Category Archives: Books

The 100 Day Project Begins

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100 Days of Music

My friend Kari (HI KARI) discussed the 100-Day Project in a recent post, which is exactly what it sounds like: a commitment to 100 days of something. That something could be any kind of creative or meaningful practice, and I knew I was in immediately. But what could I do? I’m not an artist, and although I think about what I’m writing every day, it isn’t beneficial to me to actually write every day. It feels like a cheat to choose yoga or walking in nature, which I do every single day anyway. Then it occurred to me: piano. I play piano most days, but not every day. I always feel like I need a block of time to play, which can be insurmountable some days.

But then I remembered my concept for Yoga Club, in which the only requirement for participants was one posture a day. Why not apply this to the piano? I don’t have to play a concerto every time I sit down; I am committing to at least one song – maybe more! – a day for 100 days. I started on May 5, which will take me to August 13. I got so excited about this that I ordered a new songbook, and in the meantime, I’m working on some old and new favourites.

Do you want to join? You don’t have to be a blogger, you just need to commit to something you’d love to do. My friend Michelle (HI MICHELLE) is doing 100 days of postcards, and I cannot WAIT to see her creations. Wouldn’t it be fun, all of us doing something together, but apart?

The Bears Are Back In Town

I was reading on the deck with Rex at my feet, naturally, when I heard a little rustle from the neighbour’s property. Typically this wouldn’t even register, since there are myriad quail and other birds rustling around in the grasses and shrubs, but Rex suddenly jumped up and started barking frantically. He backed his body into mine and continued barking, as I looked to see what it was. I couldn’t see a thing so I settled back down in my chair, but he continued to be very agitated. At that moment my son opened the door and asked me to bring myself and Rex inside because a mama bear and her cub had just been beside his car.

Eeep!

He had been taking something to his car and wasn’t thirty feet away when he spotted them, and after the bear made eye contact with him, she and her cub disappeared down the bank. I guess we are back in Bear Season. I’m trying to be zen about it: there are no reports of black bears attacking humans, and they would only attack a dog if they felt threatened. Rex has had ample opportunity to prove that he will not go near bears, unlike the deer who he will chase forever. There’s nothing for it but to continue to keep the garbage locked up in the shed, scan the yard before letting Rex out, and deep breathing.

Walking Each Other Home

I had JUST come off a week of coyote encounters, so I didn’t really need the bear excitement. The most dramatic of the encounters occurred by the creek on the walking path, when a very brazen coyote was just walking along the path, with people and dogs everywhere. When I encountered him, Rex and I were 85% of the way through our loop, and there were two options: to keep going and hope that Rex’s size and loud barking would get him to leave the path, or to double back and do almost the entire 5 kilometre loop again. As I stood there, a very nice couple offered to walk with me until we passed the coyote, strength in numbers, etcetera. The coyote did disappear into the greenery as we passed, with Rex giving the warning bark, and I appreciated the couple and their kindness so much. It reminded me of Rumi, and that we are all walking each other home.

Speaking of such, I have been loving Simple Abundance so much; May has been a month focused on the concept of home. I found this quote so interesting:

Was Edith Wharton a Buddhist? Probably not, but it reminded me of the concept of the body being a rental house for the soul. Also, I did not realize that Edith Wharton was an interior and landscape designer! People contain multitudes.

Weekly Reading

Speaking of multitudes, I have a couple of very opposite, yet weirdly similar books this week.

Animal Instinct. I came for the pandemic sex, I stayed for the incredible commentary on motherhood, marriage, and the need for connection. Wow, this book! It was recommended on Catherine Newman’s substack, and it is definitely a Pandemic Sex Book, although I will say that the sex descriptions are much less graphic than what I’ve seen in so-called spicy open door romances. Here’s the synopsis: it’s spring of 2020, and newly divorced Rachel makes a profile on a dating app. She is fresh off of a demeaning and lonely marriage, and she is DTF. No strings! She is also kind of a tech genius and starts to create an AI bot based on all the good characteristics of the people she meets, kind of a perfect person. And she gets a little obsessed with chatting with this perfect, non-existent person. This story has so much to say about the pandemic and how it shaped our relationships with screens and virtual contact. It has so much to say about motherhood, and how a woman can be a good and devoted mother and a sexual being at the same time. It has so much to say about marriage and the division of labour, childcare, and the mental load. It has so much to say about not giving up on love, even after heartbreak, and giving life a second chance. I loved it so much, but it is NOT for everyone (Lisa, I’m looking at you, HI LISA, do not read this). If you are at all triggered by descriptions of early pandemic days, and particularly the thought of other people having a lot of casual sex in spite of public health protocols, this is not the book for you. Personally, I have come to believe that the loneliness epidemic and the long-term effects of isolation on mental health were terribly destructive, but some might find the furtive booty calls upsetting. Also, like I said, this book is not as graphic as many contemporary romances, but it’s still pretty descriptive. In particular, there is an anal sex scene that still has me inadvertently clenching and Kegeling whenever I think about it, including this very moment.

Mansfield Park. Speaking of Lisa, she had mentioned a book called This Motherless Land, which, she said, is a retelling of a Jane Austen novel. I immediately and stridently said that I WOULD NOT READ IT because I LOATHE retellings, but then remembered that I had been currently reading Caroline, and also once upon a time I loved Bridget Jones’ Diary. And also the movie Clueless. And then I looked into This Motherless Land and discovered that it’s a retelling of Mansfield Park, which is a deep cut, it felt like. Given the synopsis it seemed like a fascinating book as well. So in Lisa’s comment section, I came full circle, and put This Motherless Land on hold at the library. This is a long way to tell you that while I waited for it to come in, I pulled out my old copy of Mansfield Park, which I haven’t read since the Great Jane Austen Pandemic Reread in 2021. I think this is a really underrated Austen, with its interesting themes of infidelity and colonialism, of the British class system and the creation of wealth via unethical means, of kind generosity for its own sake and the indolence of inherited wealth. One might think that the two books I read this week have nothing in common, but that’s not true: they both involve social propriety and othering people who choose differently, loneliness and forbidden love. There is also a joke about admirals, with their rears and vices, so really, what else is there to say? Jane, you saucy minx!

Devotions. There is no good segue here, but I have been reading a poem or two prior to my yoga practice, and have once again finished this, the most wonderful collection by my very favourite poet. She brings so much meaning, and finds so much glory in the natural world, and I love her so very much.

We all know that I too find so much glory in the natural world, but I could do with a little less of the large predatory mammal part of the natural world this week. My nerves! There has been a lot of deep breathing and meditating, believe you me, and in the meantime, I’ll be assuaging my feelings on the piano. Do join us for the 100 Day Project! We’re all in it together. xo

Cinco Para Cinco de Mayo

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Smile More

The city is so beautiful right now; all the flowering trees are in bloom, and every day is a little bit more colourful. When Rex stops to sniff, so do I.

We came across a little painted rock on the path the other day.

We both obliged.

It was funny to find that rock as I had just finished reading a chapter in Radical Acceptance about Unconditional Friendliness, and the importance of smiling to one’s spiritual health. Buddha, the book noted, is always portrayed with a smile to illustrate this concept of Unconditional Friendliness, which means to accept and meet feelings, people, and situations with openness.

In recent years women in particular – for good reason – have bristled at being told to smile, but honestly? Smiling is pretty great when it’s on your own terms.

I was in Costco last week and it was pure chaos – this may break the already well-established record for futile statements – but I made a conscious effort to smile amidst the pure mayhem that is endemic within that store. I will tell you that while it did not make the people blocking the aisles to get their free samples of sausage slices move out of the way, it did make the entire experience better. I welcome you with Unconditional Friendliness, I thought while maneuvering around them, I say yes to this experience. My Unconditional Friendliness was challenged in the dairy section, and wavered a lot in produce, but I kept my probably-low-level psychotic smile as I breathed through it. By the time I got to the checkout, there were no lines, and so I am going to conflate correlation with causation for my own purposes.

Science, Bitches

Typically I listen to podcasts while walking with Rex, and most of the time those podcasts are as frivolous as can be, but occasionally I will listen to something serious about economics, history, or science. I was listening to an Ologies podcast about Salugenology, the science of social prescriptions that increase health and well being, the categories of such being nature, movement, art, service, and community. It was a fascinating interview and I immediately put the author’s book, The Connection Cure, on hold at the library. I haven’t been reading much non-fiction lately, but I feel sure that I will love this, and you can be sure that I will report back.

On the topic of non-fiction, I have been approached more than once in the past several months by people asking about my newly-written, but not yet ready for publication, book. Strangely, the conversation immediately pivots from I heard you wrote a book to I never read novels, only serious non-fiction. I read to learn. Which, well. There is a lot of subtext to unpack there, and a lot of opportunity to practice Unconditional Friendliness.

Bad Bad Bad Bad Books, You Make Me Feel So Good

The great thing about books and literature is that there is something for everyone; there are countless books of all subjects and genres. On yet another walk I was listening to yet another podcast, this one by two women who have a romance publishing company. One of the hosts said something interesting: when it comes to books there is a subset of people who consider a book “bad” if one of the characters makes a decision that the reader disagrees with, or if the characters are not likeable.

I don’t belong to that subset. Three of the best books I read in 2024 had extremely unlikeable characters, or characters who made dubious decisions. Sometimes those characters were in both categories. Long Island Compromise was a work of art, it was so smart and so funny and such a great commentary on our society, and every single character was absolutely atrocious. Margo’s Got Money Troubles concerned a very young woman who becomes pregnant via an affair with her professor, and opens up an Only Fans account in order to make money. My Last Innocent Year also concerned a professor-student relationship that could never end well. I guess I’m part of the subset who really enjoys ambiguous endings, unwritten backstories, and layered stories. This is not to say that I don’t occasionally enjoy a cheery, predictable romance or bouncy celebrity memoir or even a serious non-fiction tome that increases my personal font of knowledge! But the only way I will consider a book bad is if it bores me, if the writing is poor, or if it doesn’t make sense. And yet, books are so subjective, one person’s I’d give it zero stars if I could is another person’s five star winner. It’s an interesting distinction: is the book objectively bad, or did you just not like it?

Taking It Personally

I saw a quote on Kari’s blog (HI KARI) that really resonated: If you understood how frequently people cope by projecting, you would learn to take nothing personally. I feel like we all should remember this all the time, both in our interactions with others, and our own responses to situations.

I’m a Creep, I’m a Weirdo

Speaking of responses to situations, a couple of days ago I had a notification of a comment on one of my Facebook posts. I looked at it, and then looked again.

This post was on the Calgary Yoga Community page, in response to a request for studio recommendations, and was written by me in November 2015. The commenter, John R Evans, says I was wondering if we could be friends, I already tried sending you a request, but it didn’t go through. Accept my sincere friendship, and please add me up if you don’t mind. THANKS.

First of all, Unconditional Friendliness does not extend to robot men on Facebook. Second of all, I’m sure the request did go through, but I would have instantly deleted it after seeing that the poster in question “works at US Army Fort Knox” and is “widowed.”

Of course I know this is not a real person, but still, it feels creepy. I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo. Fun fact: until only a few years ago, I thought the lyrics were I’m a creep, I’m a winner, and I always thought that’s so strange, it makes no sense, I guess they’re being sarcastic? Maybe I’m the weirdo here!

Weekly Reading

Caroline. This was a reread for me, first having read it in 2018, but it my friend Laura (HI LAURA) who, I have mentioned many, many times, runs Melissa Gilbert’s Modern Prairie book club, told me that this was their latest pick. So why not? It retells Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House on the Prairie, from Caroline’s point of view, with a few interesting and notable changes – those that were based on actual census data and not from Rose Wilder Lane’s libertarian editing. The wider story is about manifest destiny and fear of the indigenous people who they were displacing, which is hard to swallow these days. Still, I found it was such a thought-provoking read about what an incredibly difficult struggle daily life was back then. It must have been terrifying to be a woman – pregnant, no less, with two small children – riding into the unknown in a covered wagon and trying to figure out how to just make do with what she had. Imagine being pregnant and unsure if there would be a woman to help you with the birth! The reliance on good neighbours and how the very few that they had literally saved their lives is fascinating as well, and is something that is glossed over in the original books to reinforce the “pull yourself up by the bootstraps, be indebted to no one” theme.

Death By A Thousand Cuts. Last summer when my friend Jen was visiting (HI JEN), we went to Mosaic Books, and I picked this up. Then I had a flood of library books, forever, so I put it on my shelf. Friends, I forgot about it! When Jen was here last weekend, she was perusing my shelves for a book to borrow while she was visiting, and found it, still with the receipt. Didn’t you buy this book when we went to the bookstore? I had to right my wrongs and read it immediately after she left. And wow, wow, wow! It is so good! This collection of short stories is compelling and moving, and I devoured it. Every time I’d finish a story I’d think okay, just ONE more. Incredible! And the author is Canadian! You can bet I’m going to read everything she’s written now.

Three Days In June. This author is hit or miss with me, and this book was definitely a hit. I really enjoyed this tiny slice of life that concerned a woman attending her daughter’s wedding, with the day before and after. There was so much humanity in this little story, I loved it.

I wish you could smell these photos! You’ll just have to imagine – they are glorious! I hope you have a beautiful week, friends. xo

Tiny Seedy Miracles

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After two solid weeks of festivities and celebrations, this morning I’m looking down the barrel of a quiet week of regular programming. We had our dear friends as houseguests this weekend, which always feels like a holiday, and then we hosted a barbeque for about thirty people on Saturday night.

It was such a great time with wonderful people, and I achieved my lifelong dream of having a Nifty Fifty sheet cake.

Friends, the weather here has been gorgeous, so much so that I actually planted my tomatoes, peppers, and basil. I know. I know! I’m walking on the wild side, danger is my middle name, etcetera. But the forecast is great and the worst case scenario is that I would have to cover the garden beds in the event of frost, which seems unlikely at the moment. My arugula, spinach, kale, and cilantro are all up; I was low-key fretting that my zucchini and butternut squash hadn’t made an appearance, and then suddenly they both burst into life. My zinnias have sprouted as well, and now I’m just waiting somewhat impatiently for my onions and nasturtiums. Why aren’t they up yet? I asked my son, who calmly reminded me that I had planted those seeds less than a week ago, and that they may need a little more time.

Is this about to become a garden-centric blog? Yes, probably. But isn’t it just amazing, isn’t it just AMAZING that you can put a seed in the ground and then it becomes a plant? Yes, I know this is how the horticultural world works. But still! It feels like a miracle every single time!

Speaking of miracles, Michelle (HI MICHELLE) had mentioned a book called Simple Abundance: 365 Days to a Balanced and Joyful Life. As soon as she mentioned it I knew I had to have it; usually I would start a 365 day book on January 1st, but a) I didn’t want to wait that long as I purchased the book in March, and b) I thought it would be fun to start it on my birthday. It’s a really wonderful book and I highly recommend it – along with Michelle’s blog, which brings me so much joy I cannot EVEN. Sometimes when I’m feeling glum or blue I will go to some of her dollhouse posts and just look at them until I feel better. I recommend this course of action for anyone who needs a little pep in their step these days.

Weekly Reading

In addition to Simple Abundance and a book that I will surely be talking about at length in the future, Radical Acceptance, I finished three books this week.

The Flatshare. This was such a fun, cute rom-com! A woman answers an ad for a flatshare – the trick is that she is only in the flat in the evenings and weekends, and he is in the flat during the day (he works the nightshift). So they go for a long time without meeting, only communicating via post-it notes. You know how it ends – happily! There is a great cast of characters and a lovely, chosen-family subplot. This was so enjoyable and fun to read.

Rental House. I really enjoyed this very quirky book about two couples who come from very different backgrounds: one is a Chinese immigrant, the other left his small town in the Blue Ridge Mountains, they both met at Yale. It really explores two sayings: a) you can’t choose your family, and b) when you marry a person, you marry their family. The first half was wildly funny and I couldn’t stop laughing. The second half was more poignant and moving. I found so much of it resonant, particularly the sense of duty that one can have to one’s family, while at the same time being exhausted by that sense of duty. Family of origin versus family of creation, how can they coexist? It was a great read.

Watermelon. The day a woman has her first baby, her husband tells her that he’s leaving her for another woman. This book starts off with a bang! After this shocking news, she goes back to Ireland to stay with her family, and all is going smoothly until her husband comes for a visit and attempts to reconcile. This is a long book but it doesn’t feel long, it’s a pretty quick and easy read.

Speaking of gardening, don’t you just love these wildly insane flowers? Our landscaper planted them in the fall, when we were in Italy, so I had no idea what to expect from them. At one point they looked like tiny coconut palm trees. I’m here for this weirdness! Have a wonderful week, friends. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Nifty Fifty Edition

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In honour of my milestone birthday, this month’s Favourite Things consists of fifty favourites throughout the years. Buckle up, buttercups!

Age 0-10

  • Pink was my favourite colour and, by association, flamingoes became my favourite bird after I saw them in the Calgary Zoo. When I grew up, I wanted to be a pink flower.
  • I loved dolls and the dollhouse my grandpa built for me when I was about four. I had a Cabbage Patch Kid named Kora Candi, who my mom risked life and limb to get for me for Christmas 1982, and for whom my grandma made a large wardrobe. I also loved my Cheer Bear and a stuffed rabbit named, unoriginally, Mrs. Bunny.
  • I loved The Muppets, particularly Miss Piggy, who I have an affinity for to this day. (Moi?) I lived for weekly episodes of The Muppet Show and still love The Muppet Movie and The Muppets Take Manhattan, but The Great Muppet Caper is a hot mess.
  • The only other show on television that I really loved was Lorne Greene’s New Wilderness; whenever I see Canada geese – which is daily – I remember his voice talking about how they mate for life, and now the featured newly-widowed goose will be alone forever. Sob.
  • I don’t remember not being able to read; according to my mother, at age two she would give me new library books and I could read them. Busy Busy World by Richard Scarry was one of my favourite books; I loved thinking about different countries and cultures. Because of this my grandma made me a (pink, naturally) quilt in which each square featured a little girl from a different country; the Canadian girl had a Mounties uniform, for example. Years later when I read Cat’s Eye, so much of it was resonant but especially when Elaine learns about different countries. She thinks I can go there someday, I don’t have to stay here.
  • Speaking of going places, the height of luxury, for me, was the rare time our family would stay in a motel that had a pool. What could be more amazing than a pool? A waterpark! Swimming was one of my very favourite things.
  • Winter was something to look forward to because of skating. I took figure skating lessons as a child and I would also spend many hours on the outdoor rink behind our house, sailing around and feeling free, imagining, somehow, that I was Princess Diana. Did she figure skate? I don’t know. I was enamoured with her and at age six, was woken up at 2:30 am by Grandma Fern to watch the Royal Wedding.
  • I loved The Bobbsey Twins, A Little Princess, and, especially, Little Women. To this day I have a soft spot for those books. I loved everything by Laura Ingalls Wilder and LM Montgomery, but especially the last two Emily books and Jane of Lantern Hill. My interest in stories about girls’ lives continues to this day.
  • I knew how to read music from learning the recorder at school, and after figuring out where middle C was located, I would painstakingly plunk out tunes on my grandparents’ piano. At age ten my parents got me my own piano and lessons, and playing the piano is still one of my Favourite Things.
  • Also at age ten, I was introduced to the Sweet Valley High series, and I spent a lot of time imagining that high school would be JUST like that. Was I ever in for a surprise!

Age 11-20

  • It was summer of ’86, and it was a hot night in Estevan, Saskatchewan. My brother, cousins, and I walked from Grandma Fern’s house to the Orpheum movie theatre, famous for its bone-chilling air-conditioning. I was wearing jeans and an off-the-shoulder pink short-sleeved sweatshirt, my hair was ill-advisedly cut to resemble Madonna’s in Papa Don’t Preach. Those characters were going to Top Gun. It was a formative moment for me, and I have never enjoyed an action movie like I did this. The theme song is now my ringtone, and at least weekly I think and you, asshole, you’re lucky to be here!
  • Also formative, but distressingly so, was my obsession with Priscilla Presley’s memoir Elvis and Me, which was later a (terrible) made-for-TV movie. It was, in my young mind, so romantic! Elvis’ buddy asked the FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD Priscilla, in a German army base cafe, if she’d like to come to a party, and there the epic romance started. Hoo boy, that did not age well.
  • Aging much better (although in some cases, NOT GREAT BOB) were the movies that I loved: Dirty Dancing, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, La Bamba, Can’t Buy Me Love, and Say Anything. When Harry Met Sally came out when I was 14 and superseded Top Gun as my favourite moving of all time.
  • My favourite TV show was The Wonder Years, and, relatedly, I loved all sorts of Sixties music, notably The Doors and The Beatles.
  • Concerts were so cheap then, and I went to many, including INXS, Depeche Mode, 54-40, Billy Joel, Barenaked Ladies, and The Grapes of Wrath, the latter of which hail from Kelowna. I have a six-degree separation from the man I had such a crush on back then, Tom Hooper. I daydreamed that I would marry him and live in Kelowna, despite the fact that he clearly hated it and couldn’t wait to leave. Well, I did marry someone from Kelowna and he’s a rock star in my mind.
  • School dances were so exciting and something to look forward to, even if someone was always crying in the washroom.
  • My aunt gave me a copy of Mists of Avalon when I was fifteen, and that made my obsession with Elvis and Me look like a passing glance. King Arthur’s court, but from the women’s point of view? Yes please!
  • I was a dramatic kid and teen, and my flair for it found a home in drama class and in school plays. My biggest role was Amanda Wingfield in The Glass Menagerie; I copied my Alabaman cousin’s accent to land the role.
  • I was a teen in the late eighties, early nineties, when giant hair and lots of hairspray were de rigeur. I had Clairol hot rollers and, paired with Revlon’s Love That Red lipstick, I was ready for a day at school. It was in high school that I discovered I was really good at math, particularly calculus, so imagine a red-lipsticked, giant-haired me, going back to first principles.
  • I read my first Margaret Atwood book – The Handmaid’s Tale – when I was in high school, spurring a lifelong love for her writing. In my first year university, I was introduced to our other national literary treasure, Alice Munro, through her Lives of Girls and Women. To this day it’s a favourite, and I’ve read and loved every single thing she wrote. I also read Pride and Prejudice, which started my adoration of Jane Austen and all of her books, but particularly Emma and Sense and Sensibility.

Age 21-30

  • I discovered I loved group fitness classes in university, most notably step aerobics, but also boxercise.
  • Going to grad school was such a great experience for me; I received my master’s in economics with a 4.0 GPA.
  • While in economics, I met a man who became my friend for a few years before we started dating. Reader, I married him.
  • But before we got married, Margaret Atwood – whose entire catalogue I had already devoured over and over – published The Blind Assassin, which is my all-time favourite book.
  • A very close runner-up, and my ultimate comfort read, is Diary of a Provincial Lady, which I picked up completely on a whim at a used book store and have read so many times that my copy has fallen apart.
  • My boyfriend/ future husband and I went to Egypt, where we rode camels and donkeys as well as really sketchy trains, took a tiny cruise down the Nile, and climbed to the top of Mount Sinai to watch the sunrise.
  • Living so close to the Rocky Mountains meant that most weekends were spent going on hikes out there, soaking up the most beautiful place on earth. We got also married in the Rockies!
  • I loved making my own grown-up paycheques. I liked my jobs, especially when I was working on the trade floor. The job was difficult and the hours were long, but the money was great and I loved dressing up every day.
  • We bought a cozy, fixer-upper house in a beautiful, tree-lined neighbourhood, where we lived happily for twenty-three years.
  • Speaking of which, at age 29 and 30 I received the best gifts of my life: our sons. Being their mother has been the great pride and joy of my life. Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH) asked recently if I ever wanted more than two children, and the answer to that is no. I always wanted two, and when my younger son was born I knew our family was complete.

31-40

  • When I was 32, I decided to try an Ashtanga class at the Yoga Shala, as a little break from mothering two very little boys. That one class changed the whole course of my life; I started a daily practice in their Mysore program, and I still practice that way – albeit at home – to this day. I met so many wonderful friends there as well, and I think with so much fondness and nostalgia of our early, silent mornings, practicing together.
  • Barkley came into our lives at 13 weeks, and while in retrospect it seems a little bonkers to have such a young puppy with three-and-four-year-old boys, I would never change it for the world. He was our loving fluffy stuffed animal come to life, and everyone who encountered him loved him.
  • At age 33 I started a blog, and that also changed everything! I met Hannah and Allison, who are to this day my rock and safe space (HI HANNAH HI ALLISON), along with so many other great friends.
  • In addition to my personal blog, I also wrote short essays for YMC, and they eventually hired me as one of their weekly food writers, where I was the Meatless Mummy. I was there for four years, and it was really a great experience; I worked with so many wonderful women (and two men!).
  • After a few lonely years at home with the kids, I was absorbed into the Circle Moms when my oldest started kindergarten; so named because after school we would all stand in a circle and chat while the kids were on the playground. Later, the Circle Moms became the Brentwood Babes.
  • After the one-two punch of having two children in less than a year and a half subsided, we started travelling to kid-friendly destinations with them. They were great travellers, and our favourite place was Maui. We have been lucky enough to visit there six times now.
  • We also spent a lot of time at my parents’ place at the lake, particularly during the summer, where the weather could go from hot and sunny to single-digits and hailing, all within a day. There was always lots of time on the boat, and lots of board games.
  • Our neighbourhood proved to be a great one to raise kids in. My sons were able to walk to every school they attended, there was shopping and the library and the pool all within ten minutes’ walk.
  • A great privilege of my life has been to spend time with my sons; all through their childhood we’d spend so much time at the Calgary Zoo and Science Centre, playgrounds and Calaway Park, splash pads and sledding, movies and Just Dance nights. I treasure the time I spent immersed in their daily lives.
  • My 40th birthday party was an absolute blast; it included being serenaded Top Gun-style by my husband’s buddies and also chugging Baby Duck after midnight.

41-50

  • My favourite trip we ever took with the kids was to Disney World and Universal Florida; they were the absolute perfect age for it and it was so much fun.
  • I decided to take yoga teacher training at age 41, and I was one of the oldest in the class.
  • Since I had been involved in the yoga community for so long by this point, I was able to pick up so many classes right away. My friend and mentor Sharyl (HI SHARYL) had me assist her in Yoga for Stroke Survivors, where I learned so much about bodies and resiliency, and I eventually solo taught that class, along with Ashtanga, restorative, hatha, and my favourite, Yoga for Seniors. I am still in touch with many of my beloved students.
  • We travelled as a family with our very dear friends – our chosen family! – to Mexico many times pre-pandemic. When kid schedules became too complicated, my husband and I took couples’ trips to Mexico with our friends sans kids, and that was incredibly fun too.
  • The teen years are often vilified but I loved them; I loved seeing my kids grow up, graduate high school, and become the fun, responsible, wonderful adults that they are.
  • When we said goodbye to Barkley, I said Never Again! But three months later, Rex came to our family, and wow, I cannot imagine life without our Big Silly, our Doughnut, our cartoon dog come to life.
  • Moving provinces was chaotic, but when the dust settled, so did I. I love where I am so much. Our new house is an absolute dream, complete with my beautiful garden. I am so happy here.
  • I worried so much about making new friends when we moved here, and all that worry was for naught. I have such a beautiful circle of friends, women who constantly amaze me with their fun-loving personalities, their generosity, their kindness, and their ability to show up for one another. I am truly so fortunate.
  • Italy is my favourite place I have ever visited, and going there with my husband was a highlight of my life.
  • I knew I wouldn’t be teaching yoga when we moved here, but I wanted something to fill my time, so I decided to write a book! I took a series of novel-writing courses, and through that, and my blogging friends, I met some very supportive women who are also writers.

Thank you, dear readers, for all your support and kindness! I’ve been reflecting so much on everything I am grateful for, being fifty years on this earth, and I am so grateful to all of you. xo

Nifty, Fifty

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Today is my fiftieth birthday! I can finally say I’m Nifty and Fifty!

When I was very small, I had the thought process shared by many small children with regards to what “growing up” entailed. What do you want to be when you grow up is a ridiculous question to ask a three-or-four-year-old, and yet it’s incredibly common. I mean, preschoolers really do not have all the information with regards to career paths.

But when I was that age, I had a really firm idea about what I wanted to be when I grew up, and that was a flower.

I don’t think it’s that unusual for a small child to equate “growing up” with a species-shifting free-for-all. I loved flowers, therefore I wanted to be one. I wanted to be a pink daisy-like flower, my face would be in the centre, and my arms would be the leaves. I can still picture it, myself as a flower, bobbing along in the breeze.

I also remember exactly when this future flower plan came to a screeching halt. It was when I realized that flowers die in the winter. I remember crying hysterically about it; I was a very emotional and dramatic child, and so my complete devastation probably didn’t register much to my parents. I recall my dad saying but flowers come back in the spring, which made me cry harder. I would miss Christmas! I would be dead! When I was a flower! I’m sure my parents did not understand the depth of my sadness, because what adult would be like right, right, well I know you think you’re going to be a flower, but that’s not actually going to happen, so you won’t die every year and miss Christmas. They were probably more like oh my god why is this child crying again?

My dreams of becoming a flower evaporated into the ether, along with my tears.

When we moved here, my husband and I redid our wills to reflect the new province and property, and, because the children were now grown, to eliminate the guardianship clause in the case of our sudden demise that would leave them orphaned. As we spoke with the lawyer, she asked if we had any burial preferences, for when we shuffle off this mortal coil, and my husband was quite surprised that I did have a very strong opinion on this subject. I exuberantly informed the lawyer that I wanted to be composted and planted with a tree, which she dutifully wrote down.

I think it’s very important to have these strange and difficult conversations – open and honest communication is always the best – and so I informed the children of my plan, should I suddenly expire. Oh Mom, my older son said, That’s so great! You’ll be one step closer to achieving your childhood dream of becoming a flower!

It seems a little macabre to talk about my future demise, may it be many decades in the future, and also becoming human compost on my birthday of all days, and well, it is. But it also strangely brings me happiness to think that perhaps one day I’ll be one with the earth while my soul flutters around, hopefully inhabiting a bird or a butterfly, and not something that will immediately get squished, like a fly or mosquito.

In the Ask Me Anything that I had posted months ago, Kyria (HI KYRIA) asked how do you want to be remembered, and that to me is an incredibly difficult and complicated question. I think the way we remember people is specific to the time periods in which we were the closest, to how well we know them, to things we did together. Someone from my youth will remember me very differently from someone who knows me now; certain songs might spark memories, certain movies, certain places.

That said, I think I would like a park bench, just like my pretend friend Lloyd Forest, but instead of reminding people when the park closes, I would like to tell them to return their shopping carts.

Of course, when I told my kids that, they demurred. Turning their mother into compost, that’s fine, but putting a shopping cart reminder on a park bench was not. That makes you sound like you’re a grumpy old person! my son said, I think it would be better if you had Putting the OM in OMG.

Well. I guess he’s right. My tagline really does describe my life so far, and I hope it describes the next fifty years.

Weekly Reading

What’s Mine and Yours. This is what I would classify as a Big Book, and I’m not talking length – it’s just over 300 pages, which seems average these days. But it’s big in concept and it deals with big issues: race-related tensions, redlining, integrating school districts, and intergenerational trauma. There is also a big cast of characters and they all have big problems. There are several time periods as well. I will say it’s very well-executed, thoughtful, and smart. However, it was not what I would consider a pleasurable reading experience because nearly all of the characters were deeply, deeply dislikeable. Even the one main character who I thought was pretty decent turned out to be not so much in the end. It really says something about the nature of pain and trauma, and how hurt people often lash out. Still, I was looking for a redemption arc, which never really happened – but maybe that’s the point. Maybe the point is that people with pain and trauma often never get that redemption.

The Book of (More) Delights. I picked this up while Christmas shopping last year, entirely because of the cover and the name. I had no idea until my friend Laura (HI LAURA) mentioned a “Ross Gay moment” that this was a book by an acclaimed author. To further the Laura confluence, in the recently read Bite By Bite, the author, Aimee, mentions going to a watermelon festival with her friend Ross, who was working on another book about delight, and it was this Ross. THEN, near the end of this book, Ross mentions going to a watermelon festival with Aimee, and I just exploded with all the life/ reading intersections. Anyway. This is a book of 81 essays on everyday delights over a span of a year, and it starts and ends on Ross’ birthday, which felt serendipitous for me, finishing it just before my own. I have been reading an essay before yoga most mornings since January, and his style of writing is – as one might expect – delightful. He has more digressions than anyone I’ve ever read, sometimes six or seven in a SINGLE SENTENCE. I loved it.

It’s certainly been a week of delights for me: my darling friend Sammi (HI SAMMI) hosted the most gorgeous girls’ lunch you can even imagine, complete with tiara and sash, which I’m wondering if I can get away with wearing everywhere for the next year. It was truly the most wonderful afternoon with such an incredible group of women, I am SO lucky, so so so lucky.

My parents were here for the weekend to celebrate, and we had a great time with lots of wine and more cake. I hosted Easter dinner for both sides of the family, and it turned out great! I hope you all had a lovely weekend with all sorts of treats. xo

Tell Me Something Beautiful About You

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It is the last Monday of my forties! I’m celebrating by sending off the third draft of my novel to my trusted beta readers. It’s exciting and oh, so scary. I vacillate between it’s a draft, relax, and what if it’s terrible and everyone hates it? Not every book is for every person, and I wrote a book I would want to read – and I have read it many, many times now in the editing process.

The whole point of writing this book has been for pleasure, for a challenge, to see if I could do it, and in that spirit, it’s an accomplishment. And I honestly do not think it’s terrible, although it won’t be everybody’s taste. What book is? In any case, I did it, and I’m excited to get feedback from my very first readers (HI READERS, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE).

My very favourite thing on the internet, bar none, is when friends post photos of themselves, particularly selfies. I have heard selfies disparaged in many times and in many ways, but to me, they are nothing but happiness. I love seeing my friends’ faces; I see a selfie and I think there’s my beautiful friend! Seeing a photo, especially when I haven’t seen that person in a very long time – or, in some instances, ever – makes me feel closer to them.

There is something else about selfies that I love, and that is that I know the person felt good about themselves and their appearance at that moment in time.

A few weeks ago I read an article on Cup of Jo entitled What Do You Like About The Way You Look, and the title alone gave me a real visceral reaction. I think it’s universally uncomfortable for women to verbally express what they like about their appearance, for fear that they will sound vain or that they will trigger dislike or eyerolls from others – often other women. Who does she think she is? Instead, we are conditioned to really make ourselves smaller, lesser; to deflect compliments lest we are viewed as being too inflated, too big for our theoretical britches.

I, for one, was raised in an environment in which vanity and a preoccupation with one’s appearance was to be not just discouraged, but extinguished. And that upbringing resulted in the exact opposite outcome from the intended: I am as vain as the day is long. I put on mascara and tinted lip balm to walk the dog at seven in the morning, I wear a full face of makeup and do my hair every single day, I spend a lot of time on my wardrobe and my skincare routine and, most of all, my hair. I probably think that song is about me.

I do like the way I look – not every single aspect of my appearance sparks joy, of course, but in general I do. However, I feel very awkward saying so. The very idea of proclaiming what, specifically and particularly, I like – love! – about the way I look makes me nervous and sweaty. Some part of me seems to think that verbalizing my satisfaction about my appearance will lead to an immediate loss of friends and intense dislike from everyone around me.

That’s stupid. If a friend or loved one said she loved, for example, her breasts or hair or skin, I would probably say yes! I love them too! You’re gorgeous! Why should it be different to say such a thing about ourselves?

We should be able to celebrate every aspect of ourselves, including our appearances. We should be able to say what we love about the way we look without immediately following it with well, in every other way I’m a troll. We should be able to take a compliment without saying no, no, YOU look great, my roots, my god, I need to colour them. We should be able to post a photo without saying felt cute, might delete later. No! If you feel cute, DO NOT DELETE!

I guess this is why I love selfies so much, because they show what we can’t tell. They show that we like the way we look in them, even if we can’t say it. A selfie tells me that my friend thinks she’s beautiful, at that moment, even if she can’t say it aloud.

We should take away the stigma. What do you like about the way you look? What in particular? For me, I think I have a really beautiful smile. I also think that – and this is a recent development – I have a nice, shapely ass. I immediately wanted to type something disparaging about my body as soon as I wrote that, friends! Immediately! But I’m leaving it as is, and I’m challenging you to chime in and celebrate your own appearance.

Weekly Reading

I had an epic reading week, thanks to a) short books, and b) a lot of rain. I don’t think these books could be more different from each other if they tried.

Forever…Another Judy Blume and this one was the spicy favourite of my youth! I honestly think this is the most real book I have ever read about the intensity of teen relationships, the ups and downs of sex and love. It was so resonant for me when I read it as a teen, and it is a nostalgic read now. It mirrored a lot of my own experiences, except for the ones where Kath has open conversations with her parents about sex. I would have rather died. Also – interesting note – Kath’s grandmother in this book is a nearly seventy-year-old social justice lawyer who gives her information on Planned Parenthood and disease and pregnancy preventions. I mean, this could not be less like my own grandmas. However, I loved this book then and I still love it now! Also, and this will make sense only if you have read this book, one of my friends as a teen had a boyfriend named Ralph and it was really hard to look at him.

Foster. I really admire this author for her ability to convey such incredible emotion and storytelling in such a concise way. This incredible little book details a short time in which a young Irish girl is taken to stay with elderly relatives while her long-suffering mother has yet another baby. It’s a story within a story, and it’s a book that leaves a lot to the reader’s imagination; I for one will be thinking about it for a long time. I also will be thinking of the absolute misery that was women’s lives when the power to control their own fertility was not theirs; the desperation and poverty from such situations cannot be understated.

Loved and Missed. Woof. This is a truly brilliant piece of writing; so evocative, so moving. It’s also so very sad on so many levels. It has to do with a woman who is raising her granddaughter, as her daughter is an addict. There are so many themes of secrecy and shame, inter-generational trauma, pain and love. It shows what it is to love an addict, betrayal, and endings. So good and so very sad.

Five-Star Stranger. This was such an interesting concept – and well-executed as well. This follows a man who is a Rental Stranger, meaning that he can be rented for social occasions; think escort, but for all kinds of occasions and without the sex. He has had a long-term client who has rented him to be her daughter’s dad once a week, and her daughter has no idea that he isn’t actually her father. It’s a really interesting statement on loneliness, artificial relationships, and what happens when we don’t live in an authentic way. I really enjoyed it, thanks Julie (HI JULIE) for the recommendation.

I have a lovely, busy week planned for this, my last week in my forties: I have time with The Squad and a writing date, my parents are coming for a visit this weekend and I’m hosting an Easter dinner for nine. There will be cake involved, and mini-eggs in nests, the forecast is for sun, and my little spinach and kale seedlings are thriving. I’d love to hear about what you love about yourself, friends, but if that is too difficult, then I’d love for you to look into the mirror with love. xo

Kermit Lives On

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Given that I am a person who cannot read horror novels, watch anything even remotely upsetting on television, or even read the news, it is surprising that I am a good person to have around in an emergency. I’m very calm and logical in the face of medical distress; I can’t see blood on TV, true, but it doesn’t bother me in the least in real life.

This is directly opposite to my reaction to anything going even slightly wrong with a vehicle; a warning light in the car makes me burst into tears instantly, for example. Do you think your car is going to blow up if the wiper fluid light comes on? my husband once asked me, puzzled. Maybe?

Generally I think I am great in an emergency – stoic, practical, and logical – but when it comes to situations that are not actual emergencies, I can fall apart. One such situation happened last week, and it involved, of all things, a frog.

As you may or may not know, I basically live in an episode of Lorne Greene’s New Wilderness; there is wildlife all around me at any given time. If only they would peacefully circle around me while I sing a song, I would literally be Snow White or Sleeping Beauty or some other Disney princess with magical animal-whispering powers. I regularly see deer, coyotes, marmots, squirrels, and myriad species of birds; less regularly, but often enough, I see bears, bobcats, and raccoons. There are birds everywhere, all the time: magpies are currently nesting loudly in one of our evergreens, robins and hawks and eagles and turkey buzzards and owls abound, ducks and geese watch Rex and I carefully when we walk in the mornings, and there are huge families of quail scurrying around all the time.

An animal I always forget about because I encounter it so rarely is the frog, but there are frogs living somewhere in the vicinity of our back door. Where or how or why, I have no idea, but last week Rex and I were leaving for our walk; I opened the door for him as I always do before I put my boots on. I turned my back and when I looked there was flat and unmoving on our entryway floor, was a frog.

My initial thought was that it was dead, it was so flat and so motionless. I thought that I had inadvertently killed it; maybe the door opening somehow squashed it flat. How did you get here? I wondered, and that idle thought was followed immediately by Oh my god, Rex is going to eat you. Because Rex, picky eater that he is – he will gingerly take foods that I associate with being special treats beloved by dogs everywhere and then let those foods fall out of his mouth, looking at me with an expression of deep betrayal – is decidedly not picky when it comes to dead animals. He has eaten, and regurgitated, many a dead thing found in our yard, the absolute worst being a deer carcass. You haven’t lived until you’ve cleaned up regurgitated deer fur.

Rex was waiting for me at the bottom of the steps, and so I knew time was not on my side. He was moments away from coming to see why I was so slow to take him for his walk. I either had to immediately clean up the dead frog or suffer the consequences. I couldn’t leave a dead frog in the house, but neither did I want to touch the dead frog. I did what any strong and powerful woman would do – I called for my husband.

It was only seven in the morning; he was awake but not out of bed yet, and he came running downstairs, probably thinking things were dire. They WERE dire. He shooed me out of the house and I drove off with Rex in the back seat, feeling bad for the little dead froggy who, my husband told me later, was not actually dead. After discovering that the frog was alive, he put little Kermit in the vines behind our house, where he hopped off happily. I was relieved I took the hysterical route because I might have had a heart attack, had I tried to move the frog, only to have it rise, Lazarus-like, from the dead.

Weekly Reading

I read a strange amount about death and grief this week. Maybe Kermit was a sign from the universe.

The Widow’s Guide To Dead Bastards. First off, this author lives in Calgary and while it’s weird to say reading a grief memoir was fun, it was actually super fun for me to know all the places she wrote about. Also, there is a recipe at the back of the book for my friend Julie’s sour cherry jam, which was exciting to see (HI JULIE). I would say that half of this memoir is salacious details, and half is an exploration of the grief process and the particular ways this author dealt with the death of her husband. There is a lot about the supernatural, mediums, and communication beyond the grave, which I was not expecting at all, but I’m open to.

When the author’s husband drops dead of heart failure on his way home from Houston, the author discovers a LOT of pretty awful things about him: his extensive porn stash along with his enormous credit card bills paying for escorts and for the affair he was having with his coworker. I can imagine this would be an absolutely horrifying and painful discovery, to go along with the shock of his sudden death at 47. But also, it sounds as though they had kind of a terrible marriage. He did not sound like an ideal husband – threatening to kill her, threatening to die, threatening to leave her. It’s a very upsetting book, and there were some pretty unsavoury details about his personal appearance that were unsettling. How often did we need to be reminded that he was five inches shorter than her, bald, and fat? I guess we all process in different ways and I hope the author has found peace. And also that she makes a lot of money from this book, because those debts sounded grim.

Notes On Your Sudden Disappearance. From the very first page, this book made me resent doing anything that wasn’t reading this book. I was completely obsessed and swept up by it. I promised myself I could read it when I finished things I needed to do, like it was a special treat and reward. It WAS a special treat and reward. This is a perfectly-written book: it’s so beautiful and moving, and yet hilariously funny and witty. It is a gorgeously done meditation on loss and grief, it shows the unraveling of a family after the loss of one of its’ members, it shows the complexity of people, forgiveness, and learning to live with loss. I loved it so very much.

A Life Of One’s Own. This book is part memoir, part essay collection. It draws interesting parallels between the author’s life – her divorce, the loss of her mother, her friendships, her ability to be creative – and that of nine esteemed women writers. I really enjoyed reading how such authors – Mary, George, Zora, Virginia, Simone, Sylvia, Toni, Elena – lived their lives and turned out works of art. If you have to google any of those last names, may I suggest you read their work? Thanks to Gill (HI GILL) for the recommendation!

Tomorrow is April Fool’s Day; I am not at all a person who enjoys tricks or practical jokes, which I think are almost always mean-spirited at best. However, my younger brother and I have had a running joke that has lasted over three decades, one that I am not going to explain but involves a dead horse. Too bad it didn’t have to do with a dead frog, things could have gotten interesting this year. In any case, several months ago I sent him this photo on my walk:

To which he responded whoa, is that actually a dead horse? It’s not, it’s a sleeping horse. I hope you all have a wonderful, non-foolish start to April – my birthday month! xo