Category Archives: Books

Pretty Nice Little Sunday

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It was a big weekend at the Boyhouse with lots of things to celebrate. Twenty-three years ago yesterday I was wearing this outfit:

Just swanning around Banff, like you do.

And then twenty-one days ago yesterday this guy made his entrance into the world:

Spiky hair, don’t care.

The truth is that ever since our son was born our wedding anniversary has been kind of eclipsed. He arrived at 11:55 pm, he couldn’t wait five more minutes? In any case, this necessitated a celebratory cake.

Yesterday was also Rex’s fourth birthday, but honestly, that is a lot of things for just one day. I mean, I kind of celebrate Rex every day, but I like to think of Rex Day as the day in October when he came to us. That said, I did buy him a dapper new collar.

Thoughtful Instagram pose.

If you have been reading this blog for a while, you might be thinking wait, didn’t you just buy him a new collar to replace the one that was destroyed at the kennel and yes, I did. I had ordered a collar from an Etsy artisan in Ukraine back in November, it took months to get here due to the postal strike, and it was a disappointment from day two, when the size adjustment wouldn’t hold. It was constantly becoming loose and twisted and although it was not cheap, I had to admit defeat. I chalked it up as a sunk cost and ordered another collar – from a Canadian artisan this time – and I’m very pleased with it. I like the plaid that reflects the Scottish ancestry of his last name, which is my last name, which is different from my husband and sons’ last name.

With my son’s birthday upcoming, last week I was digging out the sheet music for the song that most reminds me of his early infancy. Back in 2004, we didn’t have very many TV channels, streaming didn’t exist, and neither did YouTube or phones that weren’t actual telephones. I was always scared I would fall asleep during nighttime feedings – god, I was so tired – and would drop the baby, so I would watch whatever was on at two in the morning. Usually this was either an infomercial or MuchMusic videos, and I would generally choose the latter. If I Ain’t Got You by Alicia Keys was very popular at that time, so I probably watched that video five hundred times.

I only need to hear the opening bars to be transported back to that time. Nostalgia is a lovely thing, because I have a tendency to gloss over all the hard parts – the exhaustion, the crying, the uncertainty if I was doing anything right – and I focus only on the feeling of holding the baby and sniffing his head.

A recent episode on the Bad on Paper podcast focused on music, and one of the discussion questions was what song always makes you cry, at which point I realized something interesting: Landslide, always a sobfest in the past, no longer makes me cry. I used to not be able to get through half the song without dissolving into a puddle of sadness, but no longer. Am I dead inside? Maybe. But I think the truth is that anticipatory grief is worse than the grief catalyst itself, the empty nest. Then again, I still have a son at home.

I did go through a period in 2023 where everything made me cry, most notably Miley Cyrus’ The Climb. Crying to Miley Cyrus while on the Peloton is an image that neatly sums up my mental state at that time. I still feel strange when I hear there’s always going to be another mountain, but I don’t cry. I think the only song that currently has Cry Power for me is White Wine in the Sun; I start listening to it, nodding along and feeling seen – the hymns have nice chords but the lyrics are dodgy – and then, bam. I need the tissue box.

Another discussion question was what was the first song you remember liking, and that is an easy one for me to answer: Queen of Hearts by Juice Newton. I still love that song, and I still bounce around like one of the kids in Charlie Brown’s Christmas when I hear it.

I’m 100% one of the girls in purple.

I asked my son and husband if they remembered their first loved song; my husband’s was We’re Here For A Good Time by Trooper, and my son’s was, distressingly, Gold Digger. Only a really good mother listens to Late Registration on CD in the minivan while her two small children are absorbing every word.

I remember clearly the moment I realized I had made a grave mistake: I had taken the children over to my parents’ for the afternoon, when my not-yet-three-year-old son said to my mother Grandma, I ain’t got no money so I can’t get no hoes. I had barely recovered from that revelation when his not-yet-two-year-old brother yelled We want prenup! We want prenup! My mother, understandably, looked at me in confusion and asked what they were talking about, at which point I realized that there would be no more Late Registration in the minivan.

Weekly Reading

White Tears, Brown Scars. This very thoughtful and insightful book details the ways in which women of colour have been excluded from the white feminist movement. It is an account of lived experiences, with a lot of focus on Middle Eastern and Indigenous women, which is something we need to see more of. Those of us living in Canada are well aware of our dark past with regards to our treatment of Indigenous peoples. There are so many – hundreds? thousands? – missing and murdered Indigenous women that are omitted from news media, for example. This book also explores the reprehensible practice that Canada – and the author’s native Australia – had of taking Indigenous children from their families in order to assimilate them to white culture. Sexual violence affects all women, but this book shows how much more it affects women of colour, and the biases about such travesties. One thing the book didn’t touch on, but is something I think about a lot, is the large percentage of caregiving jobs that are performed by women of colour – nannying and childcare, eldercare and home care, cleaning and housekeeping – so that white women can thrive in their careers. It’s a very uncomfortable truth. Women of colour face not only the misogyny that all women do, but also racism. A small aside I found interesting is the note that there is a tendency to refuse to give women – all women – respect with regards to names and titles. The best example I can give is presidential candidates: women are referred to familiarly by their first names, men by both names or last name only. No one ever says “Al,” “Bill,” or “George,” for example. Just a little something to be aware of. This is an important book, and it is even more important today than it was when it was published five years ago. Thanks to Stephany (HI STEPHANY) for the recommendation.

Like Mother Like Mother. Someone recently asked if I would rather have a) a book with great writing and a bad plot, or b) a book with a great plot but bad writing, and every time, I will choose the first option. It will surprise no one who knows my taste that I barely need a plot, I just like good writing and well developed characters. So, this book is the b option. I thought the plot had a lot of promise – an intergenerational story of three women, one of whom writes a roman a clef about her mother, who is a very powerful newspaper editor, renowned for “bringing down” a corrupt president in the year 2018. I wonder who that president is modeled after? Anyway, the mother is heralded in the media world but is a really terrible and largely absent mother, who grew up herself without a mother. Themes of intergenerational trauma, etc., abound. The daughter goes on a quest to find what happened to her grandmother, it’s a whole thing. There’s nothing wrong with the plot. The plot is fine. The writing style, however, really didn’t do it for me. It’s choppy and uneven, and the reader is absolutely flooded with backstory, given to us through the least believable dialogue one can imagine. We skip timelines constantly, sometimes as much as three times in a single page. The characters are one-dimensional caricatures. It’s a book that tells, rather than shows, and I did not enjoy it at all. Additionally, the author acknowledges the “sources of several unattributed quotations buried in conversations.” WHAT. This is not a thing we do! 

WHAT.

Joy For Beginners. I think the best way to describe this book is “cozy.” It’s a lovely read about a woman who, after cancer treatment, decides to embrace life and face her fears by rafting down the Grand Canyon with her daughter. She gives all her friends challenges to take on as well; we read about how they accept the challenge. There are a lot of insightful and relatable vignettes about womanhood as we go through middle age: marriage and divorce, motherhood and empty nesting, travelling and walking long distances. Thanks to my friend Laura (HI LAURA) for bringing this to my attention. Laura leads the book club for Melissa Gilbert’s Modern Prairie website and this is the book they discussed this month. No big deal, just mentioning that MY FRIEND is super cool.

I believe that the soul lives on long after our bodies die, and I think in a former life Rex was a lawyer. He is not allowed on the furniture, but he seems to think this is appropriate. Three paws on the floor – he’s found a loophole. Hope you all have a beautiful week! xo

Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (a meal plan)

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I had the most delightfully social week, with visits and connections and gatherings every day, culminating in the most wonderful girls’ night out on Friday night: a candlelight tribute to ABBA, as played by a string quartet. I love music generally, almost all genres, but I really love disco, and ABBA specifically. We all dressed up in our most disco outfits, and when the audience was encouraged to sing at the last song, Mamma Mia, we got it started. Actually we might have been the only ones singing. It was a fun concert followed by snacks and rose at my friend Joy’s house (HI JOY).

Joy’s kitchen, photo by Joy!

In a move that I did not see coming, and was not mentally prepared for, my older son is not moving home for the summer. I’m luckier than most in that he lives fairly close by, and comes home every Sunday night for dinner. On occasion, he’ll text me to say he’s coming by for dinner on a weeknight; my friend Sam (HI SAM) was driving me home on Friday, and we were talking about this. She asked if on those random weeknight visits I make him a special dinner, but that’s not the case. I have a meal plan, and I rigidly stick to it; he knows this and is happy for pretty much anything I make.

Do you meal plan? I don’t know how I would live without one; the thought of not knowing what to make for dinner at 5:00pm gives me waves of anxiety. I meal plan, I shop accordingly, almost nothing is wasted, except for the occasional mini cucumber that goes mushy. Why is it only one cucumber? You’d think I’d be able to account for this by now. In any case, here’s what we ate last week.

Monday

This was a stir-fry with rice stick noodles, tofu, cashews, broccoli, carrots, and the lone half pepper that was left in my fridge.

Tuesday

Wednesday is grocery day, and by Tuesday things were getting a little Mother Hubbard-y. I made coconut rice with roasted sweet potatoes and the last of the broccoli. The guys also had air fryer chicken breasts.

Wednesday

I baked a loaf of the no-knead bread that I mentioned last week and served it with The Big Salad. It’s a big salad! With lots of stuff in it!

Thursday

This was a very busy day and so I made one of the easiest and quickest meal around: black bean tacos!

Friday

Since the ABBA concert was early, I had my favourite meal – Greek salad with pita and hummus – all by my lonesome at 4:30pm, just like the senior citizen I aspire to be. My younger son made breakfast for supper for himself and my husband; this is their standard Guy’s Meal, since it isn’t a meal that’s great for me to eat.

Saturday

Another quick meal as my husband and I were out drinking wine with friends in the afternoon (well, I was drinking wine). Crispy cauliflower fajitas with red pepper and the only bit of the CRAPPY AVOCADO I could salvage. Friends, I have had the worst time sourcing avocados since we moved here in 2023. The farm market is a good place, but they are not open in the winter. Costco has been nothing but a disappointment; every bag of avocados I buy ends up being completely unusable, and if I wanted to throw away $12.99 I would not choose to do so while hoping to have guacamole. This particular avocado came from Superstore, which is a hit and miss avocado source. Local friends, help! Or should I just give up my dreams and wait until the farm market opens in May?

Sunday

Sunday dinner is the only one that actually centres around meat; I made a roast beef dinner with lots of veggie sides that I can enjoy. Asparagus is in season right now, so we are enjoying that in all its roasted glory, along with roasted potatoes, roasted broccoli, and homemade Caesar salad.

Sunday is also my day to make a dessert, and I decided to make frozen strawberry daquiri pie, made with evaporated coconut milk. Typically I don’t hoard food anymore, but I had grabbed several cans when they were on sale at Christmas, and I’m glad I did as Superstore is no longer carrying them. I’m hoping this is a seasonal thing and I will have enough to keep me going until next Christmas. Just when I thought I was out of the hoarding habit, they pull me back in.

Weekly Reading

Didion and Babitz. I have long admired Joan Didion’s writing, which is what attracted me to this book. I knew next to nothing about Eve Babitz, also a writer and a visual artist, and wow, now I know too much. I did not like this book AT ALL. The author proclaims that she is obsessed with, loves and adores Babitz, and that bias comes out wildly in this book that is supposedly about a feud-like, frenemy relationship between two writers. Instead, it reads as a confusing narrative about a 60s party girl who lived the messiest life you can imagine, and who died in extraordinary squalor. Babitz accidentally set herself on fire, is what I’m saying. There is little about Didion and what there is, is mean and scathing and tends toward body-shaming. The author says of Didion’s grief after the death of her husband and child, that it was disingenuous and unfelt, as an example. Mostly, though, this book is incredibly hard to follow because there are so very many names involved, randomly dropped here and there with zero context about who these people are. I found this boring and confusing and honestly, so biased and mean. I would have DNFed but the part about Babitz having sex with Jim Morrison (while he was with Pam, god, the Sixties were a gross time) and being a “regular at the clap clinic” was semi-interesting, so I kept going. I wish I hadn’t. 

Her First Palestinian. This short story collection, by a Canadian author born in Kuwait to Palestinian parents, has some really great stories, and some that really didn’t do it for me. For the ones that I didn’t enjoy, it was the writing style that did me in; the author’s attempts at creative POV and styles just did not work for me. However, the stories that hit really hit, and all of the stories were extremely interesting in concept, if perhaps not in execution. They centre around Palestinian immigrants and refugees, the difficulty of living a life in which your existence is questioned, and the experience of working in an unnamed but powerful kingdom in West Asia (Saudi Arabia, perhaps?). It’s well worth the read; the last story in particular is very nuanced and moving.

Isola. I think that historical fiction is the most difficult genre to write; it’s so rare that an author can really capture the time and place in a way that is captivating and realistic. This is one of those rare novels. What an incredible work; this compelling page-turner is based on the true story of Marguerite de la Roque, who in 1542 is coerced into leaving France with her guardian, sailing to New France (now Quebec, Canada) in search of riches. She angers her guardian by having a romance with his secretary; her guardian then MAROONS the two of them, plus Marguerite’s servant, on an island between what is now Newfoundland and Quebec, just south of Labrador. The island is deserted and they have few supplies; and if you know that area at all, well, winters are brutal even if you DO have shelter. She survives for two years, eventually all alone. It is an incredible story and an epic work of art. This was definitely worth the hype!

I’m looking down the barrel of a much quieter week, which will be great for my writing. For those of you who have asked, thank you! It’s going well, I’m on my third draft of my novel – still as yet unnamed, I’m hoping I can figure that out soon – and am in the thick of revisions and edits. I also wanted to check in with everyone who is participating in Yoga Club! I hope to get a new little video up soon but in the meantime, keep doing your one (or more) pose a day, keep practicing loving-kindness toward yourself, and remember that we are all in it together. xo

Feeling Salty

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Grumpy McGrumperson

How are we all doing with the transition to Daylight Saving Time, I ask as I drink my third cup of coffee and glare angrily off into the dark morning? I swear to god, I swear to GOD that the next person who says “we do this for the farmers,” I will murder that person. Straight up murder. Stab stab stab right to the heart. THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK, PEOPLE. How would fucking with the clocks benefit people who work WITH THE SUN? You know who doesn’t change time? Saskatchewan. So do not come at me with such stupidity. DST started in World War I to save electricity. Today we live in a world of automation and blue lights, and I would challenge anyone to prove that any electricity is being saved at any time due to this ridiculous clock changing construct. WHEN WILL THE MADNESS END.

Unsolved Mystery

Speaking of madness, I was very surprised to receive a renewal notice for my driver’s license; I have had this license for less than eighteen months, when we moved here from Alberta. I made a renewal appointment for last week and I will say that it was as quick and painless as anything government-related could possibly be. I did ask the woman why my license expired so quickly, and she said it was because it was my first BC license. Okay? But also, no one in my family has a license expiring this year, and we all got them at the exact same time. Granted, my husband would have had a BC license thirty years ago, but this doesn’t explain my sons’ licenses. It’s a mystery, and not one that I plan to investigate further. I simply paid my $75, got my jowly, unsmiling photo taken, and went on my merry way. I look like such a bitch, I said to the woman who took my photo. We all do, she replied.

Money Money Money

The licensing fee felt like a cash grab; just one more cash grab in a world that is going broke. Last week alone I spent over a thousand dollars on groceries, which feels absolutely insane, as there are only three of us in this house. Almost eight hundred of that was at Costco; I hadn’t been there since January, and my staples were all at Desperation Levels, which explains a lot.

But I do wonder how people with limited means make ends meet. I am not a person with limited means, and I find my grocery bills to be insane. We don’t eat out or get takeout, and with the exception of a bottle of Reactine and a bag each of my favourite popcorn and my husband’s favourite granola, the thousand dollars of groceries was entirely made up of what I would call ingredients. I’m not walking around making it rain in the grocery store, and yet I spent A THOUSAND DOLLARS. Other than the occasional lone mini cucumber softening in the produce drawer, we consume everything I buy, I don’t consider myself to be a wasteful or even a spontaneous shopper – I have a Meal Plan and a List and I stick to both rigidly – and yet our grocery bills are wild. How is everyone managing this? I have no idea.

Five Long Years

I am feeling a little extra sensitive this week as I realized that this Thursday marks the five-year anniversary of the first pandemic lockdown. I am glad I have this blog to look back on, because otherwise it would be very hard to recall and believe the details. Even with the blog it’s hard to reconcile, everything was so weird and dystopian, and we all know how I feel about dystopian fiction, let alone living in it. I was scolded online for patronizing the library, once it reopened, as the virus could be living within the pages of any book at any time. THE VIRUS COULD BE ANYWHERE was the general feeling, and it’s enough to make a person spiral into madness. It was such a grim, terrifying time that then turned into a divisive, despairing time. How depressing it was, how we were all trying to keep our spirits up while life as we knew it devolved into chaos. Remember when people were putting paper decorations in their windows so that neighbourhood children would have something to look at on those walks of desperation that we were all on? In my neighbourhood, someone had a sign that said And the world came together as the people stayed apart and wow, did that turn out to be untrue. Spoiler alert: the world did the opposite of coming together.

Pandemic Hobbies, Five Years Late

On the topic of things people did in the pandemic to pass the time, last week The Squad (HI GIRLS) took a class on how to make sourdough bread. This was one of those pandemic hobbies I never got into, and I can with confidence say that I never will. Friends, making sourdough is complicated! There are so many steps! Then again, I am a person who for the past fifteen years has been baking no-knead bread, which is quite possibly the laziest bread-making methodology ever. The class was really fun, though, and should I ever want a loaf of sourdough, I will just buy it from the woman who ran the class. I think what did me in was the reveal that remnants of the dough, stuck on bowls or whisks, cannot be washed down the drain lest it block up the plumbing. I instantly imagined our entire septic system being clogged up from attempting to bake bread, and abandoned ship immediately.

Plus, I don’t think I could make anything as pretty as this:

My skills in the hand/ eye coordination department, not to mention the visual artistic department, are limited to say the least; see below.

Blast From The Past

One of the best books I read that featured the pandemic was called Unravelling, in which a woman talked about the efforts she went through to knit herself a sweater. She sheared a sheep, spun the wool into yarn, dyed the yarn, and so forth until months later she had herself a sweater. It was a very enlightening and eye-opening look at what goes into the creation of clothing, a statement on fast fashion, and a history of women’s undervalued but extremely important work.

If ever my value to society was determined by my skills in the fibre arts, well. It would be disastrous, is the short version. I am quite possibly the least competent person in the world when it comes to anything that requires hand/eye coordination, particularly in this realm. I famously almost failed home economics in junior high – and I was a very high-achieving student – because of my complete inability to sew. I swear the teacher passed me out of relief of never having to see me again. I took that class for three years and every single day saw me ripping out stitches and trying to rework them. Whereas my friends had tees and shorts that they could theoretically wear – not that any of them did, but they COULD – my projects had been ripped beyond repair. I have three clear memories from those days. The first was in seventh grade, when I had to borrow bright green ribbing for the neckline of my pale pink t-shirt from my friend Elise (HI ELISE), because my own matching pink ribbing had been destroyed from constantly taking out the stitches that had sewn the neck hole shut several times. The second was in ninth grade, when I would chattily sit beside my friend Tara (HI TARA) as the sewing machine whirred beneath her competent hands and I ripped out stitches, again and again. The third memory is how we junior high girls – for we were all girls – tormented our teacher, Miss Herget, by unthreading the serger. Someone would walk casually past the serger and then stealthily swipe their hand through, unthreading it, which would result in Miss Herget having a mini-breakdown. Every single class: WHO unthreaded the SERGER? she would scream, while we all silently assumed expressions of innocence.

To this day my husband will not let me near a needle and thread. I cannot even tie a knot in a thread; it ends up being several knots, not unlike a string of tiny anal beads. The last time I tried to sew a button on a pair of pants, back in 2001 or so, my husband found me bent over, sobbing, as I had somehow cut a giant hole in the seat of said pants. Was this karma for unthreading the serger? Who can say.

Weekly Reading

The Woman Who Stole My Life. Isn’t it great when you discover a well-established author? I don’t know where Marian Keyes has been all my life, but I do know she has a whole catalogue and I am going to read it in its entirety! I loved this book about a woman who is diagnosed with the very rare Guillain-Barre Syndrome, which results in her entire body being paralysed. Unable to talk or move, she is confined to her bed while her family resumes life as best they can without her. She ends up having a special connection with her neurologist, which leads to a whole new life in a whole different country. This book was so clever and so witty and so intensely thought-provoking, all at the same time. It’s about karma, and communication, and connection. Every single character was a complete delight. As a side note, I was both surprised and not to go on goodreads to discover that this book had a LOT of very poor reviews. This kind of tracks for me as any book I really love often has a low rating, and vice versa. I never a) look at goodreads for ratings and reviews, and b) take said ratings and reviews seriously. I am my own woman! And I loved this. Can’t wait to read more. Over 500 pages, and this book didn’t drag ONCE. 

All In Her Head. We all know, or should know, that the medical community has long been misogynistic and has disbelieved or dismissed women and their health concerns. This book explores the long and dark history of how women’s health has been mismanaged, destroyed, or ignored by the largely male medical community. Yes, things are getting better, but vestiges remain, as seen very recently. Traditionally women have not been included in clinical drug trials because of our pesky old hormonal cycles, which is alarming to say the least. Drugs were not tested for female bodies, and then when those drugs didn’t work as they did for men, the it’s all in her head attitude prevailed. In any case, it’s just one more thing in a long list of things in which women’s concerns and lived experiences have been minimized and dismissed. This is an interesting and enraging book, and it sure shows that men have been really worried about women and masturbation. Hoo boy, masturbation was historically blamed for everything from nervous conditions to scoliosis. Thanks to Stephany (HI STEPHANY) for bringing this book onto my radar.

Friends, I hope you are all taking care of yourself, this week after time change. Drive safely, get your sleep, treat yourself gently. xo

Books, Books, and More Books: Vacation 2025 Reading

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On my recent vacation to Mexico, I got so much reading done; even for me, it was a lot. There are a few reasons for this: a) I get up way earlier than anyone else in our group, and so I read until breakfast and then I read until our friends finished breakfast, b) we had one day of rain and wind, and the best thing to do was to curl up on our sheltered balcony and read while our friends did some work, c) uncharacteristically, I wasn’t really interested in getting into too many involved conversations with strangers, and d) we had a lot of travel time. Shortly after we got to the airport in Kelowna the prescribed two hours prior to takeoff, it was announced that our flight was delayed two hours. Since the flight itself was six hours long, I basically spent ten straight hours reading. Similarly, on the way home, we arrived at the airport a stunning three and a half hours prior to takeoff, as the road traffic was unusually light, and then we sailed through security in under ten minutes.

I also read books that were not difficult or overly involved, and mostly quite short. I also had three – THREE! – DNFs, which is a new record for me. Two of them – The Good Part and The Seven Year Slip – involved magical time travel, which is a hard no for me. The third – Just Haven’t Met You Yet – was not interesting to me. Why I downloaded these books on Libby in the first place is somewhat of a mystery, but I’m proud of myself for just saying no.

Winter in Paradise. This was exactly like reading a soap opera! A woman gets a call to discover her husband is dead, at which point she learns a) he has a $15 million dollar villa in the USVI, and b) he has another family. So that’s where we start and there’s lots of details to uncover, but the ending is clearly setting up for a series and you know what, I was not into it. It was fine for the plane though, but I’m not tempted to read more.

All The Lonely People. This had all the elements of a good read for me: sympathetic characters, a lonely elderly man who wants to make friends before his daughter visits him, so she won’t be worried, a theme of community and different generations coming together to combat isolation and loneliness. HOWEVER. There was a twist near the end which was SO VERY STUPID that it completely wrecked the book for me. Honestly, it was so dumb that I wondered how on earth it even got published. Sometimes I despair thinking of all the lonely writers out there who are desperate to get published, and then I read something like this, and it pushes the despair into white-hot rage.

Small Things Like These. I had not heard the term Magdalen laundry before; these were institutions run by the Catholic Church in Ireland, for unwed mothers. It’s unknown how many babies and young women died in these institutions, but it’s thought to be in the tens of thousands. This book is about one such place, and a man who is living the very saying “there but for the grace of god go I.” It’s a very thoughtful little book, well written and moving.

What Alice Forgot. I’m continuing my revisiting of Liane Moriarty! Imagine suddenly having every memory for the last ten years erased; that’s the premise of this book. It’s a reread for me and it was a good one! A woman suffers a head injury and wakes up to discover her life is unrecognizable – she has three children and is the midst of divorce. Think of what your life was in 2015, imagine you couldn’t remember anything from the last decade. I mean, some things I would rather forget, it’s true, but still. Wouldn’t it be bizarre to wake up and discover what had happened even in the last five years? You’d never believe it if someone told you about the pandemic, for example. I really like this book and it was definitely worth the reread.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. I had heard about this book for decades and hadn’t yet read it. It was worth the wait! I really enjoyed this book; it was written from the perspective of a 15 year old boy with autism. In trying to find out who killed the neighbourhood dog and why, he discovers a lot more. The writing style is so interesting and compelling.

Just As Long As We’re Together and Here’s To You, Rachel Robinson. Recently Sarah (HI SARAH) mentioned these books and I had to go back and reread them. I downloaded everything Judy Blume I could, including Blubber, which is still a wildly upsetting book, but it only took me about forty-five minutes to read and contains the great line “It’s pretty hard to be on the other side, isn’t it?” Truth. These books about a trio of friends were perfect for a poolside read. Judy Blume was really the master of empathy and showing that people can be many different things. Also, we are all carrying burdens that no one else can see.

My Darling Wife. Thrillers are not usually my jam, so I have no idea how or why I downloaded this from Libby. Are we sensing a theme here? Was I drunk when I loaded up my Libby prior to vacation? I don’t remember doing that, but I guess I wouldn’t, WOULD I? Or maybe someone recommended this? I DON’T KNOW. Anyway, I’m not generally a fan of thrillers but this was diverting enough. It follows a married couple who seem to find murdering young girls an aphrodisiac. They try to pin these murders on a serial killer but things, as they are wont to do, go askew. It’s pretty creepy and twisty, so if that’s your thing, you’ll probably enjoy this. It was too creepy for me, but maybe that’s a selling point for you thriller lovers out there.

I’ve got some great, non-vacation books to talk to you about next week. Don’t forget that Daylight Saving Time starts THIS WEEKEND JUST KILL ME NOW. Honestly, there are currently hundreds, perhaps even thousands of things that we could all rage about every minute of the day, but this is the hill I am going to die on today. WE NEED TO STOP THE MADNESS. If you have ten minutes, listen to the episode of the Wirecutter podcast, entitled “How To Survive Daylight Saving Time.” Lots of helpful advice, as well as empirical evidence that affirms what I have always believed, and that is that DST and time change is terrible for our health and well-being. RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE! It is possible I am projecting my feelings about the international situation, such as it is, on to the concept of time change, but so be it. Take care of yourselves, friends. Reading is a great distraction; tell me if you’ve read anything good lately, or bad, or ugly. Any DNFs? Tell me everything. xo

Reseating The Theatre

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I listen to a lot of podcasts; if those podcasts were audiobooks I’d probably be able to increase my Yearly Books Read by at least 100. Alas, they are not! I walk a lot and also do a lot of boring household things, like laundry and chopping vegetables, and podcasts entertain me while I do that. One of my favourites is Were You Raised By Wolves, and a couple of years ago it introduced me to the concept of Reseating The Theatre.

The idea is this: your life is a theatre, and everyone in your life is somewhere in the theatre and its vicinity. You are the star, and you are on stage. Perhaps there are one or two other people onstage with you, but perhaps not. There are a few people who are backstage, and then there are a few people in the front row; those people are the most important in your life. There are people in the orchestra and people in the mezzanine. Some people are in the balconies, and maybe there are a few balcony tiers. Some people are wandering around in the lobby and still others are not allowed in the theatre at all.

The brilliance to this is that not everyone gets full access to the show that is your life; of course they don’t, imagine how exhausting that would be. But the theatre metaphor is perfect because it allows me to prioritize my time and energy; the people in the front rows and backstage are my ride-or-dies, and I give those relationships a lot. I get a lot out of them too. People in the mezzanine and balconies are welcomed and even cherished in my life, but they get less personal attention, and some people are more like friendly acquaintances who I’d happily chat with, but who I wouldn’t be necessarily hanging out with.

I like to think that everyone has a theatre, and just like they have a seat in my theatre, I am seated in theirs. An important thing to note in this metaphor is that circumstances can change and people can be reseated.

I truly believe in the old saying about friends coming in to your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. How this relates to the theatre is that seasons change, and people can move from the balcony to the orchestra, or from the front row to backstage, or from the mezzanine to the lobby, depending on the circumstances. If I realize that I have been reseated in someone’s theatre, and not in a growing in importance kind of way, then I can feel free to move them back in mine, and not feel obligated to expend more energy.

It’s so important to meet people where they are in life, but also to put them where they need to be.

Recently Elisabeth asked (HI ELISABETH) what personality trait do you absolutely require in a friend? This question, frankly, stumped me, probably because I have a very wide and flexible definition of the word friend. The people backstage are obviously my closest friends and confidantes, but I also consider the people on the third tier balcony to be friends, just in a less intense way. There are friends that I do fun activities with, friends I feel comfortable travelling with, friends that I read with and talk with about books, friends that just sit and talk and listen as I pour my heart out. Some friends check all those boxes, some check just one. There’s room for everyone in the theatre, is what I’m saying, but obviously not everyone can be everything.

I have a few lifelong friends (HI TARA, HI ELISE), women who have known me since my very awkward early teens, and even earlier, and who have loved me this whole time. That’s really saying something! I mean, I went through a period of obsession with Jim Morrison, who had been dead for decades by that time. Also, ew. On the flip side, I have some friends who I have known only a short time, but they have quickly moved from mezzanine to the front rows; these are women I love to spend precious time with. Some previously close friends have slowly lost touch with me over the past couple of years, and so I have sadly moved them back in my theatre. Very, very occasionally, I will find myself no longer with anything in common with a person, or at a place in which I find myself to be in constant disagreement with every decision that person makes, when that person is just too toxic and too difficult. That situation requires a move to the lobby, or maybe even outside the theatre.

I am very grateful for the friends who do not let distance stand in the way of our relationships. I can think of at least four friends who live far away but who I consider to have front row seats. One of my dearest friends, Hannah (HI HANNAH) could not live farther away from me without leaving the country or falling into the ocean, and yet we chat several times a week. My friend Nicole (HI NICOLE) has never failed to keep our monthly friend date since we started them in January 2018; since I moved we call each other every month. Allison (HI ALLISON) lives in Ottawa but when I saw her last spring for the first time since 2014, it was like no time had passed. And Jen (HI JEN) will be sipping poolside margaritas with me next week; she is a sister to me, except that we never fight.

All of these friends are so different, but the common thread is that they always have time for me, they always are supportive and loving, and I always know where I stand with them. They always make me feel uplifted and fill me with positive energy.

Speaking of being uplifted and filled with positive energy, I hope you all had wonderful Galentine’s and Valentine’s Days! Galentine’s for me was such a special day: the morning with The Squad, an afternoon writing date with Laura (HI LAURA), and an evening at the theatre with my relatively new, but already very dear, friend Sandi (HI SANDI). Look at this incredible spread of goodies! It just doesn’t get any better than that.

My dear friend Sammi (HI SAMMI) made this cake. You know how I feel about cake!

I did make my own cake for my Valentine and Valentine-adjacent sons, and also for myself, because we all need more heart-shaped cakes in our lives.

Weekly Reading

It was a reread week around here!

The Husband’s Secret. This was the first of Moriarty’s books I had read, back in 2017. It got me hooked on her style – twists and turns and very complicated characters. I loved it in 2017 and I loved it now, this story of secrets and choices and how they affect our lives. It’s such an interesting thing to think about: if you made a different life choice, where would you be right now? Who would be around you? It’s fascinating and so well written; it’s an unputdownable read.

The Burgess Boys. This was historically my least-favourite Strout – the bar is high, though! – but I thought I would reread it, after Bob Burgess featured so heavily in the new, and much-loved-by-me, Tell Me Everything. I liked it so much more on the reread, although it would still rank last in all the Strouts. It is a very bleak and grim story, and all the characters are either absolutely abhorrent or really pathetic. But I did find it to be a good reread and things resonated with me differently this time around, particularly the character of Helen, who is mourning her empty nest. (hashtag: landslide, relatable). I think that the story line, which centres around what appears to be a hate crime but might just be a crime of stupidity, is absolutely relevant today, with its theme of xenophobia and distrust of immigrants and different cultures.

It snowed this weekend! We have had so little snow this year that it is remarkable and exciting when it happens. It snowed just in time for me to leave it! I am off on a little adventure that will feature sunshine, beaches, and a whole lot of mango margaritas. I’ll see you all on the other side; take care of yourselves. xo

Cold, Cold, Cold, Warmer, HOT

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Cold As Ice

We are in the midst of a cold snap around here, but I use that term very loosely. It’s more “cold” than COLD, or even Cold, but still, it’s the most winter we’ve had all year. I took the opportunity to look out my snow pants and heated mittens, and I’m winning all the style awards on our daily walks. It’s honestly a bit of overkill for these cold-but-not-COLD temperatures, and by the end of our walk I’m a little sweaty.

My creativity has taken a huge hit this week; I have been unable to write anything that I would want anyone to read. Someone suggested it’s the weather, but I think it’s directly related to the torrential volume of grim and terrifying news. I have broken my own rules for news and media consumption, and have succumbed more than once to doomscrolling, leading to higher than normal screen time and a feeling of complete emotional depletion. But we are in a fresh new week, the perfect time for a fresh new start; I am re-implementing my boundaries and refreshing my Nolite te Bastardes Carborundorum attitude.

Cold Hearted Snake

We are also in a fresh new lunar year, and I recently learned about Ben Ming Nian, which is when it is the year of your own Chinese zodiac sign. I would have thought that this would be a very lucky thing, but it turns out it is not; the superstition is that people in their zodiac year are offending the God of Age, Tai Sui, and will therefore have a year of challenges and bad luck. My husband is a Snake, and so I guess he will have to watch out – although, according to the Chinese zodiac, the Snake is the second-luckiest sign, and so it might all just work out evenly.

As an aside, the first-luckiest sign is that of the Dragon, and apparently there is a mini baby boom in China during that zodiac year. It reminded me of when I was in prenatal class and I learned that there was a mini baby boom every November due to Valentines-related sexytimes, and, in Calgary specifically, one in late March/ early April. The latter correlated to wild Calgary Stampede-related sex which – and I’m sorry, because I know my mom and possibly Aunty C are reading this – was the case for my firstborn. My second born was in September, which, well, you can do the math. Let’s just call it a visit from Santa. Interestingly enough, the divorce rate also spiked after Stampede, for different, but related, reasons.

But back to the subject at hand. After learning about Ben Ming Nian, I looked up the Year of the Rabbit, which is my sign. The last one was 2023, which was indeed a year of great challenge for me! The others were 2011, 1999, and 1987, and I definitely remember challenges in all those years. Of course, I’m also a person who related completely to a story about an ill woman who got magically better after taking placebos, even AFTER she was told they were placebos. The placebo effect is my entire personality some days.

Recently Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked how do you feel about astrology and horoscopes? I have never really connected with the Chinese zodiac, and I think horoscopes, as seen in the newspapers or women’s weekly magazines, are silly and irrelevant, but I have always strongly believed in astrological signs and the zodiac. I would have been great in the 70s dating scene. As soon as I know someone’s birthday I feel like I know all about them. Oh, I’ll say sagely, You’re a Pisces. Oh, that makes so much sense. I’m not saying I wouldn’t have married my husband if his sign was incompatible with mine, but I’m not NOT saying that, either. More likely we would have never dated, had he not been a compatible sign, because yes, I am that person. Listen, a Taurus wants what a Taurus wants, and I am not going to waste my time with someone who does not appreciate my bull-like personality and love of luxury.

This Leaves Me Cold

Speaking of sexy compatibility, I was so excited to see that Bad on Paper released their annual Obscure Erotica episode in honour of Valentines’ Day. Some of you may remember that this podcast introduced me to the wild world of weird erotica, featuring everything from Clippy, of Microsoft Office fame, to the ghost of Abraham Lincoln. I personally have read about sex with Santa Claus, balloon animals, and a sentient door. So I was interested to hear what had been chosen on the podcast, and I will tell you right now: no. NO. No no no, things have officially gone too far in the obscure erotica world.

One of the featured books was called The Devilled Egg Made Me Do It, which, predictably, explored sex with a giant sentient egg. This egg, named Damien – he’s devilled, after all – has horns, chive-like body hair, and a tail that is actually anal beads. Just the words “anal” and “beads” together make me immediately and inadvertently Kegel. To say that I was disturbed even listening to this discussion would be a vast understatement. I was amused that the protagonist’s name was Shelly, but not amused enough to read this book.

The other host, though. I feel disappointed in her beyond all imagining. The book she chose was called Garden Gnome Sex Party and I need not say more. IS NOTHING SACRED? There were hats involved, that’s all I’m going to say. This was obviously upsetting to a gnome aficionado like myself, although it did remind me of a very funny Gravity Falls episode, in which everyone thinks Mabel’s boyfriend is a vampire, and it turns out he is just a tall pile of gnomes with a costume over top.

Since these writers utilize pseudonyms, they could be amongst us right now. I’m just going to say it: if I hear anything, ANYTHING, about my beloved Salvadore and friends being written about in an untoward way, there will be hell to pay.

Warming My Heart

Let’s shift gears from (very weird) Valentines to Galentines! The squad came over, plus a few new ladies, and it was so much fun. I am so grateful to be around such a fabulous group of women.

Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH) has been encouraging everyone to find joy in gratitude this month (FIG!) but honestly, I need no encouragement. I’m HERE for the gratitude fest, is what I’m saying, and right now I am so very grateful that I have this wonderful group of friends. I’ve lived here for just over a year and a half now, and I will never not feel incredibly lucky that I have the Golden Gals Squad surrounding me. I’m also grateful for Canadian rose from my favourite Vineland Estates, and for chocolate.

I’m also grateful for cold and wintry Saturday afternoons and that Engie’s Cool Blogger’s Book Club (HI ENGIE) chose The Blue Castle, by one of my favourite childhood authors.

Weekly Reading

What else have I been reading, other than The Blue Castle? Well, I am proud to say that I DNFed a book I was not enjoying: Stanley Tucci’s Taste, which is a memoir through food. There was just too much meat and seafood descriptions, so I abandoned ship. Fortunately I had some good books this week:

The Husbands. This was such a fun and original book; it’s the story of a woman who comes home after a night with friends to discover that not only is she married, but she has been for years. After her husband goes up to the attic to fetch something, a different husband comes down. And so it goes, every time a husband goes to the attic a new one is in her life, and her life itself is new. It was an absolute delight to read this; I’m not usually one to enjoy magic or alternate universes, but this one was so fun and the ending was perfection. Big thanks to Suzanne and Lisa (HI SUZANNE HI LISA) who assured non-magic-loving me that I would love this, despite the premise. I did!

Summer Fridays. I was 24 in 1999, which is the same as our protagonist in this book – don’t you love when that happens? This lovely, fun, nostalgic book takes place in a hot New York City summer, and there are so many city-related details. A friendship is started between a young woman and her fiance’s (very close) colleague’s boyfriend (did you get that? I had to think for a minute). That friendship turns to something else, but this is not just a straightforward love story because, well, she’s engaged. I really enjoyed this book, it was a perfect read for this little cold snap we are having. It’s light, full of fun nostalgic details (“you’ve got mail!”) and startlingly sensitive for a book that’s essentially about infidelity. Thanks AGAIN to Lisa for the recommendation, is this the Lisa Show, maybe it is! (HI LISA)

No One Can Pronounce My Name. I expected to enjoy this book about the immigrant experience, queerness, friendship, and finding your people in the unlikeliest of places, but I did not. I should have DNFed! You win some, you lose some.

On our walk on Saturday, Rex and I came across a couple of mating raccoons. It was extremely disturbing, to say the least, as Rex barked and barked at what he must have assumed was a two-headed animal, while the male raccoon made eye contact with me as he humped away. I guess love is in the air in the animal kingdom too. I hope you have a week filled with chocolates, hearts, rose, and no wild animal sex shows. Unless you like that, in which case, who am I to judge? xo

There’s Too Much Confusion, I Can’t Get No Relief

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They’re Both White Guys

This is a strange confession to make, but I constantly get Keanu Reeves and Johnny Depp mixed up in my mind. Before you say anything, I know. I know! They are essentially opposites: one is famously kind, generous, and charitable, and one is absolutely not. One lost his longtime girlfriend in a car accident following the stillbirth of their daughter, the other is a domestic abuser. The only reason I can think of that they get mixed up in my head is that I watched them both on the big screen in my youth, formative movies like Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure and Edward Scissorhands. They seem to be forever melded in my mind, which is terribly unfair to poor Keanu.

1984, Plus One

Engie (HI ENGIE) asked me what was the worst year of my life and although I don’t really like to relive or dwell on the past, particularly painful things, I will say without a doubt it was the year I was in fifth grade, 1985. It was, generally speaking, an upward trajectory after that. I’m not drawing any parallels here, but it’s interesting to note that Keanu came onto the scene in 1986, which was also the year of my favourite action movie of all time, Top Gun. Are these things related? Maybe!

The truth is that I think fifth grade is universally rough for girls, and it was terrible for me, and not just because I had an ugly home perm. (Engie also asked if I could erase one thing from my memory, what would it be, and that home perm might be up there, Steve.) But fifth grade. It was a time of friendship problems; I remember reading Cat’s Eye many years later and gasping because I felt so seen. Ten year old girls are absolutely vicious. Also, at that time I was wearing a bra and was the tallest girl and second tallest person in class, which might not seem like a big deal but it sure was. In the eighties, boys could run around, unchecked, snapping bra straps and making mean and bullying comments about girls and their anatomy, and that, in addition to the frenemies with whom I’d be best friends one day and then shunned the next, over and over, made that year miserable.

My cousin had a book called Girltalk, and I read it the summer after fifth grade. There was a section on friendship and to this day I remember this life-changing sentence: you don’t like everybody, so why should everybody like you? It was revolutionary and I still think about it all the time. Generally speaking I like most people, but it’s a good reminder that we are not going to be for everyone. I’m not saying my life completely improved because of that book, but it sure helped a lot.

Is This Really A Good Idea?

Speaking of the eighties, it looks like Netflix is rebooting Little House on the Prairie, and I have a lot to say about this. I know that I am a terribly pedantic person when it comes to adapting books to screen; I almost never think it is a good idea. The answer is almost always a teeth-gritting NO when I’m asked if I’ve seen the movie/ series/ show that was based on a book, particularly a beloved book. There are a few exceptions, of course, but generally speaking, I loathe the trend that everything must be adapted to be watched. Then again, should I ever be lucky enough to have my novel published and someone wanted to adapt it to the screen, I would sell out without a second thought. What can I say, I contain multitudes.

If you were a young girl in the late seventies and early eighties, it’s likely you watched the Little House on the Prairie series, and possibly you also read the books. I did both and it was an early lesson in the very loose way the words “based on” can be used. The television series was really a vehicle for Michael Landon to walk around as a shirtless hero; it was not at all like the books, except for the names of the characters. Or, I should say, SOME of the characters. There was a lot of artistic license taken here, for example, nowhere in the books was there a young girl named Sylvia who becomes pregnant after being raped by a weirdo blacksmith with a clown mask on, only to be saved from eternal shame of having a baby out of wedlock by falling off a ladder and dying.

I did love the books, because they were about a girl and her life, and if there is anything I want to read about in this world it is a girl and her life. I will not waste my one wild and precious life reading boring, male-centric stories. I just won’t! You can’t make me! But being charmed as a young girl reading about another young girl in a different place and time making “houses” beneath large maple trees is one thing. The grim fact is that Charles Ingalls deeply believed in manifest destiny and to that end dragged his family around the country, plunging them into hunger and poverty again and again, because he believed in his divine right as a white man to just displace anyone who happened to be living in the space he wanted to live in. Is this the message we need in 2025? I’m going to go ahead and say no.

I Have No Answer To This Question

Speaking of moving around, Elisabeth asked (HI ELISABETH) if you could live in one place outside of Canada for one year, where would you choose to live? Only three months ago I would have enthusiastically answered Maui, which is truly a paradisical place. But now I’m not sure the US is the best place for a Canadian. My husband and I have been planning a spring hiking trip to the Canyonlands, but sadly we have decided to cancel it. I don’t want our tourism dollars going to a government that shows outright hostility towards my country and dismissal about our national sovereignty. It also seems like a bad idea to have my physical body there. The long and the short of it is that I don’t know how I would answer Elisabeth’s question. I don’t have a backup answer to this hypothetical question, I guess another tropical island paradise that I have yet to visit. Or, Maui in (hopefully) four years.

Yoga Club Update

I just had to do some deep breathing after typing the above, which reminded me: how are we doing with Yoga Club? I hope everyone is making time to do one or more postures per day, and if that hasn’t happened, I hope that everyone is practicing loving-kindness towards themselves. There is a new three minute video on my humble little YouTube channel, demonstrating cat-cow in my kitchen; as an added bonus, Rex is featured! In all seriousness, cat-cow is a fantastic movement for spinal mobility, and I hope you give it a try.

Weekly Reading

Flowers in the Attic. Hands up if you also read this at age 12, or some other inappropriate age, hiding it from your mother! Did we all slip it in between the covers of our Trapper Keepers? This was such a wild reread. It has it all: incest, Oedipal complex, daddy issues, stepdaddy issues, child neglect, child abuse, child death, locking your own children in an attic in order to inherit millions of dollars from your weirdly religious father who disowns you for marrying your half-uncle. Honestly, it’s kind of hard to argue with the “maybe don’t marry/ fuck your relatives” part of the book. Not only does it have the most bizarre and over-the-top plot, it also is terribly written. I don’t know what’s worse, the over-explanation of every single detail, the excessively over-written descriptions of every scene, or the dialogue. The dialogue! It’s honestly the worst. I guess the key demographic – Gen X preteens – benefited from the multitude of explanatory details, being preteens, but wow, is this bad. It’s so bad it’s kind of good? I was entertained, if disturbed all over again. I mean, there is a kind-of-sibling-rape, there is the poisoning of children via arsenic powdered doughnuts, and there is the terrifying scene where the grandmother drugs her granddaughter and then pours tar all over her hair. Just writing that out makes me feel like I was in a fever dream while I read it.

Here One Moment. If you knew exactly when and how you were going to die, would you live your life differently? How much of life is pre-determined, and to what extent are we in charge of our own destinies? Those are just some of the questions raised by this novel about the travellers on a very delayed flight from Tasmania to Sydney; an old lady in an apparent fugue state suddenly stands up and goes through the entire flight cabin, telling each person how she expects them to die and at what age. Soon after, people do start to die in exactly that way. This was a really thought-provoking book for me, although I will honestly say that the backstory of the apparently clairvoyant old lady was pretty tedious, and it takes up about half the book. It all ties together very cleverly in classic Moriarty fashion; all in all I enjoyed it, with that one caveat. For those of us math-and-statistics nerds, there is a lot of really interesting discussion on probability, including a paragraph about the birthday paradox. I remember being in a lecture hall with two hundred other students, while my statistics professor had everyone stand up when their birthday was called, and sure enough, someone in that room shared my birthday. There is a very high probability that two people will have the same birthday when there are seventy-five people in a room, which I think is a very cool fact. Anyway, this is well worth the read, despite the boring backstory.

Well, will you look at that. I started this post thinking I have nothing to write about this week and here we are, 1700 words later. And it all started with Keanu Reeves! Thanks for reading, friends, and keep on practicing that loving-kindness! xo