Monthly Archives: October 2024

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Trick or Treat Edition

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I never really understood Anne Shirley’s feelings on October until I moved here. It is so beautiful right now, I can barely stand it. The colours are gorgeous, and every day is a little bit different. I’m becoming slightly unhinged, talking about leaves to my family every day.

I mean, I am stopping perfect strangers on the street to talk to them about fall colours, which isn’t TOTALLY out of line for me, but I am starting to become a tiny bit concerned about my sanity. Also I’m starting to worry that people are going to recognize and avoid me from here on in.

For the first time ever, I will not be celebrating Halloween in the traditional sense, and so I’m a little early this month, talking about my Favourite Things! Some of these things are tricks, some are treats, and some are both.

Gourds, Decorative and Otherwise, Motherfuckers

You guys, I grew my own pumpkins!

Cute, right? Have you ever seen a more perfect pumpkin? There’s more where that came from, in addition to my massive haul of butternut squash.

And, of course, more zucchini.

I could not resist the siren call of the motherfucking decorative gourds. It’s the season, motherfuckers!

Fruit Is Nature’s Candy

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, grape harvesting is done, and so I have thoroughly enjoyed my own backyard Concords.

There is so much incredible fresh fruit right now, and my favourites are pears and apples. A neighbourhood girl was selling plums from her own backyard trees to raise money for the Terry Fox Foundation, so of course I had to buy some.

But the apples, my god, the apples. I cannot get enough of those delicious, tree-ripened McIntosh apples. I’m eating two or three a day right now. I may turn into an apple. HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES.

These apples are delicious! As a matter of fact they are, she said.

The Other Kind of Grape

We live at the bottom of a vineyard; we own, along with my mother-in-law, two acres of it, but the rest is owned by the founder of Tantalus Vineyards. What you may not know is that those vineyards were owned by my husband’s family until my late father-in-law sold them to Tantalus twenty years ago. They still have a block named after him, and they still have the Old Vines, planted by him – and my then-teenaged husband – in 1978. The winery is, therefore, a place I like to visit, particularly when we have out-of-town guests, and so I took my parents there for a wine tasting.

I love their homegrown Riesling, but I REALLY love their Syrah. The Syrah grapes are not grown on the adjacent property; instead they come from just south of here, and sadly they, along with 95% of Okanagan grapes, were decimated by the cold snap we had here in January. Yes, you read that right: 95% of ALL wine grape crops in the Okanagan were destroyed, which means that there will be little to no 2024 vintage. People, if you love Okanagan wines, get them now while you can.

I was disheartened to hear that of 110 Syrah grape plants, from which this wine is made, 108 are gone. You can bet I’m going to savour these wines that my dad bought for me, because it will be many years before they are available again.

Just An Ordinary Girl In An Ordinary World

On a less-apocalyptic note, let’s talk about Ordinary products. I have been using this line for a few years, ever since my wrinkle-less friend Denise (HI DENISE) told me about them. I have loved their caffeine undereye serum, but I branched out and bought the multi-peptide one, and I really think it’s made a difference.

I also bought Matrixyl for my forehead wrinkles, and while I don’t think these are miraculous, dermatologist office substitutes, I think they work pretty well. Things don’t seem to be getting worse, and sometimes the status quo is the best we can hope for.

Ghosting the Blessed Life

Whenever someone visits my house for the first time, there is a guarantee that they will comment on the volume of bananas on my countertop. I don’t blame them; as a family we go through a vast amount. I personally go through fourteen bananas a week, entirely in smoothie form.

My breakfast smoothie is made up of cashew milk, nut butter, a frozen banana, and a ton of spinach. I always feel great after consuming it; it’s a nutrition bomb full of vitamins, fibre, calcium, and iron.

The one thing it’s not super high in is protein. I mean, yes, there is protein involved, but I don’t feel it’s enough to adequately fuel my very active, plant-based lifestyle. This means that every lunch I make myself a smoothie with protein powder, cashew milk, and yet another frozen banana. It feels like a milkshakey treat, and I look forward to it. I used to buy the Protein Works vegan line, but it was a) expensive, and b) only available in the US or UK, and so I was always paying exchange rates and shipping. I decided to branch out and I’m so glad I did.

Ghost vegan protein powder tastes exactly like a delicious chocolate milkshake, not too sweet or cloying, and it has a perfect, non-gritty texture.

I’ve tried a few of the Blessed flavours, to much disappointment. The chocolate, usually a safe flavour for me, is frankly disgusting, and the strawberry isn’t much better. The chocolate coconut is okay, but this! This vanilla chai, which sounds like a risky choice, is really, really good. Once in a while I’ll even use it instead of nut butter in my spinach smoothie and it works great.

Outfit of the Month

It’s my Fall Uniform!

Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) recently was talking about buying multiples of the same clothing item, which is a very relatable topic. I have bought three pair of the Infinite Fit Silver jeans that I spoke about last month – they are stretchy and comfortable and, amazingly, don’t lose their shape. They fit like a more-structured yoga pant. These ones are the straight cut, which I like to wear cuffed with booties. The sweater is just a light old one from the Gap, and the tank top underneath is from Lululemon, both about six years old. I wear some combination of jeans, boots, and a black – or, if I’m feeling saucy, grey – sweater, often with a tank underneath, basically every day. Why mess with the uniform?

As previously mentioned, I won’t be celebrating Halloween in the traditional sense, and that is because I’m going on a big adventure! To that end, I will be taking a blog break. I can’t wait to tell you all about it, sometime in November, but until then, take care of yourselves, friends. Treat yourselves tenderly, and maybe treat yourself to a few treats as well. Or tricks! I don’t judge. xo

In It Together

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I was taking a Peloton class the other day, and I noticed something. I am a person who likes to send out “high fives” to everyone surrounding me on the leaderboard, particularly people who have the same group hashtags as I do. My people! I will think, happily, if I see someone from the #yestoyoucrew or #PelotonCanada. I was cheerfully moving my way up when I saw the hashtag #therapyfortherapists.

It reminded me of the time I saw #therapistsofpeloton and all I could think of was this:

What I’m saying is that I’m glad the rapists are getting therapy through exercise.

I love Peloton for many reasons, and one of them is that I love the idea that there are other people out there, doing the same exact workout as me at the same exact time. It gives me that wonderful feeling of we are all in this life together, doing the same things, but differently that I absolutely love. Here we all are, going about our lives, separately, but somehow interconnected.

When I was in university, I took a couple of classes from a professor who had the worst body odour you can imagine. This wasn’t simply a matter of oops, forgot my deodorant before I hit the gym. This was on another level altogether. It had to have been a medical issue; it was a Seinfeld-level entity. You didn’t dare sit in the first three rows in his classroom, or, if you did, you’d never make that mistake again. Even in the very back, at best you’d leave the classroom surreptitiously sniffing your clothes to ensure that the smell didn’t cling, at worst, you’d finish class with a nauseous headache.

It occurred to me one day, as I took notes on microeconomic systems, that this professor was married. I looked with wonder at the fluorescent overhead light glinting on his wedding ring, and I marvelled at the idea. There is a lid for every pot, I thought with awe. It hit me, maybe for the first time ever, that day back in 1995, that we all have sides of us that other people don’t see. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, as I scribbled down the required equations. Maybe his wife had no sense of smell, I thought, or maybe she liked his smell, maybe she felt it was a sexy, manly musk. Maybe she just loved him so much that his smell didn’t matter, and this realization – that maybe this professor had a whole different personality and set of interests that no one else knew about – made me feel a bit dizzy. Or maybe it was the body odour, wafting its way to my desk.

It started a bit of a fascination for me; not with that professor in particular, but with people in general. Professors for sure were interesting to think about. If you have ever been in an economics department, you will know what I mean. How interesting it is to think that at some point, these men – they were almost exclusively men back then, in the 90s – fell in love and, presumably, proposed to the women that they were married to. At some point, that professor who was dully talking about the utility curve had passionately declared his love and, most likely, had sexual relations. THEY INTERCOURSED. Most likely, anyway.

Later, when I was working in a very male-dominated department, the same thing would occur to me, not the intercoursing, but the romantic relations. I would be sitting in a meeting or working on a pricing model or listening to someone talk about synergies or optionality or circling back, and suddenly the idea that the speaker in question had presumably gone to a jeweler and chosen an engagement ring and given it to a woman, a woman who I had met at the office holiday party, with words of love and romance, popped into my head. Once, when speaking about a case of mergers and acquisitions, a former boss used the term opening the kimono. I’m sure that phrase is now out of use, but at the time I thought what if he HAD a kimono, an actual kimono, and he opened it for his wife.

The point of all this is that people are complicated, and interesting, and can be more than one thing at the same time. Every single person is so much more than they present to the world, which is something I try to remember every day. That person is beloved to somebody, I’ll think when I have a less-than-rosy interaction, sometimes with my teeth gritted.

A few months ago I was driving home and was followed very closely by a very large truck. I was driving with the flow of traffic, just barely over the speed limit, and I was being tailgated in an alarming way. All I could see in my rearview mirror was this giant truck grill. I stopped at a red light and just as it turned green, the driver in question wildly passed me on the right, which wasn’t a lane at all but a shoulder, cut me off, and then slammed on the brakes. He then proceeded to drive at least thirty kilometres below the speed limit.

What you have to understand is my reaction. His slow driving did not even register to me until I realized that there was no one in front of him to cause it. It took me a few minutes of this to realize that he was “getting me back.” Buddy. You’ve got the wrong girl. I wasn’t bothered at all by this, in fact, I was amused. I didn’t mind in the least. What, am I going to be two minutes late to get home? Am I going to be late to unload these groceries? I calmly, smilingly continued to follow him at this slow speed, listening to my Forever 35 podcast, when he tired of this ruse, and screeched his tires as he sped through the upcoming traffic circle. I imagined him going home, and complaining to someone about the middle aged bitch who slowed him down. I hope he had someone to complain to.

Weekly Reading

It was re-read week at the Boyhouse! I re-visited some old favourites. I’d like to please remind my friends that, when it comes to Alice Munro, I am only interested in discussing her craft and writing. Thank you for supporting my mental and emotional health.

Diary of a Provincial Lady. When I mentioned this book last week, I had an absolute craving to re-read it. This is one of my all-time favourites and no, nothing happens. I have read it so much that it is literally falling apart, and I have to carefully keep the pages in order. It is just so witty and clever. It contains one of my favourite paragraphs ever written: “Move about after dinner, and meet acquaintance whose name I have forgotten, but connect with literature. I ask if he has published anything lately. He says that his work is not, and never can be, for publication. Thought passes through my mind to the effect that this attitude might with advantage be adopted by many others.” HA. Also, I love this: “Overhear one lady in stalls ask another: Why don’t you write a play, dear? Well, says the friend, it’s so difficult, what with one thing and another, to find time. Am staggered. (Query: Could I write a play myself? Could we all write plays, if only we had the time?)”

Amy and Isabelle. No one can write like Elizabeth Strout; her prose is so beautiful and moving and heartbreaking. This book was a reread for me. I first read it in April 2020; my husband gave it to me for my birthday, when all the libraries were closed, and because of that, I was reminded of that time, rereading. It’s a bleak story about a mother and daughter in a small town in Maine – it IS Elizabeth Strout, after all – and the secrets they keep from each other. I am always fascinated by people’s lives, and the things we don’t know about the people we think we know, and this book is all about that. What I didn’t know until I read it this time is that this is Strout’s debut, which she wrote at age 42! I love knowing that. And what a debut! It’s a really incredible, character-driven book. It’s gritty. It’s grim. It’s beautiful. I love it.

Too Much Happiness. This book is a master class in spare, moving writing, and it is one of the few – maybe it’s the only? – Alice Munro collections that contains a novella. The novella is the title story, about famed Russian mathematician Sophia Kovalevskaya. More than that, this collection contains a really wide variety of really incredible stories. Munro is unmatched in creating stories of characters that I think about often.

I hope you all had a wonderful weekend. In an unbelievable twist, I actually finished my Christmas shopping, which is a new record by far, and one which I don’t really want to repeat. There’s a reason for that, but I will tell you all about it later. For now, I hope you all have a beautiful October week. xo

Three For Thursday: Dinner, Dog, Domestic Duties

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Cozy Dinner Season Begins

Gardening season is wrapping up for the year, but the zucchinis and tomatoes are still going strong. You would think we would all be tired of those things, but I made a Buddha bowl last weekend and was astonished when my son said that the zucchini was a great addition.

I have filled my freezer both with bags of grated zucchini and roasted tomatoes. The garden has produced more tomatoes than anyone could possibly consume, and that is coming from someone who can consume a lot of tomatoes. I don’t want to can them, and so I roast them with olive oil and freeze them; pureed with pasta water and a little bit of goat or cashew cheese makes for a really incredible sauce. Roasted zucchini goes great with it!

I still have some cilantro, but I feel like its days are numbered. I love it sprinkled on top of stir-fry. Note that there is zucchini in there.

My second planting of kale, spinach, and lettuce has been prolific, but I think this might be the last big homegrown salad of the year. It will be strange to buy greens again.

For the record, there was no zucchini in that salad.

The Grocery Shopping Never Ends, Neither Does The Laundry

The garden has definitely had a huge impact on the amount of produce I need to buy every week, but even so, I am constantly astounded by the sheer volume of groceries I buy for our household of now-three.

I went to Costco on Tuesday, which wasn’t the best idea given I was having the kind of day that was just filled with constant tiny annoyances. Typically I launder all the sheets on Tuesdays, and I decided to throw in my duvet cover and pillow shams as well, which resulted in said duvet cover and my fitted sheet cannibalizing all the other linens. While they were, unbeknownst to me, becoming a tangled, soggy mess in the dryer, I blithely thought to launder the pillows as well, which kept unbalancing the washer load. When the washer was stuck in spin mode at the four-minute mark for over twenty minutes, I clued in that something was wrong. By the time I resolved these very minor, but annoying laundry crises, I was not in the best mental space to tackle Costco, but I did it anyway.

My thinking was that Tuesday was far enough ahead of the Thanksgiving weekend, and that it wouldn’t be too crazy, but I was wrong. I was wrong. It turns out every elderly, slow-moving, sample-eating, spatially-unaware person in the surrounding area ALSO thought Tuesday would be far enough ahead of Thanksgiving to be a good time to go to Costco.

Now, listen. One day, hopefully, I will be one of those elderly, slow-moving people in Costco, stocking up to host the whole family for a holiday meal. Hopefully we all will be! But as god is my witness, I will never stand in the middle of the aisle eating a dixie cup filled with a sample of ravioli or frozen mixed vegetables, I will never take two carts, trainlike, and block off the entire frozen fruit section, and I will never angle my cart sideways in the produce section and then leave said cart to check on my husband in baked goods, while clusters of people become stuck in the giant refrigerator, experiencing the Costco equivalent of road rage when they are just trying to get a goddamn bag of broccoli, Carol.

I was trying to be zen about it. I mean, it’s not like an extra ten minutes was going to kill me. All the same, I had to go into the Christmas section to calm myself down. I was incredibly soothed by the displays, and I considered buying myself a giant Snoopy-themed holiday gift basket, but decided that $39 was too much to spend on something filled with things I have no use for, like hot chocolate bombs and marshmallow cookies. Still, the mug was cute.

Since the closure of Hallmark stores several years ago, I have not been able to find really nice gift wrap for birthdays and such. I always wished that Costco would make a non-holiday version of their high-quality gift wrap, and people! They have! If I hadn’t been so annoyed by my fellow aged shoppers, I would never have soothed myself in the Christmas section, and I would have never found a three-pack of beautiful, double-sided paper. The universe works in strange ways.

Two Year Rexaversary

Two years ago today, we were given the most wonderful gift: Rex. I am grateful every day we were chosen to be his family.

Rex is the epitome of joy, and I feel like we could all take lessons from him. When I open his crate in the morning, he reacts with such excitement and happiness to see me, and that sets the tone for the day. Every single thing is exciting to him: walking, gardening, getting a treat, finding a stick, and sitting with me while I write, fold the laundry, or make dinner. He loves to go for car rides; it doesn’t matter where, as long as he’s with me. He is just pure cheer and joy, and we love that giant fuzzy goofball.

How lucky we are. How grateful I am. Happy Thanksgiving, friends. xo

Boring Is In The Eye Of The Beholder

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I remember exactly what I was doing when I realized it. I was on the couch, with two babies in my lap, watching Sesame Street. What you must remember is what Gen X mothers were like, back in the early 2000s. Our generational Meh Attitude completely morphed into something else when our babies were born. We became laser-focused on the task at hand, the task of raising our now Gen Z children to be future stars of the world, and screen time was not a part of that process.

At the time, the expert recommendation was no screen time at all for children under two, and so any time I collapsed on the couch with my one-year-old and my newborn, colicky baby, I felt a deep sense of guilt and wrong-doing. It would only be a few years later where small children would be pacified with iPads in the grocery store, in waiting rooms, in restaurants, but that was not part of my reality, not at all. My generation was the one with the Baby Einstein board books and activity toys, it was the generation that actually put thought into whether black-and-white toys were more intellectually stimulating than colourful ones, and screen time was akin to neglect at best.

But my god, I was tired. I was tired and lonely in only the way you can be when you are surrounded by crying, needy little beings all day long. Someone was always crying, it seemed, someone always needed something, and it took a solid two hours to prepare to leave the house. And so sometimes I would succumb to the siren song of PBS Kids and watch Sesame Street.

And it was then that I realized that I really identified with Bert.

It was a startling, St Paul on the road to Damascus feeling, akin to the day I realized I wasn’t Jo March, I was Amy, and I wasn’t Elizabeth Bennett, I was Charlotte Lucas. Sure, I don’t have a paperclip collection, nor an interest in pigeons, but I did show everyone I know the photo I took of a blue heron.

I would have liked to think I was a wildcard like Grover, or a good time like Ernie, or even a secretive, mysterious Snuffalupagus, but no. I’m Bert. I like the colour grey, particularly in clothing and home decor, I enjoy oatmeal very much, and, most of all, I love what other people might term Boring Stories.

During the pandemic, when I started posting all the books I read on Instagram, I received a nasty message from a woman who berated my literary choices. She had bought – bought! – several books that I had raved about, and was sorely disappointed in every last one of them. How could you even like these? she wrote. Literally nothing happens! They are the most boring books I’ve ever read in my life!

Well. If you know me at all you know I’m a big fan of character-driven literary fiction. It’s true, I don’t love a thick plot or a lot of action. One of my favourites is Diary of a Provincial Lady, and nothing at all does happen in that book. Literally, nothing.

The same is true in my choice of podcasts, and nowhere was this more apparent than when I was road tripping with my husband this past week. He likes Things To Happen, I don’t, and so we end up with a happy medium of comedy podcasts and celebrity interviews. A current favourite of mine is Cookbook Club, where the hosts sound like the Schweddy Balls ladies on SNL, and are apt to take a five-minute digression about rainbow sprinkles and whether white sprinkles should be included in a rainbow mix and should we all just create our own rainbow sprinkle mixes? If I were to play that in the car with my husband, he would be liable to drive us off a cliff just to end the suffering.

We did not drive off a cliff, obviously, but we did have poor driving conditions for at least seven of the nearly ten hours that we spent in the car on Tuesday. The least of it was rain; we also hit snow in Rogers’ Pass and through the Jasper Parkway, plus fog most of the way, but mostly in Saskatchewan Crossing.

We were visiting my parents; it was my dad’s 75th birthday, and so there was a nice big house party with my aunt, cousins, and uncle. I had a great time visiting, playing dice poker, eating and drinking. I also enjoyed the sunrises over the lake:

And of course, walking in the fall foliage.

Rex is a really great traveller, and was so well behaved when we stopped for an overnight with our friends in Calgary.

We came home on Saturday and although the conditions were better, the drive was so long and slow due to road construction and single lane traffic. The views made up for it though.

Even still, I am feeling slightly resentful having to get in the car after all that driving. The only thing I miss about Calgary, other than friends, is the ability to walk anywhere in my neighbourhood. I have to drive to walk the dog, and yesterday Rex and I were not super excited to get back into the Subaru.

Speaking of Calgary, we drove through that old neighbourhood, and I expected to be very emotional, but I was not moved at all. Did my soul leave my body without me knowing it? The old house looks the same, other than the garden being a shambles, but it wasn’t sad to me at all. I guess I’ve really moved on.

Weekly Reading

Speaking of boring books, I read some that were boring TO ME, and both of those were memoir. Typically I love memoir but these just did not hit. However, I read a really excellent novel this week, so I guess things even out.

On Being Human. As I was reading this, I kept thinking that this seemed familiar, this memoir of a yoga teacher who discovers that she has had lifelong hearing loss in adulthood. Well, I discovered the reason I found it so familiar: I read this in December 2019. Obviously it wasn’t all that memorable. I am kind of annoyed with myself for spending time reading this not once but twice. To be fair, I did enjoy reading about her childhood and yoga journey, but I was just not in the mood to read chapter after chapter of self-loathing, name-dropping, and her experiences with creating a brand via Facebook. Wow, was it repetitive. If I pick this up again in five years, thinking it looks interesting, please remind me to drop it.

Good Material. A stand-up comedian is going through a breakup, and it’s devastating to him. Suddenly he is an apartment-less, emotional wreck who discovers that being single and 35 is different than being single in his 20s. This book is written almost entirely from the male point of view, which is not usually something I read, but which was entertaining and very well written. The point of view switches near the end and really shows that there are two sides to every story, at the least. The book ends in January 2020, which is a really interesting choice by the author – we know that things are doomed, but our characters don’t. I really enjoyed this book, it is so well-written and uniquely thought out. 

More Please. A couple of years ago I swore off millennial memoirs, on account of me being just a bit too old to appreciate them. This is a Me Thing, not a Them Thing – I’m just not in the right stage of life. However, I heard this woman speak on a podcast and was impressed enough to pick up her book – and I wish I hadn’t. It was so repetitive and boring, not saying anything new or interesting. The good news is that it only took me a couple of hours to read. 

Before we left on our road trip, we took our annual family photo. It’s interesting; we are not a family who fights or bickers, but when it comes to family photos, we all suddenly hate each other. Historically, that is, because somehow we took the photo with absolutely no conflict whatsoever. It was a red-letter day. Anyway, this photo will be our Christmas card, and if you are a person who also likes to send Christmas cards, let me know, and I will add you to my list. Very important caveat: I am only interested in a Christmas card exchange; I get hurt feelings if I send a card and don’t get one back. If we exchanged cards last year, you are already on my list! If you’d like to be included, message me in the comments and we’ll exchange addresses. Have a beautiful week, everyone! xo