Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

The world is a magical sphere.

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Yesterday was Pi Day and I spent much of it thinking of the magic of mathematics and, by extension, the world. Just think about this – for every single circle in the world, every single one of them, if you divide the circumference by the diameter, you get pi. YOU GET PI EVERY TIME. Isn’t that just incredible? Life is beautiful, made up of so many magical moments, and we should never let a day go by without appreciating them. In eager anticipation of pi day, I made a strawberry daiquiri pie for Sunday dessert; this recipe, but I omitted the avocado and cut the coconut milk to one cup, and then I poured my homemade magic shell on top and let me tell you, it was a glorious celebration of the circle.

Speaking of glorious things and mathematical magic, my husband sent me what must be one of the sexiest texts a girl can get: he informed me that he will soon be able to collect PC Points at Esso. You know that feeling when someone just GETS you? That’s the feeling I had when I read that. For, dear reader, I have become completely obsessed with collecting PC Points and redeeming PC Points and making up my grocery list with PC Points in mind. One day I swept into the yoga studio and excitedly told the girl at the desk my main accomplishment that morning: getting 10,600 points IN ONE SHOP BUYING ONLY THINGS I NEEDED AND NOTHING FRIVOLOUS. She was duly impressed. It’s gotten to the point where I eagerly anticipate Thursday mornings, when I can load my new offers onto my app. More importantly, I have figured out the basic algorithm and can make my list with that in mind. For example, I can predict with 90% accuracy when a certain offer is going to pop up, and I shop accordingly.

Is anyone still reading this?

In case there is any confusion, I am not being paid by Loblaw’s or anything, this isn’t in any way sponsored, it’s just that whenever I’m not teaching yoga I’m grocery shopping or cooking. This is literally true. Having young teen boys who eat pretty much constantly, and being a person who likes to make everything from scratch, my life is entirely revolving around my yoga classes and going to the grocery store, which may explain why my main source of unhappiness in the world is due to grocery carts gone awry.

Slight digression: my younger son pointed out that we had quite a few blueberry-pomegranate juices in the pantry, commenting that they “must have been on sale!” For years I have been slowly turning into a female replica of my father, and now it appears that I am simultaneously turning into my mother.

Back to the point: life is beautiful, math is beautiful, and I’m trying very hard to just take the heavy snowfall event that is going on right now in stride. The snow had just started its slow melting process and now everything is back to square one; this is not atypical for Calgary, but it does feel like winter will never end and spring will never come and we will be stuck with snow drifts and treacherous roads until the end of time.

The first person to complain about the “heat” when it gets to be 25 degrees in Calgary is going to get stabbed.

Well, perhaps not literally stabbed. Maybe just stabbed with an angry glare, like the Care Bear Stare but with much more vitriol.

My childhood Cheer Bear! This is, generally, my spirit animal, except when thinking about snowfall warnings and grocery carts.

Last weekend I found myself at the mall – not to worry, I’m still on my One Year Shopping Challenge, unbelievably enough, with four and a half months to go and I have bought nary an item – but I wanted some compression socks for running. I did enjoy peeking at the window displays and looking at the young girls wandering around, young girls being my fashion barometer. It’s one thing to see items remembered from childhood back in style, but it is, frankly, quite another to see items worn in one’s twenties back in style. It reminds me of the fleeting nature of time; the nineties were actually NOT JUST YESTERDAY, PEOPLE. Crop tops are the thing now, and while I loved them in my step-aerobics youth, I do not feel a woman of my age can really wear them without looking, as they say, like mutton dressed as lamb. What a gross and deplorable saying, and yet, it can accurately describe the feeling I have when I mentally try on today’s styles. Pants with very high waists, distressed and ripped jeans, cropped tops, and the like – these were things I wore in university. I finished grad school twenty years ago this year, TWENTY YEARS. So it only makes sense that they are now on point again but still.

Well, my wardrobe these days basically consists of yoga wear, topped with a cozy sweater and finished off with warm boots. I rarely wear a bra anymore due to the handy shelf bras in yoga tanks, which is starting to feel like a slippery slope. But even my much-loved lululemon is reflecting the styles of the nineties. For one thing, they now sell what is called a Belt Bag but is, in actuality, a fanny pack. The day I wear a fanny pack is the day I die, but there you go. Also for sale: the scrunchie. The SCRUNCHIE. I did love a good scrunchie back in the day, but I don’t think it’s mine to revisit. It reminds me of the Sex and the City episode where Carrie criticizes her boyfriend for writing a novel featuring a woman wearing a scrunchie, which seems like a very specific detail for a man to write about.

Ack! I just browsed a fashion site and came across a photo of a young woman wearing a floral dress with ankle boots, which was half my wardrobe, back the nineties. I guess I’ll just go back to researching my wrinkle creams and I’ll tell you about my amazing vegetarian glucosamine supplements another day. xo

This winter has frozen my brain

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Do You Want To Build A Snowman

No, not really. It’s been the snowiest – or one of the snowiest? I don’t really know – winters on record, and frankly, I am at the point where I cannot even conceptualize a time where I won’t be wearing numerous layers and a coat that requires its own postal code. I cannot remember what the yard looked like without giant drifts of snow, and I am starting to forget what it was like to drive down the street. I refuse to drive down the our street due to the enormous snow banks and ruts – if a car comes in the other direction, one of the cars must somehow get somehow onto a snow bank in order for the other to pass. It feels like a recipe for disaster, and as we all know, automobile-related disasters can only end in dramatic tears and frantic phone calls to my husband who, inevitably, will be at work and unable to help. I shall not drive down my street until such time as I do not need a four wheel drive and/ or nerves of steel. I was looking at my closet yesterday and noticed all the footwear that is lying dormant. I know there was a time when I wore light shoes and even light boots, but I cannot really remember it. I’ve lost all perspective – haven’t I just always worn heavy boots every single day? The local meteorologists insist that the melt is coming, but frankly, I can’t imagine it. I feel like I’m in a much less-gory and not-at-all-incestuous Game of Thrones winter, which is destined to last until we all die from lack of food/ murder/ being killed by White Walkers.

I’d Rage Against The Machine But I’m Too Tired

I realized with a start that time change is THIS WEEKEND. Goddamn Daylight Savings and all the lies associated with it. The Alberta government – not for the first time, and certainly not for the last – was the cause of grave disappointment when they announced that they would not do away with the time change, because “everyone else is doing it.” I feel like my own mother, if everyone was jumping off a bridge, would you do it too? Are we all lemmings here? If EVERYONE thinks that time change is an antiquated concept, and that it really does nothing for energy savings, and that it is inconvenient and the cause of many car accidents and issues due to pure exhaustion, then why doesn’t EVERYONE band together and just agree to do away with it? Every single year I think this and I am sure that given that this ridiculousness has lasted this long, I will be in the Home saying the same exact thing.

Awkward Is As Awkward Does

This week I had my annual physical, and my doctor’s office was very accommodating when I mentioned I was a little tight on time. I got there a few minutes early and the nurse promptly weighed and measured me, and took my heart rate and blood pressure. I was quickly escorted to the room where I was asked to change into the robe. I glanced at the enormous robe, momentarily forgetting which way to put it on. Does it tie in the back or the front? At that exact moment, while I was standing in the freezing room, completely nude, the doctor knocked and started to open the door – thinking, probably, that he was helping me out by not making me sit idly in the freezing room, but instead starting the checkup right away. I appreciated his promptness but, as I said, I was standing there naked, so I asked for just a moment, please. Does it tie in the front or the back? I remembered from my mammogram a few years back – when I made the wrong choice – that that gown tied in the front. Were we doing a breast exam today? Maybe? Front or back, front or back, just make a decision. I quickly pulled it on and tied it in the front just as the doctor knocked again and walked in. It was immediately apparent that I had, gravely, made the wrong decision. The doctor looked at me quizzically as I awkwardly said I couldn’t remember which way to put the gown on. “Well,” he said tactfully, “Usually it’s the other way.” USUALLY. Like there are other women out there desperately holding the gown together at the front, showcasing their complete lack of medical gown intuition. There were a few awkward moments when the doctor was testing my reflexes and listening with his stethoscope. Wardrobe malfunction! I am not generally a shy person and the doctor has seen it all before, but still, there is something unsettling about unexpectedly flashing the doctor while just sitting on the examining table as he asks questions about general energy levels and if I’m still getting my periods.

That’s One Way To Get More Business

With all the snow, and the usual thawing and refreezing cycle, sidewalks and parking lots have been absolutely treacherous. A few months ago I came across an elderly woman who had just fallen and, subsequently, broken her arm while walking on the sidewalk. She was just sitting there on the sidewalk, waiting for the ambulance to arrive. If you can make it down the sidewalks without such calamity, you need the agility of a mountain goat to climb over the huge snowbanks surrounding them. Walking the dog is becoming an adventure, is what I’m saying. The other day I saw a man slip and nearly bail right in front of a chiropractic/ physio clinic. Sheer ice…right in front of the clinic.

All The Ladies In The House Say HEY

Happy International Women’s Day! I may not still have my posters of the Feminist Manifesto and the fish on a bicycle, but the principles are still there (automobile-related incidents notwithstanding.) Keep on keeping on, you beautiful women. Let’s continue to lift each other up and support one another. xoxo

How To Be A Better Person

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Did you realize that TODAY is March 1? How did that happen? Well, time keeps on ticking and meanwhile it keeps snowing…but I’m not going to go there today.

What I was thinking about is that today – MARCH 1 OMG – marks two months from traditional New Year’s Resolution beginnings. Did you make any resolutions this year, and, if so, how are they going? My own resolutions ran the gamut from the somewhat vague – focusing more on single tasks, practicing more patience and mindfulness, being grateful every single day for the amazing gift of LIFE – and the concrete – squeeze in more movement every day, read more, play the piano once a week – and I’m happy to report that I am doing all those things. Well, the piano doesn’t always get played weekly but I did learn how to play the theme song from Cheers, which has been a goal for a long time and, frankly, is not very difficult. I could have done that years ago!

My resolutions, such as they are, are a work in progress. This isn’t like the time I resolved to learn how to bake bread or use my decorator tips or how to play Where Everybody Knows Your Name – it’s not a One and Done thing. I think that one of the great benefits – and part of the appeal – of New Years Resolutions is that they make us BETTER. Whether our resolutions have us paying better attention to our physical health and wellness, or to attaining or honing a skill, or to becoming better equipped emotionally to make the world a happier place, there is generally a common theme: we want to be better people. We want to be better, we want to do better.

This is the premise of my friend Kate Hanley’s latest book: How To Be A Better Person. You may remember that Kate is the author of Stress Less, which I reviewed last April with an anecdote about becoming curious instead of furious when a delivery man became incredibly angry with me. How To Be A Better Person is similar in format to Stress Less, and reads like a combination self-help book and checklist for life. There are over 400 simple ways to make a difference in yourself and the world, each with a little box beside it so you could, presumably, check one off each time you achieve them. I did not do that, but I did dog-ear each page when I thought hey, that’s what I can write about. Don’t judge me! It’s my book, I’ll dog-ear if I want to. But there were so many good little nuggets in there that my book is now one big dog-ear. I could write a whole blog series on this book! I’ll try to be succinct.

The book is broken up into eight sections: See the Positive, Connect With Your Feelings, Be Healthy, Show Love, Give Back, Stay Committed, Work Well, and Let Go of Your Stuff. I will admit that I liked the Be Healthy section the best, because I was already doing literally everything in that chapter: eating lots of fruits and vegetables, drinking lots of water, doing yoga, moving more, getting outside no matter what the weather (thank you Barkley for the motivation on that one). But I think the other chapters, that felt more difficult when it came to self-awareness, are more helpful.

For example:

If there ever was an Important Parenting Reminder, it would be this. We are all walking our own paths, and no one can do it for us. This is HARD though, when it comes to parenting, but so very important. This reminds me, a bit, of that famous “Your children are not your children” poem from Kahlil Gibran, which you can read in its entirety here. “And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.” How often do we think of our children as extensions of ourselves? Their failures become our failures, their successes are our successes. Sometimes we may even find ourselves living vicariously through them, through our own dreams and visions, and those dreams and visions may not have any import to them. Of course we must show we care and give them tools to make good choices, but those choices are theirs and theirs alone. This is so difficult, particularly when our children are different from us. Actually, it’s difficult when our children are similar to us too, as we can really take to heart their experiences and way of thinking. Their lives are their lives, and they must live them. I mean, think back when you were a teenager – you had choices to make and consequences to live with, and those decisions were yours and yours alone. We must let our kids do the same – even if it kills us!

Which brings me to this:

Sometimes my kids will be telling me something about their day, and I will become panicked about a small detail, whereas they are calm and cool. Clearly, this is my own issue and I’ve made it about me, and not them. Triggers – we have to learn what sets them off and how to deal with them. Just like I know that I cannot eat even one potato chip or else I will be scarfing down the entire Costco sized bag in minutes, a trigger can lead to regrettable outcomes.

But, it can also lead to good outcomes if managed properly. I was at Costco on Monday and as usual, the parking lot was a disaster; not only are there giant snow piles taking up parking spaces, but the usual “corral, what corral?” mentality was rampant. My friend Janet (HI JANET) always says that weekdays at 2:00 are the Magical Costco Times in terms of lineups and general busyness, but unfortunately 2:00 means that there are four hours for people to leave their carts willy-nilly all over the place, and on Monday there were many carts scattered throughout the lot, taking up parking spaces and generally destroying my sense of Parking Lot Feng Shui. Do I talk about shopping carts too much? Probably. But clearly this is a trigger for me; I can stand in long lineups with patience, I can let people go ahead of me, I will take a spot farther from the door to free up others for people less mobile, I will smile and chat happily with the staff.

But when it comes to seeing people walk their carts over to where ten other carts are scattered in the parking spaces and leave them, when the CORRAL IS RIGHT THERE, OMG, IT’S TEN STEPS AWAY, well.

I weep for humanity.

But as Kate says in the book, use it as a reminder to do something nice for yourself. For the amount of time I spend grocery shopping, I will be able to do many nice things for myself when I see disasters like this. Maybe I should book a pedicure. As it was, I put my bins in a cart – when you can’t do a lot, do a little, says Kate – and I practiced my ujjayi breathing as I went into the store. I bought two packs of my favourite cherry tomatoes, I smiled at a cute baby and his mama, I practiced gratitude for the ability to buy healthy and delicious food for my family.

And then I glared at a perfectly-able person shoving his cart in the direction of a bunch of other errant carts, causing a pool-table ripple effect of carts, some coming close to hitting parked cars. I glared and glared, and then, like a crazy person, gave a giant smile to another person who was actually returning his cart to the corral. GOD BLESS YOU, SIR. I hope he felt my positive vibes and I hope he had the best Costco Karma ever.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Growing Old Gracefully Edition

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This morning I went downstairs to switch the laundry, and by the time I came back upstairs – three minutes, maximum – it was snowing again. Clearly, it has been a long, cold, snowy winter when the dusting of snow feels like a complete personal betrayal by the local meteorologists. This wasn’t in the forecast! I thought indignantly. What are they DOING to us? Oh, it’s been consistently so cold for so long – mornings in the windchill-factor-in-the-minus-twenties and afternoons in the minus-teens – that I cannot even envision a time in the future that will not be cold and snowy. And there are months left to go before winter can be, definitively, over. Meanwhile I have friends in the States who are discussing their crocuses and having to put on the air-conditioning, and I feel like saying something mean about their government before bursting into tears, which is a very lame and unproductive reaction because if there is one thing no one can control, it’s the weather, and complaining about it is futile. Also, it’s boring and depressing. So let’s move on!

What I really wanted to talk about today is the idea of Growing Old Gracefully. My friend Jeannette (HI JEANNETTE) put the thought into my head. There is a fine line, I think, between Growing Old Gracefully and Giving Up The Ghost. There is also a line, maybe a thicker one, between Growing Old Gracefully and Pulling Out All The Stops. I hope I am growing old(er) gracefully; I recognize there are some things that will never change, unless I Pull Out All The Stops and get botox or some kind of surgery, my face is on a One-Way Street To Wrinkletown. And that’s okay, but I would like to look a little bit less Crypt Keeper, and so I think a good moisturizer and eye cream are key.

I am also – as you know – not ready to embrace my Old Grey Mare Hair, yes, I know it’s in vogue and yes, I realize I could save a lot of time and money if I just let things go au naturel. I am not ready and frankly, I may never be. I have girlfriends who have gone the highlights-to-gradually-go-grey route, and while I think they look amazing – seriously, you should see my gorgeous friend Amy (HI AMY) – it’s just not for me. I spent almost four decades being a brunette, and now I am embracing my feisty redhead years. This era may last until I am in my grave. Or urn.

I really love beauty products and makeup, and I think it’s very important to be putting my best face forward. I don’t leave the house without makeup or without doing my hair, albeit sometimes the makeup is minimal and the hair is in a simple bun. I want to be clear that I do this for ME first and foremost. I feel my best when I look my best, and even when I’m just hanging out at home doing housework, I still like to ensure that my scrubby yoga pants are coordinated with my sweatshirt. I know not everyone will agree with me here, but I don’t feel like myself without making some effort to look nice.

I know that this is controversial as well, but I also – this is secondary but important – like to look good for my husband. It’s definitely not in vogue to say, as a woman, that you enjoy looking good to a man, but it is the truth for me. I like that my husband finds me attractive, but there is something else here too: he puts in an effort to look attractive for me as well. This is not to say that my husband has a specific SAY in the way I look – I wouldn’t, for example, cut my hair into a funky style if he thought it was a good idea. I also discount his opinion about clothes that I like and he doesn’t, as in this top:

I think this top is very cute and flowy, but he hates – HATES – it. He’s not alone; my friend Jen (HI JEN) thought it looked a little Halloween-ish, and my friend Liv (HI LIV) sweetly said that she doesn’t love it. But I do and will continue to wear it, husband’s preference aside.

This is a long, roundabout way of saying that I realized today that I haven’t written a Nicole’s Favourite Things in a long time, and I have many favourite things I would like to share with you, particularly since many of these things are inexpensive drugstore purchases that are, frankly, amazing. Just a little reminder that this is not sponsored, I have not been paid to review these products, and I bought them all myself at full (or store sale) price. Without further ado!

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Growing Old Gracefully Edition

My Hair Therapist

June will mark my sixteenth anniversary with my beloved Hair Therapist, and since I will have been married sixteen years next month, I think this is significant. She is a magician. As an example, please witness my latest “before:”

And the “after.” God, I love that woman. I also love car lighting.

She has me hooked on this Loma Fortifying Repairative Tonic that I massage into my hair before blow-drying. It only takes a drop, and it makes a huge difference in the health and texture of my hair.

Even Tone Moisturizers

One of the greatest marketing moves ever, in my humble opinion, was that of the Neutrogena shampoo. Remember how they would say that your hair gets used to shampoo and if you switch it up every once in a while by using Neutrogena shampoo your regular product will work better than ever. How brilliant is that? You don’t have to switch from the stuff you love, just use ours every two weeks and your experience will be better. Well, you have to admire that kind of marketing. I ran across this Neutrogena Rapid Tone Repair at the drugstore (okay, it was in the beauty section of Superstore) and I thought I would give it a try. I will tell you this: it’s amazing. For anyone who has an uneven skin tone, blotchiness, old scars, this is like a miracle cream. It’s also supposed to work on wrinkles which may be the case, but I’ve really mostly noticed it on my skin tone. This is a night cream; they have a day version but I’m waiting until I use up the Garnier Clearly Brighter before making the switch. I’ve been using the Garnier product for a while and it’s okay, but it sure hasn’t given results like the Neutrogena one has.

Eye Cream

If you have been reading this blog for any length of time, you will know that I have been searching for a good eye cream FOREVER. I have used Kiehl’s, Clinique, Dr. Brandt, and even, yes, Rodan and Field’s. I have not been overly happy with any of them; the difference is minor in my eye bags, and often by mid-day the creams have made my eye makeup run so I look even worse. I picked up Garnier Ultra-Lift Miracle Sleeping Cream on a whim; it wasn’t very expensive in comparison to the other things I’ve tried, and also it’s meant as a night cream. I was a little skeptical BECAUSE it was a night cream, but I tell you, people, this actually works. I look significantly less exhausted, even though I get the exact same amount of sleep every night. This is me this morning, in my harsh bathroom lighting. When I took this I would have been up almost six hours, after getting approximately six-and-a-half hours sleep.

Do I still have eye bags and wrinkles? Yes! But they are so much better than they used to be.

Side note: do you love that necklace? My sweet thirteen-year-old bought it for me when he was on his Quebec trip. He really couldn’t have chosen better, I don’t think. Bonus favourite thing!

BB Cream

I love BB cream and my go-to is either Smashbox Photo Ready or Garnier, which I’ve discussed in detail. However, when I go to the gym, I get really sweaty and my makeup runs, which I hate. Enter this new BB cream – it’s expensive, relatively speaking, so I only wear it on gym days – Garnier BB Light, which somehow, through magic and/or science, matches your skin tone. It doesn’t run even when I (brag alert) run 6.405 km in 40 minutes and get so sweaty the treadmill has drips on it.

Sweaty, yes, but the makeup is still there!

I had much more to talk about today – food that makes you glow and age well, nail products, the very best thing I’ve ever done for my hair health – but it will have to wait for another day! Until then, let me know if you have any products you swear by and what your feelings are about Growing Old Gracefully. I’d love to hear from you! xo

Three Dozen Reds

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I often get pitches in my inbox to feature Tips/ Products That Would Interest My Readers, and I could have the Pleasure of Writing About Them Free Of Charge, and, of course, these are not things that I do. However, on occasion something pops in my mailbox that I find myself enjoying so much that I HAVE to share.

In the weeks leading up to Valentine’s Day, I received a few pitches to write about romantic things like dealing with late-winter plumbing issues or the differences between water softeners and water filters, and are these people actually spying on me? Am I on camera right now?

But the email that really stood out was the one with the subject title “Eating Pizza In Bed Is Top Relationship Deal-Breaker!” I stared at that subject title for some time; I didn’t want to click on the email because I desperately wanted that to be true. The TOP relationship deal-breaker. Not incompatibility, not infidelity, not differences in managing personal finances. EATING PIZZA IN BED.

Sadly, I did click on the link and further, this was a relationship deal-breaker in terms of pizza eating, not the intricacies of human partnerships, and although it’s been some time since I was in the dating world, I can’t remember having any issues with how people eat pizza and how pizza consumption would affect my feelings towards them. Unless, I guess, that person shoved an entire piece in their mouth and proceeded to have a conversation while chewing, but that applies to any kind of food, not just pizza.

The other deal-breakers were listed as picking the cheese off the pizza, not eating the crust, asking for anchovies and/ or pineapple on the pizza, and eating pizza with a knife and fork. I plead guilty to the last one, because I am one step away from becoming Mr. Pitt, but we order pizza about once every two years, so it’s a pretty moot point. We have homemade make-your-own-pita-pizzas weekly, though, and I always use utensils; my husband still likes me so I think I’m okay.

But really, who eats pizza in bed? Who eats anything in bed? This might be my own personal thing but I like my bed free of food particles. Those duvet covers are a pain to wash and I don’t want to be dabbing remnants of pizza or anything else off of my pillows. I swear, even if I was a married lady on Downton Abbey, I would prefer to come down for breakfast rather than be served a tray, although if that was the case, someone else would be dealing with toast crumbs or Kashi cereal in the blankets. Still, it’s the principle of the thing.

I would kick ANYONE out of bed for eating crackers, make no mistake.

Years ago I read one of those click-bait articles that was titled something along the lines of “The One Thing Successful People Do Every Day” and that one thing was making their bed. I am a huge proponent of this and my kids have been making their own beds for many years, which apparently bodes well for their future successes. I literally don’t understand why people don’t make their beds – no judgments here, I just don’t understand. It takes less than two minutes, it looks neat and tidy, and at the end of the day, I want to get into a nice neat bed, not a jumble of sheets and blankets.

To me, THAT would be a deal-breaker, since I don’t think a non-bed-maker and a bed-maker could really live together in harmony. Although, now that I’m thinking about it, maybe they could make it work, not unlike a gardener-and-flower relationship. I mean, my husband deals with the fact that I cannot handle the TV turned up past a certain quiet volume, and I deal with him folding the tea towels in halves instead of in thirds, so who knows? We all have our relationship crosses to bear, I guess.

Well, this post certainly went a different direction than I had intended. I had intended to write about Valentine’s Day, and how some people place a lot of importance on it and others scorn it, and what happens when the twain meet? My friend and I were talking yesterday of Valentine’s Days Past; she worked in a grocery store and remembers hordes of men rushing in at 5:30 pm on The Day to buy crappy grocery flowers. I remembered one year visiting my parents in Palm Desert and my mom and I went shopping. I wanted to buy some bras at Victoria’s Secret – this was before the chain came to Canada – and the store was flooded with men, with crazed, desperate looks in their eyes. I didn’t make the connection until I realized it was February 14, and noticed the salesgirls had their hands full choosing probably inappropriate items and ringing up gift cards.

For me, Valentine’s Day is a nice excuse to make heart shaped baked goods – this year, a raspberry cake and sugar cookies – and to relentlessly tell my husband I choo-choo-choose him.

This year, though, he ordered me three cases of red wine, which is probably the greatest gift ever given in the history of mankind. Unless, I guess, it was four cases, but that seems excessive. I sent him texts with the bee emoticon so I am just going to say that I got the better end of the deal.

Happy belated Valentine’s Day, my friends. May your wine be rich and plentiful, and your pizza be delicious and eaten with a knife and fork at a table, just like god intended.

Bonus Barkley-on-a-snowy-day picture, just because I love you. In the spirit of Valentine’s Day (a day late!).

Theory of Behavioural Economics and How It Applies To Shopping Carts

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We are having a Winter Storm and Snow Event in Calgary today; there is so much snow and the roads are treacherous, so my class today was cancelled. I am enjoying the novelty of having a forced day at home; my husband even took the kids to school as the van was stuck in the garage. It’s kind of nice to have to slow down and just putter around, but it will be even nicer to get back to regular programming, as it were.

Yesterday I went to Superstore for groceries – Wednesdays are my Designated Superstore Days – and it appeared that the entire quadrant of the city was there, stocking up before the Big Storm. It was a tiny taste of what must happen when there is a big East Coast storm or a hurricane; I couldn’t believe the craziness at 11:00 in the morning on a Wednesday.

As I laboriously shoved my heavy cart through the snowy parking lot, putting all my weight into it with my torso nearly parallel to the ground, I recalled a conversation I had with Jake during the Christmas break. He had accompanied me to Superstore, a rare occurrence, and he wondered, in passing and in a very casual, making-conversation kind of way, why we had to put a loonie in to get a cart.

I’m sure that Jake didn’t realize that his casual musing would lead to a Can Opened Worms Everywhere situation, but that was the result. I told him that if people are forced to make a returnable deposit on something, then they will behave in a completely different manner than if there is no natural consequence to their actions, see also: bottle depots. Without an economic incentive, people rarely behave in a way that benefits society; I was this close to describing the Invisible Hand And How It Can Be Applied To Shopping Carts, but one only needs to spend thirty seconds in a Wal-Mart parking lot to examine this phenomenon.

Or Costco. Costco! The Costco parking lot is constantly the Land Of The Lost Carts, but a few weeks ago I was startled to see this:

What is the appropriate punishment for this crime? I mean, the least that could have been done was to do what every other lazy Costco shopper does when eschewing common courtesy and morality and shove it to the side, rather than blocking an entire coveted parking spot. I took the cart myself and at the end of my shopping, lovingly returned it to its corral, thinking you’re home now with your family, in a not at all unbalanced way.

A friend of mine gently pointed out that possibly that cart was left there for my use by a postpartum-y mama with other crying children in the car. Another friend said that perhaps there was an emergency or illness. Certainly, those things could be true. I am not a monster. I realize that there are extenuating circumstances that could result in a cart not returned to a corral; when I am at the Co-Op I always offer to return or take a cart when I see an elderly person leaving it to the side, and I even keep the passive-aggressive tone out of my voice. Here, let me take that for you. I offer to help new mothers and I take carts back myself, not – obviously – for the glory, but for my own Parking Lot Feng Shui.

It certainly can be the case that it is sometimes not physically or emotionally possible to return the cart, even if the person got the full cart that far, and pushing an empty cart is much easier, particularly, in this case, when there is a perfectly clear and dry parking lot. So, my compassionate and empathetic friends may be right.

However, I don’t think so. I think that this cart is just the most egregious example of a terrible epidemic of laziness and thoughtlessness, given that the entire parking lot was full of errant carts. In fact, I think that there were more carts outside of the corrals than in them, and there are, I should point out, corrals conveniently located in nearly every section of the parking lot. True, there may be a small number of people who are just unable, but those people are not even a patch on the giant quilt of non-returners.

I weep for humanity.

Interestingly, this has even been studied by anthropologists, which makes me feel better about my own weird obsession. My friend Simona (HI SIMONA) sent me this article, and what stands out is this quote:

I don’t return my carts on principle. Although I also don’t block parking spaces – I put them on islands and curbs. My assumption is that if the cart wrangler could get a better job, he would. So I’m doing my part to keep him gainfully employed.

This sentiment is gross. It reminds me of people who throw garbage on the floor of a theatre so that the janitors have a job to do, or people who make giant messes of sweater displays so that the salesgirls won’t be bored on the job. Why don’t we all just pee on the floor of public bathrooms so that the cleaner can keep busy, or throw trash out the window so convicts will be able to pick it up on their work-release programs? LET’S KEEP A LITTLE HUMANITY, HERE, PEOPLE. The cart wranglers STILL HAVE TO TAKE THE CARTS FROM THE CORRAL INTO THE STORE AND THAT IS NO SMALL JOB LET’S NOT MAKE IT HARDER ON THEM.

It reminds me of when I was a teenager and I had a job at Pizza Hut. The two managers, I can see them still: Tim, with his sandy, curly blond hair and tiny stature, and Dave, with his slicked-back black hair and sweat stains on his shirt. Both enjoyed a general asshole demeanor. Neither of them could have possibly been older than 28, but they were both getting Managerial Bonuses for running the Pizza Hut with minimum staff, so every weekend was a complete gong show that would result in customers reaming out the cashiers (me) for their pizza taking too long or their table not being cleared quickly enough. Every single weekend we would deal with complaints that sometimes made me cry with their vitriol – and yet, we were always short-staffed. One might say that the short-staffing meant that the teenage staff was gainfully employed, but it was awful nonetheless. Tim and Dave, you were terrible.

But this brings me to a question: why doesn’t Costco retrofit their carts to be coin-operated? You can bet, with the certainty of Adam Smith, that the carts would be returned and peace would return to the parking lot.

Once, Twice, Three Times An (Old) Lady

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It is Groundhog Day, so is it okay to say that this week has been Crazytown Bananapants, even though I started out my last post in that exact way? Yes? Okay.

Something happened yesterday that got me thinking; what I wanted to write about today is not the topic that I am about to embark on, so my Theory of Behavioural Economics As It Applies To Shopping Carts will have to wait until next time. There’s a teaser for you! I just like to keep things fresh, and my readers on the edge. Next time, I promise.

What I want to talk about today is Aging.

I’m going to come out and say it: aging does not bother me. For one thing, I would rather age than be dead, which is the only other option. Also, I think life becomes more interesting, colourful, and nuanced with experience and age. Sure, my roots may be grey for two out of five weeks, sure, I might feel like the Crypt Keeper some mornings, but in general, I think with age comes not only wisdom, but interesting experiences.

Side note: my friend (HI DENISE) told me that I’m actually very lucky to be so grey, because “granny grey” is the hottest new colour trend. I looked at her with extreme skepticism, but it turns out that she’s right. I should have known, she’s actually one of the most fashionable people I know, you should see her shoes, for the love of god. My hair therapist informed me that many, many girls and women are opting for granny grey, and honestly, who knew I was so in vogue? Certainly not me. But I am not ready for that step. It’s one thing to be a sweet young thing with stylish granny grey hair, it’s quite another for me. This is not unlike wearing knee-length, round collared, floral-print dresses; if you are of a certain age it might look cute and hip, but if I tried that, I would look like my own grandma wearing a housedress and would only require a pair of sensible shoes to complete the ensemble. Maybe a strategically-placed pin so as to ensure no possibility of cleavage would be revealed. And a slip.

Do women still wear slips? I remember it being a little risque, at least in my family circle, to not wear a slip. Does anyone wear a slip anymore? Do they even sell slips anymore, now that Sears is no longer in business? I have so many questions.

Another side note: I had brunch with a group of women that I hadn’t seen in eight years. Eight years! (HI LADIES) The years have been exceptionally kind to them; not one of them looked any different from what they looked like eight years ago. All of them retained their youthful, unlined faces. In particular, one of the women who shall remain nameless for the purposes of privacy but who knows who she is (HI) is turning fifty this year and she does not look a day – NOT ONE DAY – over thirty-five, with her dewy, glowing complexion. This is in comparison to me, one step away from becoming an apple doll. Jealousy is an ugly thing and yet, I cannot help but be envious, and to stock up on retinol.

Ah, vanity.

But something happened yesterday that made me feel older; older than not really knowing who anyone is who is featured in People magazine or on awards shows, older than having a discussion about arthritis with some of my students, older than realizing I am now dependent on my daily dose of special vegetarian glucosamine, older even than when I realized my friends looked the same as they did eight years ago and I, most assuredly, do not.

I got called “young lady.”

Now, it’s not like I don’t get called “young lady” often – after all, I spend a lot of time at the Co-Op, and older gentlemen often refer to me as such. But there is something very different about being called “young lady” by an octogenarian who is thanking me for moving my cart so he can reach the high-fibre bran cereal, and a fellow who is much, much younger than me.

Frankly, it made me feel like I was in the nursing home and a nice intern referred to me in that jokey way that people do when it comes to the elderly, as a “sweet young lady.” Or maybe in a would you like to be wheeled over to the arts and crafts room, young lady? We’re making macrame owls! kind of way.

Don’t get me wrong, I was not in any way offended by the greeting. I would never be offended by a kind and heartfelt greeting, which is what it was. And anyway, what’s the difference between that and being called “miss” when you’re clearly a “ma’am?” Or being called Senorita when you are obviously a Senora? Technically, there is no difference, and YET THERE IS. I cannot put my finger on it but the difference is as gaping as a plunging neckline in need of a pin, or maybe a nice brooch.