Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

At least we can calculate the volume of a sphere.

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It’s a good thing today is Pi Day – pancakes for lunch to celebrate the fact that we can calculate their area! – because otherwise I would be in a complete state of bitchery, rather than a partial one. Time change fills me with impotent rage every year; every year I think of the futility of moving the clocks around and I am furious that this outmoded imaginary concept is still a thing. Why are we forced to deal with crabby people and car accidents and general confusion two times a year, not to mention the children, oh god, won’t someone please think of the CHILDREN? It just doesn’t make sense.

Worse yet is the idiots who continually say such things as “It’s for the farmers.” Who started that rumour? Was it just to prove that people will believe anything, no matter how ridiculous? If I was a part of the farming community, I would be so pissed off that Daylight Saving Time was attributed to me and my ilk. Do you know who doesn’t care what time the clock says? FARMERS. Farmers get up and work when it’s DAYLIGHT, they don’t punch a time card on a clock. Daylight Saving Time is NOT for the farmers, it was originally established as a wartime measure to save on electricity, and do you know what? THERE IS NO EMPIRICAL EVIDENCE TO SUGGEST THAT THIS WORKS ANY MORE OR IF IT EVER DID. So don’t tell me it’s for the farmers, and don’t tell me this is a good way to be environmentally savvy because IT IS NOT.

God, I get so worked up about this every year. It’s ridiculous. Let’s all pour one out for the parents of small children who will be impossible to get to bed on time tonight and who will be impossible to wake up tomorrow morning and who will be sobbing messes for the next several days until their little bodies adjust to the new “time.”

And while I’m on a rampage, here, let me just tell you that words matter, people. If you are the sort of person who enjoys more light later in the evenings, I understand that. I don’t particularly share that view, being an early morning person, but I understand it. Here’s what I hate: when people say “I like that extra hour of daylight.” NO. That is not how it works. That’s not how any of this works! Oh, you enjoy the extra hour? Why not move our clocks ahead three hours? Why not 12 hours, then we can have 24 hours of daylight! There is the exact same number of daylight hours as there were before Daylight Saving Time, it’s just adjusted differently. So do not tell me that you like the extra hour because there IS NO EXTRA HOUR.

I love early morning light but I would be willing to give it up for you late evening people if it meant NO MORE CHANGING THE CLOCKS. If someone in a powerful position woke up tomorrow and said Let’s just leave the time where it is right now I would be perfectly accepting of the situation. But since no one – NO ONE – has the balls to do this, I am fated to semi-annual rages until the end of time, or until I do something drastic like move to Hawaii, whichever comes first.

Why does no one have the balls to do this? I don’t know. Are all our politicians in cahoots with the time change lobby group? Is there a time change lobby group? Since there is no empirical benefit to time change, there probably isn’t a lobby group, so why is this happening?

Yes. This is the hill I am going to die on.

The old grey mare, she ain’t what she used to be. But she can still do anything good.

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It has been a long week. My husband was travelling for work, which made it feel even longer. All day Tuesday I thought it was Thursday, which was kind of distressing. Then the same thing happened on Wednesday; I was doing some work and I thought that’s strange, the computer’s date is off. March 9th is a Wednesday, and today is Thur…oh shit. By the time Thursday actually came around it was kind of anti-climatic.

Thursday was the Junior High Open House, and since my husband was not yet home, I took both boys, which means that one of them is now super excited for next year, and the other is wishing that he also was starting at the cool school with the Industrial Arts room and a cafeteria in September. Don’t wish your life away, boys, I want to say to them, but I also am caught up in the excitement of a school with three floors! And so much awesome stuff in it! Like a real, light-up score board in the gym! And a stage that will be used as a stage instead of a classroom because, unlike the elementary school they are currently attending, this school is not grossly overcrowded!

It does make me feel a bit long in the tooth, however. Junior High! Earlier in the week I went to the mall to pick up a baby gift and also some more of that Powerful-Strength Line-Reducing Eye-Brightening Concentrate from Kiehl’s. As usual, the mall was filled with obviously-pregnant women and women with toddlers and women who fell into both camps. Maybe it was the contrast between their youthful radiance and glowing fecundity, maybe it’s just my old-crone-ness, but I bustled into Kiehl’s to grab my eye cream and the attendant came over to me right away with a I love a project! look on her face. “Oh,” she said, “You already know what you want. Okay, let me give you some samples I think you’ll like!”

Sure! I love samples. It wasn’t until I got home that I looked at them: three different wrinkle creams and one hand cream specifically designed for cracked, aging skin.

Cue the sad violin of doom. Not that I’m not going to try them, mind you. I need all the help I can get.

I was getting a pedicure today, a rare treat. As I chatted with the young esthetician, I mentioned something about my kids. “Oh!” she said, “Are they in high school or university?”

Now, I realize that it is perfectly possible for me to have high school and/or university aged children. I realize that many women my age do, in fact, have children of that age. I recently learned that my own cousin, who is only a few months older than me, is going to be a grandmother. So I know, I really do, that this is not in any way something terribly unusual or crazy.

But still. It actually felt a little odd telling her that my kids were in grades five and six and if she felt awkward at all about assuming that my children were possibly grown adults, she didn’t show it.

Well. Aging is a good thing, it really is. As the esthetician slipped on my sandals before applying polish, she complimented me on them and asked where I bought them. And that’s when I told her that I had purchased those sandals in 1997, for a post-graduate trip to Mexico with some girlfriends. She smiled and told me that those sandals were almost as old as she was!

It seems to be a conspiracy this week. It reminded me of the day I popped into the liquor store to pick up a bottle for a friend, and there, on the counter, were pre-packaged shooters that reminded me of my semi-nefarious youth. Butter Ripples! Fireballs! Sex on the Beach! Remember back in the day when you would go out dancing, probably wearing a bodysuit and high-waisted jeans, drinking vodka slimes, and some guy would buy you a Sex on the Beach? Or a Screaming Orgasm? Oh, those were the days. But I looked at the pre-packaged shooters and laughed a little. “Do people actually buy these?” I asked the guy at the counter. He smiled at me, and very gently said, “Well, the younger crowd does.”

I take your point, sir. I take your point.

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If you need a little boost, I suggest you watch this little video that my yoga teacher posted. We should all be more like Jessica! I can do anything good! Come on, repeat after me! I can do anything good!

Mammograms and Crocuses and My Ability To Misunderstand Basic Instructions

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In what must be a new record for me, on Saturday Jake and I cleaned up the two warmest gardens in our yard. It’s so early! Most years everything is still frozen and snow-covered at this time of the year; believe me, I’m not saying that cannot still happen, but at the moment there is no snow in my yard. Not even in the very coldest area of the yard. NO SNOW. In fact, yesterday I noticed that in the very warmest part of the yard, the crocuses Mark and I planted last fall are poking their little green shoots through.

Small side note: the aforementioned garden cleanup – consisting of cutting back dead foliage, most notably from the gigantic Siberian iris, the clematis, and the enormous ornamental sage – has never taken me less than two hours to accomplish. With Jake’s help, it was finished in 45 minutes. I am enjoying my competent and still-wanting-to-be-helpful preteen!

I’m telling you, this gorgeous weather has real mood-elevating qualities. It’s been a crazy long week – and it’s only Wednesday – and yet I feel like everything is rosy and wonderful. I am mere steps away from singing and soft-shoeing down the street like my life is an old-timey musical.

I had a mammogram on Monday; all is well, not to worry. This is my third – I get them annually ever since I found a lump when I was 38. Apparently, I just have really lumpy breasts, and the annual mammograms establish a baseline for this. I was pretty much a mess during my first mammogram, as you can imagine; basically I spent the entire test and follow-up breast ultrasound mentally choosing a wig, and wondering where one actually purchases wigs, and what I would look like in a wig. I think I obsessed about wigs so as to not think about what it would be like for my children growing up without me.

I had to do some deep breathing just typing that.

Anyway, as I said, all is FINE. Have you ever had a mammogram? Honestly, my first I had no idea what to expect, except that people had said it was very painful and uncomfortable. Truthfully, I do not find it to be particularly painful, although I suppose that varies from person to person, depending on what kind of lumps or breasts you have.

The one thing I wondered about was that, when you book the appointment, you are told to not wear any deodorant. I wondered for a long time why: was there something in the deodorant that reacted badly with the mammography machine and the results? Was it something with the aluminum in most deodorants? If I wore a natural deodorant would it make a difference? After all that wondering I finally asked, and the answer was much more practical than I had anticipated: when getting the test your armpit rests on the corner of the machine, and deodorant makes it too slippery to hold still long enough. This is also why they tell you not to use any body lotion; so that your breast won’t slip right out of the machine, which would be awkward and pretty difficult to get a good result.

I don’t need any help on the awkward front. The technician led me to the little change room and handed me a medical gown, and I SWEAR I thought she said it ties at the back. I put it on and it seemed weirdly difficult to tie; I wondered how less flexible patients even managed to do them up. Also the collar seemed weirdly snug, but at no point did I think that I had it on the wrong way.

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I feel sure I don’t need to tell the punchline to this story, which is that when the technician brought me into the exam room, she looked at me quizzically and said, “You know, I think most women find it more comfortable to tie those gowns in the front.” WELL NOW THAT SEEMS OBVIOUS. Of course, it was a bit moot by that point since I had to immediately disrobe anyway.

Other than (kind of unnecessarily) pointing out the obvious, the technician was nice but I missed the young girl I had last time, whose perky and vivacious demeanour reminded me so much of a 1980s aerobics instructor. “Okay, now we need to lift the breast in. Lift! Lift, and stay, stay, okay! Great job! Now the other breast. Lift! Little lift. Just a little more lift and…STAY. YES. Perfect! Great! Okay, moving on!” I half expected her to break out the Olivia Newton John CD and tell me to Get Physical.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Beauty Products (and wine) Edition

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This morning while I was driving to yoga, I noticed the moon. The sky was perfectly black and the moon looked exactly like an illustration in a children’s book: a perfectly golden crescent shape. When I left the shala, the sky was beginning to brighten. One of my favourite things about this time of year is that you can see the amount of daylight increase, day to day. The sun is fully up by 7:30 and doesn’t set until almost 6:30, all of which is going to change next weekend, with the start of one of my least-favourite things, Daylight Saving Time.

Well, we can’t have it all. I’ve been noticing a gross trend lately, and that is a complete inability by many people to look outside their own worldview and experience. I know! It’s like I’m on the internet or something. But it’s kind of ironic, since as a society we are all about inclusion, and open-mindedness, but apparently those qualities are reserved only for people and ideas that one already agrees with. Examples include but are not limited to: methods for school fundraising, clothing purchases, and dietary choices, as well as the usual inflammatory topics of children’s birthday parties, charter schools, and whether or not it is acceptable to get a puppy from a reputable, caring breeder.

It’s funny what gets people up in arms, isn’t it? And by funny, I mean completely disturbing and disappointing. I like to think that I’m a person who tries to not say anything at all if I can’t say anything nice; this doesn’t always happen but I try. In this light, I always feel a little deflated when I mention something I love, only to have someone tell me something unsavoury about it. Oh really, you like Lululemon? Don’t you find it disturbing that they are an overpriced cult? Oh really, you BUY almond milk? Don’t you know how easy it is to make it? Oh really, you like thong underwear? I thought only hookers wore thong underwear. Oh really, you wear sunscreen/ use dental floss/ wash your dishes in Palmolive? Don’t you know that it is carcinogenic/ leads to greater tooth decay/ smells weird?

I don’t know; I don’t like celery or running, but I’m not assuming that people who do like them are mentally unstable or inherently uneducated or misinformed about life.

All of which is to say that I have let Nicole’s Favourite Things lapse for too long. You read it here first; I’m bringing my Favourite Things back because when I find something I love I want to tell you about it. Maybe you’ll like it, maybe you won’t. But the beauty of the Favourite Things is that nothing is sponsored, I received no compensation to write about these things, and I did not get any free samples. These are just things I love and maybe you will too.

Eye Cream

A while ago I posted about finally using eye cream, and I chose Kiehl’s Powerful-Strength Line-Reducing Eye-Brightening Concentrate, not least because the name itself just seemed like everything I wanted in an eye cream.

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 I’ve been using this for about two months now and I think I see results. I think my eyes are line-reduced and brighter, in a powerful-strength kind of way. Here’s a very poor photo of me in January, taken late in the evening (meaning 7:45) with no makeup on, so as to show my undereye circles.

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Sorry about the crazy eyes. It’s hard for me to take photos of my eyes. Here’s me, yesterday evening at about 6:30. Now, I do have makeup on but still, I think there is an improvement, and not just because I don’t have psycho eyes.

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Even better? Instagram filters. Put a good filter on and suddenly I have the skin of someone two decades younger.

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 If only life had an Instagram filter, am I right?

Hair Care

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I’m always on the lookout for products that make my hair less orange-straw-like. My hair therapist recommended HOME Ultra Bond Seal once a week, and it really does help with the dry hair/ breakage/ orangeness. The only thing I don’t like about it is that it is a bit of a process; you have to wet your hair, towel dry it, massage it in, comb it, and then let it sit in your hair for ten minutes before following with regular shampoo and conditioner. I save it for the weekend but it is still worth it.

I bought this Garnier Whole Blends Hair Mask after the big launch last month; I had some friends at the launch and the reviews seemed good, so I picked up a jar at Superstore one evening, being seduced by the vanilla/ coconut scent. I will pretty much buy anything that is vanilla/ coconut scented, but this was a good buy. It’s a nice moisturizing conditioning mask, but my only complaint is that it’s in a JAR, which is marginally less convenient than a traditional squirt bottle.

Marc Anthony’s Coconut and Shea Butter Conditioner is really a fantastic conditioner for those days near the end of my hair colour cycle, when everything is ashes. It actually gives a lot of bounce and makes my hair look healthy. I used it today – and I’m ten days away from Hair Therapy Day – and I don’t actually want to cry when I look in the mirror. See?

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And that’s after a whole day of activities.

Mascara

I have so many feelings about mascara. My all-time favourite is Maybelline’s The Falsies, but I was lured – LURED, I tell you – into purchasing The Falsies Push-Up Drama at the drug store. Same manufacturer. Basically the same name. This, my friends, is why you should buy into the old adage that If It Ain’t Broke Don’t Fix It. It is the kind of mascara that goes on really wet, with a poky-sharp brush, that makes your eyelashes mold into four or five giant clumpy lashes. I informed my friend Hannah (HI HANNAH) of my angst and she panicked on my behalf. “I thought it was just your favourite lipgloss that was discontinued! What happened to your mascara?” Oh no, Hannah dear, you misunderstand me. My favourite mascara was not discontinued. I just stupidly tried to improve on near-perfection and was seduced by the display. JE REGRETTE TOUT. Never again, I swear.

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Middle Sister Wine

This has nothing to do with beauty products, but I am drinking a glass of this as I type this, so I feel it deserves a mention. Middle Sister Wine – not only is it a lovely beverage, but the label speaks to me. I am a middle sister! I wake up at stupid o’clock every single day! On Fridays I look forward to wine o’clock! I like big sunglasses, flowy scarves, and boots too! I IDENTIFY WITH THIS WINE LABEL.

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And on that note I shall pour myself another glass and wish you all a very lovely weekend. xo

Leaping With Joy

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Happy Leap Year Extra Day, everyone! Leap Year Extra Day seems to be the least appreciated of the holidays, probably because it’s just an extra day in February. I celebrated by shovelling a tiny bit of snow for the first time in a while.

Have you noticed that I have not been complaining about the weather this winter? We’ve hardly had a winter, really; there have been only a handful of cold days since October, and of those, not one has been below minus 25. That, my friends, is a win. And yes, like any good Calgary girl worth her Stampede wear, I am cognizant of the fact that winter cannot truly be declared over prior to the May long weekend, but still. Getting through January and February with greatly-above-average temperatures is absolutely glorious, and even if that means we are going to get a ton of snow in the next few months, well, so be it. It has been so warm that the leaf buds on the lilacs are starting to swell, and the day lilies are popping tiny green shoots out of the ground. Fortunately, the residents in my garden have been chosen largely due to their extreme hardiness, so even if we do get two feet of snow, they will be fine.

Another thing of note that I have not been complaining about: the book fair. Last week was the book fair – it was my sixteenth! – and I was not at all stressed out about it. For one thing, I have been transitioning my duties to the co-coordinator in anticipation of my Book Fair Lady Resignation in March of 2017, and she has really hit the ground running. (HI HAYDEE). She did nearly all the prep work for it, so I felt like I was on easy street. In fact, now that I see the light at the end of the Book Fair Tunnel, I am starting to feel a bit emotional about it. I really just had a live in the moment feeling and enjoyed the kids and their incredible excitement about the fair. One kindergartener was vibrating with excitement at the thought of buying a Lego Ninjago book; that excitement coupled with the fact that I’ve really seen some of these kids grow up vis a vis their book choices gave me a mixed feeling of contentment with my Book Fair Lady lot in life and also pre-nostalgia. I did not even feel impatient when I received six questions about the cost of the posters ($5) in a ninety-second span, nor did I tire of explaining that the cupcake wasn’t an actual cupcake but a pencil sharpener. I just thought, it won’t be long until I will no longer be the Book Fair Lady, and then I might miss saying The posters are five dollars, yes, the Minecraft one is also five dollars, and so is the Batman one, they are all five dollars, yes, Shopkins too.

It’s wonderful that the kids are that excited, but even better was the fact that this year we’ve raised over $8500 for the library, ELL, and home reading programs. So I feel great satisfaction due to the money raised and general student happiness. This feeling even extended to doing the book reorders on Friday, since demand for certain items much exceeded supply. People, I had to order an all-time record of sixty-seven books. Nineteen of those were “Stampy’s Lovely Book,” which I had never heard about before. The cover was Minecraft-esque, so I wondered why I had never heard of Stampy, given my children’s penchant for crafting tables and the like. Jake informed me that Stampy is a YouTuber, but not one that he deems worthy of notice. “He’s super LAME, Mom,” he said when I asked about it. “He talks about Minecraft, but in a totally lame way.” Jake seems to be in the minority, however, given the clamouring for Stampy at the book fair. Tomorrow the orders come in, and I am wondering how to effectively manage my schedule. I’ve never had to distribute sixty-seven books before.

Time, it flies. On Wednesday I passed off my Book Fair duties to a couple of devoted volunteers (HI JEN HI BERNY) and I took Mark to the orthodontist. We now have a metal mouth in our midst! To be honest, I was expecting things to go, how shall I say this, not well. I was very pleasantly surprised; I think his expectations were so low that the whole experience was much better than anticipated. “I thought it would be like someone hot gluing metal in my mouth!” he said, which, what? I thought it was well explained to him but perhaps not.

In any case, he was sore for the first two days, and now seems to be just fine. He’s thrilled with the orthodontic swag bag given to him that included such thrilling things as an electric toothbrush and mouthwash. So all is happiness and roses in the Boy House.

I’ll never look at Cookie Monster the same way again.

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If I was a person who analyzed my dreams, or took the interpretations to really mean something, then I might be worried. Usually my dreams are incredibly dull; folding laundry for hours on end, for example, is a common dream of mine. But Saturday night I had a vivid dream that I was supposed to make a cake to look like Cookie Monster. It was incredibly agitating; whoever was asking me for this cake specified that it could not be round, it had to be the exact shape of Cookie Monster’s body. I kept stressing out about the EYES, how would I make EYES to look like Cookie Monster? What kind of decorating tool would I use or could I buy something that would be like an eye. And the mouth – oh, god, I didn’t want to make a mouth out of black food colouring. Then, when I went to bake the actual cake in a kitchen that wasn’t mine, the oven wouldn’t heat to 350 degrees. Instead, it heated to all sorts of strange and unusual temperatures: 414, 273, etc. I woke up in a panic about it and then wondered, why Cookie Monster? My kids haven’t watched Sesame Street in many years. That was weird.

My friend Hannah (HI HANNAH) suggested it sounded like an anxiety dream. If so I should have had it last Thursday; Friday morning I had a physical with my doctor. Now, I’m very healthy and have no issues, but I was due for a Pap test. Menfolk, you might want to consider not reading on, if you happen to be squeamish about women’s issues. First of all, my period is due any day now, and so I was worried Aunt Flo would arrive 20 minutes before my appointment and I would have to rebook. Again. The only reason I had this appointment was because I was scheduled for a Pap five weeks ago, and my period unexpectedly shown up. I was worried this would happen again, and again, and again, and I would have to call the office and rebook constantly. If there’s one thing I hate to do, it’s phoning for appointments.

Why is making appointments over the phone so hard? I dread it; it’s almost like I hate committing that time to an appointment. There never seems to be a good time for anything; and then once I figure out an appointment that will work for me, it’s not available, and we start all over again.

Anyway, Aunt Flo stayed home and I was able to carry on with my appointment. All signs point to healthy; and then it was time for the Pap. My doctor – who I really do like, and who I really do feel is a good doctor – could not find my cervix. Longtime readers will know that this is not the first time this has happened, and it probably won’t be the last. The only doctor who did NOT have a problem finding my cervix was a woman, and although it is a small sample size – one that I do not want to get any larger, three different hands up in my business is quite enough, thank you – I think it is significant, if not statistically, then emotionally.

Time goes slowly when one’s feet are in stirrups, so a solid ten minutes of speculum-prodding feels like hours. The doctor asked me TWICE if I’d had a C-section; I have not, and I’m not sure what C-sections have to do with cervical positioning. I’m not sure I want to know. “I’m sorry,” the doctor said, “I know this is uncomfortable, I have just never had so much trouble finding a cervix before.”

“Well, you’re not the first,” I told him, “But I’m pretty sure it’s still there.”

Ten minutes and two different speculums later, my cervix was found. Hurrah! Except…”Oh dear, the speculum moved. I have to reposition it.”

Now that I think of it, maybe my Cookie Monster cake dream was a post-traumatic anxiety dream. Maybe my anxiety about making the eyes was some kind of response to the cervical searching, and the big black mouth was a symbol of the cavernous wasteland of my womanhood? In any case, it’s only about 362 days until I have to start thinking about my next Pap test, so carpe diem? Or something.

Eating, Playing, and Making New Friends: It’s A Dog’s Life

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Since nothing says romance like spending the weekend with one’s in-laws, that is exactly what I did. Well, technically we visited my in-laws because it was a long weekend – the kids had Teacher’s Conventions and Monday was Family Day – but the former sounds funnier. It was a really nice weekend, and like the day after every long weekend, yesterday found me frantically catching up on various domestic duties.

Honestly, I know we are all in the same boat, I know this is the most tedious and mundane of topics, but does it ever amaze you the sheer amount of time spent doing things just to keep the household running smoothly? Laundry, for example. Yesterday I spent an enormous amount of time doing laundry, which only results in having to do laundry again today. I also went to two different grocery stores, took the kids to the dentist for a cleaning and checkup, and went to pick up the dog from the kennel. That, along with various meal preparations and resulting kitchen cleanups, comprised my entire day. God, I’m even boring myself talking about it. Domestic drudgery, I swear.

The bright light in my day was picking up the dog from the kennel. It was the first time he had gone to this particular kennel, which is actually not called a kennel at all, but a Pet Resort. The last time Barkley was boarded overnight was in December when we went to Orlando; I was picking him up from the kennel we had always used, and I happened to mention to the fellow working there that I would phone in a week or so to book him in again for this long weekend. I called and it went straight to voice mail. I tried back and it went straight to voice mail. I left a message and my phone number, and no one returned my call. This was around Christmas, so I figured things would be busy – dog boarders are notoriously busy over the holidays.

Something felt strange though, as I continued to call and get the voice mail. My husband and I were headed to Costco just after New Year’s, and I thought I would swing by the kennel to book him in, in person. I had a weird feeling, and sure enough, when we pulled up the sign was gone and a notice of closure was on the door.

First, imagine all the people who would be stranded for dog care during the holidays. Second, imagine all the unsuspecting people who would come to drop their dog off for boarding, only to discover that the kennel was closed. They did not inform any of their customers; I texted a friend who had her dog booked in at the end of January, and she had no idea.

Long story short, on many recommendations I booked Barkley into the Pet Resort and I am very happy I did. They gave him a report card when I came to pick him up, and it was glowing with praise for his friendly and social behaviour, and also his ability to eat no matter what the circumstances. He’s an A+ eater! Barkley had so much fun playing and making new friends was the comment on the report card. Just like when my babies gained the requisite amount of weight at their newborn checkups, and when later they passed dental checkups with nary a cavity, I felt a self-esteem surge at Barkley’s popularity at the Pet Resort. One might say I’m living vicariously through my dog, and taking credit where it is not due, but I will take a boost whenever I can.

Friday morning was foggy, and although to some of you that might sound like no big deal, we do not get a lot of fog on the Prairies. I had to drive Barkley to the Pet Resort, which is just west of the city. I have driven in snowstorms, blizzards, hail, and 90 km/hour wind gusts, but I have never driven in conditions like I did on Friday. The fog was so thick I couldn’t see the highway exit signs until I was just below them; I couldn’t see the cars 25 feet in front of me, and I couldn’t see the side of the road. It was so eerie, like I was actually just in a cloud instead of on the road. The problem was that although I knew approximately where the Pet Resort was, I didn’t know exactly, and I couldn’t see anything; no landmarks, no signs, nothing at all. If I hadn’t been worried about being hit by a similarly-disadvantaged driver, I would have pulled over on the shoulder to cry. As it was I kept telling myself to breathe deeply and to not cry. There was no way out but through, so to speak. I ended up taking several wrong turns in the small commercial district, and resorted to both calling the Pet Resort to try to tell them where I was – which was impossible because I couldn’t actually see where I was – and asking random strangers in parking lots how to get there. Turn at Tractorland, one fellow told me, and although I know that Tractorland is a giant yellow building, the fog was so thick I couldn’t even see it from the road. Finally I did end up in the right place, proving once and for all that even a blind squirrel gets a nut every once in a while.