Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

Fall is short for “snowfall”

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It is now officially fall and as I write this, the cold rain is falling, soon to turn into wet snow. Well, the beautiful summer was nice while it lasted, so I won’t complain.

I might complain just a little though. Wednesday was the first cross-country meet of the year, and it poured rain before and after the race, with a temperature of eight degrees. At least it didn’t rain during, I thought. I ran into a friend who looked at me, aghast. What are you WEARING? she said. I had come prepared; two thick sweaters, my good-to-minus-30 long winter coat, legwarmers, winter boots, gloves, scarf, and an umbrella. It worked, I wasn’t cold. My son, on the other hand, wore his regulation shorts and t-shirt, refusing to wear the regulation sweatpants and hoodie for the race, as it would “slow him down.” Sweatpants are not aerodynamic, MOM.

Fortunately I had spoken with my friend (HI FLORENCE) who is a seasoned cross-country mom; she had warned me that the parking situation would be a nightmare, and she was correct. There WERE a few hundred kids there from all over the quadrant of the city, and so you can imagine the driving/ parking/ people cutting off other people to squeeze into a non-existent parking spot situation. I was prepared, and yet I wasn’t prepared, as I had no idea of the magnitude of the meet. Anyone who knows me knows I have a bit of anxiety about driving to new places, finding parking, and getting lost, since my sense of direction is – to understate things – very poor. However! I was brimming with a bit of confidence since on Tuesday I parallel parked my minivan into a tiny spot, without hitting the curb or crying, and spacing myself perfectly between the two other vehicles. People, it was a thing of beauty. I felt like this:

But without the cigarette.

Despite that boost to my self-esteem, I did not feel equal to the task of parallel parking in the pouring rain, with a line of forty cars behind me, and so I found a spot on a side street instead.

Speaking of driving, whatever happened to the thank-you wave? Personally, if someone courteously lets me merge in busy traffic, or makes space so I can change lanes smoothly, I give at least one – and usually two – thank-you waves. The first wave is to acknowledge the courteous behaviour, and the second wave comes after I have successfully merged/ changed lanes. ALWAYS. However, when I pay it forward with my own courteous driving, I receive a thank-you wave less than five percent of the time. Why? I mean, I am driving courteously for reasons other than to receive a thank-you wave, namely to have good karma and also to not be an asshole, but it is NICE to receive one.

People, let’s teach our children to do the thank-you wave. At this point in my life, I am generally so happy and, frankly, astounded to receive a wave that I give the single-hand-off-the-wheel acknowledgement of said wave. It’s like the thank-you note to the thank-you note, which may be overkill but I regret nothing.

Tonight is the parents’ meeting for the Quebec French trip; I seem to be in some kind of denial/ disbelief that yes, my thirteen-year-old is actually going across the country without me and without the ability to text me. Deep breaths. I suppose this is character building, or training for the day when the little birds eventually leave the nest, texting or calling once a week out of a sense of duty.

Deeeeeeep breaths.

The World Is A Rich Tapestry

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You guys, it is happening. IT IS HAPPENING. Remember back in 2012, when I predicted we would see a resurgence in the popularity of the names of our mothers’ generation? I have now made the acquaintance of two young women named Barbara and Brenda; these lovely ladies are, I believe, the lead-offs in the trend that we will certainly see unfold over the next fifteen years. Mark my words, Barbara and Brenda will soon be joined by a whole host of Beverlys, Donnas, Corrines, Carols, Lindas, and Susans. IT IS HAPPENING. There is a very good chance that our granddaughters will be Bev and Barb.

Then, thirty years down the road, Bev and Barb will have their own granddaughters, and we will suddenly be swarmed by a sea of Jennifers, Julies, Michelles, Melissas, and, yes, NICOLES.

It is mind-blowing, people. Mind-blowing. Just as mind-blowing as seeing girls wearing pleated, high-waisted, belted shorts with little crop-tops. None of us learn from previous generations, we do not, not one bit*.

* Since the writing of that post, I have fully embraced skinny jeans and their beautiful ability to pair with tall boots. I know that the tide is starting to change, however. I know this because I saw a young woman, named neither Barbara nor Brenda, wearing straight-cut jeans with a belt, loafers, and a cropped top, taking me back to the days of “going dancing” and drinking vodka “slimes” out of a pitcher. Young women are the Indicator Species of fashion, as we know. Bodysuits will not be far off, MARK MY WORDS.

But I digress. One thing that we also do not seem to learn is that some things recur on an annual basis, and every year we see individuals become extremely combative with regards to the desirability or otherwise of these recurring events. For example, for every individual who lives for summer there is another who loathes the heat, for every skiier and snow-lover there is a Reynaud’s syndrome sufferer who dreads the long, cold winter (i.e., me). At this time of year, we see people firmly divided into two camps: those who love all things Pumpkin Spice, and those who do not. And of those who do not, there is a subsection of people who feel the need to disparage and shout from the rooftops how much they hate Pumpkin Spice, and how Pumpkin Spice things need to die in a fire and that Pumpkin Spice is the worst of everything and a harbinger for death by White Walkers. Or something. These are the same people who proclaim loudly that they Hate All Sports while everyone else is enjoying the Super Bowl, or that The Olympics Are A Giant Waste Of Money And Everyone Who Watches Them Are Contributing To The Decline Of Society.

We all know these people. We know, we know, such pleasures in life are just too bourgeois or pedestrian for you, special snowflake that you are. It’s not enough for you to NOT partake, you must mock all those who do. I am not a Pumpkin Spice fan myself, but far be it for me to ruin it for any of you who do love it (Rebecca, enjoy your PSL!) (HI REBECCA). While you’re enjoying your Pumpkin Spice lattes and Oreos and breakfast cereal, I will be over here waiting for MY favourite flavour season – Mint Chocolate. It’s coming.

As Swistle says, Do Not Yuck Another Person’s Yum. (HI SWISTLE). Some of us have the Cilantro Is Delicious gene, and some of us do not, and our differences make the world go ’round. The world is a rich tapestry, people.

Speaking of rich tapestries, I have been on a roll with reading excellent books lately (go read A Man Called Ove! It’s excellent.). One of the things I started doing this year, in a bid to be more like Allison (HI ALLISON), is recording the books that I have read so I can look back on the year, and recommend ones I loved. It’s also a good way to see how much I read in a year – so far I am on book number 59. I have the Calgary Public Library app on my phone, so as soon as I hear of a book recommendation I immediately put it on hold. I love the library. I love how I can read things I wouldn’t want to necessarily buy, and I love exposing myself to different genres. Once in a while, though, I pick up a book that has rave reviews and it turns out to be…how shall I say this…not for me.

I just finished a book that sounded so promising – two estranged sisters, coming together under the mysterious circumstances of their missing sister and the murder of one of their husbands – it was touted as a thriller and a mystery and I guess it was. If you really like books about the abduction, torture, rape, and eventual murder of young girls, then this is the book for you! If not, well, maybe learn from my mistake and don’t read Pretty Girls. I was somewhat traumatized after finishing it – I kept reading in the hopes that it would get better and be less violent, and IT DID NOT – and so I was happy to pick up the book I had put on hold a while ago, Difficult Women by Roxane Gay. It is a collection of short stories, and the very first one featured the abduction, rape, and sex slavery of two preteen sisters. So that wasn’t the best for my state of mind.

However, I would still very much recommend Difficult Women as it is a very compelling series of short stories; even the first one is not graphic, not really. I have had four books on hold suddenly all come in, and the next one I am reading is a “light British novel about life around a bookshop” so I am really hoping for no details about abduction, torture, rape, or murder.

September is the real New Year

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How is everyone doing, on this first week of back-to-school? So far, so good in the Boyhouse; maybe not from Barkley’s point of view, though.

Yesterday after drop-off, Barkley and I stared at each other for a while, in our silent house. But one cannot stare at the dog all day, humming Landslide or Time After Time. No, one must embrace new eras and new situations, and to that end, I taught a class, prepared for another, baked cinnamon loaf, made from-scratch cookies-and-cream ice cream, did laundry, and tidied the house. After taking Barkley for a walk I did indulge myself by staring blankly out the window for a while, but only for a little while.

We had the Best Summer Ever; it was full of fun and activity and relaxing and family time. Truly, a wonderful summer. But as all things come to an end, here we are in September. This month to me always feels like the time to make a Fresh New Start, even more so than New Year’s. I had an epiphany of sorts, and that – along with a dear friend in health crisis, who is reminding me every day of her strength and also that we need to embrace every day and live our lives with joy and intention – has had me making a few changes in my life.

For one thing, I quit my part-time-work-from-home job, mostly to focus on yoga teaching, but also because I felt that it was weighing on me; having to always be attached to my computer or phone, always checking updates and never really being off the clock, in a haphazard and unpredictable way. Yes, I realize that quitting a job to lighten my heart is a very privileged thing to be able to do, but the truth is I am a very privileged person, I am extremely fortunate, and I would like to use that in a way that best helps other people. To that end, I am focusing on yoga teaching, being more available for friends and family, and taking the time to be a better person in general. As the saying goes, you can’t pour from an empty cup, and I plan on having a very full cup to pour from.

The other thing I have been doing is moving away – yet again – from negativity and toxicity in my life. There is no room in my life for toxic people, both on-and offline, and so I’m making a concerted effort to move away from them. There’s “being compassionate to people who are obviously hurting” and then there’s “these people are killing me softly.” It’s a fine line.

So more time outside, more time cooking and baking – and good thing, because my children are bottomless pits – and more time doing things I love like reading or learning a new song on the piano. More time with my family, and to that end, what is everyone doing now on Sunday nights, now that Game of Thrones is over?

I won’t post any spoilers here but I can see nothing for it but to gradually make my way through the entire series in time for the next half of the seventh season in 2018 or 2019. Also, if I may be so bold to recommend The Verge and their recaps, they will bring you great joy. Spoilers, obviously.

Side note and slight digression: do you know how often a yoga teacher will say “bend your knee” in an average week? I don’t know either, but it’s a lot. Every single time I said it, for the past six weeks, I’ve thought of Game of Thrones, and I’ve had to literally pull my thoughts back to the present moment, and not think of – NO SPOILERS, BUT I’M DYING HERE – you know what.

This is not a spoiler at all, but what is UP with Cersei’s hair? She had her hair cut off literally seasons ago, and even in the odd GoT time spectrum, it has been a long time. It should really not look so ridiculous. Is she CUTTING it to look like that? Is she trying to look like the late Joffrey? Is this some kind of weird foreshadowing? I don’t know but if I were that actress, I think I’d be requesting a new wig.

Seriously, it’s grown out maybe an inch since her Ultimate Walk of Shame, and within that time – NO SPOILERS, IT’S KILLING ME – a lot has happened. Enough to get a new hairstyle.

Well, the original question was What Do We Do Now Until 2019, and my answer has been to binge-watch the final season of House of Cards with my husband. I’m not quite done yet – NO SPOILERS, AGAIN – but my gracious, you guys. My gracious.

In any case, I hope September is starting off smoothly for you, and until next time, xo.

Book Review: All Our Waves Are Water

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I was asked by Harper Collins to be a part of a virtual book tour for the memoir All Our Waves Are Water by Jaimal Yogis, and, although you know I’m not a “sponsored post” kind of girl, I am definitely a “book review” one. So I was thrilled to receive it and read this memoir about the path of enlightenment through surfing.

First, a confession. When I received a description of the book, the first line was as follows:

For Jaimal Yogis, the path to enlightenment is surfing. 

Now, reading that I assumed that Jaimal was a kind of yoga on a surfboard. Oh! I had never heard of Jaimal Yogis, that sounds interesting. But no, that is the writer’s name. His last name is Yogis. This is all explained in the introduction of the book, and I felt a little stupid after reading that. So Jaimal is a man, not a type of yoga. Just wanted to clarify that.

Normally the type of books I am attracted to feature a main character that I can relate to in some way. I would say that Jaimal Yogis and are I are pretty much opposites, and in a lot of ways, that made for a very interesting book. Jaimal hard-core travels around the world in an attempt to find himself, heal from a breakup, and surf a particular kind of wave, which I didn’t really understand, not being a surfer. Don’t get me wrong; this is no Eat, Pray, Love. This is a guy who literally spends months in India renting out a “coffin sized” room in a two-room shack, showering by heating a bucket of water on the stove and then scrubbing himself down with it, pouring canful by canful on his body. Given that I just got back from a vacation in which I was treated like a princess every second of the day, I couldn’t really relate to his one-dollar-a-day lodgings. Even back in my adventure travel days, I didn’t rough it very much, and so I give him credit where credit is due. It’s one thing to go on a journey to find yourself while living the high life, it’s quite another to befriend a displaced Tibetan monk and live with him, teaching him how to sing Country Roads.

Even though the story line wasn’t quite my cup of tea, there were a lot of highlights that I really enjoyed. Nothing makes you appreciate our western infrastructure quite so much as reading about riding on a bus on a bumpy, mountainous roads with no guardrails between the bus and rocky cliffs. The bus came to a screeching halt, and it was discovered that one tire had nearly fallen off, and the bus driver fixed it by taking a bolt from each of the remaining tires, and using those bolts to repair the fourth. This kind of makes my “I need to get the oil changed” crisis seem somewhat less urgent.

More importantly, there is a lesson to the book that I have been thinking of a lot lately. It’s a lesson in the ordinary, enjoying the little things in your everyday life. When you can breathe in fresh air after a rainfall, when you can sip that first cup of coffee, when you can enjoy just sitting with your children and not thinking about the million things on your to-do list, you can embrace happiness and joy in the ordinary. From the book:

We all know that we could go any day: a car accident, a brain aneurysm, a heart attack, a bullet…We know this and yet we don’t know it. We move through life as if we have forever, as if we can take the stroll around the block, the cappuccino made unusually well, the Tuesday fusilli, for granted. We live as if there will always be a million more like this. So we filter out the details. We go on stressing about accumulating achievements, the big impressive things. 

If you take anything away from that book – or even from this blog – I think that should be it. Take some time today to clear your mind and focus on the little, beautiful, ordinary joys in life. The rest can sort itself out.

 

It’s 5:00 pm and I have had no one bring me cocktails.

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My husband and I took a quick trip to Cabo San Lucas, leaving the kids behind with my parents. I know! I can’t believe it either. We had a great time, the kids had a great time, and now it’s all “back to reality” and attempting to both reestablish a routine AND savour every moment of this last week before school, which seems like two non-intersecting circles of a Venn diagram.

We arrived home on Sunday night and yesterday I spent the day in that post-vacation state where you wonder if you were actually on vacation or if it was some kind of dream. I popped out to the grocery store before teaching in the morning, and the Co-Op was changing their aisles around. How long was I gone, I wondered, while staring at the shelf where the rice stick noodles used to be. I stood motionless in one aisle so long that an employee asked if I was okay. I’m okay, I just don’t know where the fusilli is.

Anyway, I am now feeling extremely refreshed and rejuvenated; I think that I was maybe a bit burned out before going away. Princess problems, I know. Even though it was just a quick trip, it was incredibly relaxing. I mostly did nothing except cool off in the pool, drink refreshing cocktails, chat with people, eat, and read. I have been on a roll of reading excellent books, and I also read one not-excellent-but-still-decent book that will be reviewed soon, as I am involved in a virtual book tour. Stay tuned!

One of my favourite things about travel is meeting people. Everyone has a story, to me, everyone is interesting. Most of the people I met were from the southern United States, and I stand firm in my opinion that Americans are the friendliest people on earth. However, they do not spell Toffifee correctly. I took this photo of the candy in the international departures part of the airport, because I was shocked – SHOCKED, PEOPLE – to see it spelled Toffifay. TOFFIFAY! Heresy! But several American friends have told me that is the American spelling and I just don’t know what to do with that information.

I suppose it’s a tomato tomahto thing, and as long as we all eat them by peeling off the caramel layer, and then eating it layer by layer, all is well and harmonious. If not, well.

In addition to all the lovely Americans, I also met a newly-single girl from Calgary. We chatted for a long while, and when I recommended to her the above book, The Choices We Make, she gave me the side-eye. “Is it a self-help book?” she asked with a sigh, and when I replied that it was not, it was an excellent novel, she told me that since becoming single her friends have inundated her with self-help books. That seems to me a little presumptuous, and I don’t think I would ever recommend a self-help book to anyone, in any circumstances.

Also a little off was the group of young men wearing red ball caps with what I THOUGHT said “Make America Great Again” but actually said “Make John Single Again.” Guys. In the first instance, I thought that it was pretty rude and insensitive to wear a hat like that in Mexico, of all places, but when I discovered what they really said I was kind of appalled on a whole new level. I mean. I presume this is a stag, where the fellows are lamenting their friend’s bachelorhood, but really. Really, guys. To make matters worse, the fellow I presume was John wore a cap saying “Make Me Single Again” and I feel for his bride-to-be. John’s fiancee, this may not be the best start.

Unless – UNLESS – he was actually newly single after a break-up and his buddies were cheering him up but a) that seems unlikely and b) this was a resort geared towards couples, and if they wanted the newly-single guy to get lucky there are probably better places to do that. Improbable, but not impossible, I guess.

The kids are back to school in one week, and I am feeling a bit melancholy about it; fleeting time, I miss them when they are gone all day etc., etc. I can’t complain though. We have had the most beautiful summer ever; I cannot remember another summer this warm, sunny, and lovely. It’s my favourite season and I’m trying to think of all the things I like about fall, but alas. The leaves are already turning and our front yard is sprinkled with dropped leaves; I don’t feel ready but here we are. We cannot stop time, as my trip to Costco today reminded me. Just in case anyone wanted to buy one of these they are now available – only 117 days until Santa is here!

Bathroom Renovation, Five Years Later

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The leaves are starting to turn on my Mayday tree, and even a few are falling to the lawn. All of you in places with long, unbearably hot summers probably cheer this, but Calgary summers are short and, although this year has been a beautiful, beautiful exception, not hot. In any case I love summer and wish it was longer, but alas. We are where we are, and in any case, time stops for no one. I shouldn’t get the cart before the horse, however, because there are a few weeks left.

The beginning of August marks seventeen years in our house – seventeen years! I ran into a friend of mine who is doing renovations on her house, and I mentioned that we have extensively renovated our 1962 bungalow; in fact, we have done two complete kitchen and two bathroom renos yes, in the same house, while living in the house. Longtime readers may recall our last renovation and all the adventures that came with Ron and Don, the brother team who did them. Ron, the general contractor who had a terrible temper and constantly swore at his crew, and Don, the dim-witted brother who didn’t seem to know how to use a level, much to Ron’s chagrin.

Who names their children Ronald and Donald, you may be asking yourself, and I will point out that it used to be quite fashionable to name twins with rhyming names, like Sherry and Terry. Perhaps their mother wished they were, in fact, twins.

That last renovation was completed five years ago; at the time I had been the recipient of some passive-aggressive commentary about our use of granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Apparently those two things are destined to be the avocado appliances and orange linoleum of this generation. Well, five years in and I still mostly love our renovations; I thought I would share a few photos and see if there would be anything I would do differently.

Before I start with that, let me describe to you the house we purchased, seventeen years ago. The living area was painted Pepto Bismol pink, with shiny, forest green trim. The fireplace was 1970s gold rock, the kitchen had homemade cupboards that stuck every time you opened or closed them, and there were five different – but coordinating – patterns of wallpaper in the kitchen. Included in the kitchen was a dishwasher that used to be mobile, but was now stuck in a cut-out piece of the cupboards, the main bathroom had brown fixtures, the basement was panelboard and linoleum, and there was panelboard and outdated wallpaper in the bedrooms. You may be asking yourself why we purchased the house in the first place. Well, it was in a neighbourhood we loved – and I still love it; walking distance to schools, library, shopping, a swimming pool, great community feel, and large, beautiful trees and lots. This fixer-upper was within our budget and we did all of our first renovations ourselves, saving a ton of money, back in the day when we were just newlyweds starting out. I have fond memories of all the work we did, because we did it ourselves. Nothing bonds a couple like scraping wallpaper directly off drywall. I also have fond memories of the later renovations, because someone else did them, and did them quickly and – sailor-like swearing aside – efficiently. Shut up and take my money.

The very first thing we did in our house – other than paint over the pink and green – was to get rid of the brown fixtures in the bathroom. We replaced them with basic white ones, and a plain vanity from Rona. When we did our big renovation five years ago, we decided to get rid of the bathtub altogether. We have a bathtub in our second bathroom, but no one really baths in our house – we are a family of shower people. So, we put in a big steam shower instead!

I’ve never regretted that decision for a second. We put in a fancy rain-showerhead, a regular hand-held showerhead, and a “body spray,” which to my knowledge no one in our family has ever used. If I was to do it over again, I would skip that fixture. I love having the bench in the shower; it makes it easy for product storage and also for shaving my legs.

One thing I love about our bathroom is the shower floor – like standing on perfectly smooth river rock. It was something I saw in a friend’s house, and I immediately coveted it.

The granite countertop and trim on the bench matches that in the kitchen and around our house – but more on that next time! For now, here is the bathroom before we did the big reno:

All in all, I’m very happy with our bathroom, five years in. Next time: the kitchen!

The One Year Shopping Challenge OMG Seriously

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I am taking a deep breath as I write this, to say that yes, I am going to do the one-year shopping challenge. I know! I know. No new clothes for a whole year, starting retroactively August 1. Can I do it? I don’t know, but I’m going to try.

I will say this: if you tell people that you are going to go clothing-store-free for a year, the reactions will be threefold. First, the people who aren’t really shoppers, but are highly enthusiastic and supportive of your venture. Second, the people who ARE shoppers, and who say that they could never do that themselves, but yet are highly enthusiastic and supportive of your venture. And third are the people who passive-aggressively say that they sure hope you can make it through this struggle and difficult time, princess, and is your tiara a little too tight? Your diamond ring too heavy? That’s tragic.

Oh, people of the internet. Never change.

I am making a few exceptions to this challenge: clothing makes perfectly acceptable Christmas and birthday gifts, and I will still ask for items for those occasions. I am not a monster. Also, I will buy myself the following clothing items as needed: winter driving gloves, a bra, socks, and underwear. My current pair of winter gloves is in a sad state, and this is more an item of necessity than anything else. I have also needed a new bra for quite some time, since my – ahem – size has changed. However, it could be another year before I buy one because, as my husband said, I have to actually a) go to the mall, b) go into a store, and c) have it fitted. I am definitely an online shopper, versus a mall shopper, and so I will probably put that off as long as I possibly can. Socks and underwear are self-explanatory. I am not going to skimp on those things.

Anyway, just because I am not shopping for myself doesn’t mean I am not shopping at all. This week, I did some back-to-school shopping with the kids; mostly supplies, but also new running shoes. People, they wear men’s sizes now and I can tell you that things have suddenly gotten expensive. Hoo boy. Shoe shopping with children is always a hellish prospect, but when you know that the end result is going to be the loss of your sanity AND a large sum of money, well.

Speaking of hell, last night I was grocery shopping at Superstore while the kids were at karate. It is very convenient, since I have an hour to kill and the store is very close to the dojo. Sometimes I zip through the store, finding everything I need and feeling happy and satisfied. Other times, like last night, I feel like I have literally descended into hell. It was madness, madness, I say. Shelves were half-stocked or not stocked at all, there were piles of random items in baskets at the end of every aisle, all of the aisles have been changed around so that not only was it difficult to find ordinary things, but the shopping experience was kind of gross because of it. I mean, cereal should not be right beside cat food. Tofu and other vegan products should not be beside the live fish and crab tanks. Sesame oil should be in the “international” aisle, not with the ketchup. I am always very tired on Thursdays, but last night I was completely frazzled and exhausted by the end of it.

I know, I know, princess problems.

The upside of shopping at Superstore is that there is always something entertaining and interesting going on, either in the store itself or in the parking lot. Right before the Canada Day weekend I was walking through with my giant cart, and a man was going back to his car with nothing whatsoever except an economy-sized package of toilet paper and a plunger. No bag, no cart, just those two items. He walked tall and proud, and I salute that man.

Last night as I was going into the store, a fellow drove by slowly with a 1970s-era convertible Corvette. He must have noticed me looking, because he gave me that nod and smile that is the universal code for “How YOU doin’?” Still got it, baby. But as he drove away I noticed his license plate: 4KROOZIN. Again, I salute you, sir, for embracing who you are with no apologies.