Monthly Archives: February 2024

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Leap Year Edition

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Happy Leap Year, everyone!

Our last Leap Year was in 2020, and thinking about it now, how strange that time was, having an extra day just ahead of being locked down and going through a global pandemic. When I look at my blog from February 2020, it is all very cheerful and clearly I had no idea what was about to occur. I also, it seems, did not mark the leap day in any way at all.

Well, I shall not make that mistake this year! I have had a really lovely month filled with good things, so why not extend it a day?

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Leap Year Edition

The E is for Environment

One of my favourite podcasts, Alison Rosen Is Your New Best Friend, has a new segment called Podcast Pals Product Picks, and as you can imagine, I am here for this kind of content. One of the guests talked about E Cloths, which to my mind means ELECTRONIC cloths, but the E in this case stands for Environment. Anyway, they are special microfibre cloths that use only water for cleaning, and by the time the podcast guest finished talking about the streak-free shines on all of his glass and stainless surfaces, I was scrambling to order them. Here, take my money. We have a lot of windows in this house, not to mention mirrors and my shiny lacquered Yamaha piano, and I am never able to get them really clean. I will THINK they are clean, and then the sunlight will come in a certain way, and I will feel the kind of despair that accompanies what one thinks is a job well done, but was actually wasted time and effort.

NO MORE!

Listen, I do not know what magic is involved here, but all I can say is that they really work. Apparently these cloths are somehow antibacterial and antimicrobial and require no extra cleaning supplies, but that is a bridge too far for me. I may use hippie cleaning products, but I still want to use cleaning products. I’m happy to shine my glass and stainless appliances with just water and E Cloths, but I’m not relying on them to, you know, wipe up food-related messes or clean the bathroom.

The Big Ass’k

I have been on a lifelong quest to be less dissatisfied with my hair, and I honestly don’t think I will ever actually love my hair. I have issues, is what I’m saying, for many reasons which I will not go into here so as to not bore and depress us all. Nora Ephron once said that not worrying about your hair anymore is the secret upside to being dead, and when I read that, I finally felt very seen in a way I never had before.

My lifelong quest means that I am always on the lookout for new hair products. I bought this Cake volumizing product on a whim, and also because it was called The Big Ass’k, and honestly, I feel that the name called to me. My anaconda don’t want none unless…

Anyway. I like this product a lot, it’s really great for non-shampoo days to add volume, and it smells fantastic.

Look at that shiny clean mirror!

Actual Cake

I think I bought Julie van Rosendaal’s cake cookbook back in January 2023, with the eventual resolution to make every recipe in the book. My younger son sternly reminded me of this resolution a couple of weeks ago, chastising me for falling down on my goals. To that end, I tried a recipe that I have been wanting to try since obtaining the book: the Jos Louis cake. I have never had a Jos Louis in my life, and neither had anyone in my family, so we could not compare this to the original. Mine was not as pretty as Julie’s, but wow, was it a delicious cake. It might be the best cake I’ve tried from that cookbook to date.

Now, I want to note that this is not a simple recipe. There are many steps and it takes a while to get assembled. Also, I have no idea how one would cover the cake in ganache without it spilling all over the sides of the platter, but no matter. As they say in Beauty and the Beast, true beauty is found within.

Let My Lust Open The Door

I have a new favourite podcast called Bad On Paper; the two lovely young hosts are authors who talk about their writing processes, as well as about books and life in general. This checks every box for me! For Valentine’s Day they had an episode about – wait for it – obscure erotica. One of the hosts talked about a book concerning a pansexual Abraham Lincoln who – again, wait for it – has a penis fight with the Emperor of Japan to see who will – wait for it – colonize the moon. I could not be less interested in such a storyline BUT the other author brought up a book called Unhinged: An Erotic Door Romance.

The host said, “If you’re wondering ‘Is this a book about a woman who fucks her door?’ well, you’d be right!” and at that moment, I knew I had to read it. After all, let’s never forget I read the Governor General Award-winning book Bear about a woman entering into a sexual relationship with a bear – and not, as my son asked, a big hairy gay guy, an actual bear. Upshot of that, for those of you who don’t remember, bears give great oral but are maybe not so good with intercourse. Or, as I like to say now, intercoursing. Anyhoo, back to the door. This little piece of door-related erotica was well worth the $1.30 on Kindle plus the 45 minutes it took to read. I mean, not to spoil anything, but this is no ordinary door. It was made from wood from a tree that – wait for it – Zeus, Greek god, fucked. You read that right! Zeus Harvey Weinsteined an oak tree and bam, we have a sentient – and, apparently sexy – door. More spoilers! The door can sometimes take on a human form! Sexiness ensues!

But wait, there’s more!

The host of the podcast mentioned that Squeak, erotica having to do with balloon animals, was her second choice in books, and, hilariously high off of the image of a doorknob wearing a condom, I bought it on Kindle for another $1.30. Sadly, this one was disappointing. I mean, it wasn’t really entertaining to read, it was just mostly confusing. There’s a three-way? And two of them are partially balloon animals? But they maybe also turned the woman into a balloon animal by having sex with her? But I’m not sure? In a different kind of universe? I really don’t know, but it only took me about 25 minutes to read so it wasn’t a huge investment or anything. Funny thing to note: the author is clearly using a pseudonym, but there is a real photo of her and a description that she lives with her husband, seven cats, and two dogs in North Carolina and you know what, I like this level of author detail. I also appreciate her level of creativity because doors and balloon animals are not items that I have ever thought of in a sexual way before, but now I’m looking at my doors for a little too long. They seem to be getting uncomfortable.

Girl, Put Your Snowshoes On

Let me tell you, the best thing about having a retired, active husband – other than afternoon delight wherein I pretend he is a door – is the willingness to do fun things any day of the week, and the best thing about having my specific retired, active husband is that he likes to buy accessories for us to do such things. In the fall he bought us snowshoes, which I frankly thought would be a waste of money. After all, we had just bought cross-country skis. This is probably why the snowfall has been so low this year, I’m sorry, everyone. Anyway, after kind of a hectic month of not doing anything winter sport related, we decided to give the snowshoes a whirl last week, and let me tell you, I am obsessed.

It’s hiking in the mountains, but with snow!

If it wasn’t a 45 minute drive to get to snow, I would snowshoe every single day, this is how much I love it.

Outfit of the Month

I had a real Ladies Who Lunch experience with my girlfriends a few weeks ago; we went for a nice lunch downtown and then poked around in various expensive boutiques in the area. When we walked into one store called, appropriately enough, The Little Boutique, I had no intention on purchasing anything. I was just along for the ride; the clothes all seemed pretty expensive and nothing seemed to call out to me. That is, of course, until I saw a soft, drapey black sweater on the sale rack.

One might argue that I needed another drapey black sweater like I needed another leg, but I felt the material and it was so incredibly soft. It was also originally priced at $509.

I mean, who would pay that? Not me, but it was marked down to $119, which is still a lot for a sweater I did not need. But then it was 25% off of that price, and you know what, I am not made of stone. $85 for a sweater that was originally $509? Who could say no to that? NOT ME.

Something has been happening to my body lately that is just out of my control. I am in great shape, I am strong and flexible and healthy, and I am also losing my waistline. It is just…disappearing. Where is it going? I don’t know. I am developing the menopausal woman’s waistline, which is to say no waistline at all. My torso is turning into a rectangle; this is a fact, and it’s one that I have come to accept, and so having a long, drapey sweater that skims that rectangle? Yes. I’ll take it.

I debuted The Expensive Sweater at my Galentine’s party, paired with my old faithful Lululemon City Sleek pants, which have been on the Favourite Things many times already; they are actual pants that feel like yoga pants. What could be better? Other than getting an expensive sweater for 16% of the original price, of course.

I hope you all had a wonderful February full of lovely things – if you’d like to tell me about them, I’m all ears. xo

That’s The Way I’ve Always Heard It Should Be

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Many years ago I was in the playground with a friend and our children; she had an older daughter who at the time was in first grade, and so was not at the playground but instead in school. My friend said something to me that has stayed with me for years. Her daughter, she said, “…has a whole life now that I don’t know about, there are so many hours a day I don’t know what she’s doing or who her friends are. It’s just a whole life separate to me.” At the time, my children were 3 and 4 and it would be difficult to overestimate how deeply those words affected me. My life and my children’s lives were so intensely intertwined: they were in preschool three afternoons a week, it was true, but I knew every child that they knew, I knew those children’s mothers and where they lived, if they had a playdate I went with them, every single moment of every day I knew where they were and at least approximately what they were doing.

Life continues on its trajectory and here we are. It was university Reading Week, and my older son came home for it which was, of course, delightful. Fifteen years after that playground conversation, and my son has a life that I only vaguely know about. He makes his own appointments and does things that I have no idea he’s doing, like snowboarding and rock climbing, I only have a very cursory idea about his schedule and classes, I don’t know any of his friends, and I have seen where he lives only once, for three minutes, while he moved in. His entire life is completely separate from me.

Well, that’s the goal, isn’t it? Fly, little birdie.

A few years after the playground conversation, I was speaking with the grandmother of one of my son’s friends. She was a lively and vibrant woman who took care of her grandchildren while their parents worked. I was telling her that I was nervous to leave the kids with my parents for three nights while my husband and I went away for his birthday. I’d never left them for so long before, and I felt anxious and guilty.

She patted my arm and said it was good to do these things, after all, she said, time goes fast and one day I’d be looking across the table and it would just be my husband. She told me that she remembered exactly when that happened, she said Oh, it’s you. Hello.

That isn’t quite the case here yet, but I can see it in the distance.

Marriages and long-term partnerships are so interesting and, snowflake-like, no two are the same. I was thinking a lot about that this week while reading Carly Simon’s memoir. Now listen, I have always been a fan of James Taylor, but I think that after reading this that I kind of hate James Taylor? He sounds like an absolute nightmare to be married to; I mean, to be fair, he was an addict, addiction is a disease, but also he was one of those guys who really wants a mommy in his wife – he is Sweet Baby James, after all – and who seems to have deeply resented the time and energy Carly spent on their children, particularly their very young son who was very ill with a kidney deformity. That’s probably all I need to say to paint the picture, but of course, he was also having affairs six ways to Sunday, and whenever Carly would confront him with this, he’d say “It has nothing to do with you.” OH REALLY, JAMES TAYLOR. I mean, he had to get tested for chlamydia a number of times during their marriage, so it kind of does have something to do with her? What was incredible to me was that Carly took to heart something her father said, which was that the true meaning of being rich was being able to give, and not being concerned about receiving. If that is the case, then Carly Simon was incredibly rich in her marriage, and even in 2015, decades after it ended, she still writes about him with love.

Getting back to James Taylor and his many venereal diseases, I was really puzzled by something: how was it working? And by “it” I mean his penis. I am no expert here, but he was whacked out on heroin much of the time, and so how was he having sex with all these women? I assumed that there would be performance issues associated with so much drug use, but here he was, contracting the clap left and right.

I am loathe to imagine this, honestly. James Taylor and his skeevy 70s moustache and greasy hair is not someone I want to picture intercoursing, as Detective Mettavoy once said in NYPD Blue and I have been waiting all these years to repeat. But I guess I am loathe to imagine anyone in a sexytimes situation; recently Stephany (HI STEPHANY) commented that no one talks about long-term partnered sex, and it’s true, no one does. I’m not going to delve into my own details about intercoursing here, mostly because my mom and several members of my extended family read this blog and I would like to have our future interactions not shadowed by extreme awkwardness. But I would like to circle back to my initial thought about marriage after the kids are grown and out of the house; this is the time to shine, in that department. Hello, it’s you.

Weekly Reading

Boys In The Trees. As mentioned above, this is a VERY juicy memoir written by Carly herself, and it is beautiful and lyrical, as could be expected from such an esteemed poet and songwriter. I knew going in that she had a stutter as a child, and her mom encouraged her to sing instead, which helped immensely, but what I didn’t know is she developed a stutter after being sexually exploited as a small child by the teenage son of a family friend. This exploitation went on for years and probably explains a lot about her later life. Also something that explains a lot: she was third born after two sisters, and she was “supposed” to be a boy named Carl, disappointed, her parents added a “y.” Do not even get me started on how enraged I am at the idea of “trying for a boy/ girl,” I have to actually do some ujjayi breathing just at the thought. Anyway, her parents did have their longed-for (RAGE RAGE RAGE) son after Carly, but they didn’t want him to GROW UP GAY in a house full of females (MORE RAGE) so they hired a male companion to teach him manly things. Where was her father, you may ask? He was busy. You see, Carly grew up in incredible wealth and privilege – her father is the Simon of Simon and Schuster! She grew up in New York and summered in Connecticut, spending a few weeks a year in Martha’s Vineyard, where, as a child, she met a young James Taylor WHO WAS ALSO GROWING UP WITH IMMENSE WEALTH AND PRIVILEGE. Honestly, I had no idea. Anyway, this male companion ends up a) fucking her mother to the point that she had an adjoining room with him while her father was just on another floor of the house, and b) spying on Carly and her sisters as they use the bathroom. So perhaps all of this explains Carly’s mellow attitude towards her nightmare of a husband, later on. There are many juicy details about the many sexy notches in her belt later in life, notably Warren Beatty, who really knew what was what in the bedroom, and Mick Jagger, with whom she had EXPLOSIVE chemistry, and who also sang backup on You’re So Vain. Who knew? Here’s what she had to say about that song:

Aha! So it’s more of a compilation of vain men. God, I love that song. Long-time readers will recall that this is my go-to karaoke song.

Hagitude: Reimagining The Second Half of Life. Speaking of birdies flying and the nest becoming empty, my friend Laura (HI LAURA) said the other day that she felt like when she became a mother, something shattered in her creativity, and now, as her daughter is away at college, she is at a stage where she is picking up those shards and putting them back together, rediscovering her creativity. I thought of that image a lot, reading this book. This is an interesting time of life for a woman. “…what we should be doing during menopause is gently and consciously letting go of one period of our lives, and slowly and mindfully easing the progression into another.” So says the author of Hagitude, an uplifting book drawing on European mythology about the elder period of a woman’s life, the vitality and meaning that can come from becoming a crone, a hag, a wise old woman. This is a dense book full of imagery and reclamation.

Here we are in the last week of February! Time just keeps its forward march, and here Friday is actually March. I’m hoping for a lamblike start to the month for you all, in every way. xo

Money Honey

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I had a real Lemon, It’s Wednesday start to the week, but on Monday. At one point I thought it was time to start making dinner, and I looked at the clock; it was 12:30 pm.

Fortunately this state of affairs didn’t continue for the whole week; in fact, things improved exponentially. For one thing, we finished the puzzle!

Michelle (HI MICHELLE) had asked what I do with puzzles after I’m finished, and I disassemble them and put them back in their box, which in this case feels like an extreme case of non-attachment, like I am a monk making mandalas in the sand.

If you have been in a grocery store lately, or, indeed, alive in this world, then you will be well aware at the shocking price of literally everything. Recently at Costco I picked up a two-litre of olive oil that a mere six months ago cost $18.99; it is now selling for $32.99 which, I think we all can agree, is a startling increase in price. I do believe there is a global olive crop failure, cue the ominous climate music, but also? $32.99. My cooking just got way more expensive.

Olive oil isn’t the only item that has vastly increased in price, of course, because it seems like everything has with the strange exception of almonds and almond butter, which I am not going to question and instead will welcome with open arms. Come to me, almond products. In a non-food-related, but still very shocking topic, my favourite Maybelline mascara is now $14.99, as opposed to being well under ten dollars only a year ago. This is MAYBELLINE MASCARA. It is not by any stretch of the imagination a luxury brand. I go through at least one tube of mascara a month, so my already-unwieldly beauty budget is ever-increasing.

In my recent Ask Me Anything, Engie (HI ENGIE) asked an interesting question that I have been pondering for months now: What do you resent paying for? Because I am pedantic about semantics, I have been stuck on the word resent. I do not like paying such high prices for everyday items such as olive oil and mascara, but I cannot say I resent it.

Something I find mentally exhausting is the action of clicking on a link in a newsletter or a blog post, a link that looks interesting and exciting, only to find that it is behind a paywall. Similarly, I have in the past year subscribed to a number of Substack newsletters written by talented and interesting people, and recently I have noticed that only a paragraph or two will be available in the free subscription of the Substack, the rest reserved for paid subscriptions only.

I don’t resent this. I do believe that creators should be compensated for their work, and to that end, I do have a few subscriptions I pay for via Substack or Patreon, subscriptions that I value and that add to my life. However. I could not possibly afford to pay for every single Substack or Patreon membership for every creator that I enjoy; or, I suppose I could, but that would severely cut into my beauty budget, and I am unwilling to do that. I’m not cutting back on my mascara consumption, is what I am saying, and something has to give.

It’s frustrating, though, to get excited about reading something only to find out that one must pay to read that something, which is the point of a paid subscription, I know. I know how it works! It’s like old-school click bait, but with subscriptions. Creators have to eat too, and that olive oil isn’t going to pay for itself, but I just wanted to know what Val Monroe was going to recommend for undereye bags without having to pay $8 a month to find out.

To be honest, when it comes to undereye bags, the secret is probably to invent a time machine and to get completely new genetics, or to visit a plastic surgeon or dermatologist for some kind of injection or surgical intervention, or to quit the Friday night wine habit and get ten hours of sleep a night. None of these appeal.

Speaking of undereye bags, I made a grave mistake a few weeks ago. I was glancing at my Instagram when a sponsored reel popped up, regarding The Biggest Mistake Older Women Make When It Comes To Makeup, and dear readers, I watched the whole thing. I watched an entire reel on Instagram about the best way to deal with undereye bags and other signs of aging, and now my entire Instagram is flooded, absolutely flooded, with Makeup For Women Of A Certain Age.

It’s only a matter of time until I capitulate. This is how I ended up purchasing many pairs of my dearly beloved Mott and Bow jeans, and we all know that I am not made of stone, particularly when it comes to beauty products. I shall keep you all posted.

After a great deal of thought, I realized that although there is nothing in my life that I currently resent paying for, there is something that I resent having paid for, and that is twenty years of regular, frequent, professional hair colouring. The pandemic forced my hand, as it were, when it comes to boxed, at-home hair colour, and there might not be many things that I am grateful for, back in April 2020, but I absolutely am grateful for my foray into DIY hair colour. When I think about the massive amount of time, money, and energy I expended on getting my hair coloured when I could have been doing it myself, and what I could have been doing with that money instead, I do feel ridiculously resentful. My hair is no more damaged than when I was getting it done in a salon, and while I’m sure it’s not a perfect colour job, it is definitely more than good enough.

Before:

After:

All that wasted money! Well. I have not yet invented a time machine to go back and start colouring my hair at home at the beginning of the millennium, nor to change my DNA so as to not have undereye bags. One must leave the past in the past; we learn from history, lest it repeat itself.

Weekly Reading

Speaking of history!

The Indifferent Stars Above: The Harrowing Saga of the Donner Party. This is not typically the kind of book I reach for, but Engie (HI ENGIE) mentioned it with enthusiasm and it did sound fascinating: the author is distantly related to Sarah Graves, who with her family and brand new husband leave Illinois for the promised land – initially Oregon, but, fatefully, they decide to take a “short cut” and across the Sierra Nevada to California, joining up with the Donner Party. What a decision that was. The throughline for the book is “The Harrowing Saga of the Donner Party” and “harrowing” feels like a real understatement. Something I have thought of a lot, after rereading the Little House books as an adult, is that there has to be something of hubris, plus the incredibly offensive “manifest destiny,” to just pack up your family and travel thousands of miles, destination unknown, really. Also, how bad are things at home that one must feel the need to do this? I guess it’s just the search for a better life, which is something we all want. Anyway, these people were all extremely ill-prepared for what was to come, although if they knew what was to come they’d probably have stayed home. First of all, they go against the recorded recommendation to never start their journey later than May 1, instead they left over three weeks later. They start running out of provisions as they trudge across the salt deserts of Utah, with no water and their oxen (the poor oxen, I felt for the animals in this book) just collapsing and dying. Animal lovers: there are some really difficult parts to read THE POOR OXEN, THEY DID NOT CHOOSE THIS LIFE. Truly, no one would have chosen what they did, particularly the poor children. And probably the women. Let’s face it, the men were making the decisions here.

Anyway, the party starts dropping their possessions – once considered necessities – to lighten the load for the dying oxen. Then they get stuck in the “shortcut” through the Sierra Nevada, getting snowed in, everyone starving to psychosis and, often, death. A small party – including Sarah – makes a break for it to get help, and of course they have no idea where they’re going or how to get there, and it’s honestly kind of a miracle they didn’t all die right there. They were essentially shoeless and naked, in the winter and deep snow, with no food, eating people as they died, which is also what was happening back at the base camp. Of the 87 people, 47 died, including Sarah’s husband, and most of them, um, get eaten by everyone else in order to survive.

Another thing I’ve thought of often due to my Little House consumption, and now this book, is how terrible it would be to be a widow in those times. A widow would be extremely vulnerable, with no way to earn money really, and she would be kind of a sitting duck for anyone who wanted to take a shot at her, so to speak. Anyway, this is a GRIM book but absolutely fascinating, and the story is told in a really compelling way, and despite the shockingly horrifying, one might even say HARROWING, subject matter, I really enjoyed reading it. What’s wrong with me?

The Rachel Incident. Listen, I know that a while ago I swore off books about twentysomething hot messes who drink too much and make bad choices BUT something compelled me to pick this up. The author is a podcaster who I enjoy very much and this book – about an Irish woman and her closeted best friend and housemate – is one of the most intensely satisfying books I have ever read in my life. It takes place in Cork in the height of the 2008-2010 recession, and I was emotionally invested in the characters from page one. It’s so well written and there is just so much in terms of layers and nuance, it’s fantastic.

It’s been an interesting and, ultimately, good week. I hosted a Galentine’s night on Saturday with some wonderful girlfriends; I will never cease to be grateful for the incredible women in my life, and this group has welcomed me into their circle with open arms. If you’re reading this, know that I am grateful for you too! Have a beautiful week, friends. xo

It’s Puzzling

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Happy Almost-Galentines Day to all my gals! And, I guess, a Happy Honorary Almost-Galentines Day to any guys who may be reading this. Are there any guys reading this? I have no idea, honestly.

It is tradition for me to bake heart-shaped items at this time of year; I will make cookies later in the week. I bake so much; along with cooking dinner, I feel like I spend a lot of time in the kitchen every day. I once tried to track my time for a week and before the first morning was over, I was so depressed I abandoned the whole thing. So much time in the kitchen.

I have been contemplating the idea of hobbies this week, thanks to an episode of my friend Stephany’s podcast, The Friendship Paradox (HI STEPHANY). The episode, talking about a variety of hobbies, had me down a semantic wormhole: if a hobby is something pleasurable to do in one’s free time, then is my whole life a hobby? If everything I do is a hobby, then is nothing a hobby?

I don’t consider baking a hobby, although I do enjoy it. Yoga and exercise might be considered hobbies, but to me they are daily life-affirming activities that are vital to my mental and emotional health, as well as to keep my physical body from crumbling and immobilizing. Are my daily walks a hobby? I do not consider them to be optional for myself or, more importantly, for Rex.

I just had A Moment, thinking of what life would be like if Rex DIDN’T get his 6 km of walking a day, lord have mercy.

Reading and writing, similarly, do not feel optional to me but I’m not making any money on either of them, so I suppose they would be considered hobbies as well.

One thing that absolutely is a hobby, and something I only do in the winter, is putting together a jigsaw puzzle. This is something my husband and I do together, except that he is very bossy and often takes over completely, which suits me if it’s a hard puzzle. I tend to like the puzzles that have a lot of little vignettes on them, which are easier to put together. We are working on one now that my older son gave me for Christmas, and friends, it is incredibly difficult.

My son knows I like easier puzzles but he also knows my deep love for QEII, so he gifted this to me. I told my husband to back off, in terms of her face and dress, and so he’s been working the boring rest of it. I did allow him to put together the scepter though.

But you guys, it is so hard! The purple cape is all slightly different shades of dark purple, and what makes it even harder is this:

Puzzle-loving friends will notice that all the pieces are the same general shape. It turns out that I look for shape a lot more than I look for colour; for a while I thought I’d have to get my husband to put the cape together, but I persisted, and finally finished it yesterday.

Weekly Reading

I have SO MUCH to say about the books I finished this week. Hold onto your reading hats!

Paperback Crush: The Totally Radical History of ’80s and ’90s Teen Fiction. Did you ever wonder if you were a Jessica or an Elizabeth? Or, god forbid, an Enid? Did you think that you would drive your blond, size-6, All-American self to school in your red Fiat Spider and date the star of the basketball team while editing the school newspaper? Did you think you’d sneak around on your boyfriend’s motorcycle, get into an accident, and switch personalities with your identical twin sister? If so, then 25% of this book is for you! In 1985 I asked for – and still have – a Sweet Valley High box set for Christmas and boy, did I love those books. I wish this whole book was a SVH recap but alas, it is not. It reads like a really long blog post, which is to say it’s a casual and easy read.

I don’t mind a blog post-like read for a topic like this; and speaking of such, I would like to take this opportunity to link to a series of Judy Blume recaps – Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, and Deenie – I wrote when I had a blog with my dear friends Hannah and Allison (HI HANNAH HI ALLISON), lo these nine years ago. Judy Blume is featured in Paperback Crush, but not a whole lot, since most of her books were written in the 70s.

Also featured in this book: the VC Andrews series. Who among us didn’t read Flowers In The Attic, horrifying ourselves with incredible tales of abuse and incest and poisoned doughnuts? What a ride those books were. I think I was probably about 11 when I read those books which, whoa. Imagine that happening these days.

Getting back to Paperback Crush: I enjoyed about half of it. I liked the nostalgia of those paperback romances geared towards tweens, written in the early 80s. I used to troll the racks at the library for them, and I remember a friend wasn’t allowed to read them because they weren’t “good books.” I thought then and I still think now that any books that kids will read are good books, and why specifically does society have a need to make girls and women feel shitty for liking things they like? Oh right, patriarchy. Anyway, as I said I only liked about half of this book because the other half was a deep dive into books I was too old to read, like the Babysitters Club and Goosebumps, basically anything written after 1987. Despite the very casual writing style – again, no shade, just facts – I enjoyed the nostalgia of this and recognized MANY covers (remember the Cheerleader series?). I am actually considering digging out my Sweet Valley collection and reading about Jessica’s tryst with a college age boy (THERE’S BEER AT THE PARTY).

Strange Sally Diamond. Within the first paragraph, I assumed that Sally Diamond was a woman with autism: she pretends she is deaf so as to not speak to people, she has no friends and lives in isolation with her father, she has trouble finding nuance and reading social cues, she pulls her hair and screams when she is upset. She is excellent when it comes to following directions, which is how she obtains sudden notoriety: her father had always jokingly said that when he died, he should just be put out with the trash, and that is exactly what Sally does. The resulting media storm brings to light her upsetting early life, and we as the reader discover that her antisocial personality was in fact the result of a horrific trauma in her early years, in addition to a lifetime of being somewhat of a psychological experiment at the hands of her father. This absolutely horrifying, sickening trauma is the subject of a secondary point of view, and we see dual lives and timelines.

As an aside, this made me think of Gabor Mate and his book about neurodivergence and traumatic or otherwise adverse childhood experiences. It brings up an interesting and unsettling idea regarding causation of neurodivergent-appearing behaviours, and I don’t know how I feel about that. If we follow the idea that early childhood experiences can imprint for a lifetime, well, that can both explain things and also put a heavy weight on parental responsibilities. Anyway. LET’S MOVE ON.

Two things can be true at the same time: first, I could not read this book fast enough. It has been a long time since I was this invested in a plot, even given the extremely disturbing subject matter. The second thing is that I found the writing style to be very clunky and lacking in nuance and subtlety, particularly the dialogue, particularly in the secondary point of view. This book really suffers from a “tell” instead of a “show” which I don’t like. However, as I said to my friend Nicole (HI NICOLE), if the book was better written, I would have had insane nightmares due to the terrifying backstory. As it was, well, it was just a book – I never forgot it was a story, I never got completely immersed – and so I slept just fine. The plot really moved, and it was a compelling read, despite the writing.

I noticed this beaver dam in progress on my walk the other day – I guess some other creatures are busy with their non-hobbies too. I hope you all have a lovely, heart-filled week of love and light and chocolate! xo

Dinner Every Damn Day

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I have mentioned at length how much I cook; until we went to Mexico, I had cooked dinner every single night from October through January. We rarely eat out, and although everyone in the house CAN cook, and when it comes to other meals they DO cook, but I am the only one who makes dinners. There are reasons for this, I’m sure, but I can’t think of what those reasons are right now.

It’s not the cooking per se that is exhausting, it’s the planning and the ingredient list-making and the grocery shopping, am I right? I am a person who makes a meal plan for the week and then sticks to that meal plan; I have done this for many, many years as the thought of deciding what to make for dinner at five o’clock fills me with dread and anxiety. I’m just not a Go With The Flow, What Do We Feel Like Eating sort of person. I need A Plan.

I have talked about my Weekly Meal Plan before, but it’s changed a little since we have moved. For one thing, I have had a bit more time during the day, and I don’t have to think about how to incorporate things into school lunches. I’ve gotten a bit more experimental in general, although I think I could get a little more lively. Birchy (HI BIRCHY) had mentioned that she has a goal of ten new recipes for 2024, and while I don’t have that exact goal, I am trying to add new things to my arsenal of tried-and-true regulars. I will take any and all suggestions you may have!

I’m not unique, I don’t think. It feels like collectively we are all constantly fatigued when it comes to meal planning and the actual creation of those meals. I thought I’d share with you what I made for dinner last week, and approximately how long it took to make those meals. I don’t include cleanup time – one or two of the guys always clean up after dinner, but I am also a clean-as-you-go person who cannot abide having piles of bowls and pans while I cook, so I do wash dishes frequently throughout the day. I also wanted to distinguish between active cooking time and passive cooking time; I don’t really count the latter because I can read or do something else while vegetables are roasting. Also, I don’t know what your tastes are – personally, I roast vegetables until they are charred and crispy, but I stir-fry them just so that they are only slightly cooked. I’m an enigma when it comes to vegetables, what can I say, but the point is, we all like things done in different ways, so this is just a general peek into my methodology. At the same time, it is a source of irritation for me when a recipe says that it takes only twenty minutes, but those twenty minutes don’t include vegetable chopping, sauce making, or other vital processes to the meal. I guess I could have left the preparation time out altogether and saved us all this long and boring explanation.

For those of you who are new (HI NEW FRIENDS!) I eat plant-based – vegan mostly, with some small amounts of dairy – and the guys eat meat. I don’t make separate meals and I never have; instead, I make a plant-based meal and then sometimes cook meat to be served on the side. Sometimes the meal is completely plant-based, and on one day – Sunday – I make a meal that is meat-based, and I eat only the side dishes. Sundays are also Dessert Days; I think they deserve a special sweet treat.

Monday

We arrived home from Mexico last Sunday night, to a clean house and an empty refrigerator, which called for a big grocery trip. Wednesday is usually Grocery Day around here, stemming from a habit I created back when I taught classes every morning but Wednesday, but obviously I had to make an exception this week, unless we wanted to eat nothing but peanut butter for two days. Grocery Day is a great day to make a variation of Suzanne’s Fall Salad (HI SUZANNE), which I have made many times, somehow differently each time. This time I roasted chickpeas and sweet potatoes, added crispy quinoa, candied pecans, dried blueberries, and chevre crumbles, with a maple dijon dressing. While the quinoa was cooking, I peeled and chopped the sweet potatoes, tossed them and the chickpeas in olive oil and sprinkled them with salt and pepper, which took about 15 minutes. It took another 5 minutes to make the dressing and another 5 to spread out the quinoa on a baking sheet to crisp in the oven; candied pecans take about 15 minutes, and then it takes another 5 to put it all together. That’s 45 minutes JUST for the salad, not including roasting time and also the hours that I leave the rinsed and drained chickpeas on a tea towel to dry out before roasting them; this is an easy trick to get nice crunchy chickpeas. In other words, this is a good meal to make if you have some time and are home for a few hours, otherwise, maybe not. I also put some chicken thighs in the air fryer for the guys and sliced up a baguette, both of which took maybe 5 minutes total. Total active time: let’s call it 50 minutes. Add in roasting time for the chickpeas, quinoa, and sweet potatoes, which is another 50-60 minutes total.

Tuesday

Tuesday night is typically stir-fry night, mostly because I always like to use up all the veggies before Grocery Day. Even though I’d already bought groceries, I still felt like having a stir-fry; I made a teriyaki sauce based on a recipe from Vegan Richa‘s Everyday Vegan cookbook, and served it with basmati rice and pan-fried tofu, adding cashews on top. The veggies took about 15 minutes to chop, the rice takes a few minutes to rinse before cooking, and the sauce itself requires cooking to thicken and takes close to 25 minutes to make. The veggies and tofu do need active hands, and they take about 15 minutes, which I do while the rice cooks. Total active time: 55-60 minutes. Again, a good meal to make if you have a bit of time.

Wednesday

Pasta night! The thing I love about pasta night is the sauce, and to maximize my sauce consumption I roast a cauliflower to eat along with the pasta. This was an easy meal because I had sauce in the freezer from a batch I had made a few weeks back. I also had some meatballs in the freezer for the guys, which I just bake in the oven. It takes about 10 minutes for me to chop up a cauliflower, and probably about 5 minutes total to toss the pieces in olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and put it in the oven alongside the meatballs. I’m going to say that heating up the sauce and boiling the water for pasta takes maybe another 5 minutes, and so total active time for this meal – thanks to Past Nicole, who put things in the freezer – is only about 20 minutes, plus cauliflower roasting time.

Thursday

This is by far the easiest and fastest weeknight meal in my arsenal: tortilla wraps. I cut up veggies and avocado, I put a couple of chicken breasts in the air fryer for the guys to slice up and add to their wraps, and I put out shredded cheese and salsa for those who wanted it. The total active time for this is maybe 10 minutes. It’s perfect for a Thursday night when it feels like the week has been busy and tiring and is it Friday yet? No? Okay, tortilla wraps it shall be.

Friday

My favourite night of the week! I could eat this meal every single day for the rest of my life, happily. Greek salad with hummus and pita, and, of course, Friday night wine. I also put some chicken in the air fryer, and for those of you who are wondering, I have a double air fryer in which one side is reserved for meat only, and the other side for vegetables. I get a lot of use out of it; it is an easy way to cook meat without having to actively cook meat. In any case, this week I made hummus, which takes probably 15 minutes, most of which are me gathering the ingredients before putting everything in the food processor. The salad itself takes 10 minutes, between chopping the veggies and making the dressing. Usually I buy mini pitas, but they didn’t have them this week, so I sliced up regular-sized ones, which took a few minutes. Total active time: 30 minutes.

Saturday

What can I say, I was missing guacamole, and I had bought a bag of avocados on Monday that ripened perfectly for this week – two were ripe on Thursday, and four on Saturday. I consider that a sign from the universe. I roasted sweet potatoes and red peppers, sauteed black beans with some cumin, coriander, chili powder, and lime, and then whipped up a batch of guacamole. It makes a perfect burrito! Total active time is about 35 minutes: 10 minutes for the guac (not including sampling it with chips), 10 minutes to chop the vegetables, and 15 minutes to rinse and drain the beans, and then sauté them. Somewhat fun story: we call these enchiladas in our house even though they are not enchiladas. Years ago I had made them into actual enchiladas, with cheese and sauce, for a friend who was going through cancer treatment at the time, and I made them for our family without the cheese and sauce, and without baking them. Still we call them enchiladas.

Sunday

This is the only day that I make a meat-centric meal, which this week was a roast pork with gravy, the active time of which is about 20 minutes. I also make an amazing roasted broccoli dish, which I long ago adapted from a recipe on The Kitchn website, a Caesar salad, and crispy roasted potatoes. Chopping time for the lettuce and veggies is about 20 minutes total; the dressings for the broccoli and salad take another 20 minutes, plus 5 minutes for toasted breadcrumbs. Assembling all of the dishes is another 5 minutes, which is a total of 70 minutes of active time, plus a lot of waiting-for-everything-to-cook time.

But wait! There’s more!

I came across this sweet little product around Christmastime but never used it until last weekend. Friends, let me tell you about strawberry daiquiri pie, a dessert that actually does take only ten minutes to make, albeit it needs a couple of hours to set. I make a graham cracker crust with coconut oil – just stir 1/4 cup melted coconut oil into 1 1/4 cups graham crumbs and squish the mixture into a pie pan – and then I whirred 3 cups thawed frozen strawberries and a can of this sweetened condensed coconut milk in my food processor, poured it into the crust, froze it for a couple of hours, and added a quick chocolate sauce for serving. YES.

Two things have become obvious here: a) I really like roasted vegetables, and b) I don’t mind cooking meat too much as long as I can use virtually hands-off processes. I know a lot of vegan friends won’t allow meat into their homes, but I’m pretty easygoing about the whole thing. We are all on our own journeys, people, and the guys in my house, well, their journeys include meat. I do have separate pans and serving utensils for meats, though, I can only be so easy-breezy.

I guess one more thing is obvious, and that is that I love dessert. It’s February, after all, and pink desserts are de rigeur. I hope you are having a delicious day! xo

People Who Watch People

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The world is such an interesting place, isn’t it? It’s wild that a person can go from this:

To this, in only a matter of hours.

It has been very grey and foggy this week, but it’s so mild and windless that I don’t mind it at all. Our snow is basically all gone, except for piles in parking lots and along the walking paths where it had been shovelled. Those piles are a source of great joy to Rex, who likes to roll and slide down them, and then starts to eat them. His penchant for eating snow is pretty cute, and so I’m trying not to be horrified when he shoves his face into filthy parking lot snow. I mean, he is a dog, so I am assuming his digestive system can handle it.

After what felt like a long run of books that ran the gamut between Good and OMG Boring, last Friday I read a really fabulous collection of short stories, entitled Today A Woman Went Mad At The Supermarket, and if that title does not pique your interest, then you are living a very different life from me.

Hilma Wolizer has been around and writing for decades – most of these stories were written in the 1970s, one as early as the 1966 – and so I am puzzled as to why I haven’t heard of her before this. All the stories are interconnected and deal with my favourite genre: ordinary, everyday things written in an extraordinary way. The last story has to do with the pandemic, written in 2020, and I mention it as a warning for anyone who is not in a mental space to read about the early days of Covid, specifically how it affected elderly people living in New York City.

The foreword of this book is written by Elizabeth Strout who, as you know, is one of my favourites and who also really writes the Slice Of Life books that I adore. In the foreword are two quotes from Wolitzer, which resonated with me so much and made me want to call her up and scream ME TOO into the phone.

Everyone’s face was fascinating to me, and I would wonder what their lives were like.

I don’t believe there’s such a thing as ordinary life. I think all life is extraordinary.

I cannot even begin to explain how seen I felt after I read that; I felt a deep kinship with this 90 year old writer.

On our trip to Mexico, I spent a lot of time by myself at the pool; I am the early bird of our group, so I would lounge around waiting for my husband and our friends to arrive, reading and soaking up the surroundings. I tend to chat with anyone within ten feet of me, but on this trip people were mostly swimming by me, or in large groups, and so instead of chatting, I’d just imagine what their lives were like. How long had that couple been married? What was it like to look exactly like the guy who talks about the O Face in the movie Office Space? What does the man swimming early-morning pool lengths do for a living? Where did that woman get that fabulous hat?

One afternoon I was reading while my husband and our friend were floating around in the pool, drinks in hand. They noticed a couple who was in the pool beside them; this couple was involved in what can only be described as An Extensive Makeout Session. The guys couldn’t believe I didn’t notice the couple, because, as I mentioned before, I am always people-watching, and so they were shocked I missed the estan caliente teenage-like making out and, if you will pardon the extremely crude expression, but nothing else comes close to describing this accurately, dry-humping that was happening in the pool right in front of me. How did you not see it? our friend asked, puzzled at my obliviousness. The guy got out right in front of you and he had a massive boner, how could you miss that? my husband told me, with his usual delicacy of manner.

How indeed?

Nevertheless, it wasn’t long before I started seeing this couple everywhere, though, and always in a similar state of semi-clothed in flagrante: in the lobby bar, standing next to the pool, in a single pool lounge next to the pool. From what I could see the man was probably in his fifties, and the woman a couple of decades younger. Their level of passion was truly inspirational, although if continued to completion, I would assume that there would be a lot of chafing and possible cystitis involved in this holiday.

I did, of course, wonder what their story was. I concluded that if they were married, it wasn’t to each other, and before long I had an entire Harlequin-like romance written in my head about them.

Speaking of marriage, my husband and I were wandering through the resort one night; our friends had gone back to their room, and we were enjoying the full moon and the music that was coming from a wedding reception being held nearby. One of the songs was Baby Got Back, which I love, but which also seems like a strange choice for a wedding reception. In any case, there we were, getting our groove on, when my husband was swarmed by a group of young women in an advanced state of inebriation. Josh! Josh! they squealed, to our bemusement.

It turns out that these lovely young women had mistaken my husband for an actor named Josh Duhamel, who I had never heard of before, but who has the distinction of being from Minot, North Dakota, which is not far at all from where I was born, in Saskatchewan. These girls were slightly disappointed that my husband was not the star of a Transformers movie, but were extremely sweet and cheerful. We saw you by the pool today! they said, then turning to me. We just thought he had gotten remarried! Well, that was cute, but there are two things that I found out later: Josh Duhamel used to be married to Fergie, of Black Eyed Peas fame, and is now married to a former Miss World America.

I do not have low self-esteem or lack for confidence, but I admit I did feel a bit strange at this exchange. The tables, they had turned. My people-watching had ricocheted back to me; me, with my giant sunhat and streaks of mineral sunscreen on my legs and bikini, with my slightly-bloated margarita tummy and fuzzy, out of control beach hair. Did these women really think that Josh Duhamel, one-time star on All My Children, left Miss World America for ME? Were they making up their own mental stories about people around the pool generally, and me specifically? I cannot imagine such stories would cast me in a very flattering light. Listen, I would like to believe that we live in a world in which women of all ages, visages, and bodies are embraced equally by ex-soap stars, but let’s be realistic. The most likely answer is that these women’s vision was blurred by unlimited day-drinking; in fact, I think that is probably my best-case scenario. Maybe they thought you WERE Miss World America, my husband ventured, to which I answered with a look only. He shrugged sheepishly. When a couple has been married for a few decades, sometimes non-verbal communication is the best kind of communication.

January 2023 Vacation Books, and Bookends

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In case it hasn’t been made clear yet, one of the great pleasures of my life is reading. I’m not even sure I would call it a pleasure, now that I think about it; it’s more of just an incredibly important part of my day. It’s the first R in REM Y REM, and you know that’s my recipe for living a balanced and healthy life. So allow me to rewind to my first sentence: one of the great pleasures of my life is reading on vacation. Is there anything more luxurious than devouring a good book beside some sort of cooling body of water? With an icy drink in hand and the sunshine making that icy drink all covered in condensation? I think not.

I read a lot in the past couple of weeks; there were a couple of hits but a lot of misses and mehs. That’s how it goes, sometimes, I suppose. Not all books are going to knock it out of the park, so to speak.

Dress Your Family In Corduroy And Denim. I like reading Sedaris in January, and I thought I’d revisit this book of essays that I first read years ago. I have to say that ever since reading Happy Go Lucky, I have been unable to find humour in his essays about his childhood and youth, given that I now know his mother was an alcoholic and his father was terribly abusive. It’s hard to read about his sister Tiffany, knowing she was sexually abused and later died by suicide. However, the stories about his adulthood, and more specifically, his life with Hugh still bring me laughter and joy – my husband asked what I was laughing about, reading Nuit of the Living Dead.

French Braid. What to say, what to say. Well, first, this is a very quick and easy read, and it’s entertaining enough. It follows a family from 1959 to 2020, and that family is not dysfunctional, exactly? But it’s not a close family. It reads like a series of vignettes about a family that is not close at all, with a mother who sort of seems like she never wanted to be a mother. For such a lightly-written book the subject matter is kind of heavy. There are three siblings who were not particularly close as children and the book details how they become much less close, not for any particular reason, and how all the cousins don’t know each other and you know what? It was weird to read this. If you know, you know.

The Department of Rare Books and Special Collections. I’m trying to read outside my usual genres, which is why I picked up this cozy mystery about a – as the title implies – rare book in a special library collection that SUDDENLY GOES MISSING, right before the gala for library donors who want to see said rare book. The curator of the collection is suddenly incapacitated by a stroke, leaving his replacement to scramble to find it and you know what, this book was so boring I almost slipped into a coma writing this synopsis. Content warning for discussion of mental health, suicide, and also extremely unlikeable, flat characters.

Happy Place. Woof, you know you’re approaching a certain age when you identify strongly with the stodgy parents rather than the heroine. Anyhoo. This was a good book for the plane because it requires very little thinking: a story about a group of friends and a couple who is broken up, but pretending they are still together. It’s a cute light story about friends, love, and finding yourself. I didn’t love it but it’s a good light read.

Love Marriage. By the author of Brick Lane, which I loved, this is a pretty epic story about a woman and her family, her fiancé, and her job as a medical resident. Things start to fall apart in every area of her life, and there were some surprising reveals. I really enjoyed this.

The Man of My Dreams. This book follows a woman throughout her youth and into her 20s, detailing all her relationships including that with an emotionally abusive father, her loving family, friends, and boyfriends. The main character is so unlikeable that, even though there was a redemptive arc, I found I could t like the book. I loathed the main character so much it wrecked the story for me.

Quietly Hostile. I genuinely enjoy Irby’s style and humour and I enjoyed hearing her on a podcast talking about enjoying things that are often scoffed at. You know what that’s all about: you mention that you like a movie or book or TV show and someone says “Really? You LIKED that?” We like what we like, and I like that Irby stands up for what she likes. And I would say the essays in here that I liked, I really liked. Like, laughing hysterically liked; the QVC essay had me cry-laughing. I also loved the essay on rewriting Sex and the City; I did not know Irby is a writer on the reboot. Now, I only have watched part of the first episode, because I wanted to see the Death By Peloton part, but I was not at all impressed, and I haven’t felt moved to waste any more time watching it. However, that’s a little sidebar to say that while I haven’t watched the reboot, I have watched Sex and the City the OG in its entirety, and this essay was SO good. But in general in this book there was way too much talk of vomit, diarrhea, and urine for my liking and yes I know, I know that’s her signature style, so yes, that’s on me. One essay was honestly unbearably sad, and a few were great. A few just didn’t land for me, your mileage may vary.

On Our Best Behaviour: The Seven Deadly Sins and the Price Women Pay To Be Good. This was a pretty fascinating look at the societal and cultural pressures that women face, organized into the Seven Deadly Sins: the pressure to be always DOING something and to be productive (sloth), the idea that there is limited room at the table and that women should shut down other women (envy), the stigma against acknowledging our incredible abilities (pride), general body image and the idealizing of smaller bodies at any cost (gluttony), pay gaps and unpaid labour (greed), slut-shaming (lust), and the pressure to not be angry, to be nice, to please people (anger). There is also a chapter on sadness and one on the history of the patriarchy. There was a quote from Oprah that stood out to me, in response to a guest downplaying the book she had written: “Playing dumb, weak, and silly is a disservice to yourself and to me and to the world. Every time you pretend to be less than you are, you steal permission from other women to exist fully.” Wow, OPRAH. PREACH. I found this resonant as well: “Too many of us function as the prefrontal cortex for our children, letting our kids outsource their self-regulation to us, because it’s so hard to watch them struggle, even when struggling, as we know, is how we learn and grow.” What a great reminder! Lots of gems in this book. How many times have we looked at another woman who has what we want, and thought massively critical thoughts about her, her body, her morality, her personality? How many times have we felt we should lose weight and take up less space in the world? How many times have we dismissed praise and compliments, saying we aren’t as good as we are to show our humility? How many times have we denied ourselves desperately-needed rest so we could do one more thing, just one more, and to stay productive at all costs? How many times have we swallowed anger so that it goes inward, eating us up as stress, instead of expressing it, to show that we really are nice? I thought this book was so full of thoughtfulness and smart insights.

So as I said, some hits, some misses. My current read is EXCELLENT – more about that later – and I would like to mention the Cool Bloggers Book Club, hosted by Engie (HI ENGIE) starts on Monday! We are reading My Brilliant Friend, and you neither have to be cool nor a blogger to join the club. Just show up at Engie’s blog on Mondays in February to discuss the book.

Happy Friday, my friends! I hope you have a lovely weekend ahead of you. xo