice? Something strange and unsettling is afoot.

My immediate thought was that this man was one of those atrocious, overbearing bores who cannot bear that their wives have a social life outside of their own twosome. I was a bit nervous that perhaps that woman was being, if not abused, then certainly domineered. Then I thought that maybe he was one of those overly-social joes who insist on being the centre of attention and the life of the party, to the detriment of all his relationships. We all know the type; the fellow who thinks everyone benefits from knowing him, and who wants to be involved in everything, all the while irritating every person in his sphere.

Now, one might reasonably say but what about the woman in this scenario? Does she not have any agency and responsibility here? And indeed. I have a tendency, much to my husband and sons’ mild exasperation, to place the blame squarely in the testosterone column in most scenarios, like Miss Cornelia. Isn’t that just like a man? But I am an open-minded person, and so I do feel that some of the onus here is on the woman. Of course, if we are in the first situation, then it is possible she is an exhausted, beaten-down woman who is used to her borderline emotionally-abusive husband not allowing her to exist outside of his realm, and therefore she is deserving of great sympathy. But if it’s the second situation, she might still be exhausted and beaten-down, but in the way of the girlfriend of the guy who is wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a lampshade on his head at every party. Perhaps she’s powerless in the face of his extreme social extroversion, but my own sympathy would be a little stretched. In either case, I want her to rise up, rise up. There is also the scenario in which the couple are best friends, and the woman feels that lives are enriched by knowing her dreamboat husband, and in this case, I have no sympathy whatsoever.

But then a new situation arose in my mind, and in the minds of many of Swistle’s readers, and that is that they are swingers and are courting her. Key parties ahoy! This certainly makes things more interesting, albeit unsettling. I don’t have any swingers in my life – that I know of. Given my history of being completely clueless when someone has been romantically or sexually interested in me until things become SO CLEAR that there is no room for misinterpretation, it’s perfectly possible that I could be courted for swinging without having any idea. I don’t think that’s happening to me, but who can say, really. In any case, I do find the whole concept of swinging to be pretty wild. We all deserve to be happy, and I don’t want to yuck anyone’s yum, but also? I find it kind of distasteful in a fascinating way. I was talking with my son about polyamory and open marriages, and as he succinctly put it: One person is super happy with the whole thing, and the other person has dead eyes. I think that sums it up quite admirably.

Really. Who has the energy? I personally can only manage one dog at a time, let alone anything else. How would anyone get anything done? A long while ago I heard an interview of a woman who had written a book about her open marriage, and to be honest, it all sounded pretty grim and depressing, not to mention logistically complicated.

The truth is I think about this woman all the time. When the interviewer asked her for any product recommendations, this woman touted the benefits of a particular waterproof dog blanket designed to protect upholstery, which she used for her frequent, messy, and fluid-filled sexual encounters. I immediately ordered that exact dog blanket myself, not for my own frequent, messy, or fluid-filled sexual encounters, but for my monogamous dog relationship. It protects the back seat from a certain giant, grubby dog and his frequently messy and, on rainy days, fluid-filled paws. At least twice a day, when we are getting in the car to head to the walking path, the open marriage lady enters my consciousness, and I feel gratitude for her and her desire for clean upholstery.

Weekly Reading

I read three extremely different books this week!

Culpability. A family travelling in a minivan with self-driving capabilities hits and kills an elderly couple in a small car. Whose fault was it? Was it the driver? Or was it the fault of the self-driving vehicle? This was a propulsive read and an interesting story, but it fell really flat for me due to the overblown and on-the-nose writing style, as well as the extensive telling, rather than showing. I found the ending flat and all of the characters to be deeply unlikeable. There are a lot of interesting threads in here, with the basic idea that AI is ruining our world, but I found the execution to be deeply lacking.

Cherry Baby. The flap copy for this book did not at all prepare me for the very lovely story of a marriage torn apart by success, and then brought back together. In fact, the flap copy is quite misleading. Nonetheless! I was so invested in these characters and their story. As well as being a love story in all its iterations, it’s also a statement on going through life in a large body, particularly in this time of GLP-1s. I loved all the characters, I loved the sister chat threads, and I loved the different romances. What an enjoyable read! There is a giant dog named Stevie Nicks, and I am here for it.

Wide Sargasso Sea. When it comes to Jane Eyre, I have always been Team Attic Wife. I mean, who WOULDN’T descend into madness after being taken from the West Indies and made to live alone in an attic in rural England? So I have long wanted to read this book, which is a prequel of sorts, and explains the life of “Bertha,” the wife in the attic – and we discover her name is not Bertha at all. It’s Antoinette, and Rochester, that evil buffoon, randomly changes it. Isn’t that just like a man, to quote Miss Cordelia once more. Anyway, I’m glad I finally read this but be warned: it’s a very complicated and difficult novel to read, with changing points of view and a lot of unspoken nuance. I had to do some research regarding the post-emancipation era in the West Indies, and its colonial history, of which I didn’t know much.

It’s been a fun week, with birthdays and cake and time in the garden. I have another fun week ahead – more birthday celebrations and more cake will be involved! I hope you all have a lovely week. xo

The Week of My Discontent

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Two weeks ago I received an email from my web host provider with regards to my storage usage, and yes, that sentence IS just as boring as anything could possibly be, but bear with me a moment. The web host was unable to back up my site – this very site that you are looking at – because my storage exceeded my usage limit. My storage jumped from 1 GB to 16.5 GB over the last ninety days.

I understand the need for an automated system, but I feel like any person with any kind of critical reasoning skills might be able to deduce that there is an issue here that was not generated by my five monthly posts. However, we live in an automated world, and so I took it upon myself to follow the step-by-step procedure to discover from where such a jump in storage usage originated. And indeed, I found the issue: on July 7, 42583 files were added to my site.

CLEARLY THERE IS AN ISSUE HERE. And let me just say that this is not my first web host issue rodeo. At least twice before, I have encountered fairly significant issues, and it is always, always a problem originating from the provider: the extra files from a site migration ended up being duplicated, for example, or there is a problem with the firewall that mysteriously leads to thousands of spam comments crashing the site. It’s all very, very tedious and boring, but there is no way out but through. I contacted the web host provider, which led to a most trying afternoon. I spent a total of two hours in some kind of weird circular conversation, in which I would say that there was a problem on their end of things, they said no, there certainly wasn’t, I said there was, and they said I just needed to buy more storage.

I capitulated. I spent ten dollars on upgraded storage, because my site had not been backed up and I live in fear that it will somehow disappear without a trace and eighteen years of talking about grocery cart returns will evaporate into the ether. And not just grocery cart returns: the story about the professor with the absolutely monstrous body odour would be gone, forever, to live on only in my memory. I would never be able to recall that I had a similarly trying conversation with technical support almost exactly 16 years ago to the day; that particular incident ended with me sobbing and the technical support person calmly telling me he would stay on the line for as long as I needed to collect myself, and that perhaps I could get a glass of water while he solved my issues. I wouldn’t be able to remember when it was exactly that I gave myself a bikini wax and ran out of wax. What can I say, in the early days of the pandemic the honeypot spiralled out of control. It was a hairy situation, if you will. Imagine a world in which such important stories are not readily available for public consumption!

The point is, I have a lot of attachment to this blog, and so if ten dollars would give me a little extra security, then so be it. However! I wanted to get at the root cause of this issue, because if life has taught me anything, it’s that if you ignore a technological problem, it will grow and swell and eventually burst, like a giant bubble of gum that gets stuck into your hair and eyelashes. And so the weird gaslighting conversation between me and the web hosting help desk continued, with me saying there was a problem, them saying there wasn’t, me saying there was, and them saying not to worry, my site was now safe and secure, thanks to the upgraded storage.

Me: There is still an issue. There were 42853 files added on July 7. How did that happen?

Them: No. That’s just your site. You have 42583 files.

Me: I did not add them all on July 7. There has to be a mistake. Something had to have changed on your end. Did something get duplicated?

Them: No. Nothing changed. Everything is the same.

Finally, after 75 minutes on their online chat and 45 minutes on the actual phone, we had a breakthrough.

Me: Please, can you just look into the files on the backend. I am sure you’ll see something there.

Them: I cannot.

Me: *stares off into space, breathes deeply* I’m sure if you look…

Them: I am just a customer service representative. Only a technical support person can access the backend.

Me: *questions what just happened over the last two hours, questions sanity* Okay. Could you please put me in contact with a technical support person?

Them: Yes.

Me:

Let’s just gloss over the fact that I had requested technical support in the first place. The upshot is that I eventually received a message from technical support with the information that backup settings had been changed, resulting in a significant increase in storage usage. NO SHIT, SHERLOCK. After some investigation, I discovered that they had changed their backup system provider, which led to a duplication of everything. Technical support assisted me in a fix, which I stoically and dutifully applied. It’s fine, I’m fine, everything is fine.

So imagine my surprise when, a few days later, I received my annual renewal notice, and learned that the new and improved backup system was not a mere $10, but quadruple the previous cost for a third of the time period. Now listen. Writing is a hobby of mine and as with any hobby, there are costs involved. If I played golf or pickleball or tennis, if I was a crafter or fibre artist, if I was into photography or painting, if I had a dollhouse, all of those hobbies would come with costs in the form of fees, materials, or equipment. Web hosting fees and backup programs are part of the cost of having a writing hobby, and I have no plans to introduce ads or sponsored content or affiliate links in order to offset those costs. HOWEVER. This uptick seemed over-the-top, not to mention I did not consent to it, which is how I found myself on chat with customer service, again, for another 75 minutes at 5:00 am on a Friday morning. The happy news is that I was able to switch to a less-expensive backup platform. The sad news is that I was charged for BOTH platforms, which required yet another conversation with customer service to reverse the charges.

Weekly Reading

I was on a road trip this week, which called for lovely light reads!

28 Summers. I have read a number of Elin Hildebrand books, and this is far and away my favourite! I loved this story of a “same time next summer” affair that spans, as the title suggests, 28 Summers. The story really captured me and I became very invested in these two people who, despite everything, continue their once-a-year affair every Labour Day. I read most of it ON Labour Day this year, which was fun. Each chapter starts with “what we were thinking about this year” and it starts in 1993, the year I was 18, so I have very vivid memories of all of the references. What a lovely book of romance and friendship – and a steamy, sexy, kind of scandalous, affair.

The Shippers. This was a cute, fluffy, totally predictable and a little bit silly story of childhood friends who discover they love each other while on a cruise ship for her sister’s wedding. Listen, it’s just fun. Let’s not overthink it! Plus, the love interests are both mathematicians!

Part of Your World. A big-city, wealthy doctor accidentally drives into a ditch, and is rescued by a B&B owner and small town mayor. They come from different worlds and are in very different tax brackets. Can they make it work? Well, I think you know the answer. This was a sweet and satisfying book.

The remedy for a week of discontent is a road trip! We had a great time travelling to see friends and my parents; good times were had, wine was consumed, and games were played. Now it’s time to get all caught up on regular life – and to prepare for a very special 21st birthday tomorrow. Have a beautiful week, friends. xo

Random Semi-Related Things

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I Always Feel Like Somebody’s Watching Me

After a very busy and productive August, the garden is starting to take its annual September Slow Down. Every single day last month, I spent hours in the garden harvesting berries and vegetables, weeding, and deadheading. I was especially proud of myself for my management of what I like to call The Annual Zucchini Situation; I had been picking them when they’ve been of medium size, I’ve been using them up or successfully pawning them off on my very sweet friends, and no one in my house has mutinied due to the zucchini-in-everything Augusts of the past. A few weeks ago I was in the garden, thinking about this in a very smug way, and as we all know, karma does not enjoy smugness as a character trait. I immediately tripped over a massive zucchini that had apparently appeared out of nowhere.

I can only imagine it had been watching me for weeks from its hiding place under a large leaf.

Raspberry Beret

In addition to an actual ocean of tomatoes, I have been enjoying a tidal wave of raspberries. There is no need to figure out what to do with all of them, because as soon as I pick a bowl, it magically disappears. But a few weeks ago I had a bigger than normal raspberry harvest, and I also had an unaccountable gap in my weekly meal plan. I decided to do something I haven’t done in years, since before we moved here in 2023, which was to make breakfast for dinner. I thought I’d use the raspberries, along with my farm market peaches and nectarines, for a fruit salad to go along with my Famed Cinnamon Waffles.

The Landslide’ll Bring You Down

My cinnamon waffles were Famed only in my sons’ circle of friends. During their teen years, the boys had early dismissal on Fridays, and most of the time on those days my house would be suddenly filled with famished teen boys. I always made them cinnamon waffles because it was such a massive recipe, and then I would bask in the glory of being the Mom With The Best Waffles Ever. There is nothing, nothing so satisfying as cooking for teenage boys. No one is so ravenously appreciative.

Filled with nostalgia, I pulled out my waffle maker and went to grab the recipe for Nicole’s Famed Cinnamon Waffles, which were not Nicole’s at all, but merely a recipe in the little booklet that came with the waffle maker. And that is when I discovered that the little waffle maker recipe book was MISSING.

To my surprise, I immediately spiralled into the same kind of sadness that I had experienced back in 2023, when my bookmark collection was forever lost in the moving process. I assumed that the waffle recipe book had followed suit, and all was ashes. I was sad all over again, thinking of all those Friday afternoons when the mudroom was piled with gigantic dirty shoes and the dining room table was sticky with syrup, when Barkley braved the noise of ten teen boys in the house in the hopes of some dropped waffles, when said boys exited the dining room all saying That was AWESOME, Nicole, thank you! Never again would that happen for me, mostly because I don’t live there anymore, I don’t have teenagers, and Barkley is, sadly, long gone. Also because I would be unable to replicate the recipe. I was surprised at my sudden and intense reaction. Just feel your feelings, I said to myself sadly. The lack of the Famed Cinnamon Waffle Recipe felt devastating. Not as devastating as the bookmarks – I didn’t cry myself into a dehydrated state – but sad nonetheless.

Guess Who’s Back? Back Again?

As I wallowed in sadness, I realized that, current fashion trends notwithstanding, we are not in the Nineties anymore. We live in the Age of Information! And not all of it is Mis-or-Disinformation! I bustled over to my trusty laptop and searched up Cuisinart Waffle Maker Recipe Book and lo. There it was, the Famed Cinnamon Waffle recipe. What a time to be alive. I immediately printed it off and filed it in my recipe book, to ward off any future breakfast item-related sadness spirals.

1/8 of the waffle recipe

I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

The happy ending to the waffle recipe sadness spiral reminded me how wonderful the world is, and not just because we can access any kind of information at any time. It reminded me of how all of you, dear readers, rallied when my bookmarks were lost. I was going through such a massive transition in my life, and the bookmarks felt symbolic in the saddest way. No one, not one person, said they’re just bookmarks, get over yourself. Instead, friends from near and far provided me with bookmarks. My friend Sammi drove over to my house with a selection immediately on hearing the news, I received bookmarks from Washington State to Marco Island, from the US Midwest to California, from Alberta to Saskatchewan to Ontario, from Barcelona and Portugal. My son made me bookmarks featuring Rex, Salvadore the gnome, and Gerbera daisies for Christmas. My sweet friend Gigi (HI GIGI) cross-stitched personalized flowered bookmarks for me. I keep my collection in a tin that my longtime friend Elise (HI ELISE) sent me, and every time I start a new book, I happily choose one and think of what a gift it is to have such people in my life.

I will never forget how supported and loved I felt and still feel. Thank you, friends.

All You Need Is Love

Speaking of fun and exciting things in the mail, I received this from my friend Engie (HI ENGIE).

I literally screamed with delight when I opened it. Gnomes, love, AND math? I’m in heaven. Receiving fun mail reminded me that we are now into September, and it’s not too soon to start thinking about holiday cards. Are you a Holiday Card Person? If so, let’s exchange cards! (EXCHANGE is the key word here). Merely fill out this google form, and I will send you my address. If you are already on my list, no need to fill out the form, unless your address has changed. Now, I think that’s enough randomness – let’s get on to this week’s very mixed reading.

Weekly Reading

I had a DNF this week: Heated Rivalry. You all know I love a closed door romance, and whoa nelly, that was not this. It was way too spicy for me and I DNF’d at about the 12% mark, after the third graphic anal sex scene had me Kegeling like nobody’s business.

Her One Regret. From the author of The Nine Lives of Rose Napolitano – a book about a woman coerced into having a baby – comes this book about the biggest taboo in motherhood; namely, regretting becoming one. It is touted as a mix between a thriller and a manifesto, and indeed, it does get at some uncomfortable truths about early motherhood like exhaustion, resentment, change of identity, and overwhelm due to the stunning responsibility that is caring for a tiny helpless person. I will say that it’s pretty repetitive and overly convoluted, and every man in this book is as flat and one-dimensional as can be – they are all complete dicks. The “thriller” part was less than thrilling, in fact when the big reveal occurred I thought “Huh. Okay.” and moved on with my life. It does highlight that society views mothers that leave their families VERY different than they do fathers that leave, but mostly I felt it was kind of overwritten and a bit dull.

Inheritance. What makes a father a father? How does your biological ancestry affect who you are as a person? This memoir explores such questions after the author discovers, through an ancestry DNA test, that her long-deceased father was not her biological father due to a very sketchy infertility “treatment.” I will say that the author’s journey to peace with this very disturbing discovery is quite interesting and eventually lovely, but something did not sit well with me throughout this reading. I am in no way disparaging or questioning her lived experience. I am sure it’s extremely disorienting to discover that your father isn’t who you thought he was, and in the author’s case, this had larger implications. Her father’s family was a prominent Orthodox Jewish one, and on her discovery, she felt as though she had lost her identity and was subsequently traumatized. “It’s traumatic because I’m fifty-four years old and I found out the father I adored, the father who raised me, was not my biological father. That the family I thought I came from is not my biological family. That my ancestors are not my biological ancestors.” I understand this, however, I take a bit of issue with it. I would say that a father who adored you and raised you IS your father, end of story. I suppose I feel touchy about this because my beloved Grandma Fern was my step-grandma. We were not related by blood, but she was still my grandma. She cherished me exactly the same as she did her biological grandchildren. In the author’s case, a (sketchy) sperm donation does not make a father, in my mind. Anyway, this was a very interesting and kind of wild read about the nature of infertility treatments in the early 60s. I also learned a lot about Orthodox Judaism. This was definitely worth the read, and had me thinking a lot about the nature of families. I think there is just so much more to family than blood.

Walking With Beth. During the Covid pandemic, the 71 year-old author and her 101-year-old friend Beth deepen their friendship with regular walks and talks, and this book is a record of their conversations. Both women are from very prominent Canadian families, and so their recollections of their younger years were quite interesting to me, not to mention all they’d seen throughout their lives. Beth was born in 1920, at the end of the 1918 influenza pandemic, so it’s interesting that the two bonded 100 years later. This book introduced me to the concept of Anam Cara, “soul-friend,” of whom I am fortunate to have a few. “This friendship…was an act of recognition and belonging. When you had an anam cara, your friendship cut across all convention, morality, and category. You were joined in an ancient and eternal way with the friend of your soul. This art of belonging awakened and fostered a deep and special companionship.” This is a beautiful story of aging and friendship, and I LOVED the description of Beth’s outfits. Talk about goals! Thanks to Elisabeth and Pearl (HI ELISABETH HI PEARL) for mentioning this book.

Hello to September! We are going on a little road trip this week, and I have the feeling we will be seeing lots of fall foliage. In the meantime, take care, friends. xo