Category Archives: Books

The Very Next Day, You Gave It Away

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In a very uncharacteristic move, last week I angrily unfollowed a Facebook account after a highly unsatisfactory and, for me, infuriating exchange. It is my general policy to not comment on anything I disagree with; rather, I merely scroll past or mute. It takes a lot for me to become upset enough to unfollow a page. This is not to say I have never done so – I certainly have – but it’s a rare occurrence.

Also last week I learned that some people have very strong negative feelings toward LED Christmas lights (HI SWISTLE, HI ENGIE). I do not share those feelings, and I don’t not share those feelings. I’m neutral on the topic, I suppose, although all of our lights are LED, so that would lead a person to believe that I am highly in favour. I just like lights, and as long as my husband, who is the purchaser of all things light-related, has our display up before December, I am happy.

But I think it’s important to able to have feelings about holiday-related things, or anything, really, and I acknowledge and support my friends in such discussions. If a person doesn’t like LED lights, then they should be able to have non-LED lights and enjoy them, I say, my eclectically vibrant lawn display notwithstanding. I support my non-LED friends in their endeavours, even if I only realized that this was an issue six days ago. I don’t share those same feelings, but I am HERE for you, friends.

I’ll tell you what I do have feelings about, and that is the song Last Christmas. I love that song. I love it in all its iterations, even the really weird ones that involve harmonicas and steel drums. I have an entire playlist dedicated to the original version and all its many covers. I love it unapologetically, and I am not ashamed to say I get hurt feelings every year, every single year, when the inevitable post about Whamaggedon, which involves gleefully AVOIDING any exposure to Last Christmas, comes to pass.

Listen. We all like what we like, we as a human race are not homogenous and we can enjoy different genres of music. I get it. I get it that what is a joyfully festive bop to me, what makes me sing and dance and feel like the Grinch after his heart grew three times and broke the little measurement box, is a song that is disliked by others. That’s fine! We like what we like. But what I’m saying is that just because I think that Paul McCartney’s Wonderful Christmastime is the worst holiday song ever written, that doesn’t mean I’m going to make up a game about it and post it all over the internet. Yes, the opening bars make my shoulders go up to my ears with tension and I wish I could rip off my own ears when I hear them, but I am not actively making fun of people who like it.

This leads to, of course, my angry unfollow. I know better, of course, than to engage in any kind of polarizing discourse on Facebook, but I found myself typing like Kermit the Frog, wondering if people hate joy and professing my love for Last Christmas. And the response to me, of course, was to lighten up, it’s just a fun little game.

And I should. I should lighten up. It is just a fun little game, it’s not a personal slight on my character, even if it does make me feel strangely bad about myself, like I’m some kind of Philistine kicking up her heels singing in the grocery store aisles. I know, I really do, that it is not rational, and has literally nothing to do with me; the people playing this game are not out to inflict pain on my emotional state. And yet. Feelings are feelings: some people feel strongly about lights, some people feel strongly about artificial Christmas trees, some people feel strongly about matching festive pajama sets, and I feel strongly about Last Christmas.

In my recent Ask Me Anything (I’m still accepting questions!) Suzanne asked: Outside of Grocery Carts Should Be Returned to Their Corrals, are there any hills you would die on? (HI SUZANNE, thank you for seeing me). There are a few, but one of them is that you shouldn’t yuck someone’s yum, including holiday music. To be honest, this is something I practice daily, and I struggle with sometimes, because I live in a house with people I love who eat meat.

Relatedly, Bijoux asked (HI BIJOUX): Is there any meat you miss? and the very simple answer to that is no. I absolutely don’t, and in fact, the more years that go by, the weirder and more repellent I find the whole concept. However, the men I love all love meat, and so I remind myself every day not to yuck their yums. It’s hard, and I don’t always succeed, particularly at this time of year when photos of turkeys in various stages of cooking abound, but I try.

Everyone is walking their own path, and I would explode with incandescent rage if anyone told me what and how to eat, and so I support them in their dietary choices, even if I disagree with them. And the fact of the matter is that every single one of us living on this planet impacts said planet in some way. I don’t eat our furry, feathered, finned friends, but I do eat grains and fruits and vegetables, and all those crops crowd out animal habitats and thus indirectly impact those innocent beings.

Of course, we all have value and bring positive impacts to the world, every last one of us, but the truth is that just existing negatively affects our environment, and, therefore, its animal inhabitants. No matter how environmentally conscious we may be, collectively we are damaging our Mother Earth. This is just a grim fact, and there is literally no solution except not to exist or, as in the movie I saw in the Sphere in Las Vegas, to be shipped off the planet via spaceship to a whole new planet which is just waiting for humans to fuck it up.

Let’s not do this. We are all just doing our best, hopefully, and my best includes not eating meat, but by no means does that make me, or any other plant-based person, morally superior.

But sometimes it’s hard to remember not to yuck someone’s yum. Did I mention turkey photos?

This brings me to another hill I will die on and that is that there are many sides to any story, and that people contain multitudes. I am always unpleasantly surprised to discover that a person whom I esteem as intelligent and broad-minded can only see people and situations in black and white and cannot see any other point of view other than the one they’ve entrenched themselves in. They cannot see why people might make decisions a certain way, or why people are the way they are.

Which brings me back to Last Christmas. Perhaps I am being close-minded about those people boasting about going all the way until the 24th without once listening to the happiest song on my holiday playlist. If I, a strident Bring Back Your Cart person can recognize that there are extreme extenuating circumstances in which that is occasionally not possible, surely I can cultivate a feeling of compassion and understanding for these people. Perhaps they had a romantic encounter one Christmas, and the next day that encounter was over, forever. Perhaps that romantic encounter was of enormous importance to them and yet, the following year, the other party failed entirely to even recognize them, indicating that the encounter was of minimal importance. Perhaps their heart had been, devastatingly, broken, and the only way they have found to heal this heartbreak was to search for community, for someone special, for someone else who shared such experiences. Perhaps this community all must avoid anything, but particularly a musical masterpiece, that reminds them of this incredibly painful period of their lives. Perhaps that is what Whamaggedon is all about, perhaps it is a community of people who do not want to be reminded of their hearts being given away, they are, we might say, once bitten and twice shy, and must keep themselves from such remembrances that are sparked via festive music.

Or perhaps they really are taking aim at me personally. Who can say.

Weekly Reading

The Girls From Corona Del Mar. You know the kind of book that you just sink into and then feel incredibly resentful about having to do anything that is NOT reading the book? That’s what this book was to me. What an incredible story of lifelong friends and their journeys. One of my least-favourite things in reading is when an author wants to highlight a social or political issue and is completely heavy-handed with it – but this book is the opposite of that. It showcases so many social and political issues in a way that is incredibly thoughtful and haunting. This book shows that we can’t ever really know a person totally, even with the deepest friendship, and that everyone is on their own journey. Now, for the funny part: one of the character’s mothers collects gnomes, so many gnomes, and is eventually beaten almost to death with one. I hope this doesn’t happen to me. This leads me into lots of content warnings for violence, death, death of a DOG, suicidal ideation, ideation about so-called mercy killing, the ethics around pregnancy, medical incompetence, child neglect, abuse, massive drug use, and the aforementioned gnome beating. That’s a lot of content warnings and normally that would make me steer clear, but not with this book. Despite all that, it’s such a beautiful and compelling read about friends, family, love, and moving through life as a terribly damaged person.

Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake. I am kind of neutral about Anna Quindlen’s fiction; I neither love it nor dislike it. Someone (who was it? was it you?) told me about this memoir, which is in the form of essays, something I genuinely enjoy. And there are many lovely, thoughtful essays in here about aging and mothering adult children, and life in general. Some of it was kind of dated (there is a whole section on politics that made me kind of sad and also like “just wait, Anna”) and she refers to “our generation” a lot, and “our generation” refers to baby boomers. I mean, she’s exactly my mom’s age, but I still think there was a lot that is resonant for women my age. It was interesting as her generation WAS the generation of women who were encouraged to Have It All, and it was fascinating to read about her experiences with Having It All. It’s really a memoir of life after fifty, and while some of it was truly wonderful to read – she has SUCH a talent with words – I’m still kind of neutral. I do love the title, though.

We are coming into the Holiday Home Stretch, friends! I hope things aren’t too stressful where you are. I have some work to finish this week and then I’m hoping to relax by the tree with some good books and yummy things. That sounds pretty good right about now. How about you? Tell me everything. xo

Five For Friday: The 2024 Five Star Edition

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Five Star Books. I suffer terribly from both recency bias and an inability to remember when, exactly, events occur, and between those two things and the volume of books I read every year, I rarely can answer what were your favourite reads this year without referring to a detailed spreadsheet. For example, before I wrote this I would have said the absolute BEST books I read this year were Long Island Compromise and Margo’s Got Money Troubles, both of which I read in November, and the soon-to-be-reviewed The Girls From Corona Del Mar, which I read this week. But I had so many other five-star reads this year: Tom Lake, Games and Rituals, The Rachel Incident, Commonwealth, My Last Innocent Year, The Whispers, Happiness Falls, Sandwich, The Menopause Manifesto, Peacocks of Instagram, Leaving, Come and Get It, Summer Romance, A History of Burning. I realize that it’s only December 13 (hey, it’s Friday the 13th!) and there could still be some five-stars coming my way, but last year I wrote a similar post on December 8 and then only had one: How To Love The World: Poems of Gratitude and Hope. It gets a mention here because I missed out on it last year.

Five Star Re-Reads. I love re-reading old favourites, some of which have been read many times before. Sometimes I pick up these books because I don’t have any library books on the docket, sometimes I pick them up because I just read a string of bad library books and need a literary palate cleanser, and sometimes I just want the comfort of knowing I’m reading something that is going to be great. My five-star re-reads this year were Cat’s Eye, The Friend, Open Secrets, Early Morning Riser, Diary of a Provincial Lady, Amy and Isabelle, and Too Much Happiness.

Five Star Music. It is so exciting when Spotify Wrapped comes out; I love to see what I’ve listened to over the year, and to hear what other people have been musically obsessed with. My top artist has been the same for a few years: Aretha Franklin. I am, apparently, in the top 0.1% of listeners who also think that Aretha is the Queen. I wasn’t surprised to see that, and I wasn’t surprised that Whitney Houston was in the number two spot – also a queen, but with a lower-case q and with sadness about the disease of addiction – and that Alicia Keys and TLC were in the number three and four spots. Queens, all of them. I was, however, a bit surprised by my number five.

One of these things is not like the others! Well, I guess he was the King, and that goes with my musical royalty theme.

As for the top songs, well, my list was a surprise.

I would like to note that Dog and Butterfly moved from number one in 2023, and that I am in the top 0.01% of global listeners when it came to Linda Ronstadt’s Ooh Baby Baby. Either no one else plays that song, or I play it a lot, or both.

Five Star Podcasts. I subscribe to many, many podcasts, and I enjoy them all for different reasons. However, I would like to talk about the ones that I get extremely excited about, and desperately want to listen to immediately when new episodes air. The first is Were You Raised By Wolves, an etiquette podcast that brings nothing but delight and joy to my day. You may think that modern etiquette is a pretty dull theme for a podcast, and you would be in concert with my husband and sons, who think that my listening habits border on the insane. But it’s honestly so much fun, and the hosts have wonderful chemistry. I always learn something new and interesting, like it’s bad etiquette to pass the salt without the pepper. Who knew?

The second is Bad On Paper, a podcast about reading and writing. The hosts are in their thirties, and also have wildly different reading tastes from me. This was made evident when, on the rabid recommendation of one of the hosts, I read The Idea Of You, which was possibly one of the worst books I have ever consumed. But I do love listening to them. They do episodes on Obscure Erotica around Valentine’s Day, which is how I ended up reading Unhinged and Squeak, two absolutely insane books, one about a woman having sex with a sentient door, and the other involving balloon animals. They just released a Holiday Obscure Erotica episode, and I’m not saying I’m going to read Santa Claus Is Going To Town On Me. But I’m not NOT saying that, either.

I also love listening to The Girls Next Door, which I think I heard about from Stephany (HI STEPHANY). Truthfully, I tried to listen to them about a year ago and I turned them off in irritation. I just could not! I think that Stephany eventually wore me down with her enthusiasm. On her recommendation, I downloaded a very specific episode which I cannot for the life of me remember, earlier this year, and I was hooked from that moment on. It’s just a lovely little podcast full of friendship and fun; they just released an “80s Kid Christmas” episode and as someone born in 1975, I was here for that kind of nostalgia.

Do you like food? Do you like cooking? Do you like the general demeanor and energy level of the SNL skit Shweddy Balls? Then you’ll love Cookbook Club, where they soothingly discuss recipes they make from a specific cookbook, a different one every episode, alternated with cooking topics. If you ever want to hear a debate about whether white sprinkles belong in rainbow sprinkles, and if not, how to make your own custom rainbow sprinkle mix, then this is the podcast for you!

I prefer to listen to smaller, independent podcasts, but I need to tell you about a big exception: Heather McMahon’s Absolutely Not podcast. I have had to stop walking to bend over, put my hands on my knees, and make donkey-like wheezing sounds from laughing so much while Rex looks at me with concern. Possibly I shouldn’t listen to her on our walks.

Five Star Travel. If 2023 was the year of upheaval and change, 2024 has been the year for travel. In January we went to Mexico, in March to Las Vegas. In April and May we were in Ontario and Quebec, only to come home, turn around, and road trip to see my parents in Alberta. In August I went on a road trip with my parents from their place to southeast Saskatchewan for a family reunion, while my husband and older son were on their own road trip to Tuktoyaktuk, and we went for another road trip to Alberta in October for my dad’s 75th birthday. After that, we spent three weeks in Italy! All of our trips were wonderful in different ways, and I swear it’s not recency bias, but Italy was a very special trip of a lifetime.

The world is so big and interesting, there are so many places to go, there are so many books to read and things to listen to. I love hearing what other people also love, whether it be books or music or podcasts or travel. So let me know, my five-star friends, what you’ve loved this year. Tell me everything. xo

Noelle, The Non-Blooming Christmas Cactus

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In September of 2022, my husband and I were at a farewell party for friends who were moving out of the country. As we were leaving, I was, as I am wont to be, getting emotional, and my friend asked if I would take custody of her Christmas cactus, as she couldn’t really take it with her. Of course, I said, tears in my eyes. Of course I will.

Now, I’m unsure if Denise (HI DENISE) was just trying to get me out of the house before I burst into sobs, but I like to think that she gifted me her Christmas cactus knowing it would be going to a good home. I am a verified Plant Lady, after all. This Christmas cactus was, she told me, seventeen years old, which was the exact age of my younger son, giving this custody arrangement even more gravitas. I clutched both Denise and the cactus to my chest and went home.

I named the plant Noelle, I repotted her in a new, larger pot with good drainage, I bought a special fertilizer, I talked to her and put her in the right kind of light exposure, and I started to refer to her as “your sister” to the boys. I love all my plants but Noelle has a very special place in my heart.

Noelle is now nineteen.

A few weeks ago I was looking at Instagram and several of my friends posted photos of their Christmas cacti in full bloom. Now. Let’s all remember that Comparison Is The Thief Of Joy, and that we shouldn’t compare our insides to someone else’s outsides, Instagram is life’s highlight reel, but I realized that in the twenty-six months of Life With Noelle, she hadn’t bloomed once. In fact, she has barely grown.

I thought about this for a while, and then ventured to tell my husband that I think maybe Noelle has reached a certain age, and that her blooming days are over. He replied that I could just put Noelle in the compost and get a new plant.

Well.

Even after almost 23 years of marriage, my husband was surprised, actually surprised, at the ferocity of my reaction. How dare. I could not believe that he would suggest I THROW OUT my beloved aged Christmas cactus, just because her blooming days are behind her? Would we, I said, my voice rising and breaking, would we do that to a PERSON? Just because they don’t bloom anymore?

My husband and son looked at me wordlessly, as I projected onto a Christmas cactus, then went back to eating dinner.

I have been identifying a little bit too strongly with Noelle lately, for reasons that are boring and stupid. To that end I pulled a book off my shelf for inspirational reading before my yoga practice.

This is a reread for me, and something struck me as I read through the pages. It was like I was viewing something at a distance, something that had been deeply meaningful to me at one point but was no longer so. It was like listening to Wish You Were Here or Landslide: at one point in my life I wouldn’t be able to make it those songs without choked sobbing, but now I can listen to them and appreciate them as just musically beautiful.

Curious, I went to look up when, exactly, I had read All Along You Were Blooming, and I finished it in April 2023 which was, as some of you may know, an absolute low point emotionally and mentally. Every single thing in my life was in upheaval: we had just sold our house and we were preparing to move to a different province, one son was graduating high school and the other was getting ready to leave for university, my husband was retiring, I was giving up all my yoga classes, MY ENTIRE HOUSE WAS A DISASTER OF HALF-PACKED BOXES. No wonder all of this spoke to me like an emotionally misunderstood fourteen-year-old girl hearing Pink Floyd for the first time.

Life is a journey, as I say almost daily, and meanwhile, while I currently feel like my blooming days may be behind me, I know that one day I will look back at this moment in time and want to slap my own face. To that end, I have reinstated my long-neglected Mirror Meditations, which I encourage all of us to do. Look on your face like it’s someone you love deeply! SOFTEN YOUR EYES, GODDAMMIT.

On theme this week I read a memoir, the thesis of which is you may be in your late forties, but you can still go to Paris and get fucked six ways from Sunday, which, you know, isn’t exactly relevant to my life or interests, but I guess it’s nice to know the option is there?

Weekly Reading

Prior to going to Italy, I put all my library holds on pause, and now the chickens have come home to roost. I started the week like this:

And now it’s this:

It’s been one step forward, two steps back LITERALLY as every time I return a book two or more are waiting for me.

The Christmas Orphan’s Club. ‘Tis the season to read Christmas books! This one is about four friends who celebrate Christmas together in New York City each year, and are coming to terms with one of them leaving for LA. I am about twenty years too old for the target demographic here and I could not relate less to the characters, honestly. But the book has a nice message about chosen family, the importance or not of a date on a calendar, and growing up. It’s a real moment in time – when friends are the most important thing in the world, and when those friends start building a life of their own – and that might be just your jam to read this holiday season. I mean, it’s not mine, but maybe it’s yours.

I’m Mostly Here To Enjoy Myself. I am the exact same age as the author of this memoir, but – other than our shared obsession with Laura Ingalls Wilder – our lives could not be more different. In theory this is fascinating to me, but in practice – i.e., in this book – it is less so. The premise of this book is that at age 46, the author spends August 2021 in Paris, a city she has spent many Augusts in. The difference this time is that she has just spent sixteen months alone in her 450 square foot NYC apartment, and is absolutely starved for contact. The lady is Down To Fuck. She is also down to be the recipient of Grazing The Watercress, as they say in French. This is how the book is sold, honestly, that not only is she getting laid and pleasured on her command, but she is also incredibly desirable at age 46. So. There’s lots that could be said about this sales pitch but there’s much more to it: a) the book contains a lot more than that as there is a good discussion about aging, b) the author has a really nice Parisian female friendship group, and you know I’m a gal’s gal, c) there are wonderful food descriptions, and d) the hookup app she uses is called Fruitz, which is amusing to me. I will say the most interesting thing about this book is the timeline: reading about that time in the pandemic brought back memories, not at all good ones. It felt weird thinking about that crazy time, and it was strange reading about someone getting her freak on when I was stressing about the kids going to school, would it be virtual school, etc. Well, the world is a wild tapestry. 

Dear Fang, With Love. I admit I knew next to nothing about Lithuania; prior to this week I could not have pointed it out on a map. My son, however, told me that it was part of the Soviet Stack, along with Estonia and Latvia; it’s north of Poland and east of Finland. I also did not know how it was affected by World War II and the Holocaust, and this book explores that country’s history from the viewpoint of a father and his teenage daughter who are visiting it after the girl has a psychotic break. This is a strange but compelling book about mental illness, heredity, parental relationships, and youthful love.

A fantastic quote, and one that actually did resonate for me from I’m Mostly Here To Enjoy Myself, is “I have found that you can either talk about yourself, or you can write about yourself, but doing both is a bit much.” Relatable. Basically everyone I know is aware of this blog and most read it (HI EVERYONE) which means that I am very, very aware of the possibility of repeating myself when I am out and about. However, it occurred to me that I have some new readers (HI NEW READERS, thanks for being here!) and to that end I am doing an Ask Me Anything. Longtime readers may be thinking to themselves Good lord no, no, no, I already know too much and I can respect that! But if anyone – new or longtime or anything in between – has a question for me, now is your chance! Just click the link! Have a beautiful week, friends. xo

One Day In Your Life…

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Aficionados of obscure Canadian bands from 1988 will certainly be singing along to that title: …shouldn’t be a problem. One day in your life, shouldn’t cause you pain. Because it’s one day that you might never be around here, and I’ll never ever see you again.

Well. That got a little dark for a minute.

My favourite day of the week is Friday, or, as I like to say to my sons’ extreme consternation, Fri-YAY. My older son says Mom in that certain way that our offspring have to say that we are unbelievably lame creatures, us mothers, whereas my younger son merely closes his eyes to indicate the psychic pain I cause him for using a term like Fri-YAY.

But it is a Fri-YAY to me, I save special treats for that day and I minimize jobs and chores, and here’s how last Friday, the final Friday of November 2024, went down.

3:56 am. I wake up and think about things until the clock strikes four, and then I get out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, where I start that pot of ambition. I drink two glasses of water, perform my morning ablutions, and get dressed in the clothes I have set out in the main floor bathroom the night before. I turn on the Christmas tree and get Rex out of his crate, which is a true highlight of my day, since he behaves as if it’s been years since we’ve seen each other. He’s like the Mary Oliver poem about starting the day in happiness come to life.

Friday is a great day in Rex’s life, because it’s Garbage Day. I grab my flashlight and coat and we go to the shed where the bin is locked up away from bears. As I drag it up to the road, he runs back and forth excitedly. After that, we go inside where I fill his food and water bowls, fill my own coffee cup, and start my laptop. This is my designated blog reading time, so if you’ve ever had an incoherent comment from me, probably the coffee hasn’t kicked in yet.

5:21 am. Yoga time! I read a poem first and then meditate on it while I practice.

This is followed by a Peloton ride.

7:15 am. The sun will be coming up in 15 minutes, which is perfect timing as I don’t like walking in the dark. I rehydrate and change my clothes, put on mascara and tinted lip balm, and we are ready to go! For a change I decide to hike up Knox Mountain. There’s no snow at our house but there is a bit on the mountain, and that adds many, many minutes to our walk, as Rex eats, rolls in, and frolics through the scant snow.

9:31 am. We finally get home and I am ready for breakfast. I make a smoothie, tidy up the kitchen, and decide that I cannot abide the state of the floors – side eyeing Rex – and so I give the main floor a quick vacuum and wash.

10:20 am. I shower and scrub out my shower – I do this while my hair mask is absorbing, hot housekeeping tip – and then moisturize, apply makeup, and get dressed. I practice my Spanish to let my hair dry a little before taking the blow dryer to it. I’m on a 1006 day streak!

11:43 am. I don’t usually write on Fridays, but I’m on a self-imposed deadline to finish my second draft before January, which is when my Revise and Edit course begins. I set my mental timer for twenty minutes, and after that I treat myself to reading a couple more blogs.

As Laura and Suzanne know, once the glasses are on, it’s Business Time. (HI LAURA HI SUZANNE). Does anyone remember the Flight of the Conchordes? When you get down to just your socks, it’s Business Time. Anyway, it’s not THAT kind of business.

12:21 pm. Lunchtime! Yesterday I had made a vanilla ice cream mixture and so I put that in the ice cream maker to churn while I eat lunch. I add chopped up Oreos and consider myself a contender for Mom of the Year. I read a chapter of my current book, which is Real Americans.

1:30 pm. I have a pedicure appointment at 2, but I need to stop at the library first. I do this and later discover after I left another of my holds came in. I had put all my holds on pause when we went to Italy, and I currently have eight library books at home, plus three at the library, plus TWO MORE in transit. Oops. I have a lovely pedicure, and come home to see my husband and son in the yard putting up the outdoor Christmas decorations. Rex is out with them too and he’s pretty excited to see me. He comes inside with me where I brush my teeth, call my mother, and then come back out to be a consultant for the decorations. Should the walrus and the penguin be together? Where does the llama go? Should the snowman go under the overhead vines as a welcoming committee?

3:59 pm. This is it. This is the day where the sun sets before 4:00. I’m mainlining Vitamin D at this point. We go back inside and have Cocktail Hour: first, a chilled shot of Limoncello to sip, reminding us of Italy, and then a glass of Chianti.

5:00 pm. A knock on the door, and it’s a delivery from UPS. My dear, sweet friend Elise has sent me a package and it’s absolutely incredible. Does she know me or what?

5:30 pm. It’s time to make dinner, and it’s my favourite, the one I could eat on repeat indefinitely: Greek salad with hummus and pita. What better day to have my favourite dinner? Since I (always) make dinner, the guys clean up the kitchen.

7:00 pm. While they are cleaning up, I change into my pajamas and do my dental and skincare routines. Then the three of us watch an episode of NYPD Blue. It is a ROUGH one. If you know, you know. After that we are all kind of silent, and I read a few more chapters of my book while my husband watches hockey and my son disappears.

8:47 pm. Bedtime! I’m calling it a day. A Fri-YAY.

Weekly Reading

To The Women. I have been reading these poems in the morning before yoga and let me tell you, this uplifting collection could not be better timed! has words of wisdom about body image, aging, and loving yourself more and more as time goes on. For those of us side-eyeing our wardrobe as it relates to our newfound perimenopausal tummy, this is a really inspirational look at aging.

The God of the Woods. About halfway through this mystery-thriller about a young girl who goes missing from summer camp is this quote: “She read Walden out of sheer boredome and found herself annoyed by Thoreau: his self-regard, his tone of superiority, the way he doled out advice so obvious as to be insulting. Here was a rich person playing, thought Louise. There were poor people far more resourceful and self-sufficient than he was; they just had the grace and self-awareness not to brag about it.” HELLO. Seldom have I felt so seen. I don’t think I’ve ever had my feelings about Thoreau encapsulated so well, so that boosted the book for me right there. But more interestingly, that paragraph basically sums up the whole book. It’s a foreshadowing and a thematic statement all in one and I AM HERE FOR IT. I love when authors leave little hints like that. Anyway, this is not my usual genre, but I picked it up because it’s so buzzy right now. And even though I don’t love mystery-thrillers, I really liked this, I found it a nice twisty entertaining read that kept me guessing until the end. Damn if I don’t feel bonded with Liz Moore right now, too. Living deliberately my ass.

Real Americans. This was an interesting reading experience, a book about three generations of Chinese-Americans that deals with wealth, class, assimilation, fitting into society, and, wildly, the ethics of genetic modification. It’s also about family and making the best choices given the circumstances. I really loved the first third of the book and then I liked it a bit less as it went on. As literature, it’s quite a remarkable accomplishment, spanning decades and generations and weaving historical events into everyday life. There are some interesting questions raised: what role does fate play in our lives, what does it mean to be part of a family, is wealth incompatible with living an ethical life? It’s a thought-provoking and very well written book.

Congrats to all my friends who participated in NaBloPoMo! I saw quite a few “day in the life” posts and was inspired to do my own – waiting until December, of course! I’m always a bit reticent to do these posts – is anyone really interested in the minutia of my life? – and then I realize that I myself am fascinated by them, so why not. Next up: an AMA! Happy December, friends. xo

Seasonal Specialties

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It’s that time again!

Did I scream a little in delight at seeing them in Costco? Yes I did. Did the woman who was looking at them curiously step away in low-key alarm? Yes she did. No matter. Kalette season is absolutely glorious, and those little cruciferous treats are a glowing light in the darkness.

It’s November. We live in Canada. I said that at Sunday dinner and my older son looked at me with a forced neutral expression. Facts? he said, but I wasn’t stating the obvious for no reason. I was commenting on the very low number of daylight hours right now – and it’s only going to get lower! – no matter where one is in the geographic time zone. Right now the sun sets at 4:02 pm, which means that the world is dusky around three and completely pitch black by five. Until I moved here I had never experienced precipitation in November as anything other than snow, the musical stylings of Guns and Roses notwithstanding. However, in addition to the super-early darkness, it’s been very drizzly and grey over the past couple of weeks. What I’m saying is that I’m leaning in to coziness and light.

As an aside, a few weeks ago my friend Cara (HI CARA) mentioned that Axl Rose is an anagram, after which I read Long Island Compromise, so it feels like the Baader Meinhof effect is in full force.

We are not much of a Soup Family; I make soup at most four to six times a year. I know! I know. But we just aren’t a family of soup lovers. However, I had a baguette left over from Big Salad Night, and so I whipped up some roasted butternut squash soup – using one of my many garden offerings – and topped it with crispy roasted lentils. It was so warming and cozy.

When the guys were looking for gift suggestions for me, I brought up a cookbook that I thought was interesting, to which they responded Why? You never use cookbooks. It’s true. I free-style almost everything, including that soup, and it generally turns out well. But cookbooks are so pretty to look at!

Speaking of recipes, some of you may have noticed that my Soul, Food recipe index is no longer functioning. Longtime readers will remember that I had a weekly recipe column on the YMC website from 2013-2017. Erica, the website owner, recently retired and I did not realize this would mean that the entire site would be shut down and four years’ worth of weekly recipes would be lost to the ether, forever. I am practicing non-attachment.

One of the most popular was a recipe I make only once annually, and that is my grandma’s gingersnaps. I baked up a batch this weekend, which felt wonderfully cozy and festive. If you too wish to have six or seven dozen gingersnaps at your disposal, cream together 1 cup each of soft butter and molasses, add 1 cup of brown sugar and 1 1/4 cup white sugar (yes, it is a lot of sugar, these are cookies, let’s all settle down). Add 2 eggs and 1 tablespoon of vanilla; once that is all blended together mix in 2 teaspoons of baking soda, 2 1/2 teaspoons of ground ginger, and 4 cups of flour. At this point I put the mixing bowl in the fridge for a couple of hours, and then when I’m ready to bake I roll the dough into one-inch balls, rolling each of the balls in white sugar to coat. Bake – ON PARCHMENT PAPER-LINED COOKIE SHEETS, DO NOT SKIP THIS STEP – at 375 degrees, or 350 convection. I like a really chewy cookie so I bake them for eight to ten minutes maximum, but if you want a typical snappy gingersnap, bake a few minutes longer.

I MAY have snapped at my husband and son for snapping up gingersnaps before I snapped a photo.

The coziest, most seasonal news of all is that as of yesterday, the tree is up! I love our insane mishmash of holiday ornaments and decorations. What we lack in artistic cohesiveness, we make up in pure nostalgia and happiness. In the next few weeks, the sun will be setting before 4:00, but the holiday glow is enough for me.

Weekly Reading

I Hope This Finds You Well. Last week I mentioned my strange run of books that dealt with premature death and its devastating aftermath, and said that I needed to read something light. When this popped up on my holds list, I thought perfect. It’s billed as a “wildly funny, heart-warming office comedy.” Sometimes I think there is something vastly wrong with me because books that are marketed as “laugh out loud” funny never are to me, whereas I was crying with laughter while reading Long Island Compromise. Anyway, I think it’s a huge disservice to bill this book as a comedy because it really isn’t – it deals with trauma, depression, alcohol abuse, drug abuse, domestic abuse, infidelity, child neglect – although there are very heart-warming moments. Jolene is a traumatized, socially awkward, anxious woman who discovers through a glitch in her computer that a) her office mates are all talking about her behind her back, and b) there are layoffs coming down the pipe and she might be one of them. So it’s kind of the socially anxious person’s nightmare. It’s office politics with grown-up mean girls. There are some great messages in here: the people in your life are important, everyone has things they are dealing with, opening your heart to people leads to better understanding and friendships. Also, you know I love championing female Canadian authors, particularly debut authors, and this author is from Calgary! The book takes place in Calgary, and there are all sorts of place references in which I was saying “I know where that is! I know where that is!” and the company is “Supershops” which seems to be a play on Superstore, also a place of which I am very familiar. I love that, even if I didn’t love this book.

Margo’s Got Money Troubles. Another book that was very different than I thought it would be – but in this case, it was in a brilliant way. The plot synopsis sounds like this is a zany raunchy comedy: at nineteen, Margo finds herself pregnant by her college professor, who wants nothing to do with the baby that she decides to keep. Her mother, an ex-Hooters waitress now in a relationship with a super-religious guy, is not supportive but her father, an ex-pro wrestler, is. He moves in at the same time Margo loses her job and realizes that she had no plan for childcare or income after the baby was born. What to do? Well, what she decides to do is to start an Only Fans account, taking advice from her dad on how to create a character and market herself. Sounds like a silly romp, right? But it’s one of the most thoughtful, fascinating, ultimately heart-warming book. It’s so witty and smart, and the writing on a line level is frankly brilliant. It IS very funny, but subtly so, and the author makes a really interesting stylistic choice: sometimes it is in the first person, sometimes in the third person, depending on Margo’s feelings about the subject at hand. When she goes into the third person, it’s when Margo wants to view her younger self with love and compassion, and it’s just so powerful. As a reader, it’s a very meta experience as the book explores character development in entertainment, making it feel like we are breaking the fourth wall in a way. I had an extra jolt of enjoyment because of the pro wrestling thing: as we all know, the males in the Boyhouse are all well-versed in that world, and I had some great discussions with my younger son, as he gave me more information on different wrestlers that were mentioned in the book, their characters and backstories. It really added to the experience. As a whole, it’s an intersection between the Madonna and the Whore, it’s a commentary on women’s autonomy over their own bodies, it highlights how society views young mothers and sex workers, and it asks the question as to what is a good life, and who is entitled to it? Every character is complex and nuanced. It’s a really brilliant book. Here is a quote that left me breathless: People are all so lonely. Even when they do horrible things, if often comes down to that, if only you take the time to understand them. It seemed like that should mean the world could be better, that people could help each other, like Jesus said. And yet that’s not what happens. That hardly ever seems to happen at all. Also this: I had always thought that love was supposed to come from other people, and somehow, I was failing to catch the crumbs of it, failing to eat them, and I went around belly empty and desperate. I didn’t know the love was supposed to come from within me, and that as long as I loved others, the strength and warmth of that love would fill me, make me strong. I mean. Does it get better than that?

Speaking of things that couldn’t be better, Rex allowed me to dress him up festively, only going through three stages of grief: depression, bargaining, and acceptance.

Happy last week of November, friends. I hope you have a week full of light and coziness. xo

Smash That Subscribe Button

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Back when the kids were in elementary school, my favourite fundraiser – even considering my eight solid years running the Scholastic Book Fair twice annually – was the magazine fundraiser. I loved choosing magazine subscriptions and I loved the getting the happy little surprise in the mail a couple times a month.

The mail! Sob. Canada Post is currently on strike and I am just hoping it gets resolved soon. All my holiday cards are ready to go when the strike is over (GODSPEED), but in the meantime, last week pre-strike I mailed several (non-David-penis) postcards, and I have honestly no clue where they are in the mail process. If you receive one, will you please let me know?

Anyway. Back in the day I had quite a few magazine subscriptions and I loved flipping through the glossy pages. I still have pages of recipes I tore out of Canadian Living and I would incorporate interesting postures from Yoga Journal into my classes. My mother-in-law gifted me a subscription to O Magazine for my birthday for over a decade, which is a lot of What I Know For Sure. That is where I got the idea for Nicole’s Favourite Things. I’m just like Oprah! Except for a few small differences.

Of course I don’t subscribe to print magazines anymore – who does? – but I realized that I do have a lot of subscriptions in lieu of that: podcasts, newsletters, and, of course, blogs. Every once in a while I will do a housecleaning to unsubscribe from such things that no longer interest me or bring me joy. I was doing this the other day – why does Substack automatically sign you up for newsletters you may be interested in? I’m not! Why did I think that podcast that spirals me into despair was a good idea? It isn’t! – when I started thinking about subscriptions I actually pay for. There is a lot of free content out there, but there are a few things that I value enough to pay money for.

O-oooohhh Listen To The Music

As a family we have the paid plan for Spotify, and it is worth every penny. Sometimes I think of Teenage Nicole with her tape recorder, trying to catch songs on the radio to record mix tapes. There would always be some DJ chatter before or after the song, or the entire opening bars would be missed completely as I scrambled to record. I had mix tapes made from friends’ cassettes or, in some cases, vinyl albums, and the sound quality would be just as good as one could expect. If someone told Teenage Nicole that she would spend her forties listening to any song she wanted, no matter how obscure, no matter how niche, no matter how, frankly, weird, at any time, well. Teenage Nicole would have been thrilled.

In addition to that, I allow myself one, and one only, Patreon subscription to a podcast. My rules for choosing this podcast are threefold: it must be independently produced, it must have bonus content for Patreon subscribers, and it must be something that actively makes my life better. Currently, this subscription belongs to Forever 35, but before that, it was Gen X, This Is Why, which I only stopped subscribing to because they ended the podcast.

Content With The Content

I really believe that writers should be paid for their work, but also, a person could go broke paying for all the good content out there. I have a number of free subscriptions to Substack newsletters, but I pay for two: Laura Bray’s The Cozy Library, and the Fug Girls’ Drinks With Broads.

I have been a Laura Stan for many years now – her writing is so gorgeous, and you must, you MUST sign up for her newsletter, at the very least her free edition – and I am lucky enough that she is now not only a good friend of mine, but also an inspirational writing partner!

As for the Fug Girls, I have loved their fashion commentary and celebrity gossip for years, but they offer a lot of bonus content for paid subscribers, including deep dives into weird vintage cookbooks and tours through really obscure museum gift shops. In other words, content that is right up my alley.

Language, People

Time has no meaning anymore and so I can’t tell you how long ago, exactly, my son and I upgraded to the paid family plan for Duolingo, but I am currently on a 994 day streak with 65 weeks in the Diamond League, so I’m guessing it’s probably a couple of years ago. But how worth it that upgrade was! I spent six months prior to our trip to Italy learning Italian, which came in very handy. I refreshed my high school French before we went to Quebec, and I can now converse (albeit slowly) in Spanish. I don’t follow anyone on Duolingo except my son, so that he and I can go on “quests” together each week. Bonding!

Beauty…

Speaking of quests, I have been on a lifelong one for Hair Happiness. I could probably employ a therapist for a significant amount of time just to talk about hair issues, but instead I use that money for a couple of hair-related subscriptions that have improved my life immeasurably: Nutrafol and Prose. I’ve talked at length about Nutrafol and I will say this: in 2022, I was in a very low emotional state about my thinning hair and bald spots. I mean, obviously! No woman wants to go bald! But since starting the supplement I have had so much less hair shedding, and a lot of hair growth. It really worked for me and I wish they would sponsor this blog because it is expensive. Worth it! But expensive. I have a six-month subscription because, being in Canada, I have to pay for shipping and this way I am only charged for it twice annually.

I just had a sudden feeling of panic: Nutrafol comes via Canada Post. Pardon me while I go do some ujjayi breathing and reassure myself that the strike will be over by the time my next subscription comes. Breathe. Breathe.

Anyway. I also have a subscription to Prose hair products, which I love. I also love that I can pause the subscription or change the amount of time between deliveries, depending on how fast or slow I’m going through them. For someone who is very, very sensitive about her hair, these two product lines have been life-changing.

…and The Beast

Sometimes I feel low-level guilt that Barkley was the recipient of fancy, all-natural dog food that I had to pick up in a specialty store, whereas Rex gets Purina One. What can I say? Rex is almost 100 pounds and goes through five cups of dog food a day, to Barkley’s one and a half, which certainly factors into the decision. Well. I never once brushed Barkley’s teeth nor did I walk him for ninety minutes a day, so I guess things even out.

Because Rex goes through so much food I buy the 14 kilogram bags, which last about six weeks. Because of their awkward size and shape, I find them nearly impossible to lift and maneuver into a grocery cart. Once I tried to heave the bag into the bottom of a Superstore cart, and ended up accidentally launching the cart – sans dog food – down the aisle. I now use the subscribe-and-save function at Amazon; I don’t have to think about it, the food is always available, and I only have to drag it to the pantry if no one else is home to lift it.

Weekly Reading

Long Island Compromise. The very first thing you have to know is something I discovered about 1/4 of the way through the book: “Long Island Compromise” is a euphemism for “doing it up the butt.” What a wild title, and yet it is so appropriate, as basically everyone in this book is getting fucked up the ass, mostly figuratively, but also in some cases literally. The second thing you have to know is that this book is a work of art. I can’t remember the last time I read something that is such a statement about society without being a tiresome bore of a lecture. This book MOVES, and the characterizations are all so incredible. I could not tell from one page to the next where it was going to go. It starts out with the kidnapping and subsequent return of a Jewish family’s patriarch, and the remainder of the book deals with the fallout from that one-week incident. It deals with wealth and inherited wealth, trauma and inherited trauma, class, secrets, and viciously brutal choices and decisions. At first glance this book is about the old adage about wealth-building, in that “the first generation builds the house, the second generation lives in the house, and the third generation burns the house down.” But it’s so much more than that. Plus, it is hysterically funny; a few times I laughed so much my husband thought I was reading David Sedaris. I cannot say enough how much I adored this book. It’s absolutely brilliant. Big thanks to the beautiful and talented Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) for getting me to bump this book up on my TBR, and for being amenable with all my messages about it (Suzanne, omg, it means doing it up the butt!).

After Annie. This was a moving story about the year following the sudden, early death of a woman, and how the new world is navigated by her husband, four children, and best friend. It was well-written and compelling, but whoa, I have read way too many books lately that deal with the aftermath of untimely death. I think this is my fifth in less than a month. Time for something light, or, at the very least, something that does not discuss the devastation that results from a person dying prematurely and unexpectedly.

I have a pretty fun and exciting week ahead of me: it’s Full On Festive Season around here, and so the tree is going up, I have a very fun outing with the girls, and holiday baking and treat making has officially started. Yesterday I baked a warm gingerbread cake with caramel sauce, and it was absolutely perfect – the recipe was from my friend Julie’s cake cookbook (HI JULIE). My son very kindly reminded me that I have had this book for almost two years now and STILL haven’t made every recipe, as I have vowed to do. I’ll get there! One cake at a time. I hope you all have a delicious, festive week. xo

The Books I Read On Vacation: Italy 2024

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As a general rule I vastly prefer paper books to an e-reader, but when it comes to travel, I am devoted to my Kobo. It’s just so brilliant; I can take many books with me, without taking up any luggage space. I had been happily curating my library hold list so that my Kobo would be populated with books with a variety of expiry dates. I had it perfectly planned.

One week before we left there was a huge cybersecurity breach at the Calgary Public Library. My Kobo is linked to my old Calgary card, and suddenly I couldn’t access the account. To this day, the library hasn’t recovered; apparently all the CPL branches are currently analog, with old-school paper due date slips and stamps, and the online system remains down.

Fortunately, Libby was still working and I was still – eventually – able to download books, but I learned something important: my Kobo will work with one library card and one library card only. Since I already had several books downloaded from the Calgary system, I nervously kept things as-is, and hoped for the best.

Another thing I learned about travelling with a Kobo: if there is a problem, you’re fucked. Well, “fucked.” We were at the Rome airport, ready to return home, and my Kobo froze. I couldn’t select books. I couldn’t change screens. I couldn’t even power it down. I was looking down the barrel of five hours of airport time plus eleven hours of air travel with no reading material.

My husband pried my Kobo out of my panicking hands and, looking down the barrel of dealing with me with no reading material for sixteen hours, bossily told me to just go buy a goddamn book! I grumpily went to the little airport kiosk, found their English section, and spent fifteen euro on a book I didn’t really want but was the best available option. WASTED fifteen euro, I should say, because by the time I returned to my husband with the book, he had somehow managed to power it off and back on. I stared at the blinking screen, manifesting, and ended up with a perfectly functioning Kobo for the remainder of the trip, along with a book that is currently sitting on my bookshelf, unread.

My husband told me it was not a waste at all, instead, it was an insurance policy against such a thing happening on the flight.

The tl;dr of this is that I managed to read a lot of books while in transit. Some were great! Some, not so much.

The Books I Read On Vacation

Three Apples Fell From The Sky. I did enjoy this fable about a tiny Armenian village, with all the friendships and foes and interesting lives, but I think it could have really benefited from a listing of the characters. There were so many characters and they were all intertwined in a complicated way – I kept getting confused as to who was who and how they were related. It also jumps into a lot of flashbacks, so I wasn’t totally clear on what time period I was reading about at any given time. Still, a charming and sweet read.

Summer of ’79. Okay, I got this on my Kobo so I don’t even know if this is a proper book or not. This short, cute, quick read is an addendum to the book Summer of 69, which I haven’t read, but that didn’t really matter. It wasn’t hard to follow, but I probably would have enjoyed it more had I read the first. It’s a fun read filled with 70s fashion and pop culture references, which sealed the deal for me.

In Love. This was a very sad memoir, about a woman whose husband wanted to die by medically assisted suicide after his Alzheimer’s diagnosis. It was a very sad description of the search to do so as well as an exploration of his decline. Woof. It was rough to read, and it really made me think we need to do better for people in this situation, on every level.

The Authenticity Project. “Everyone lies about their lives. What would happen if you shared the truth instead?” So asks The Authenticity Project, a little notebook that makes its way around a group of people leaving friendship, love, and self-acceptance in its wake. This is a truly charming and heart warming story about friendship and love, bringing together an unlikely cast of characters. What a good read! Thanks to my dear friend Nicole (HI NICOLE) who always knows what I like to read.

Under The Tuscan Sun. What could be more appropriate, I thought, than reading this book while I’m in Tuscany? I thought this would be a wonderful romance, and then on discovering it’s basically a memoir, I imagined it would be similar to the very delightful A Year In Provence. Friends, how wrong I was. This book about a couple buying and renovating a property in Tuscany, though lyrically written, is incredibly boring. I desperately wanted to DNF but I forced myself to finish because I AM IN TUSCANY DAMMIT. But alas. There are some good food descriptions but otherwise this was a snore. I did enjoy reading about flying in the 90s, when you could bring whole bottles of olive oil in your carryon. That, my friends, was the highlight of this book. If you’re going to tell me the movie is great, I will believe you, because I looked up the film description and it wasn’t anything at all like the snoozefest I read.

Here After. This author is from Calgary! It is so fun to read about little landmarks and spaces around my old hometown. However, this is not a FUN book, it’s a very sad and vulnerable memoir about a woman whose husband literally dropped dead at age 32. This is a book about grieving and dealing with the shock of a sudden, horrible loss. It is also a tough read, and no, I don’t know why I was reading grief memoirs on a trip of a lifetime to Italy. Well, yes I do, it’s because that’s when the holds came in.

One Of Us Is Lying. Speaking of library holds, I was getting perilously low on reading material, and I still had several train rides and 16 hours of airport and plane transit to get through, so I delved desperately into the “skip the line” loans. This was available, so I downloaded it. But I’m so glad I did. This is a very fun, Agatha Christie meets Breakfast Club story about five teens in detention – and then one of them dies. The remaining teens are under suspicion! But who did it? This was just super fun, and I really enjoyed it.

Abide With Me. I love Elizabeth Strout and how she perfectly captures a certain theme and feeling. This is about a small town minister in the late 50s, who is grieving the sudden loss of his young wife (related: yes, this is a surprising number of books on death and widowhood to be reading). Anyway, as with all Strout’s books there are so many layers to these seemingly simple lives. “This kind of thing gave the women something to look forward to, especially now that the days were shorter and darker, and the boredom of changing sheets or cleaning a bathroom could sometimes mushroom into a private despair before noontime even arrived.” I MEAN. Also, wisdom: “But he thought of George telling him that the ability to receive was as great as the ability to give, and so he simply said thank you.”

Instructions For A Heatwave. It’s the UK heatwave of 1976 and everyone’s losing it a little…especially the recently retired man who just leaves for the day and doesn’t come back. I enjoyed this story of an Irish family living in England, who have secrets and alliances and grudges, but come together to deal with their father’s disappearance. 

In notable news, I watched an entire movie on one of my flights (No you didn’t! my son said. Wait, did you really?). It was a French-Canadian production with subtitles, called Une Femme Respectable. It was not what one might call an action packed movie, and yet I was so invested in it that I GASPED and said “NO, don’t do it!” out loud at one part. I may have been the only person on the entire flight, and maybe on any flight ever, watching it, but I did really enjoy it. This week I started a long-anticipated book and it does NOT disappoint. But I’ll tell you about it next week. xo