After two solid weeks of festivities and celebrations, this morning I’m looking down the barrel of a quiet week of regular programming. We had our dear friends as houseguests this weekend, which always feels like a holiday, and then we hosted a barbeque for about thirty people on Saturday night.
It was such a great time with wonderful people, and I achieved my lifelong dream of having a Nifty Fifty sheet cake.
Friends, the weather here has been gorgeous, so much so that I actually planted my tomatoes, peppers, and basil. I know. I know! I’m walking on the wild side, danger is my middle name, etcetera. But the forecast is great and the worst case scenario is that I would have to cover the garden beds in the event of frost, which seems unlikely at the moment. My arugula, spinach, kale, and cilantro are all up; I was low-key fretting that my zucchini and butternut squash hadn’t made an appearance, and then suddenly they both burst into life. My zinnias have sprouted as well, and now I’m just waiting somewhat impatiently for my onions and nasturtiums. Why aren’t they up yet? I asked my son, who calmly reminded me that I had planted those seeds less than a week ago, and that they may need a little more time.
Is this about to become a garden-centric blog? Yes, probably. But isn’t it just amazing, isn’t it just AMAZING that you can put a seed in the ground and then it becomes a plant? Yes, I know this is how the horticultural world works. But still! It feels like a miracle every single time!
Speaking of miracles, Michelle (HI MICHELLE) had mentioned a book called Simple Abundance: 365 Days to a Balanced and Joyful Life. As soon as she mentioned it I knew I had to have it; usually I would start a 365 day book on January 1st, but a) I didn’t want to wait that long as I purchased the book in March, and b) I thought it would be fun to start it on my birthday. It’s a really wonderful book and I highly recommend it – along with Michelle’s blog, which brings me so much joy I cannot EVEN. Sometimes when I’m feeling glum or blue I will go to some of her dollhouse posts and just look at them until I feel better. I recommend this course of action for anyone who needs a little pep in their step these days.
Weekly Reading
In addition to Simple Abundance and a book that I will surely be talking about at length in the future, Radical Acceptance, I finished three books this week.
The Flatshare. This was such a fun, cute rom-com! A woman answers an ad for a flatshare – the trick is that she is only in the flat in the evenings and weekends, and he is in the flat during the day (he works the nightshift). So they go for a long time without meeting, only communicating via post-it notes. You know how it ends – happily! There is a great cast of characters and a lovely, chosen-family subplot. This was so enjoyable and fun to read.
Rental House. I really enjoyed this very quirky book about two couples who come from very different backgrounds: one is a Chinese immigrant, the other left his small town in the Blue Ridge Mountains, they both met at Yale. It really explores two sayings: a) you can’t choose your family, and b) when you marry a person, you marry their family. The first half was wildly funny and I couldn’t stop laughing. The second half was more poignant and moving. I found so much of it resonant, particularly the sense of duty that one can have to one’s family, while at the same time being exhausted by that sense of duty. Family of origin versus family of creation, how can they coexist? It was a great read.
Watermelon. The day a woman has her first baby, her husband tells her that he’s leaving her for another woman. This book starts off with a bang! After this shocking news, she goes back to Ireland to stay with her family, and all is going smoothly until her husband comes for a visit and attempts to reconcile. This is a long book but it doesn’t feel long, it’s a pretty quick and easy read.
Speaking of gardening, don’t you just love these wildly insane flowers? Our landscaper planted them in the fall, when we were in Italy, so I had no idea what to expect from them. At one point they looked like tiny coconut palm trees. I’m here for this weirdness! Have a wonderful week, friends. xo
In honour of my milestone birthday, this month’s Favourite Things consists of fifty favourites throughout the years. Buckle up, buttercups!
Age 0-10
Pink was my favourite colour and, by association, flamingoes became my favourite bird after I saw them in the Calgary Zoo. When I grew up, I wanted to be a pink flower.
I loved dolls and the dollhouse my grandpa built for me when I was about four. I had a Cabbage Patch Kid named Kora Candi, who my mom risked life and limb to get for me for Christmas 1982, and for whom my grandma made a large wardrobe. I also loved my Cheer Bear and a stuffed rabbit named, unoriginally, Mrs. Bunny.
I loved The Muppets, particularly Miss Piggy, who I have an affinity for to this day. (Moi?) I lived for weekly episodes of The Muppet Show and still love The Muppet Movie and The Muppets Take Manhattan, but The Great Muppet Caper is a hot mess.
The only other show on television that I really loved was Lorne Greene’s New Wilderness; whenever I see Canada geese – which is daily – I remember his voice talking about how they mate for life, and now the featured newly-widowed goose will be alone forever. Sob.
I don’t remember not being able to read; according to my mother, at age two she would give me new library books and I could read them. Busy Busy World by Richard Scarry was one of my favourite books; I loved thinking about different countries and cultures. Because of this my grandma made me a (pink, naturally) quilt in which each square featured a little girl from a different country; the Canadian girl had a Mounties uniform, for example. Years later when I read Cat’s Eye, so much of it was resonant but especially when Elaine learns about different countries. She thinks I can go there someday, I don’t have to stay here.
Speaking of going places, the height of luxury, for me, was the rare time our family would stay in a motel that had a pool. What could be more amazing than a pool? A waterpark! Swimming was one of my very favourite things.
Winter was something to look forward to because of skating. I took figure skating lessons as a child and I would also spend many hours on the outdoor rink behind our house, sailing around and feeling free, imagining, somehow, that I was Princess Diana. Did she figure skate? I don’t know. I was enamoured with her and at age six, was woken up at 2:30 am by Grandma Fern to watch the Royal Wedding.
I loved The Bobbsey Twins, A Little Princess, and, especially, Little Women. To this day I have a soft spot for those books. I loved everything by Laura Ingalls Wilder and LM Montgomery, but especially the last two Emily books and Jane of Lantern Hill. My interest in stories about girls’ lives continues to this day.
I knew how to read music from learning the recorder at school, and after figuring out where middle C was located, I would painstakingly plunk out tunes on my grandparents’ piano. At age ten my parents got me my own piano and lessons, and playing the piano is still one of my Favourite Things.
Also at age ten, I was introduced to the Sweet Valley High series, and I spent a lot of time imagining that high school would be JUST like that. Was I ever in for a surprise!
Age 11-20
It was summer of ’86, and it was a hot night in Estevan, Saskatchewan. My brother, cousins, and I walked from Grandma Fern’s house to the Orpheum movie theatre, famous for its bone-chilling air-conditioning. I was wearing jeans and an off-the-shoulder pink short-sleeved sweatshirt, my hair was ill-advisedly cut to resemble Madonna’s in Papa Don’t Preach. Those characters were going to Top Gun. It was a formative moment for me, and I have never enjoyed an action movie like I did this. The theme song is now my ringtone, and at least weekly I think and you, asshole, you’re lucky to be here!
Also formative, but distressingly so, was my obsession with Priscilla Presley’s memoir Elvis and Me, which was later a (terrible) made-for-TV movie. It was, in my young mind, so romantic! Elvis’ buddy asked the FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD Priscilla, in a German army base cafe, if she’d like to come to a party, and there the epic romance started. Hoo boy, that did not age well.
Aging much better (although in some cases, NOT GREAT BOB) were the movies that I loved: Dirty Dancing, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, La Bamba, Can’t Buy Me Love, and Say Anything. When Harry Met Sally came out when I was 14 and superseded Top Gun as my favourite moving of all time.
My favourite TV show was The Wonder Years, and, relatedly, I loved all sorts of Sixties music, notably The Doors and The Beatles.
Concerts were so cheap then, and I went to many, including INXS, Depeche Mode, 54-40, Billy Joel, Barenaked Ladies, and The Grapes of Wrath, the latter of which hail from Kelowna. I have a six-degree separation from the man I had such a crush on back then, Tom Hooper. I daydreamed that I would marry him and live in Kelowna, despite the fact that he clearly hated it and couldn’t wait to leave. Well, I did marry someone from Kelowna and he’s a rock star in my mind.
School dances were so exciting and something to look forward to, even if someone was always crying in the washroom.
My aunt gave me a copy of Mists of Avalon when I was fifteen, and that made my obsession with Elvis and Me look like a passing glance. King Arthur’s court, but from the women’s point of view? Yes please!
I was a dramatic kid and teen, and my flair for it found a home in drama class and in school plays. My biggest role was Amanda Wingfield in The Glass Menagerie; I copied my Alabaman cousin’s accent to land the role.
I was a teen in the late eighties, early nineties, when giant hair and lots of hairspray were de rigeur. I had Clairol hot rollers and, paired with Revlon’s Love That Red lipstick, I was ready for a day at school. It was in high school that I discovered I was really good at math, particularly calculus, so imagine a red-lipsticked, giant-haired me, going back to first principles.
I read my first Margaret Atwood book – The Handmaid’s Tale – when I was in high school, spurring a lifelong love for her writing. In my first year university, I was introduced to our other national literary treasure, Alice Munro, through her Lives of Girls and Women. To this day it’s a favourite, and I’ve read and loved every single thing she wrote. I also read Pride and Prejudice, which started my adoration of Jane Austen and all of her books, but particularly Emma and Sense and Sensibility.
Age 21-30
I discovered I loved group fitness classes in university, most notably step aerobics, but also boxercise.
Going to grad school was such a great experience for me; I received my master’s in economics with a 4.0 GPA.
While in economics, I met a man who became my friend for a few years before we started dating. Reader, I married him.
But before we got married, Margaret Atwood – whose entire catalogue I had already devoured over and over – published The Blind Assassin, which is my all-time favourite book.
A very close runner-up, and my ultimate comfort read, is Diary of a Provincial Lady, which I picked up completely on a whim at a used book store and have read so many times that my copy has fallen apart.
My boyfriend/ future husband and I went to Egypt, where we rode camels and donkeys as well as really sketchy trains, took a tiny cruise down the Nile, and climbed to the top of Mount Sinai to watch the sunrise.
Living so close to the Rocky Mountains meant that most weekends were spent going on hikes out there, soaking up the most beautiful place on earth. We got also married in the Rockies!
I loved making my own grown-up paycheques. I liked my jobs, especially when I was working on the trade floor. The job was difficult and the hours were long, but the money was great and I loved dressing up every day.
We bought a cozy, fixer-upper house in a beautiful, tree-lined neighbourhood, where we lived happily for twenty-three years.
Speaking of which, at age 29 and 30 I received the best gifts of my life: our sons. Being their mother has been the great pride and joy of my life. Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH) asked recently if I ever wanted more than two children, and the answer to that is no. I always wanted two, and when my younger son was born I knew our family was complete.
31-40
When I was 32, I decided to try an Ashtanga class at the Yoga Shala, as a little break from mothering two very little boys. That one class changed the whole course of my life; I started a daily practice in their Mysore program, and I still practice that way – albeit at home – to this day. I met so many wonderful friends there as well, and I think with so much fondness and nostalgia of our early, silent mornings, practicing together.
Barkley came into our lives at 13 weeks, and while in retrospect it seems a little bonkers to have such a young puppy with three-and-four-year-old boys, I would never change it for the world. He was our loving fluffy stuffed animal come to life, and everyone who encountered him loved him.
At age 33 I started a blog, and that also changed everything! I met Hannah and Allison, who are to this day my rock and safe space (HI HANNAH HI ALLISON), along with so many other great friends.
In addition to my personal blog, I also wrote short essays for YMC, and they eventually hired me as one of their weekly food writers, where I was the Meatless Mummy. I was there for four years, and it was really a great experience; I worked with so many wonderful women (and two men!).
After a few lonely years at home with the kids, I was absorbed into the Circle Moms when my oldest started kindergarten; so named because after school we would all stand in a circle and chat while the kids were on the playground. Later, the Circle Moms became the Brentwood Babes.
After the one-two punch of having two children in less than a year and a half subsided, we started travelling to kid-friendly destinations with them. They were great travellers, and our favourite place was Maui. We have been lucky enough to visit there six times now.
We also spent a lot of time at my parents’ place at the lake, particularly during the summer, where the weather could go from hot and sunny to single-digits and hailing, all within a day. There was always lots of time on the boat, and lots of board games.
Our neighbourhood proved to be a great one to raise kids in. My sons were able to walk to every school they attended, there was shopping and the library and the pool all within ten minutes’ walk.
A great privilege of my life has been to spend time with my sons; all through their childhood we’d spend so much time at the Calgary Zoo and Science Centre, playgrounds and Calaway Park, splash pads and sledding, movies and Just Dance nights. I treasure the time I spent immersed in their daily lives.
My 40th birthday party was an absolute blast; it included being serenaded Top Gun-style by my husband’s buddies and also chugging Baby Duck after midnight.
41-50
My favourite trip we ever took with the kids was to Disney World and Universal Florida; they were the absolute perfect age for it and it was so much fun.
I decided to take yoga teacher training at age 41, and I was one of the oldest in the class.
Since I had been involved in the yoga community for so long by this point, I was able to pick up so many classes right away. My friend and mentor Sharyl (HI SHARYL) had me assist her in Yoga for Stroke Survivors, where I learned so much about bodies and resiliency, and I eventually solo taught that class, along with Ashtanga, restorative, hatha, and my favourite, Yoga for Seniors. I am still in touch with many of my beloved students.
We travelled as a family with our very dear friends – our chosen family! – to Mexico many times pre-pandemic. When kid schedules became too complicated, my husband and I took couples’ trips to Mexico with our friends sans kids, and that was incredibly fun too.
The teen years are often vilified but I loved them; I loved seeing my kids grow up, graduate high school, and become the fun, responsible, wonderful adults that they are.
When we said goodbye to Barkley, I said Never Again! But three months later, Rex came to our family, and wow, I cannot imagine life without our Big Silly, our Doughnut, our cartoon dog come to life.
Moving provinces was chaotic, but when the dust settled, so did I. I love where I am so much. Our new house is an absolute dream, complete with my beautiful garden. I am so happy here.
I worried so much about making new friends when we moved here, and all that worry was for naught. I have such a beautiful circle of friends, women who constantly amaze me with their fun-loving personalities, their generosity, their kindness, and their ability to show up for one another. I am truly so fortunate.
Italy is my favourite place I have ever visited, and going there with my husband was a highlight of my life.
I knew I wouldn’t be teaching yoga when we moved here, but I wanted something to fill my time, so I decided to write a book! I took a series of novel-writing courses, and through that, and my blogging friends, I met some very supportive women who are also writers.
Thank you, dear readers, for all your support and kindness! I’ve been reflecting so much on everything I am grateful for, being fifty years on this earth, and I am so grateful to all of you. xo
Today is my fiftieth birthday! I can finally say I’m Nifty and Fifty!
When I was very small, I had the thought process shared by many small children with regards to what “growing up” entailed. What do you want to be when you grow up is a ridiculous question to ask a three-or-four-year-old, and yet it’s incredibly common. I mean, preschoolers really do not have all the information with regards to career paths.
But when I was that age, I had a really firm idea about what I wanted to be when I grew up, and that was a flower.
I don’t think it’s that unusual for a small child to equate “growing up” with a species-shifting free-for-all. I loved flowers, therefore I wanted to be one. I wanted to be a pink daisy-like flower, my face would be in the centre, and my arms would be the leaves. I can still picture it, myself as a flower, bobbing along in the breeze.
I also remember exactly when this future flower plan came to a screeching halt. It was when I realized that flowers die in the winter. I remember crying hysterically about it; I was a very emotional and dramatic child, and so my complete devastation probably didn’t register much to my parents. I recall my dad saying but flowers come back in the spring, which made me cry harder. I would miss Christmas! I would be dead! When I was a flower! I’m sure my parents did not understand the depth of my sadness, because what adult would be like right, right, well I know you think you’re going to be a flower, but that’s not actually going to happen, so you won’t die every year and miss Christmas. They were probably more like oh my god why is this child crying again?
My dreams of becoming a flower evaporated into the ether, along with my tears.
When we moved here, my husband and I redid our wills to reflect the new province and property, and, because the children were now grown, to eliminate the guardianship clause in the case of our sudden demise that would leave them orphaned. As we spoke with the lawyer, she asked if we had any burial preferences, for when we shuffle off this mortal coil, and my husband was quite surprised that I did have a very strong opinion on this subject. I exuberantly informed the lawyer that I wanted to be composted and planted with a tree, which she dutifully wrote down.
I think it’s very important to have these strange and difficult conversations – open and honest communication is always the best – and so I informed the children of my plan, should I suddenly expire. Oh Mom, my older son said, That’s so great! You’ll be one step closer to achieving your childhood dream of becoming a flower!
It seems a little macabre to talk about my future demise, may it be many decades in the future, and also becoming human compost on my birthday of all days, and well, it is. But it also strangely brings me happiness to think that perhaps one day I’ll be one with the earth while my soul flutters around, hopefully inhabiting a bird or a butterfly, and not something that will immediately get squished, like a fly or mosquito.
In the Ask Me Anything that I had posted months ago, Kyria (HI KYRIA) asked how do you want to be remembered, and that to me is an incredibly difficult and complicated question. I think the way we remember people is specific to the time periods in which we were the closest, to how well we know them, to things we did together. Someone from my youth will remember me very differently from someone who knows me now; certain songs might spark memories, certain movies, certain places.
That said, I think I would like a park bench, just like my pretend friend Lloyd Forest, but instead of reminding people when the park closes, I would like to tell them to return their shopping carts.
Of course, when I told my kids that, they demurred. Turning their mother into compost, that’s fine, but putting a shopping cart reminder on a park bench was not. That makes you sound like you’re a grumpy old person! my son said, I think it would be better if you had Putting the OM in OMG.
Well. I guess he’s right. My tagline really does describe my life so far, and I hope it describes the next fifty years.
Weekly Reading
What’s Mine and Yours. This is what I would classify as a Big Book, and I’m not talking length – it’s just over 300 pages, which seems average these days. But it’s big in concept and it deals with big issues: race-related tensions, redlining, integrating school districts, and intergenerational trauma. There is also a big cast of characters and they all have big problems. There are several time periods as well. I will say it’s very well-executed, thoughtful, and smart. However, it was not what I would consider a pleasurable reading experience because nearly all of the characters were deeply, deeply dislikeable. Even the one main character who I thought was pretty decent turned out to be not so much in the end. It really says something about the nature of pain and trauma, and how hurt people often lash out. Still, I was looking for a redemption arc, which never really happened – but maybe that’s the point. Maybe the point is that people with pain and trauma often never get that redemption.
The Book of (More) Delights. I picked this up while Christmas shopping last year, entirely because of the cover and the name. I had no idea until my friend Laura (HI LAURA) mentioned a “Ross Gay moment” that this was a book by an acclaimed author. To further the Laura confluence, in the recently read Bite By Bite, the author, Aimee, mentions going to a watermelon festival with her friend Ross, who was working on another book about delight, and it was this Ross. THEN, near the end of this book, Ross mentions going to a watermelon festival with Aimee, and I just exploded with all the life/ reading intersections. Anyway. This is a book of 81 essays on everyday delights over a span of a year, and it starts and ends on Ross’ birthday, which felt serendipitous for me, finishing it just before my own. I have been reading an essay before yoga most mornings since January, and his style of writing is – as one might expect – delightful. He has more digressions than anyone I’ve ever read, sometimes six or seven in a SINGLE SENTENCE. I loved it.
It’s certainly been a week of delights for me: my darling friend Sammi (HI SAMMI) hosted the most gorgeous girls’ lunch you can even imagine, complete with tiara and sash, which I’m wondering if I can get away with wearing everywhere for the next year. It was truly the most wonderful afternoon with such an incredible group of women, I am SO lucky, so so so lucky.
My parents were here for the weekend to celebrate, and we had a great time with lots of wine and more cake. I hosted Easter dinner for both sides of the family, and it turned out great! I hope you all had a lovely weekend with all sorts of treats. xo
It is the last Monday of my forties! I’m celebrating by sending off the third draft of my novel to my trusted beta readers. It’s exciting and oh, so scary. I vacillate between it’s a draft, relax, and what if it’s terrible and everyone hates it? Not every book is for every person, and I wrote a book I would want to read – and I have read it many, many times now in the editing process.
The whole point of writing this book has been for pleasure, for a challenge, to see if I could do it, and in that spirit, it’s an accomplishment. And I honestly do not think it’s terrible, although it won’t be everybody’s taste. What book is? In any case, I did it, and I’m excited to get feedback from my very first readers (HI READERS, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE).
My very favourite thing on the internet, bar none, is when friends post photos of themselves, particularly selfies. I have heard selfies disparaged in many times and in many ways, but to me, they are nothing but happiness. I love seeing my friends’ faces; I see a selfie and I think there’s my beautiful friend! Seeing a photo, especially when I haven’t seen that person in a very long time – or, in some instances, ever – makes me feel closer to them.
There is something else about selfies that I love, and that is that I know the person felt good about themselves and their appearance at that moment in time.
A few weeks ago I read an article on Cup of Jo entitled What Do You Like About The Way You Look, and the title alone gave me a real visceral reaction. I think it’s universally uncomfortable for women to verbally express what they like about their appearance, for fear that they will sound vain or that they will trigger dislike or eyerolls from others – often other women. Who does she think she is? Instead, we are conditioned to really make ourselves smaller, lesser; to deflect compliments lest we are viewed as being too inflated, too big for our theoretical britches.
I, for one, was raised in an environment in which vanity and a preoccupation with one’s appearance was to be not just discouraged, but extinguished. And that upbringing resulted in the exact opposite outcome from the intended: I am as vain as the day is long. I put on mascara and tinted lip balm to walk the dog at seven in the morning, I wear a full face of makeup and do my hair every single day, I spend a lot of time on my wardrobe and my skincare routine and, most of all, my hair. I probably think that song is about me.
I do like the way I look – not every single aspect of my appearance sparks joy, of course, but in general I do. However, I feel very awkward saying so. The very idea of proclaiming what, specifically and particularly, I like– love! – about the way I look makes me nervous and sweaty. Some part of me seems to think that verbalizing my satisfaction about my appearance will lead to an immediate loss of friends and intense dislike from everyone around me.
That’s stupid. If a friend or loved one said she loved, for example, her breasts or hair or skin, I would probably say yes! I love them too! You’re gorgeous! Why should it be different to say such a thing about ourselves?
We should be able to celebrate every aspect of ourselves, including our appearances. We should be able to say what we love about the way we look without immediately following it with well, in every other way I’m a troll. We should be able to take a compliment without saying no, no, YOU look great, my roots, my god, I need to colour them. We should be able to post a photo without saying felt cute, might delete later. No! If you feel cute, DO NOT DELETE!
I guess this is why I love selfies so much, because they show what we can’t tell. They show that we like the way we look in them, even if we can’t say it. A selfie tells me that my friend thinks she’s beautiful, at that moment, even if she can’t say it aloud.
We should take away the stigma. What do you like about the way you look? What in particular? For me, I think I have a really beautiful smile. I also think that – and this is a recent development – I have a nice, shapely ass. I immediately wanted to type something disparaging about my body as soon as I wrote that, friends! Immediately! But I’m leaving it as is, and I’m challenging you to chime in and celebrate your own appearance.
Weekly Reading
I had an epic reading week, thanks to a) short books, and b) a lot of rain. I don’t think these books could be more different from each other if they tried.
Forever…Another Judy Blume and this one was the spicy favourite of my youth! I honestly think this is the most real book I have ever read about the intensity of teen relationships, the ups and downs of sex and love. It was so resonant for me when I read it as a teen, and it is a nostalgic read now. It mirrored a lot of my own experiences, except for the ones where Kath has open conversations with her parents about sex. I would have rather died. Also – interesting note – Kath’s grandmother in this book is a nearly seventy-year-old social justice lawyer who gives her information on Planned Parenthood and disease and pregnancy preventions. I mean, this could not be less like my own grandmas. However, I loved this book then and I still love it now! Also, and this will make sense only if you have read this book, one of my friends as a teen had a boyfriend named Ralph and it was really hard to look at him.
Foster. I really admire this author for her ability to convey such incredible emotion and storytelling in such a concise way. This incredible little book details a short time in which a young Irish girl is taken to stay with elderly relatives while her long-suffering mother has yet another baby. It’s a story within a story, and it’s a book that leaves a lot to the reader’s imagination; I for one will be thinking about it for a long time. I also will be thinking of the absolute misery that was women’s lives when the power to control their own fertility was not theirs; the desperation and poverty from such situations cannot be understated.
Loved and Missed. Woof. This is a truly brilliant piece of writing; so evocative, so moving. It’s also so very sad on so many levels. It has to do with a woman who is raising her granddaughter, as her daughter is an addict. There are so many themes of secrecy and shame, inter-generational trauma, pain and love. It shows what it is to love an addict, betrayal, and endings. So good and so very sad.
Five-Star Stranger. This was such an interesting concept – and well-executed as well. This follows a man who is a Rental Stranger, meaning that he can be rented for social occasions; think escort, but for all kinds of occasions and without the sex. He has had a long-term client who has rented him to be her daughter’s dad once a week, and her daughter has no idea that he isn’t actually her father. It’s a really interesting statement on loneliness, artificial relationships, and what happens when we don’t live in an authentic way. I really enjoyed it, thanks Julie (HI JULIE) for the recommendation.
I have a lovely, busy week planned for this, my last week in my forties: I have time with The Squad and a writing date, my parents are coming for a visit this weekend and I’m hosting an Easter dinner for nine. There will be cake involved, and mini-eggs in nests, the forecast is for sun, and my little spinach and kale seedlings are thriving. I’d love to hear about what you love about yourself, friends, but if that is too difficult, then I’d love for you to look into the mirror with love. xo
I am currently in a delightful chapter in my life in which my children are grown and my husband and I are healthy and mobile, and so we have big plans to do a lot of travelling. It’s a big world out there and I want to see as much as I can for as long as I can; no one knows what the future will bring, and so I want to experience as much of other countries and cultures as I can.
Recently we have been talking about Türkiye, which I briefly visited as a teen on a school trip, and would love to see a lot more of. Unfortunately, the planning for this trip may be the undoing of my sanity. Every time I hear, see, or even think of the word “Istanbul,” I immediately follow it up in my head with was Constantinople, now it’s Istanbul not Constantinople, been a long time gone, Constantinople. And that’s the best case scenario; frequently I will go through the entire song in my head before I can rest. Why did Constantinople get the works? That’s nobody’s business but the Turrrrrkkkkksss. Istanbullll.
I don’t know what percentage of my brain is dedicated to song lyrics and other quotations, but it’s significant. I wonder what incredible things I could accomplish, were I able to clear my mind of Getting Jiggy With It, a song that went through my head incessantly when I was writing my very last exam in grad school. I got an A in that exam, so I guess it all worked out, but I’m not sure I’ve ever really recovered from scribbling down equations to the mental chorus of no love for the haters the haters mad cuz I got floor seats at the Lakers see me on the fifty yard line with the Raiders.
Speaking of which, one only need say to me here’s the situation before I mentally reply my parents went away on a week’s vacation.
Does everyone’s mind work this way, or is it just me? One of my favourite scents from Bath and Body Works is Butterfly, and every time, every single time I select that body lotion post-shower, I hum to myself See the dog and butterfly, up in the air he likes to fly.
Seriously, if I could rid my mind of song lyrics, random quotations from movies, Seinfeld, and the Simpsons, along with toxic diet culture, I would be a fresh book waiting to be filled. Staring at the blank page before you…
It’s Not Easy Being Green
We’ve had quite a bit of rain lately, which means that everything is greening up. It’s also likely the reason Kermit was hanging out on my door last week. In any case, it’s officially Garden Season, so prepare yourselves for an onslaught of Garden Updates for the next six months or so. I planted my first rows of kale and spinach on the weekend, the berry patch is all budding, and my husband and I went to the plant nursery. It is way, way too early to plant tender veggies like tomatoes and peppers, and yet I came home with exactly that.
I’ll be bringing these in every night for the next month.Housewarming gift from the incomparable Suzanne, (HI SUZANNE), relevant to my interests.
Oh, and on the topic of green things, I have an update to my avocado woes. I bought a bag of avocados at Superstore, and, like a person completely beaten down by life, expected nothing out of them. Why did I buy them then? I don’t know. Maybe there was a shred of hope left in my soul. But then when I cut them open, every last one was perfect. It was enough to restore my faith in the world.
Ladies, Leave Those Umbrellas At Home!
My dear friend Sandi (HI SANDI) invited me along with her sister to a paint night this week, and as usual, it was so much fun. I did have doubts about my own skills, however, when I saw the sample painting. My initial thought was no way, this is going to be a mess, but you know what, it turned out pretty well!
I will say that the teacher, as well as anyone else who walked behind me and observed my painting, said repeatedly oh, that’s so interesting, what you’re doing with the skirt. To pull a quote from one of my favourite Seinfeld episodes, WHAT? I HAD A DIFFERENT INTERPRETATION! And if you can name that deep cut episode off the top of your head, let me know and I will send you a prize. What will the prize be? I have no idea.
It reminded me of my probably long-deceased childhood piano teacher, Mrs. Rechel. Along with exam pieces for the Royal Conservatory, I was encouraged to choose some “modern” pieces to play for fun. Frequently I would be playing these pieces of choice for her, and her mouth would just be a thin line. Oh, that’s very interesting, she would say, or, in some cases, Hmm. It’s certainly different.
Hot Carl In The City
Speaking of things that are different, I was reminded this week of the day back in 2012, when a car parked in my neighbourhood had a license plate HOT CARL. I remember wondering about the owner of this car, if his name was Carl and he had very high self-esteem, and then someone pointed out to me that a Hot Carl is a sex act that involves feces. To this day I think about this. Was the car owner really into Hot Carls? Or was he just a guy named Carl who thought he was all that and a bag of chips? Or – and here’s another deep cut – was he a fan of The Simpsons? This mystery is one for the ages. It will never be solved. Unless, of course, he (I assume that this person is a he) reads this and chimes in. Carl, are you there?
I came across this thought circuitously, because Jenny (HI JENNY) had posted an interesting photo of a car, a Range Rover no less, that proclaimed across its rear window Make Money Not Friends. You know what, I admire that kind of honesty. I would rather see that then some asshole who is cutting people off and behaving badly with a bumper sticker saying Choose Kindness. At least with the Range Rover, you know where you stand, and you would also expect to be cut off in traffic. Although I guess it’s not comparable after all, since we don’t know where we stand with Hot Carl.
Speaking of traffic, on my walk the other day I saw a man on a motorcycle wearing a mascot head in the shape of the Easter bunny. I wish I had the wherewithal to take a photo but to be honest, I was too stunned. I hope he had a helmet on underneath.
Mom? Mom? Was that a giant rabbit?
Weekly Reading
Girl, Woman, Other. This book blew me away; it is a work of art. I love women’s stories and I love short stories, and this really delivered. Each of twelve chapters is the life story of a different woman, and all of those short stories are interconnected in some way. The women are Black and British, and all their stories are unique and yet universal. It’s incredible to me how a good short story writer can convey so much with such an economical use of words. The writing style of this book is powerful and moving and adds to the emotionality of the experience. Loved it!
Tiger Eyes. My reread of Judy Blume continues with this, which was absolutely not a favourite of mine as a youth, but it’s a really fascinating read as an adult in 2025. The premise is very sad; a teen girl’s father is shot to death in his corner store, and her family transplants to New Mexico to be with relatives during the aftermath. The town in New Mexico is Los Alamos which is famous for being the place in which the atomic bomb was developed, and which itself was populated by physicists who research that and other weaponry. It’s a wild setting for a YA story, particularly one that was published in 1981 during the Cold War. This completely went over my head when I read it around age 11, as did the themes of grief, loss, and depression. Blume is such a master of weaving such heavy topics with those of sex, alcohol use, and family troubles, topics of deep interest to young readers. It was great on the reread, and there is quite a bit about Oppenheimer and American foreign policy, as well as changing ideas about Native Americans. There is still a bit of dated language which is unsavoury for the current climate, but it would have been still ahead of its time.
Bite By Bite. My friend Laura (HI LAURA) has never steered me wrong yet. She said this was her favourite food memoir, and the words “food” and “memoir” perked up my ears. Wow, was this a joy to read. Every chapter focuses on a different food – the majority are fruits, many exotic fruits, but she also waxes poetic about foods as varied as black pepper, gyro, waffles, shave ice, and lumpia. This book focuses on the joy of eating and how foods build community and celebration, and it is truly a delight. Talk about leaving toxic diet culture behind – this just made me want to celebrate the many delicious flavours in this world. Now, did an essay about pawpaw – a fruit I have never seen, let alone tried – bring me to tears? It sure did.
On the topic of joy and food: the grapes have all been pruned and tied and are ready for spring. Please enjoy Rex enjoying the prunings! Happy April, friends. xo
