Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

Canadiana

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Our local library branch has pop-up, electronic advertisements for various events in town, and a few months ago, there was one for Weird Al. Weird Al! I don’t really think of Kelowna as a hotspot for concerts, but here we were. Some of you might be thinking Big deal, Weird Al is not a huge get but I was a little starstruck at the thought of the creator of Like A Surgeon and Pretty Fly For A Rabbi breathing the same air as me. I zipped home with plans to purchase tickets immediately, thinking it would be a pretty fun outing for me and my husband.

Well.

My plans quickly dissipated at the discovery that it would be approximately $700 at a minimum for the two of us to attend, which felt a little steep just to hear a live performance of Amish Paradise.

What was the first concert you attended? For me, it was INXS in 1988 for their Kick tour, and I believe the tickets were about $20. This Kicked off several years of concert-going on my part, and with one exception – Billy Joel in 1990 – the shows were all under $25, which was good, as my babysitting income was about $2.50 an hour at the time.

It will be news to no one that I have a song, if not in my heart, then definitely in my head at all times. I usually have a song in my heart too, but my brain is full of song lyrics from every genre in any decade. I am, as Spotify says, genre-fluid. I enjoy all kinds of music – almost anything can make me shimmy my shoulders and swing my hips, even while seated – and I associate many songs strongly with different eras of my life. My favourite genres are from the 70s: disco, yacht rock, soul and funk, as well as rock, but I am open to anything, and I most likely will be able to sing along to it, which tends to startle my husband. How do you remember that? he’ll ask when I sing anything from My Grandfather’s Clock to Parents Just Don’t Understand to Kryptonite.

For my birthday I was thinking of writing about all the songs that have meant a lot to me over the years, but then I realized that a) I could not narrow the list down to less than 200, and b) a massive list of songs felt boring to write and to read. Then I remembered that Rachael (HI RACHAEL) had asked me an interesting question on the Ask Me Anything I did back in December, which was Who are your favourite Canadian musicians/ groups?

First of all, I would like to shout out three out of four Gords for Canadian Decorative Gord Season:

Two of these Gords I saw in concert: the Barenaked Ladies for their Gordon tour, which I consider their best work. I have such great memories of it coming out when I was in high school; my friend Tracy (HI TRACY) and I would sing Hello City while we worked together in chemistry class. I was, I am embarrassed to tell you, nearly fifty years old before I realized that Hello City was about Halifax. Well, we are never too old to learn something new. The other Gord I saw was Gord Downey of the Tragically Hip. I think they take away your citizenship if you are a certain age and didn’t see the Hip in concert. It might be written in the Constitution, now that I think about it.

I don’t think a Gordon Lightfoot concert would be exactly bumping, but I love his music very much. Also, he’s dead. From that same era, I adore Joni Mitchell and the Guess Who. All three are national treasures, in my humble opinion. I also have a soft spot for Corey Hart, particularly because I wrote to his fan club and received a photocopied letter in return. Also, he filmed his Never Surrender video a mere 20 minutes away from our Calgary home.

I saw a number of Canadian music stars in concert back in the day, notably Alanis Morrisette for her Jagged Little Pill tour, and Tom Cochrane at a Canada Day music festival. This was pre- Life is a Highway, when his huge hit was the excellent Big League, which is SUCH a Canadian classic. Not many ways out of this cold Northern town, you work in the mill and get laid in the ground. And if you got a jump, it’ll be with the game. Oh, the dreams of hockey players of yore, hoping to be the next Fourth Gord. This was before youth hockey became A Thing, and anyone who knows Crazy Hockey Parents will know what I mean. My husband worked with a man who coached his kindergartener son’s Timbits hockey team. At the beginning of the season he cheerfully said that they were all there to have fun, after all, no one was going to the NHL. Several parents withdrew their kids from that team in protest of his attitude. THAT is what I mean. And as far as I know, none of them did go to the NHL. So.

Back in the 80s, after INXS I saw a few Canadian bands that would mean nothing to anyone not around in that time and place; notably 54-40 and the Grapes of Wrath. I have a couple of six-degrees of separation for both of those bands. The lead singer for 54-40 was the son-in-law of my junior high principal, which certainly made me look upon him with greater respect than a junior high principal typically gets from its student body.

As for the Grapes of Wrath, I had a titanic crush on guitarist Tom Hooper, to the point that my fourteen-year-old self would dream that we would one day meet and get married, and I would live in the magical place called Kelowna, from where the Grapes hailed. Life is funny; I DID marry a man from Kelowna and am now living in that magical place, and that man has friends who went to school with the entire band. As is probably typical, they were all high school misfits who absolutely hated their hometown, as evidenced in the song Backward Town. To be fair, Kelowna isn’t exactly on the cutting edge of anything. But still! It is a magical place where the flowering trees bloom in April.

When I was that angsty fourteen-year-old, I really thought that the kind of music a person listened to said something about the character of that person. I thought that people who enjoyed pop music were vapid and silly, while those who liked deep cuts of obscure bands were deep as the ocean. I mean, I dated a guy in part because he was really into obscure Depeche Mode tracks. Also, he wrote me a whole pile of bad poetry, typed it out, and presented it to me in a yellow duotang, which struck me as a very romantic gesture at the time.

Ah, the pretentiousness of youth. Popular music is popular for a reason, Young Nicole, and that is because it is FUN and also generally pleasing to listen to. These days, I think that the kind of music a person enjoys merely indicates that they enjoy that music, there is no character or moral assessment to be made. After all, I really like Nickleback.

Weekly Reading

Is This A Cry For Help? CANADIAN AUTHOR ALERT! This author also wrote the wonderful Everyone In This Room Will Someday Be Dead, which I read in 2021 and loved. I love libraries, and not just because they lend us books; they are also safe public spaces that run important programs for all different people, they allow access to the internet, and they are inclusive spaces. This book centres on a librarian who is just back from having a mental health crisis due to the sudden death of her ex-boyfriend. As she looks back on her time with him, she begins to deal with a small but vocal group of people who are calling for book bans and who believe the library has an “agenda.” Yes, its agenda is to be inclusive and to help the public. Anyway. This was a very good read and I enjoyed it so much.

The Rom-Commers. This is a rom-com about two screenwriters writing a rom-com. Cute, right? Well, Katherine Center’s brand is a cute rom-com with some serious tragic backstories, and this is no exception. One person is recovering from cancer, the other is the caretaker for her disabled father, who is FIFTY FIVE YEARS OLD. If you’re keeping track, that’s two books I’ve finished in less than four days in which the romantic lead is a caretaker for her fifty-something parent. Small digression here: this is part of the reason I wrote Inhale Exhale, because there are very few romances that feature people in the fifty-plus demographic. WE LIKE TO GET RAILED TOO, YOU KNOW. Some of us, despite our advanced ages, are not in need of caretaking and are totally DTF. Maybe even more so than before, because our children are grown and we have the house to ourselves, I hope my own sons are not reading this. Anyway. Back to the book at hand. It was pretty silly and contrived, but it was a fast and easy read, which can be a nice distraction from the whole…international situation.

The End of My Life is Killing Me. In June 2020 this author had a cough, and went for a Covid test. She found out she had stage four metastatic lung cancer. The book is a collection of essays about that time and the years after, dealing with treatment, the US health insurance system, weird public perceptions about lung cancer (hint: it’s victim-blamey), and well-meaning friends who suggest things like juicing and positive thinking as curative measures. Honestly, this was pretty dull and grinding, although there were a few interesting observations.

Thanks Rachael for the fun question; I realized there are a few questions I never answered, and I will do so post-haste. In the meantime, here are some of the many flowering trees that have been blooming these past four weeks. I wish you could smell them! You’ll have to believe me. xo

Scentsitive

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Last week I channeled my inner teen and headed for the mall. As a side note, I mentally capitalize The Mall as there is but one in this city. Upon entering, I was immediately and pleasantly assaulted by the scent of Cinnzeo, which seems to be the modern answer to Cinnabon. It’s nice that, although physical stores are in decline, some things are still the same.

There were two specific reasons I was mall-shopping, and the first was that I was picking up my free bag of truffles from the new Lindt store. I had signed up for their special rewards program specifically to get free chocolates during my birthday month. They didn’t have strawberry or mint, but I did try a new fudge swirl. The lack of strawberry has been a low-key grievance in my house. I am never mad at either of my sons, but a year or so ago my younger son ate the last dark chocolate strawberry truffle that I had been saving, post-Galentines Day 2025, and I have never let him forget it. That flavour is hard to find and indeed, I have not seen it since early 2025. Remember when you ate the last dark chocolate strawberry and I never found it again? I’ll ask him, to which he responds that I never actually told him I was saving it and also it was in the basket with all the other Lindt truffles that were NOT being saved for a future, special occasion, known only to me.

Is it too much to ask that he reads my mind?

The second reason I was going to the mall was to buy a birthday gift for my mother. I had brought her a gift from Cambodia but I wanted to supplement that with her favourite vanilla-scented body lotion from Bath and Body Works. While I was there, I thought I would purchase a few lotions for myself. I don’t wear perfume, but I do like to choose a different scented body lotion based on my mood and that day’s activities.

I was approached with an offer of help by one of the salespeople, an extremely friendly and jolly woman around my age, with a haircut that can only be described as “fun.” I didn’t really need help, but I do like chatting with salespeople, particularly at a place like Bath and Body Works, where there is no commission. And although I have my favourite scents, I always like sniffing new ones. Every favourite scent was once a stranger, as no one says.

But it was so odd. Every time I reached for one of my favourites, the woman shook her head gravely. No, she’d say. You don’t want THAT one. Then she would steer me over to something very rose-forward and floral, and insist that it was perfect for me. I would nod, politely, and then go back and grab the my favourites, the scents that she insisted were Too Much. Oh, she would say, her lavender spikes bobbing slightly, her eyebrows raised. You…LIKE that? Hmm. And then she would start to steer me towards the vile-smelling peach lotions.

It’s not like I require agreement from customer service personnel on my personal scent choices, or that I fear their judgement, but it was awkward.

I wonder what her feeling was when she left work that day. I wonder if she went home and bemoaned the difficulty of working with customers who just would not listen to her. I wonder if I seemed like the exact right person for Peach Blossom or Rose Garden, and it was disappointing that I refused to be the person she wanted me to be.

Weekly Reading

This Is Not About Us. An ill-timed, crowd-pleasing apple cake brought to a septuagenarian’s funeral spurs a years-long feud between the sisters of the deceased, and that’s how this absolute delight of a book begins. I laughed so much throughout this gem; I could totally see similar things happening in my own family. What can I say, if you have a large extended family, there is never a shortage of drama! The book unfolds in vignettes, each one focusing on different branches of the family. If you are looking for a thick plot, this is not for you, but if you are looking for a wonderful slice of a family’s life with compelling and relatable characters, look no further! I loved every sentence! Interestingly, the author wrote the incredible Isola – which I also loved – but the two books could not be more different.

Say You’ll Remember Me. This was a perfect book for a road trip: easy to read, not complicated, happy ending. What more do you need? Two people fall madly in love but live far apart – can a long distance romance work? She is caring for a mother with dementia, he has a brand new veterinary practice and tons of debt. Can they make it work? Spoiler alert: of course they can. I liked how this book portrayed financial realities and also the difficulty of being a caregiver (note: mother with dementia is three years older than I am, lord have mercy). Please note the page about returning shopping carts.

Our road trip was a lot of fun. My mom enjoyed her gifts, including the apparently divisive vanilla scented lotions. Vanilla? You want vaNILLA? the fun-haired woman said to me, like I was stating a preference for BO mixed with skunk. We had a good time all around, plus, the snowstorms, cold weather, and gale-force winds took a break, and we had lovely warm temperatures. There was a lot of snow in the mountain passes, but the roads were clear and the driving was smooth.

It looks like a perfect week for gardening, we have lots of sunshine ahead of us. May the Fourth be with you, friends! xo

Pencil Marks

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My husband works out every day in the mid-to-late morning, and he uses our extensive speaker system rather than headphones, which means I can frequently hear what music he’s working out to. Instead of a carefully-curated, peppy and motivating playlist like the one I use, he just has a playlist of “songs that he likes,” which can lead to what I think is an eclectic soundtrack for weight lifting. I find it amusing, for the most part; a Taylor Swift song might follow Enter Sandman, and then we could suddenly be thrown into early-2000s hip-hop, after which is Crazy Train. But the other day the song Buy Dirt came on. I went downstairs and, upon seeing my crying self, my husband turned off the music.

He had the same level of baffled bewilderment as when I talked about White Wine in the Sun, as well as when we watched a recent Joni Mitchell tribute and Both Sides Now was performed. I just don’t get why it makes you so sad, he said. It’s a song about…clouds?

My whole life, I have been very emotionally moved by music, very frequently to tears, and not always are those songs obviously wrenching to others. Some are – Landslide, for example – but others, like Is Somebody Singing or Miley Cyrus’ The Climb can destroy me emotionally because of specific memories associated with them. Usually I can hear at least a few lines or maybe an entire verse of my own personal tear-jerking songs before welling up, but I didn’t even make it to “chasing dollar” in Buy Dirt. I don’t even know if I made it to the lyrics, honestly, before dissolving.

A few days later, when he watched me emotionally decompensate just thinking about the song in our silent house, my Man of Action deleted it from his playlist. I’m sick of it anyway, he said, but I really know he just didn’t want me to accidentally hear it.

It IS a moving song, but I was much more emotionally fragile than I have been in a long while, for a few reasons. Typically every month before my period, I have a day or two of fatigue and disrupted sleep, a couple of hot flashes and an elevated resting heart rate. This month, I have had to date fourteen solid days of that with no period in sight, plus a very upsetting new symptom I had never had before: no appetite. This lasted for days. Not only did I have no appetite, but I had revulsion for food. I love food! I love to eat! I am, like Andy Sipowicz, an enthusiastic eater! But there I was, pushing my pasta around my bowl like a picky child, asking if it tasted weird to anyone else. This lack of appetite was accompanied by an intense, constant, and unquenchable thirst, to the point that I started googling am I diabetic, signs of kidney disease, and is HRT right for me?

This was reason number one for my emotional fragility: I was running on days of poor sleep, a racing heart rate, and almost no food, with a bloated and extended torso from all the water I was gulping down. Not to mention the hormones! Or, lack thereof, I guess.

But there was another reason I was fragile, and that is that my older son left on Saturday for an eight-week solo backpacking trip around Central and Eastern Europe. I am truly so happy for him; we encouraged him in this, and he planned it all so well. It’s something I really wish I had done at his age, and I think it will be such a great learning and growing experience for him. He’s seeing the world! The birdy is really flying far!

But the truth about it, it all goes by real quick. Every single month we all marvel that it’s a new month, how did that happen, time goes so fast, it’s almost May, can you believe it. My god, time really does go by real quick. My son is off seeing the world, all by himself. This feels like a whole new era, and it’s a wonderful new era, but the pages are flying off the calendar at cartoonish speeds.

I have loved every single age and stage my sons have gone through, every one of them. (Even when we were thirteen? my younger son asked. Yes. Maybe even especially then! I have so much love for the growth and expansion of those early teen years.) I am so proud of them; I can barely believe my good fortune. Sometimes I feel like I will literally explode, I love them so much. I will literally explode and all that will be left of me will be a pile of heart-shaped confetti.

When I was a kid I loved the book Jane of Lantern Hill, and I remember reading the part where Jane asks her mother if they could ever stop time. At the time, I thought that was absurd, why would anyone want to do that? I couldn’t get older fast enough. I wanted to be grown, to be autonomous, to be on to the next thing.

Well. I don’t want to stop time, but it all goes by real quick.

I have had some tests and I am confident my doctor, who is a brilliant and progressive young woman, will have some solutions for my physical self. In the meantime, the present moment is what we have, and so I will be over here, sweatily appreciating it. Thank you, body, for bringing me this far in life. Thank you for being a wonderland that is doing miraculous things as my estrogen plummets the depths of the ocean. Thank you, deodorants, for existing. Thank you, modern world, for giving me washing machines to wash my extremely sweaty jammies every day and for the clean tap water that I can gulp down to compensate for this excessive perspiration.

My son has landed safely in Europe to start his adventure. My best friend Tara (HI TARA), whose eldest daughter has travelled solo extensively, texted me with the uplifting message that we raised our children to be independent, so we shouldn’t be surprised when they are. We did! Look at them fly!

Watch their pencil marks and the grass in the yard all grow up.

Weekly Reading

Simple Abundance. My dear friend Michelle (HI MICHELLE) had mentioned this book to me last year, and I decided to start reading the short daily essays on my birthday over the next year. It was a really lovely, uplifting experience. I think it probably would have been a bit better had I started in January as the book intends – each month builds on the months before – but it was still a wonderful reminder to look at the simple things in life and take joy in them.

Wilderness Tips. his is a reread, but it’s been a while! There are some really great stories in this collection, and in my current state of mind I was particularly moved by the last paragraphs in the last story, Hack Wednesday.

When The Cranes Fly South. DO YOU WANT TO READ A SUPER SAD BOOK THAT WILL MAKE YOU STARE OFF INTO THE DISTANCE FOR A LONG TIME? This is the book for you! In retrospect, maybe not the best choice for this past, emotionally fragile week. Wow, it’s sad. An elderly man, whose wife is now in dementia care, lives alone with his elkhound dog, and has home care come in four times a day (this is Sweden, and such things are realities! Yay Sweden). His son, quite rationally and reasonably, thinks that the giant dog is really too much for the situation. After all, the old man sleeps most of the day, the dog gets very little exercise, and he’s worried the old man will fall when he’s taking the dog out. Very reasonable and rational. But also, the dog is the man’s main companion and great love. As the man snoozes the day away, he dreams about his long life; his loving mother and kind of awful dad, his move to Northern Sweden as a young man, meeting his best friend and his wife, and his son’s childhood. It is a very moving story about breaking cycles, new generations, love, and what matters in life. Fun fact: this is translated from the Swedish by Alice Menzies, and that was the name of one of my great-grandmas!

Zero-Sum. Before he left, my older son was telling us about his Managerial Economics course, and – as my husband and I both have Masters in Economics – I was extremely interested. It sounded like Managerial Economics was similar to Industrial Economics that I took back in 1996 or 1997. In any case, game theory featured heavily, which was very exciting to me. And then, my library holds came in and Zero-Sum was one of them! It was like my very own Baader-Meinhof phenomenon. Anyway, I have never before read Joyce Carol Oates, which seems like a grave omission. Every short story in this collection contains a zero-sum game, and it is absolutely fascinating and almost breathtaking in its literary creativity. The writing is just so smart, and every story is such a brilliant and interesting topic. Some of the stories were a bit dystopian/ horror based for me, but most of them were diabolically good.

I am going on my own, much less exotic adventure this week: a road trip to visit my parents. That is, if the weather-warning level spring snowstorms stop for a couple of days. Hopefully there won’t be any avalanches! In the meantime, take care of yourselves and I’ll see you next week – when it will be May. Can you believe it? xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Nifty and Fun Edition

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Thank you all for the lovely birthday wishes! In a misguided attempt at being celebratory, my body gifted me the most intense and prolonged perimenopausal symptoms I have ever had, for ten solid days. Coincidence? I don’t know, but this is a Favourite Things, and although I am Pro-Aging and aware that it is a privilege and a gift and not everyone gets to experience perimenopause, waking up with sweaty jammies and crushing fatigue are not my Favourite Things. Such topics will be discussed at a later date!

I did have a lovely birthday, with a trip to the garden centre for flowers, basil, tomatoes, and peppers. They have not been planted yet, but will be soon, and in the meantime all my little seedlings have sprouted, life is good. Strangely, on my birthday walk with Rex I did not encounter one person I knew. I ALWAYS have at least one conversation with walking regulars, and I was ready to tell them it was my birthday to receive good tidings for the day, but NOT ONE did I encounter. Next time I AM wearing that sandwich board.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Nifty and Fun Edition

Feet Don’t Fail Me Now

In addition to wearing the contenders for the Ugliest House Sandals Award, I have also embraced middle age and purchased items from Dr. Scholls, specifically designed to relieve pain from plantar fasciitis. I put a pair of these into my trail runners for my daily walks, and they really have helped.

Turn That Frown Upside Down

A few weeks ago I was running errands ahead of my pedicure appointment, and as I approached the young man at the liquor store counter, he gasped. Well! You look lovely! he said with genuine enthusiasm, to which I responded with appropriate gratitude for the compliment. I mean it! You are so beautiful. Look at you! Your hair, your eyes, everything. I felt like Amy Sedaris in Elf, when Buddy tells her that she’s so pretty, she could be on a Christmas card. I strutted out of there, swinging my bottles of tequila like John Travolta’s paint cans.

On the way to the salon, I was stopped at a red light and the men in the utility truck beside me started giving me the eye. Wow, I thought, I really have it going on today! I strutted into the salon and as the esthetician started Dremelling off my polish, she asked if I had grandkids.

A few points to consider: I am 51, and I look 51, and it would not be strange to have grandkids at this age. I also hope that one day I do have grandkids, what a gift that would be. I did think it was a bit of an odd question, but I don’t want to judge anyone who works in a salon and who has to make small talk day in and day out. I’ve said some weird things myself while teaching yoga. I did not think it was an offensive question in any way, and I did not take offense.

That was before I learned that the reason she asked was because she thought I was the grandmother of her teenage son’s best friend.

My feelings on that discovery are not unrelated to the feelings I had when I was plucking my facial hair, looking into my “daylight” 10x magnifying mirror and noticed three faint vertical lines going up my forehead, in between my eyebrows. At first I thought I had, somehow, made three perfect lines in my forehead serum, but no. These are permanent features. I have long accepted my horizontal lines, as they have evolved from a lifetime of raising my eyebrows or otherwise making happy faces.

But these lines seem to be a result of frowning, which I do not like.

In any case, I use The Ordinary Multi-Peptide HA Serum on my forehead every day. It doesn’t turn back time – nothing does, short of injections or surgery – but I do think it helps slow the line-developing process. Maybe I’m frowning more than I think I am! I will have to address that. First step: stop reading the news.

What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger?

My friend Sharyl (HI SHARYL) has been an inspiration for many years now. She took me under her wing when I first started teaching yoga, and she had me assist, co-teach, and then take over her Yoga for Stroke Survivors class. That experience taught me more about bodies and how they move than my entire teacher training, it taught me how to teach a single pose in multiple ways for multiple abilities, all at the same time. Her goal was to get people to move without pain, and to feel good in their own bodies.

During the pandemic Sharyl started teaching yoga with small weights, and then she got into strength training, around the same time that I did. But she got REALLY into strength training; she is a woman of small stature who can dead lift 210 pounds. She posted a video of her doing a pull-up, and I started thinking: could I do that too?

Just before my fiftieth birthday, I made a loose goal of working towards doing a pull-up by my fifty-first birthday. And I am now 51 and I cannot do that. But I can do three assisted, using exercise bands under my feet as support.

Obviously I move the bar first, but you can see the stretchy bands in this photo.

Maybe next year! But I have come so far; when I first started I could only hang, straight-armed, for ten seconds. But I kept working on it and working on it, and I have seen so much progress. Maybe I never will get to a point where I can do them unassisted, but I have gotten so much stronger in the process. Also progress, not perfection, right?

Fueled By Cake

Everyone knows I love cake, and, to the amusement of my friends, I really love a grocery store sheet cake. My husband delivered!

Every Sunday I make a big dinner, complete with dessert, and sometimes that dessert is cake. Earlier in the month I had a craving for lemon cake, and so I made an angel food one. Fun fact: you can easily do this by substituting half the water in a typical angel food cake mix with lemon juice. I think it would be even better with some lemon zest, but alas, I had no lemons.

It was perfect with raspberries and a dollop of non-dairy whipped cream.

Channelling Mr. T

When I was about fifteen, a boy told me that I wore “more jewelry than Mr. T,” and I have taken that to heart as my personal esthetic ever since. It’s a good goal in life.

I have switched into my Spring Uniform, which typically is a short-sleeved top and jeans, as opposed to my Winter Uniform, which is a sweater and jeans. The move to the short sleeves is a significant one, though, because it means I can wear multiple bracelets on my left wrist, without getting them jammed in clothing.

Except for the chakra bracelet, which was given to me years ago by a yoga student, I bought all these in Vietnam at the floating market.

My look reminds me of when I was about thirteen, and I was low-key terrified of my friend Julie’s very stern German father (HI JULIE). He looked at me one day, me with my armful of jelly and friendship bracelets, and said, gruffly, Why do you wear so many bracelets? before staring me down. Eeep! I don’t know! When later Julie told her dad – in front of me! – that I was scared of him, he said, sternly, Why? I like Nicole. Upon that statement, he stared at me silently, while I wished I could melt into the floor.

Outfit of the Month

Behold the Spring Uniform!

The big smile on my face tells you that we were on our way to the garden centre! Short sleeved chakra tee, Silver jeans which are “boyfriend cut,” Skecher Mary Janes, and my beloved old Lululemon bag. I don’t really think I need a bag this size anymore, but I just cannot quit it.

Isn’t that yellow shrub pretty? Its next stage is green leaves and flowers. It delivers beauty year-round. I feel like that should be a segue into a discussion about seasons, seasons of life, perimenopause, and all the sweatiness, but I will leave that for another post. In the meantime, what were your Favourites this month? Tell me everything. xo

Spring Cleaning

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Bye Bye Birdie

Several months ago, a bird decided it had enough of this cruel world, and kamikazed into our bedroom window. At least, I think that is what happened. I was startled to see a gigantic, bird-shaped splotch on the window, complete with feathers and, how shall I put this delicately, intestinal waste. I immediately ran downstairs and outside, but alas. I could not find the corpse. Possibly the bird did NOT shuffle off this mortal coil but instead survived, but I do not see how. Another possibility is that the body ricocheted far enough away that one of the resident coyotes had a little Circle of Life snack. The one thing I do know is that Rex did not eat it, as he did not have any of his own intestinal waste issues, Rex being a sensitive-stomached big galoompa.

However, this avian disaster occurred at the very start of the cold weather, which precluded the use of the pressure washer, and try as we might with long-handled squeegees, we could not clean it off. I have assuaged my feelings about the minor splodge that is still there by cleaning all the downstairs windows that I can reach with only my outstretched arm and a two-step ladder. I cope by averting my eyes when the sun is shining in that window which, since it’s west facing and I really only use the bedroom to sleep, fold the laundry, and have sex, I don’t see that often.

You can’t see the splodge for most of the day.
But if you look close, you can see a feather.

Heating Things Up

My friend Gigi (HI GIGI) had mentioned recently that she used the self-clean function on her oven, with great results. I have used the self-clean function exactly once, probably fifteen years ago. I thought it would be a great activity on a frigid, minus-30 January day in Calgary. This was not the very worst idea I have ever had, but it is up there, Steve. I did not realize that a) the house would be filled with terrible fumes and, due to the cold I was not able to open the windows without becoming hypothermic, and b) I am terrified of fire and the fact that the oven gets SO HOT was very frightening to me. I waited for the cycle to either finish or for me to perish in the house fire that would surely happen when the oven blew up.

Since then I have mostly used Easy-Off “fumeless” sprays and what my mother calls Elbow Grease to clean my oven, but since moving here almost three years ago I tried to use the Aqua Clean function on my new oven. My mother-in-law has this function and swore it was life changing, but either my oven is inferior or I cook much messier items because I don’t think it works well at all. I think it’s probably the latter; 80% of my oven use has to do with roasting vegetables that have been tossed in oil, which makes things stickier. After almost three years with this oven and dealing with the disappointment that is the Aqua Clean function, I am back with the Easy Off and Elbow Grease method.

Dirty Floors No More (or not much)

In addition to the windows and the oven, Rex also got a spring cleaning!

This will have positive trickle-down effects to the rest of the house. The fuzzier he is, the more dirt, sand, and gravel collects in his paws, to be slowly released throughout the house post-walk every day. He also loves rolling around in the grass, and his thick fur holds onto little leaves and grassy bits, also to be deposited randomly everywhere. I vacuum, and often mop, daily because otherwise we would be living in filth. I’m hoping his haircut will extend the period between vacuuming to every 36, or maybe even 48 hours. Of course, the first thing he did after I drove him home from the groomer’s was to roll around under the grapevines, meaning that his pristine cleanliness lasted exactly 17 minutes, possibly a new record. Well, as I say to my husband when he complains of dead patches in the grass, you can have spotless floors and a perfect lawn OR you can have a dog, and I CHOOSE JOY.

For a dog who really hates being wet, Rex loves the groomer. She is a tiny woman who probably weighs less than he does; she told me that after grooming dogs for 25 years, Rex is the first that she doesn’t have to harness or physically wrangle. She merely tells him to turn, and he does. I do not know how this happens, but everyone at the dog salon refers to Rex as the groomer’s “boyfriend.” When I phone, I can hear multiple voices in the background saying that her boyfriend is coming for a visit. Hilarity ensues. Listen, I am just happy Rex enjoys being groomed, so I just smile when the groomer greets him with a “Hello there, big man.” If it works, it works.

Weekly Reading

Three very buzzy books this week – but one did NOT deliver.

Half His Age. Ninety-nine percent of this book, which follows a 17-year-old girl and her affair with her high school English teacher, is heartbreakingly sad. Against the backdrop of the affair are bigger themes, like consumerism, intergenerational trauma, and acceptance of people for who they are. The ending was hopeful and the writing is fast-paced, almost frantic, which makes for an easy and engrossing read. I did appreciate and enjoy it, but it is full of very gross and graphic details, so be warned if you are prudish or squeamish.

Strangers: A Memoir of a Marriage. This memoir is a cautionary tale for all women, to make sure that they know what is going on financially in their marriage. Hoo boy. When we were travelling in Morocco, an older gentleman said to me of the people in the village, “We’re all the same the whole world round, we all just want to take care of our families, be safe, and to have a bit of fun once in a while.” He was talking about villagers who did not have a whole lot in the way of material possessions, to say the least, but I think it applies to everyone, even the very wealthy and privileged, to which social echelon the author belongs. She is the granddaughter of Babe Paley – shoutout to anyone who knows of the Swans of NYC – and was the recipient of generational wealth from both sides of her family, although the discovery of her father’s $40M debt when he died perhaps shows how inherited wealth can mean revert. Anyway, her husband of over 20 years left her a few weeks into the pandemic, in March 2020, and can we talk about all the marriages that ended during the pandemic? It was a real thing. So this man leaves her as he was having an affair, but just…leaves. No explanation. He doesn’t want access to their children. Just…nothing. The book revisits their lives together as she searches for a reason which, by the way, she never gets. She never gets a reason her husband left her, other than “I didn’t want to be married to you anymore.” I literally said, out loud, “NO DON’T DO THAT” many times reading this as she a) changed the prenup against the advice of her lawyer so that she would get NOTHING of any money accumulating throughout their marriage that wasn’t in joint names, b) doesn’t get involved in their finances, c) DRAINS HER TRUST FUNDS TO BUY THEIR APARTMENT AND SUMMER HOUSE AND PUTS IT IN BOTH THEIR NAMES. Don’t do that! Her husband accumulated millions of dollars throughout their marriage and, of course, put it all in his name so because of the prenup she was entitled to nothing. It’s easy to scoff and say that she’s so rich, she could just sell the homes once her husband leaves her with very little financially, but that’s not the point. The point is this woman was ruined emotionally and nearly ruined financially by what seems like a sociopath of a human. The book is nuanced, well-written, and poignant, and it comes to some beautiful conclusions. I couldn’t read it fast enough! I loved it. As a woman who gave up her career to take care of the children, I can really empathise with her. She trusted this man and he ruined her. ALWAYS KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON WITH THE FINANCES, PEOPLE.

Judy Blume: A Life. When I heard there was a biography of Judy Blume coming out, I did something I very rarely do: I preordered the hardcover. I waited, seething with excitement. Judy Blume! I love her! Then when it arrived a friend alerted me to some controversy surrounding it, namely that Blume was NOT endorsing it. The author says that Blume offered pages and pages of notes, almost all of which he rejected. I guess for his “artistic vision?” I don’t know what specifically Blume did not like about this book, but I am going to speculate that she is not endorsing it because it’s SO BORING. OMG. I would have DNF’d it but I BOUGHT THE HARDCOVER. And it was just the dullest read. I guess this is why I prefer memoir to biography, the latter often is just a dull factual read without any emotion. I’m so annoyed that I now have this EXPENSIVE book in my collection that I will never read again. Chalk this up as one of the most highly anticipated and ultimately disappointing book in my collection.

Tomorrow is my birthday! My first year as a 50+ woman has been great, honestly, and I’m looking forward to the year ahead. I hope you are all having a beautiful week. xo

Modern Miracles

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This spring I’ve felt something akin to survivor’s guilt when I see the weather forecasts coming out of Calgary, and in the rest of Canada in general: heavy snowfall after heavy snowfall. I almost feel guilty that things are in bloom and I’ve been out in the garden for weeks! We have had a dry winter and spring, so hopefully that doesn’t spell doom when it comes to forest fire season. Well, there’s no point mentally rehearsing for bad things to happen; either they will happen or they won’t, I don’t need to dwell on it. Instead I will just focus on what’s in front of me.

Speaking of not mentally rehearsing for doom, the news continues to be objectively horrible and frankly terrifying. Recently both my friends Suz and Bijoux (HI SUZ HI BIJOUX) gently reminded me that whatever happens in 2026, our great-grandmothers had it much worse. I think there’s room for both feelings: gratitude to be living in the modern age where we have such luxuries as the vote and refrigerators, and sadness that the current masters of the universe are insane, evil clowns who value human lives just slightly more than they do mosquitoes.

But Suz and Bijoux are right; my great-grandmothers’ lives were extremely hard and full of tragedy. One of my great-grandmothers died in childbirth, and another had a number of unspeakable hardships imposed on her by the various men in her life. And the only thing worse than having oppressive, unkind men was to have no man at all – my grandma was widowed in her thirties, with no money and six kids aged twelve and under. Life was, to put it mildly, not easy for her. Two of my grandmas had babies who died, and all of these women lived through the Depression and World War II.

Meanwhile, here I am, brushing my dog’s teeth.

They also had to do laundry by hand, and if there is anything that should make us grateful to live in this moment in time, it’s the invention of the washing machine. Of all the household chores, the laundry is the absolute easiest to deal with: dirty clothes are put into one machine and then, wet clean clothes are transferred to another. It’s magical! It’s a miracle of the modern age!

My husband’s grandmother, in whose house we now reside, worked for a time at the laundry in the hospital, and if there is a more physically taxing, miserable job than that, I don’t know what it is. Just think of all those heavy soiled sheets and blankets and towels, being washed by hand on a scrub board, and then wrung out and hung to dry. Imagine the state of your hands. Just doing laundry for a household would be difficult enough, what with the hauling and heating of water, and the misery that would be diapers. But working as a laundress in a hospital setting? I’m exhausted just thinking about it.

Adjacent to the daily appreciation I feel for my washing machine – “He worked hard, Grandpa.” “So do washing machines.” – is the immense gratitude I have for running water. Isn’t it amazing that we have it? So many things have to happen in order for us to have clean, running water: scientists work to ensure that it is safe to drink and workers put that science into action, infrastructure is conceived, built, and maintained to transport that water to our homes, which are plumbed and equipped with heaters so that, with the merest touch of a finger, we are served with water whenever we want it and at the exact temperature we desire. It’s truly a daily miracle. For so many centuries, this was not the usual thing. For so many centuries, a simple bath was an enormous undertaking.

My life is soft and luxurious by any standard, but in comparison to my ancestresses, I might as well be the Princess of Wales.

What was good about them? my mother-in-law once said in response to someone’s pining for the good old days. She’s not wrong. There have been rapid technological changes not just in my lifetime, but also in that of my children’s, who were born before smartphones, streaming, and the maps feature in the car. I remember the wild feeling of being able to pause live television, and the idea that if I like a song, I can simply listen to it on my phone. But just think of the advancements that came into being in our grandmothers’ lives. For one thing: indoor plumbing. Imagine the enormous quality-of-life boost that our grandmothers had when they went from outhouses to indoor bathrooms. I am not sure where this fits on the scale of running water to washing machines, but it’s up there, Steve. A few years ago, I checked the website for the campground at which my family reunion was to be held, and I noticed that they proudly advertised modern flush toilets. It was honestly a selling point to me. Who wants to live without modern flush toilets? Not me. Now it’s become a family joke; whenever my husband books accommodation for a trip, he lets me know that there are modern flush toilets.

I am an optimist by nature, but I do need to take care not to veer into toxic positivity. Earlier this week I wondered if we were indeed going to see a nuclear war, and at least we have toilets was not as cheering as one might think it would be. If my obsessive listening to The Rest Is History has taught me anything, it’s that there have always been despots and atrocities, there have always been men in power who behave terribly, and everything passes. Everything passes, and hopefully we learn and grow, globally. I listened to three episodes on Operation Barbarossa and the Battle of Stalingrad, and all I could think of was Stalin versus Hitler. Stalin versus Hitler! I need say no more, we can all draw our own parallels. I will leave it there and go pour myself a glass of water from the miracle that is my kitchen tap.

Weekly Reading

Stay With Me. This book was a wild ride, and I was here for it. Set in Nigeria against the backdrop of political instability and military coups and resulting dictatorships, it is the story of a couple who have been unable to have a baby. The man’s family decides it’s time for him to have a new wife, and pressures him into a polygamous marriage. The only way for this polygamous marriage to be dissolved is for the first wife to become pregnant – which she does, in kind of a shocking twist. The shocking twist gets stranger as the book goes on. I liked this book a lot but it’s definitely a twisted story. I read a surprising number of books that are set in Nigeria, and every time, I feel grateful to be in Canada.

Any Other Family. I picked this book up on a whim and I’m glad I did. The premise is a bit complicated: a young and incredibly fertile woman has four children who she has chosen to put up for adoption, due to her youth. The four children are adopted among three sets of parents, and the birth mother is involved. It’s all like a big extended family. While the three families are on vacation, the birth mother calls to tell them that she is, once again, pregnant, and will also be giving this one up for adoption. The story is about how the three adoptive mothers cope with the news and with the newly expanding family; it is a triple POV story. Despite the confusing and somewhat unbelievable premise, I was immersed immediately and very invested in the outcome. I kind of wish we could have seen the birth mother’s POV, but maybe that could be a follow-up book. This was really well written and completely engrossing.

The spring air really does give me a feeling of hope and optimism; my little arugula seeds are sprouting, and flowers are popping up everywhere. Now, will I be devastated from opening my news app as soon as I publish this? Maybe! But at least we have washing machines. xo

Crazy Plant Lady

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Early in January of this year, I found myself looking thoughtfully at a Costco display of two-packs of jade plants. I was soon joined by my husband who, since retirement, likes to accompany me on my semi-monthly Costco trips. He asked suspiciously why I was looking at the plants, adding, not unreasonably, that we really didn’t have space for any more in the house.

I had something in mind that I had been pondering about for months, but there is something you must know about my husband: he is a Man of Action. I tell him nothing until I am ready for Things To Move, if you know what I am saying. Some examples of things that I spoke about casually and that materialized fairly rapidly are the Peloton and our home gym, a trip to Morocco, more closet space, a new house, every small appliance in our kitchen, and garden beds. I had only to say I really like raised garden beds and then, like a cartoon character leaving a pile of dust in its wake, my husband was out sawing and hammering and shovelling soil into the resulting six beds that he made with his own hands, erecting fencing material around it to keep out the deer.

So I didn’t immediately tell him what I was thinking, which was that Noelle, my beloved but non-blooming Christmas cactus, was at the end of her life, along with her sister and shelf-mate, Stella the star plant, who never really recovered from her move here in 2023. Some of you may be thinking so what, plants die but you are not seeing the depths of my feelings on this subject. Noelle is symbolic of many things: my friendship with Denise, who gifted her to me when she moved out of the country (HI DENISE), my relationship with my younger son, who is the same age as Noelle, and my entire life prior to moving here. You might be thinking that this is a lot to put on a houseplant, and you might be right.

In any case, I knew. I knew the way you know about a good melon, but in this case it was the way you know that a part of you has changed forever and life must, as it does, go on.

And so I bought the two-pack of jade plants, after telling my husband that It Was Time. To his credit, he did not express the glee I’m sure he felt at not having to see the slowly-dying plants every day. He asked me several times if I was sure, was I ABSOLUTELY SURE that I was ready, and I was. He took them out to the shed, never to be seen again.

Shortly after, my younger son came home from work, to find me silent and trembling in the kitchen, chopping vegetables in a deeply sorrowful way. Tears sprang to my eyes and my voice cracked as I told him the fate of Noelle and Stella. He nodded very seriously and then said, so gently, the way you might speak to a very sad child, Those new plants look nice. Are they twins or just sisters? Twins, I shakily told him. Do they have names? Jane and Jennifer, I said. Those are nice names, he said, while I burst into tears at the thought of Noelle and Stella, alone at the bottom of the compost.

The twins are beautiful, as are the rest of my plants, of which I have probably pathologically intense attachment to.

Alice, the aloe, was given to me as a mere sprig from Aunty C (HI AUNTY C) and has since grown into a happy monster. She resides on the kitchen windowsill beside Eva, the snake plant.

The other, much larger, snake plant is Sabrina, who enjoys her spot by the piano, and the gnomes who live with her.

Christy, the unknown plant given to me at Christmas from my friend Darlene (HI DARLENE) was covered with tiny white flowers when she arrived. A few months later, she shed her flowers and started to establish a lot of new growth, so much so that I think she’s going to need a new pot.

Beside her is Pippa, the pepperpot plant, who is a recent and much-loved addition to our home. My friend Tara (HI TARA) brought her as a hostess gift only a couple of weeks ago.

Finally, Anna the amaryllis was given to me by my friend Sandi (HI SANDI). After she bloomed I cut her back, and now she’s all leafy again. I’m going to try to get her to rebloom next year and will hopefully not have some kind of breakdown if she dies.

There is no Becoming. I Have Become a Crazy Plant Lady. I refer to the plants collectively as The Girls, unless I’m talking to one of my sons, in which case I refer to them as Your Sisters. Even for me, this seems unhinged, yet I am not willing to make any changes to make myself seem more sane. There are worse things than being a Crazy Plant Lady, and, in any case, gardening season has begun and I have started planting a few rows of seeds in the aforementioned handmade garden beds. In other words, Crazy Plant Lady is taking her show outside.

Weekly Reading

I devoured this book that follows an Australian woman living in London over a ten year period. If you know me, you know that “the extraordinariness of ordinary life” is my favourite kind of book, and that is this – relationships and motherhood and finding oneself across the political backdrop of the UK from 2013-2023. There is a truly incredible cast of characters, and the book is hilariously funny and also incredibly moving, all at the same time. I doubled over crying laughing a few times, only to have my breath taken away by the emotional depth a few pages later. I loved this so much.

“It’s not a whorehouse. It’s a whorehome.” 

Workhorse. I am mixed. The author worked at Vogue for seven years in the early 2000s, which is exactly the time period of this book about an absolutely atrocious slob of a young woman with zero moral compass and questionable personal hygiene who – despite those things and also her complete inability to converse like a normal, non-cringey person – lands and keeps a job at a high-prestige magazine (i.e., Vogue). On the plus side, there are a lot of juicy inside-baseball details about magazine culture during that time, in which I am genuinely interested. On the minus, OMG this is long. It is WAY too long. At 552 pages, it could have been cut in half and been a snappy, exciting book. The plot is good! The ending is good! If it was cut back, it would be very good! As it is, it is a “tell, not show” book, a writing style which I do not admire, and it is all a little on the nose. Also, in addition to the immense, unneeded length, there are a lot of weird little editing misses: girls referred to by their hair colour, which changed from one paragraph to the next, someone graduating from Columbia when the paragraph before says that person went to UPenn, that kind of thing. Disbelief must be suspended as the main character not only does not look the part (i.e., not only is she a cheaply-dressed hot mess, she is a size six, which in Vogue world is just not acceptable), but she lies on her resume and although there is a hint that there might be repercussions, that thread never gets picked up. No matter. If you’re into juicy details about early 2000s magazine culture, and if you want to settle in with a doorstop of a book, this is for you! Like I said, the plot IS good and I liked the ending.

Wherever You Go, There They Are. This was published in 2017, and as I read it I recalled that the 2010s were a really hot time for books of essays written by B-and-C list celebrities. You don’t see them much anymore, or at least, I don’t. Probably they all have podcasts instead. Anyway, many of these essays were a big dull to me, but there was an absolutely killer one about MLMs, which is another thing that was hit in the 2010s and I don’t see much of these days. Thankfully! I haven’t had a “hey girl” message on Facebook from an old schoolmate for a long while. I admit I picked up this book about the author’s dysfunctional family thinking “I’ll see you and I’ll raise you” but no. She wins.

Have a beautiful week, friends! xo