Monthly Archives: December 2022

Boyhouse Year In Review 2022

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Happy Almost New Year! I hope you have all been having a restful and restorative week! I have been enjoying myself immensely; lots of sleep, puzzles, books, food, and wine. We spent a few days at my parents, which is always fun, and involves games and food and more wine.

As is usual at this time of year, I’ve been reflecting a lot on the year that’s passed and the year that is to come. One of the biggest benefits to having a blog is the ability to look back, and wow, have we come a long way since this time last year. Late December/ early January were an absolute low point; things were dismal. Happily, on our Roller Coaster of Life, things have been more up than down; so let’s take a look at what happened in the Boyhouse in 2022.

January

The New Year started off pretty bleak and grim, with winter break extended and all diploma exams cancelled, and to distract myself from complete despair I talked about my concepts and mantras I try to live by every day, the kids did go back to school and I decided to stop reading the news, I talked about actual quantifiable goals that I work towards every day, I talked about how much I hate filtered photos, how I actually thought about Botox, and how I was unfriended by a high school acquaintance not once but twice, and I had a roller-coaster of a week that included new neighbours, a cancelled trip, a mouse in the house, and a possible hoarding issue with macadamia nut milk. This month’s Favourite Things were of the Hygge variety, appropriately enough.

February

I talked about all the fun physical changes that come in one’s forties, including but not limited to moustaches and chin hair, I had massive gratitude for all the Galentines in my life, I showed you a Week of Winter Outfits (spoiler: lots of sweaters and legwarmers), and I talked about automatic car starters and marital mismatches. I also told you all about the daily choices I make to show myself some love.

March

All Covid restrictions were dropped, and I went to Costco and lost my mind, it was exactly two years since the pandemic started, and we celebrated my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary, two years and one week in, we got Covid, and we eventually recovered enough to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary with a Banff getaway, and my son turned 18. While we were isolated, I talked about the things that made my recovery happier.

April

I talked about the juxtaposition of my desire to wave at every neighbour and my reluctance to talk to them and hear insensitive comments about Barkley (god, that was hard for me to read), there were many signs of spring in my life, Salvadore came into my life and brought so much gnome-related happiness, we had a massive snowstorm and I scheduled appointments like a boss. It was my birthday and I talked about 47 things I love.

May

I was absolutely exhausted from the neighbour’s construction, our internet went out for seven hours and somehow we all survived, we had a lot of snow and I went to the garden centre, I shared my Week of Spring Outfits, and my son had his high school graduation ceremony, dance, and banquet, none of which I thought would happen, and I am eternally grateful. At that point I stopped my Weekly Covid Count. I also shared with you my makeup routine, and included my 4:00 am bare face.

June

I lived on the edge and planted my tomatoes slightly early while the construction guys listened to Dick in a Box, I had a weird medical mystery, my midlife crisis manifested in me giving Salvadore an actual bubble bath, and I confessed to having Low Level Shame about ghosting my long-time hair stylist. I also joined my husband in Banff for a Fancy Conference. Well, I was there for the Fancy part, he was there for the Conference part.

July

On June 30, we said goodbye to Barkley, and we were all brokenhearted. We started off the summer with some visiting relatives from California – including my teenage pen pal – and our usual trip to the lake for Canada Day, I found solace in hiking, my garden, and cooking, and I also snapped at door-to-door solicitors, I talked about Cart Karma, I started a Big Project and Curated my Closet, and in the face of a Calgary Heat Wave, I shared my Week of Summer Outfits. It was also the Ten Year Anniversary of Nicole’s Favourite Things!

August

We went on vacation, I read a lot, I vowed to have Just One Backup of everything in the house and kind of failed, I got all nostalgic, my husband and I went to Mexico where I spoke broken Spanish and sang karaoke, and I read a lot more. Notably and for the first time ever, I travelled with ONLY carryon, and I can never go back, proving that YOU SHOULD NEVER JUDGE.

September

Life has its ups and downs, and to that end there were mice in the house and the boys drank our expensive Patron mixed with Dr Pepper, on the same day I cleaned my kitchen with a toothbrush, the Queen died, my son turned 17 and when I went grocery shopping I realized I had some kind of Psychological Long Covid, and I thought about house staging and photo filtering, and showed photos of my unstaged, unfiltered home. My son went backcountry camping and to distract myself from thoughts of giardiasis I talked about a variety of Favourite September-Related Things.

October

My son did not get giardiasis, but we had a number of run-ins with local wildlife, one of my students introduced me to the concept that Gratitude Is The First Step To Joy, and I listed off some of the things I am grateful for, Rex came into our lives and has brought us so much happiness, I shared my Week of Fall Outfits, I talked about body changes and the concept of “flattering” when it comes to clothes, and I prepared for Halloween like a crazy person. I also celebrated all things fall-related!

November

I rapidly shifted into Winter and Tiny Secret Festive Season, we celebrated our one-month Rex-aversary, I finished my Christmas shopping, I joined all the cool kids in doing a Day in the Life post, I revealed my longtime desire to join a flash mob, and my son decided to join the throngs of men who observe Movember. I talked about Christmassy favourites and just regular favourites.

December

We all started Advent calendars, and mine was a puzzle one, I went to an actual holiday party with actual people and actual fancy clothes, I answered your questions about the holidays, I took the car in for servicing and it was a huge ordeal, I revealed my favourite childhood gifts, and I celebrated my girlfriends. On Festivus I talked about my favourite holiday things and also how I jerry-rigged the furnace.

It has been quite a year! 2023 will be a year of change for me; I’m not great with change, and I love my life as it is, but change is part of life, so here we go! Time to jump in. Happy New Year to all of you. Thanks for being here on this journey with me. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The “It’s Festivus For The Rest Of Us” Edition

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Happy Festivus, everyone!

As is tradition on this day, I will air some grievances.

To be honest, I don’t really have many grievances, but I do have a grievance-adjacent issue. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a house in possession of a furnace will have an issue with that furnace that only surfaces on the coldest day of the year. And so it was on Monday morning, when the windchill was minus 40, I noticed that the temperature in the house was below that at which the thermostat was set at, and the furnace was not running. The temperature started to drop fairly rapidly, which brings us to the Feats of Strength portion of Festivus. For me, it was less of a feat of physical strength, than mental.

I went down to the furnace room and shone a flashlight on the furnace, the heating equivalent of kicking tires. I noticed a sticker on the furnace with troubleshooting steps, starting with changing the furnace filter and ending with resetting the furnace by flipping the emergency switch. I did each of the steps, ending with the reset button. How many things in this world are fixed by just turning them off, and then turning them back on again? It worked for this girl! The furnace whooshed into action, and the house warmed up to its typical 20 degrees. I congratulated myself, put on several layers, and took Rex for a walk.

When we returned an hour later, the furnace had stopped and the house had cooled down a couple of degrees. I restarted the furnace again, considered my new full-time job of the modern day equivalent of stoking the fire, and called to leave a message with Tony the Hot Plumber, who has been my plumbing-related eye-candy for over a decade. It’s not a chore by any means to call Tony, but I figured that given the weather, it could be a day or maybe even a few days before he could get back to me. “This is like your Superbowl!” I said cheerfully in the message, suggesting that maybe there was a problem with the sensor since the actual furnace seemed to work.

Only a couple of hours later, I got a call from Tony. He had just finished a job, and could be at my house in half an hour!

I quickly zoomed around the house, gathering cash – it’s his preferred method of payment – and then I put together a cute little box of Christmas treats and applied lipstick. Don’t judge! You would do the same.

It WAS a problem with the sensor – am I about to embark on a new career as a heating and plumbing clairvoyant? – and it was easily fixed. “I see you changed the furnace filter,” Tony said, “And you even put it in the right way!” Written down, it sounds patronizing, but really it was said in a congratulatory and encouraging tone, albeit one that was perhaps pleasantly surprised. I am now eternally grateful for a reliable furnace, as well as having a reliable (and attractive) plumber. I was especially happy as the weather got worse over the next couple of days.

All right, grievances – such as they are – have been aired, feats of strength shown, it’s time to move on! This is a very long, roundabout introduction to the last Favourite Things of 2022. I wanted to show you some of my favourite holiday-related items to round off the year.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The “It’s Festivus For The Rest Of Us” Edition

Gnome Sweet Gnome

I love gnomes at all times of the year, but I think they are especially fun during the holidays. Salvadore is enjoying hanging out in what I am calling Gnome Corner, with his friends Knightley, Elton, and Bingley, just in case you weren’t yet sure about one of my favourite authors.

Not to worry, Gaston is festively hanging out in the ball pit.

God, remember ball pits? There was one at the Beaners where my kids got their hair cut when they were small, and I recall one of my sons saying “Hey, my sock is all wet!” I looked over to see a small child in the ball pit with him look suddenly sheepish. Shudder. I am glad those days are in my rearview mirror.

My new tree gnomes are hanging out happily.

Pining For Christmas

Many years ago – at least twenty, but it might be more – I was visiting my in-laws and, while walking on their property, saw many beautiful, huge pine cones on the ground. I gathered a large number of them, intending to make a Christmas craft, temporarily forgetting that I have absolutely no craft-making qualities. Fortunately I remembered this aspect of myself before the pine cones became a pile of hot glue and shards. Instead of doing something that would only end in tears, every year I arrange the pine cones in a bowl and on various flat surfaces around the house – see Gaston’s photo, above.

Run, Run, As Fast As You Can

Speaking of my lack of craftiness, last Friday the boys and I engaged in our annual tradition of decorating gingerbread people. As always, I stuck with my assembly line of mini M&Ms and frosting tubes to make plates full of smiling, tri-buttoned people while the boys got creative.

My younger son concentrated on making the gingerbread equivalent of AEW wrestlers, complete with bladed foreheads – maybe don’t look that up – and a Walter White.

My older son created a Joe Biden and a Barry Bee, among others.

One of those “others” was the mom from Mean Girls, complete with Juicy tracksuit, for his own Cool Mom.

I laughingly suggested that I should get myself a Juicy tracksuit, and my younger son’s response was Not if you want to remain the Cool Mom. As if I would wear a pink tracksuit. I guess my Cool Mom status still stands.

Mint Squares

Mint chocolate is the festive season’s pumpkin spice: people either love it and anticipate it with excitement, or they don’t. I am a Love It person; it’s probably my favourite sweet flavour combination. To that end, years ago I created these vegan mint squares and they have been a Christmas staple ever since.

I also love reading my old recipes for the commentary; this one has a reference to Richard Scarry and Aunty Ant.

Feliz Navidad

Back in 1997, I was on a girls’ trip to Mexico, and I happened on a little shop that had all sorts of little knick-knacks, and I fell in love with these little creche figurines. The boys used to play with them when we would set up the creche every year, and Rex has wagged a few cows and sheep out of the barn, which is a testament to their fortitude (maybe they are celebrating Festivus, with feats of strength?).

Christmas Vacation

I love the movie Christmas Vacation with all my heart; we watch it every year and this year we were joined my my husband’s cousin and her husband, who also love it. My husband prepared for it by wearing this:

In a massive fail, I had worn mine to exercise in that morning, so it was in the wash:

The fact that we have these shirts represents my husband’s great love; he doesn’t even really like that movie, but he puts up with my obsession. He helped put together this puzzle:

Maybe he feels that the exterior lighting hits a bit too close to home.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, my friends. I know this year is fraught with weather concerns and storms, and I hope you are all safe and warm and surrounded by love. xo

Sisters From Other Misters

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It’s Fun Mail Season! It’s so nice to open the mailbox to see something other than flyers – which I still get because the fellow who delivers them is developmentally disabled and I will NOT put him out of a job, I just recycle them upon receipt – and the occasional request for funding. Fun Mail Season reminds me of when I was a Sweet Young Thing and used to get letters from all my pen pals, and sometimes even LOVE LETTERS from far-away would-be suitors, which makes me sound like I’m in a Jane Austen novel, but the letters often contained descriptions about parties attended and how their friends drank themselves senseless, which I am pretty sure Marianne Dashwood never had to hear about.

I have long thought of the blogging community and social media as being today’s pen pal equivalent. Some say that such friendships are Not Real, but I beg to differ. Social media has allowed me to stay in the lives of people who I would have lost touch with over time, in a different era, and that is a real gift. It is said that friends come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime, and I used to think in this Friendship Venn Diagram, none of the circles would be overlapping. Now, though, I think they can and often do. Perhaps I am not in a Going For Coffee relationship with my best friend from first grade, but I am on Facebook with her, and that’s nice too. In this way I am in touch with my far-away cousins, people I used to work with, and almost my entire high school graduating class; it might be “connection-lite,” but it’s still connection, and it’s still valid.

One of the books I read this week spoke very disparagingly of such connections, but I think there is a real place for them in our lives. After all, not everyone can bring you a casserole in times of hardship, but words can lift you up just the same. Sometimes I think of elephants and big horned sheep, and how when one of their herd is injured or in need, the rest of them form a circle to keep them safe. That is what social media and blogging friendships feel like to me; it seems to me that when friends are experiencing real losses and hardships, particularly in the last few years, our online community gathers and forms that strong circle until the person on the inside can get back on her feet.

I have two brothers and growing up, I never wanted for a sister; in fact, I relished the role of Only Girl, and all the special treatment that came with it. As I got older and pursued education and a career in a male-dominated area, and then had sons, I started to long for a sister. I have many wonderful girlfriends and have been blessed to be a part of many beautiful circles, and I have cultivated a few friendships that I consider Chosen Sisters. These Sisters fill up my cup and visits with them are always beneficial to me; we can be completely real and open with each other, and we never judge. Two of them live far away but we touch base nearly every day (HI HANNAH, HI ALLISON), and one of them is my motivator and cheerleader on every level who I see as often as our schedules permit (HI JANET). One Sister is someone I see a few times a year with her family, and we all used to travel together pre-Covid (HI JEN). Her family feels like my family, and as our kids start to prepare to leave us with an empty nest, I hope that we can continue to travel. Another Sister is also my neighbour, and she has been a surrogate-aunt-next-door to my kids (HI TARYN).

I’ve been thinking a lot about friendships and the role that certain women play in my life lately. In my recent Ask Me Anything, Suz (HI SUZ) asked Who is your oldest friend (how many years?) and do you have one best friend/ soul sister? I just saw my oldest close friend this weekend (HI TARA)! On the very first day of grade nine, back in 1989, I noticed a new girl in homeroom, with the thickest, curliest, most beautiful red hair you have ever seen. I bounced over to her and said “Hi! I’m Nicole! I love your hair!” and we have been close friends ever since. These days we only see each other twice annually, on our birthdays, but we are able to pick up exactly where we left off. Tara gave me a baby shower when my oldest was born, and when she introduced herself to the guests, she said Nicole and I have been through our life stages together, and those words really stayed with me. It’s really special to think of friends going through the same stages at the same time over the years. We are now in the thick of Young Adult Parenting, and Almost Empty Nest Life, and perhaps at some point in the future we will be lucky enough to be Living La Vida Mother-In-Law and perhaps even Grandma World.

This brings me to my second question of the day, from Colleen (HI COLLEEN), which is a two-parter. How do you feel about your boys dating? What kind of mother-in-law and/ or grandma do you want to be? I feel just fine about my boys dating. I think they are smart and respectful and that they will make good boyfriends and, possibly, husbands. We have had only a few girlfriends and dates around here, and I think they were really great in terms of growth and learning. Many years ago a friend of mine had said conversationally in terms of her son dating that no one is ever really good enough for your kid, and I vehemently disagree with that. I think that, right there, is the reason mothers-in-law have the kind of reputation they have. I would like to be a very Here For You mother-in-law, and one who is open-minded to different ways of living and doing things. If I am lucky enough to be a grandma, I hope to be a hands-on one who is helpful. My mother was so helpful to me when the kids were small; I want to be just as helpful to my sons and their future spouses. I hope to be a good listener, and someone who meets spouses and grandchildren exactly where they are, without judgement or thoughts of how to change them.

I recently read something that said unsolicited advice is the same as judgement and that is something that I have been rolling around in my mind this week. It’s something to keep in mind for everything, I think, from navigating friendships to changing family dynamics. The key to all relationships, for me, is to stay open and to remember that there is room for everyone. From besties to random Instagram follows, the world is richer when we open up to allow people in.

Weekly Reading

Mean Baby. I had heard this was a good memoir, and then when I picked it up, I realized I had no idea who this woman is. I haven’t seen anything she’s done, but no matter. This is an extremely compelling and terribly sad book about her lifelong demons, her toxic relationships – particularly with her mother, multiple sexual assaults, alcoholism, and, finally, a diagnosis of MS. So, trigger warning? I tore through it but it is dreadfully sad. It is advertised as being “bitingly funny,” which makes me wonder about the reviewer. I found nothing in this book to be funny.

The Hotel Nantucket. Mid-December might not be the most typical time for a beach read but hey, library holds come in when library holds come in/ the heart wants what it wants. This was a very fun read about the employees and guests at a hotel in Nantucket…a haunted hotel! A friendly ghost floats around, watching the affairs and scandals that abound. It was entertaining and satisfying, with engaging characters and back stories. I’m not typically one for ghost stories, but I found this just so charming and fun. I am going to seek out more from this author, for more mood-lifting reads.

This Wild And Precious Life. I picked up this book because I heard a review about it that was positive, and also the title is taken from one of my very favourite poet’s most famous poem. And I will say that this book does contain many very good points. But. It is not often I regret the time I spend reading a book but wow, I regret reading this. The very good points – the climate crisis, building connections with people, the beauty of hiking in nature – were, for me, completely offset by the extremely off-putting and incredibly judgmental writing style of this very privileged author. As an example, the author relates MANY anecdotes in the book in which she confronts, shames, and berates strangers for not having a reusable cup in a coffee shop or consuming anything that utilizes single-use plastics. Then she talks about her post-hike ritual of buying a bag of potato chips. Presumably, the potato chips are in a single-use bag. She flies around the world to hike but rants about horrors of car ownership, then in the next chapter mentions a road trip. In a car. While I do agree with consuming less and that we should all be doing our part to combat the climate crisis, I found myself bristling constantly while reading this, which is the opposite of what this book should be doing. If the thesis is to motivate people to climate activism, then the message should not be “no matter what you do, it will never be enough, and you are a scourge to our collective environmental well-being.” I kept wanting to stop reading but I also wanted to be open-minded; in the end I do not feel that I was enlightened in the least, but instead felt that I wasted several hours that I will never get back.

It is shaping up to be a very cold week here, this week before Christmas. As I write this, it’s minus 40 with windchill, and I am wondering how long Rex is going to want to walk for. Well, I have my heated mittens and my snowpants for just such occasions. I hope wherever you are, you are staying warm, and able to seek out moments of calm in what is typically a very busy week. xo

Five For Friday: The Best Gifts Ever Edition

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‘Tis the season for gift guides! There are so many lovely ones out there and I love to peruse them all. Funnily enough, I almost never buy anything that was featured in a gift guide, because by the time the guides come out I have already completed my shopping, and I will NOT deviate from my early-shopping habits, no matter how tempting the offerings may be. I do, however, like to imagine that I might note certain items for the following year. If only I could remember them all.

Gifts are fun to give and fun to receive, and in my recent plea to Ask Me Anything, Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked: What are some of the Very Best Gifts you have ever received? Well, Suzanne, as I’ve mentioned before I am pretty much always delighted with any gift, but I thought that today I would talk about my Very Best Childhood Gifts.

There is a reason I lost my mind and blacked out with excitement when my friend Elise (HI ELISE) sent me a reprinted Sears catalogue: I was OBSESSED with the Sears catalogue as a child, all of them throughout the year, but most of all, the Wish Book. When did the Wish Book come out? It must have been in plenty of time before Christmas – the fall, maybe? – because items took a while to order (by phone!) and then arrive, but I have no real idea. In any case, I would page through it with the seriousness of a scholar, circling things and making notes. I loved everything about it; I loved the “Gifts Under $10” section, I loved the little wintry ensembles that would be in the clothing section, I could barely imagine being fancy enough to get cubic zirconia tennis bracelets or bottles of Poison perfume. What would my life be like if I had that matching beret, scarf, and glove set? I would wonder and then SOMEONE WOULD GIVE ME SUCH A SET and my life was pretty much the same, but with fancy matching winter accessories.

One thing I coveted desperately but never received was a Snoopy Sno Cone machine, but to be honest, it’s probably for the best. It was most likely garbage that would yield nothing like the delectable delights tasted only at the shopping mall parking lot fairs of my youth, or the Calgary Stampede, and so I can just let it live in glory in my dreams. This is not unlike Easy Bake Ovens: they seemed so wonderful and miraculous, and yet were a recipe not for delicious tiny cakes but for third-degree burns and crunchy-edged but pudding-centred disasters.

Circling back to the Best Gifts Ever Received, here are the Top Five from my childhood and adolescence. I was the recipient of many wonderful things, but these are the ones that stand out the most.

  • Kora Candi, my Cabbage Patch Kid. Remember when Cabbage Patch Kids first came out, there was a run on them and they became Tickle Me Elmo before there was even an Elmo to tickle. It was INTENSE business. I desperately wanted one, and my mother was probably a ball of nerves about it. First, she had to put her name on a wait list at Zellers, and then when she received the top-secret phone call that THERE WAS A DOLL FOR HER, she had to go into a special back room to get it, and it was quadruple-bagged so that no one would know she had it and murder her for it in the parking lot. The things moms do to make Christmas magical. My mom faced death, or at least mugging, just so I could open up Kora Candi on Christmas morning. How I loved that doll! She had brown hair and brown eyes, just like me, and I very seriously glued her adoption certificate into my very special album that had all my scratch and sniff stickers in it. My grandma bought and made all sorts of clothes for her as well, and how fun was that to dress her for the day’s activities. I had friends who had not one but several Cabbage Patch Kids, and I could not understand that. I only had energy and love enough for one. I poured all my love into Kora, and then, later, into Bitsy, my Pound Puppy. What was with all the adoptable dolls in the 80s? It was a thing, for sure.
  • Welcome To My Dollhouse. When I was very young, maybe four, my grandpa built me my very own dollhouse. It was even better than anything I pored over in the Sears catalogue. It was a two-story white house with plastic wrap to simulate glass in all the windows; Grandpa built a lot of the furniture and put pieces of carpet on the floors and wallpaper on the walls. Some of the furniture was purchased – likely by Grandma – and I spent many hours rearranging things and playing with my little dolls. There was even a little stove and a toilet with a tiny toilet paper roll, which is a weird detail but important. Dolls need to use the facilities just like anyone else.

If you look past the Kool-Aid stained face, you can see the dollhouse to the left. Fun fact: my grandma – the same one who aided and abetted my grandpa in the making of the dollhouse – made that quilt for me. It featured girls in costumes from other countries, because I loved thinking of girls just like me, but in different places all around the world. What would their lives be like? I would wonder, looking at the clogs on the girl from the Netherlands.

This photo cracks me up. I am holding some tiny dollhouse furniture – A TV! A lamp! I love lamp! – with such intense focus. Who is the man on the couch? I mean, probably my dad, but who can say really. Although everyone in the world had that couch, I know from the throw pillows that this was at my grandma’s house. It’s possible that could be an uncle behind me. NO ONE KNOWS. The 70s was a bad time for decent photos, and a bad time for my hair.

  • Princess Diana Everything. The Royal Wedding took place the summer that I was six, and at that time I was visiting my other grandparents. My grandma woke me up at 2:30 in the morning so we could watch it together, and from that moment on I was obsessed with Princess Di. OBSESSED. Do you know what the great thing is about having a complete and utter obsession? There is a theme to all your gifts for years to come; all relatives know exactly what to get for you. I have an enormous stack of coffee table books all about Princess Di, her clothes, and the Royal Wedding. Looking at it now, it’s startling to think such a young woman wore such objectively frumpy clothes, but the 80s were a strange time in fashion. The Very Best Gift I received from this era was a Princess Di paper doll book. Princess Di and clothes, two of my favourite things. I actually received two of those books, one of which I used to cut out and one I saved. I will say that cutting out that wedding dress, with all those lace points? It was HARD WORK, especially for someone who was supposed to be using safety scissors.

Diana had some sassy shapewear.

The dress! There is a little slit on the front, and that held her bouquet.

Aw, it’s sad to think of now, the hopefulness of a young woman, only to end in terrible sadness and tragedy. Well, the world was richer with her in it.

  • Makeup and Accessories. My dad had two younger sisters, who were twins, and collectively they were known as The Girls or The Aunties, both with the initial C. My dad is, how shall I say this, a fairly conservative person and he wasn’t thrilled with his daughter doing things like wearing makeup or getting her ears pierced, but The Aunties broke through that wall. One of The Aunties was famous in my mind for showing me the cover of Born in the USA and telling me that the Boss had a butt that I should look for in any future relationships, and also that my mom could “do the looking but SHE would do the touching” when it came to my handsome grade six teacher, on the evening of our school Christmas performance. The other Aunty C took me to get my ears pierced when I was nine and she also, a few years later, gave me the gift of makeup; it was one of those huge mirrored boxes with a ton of different eyeshadows and lip colours. I still think of it with longing; how fun to try on everything under the sun, and Dad couldn’t say anything, because he didn’t like to hurt his sister’s feelings. I also loved receiving bath beads or salts, and those gift packs with scented soaps and body washes, particularly if they came from The Body Shop, which was the height of elegance and wealth for me in those days.

My first day of grade seven, making use of all that makeup. See what I mean about the couch? Tell me you didn’t have one too.

  • The Mists of Avalon. I was – well, am – a bookworm, and I always love to receive a book as a gift. My Aunt J gave me The Mists of Avalon when I was fifteen, and I have to say, that was a bold move. For one thing, I personally would have no idea at all what kind of book to give a fifteen-year-old girl, and for another, I would be nervous that such a bookworm would not only have already read any book I could choose, but would own it. This is what makes the receipt of The Mists of Avalon so marvelous; not only had I never read it, but I had never even heard of it, and so would not have specifically requested it, even if I was allowed to specifically request gifts from relatives. I must have read this giant tome about fifty times; it is the only fantasy-adjacent book I have ever been interested in. It is all about the story of King Arthur, but told from the women’s point of view, and it is incredible on so many levels. I loved it so much that I excitedly bought the prequel, Lady of Avalon, years later, but I couldn’t make it past the first chapter. There was just no recapturing the magic of the mists.

I told my son about my love for this book, saying It isn’t really about King Arthur at all, it’s all about the women, to which he replied That’s really on-brand for you. Isn’t it?

Do you remember your Very Best Gifts Ever? It doesn’t have to be from childhood, of course! This is where I will also mention that the Very Best Non-Childhood Gift is Rex, who was groomed this week and looks exactly like a stuffed-animal replica of himself.

I mean, come on. How am I not dead from cuteness overload?

As a reminder, if you have questions, I have answers! Just fill out this form. If you don’t have questions, just fill me in on gifts you’ve loved, gifts you’ve given, even gifts that you hated! There are no rules here. xo

I Am Strong, I Am Invincible, I Am Never Taking The Car In For Servicing Again

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There are some chores, or “care tasks,” that only I do around the house. For example, I and I alone obtain groceries and make dinner Every Single Day, clean the hard-water marks off the shower doors, and take the Dove soap box from the bathroom countertop and place it in the recycling when a new bar is put into the shower, no matter who puts the new bar into the shower, even though every single person walks by the recycling bin many times a day. Sometimes when I feel resentful about these little chores, I remember that there are many things that happen around the house with no intervention on my part. I don’t think that I have changed a lightbulb since the 90s, for example. The dishwasher is almost always emptied by one of my sons, sometimes very late at night when they nosing around the kitchen for a snack, but hey, I don’t have to do it. The lawn gets mowed and the sidewalks get shoveled, the gutters are cleaned, and toilet paper rolls are always replaced and, mysteriously, the old cardboard roll is recycled at least half the time, rather than left to sit on the bathroom countertop like its friend the Dove soap box.

The biggest task that I do not ever deal with, however, is vehicular maintenance. I have a mental block when it comes to cars and it is only recently that a light can come on in the car and I do NOT start breathing rapidly and blinking away tears. Between my handy younger son and my husband, the snow and all-season tires are put on, taken off, and rotated when needed, and all the maintenance is taken care of. I don’t even know how to open the hood of the car, let alone check my oil, and I do not want to learn.

About a month ago my husband took my car out and said in an alarmed way that it was overdue for an oil change. At the dealership where we bought the car in 2013, we get free oil changes for…life? I don’t know. My husband has been under a lot of stress with his job; this is nothing new, he has been under incredible stress with his job since 2018, but it has been significantly ramped up in the last few months, which is how he missed his internal alarm that somehow knows when all the cars need to get oil changes.

Well. I am woman! I am strong! I am invincible! I decided that I would call the dealership to see if we needed an appointment for an oil change, or if I could just drive through, like in the pre-Covid days. I spoke with a very nice person who looked up my car history and said that I was actually due for maintenance, and that they were booking into December, and so I scheduled an appointment for last Tuesday, December 6 at 9:00 am. I hung up feeling very proud of myself until my husband asked do we really need maintenance or were you upsold. Well. How would I know. HOW WOULD I KNOW. My feelings of self-satisfaction were immediately eclipsed by feelings of rage and resentment that this was even a question for me AFTER I CALLED THE DEALERSHIP ALL BY MYSELF BECAUSE I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR.

The car WAS due for maintenance, by the way.

Here’s a funny thing about Calgary weather, for those of you who don’t know: it is extremely volatile. Temperatures can rise and fall twenty degrees in a twenty-four hour period. We can go from mild to painfully cold and back again in no time at all. It just so happened to be a very volatile week, temperature-wise, and Tuesday just happened to be the day that was marked by Extreme Cold, Snow, and Blowing Snow. Basically, a blizzard.

My younger son needed to be at school early, as his gym class was going curling, and so I dropped him off at 8:05 in time to get the bus. It is generally a twenty-minute drive to the dealership, but conditions were bad, and I thought that even if I got to the dealership before nine, I could just drop the car early. My husband thought that the appointment would be a quick one, and that I should take a book with me in case I just wanted to stay there for an hour. That sounded great to me; an uninterrupted hour of reading, while drinking probably bad coffee? Lovely.

My twenty-minute drive turned into fifty minutes of white-knuckle driving on roads that were either black ice or with lanes completely obscured by snow. There was so much morning traffic, the sun was barely coming up, and the snow was blowing, making visibility very low. By the time I got to the dealership, it was just before nine, and I was completely frazzled. I was also appreciative of the very handsome, bearded young man who checked my car in to its appointment; it is unusual for me to encounter such a person, let alone in the morning. I asked him approximately how long it would take, thinking that if it was only an hour I’d be happy to alternate looking at him and reading my book, but he said it would be three hours and he would order me an Uber.

This is where I should note that this was my first Uber ride ever, and I have joined the modern age at last. I also knew from listening to Were You Raised By Wolves that if someone else orders an Uber for you, then even the tip is taken care of, so I was doubly excited. My Uber driver was very friendly, and we ended up in a long and involved conversation about the merits of Calgary weather versus that of Winnipeg, where he originally hailed from, as well as crime rates, housing prices, and gangs. The conversation got so involved that he missed my exit, which, you guys, maybe I need to talk less? I am aware that I am the architect of my own problems, like my ninety-minute dental appointments and, apparently, Uber drivers missing turnoffs. With the conditions, it was not easy to adjust for the wrong turn, but eventually I did make it home, close to ten o’clock.

I quickly put on all the layers to walk Rex, thinking I only had a couple of hours to do that and then shower before I would have to head out again. I zoomed around, and then waited. And waited. Three hours became four, and then five, at which point I called the dealership and they said it was still in the shop. By this time my older son was home and offered to drive me when I needed it, rather than taking an Uber. Possibly he worried that if I took another Uber, I would end up chatting too much and would never make it to the dealership. I don’t know. I waited.

Finally, nearly seven hours after dropping off the car, my son came into the living room, texting. Dad says it’s time for us to go now. Wait, what. The dealership did not call me, but instead called my husband, to tell him that the car needed brake pads along with something else, you know what, I have no idea what it was. It was probably better that they called him but still I felt slighted. What happened to being woman and hearing me roar? Then, my husband just texted my SON to tell him to take me to the dealership, and no one thought to text ME. Well, anyway, after a day of waiting around, I was happy to finally have some closure, and we went for another hair-raising drive on icy, snow-covered roads with little visibility, and now it was getting dark, too.

By the time we got there, it was well after four o’clock, and I was hoping to get home before the sun went down completely. I found my car in the lot, only to discover that it had been in the very warm shop and then taken out into the minus 23 degree weather, which meant that the windows were all completely frosted over ON THE INSIDE. Have you ever tried to scrape windows from the inside, with a long-handled scraper that is curved FOR USE ON THE OUTSIDE? It was not easy. Between my near-useless scraping, trying not to take out my own eye with the end of the snow brush, and the defrost on high, I finally had enough visibility to get back on the road, fifteen minutes later. By this point, the sunset had happened, and I was driving in the dark, in the blowing snow, on ice and in rush-hour traffic.

The sole upside was that by the time I was near home, my son was almost done wrestling practice, so I swung by the school to pick him up. While I waited, I stared out the window, completely exhausted, and vowed to never do another car maintenance thing ever again. I can roar in other ways. Maybe I’ll change a lightbulb.

Weekly Reading

Phosphorescence. After a prolonged illness and several surgeries, the author of this incredibly interesting and well-researched book started to consider phosphorescence, or the things that make the world light up. Including ourselves, from within. She discusses modern lives and the lack of nature, how paying attention to life brings joy, and introduces the concept of freudenfruede, the idea that others’ successes bring us personal happiness – the opposite of schadenfreude. As Moira from Schitts’ Creek says, when one of us shines, we all shine. Also, note for Erin (HI ERIN) there is a Yiddish word, nachas, which indicates pride in someone else’s accomplishments, usually our children. I really liked that part; there is enough for all of us, success isn’t part of a finite pie, and we can derive joy from others’ happiness. We are not in a zero-sum game, here.

One thing I did not like in this book was the author’s discussion about complaining about small problems in our lives, and how we should never do it. I get it. When you are near-death, or are experiencing a devastating illness and day-to-day agonizing pain, I am sure you would welcome all the little daily irritants as just proof that you’re alive. Nevertheless I don’t think it’s healthy to say that no one should complain ever because that seems like a recipe for ulcers and mental illness. Of course, this is coming from a person who just wrote 1500 words about taking her car in for servicing. STILL. A paper cut isn’t a broken leg, but it still hurts, and we can acknowledge that. Taking a car in for servicing during a blizzard isn’t mourning the loss of a loved one, but we can still talk about it.

Other than that, the book really was lovely. As a memoir, well, I’d say only about a third at most can be considered memoir, but it’s a fascinating look at faith, grace, justice, and the pursuit of silence. 

This Time Tomorrow.
If you know how I feel about time travel as a literary device and concept (I loathe it) you might be surprised that I picked this book up at all, as the premise is a woman travelling from her 40th birthday to her 16th, and back again. I really like the author so I read it. I still don’t like time travel but I did enjoy this book despite that. It’s thought provoking in that the trajectory of our lives can change so easily. I often think, if I had done this instead of that, would I still be here? It’s interesting to think of all the little paths that we choose and don’t choose, and how they create our lives.

Saturday was our two month Rex-aversary, and it’s hard to remember what it was like without him! Well, my reading glasses didn’t constantly get wagged off the coffee table, I guess that was what it was like. I hope you all have a cozy week – with no vehicular issues! – with lots of treats and other lovely things. xo

Three For Thursday: The “Holiday Questions Answered” Edition

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This week was my last week of yoga classes until January, and I have to say that I have the most wonderful students in the world. I was the recipient of many cards – some hand-drawn – and gifts, as well as a ton of baking. Two of my students in particular brought in giant platters of things to take to the boys; one lady brought in butter tarts and pecan tarts, and one brought in two plates of squares and shortbread. They both know that my boys love tarts and shortbread, and I make neither of them. In fact, the shortbread baker, in December 2020 when everything was shut down, arranged to meet me in a parking lot, in minus 20, to give me a plate of shortbread. It broke her heart, she said, to think that the boys wouldn’t get shortbread because of Covid.

Another student is a leatherworker, and she crafted bracelets and key tags for every student in the Monday afternoon class; the key tags were all embossed with the message Gratitude is the first step to joy, which one of her fellow students had said back in October, and that we all agreed was the most beautiful sentiment. I have thought of it every day since October, and apparently so has the rest of the class.

Aren’t my ladies just the greatest? There have been some ups and downs this week, to be discussed later, but these women really elevated the festive feeling for me. It’s no secret that I love the holiday season, and so I was pretty excited to see two holiday-related questions on my Ask Me Literally Anything form; as a reminder, I have no idea how to close out this form, so please feel free to Ask Me Literally Anything, if you like. If you don’t like, that is perfectly fine too.

  • Colleen (HI COLLEEN) asked: What do you want for Christmas? Well, Colleen, that is a great question. I think I am an easy person to give presents to; I am universally delighted with anything. Typically I have a few books on my list, and I love to receive things like slippers, chocolates, wine, and pretty much anything else. Twenty-four years ago, my husband once gave me a water bottle for Christmas, among other things. It was just a plain plastic Nalgene one, and I still feel nostalgic thinking about it. A water bottle! That we could hike with and I wouldn’t get dehydrated! I am easy to please, clearly. In fact, one of Suzanne’s (HI SUZANNE) questions was what was your worst gift you received and honestly, I couldn’t think of anything. I’m sure I have received gifts that weren’t great, but either I’ve blocked them out or I’ve just never had what I considered a bad gift. That said, I have a few big-ticket items on my wish list this year, and one of them is a Kobo. I used my husband’s decade-old Kindle on our carry-on only trip to Mexico, and while it worked fine, it is not compatible with the Canadian library system. This wasn’t something I discovered on my own, mind you; a number of friends tipped me off when I said I was thinking about a newer version of a Kindle for (hopefully) future travel. I’m hoping for a waterproof Kobo, and also for a tropical vacation in which that waterproof Kobo will come in handy. Another rather large item on my wish list is a new Garmin watch. My current watch is almost four years old now and it does not hold a charge in any meaningful way. I have to charge it at least twice a day, which is FINE, it’s not like anyone is going to die because of it, but it would be nice to not get a “low battery” signal when I am out on a walk. Steps still count even if they aren’t counted, but STILL. I want those steps counted! You understand.
  • Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH) asked: What’s your favourite Christmas tradition? I am going to split this lovely question into two parts. It’s a Three for Thursday, after all, and I only had two specifically Christmas-related questions. One of my favourite things to do in December is to make treats. My sons and I decorate homemade gingerbread people, which on my plate end up being cute smiley people with happy little buttons, and on theirs, obscenely decorated monstrosities with wrestling or some other completely non-Christmassy themes. Hey, it’s fun. I love to make chocolates and bark and truffles, and to gift those to the lovely people in my life. The best baking tradition, though, is my grandma’s gingersnaps. They are my favourite cookies in the world, and I only make them at Christmas. I shared this recipe in 2013 when I had first started working at YMC, and it kind of exploded since then. I baked them on the weekend and I had SEVERAL friends message me to say that they also were making my grandma’s gingersnaps that very weekend, and that they were their favourite Christmas cookies. To say this warms my heart would be an understatement. The recipe is here, (and that link DOES work, despite the strange formatting). Grandma B was not at all a good cook, in fact, I cannot remember anything she made that was at all tasty – she was Scottish/ English, and her cooking really lived up to that cuisine’s reputation – but these cookies? They are incredible.
  • What is your favourite Christmas tradition, part two. I thought about this a lot; we have so many fun little traditions, like watching Elf and Christmas Vacation, decorating the house inside and out, and the disturbing, yet funny, monstrosity that is the boys’ gingerbread house. I settled on the Good Thing Advent calendar. I bought this wooden calendar when the boys were small and I would put a little treat in it every day. When they were a bit older, I stole an idea from a fellow, now defunct, blog and would write a holiday-themed activity on a slip of paper, and they would read each day what that fun activity would be. Doesn’t that sound lovely? I did it once and swore I’d never do it again. Like so many of those grand parenting ideas, it was a giant pain. I found it really hard to come up with twenty-four activities – there are only so many days you can bake cookies and watch Christmas movies – so probably 3/4 of the days consisted of “sledding after school” which was a thing we did every single day in the winter anyway, or “read a Christmas story,” which, again, was a pretty regular occurrence. The next year I just wrote something I liked that they did that day, which was fine. For the past several years, though, all four of us write one good thing that happened to us that day, and we put it in the calendar. On New Year’s, we take out all the slips of paper, put them in a bowl, and take turns reading them. It’s really fun and makes us all feel good, other than the time my younger son drew a note from my husband that said “Nicole looked hot tonight,” which was just awkward for everyone. Some days it can be a stretch, but mostly it’s fun to dig deep and see what little thing made us happy on any particular day.

Do you have any favourite traditions you would like to share? Favourite cookie types? Do you have anything special on your wish list this year? Tell me everything. xo

Fancy Festivities and Friends

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Here’s Your One Chance, Fancy, Don’t Let Me Down. Back in September 2020, when the kids first went back to in-person school after lockdown, my younger son told me that just walking through the halls and being around so many people made him really happy. I had that same feeling on Friday when my husband and I went to his company holiday party. I couldn’t stop smiling, just seeing other people all dressed up and looking universally beautiful. We are at a PARTY, I kept thinking, a HOLIDAY PARTY and everyone is DRESSED UP. I have no idea if this feeling of abject delight and wonder is going to continue throughout my life, but I hope it does.

It was so much fun, even if I am so unused to wearing heels that my feet were crying by the end of the night. What are you doing to me, where are our comfy shoes, what is happening right now.

We stayed at the party until TEN THIRTY PM and I wasn’t in bed until an hour later, and did you even know there was an 11:30 AT NIGHT? There is! I had prepared for this exciting and unheard of bout of wildness by doing two things I never do normally: I had a nap in the afternoon, and then I had a strong, caffeinated chai at 4:00 pm. WHEEEEEEE!

Last week I had invited all of you, my dear readers, to Ask Me Literally Anything, and I have had so many great questions that I will be answering in the coming weeks. My wild Friday night brings me to a question Pat (HI PAT) raised: I, like everyone else, am fascinated by you 4 a.m. wakeup. When you are on vacation, perhaps at your parents place, your lake house or a sunny destination, do you alter your schedule a bit? Maybe stay up till 9:30 and get up at 5? Well, Pat, on weekends I do sometimes sleep until 6 if I can! One thing about me is that my body seems to have a natural wakeup in the hour between 4 and 5, but on weekends or holidays I can usually lull myself back to sleep for another hour or two. I do try to stay up later when we are on vacation or visiting my parents, because it’s a bit ridiculous to go to bed at 8:30 when everyone is having fun and playing games. I thought maybe I could sleep in a bit this Saturday morning, but my son had a wrestling tournament and needed to be up by six, and although he drove himself to the school and is perfectly capable of getting through his own morning routine without his mother, I was still awake and drinking coffee by 6:05. You know how it goes, people.

And You May Ask Yourself, How Did I Get Here? I will be keeping the form open, mostly because I don’t know how to close it, so ask any questions you like. On the other hand, if you’re thinking really, I already know too much, that is cool too.

One question I did want to address came not from the form but from multiple comments about my Day in the Life post, with regards to teaching and practicing yoga. Some readers expressed surprise that I would practice yoga and then teach yoga in the same day, but those things are very separate to me. My personal yoga practice is a moving meditation, where I flow through postures – the Ashtanga primary series, with some additions and subtractions – doing breath work and ending with a nice savasana. I get on the mat every single day, even if it’s just a five minute seated meditation; I don’t feel like myself if I don’t practice. Teaching, on the other hand, is a different story: it’s work. I mean, it is fun work, and it is work that I enjoy, but it is work nonetheless. I am always “on,” and talking, and watching my students for cues that something is working or not working for them. I don’t focus on my own breathing, and it is not meditative in the least, because I am generally thinking of what posture we are going into next and how to include variations for students with a variety of old injuries and concerns.

I have been teaching many of my current students since 2017, so I have a good relationship with all of them, which I especially appreciated on Monday afternoon, when I was teaching my Strength and Tone ladies. We were in the middle of a downward dog when suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, my nose started bleeding, like that of a long-term cocaine addict. Such a thing has never happened to me before while teaching, and I hope it never happens again. When I say my nose started bleeding, I don’t mean a little trickle. I mean that I had to pause the class and it took TEN MINUTES to get things under control. Ten minutes is a very long time to be stanching a nose bleed, let me tell you. Fortunately my students are very kind and understanding, and were willing to independently use my tennis balls for some myofascial release at the wall while I went through every single tissue I had in my purse, and half the scratchy, recycled material paper towels that the community centre had next to the sink. I give my students homemade chocolates every year at Christmas, and I may have dropped a few extras in for these ladies, to thank them for their patience with my dramatically bleeding nose.

This Year, To Save Me From Tears, I’ll Give It To Someone Special. Last week I was having couple of down days; I felt mired in anxiety and worry about my children and their immediate and long-term futures, myself and my ability to handle Life’s Next Chapter, and also drooping sadness because it felt like everyone I was encountering was somehow yucking my yums. Normally I am a Que Sera, Sera Person, moving through life thinking we are doing our best, things will work out in the end, all will be well, and not being overly concerned if people don’t share my feelings about silly and fun things, but I just couldn’t shake my gloom. Part of this may have been due to the fact that I was short on sleep: one of the CO detectors’ battery died in the very early hours, waking me up with its incessant chirping even earlier than normal, and also that my Garmin was telling me that “it’s almost that time again!” which generally affects my sleep as well, in addition to my mood in general. I didn’t really need the reminder from my Garmin. My feelings of despair towards humanity were reminder enough, not to mention my giant swollen breasts that were spilling out of all of my yoga tanks.

My very dear friend Hannah who I love very much (HI HANNAH) somehow knew how I was feeling and sent me this, while I was standing in line at the post office, which in itself contributes to angst and despair:

It immediately turned my mood around; it made me so happy, and feel so seen. On days that I don’t get enough Last Christmas, I have been pulling out my sheet music and playing it on the piano. I am enjoying the fuck out of it.

Then, I came home to open a package sent to me by my dear friend Elise (HI ELISE), and I think I may have blacked out with excitement for a moment when I opened it.

Longtime readers will remember my obsession with the Sears Wish Book, and you just cannot even begin to imagine how exciting this was to receive in the mail. How did I get so lucky, to have such incredible friends? What an incredible gift! Thanks Elise!

This One’s For Becky. Back to the subject of music, I was driving home from the grocery store, listening to 70s on 7 – HI SUZ, the only other person I know who listens to that station – and Coward of the County came on. Let me just say that a) my parents were big Kenny Rogers fans, and b) I know the lyrics to almost every song I was exposed to more than once from my very young childhood to today, which means that probably 90% of my brain is song lyrics. If I could free up my brain power from remembering all these lyrics, I could probably cure cancer or something. Anyway, I hadn’t heard Coward of the County for many years but I still cheerfully sang along. Wow, that is one upbeat tune, given the grim nature of the song. Gang rape! Murder leading to lifetime incarceration! Generational trauma! I remember singing this song as a small child, which is unsettling to think of. Small Nicole, with her little bowl cut and her 70s clothing, singing Folks just called him Yellow! Son, you don’t have to fight to be a man.

I was likely singing and/ or talking in this photo, but it’s unlikely it was Coward of the County. Probably it was a Christmas song, or maybe just a stream of consciousness about the ornaments. Who can say.

Weekly Reading

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes. This seems like a bit of a morbid topic – the death/ mortuary/ funeral industry – but it is actually quite beautiful in a weird way, about honouring dead bodies and death rituals. I have always wondered about things like expensive caskets and the like, in a WHY kind of way. This was fascinating but not for the squeamish! One of my nephews is interested in pursuing a career in this industry, and reading it helped me understand the motivation.

Thanks For Waiting. This was an interesting concept for a memoir, from the cohost of Forever 35, one of my favourite podcasts. Shafrir talks about being a “late-bloomer,” achieving all those life milestones much later than all her peers, from tweenhood on. It goes from life as a writer in mice-infested NYC apartments, to living and dating in LA, to marriage and the incredible heartache of infertility treatments. It’s incredibly honest and brave, and I could hear her voice as I read this.

The Holiday Breakdown. You know I love a holiday romance, and this was just so delightful and fun. I smiled the whole time I was reading this sweet story; the main character was so fun and charming. The author cohosts Were You Raised By Wolves (two podcast-host books in a row!) and I could feel her warm and delightful personality shining though.

I hope you have a lovely week ahead of you. Maybe some festivities, as well? If you have some Heel Worthy Events, may I suggest some prophylactical Advil? That is, if you can get it. xo