Category Archives: Books

I Am Strong, I Am Invincible, I Am Never Taking The Car In For Servicing Again

Posted on by

There are some chores, or “care tasks,” that only I do around the house. For example, I and I alone obtain groceries and make dinner Every Single Day, clean the hard-water marks off the shower doors, and take the Dove soap box from the bathroom countertop and place it in the recycling when a new bar is put into the shower, no matter who puts the new bar into the shower, even though every single person walks by the recycling bin many times a day. Sometimes when I feel resentful about these little chores, I remember that there are many things that happen around the house with no intervention on my part. I don’t think that I have changed a lightbulb since the 90s, for example. The dishwasher is almost always emptied by one of my sons, sometimes very late at night when they nosing around the kitchen for a snack, but hey, I don’t have to do it. The lawn gets mowed and the sidewalks get shoveled, the gutters are cleaned, and toilet paper rolls are always replaced and, mysteriously, the old cardboard roll is recycled at least half the time, rather than left to sit on the bathroom countertop like its friend the Dove soap box.

The biggest task that I do not ever deal with, however, is vehicular maintenance. I have a mental block when it comes to cars and it is only recently that a light can come on in the car and I do NOT start breathing rapidly and blinking away tears. Between my handy younger son and my husband, the snow and all-season tires are put on, taken off, and rotated when needed, and all the maintenance is taken care of. I don’t even know how to open the hood of the car, let alone check my oil, and I do not want to learn.

About a month ago my husband took my car out and said in an alarmed way that it was overdue for an oil change. At the dealership where we bought the car in 2013, we get free oil changes for…life? I don’t know. My husband has been under a lot of stress with his job; this is nothing new, he has been under incredible stress with his job since 2018, but it has been significantly ramped up in the last few months, which is how he missed his internal alarm that somehow knows when all the cars need to get oil changes.

Well. I am woman! I am strong! I am invincible! I decided that I would call the dealership to see if we needed an appointment for an oil change, or if I could just drive through, like in the pre-Covid days. I spoke with a very nice person who looked up my car history and said that I was actually due for maintenance, and that they were booking into December, and so I scheduled an appointment for last Tuesday, December 6 at 9:00 am. I hung up feeling very proud of myself until my husband asked do we really need maintenance or were you upsold. Well. How would I know. HOW WOULD I KNOW. My feelings of self-satisfaction were immediately eclipsed by feelings of rage and resentment that this was even a question for me AFTER I CALLED THE DEALERSHIP ALL BY MYSELF BECAUSE I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR.

The car WAS due for maintenance, by the way.

Here’s a funny thing about Calgary weather, for those of you who don’t know: it is extremely volatile. Temperatures can rise and fall twenty degrees in a twenty-four hour period. We can go from mild to painfully cold and back again in no time at all. It just so happened to be a very volatile week, temperature-wise, and Tuesday just happened to be the day that was marked by Extreme Cold, Snow, and Blowing Snow. Basically, a blizzard.

My younger son needed to be at school early, as his gym class was going curling, and so I dropped him off at 8:05 in time to get the bus. It is generally a twenty-minute drive to the dealership, but conditions were bad, and I thought that even if I got to the dealership before nine, I could just drop the car early. My husband thought that the appointment would be a quick one, and that I should take a book with me in case I just wanted to stay there for an hour. That sounded great to me; an uninterrupted hour of reading, while drinking probably bad coffee? Lovely.

My twenty-minute drive turned into fifty minutes of white-knuckle driving on roads that were either black ice or with lanes completely obscured by snow. There was so much morning traffic, the sun was barely coming up, and the snow was blowing, making visibility very low. By the time I got to the dealership, it was just before nine, and I was completely frazzled. I was also appreciative of the very handsome, bearded young man who checked my car in to its appointment; it is unusual for me to encounter such a person, let alone in the morning. I asked him approximately how long it would take, thinking that if it was only an hour I’d be happy to alternate looking at him and reading my book, but he said it would be three hours and he would order me an Uber.

This is where I should note that this was my first Uber ride ever, and I have joined the modern age at last. I also knew from listening to Were You Raised By Wolves that if someone else orders an Uber for you, then even the tip is taken care of, so I was doubly excited. My Uber driver was very friendly, and we ended up in a long and involved conversation about the merits of Calgary weather versus that of Winnipeg, where he originally hailed from, as well as crime rates, housing prices, and gangs. The conversation got so involved that he missed my exit, which, you guys, maybe I need to talk less? I am aware that I am the architect of my own problems, like my ninety-minute dental appointments and, apparently, Uber drivers missing turnoffs. With the conditions, it was not easy to adjust for the wrong turn, but eventually I did make it home, close to ten o’clock.

I quickly put on all the layers to walk Rex, thinking I only had a couple of hours to do that and then shower before I would have to head out again. I zoomed around, and then waited. And waited. Three hours became four, and then five, at which point I called the dealership and they said it was still in the shop. By this time my older son was home and offered to drive me when I needed it, rather than taking an Uber. Possibly he worried that if I took another Uber, I would end up chatting too much and would never make it to the dealership. I don’t know. I waited.

Finally, nearly seven hours after dropping off the car, my son came into the living room, texting. Dad says it’s time for us to go now. Wait, what. The dealership did not call me, but instead called my husband, to tell him that the car needed brake pads along with something else, you know what, I have no idea what it was. It was probably better that they called him but still I felt slighted. What happened to being woman and hearing me roar? Then, my husband just texted my SON to tell him to take me to the dealership, and no one thought to text ME. Well, anyway, after a day of waiting around, I was happy to finally have some closure, and we went for another hair-raising drive on icy, snow-covered roads with little visibility, and now it was getting dark, too.

By the time we got there, it was well after four o’clock, and I was hoping to get home before the sun went down completely. I found my car in the lot, only to discover that it had been in the very warm shop and then taken out into the minus 23 degree weather, which meant that the windows were all completely frosted over ON THE INSIDE. Have you ever tried to scrape windows from the inside, with a long-handled scraper that is curved FOR USE ON THE OUTSIDE? It was not easy. Between my near-useless scraping, trying not to take out my own eye with the end of the snow brush, and the defrost on high, I finally had enough visibility to get back on the road, fifteen minutes later. By this point, the sunset had happened, and I was driving in the dark, in the blowing snow, on ice and in rush-hour traffic.

The sole upside was that by the time I was near home, my son was almost done wrestling practice, so I swung by the school to pick him up. While I waited, I stared out the window, completely exhausted, and vowed to never do another car maintenance thing ever again. I can roar in other ways. Maybe I’ll change a lightbulb.

Weekly Reading

Phosphorescence. After a prolonged illness and several surgeries, the author of this incredibly interesting and well-researched book started to consider phosphorescence, or the things that make the world light up. Including ourselves, from within. She discusses modern lives and the lack of nature, how paying attention to life brings joy, and introduces the concept of freudenfruede, the idea that others’ successes bring us personal happiness – the opposite of schadenfreude. As Moira from Schitts’ Creek says, when one of us shines, we all shine. Also, note for Erin (HI ERIN) there is a Yiddish word, nachas, which indicates pride in someone else’s accomplishments, usually our children. I really liked that part; there is enough for all of us, success isn’t part of a finite pie, and we can derive joy from others’ happiness. We are not in a zero-sum game, here.

One thing I did not like in this book was the author’s discussion about complaining about small problems in our lives, and how we should never do it. I get it. When you are near-death, or are experiencing a devastating illness and day-to-day agonizing pain, I am sure you would welcome all the little daily irritants as just proof that you’re alive. Nevertheless I don’t think it’s healthy to say that no one should complain ever because that seems like a recipe for ulcers and mental illness. Of course, this is coming from a person who just wrote 1500 words about taking her car in for servicing. STILL. A paper cut isn’t a broken leg, but it still hurts, and we can acknowledge that. Taking a car in for servicing during a blizzard isn’t mourning the loss of a loved one, but we can still talk about it.

Other than that, the book really was lovely. As a memoir, well, I’d say only about a third at most can be considered memoir, but it’s a fascinating look at faith, grace, justice, and the pursuit of silence. 

This Time Tomorrow.
If you know how I feel about time travel as a literary device and concept (I loathe it) you might be surprised that I picked this book up at all, as the premise is a woman travelling from her 40th birthday to her 16th, and back again. I really like the author so I read it. I still don’t like time travel but I did enjoy this book despite that. It’s thought provoking in that the trajectory of our lives can change so easily. I often think, if I had done this instead of that, would I still be here? It’s interesting to think of all the little paths that we choose and don’t choose, and how they create our lives.

Saturday was our two month Rex-aversary, and it’s hard to remember what it was like without him! Well, my reading glasses didn’t constantly get wagged off the coffee table, I guess that was what it was like. I hope you all have a cozy week – with no vehicular issues! – with lots of treats and other lovely things. xo

Fancy Festivities and Friends

Posted on by

Here’s Your One Chance, Fancy, Don’t Let Me Down. Back in September 2020, when the kids first went back to in-person school after lockdown, my younger son told me that just walking through the halls and being around so many people made him really happy. I had that same feeling on Friday when my husband and I went to his company holiday party. I couldn’t stop smiling, just seeing other people all dressed up and looking universally beautiful. We are at a PARTY, I kept thinking, a HOLIDAY PARTY and everyone is DRESSED UP. I have no idea if this feeling of abject delight and wonder is going to continue throughout my life, but I hope it does.

It was so much fun, even if I am so unused to wearing heels that my feet were crying by the end of the night. What are you doing to me, where are our comfy shoes, what is happening right now.

We stayed at the party until TEN THIRTY PM and I wasn’t in bed until an hour later, and did you even know there was an 11:30 AT NIGHT? There is! I had prepared for this exciting and unheard of bout of wildness by doing two things I never do normally: I had a nap in the afternoon, and then I had a strong, caffeinated chai at 4:00 pm. WHEEEEEEE!

Last week I had invited all of you, my dear readers, to Ask Me Literally Anything, and I have had so many great questions that I will be answering in the coming weeks. My wild Friday night brings me to a question Pat (HI PAT) raised: I, like everyone else, am fascinated by you 4 a.m. wakeup. When you are on vacation, perhaps at your parents place, your lake house or a sunny destination, do you alter your schedule a bit? Maybe stay up till 9:30 and get up at 5? Well, Pat, on weekends I do sometimes sleep until 6 if I can! One thing about me is that my body seems to have a natural wakeup in the hour between 4 and 5, but on weekends or holidays I can usually lull myself back to sleep for another hour or two. I do try to stay up later when we are on vacation or visiting my parents, because it’s a bit ridiculous to go to bed at 8:30 when everyone is having fun and playing games. I thought maybe I could sleep in a bit this Saturday morning, but my son had a wrestling tournament and needed to be up by six, and although he drove himself to the school and is perfectly capable of getting through his own morning routine without his mother, I was still awake and drinking coffee by 6:05. You know how it goes, people.

And You May Ask Yourself, How Did I Get Here? I will be keeping the form open, mostly because I don’t know how to close it, so ask any questions you like. On the other hand, if you’re thinking really, I already know too much, that is cool too.

One question I did want to address came not from the form but from multiple comments about my Day in the Life post, with regards to teaching and practicing yoga. Some readers expressed surprise that I would practice yoga and then teach yoga in the same day, but those things are very separate to me. My personal yoga practice is a moving meditation, where I flow through postures – the Ashtanga primary series, with some additions and subtractions – doing breath work and ending with a nice savasana. I get on the mat every single day, even if it’s just a five minute seated meditation; I don’t feel like myself if I don’t practice. Teaching, on the other hand, is a different story: it’s work. I mean, it is fun work, and it is work that I enjoy, but it is work nonetheless. I am always “on,” and talking, and watching my students for cues that something is working or not working for them. I don’t focus on my own breathing, and it is not meditative in the least, because I am generally thinking of what posture we are going into next and how to include variations for students with a variety of old injuries and concerns.

I have been teaching many of my current students since 2017, so I have a good relationship with all of them, which I especially appreciated on Monday afternoon, when I was teaching my Strength and Tone ladies. We were in the middle of a downward dog when suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, my nose started bleeding, like that of a long-term cocaine addict. Such a thing has never happened to me before while teaching, and I hope it never happens again. When I say my nose started bleeding, I don’t mean a little trickle. I mean that I had to pause the class and it took TEN MINUTES to get things under control. Ten minutes is a very long time to be stanching a nose bleed, let me tell you. Fortunately my students are very kind and understanding, and were willing to independently use my tennis balls for some myofascial release at the wall while I went through every single tissue I had in my purse, and half the scratchy, recycled material paper towels that the community centre had next to the sink. I give my students homemade chocolates every year at Christmas, and I may have dropped a few extras in for these ladies, to thank them for their patience with my dramatically bleeding nose.

This Year, To Save Me From Tears, I’ll Give It To Someone Special. Last week I was having couple of down days; I felt mired in anxiety and worry about my children and their immediate and long-term futures, myself and my ability to handle Life’s Next Chapter, and also drooping sadness because it felt like everyone I was encountering was somehow yucking my yums. Normally I am a Que Sera, Sera Person, moving through life thinking we are doing our best, things will work out in the end, all will be well, and not being overly concerned if people don’t share my feelings about silly and fun things, but I just couldn’t shake my gloom. Part of this may have been due to the fact that I was short on sleep: one of the CO detectors’ battery died in the very early hours, waking me up with its incessant chirping even earlier than normal, and also that my Garmin was telling me that “it’s almost that time again!” which generally affects my sleep as well, in addition to my mood in general. I didn’t really need the reminder from my Garmin. My feelings of despair towards humanity were reminder enough, not to mention my giant swollen breasts that were spilling out of all of my yoga tanks.

My very dear friend Hannah who I love very much (HI HANNAH) somehow knew how I was feeling and sent me this, while I was standing in line at the post office, which in itself contributes to angst and despair:

It immediately turned my mood around; it made me so happy, and feel so seen. On days that I don’t get enough Last Christmas, I have been pulling out my sheet music and playing it on the piano. I am enjoying the fuck out of it.

Then, I came home to open a package sent to me by my dear friend Elise (HI ELISE), and I think I may have blacked out with excitement for a moment when I opened it.

Longtime readers will remember my obsession with the Sears Wish Book, and you just cannot even begin to imagine how exciting this was to receive in the mail. How did I get so lucky, to have such incredible friends? What an incredible gift! Thanks Elise!

This One’s For Becky. Back to the subject of music, I was driving home from the grocery store, listening to 70s on 7 – HI SUZ, the only other person I know who listens to that station – and Coward of the County came on. Let me just say that a) my parents were big Kenny Rogers fans, and b) I know the lyrics to almost every song I was exposed to more than once from my very young childhood to today, which means that probably 90% of my brain is song lyrics. If I could free up my brain power from remembering all these lyrics, I could probably cure cancer or something. Anyway, I hadn’t heard Coward of the County for many years but I still cheerfully sang along. Wow, that is one upbeat tune, given the grim nature of the song. Gang rape! Murder leading to lifetime incarceration! Generational trauma! I remember singing this song as a small child, which is unsettling to think of. Small Nicole, with her little bowl cut and her 70s clothing, singing Folks just called him Yellow! Son, you don’t have to fight to be a man.

I was likely singing and/ or talking in this photo, but it’s unlikely it was Coward of the County. Probably it was a Christmas song, or maybe just a stream of consciousness about the ornaments. Who can say.

Weekly Reading

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes. This seems like a bit of a morbid topic – the death/ mortuary/ funeral industry – but it is actually quite beautiful in a weird way, about honouring dead bodies and death rituals. I have always wondered about things like expensive caskets and the like, in a WHY kind of way. This was fascinating but not for the squeamish! One of my nephews is interested in pursuing a career in this industry, and reading it helped me understand the motivation.

Thanks For Waiting. This was an interesting concept for a memoir, from the cohost of Forever 35, one of my favourite podcasts. Shafrir talks about being a “late-bloomer,” achieving all those life milestones much later than all her peers, from tweenhood on. It goes from life as a writer in mice-infested NYC apartments, to living and dating in LA, to marriage and the incredible heartache of infertility treatments. It’s incredibly honest and brave, and I could hear her voice as I read this.

The Holiday Breakdown. You know I love a holiday romance, and this was just so delightful and fun. I smiled the whole time I was reading this sweet story; the main character was so fun and charming. The author cohosts Were You Raised By Wolves (two podcast-host books in a row!) and I could feel her warm and delightful personality shining though.

I hope you have a lovely week ahead of you. Maybe some festivities, as well? If you have some Heel Worthy Events, may I suggest some prophylactical Advil? That is, if you can get it. xo

Very Random November Observations

Posted on by

Everybody Dance Now

The other day Gonna Make You Sweat came on while I was working out, and I realized that I cannot hear that song without immediately picturing the dance scene in Old School. That movie is stupid and problematic, and neither the story nor the timeline make any sense, and yet I will never not find it funny. Back in the day when I worked on a trade floor, my work group were all guys, and one of them lent me his Old School DVD, which led to us all quoting from it all the live-long day. Not an hour went by without someone saying “It has three speeds,” or “What my friend is trying to say is that love is blind,” or “HE’S GONNA DO ONE!” or “Once it hits your lips it’s so good,” “Denver. The Sunshine State,” or my personal favourite, “EARMUFFS!” I realize that none of these statements would make any sense to anyone who hadn’t watched the movie ten times, but imagine, if you will, that each of these statements were considered by us to be a satisfactory answer to almost any request or comment. Nicole, are the prices in yet? Bring your green hat, let’s go. (Translation: yes, the prices are in, and I’m running the numbers right now.)

There is a scene in the movie where Frank goes streaking, by himself, and that made me think of my late father-in-law, whose greatest regret in life was that he didn’t go streaking in the 70s, when it was semi-popular to do so. Remember the song The Streak? The 70s were a magical time. Regrets, we all have them. I have one in particular.

Flash Flash Flash

Remember when flash mobs were a thing? I wish I had been part of one. I regret never being in one because I don’t think flash mobs exist anymore, and even if they did, how would I get myself involved? In any case, my enthusiasm for dancing far exceeds my talent for dancing. I am like one of the twins in the Charlie Brown Christmas, bad hair and all.

Maybe one day! Maybe one day I will have the opportunity to dance in a flash mob, and if the universe is listening, I will dance to anything but Everybody Dance Now would be amazing.

Those Are The Fax, Ma’am

I don’t know what made me think of it, but I realized that, like flash mobs, fax machines are a thing of the past. Isn’t it strange and kind of sad to think of all these completely obsolete items, probably residing in landfills? I mean, who would use a fax machine these days? I asked my husband about it and he said he thought his office still had them, but no one uses them. RIP fax machines.

Speaking of things made obsolete by the internet, remember Adult Video Stores? Or the Adult Video Section in regular video stores, that was cordoned off by a curtain? I mean, since video stores no longer exist, I assume that neither of those things exist as well, but did something else take their place? I have, it should be admitted, never set foot inside an Adult Video Store but now I’m wondering if they just became Adult Stores, the kind of places that sell – I assume – different lubes or costumes or what have you. But then again, all those things are available on the internet and one wouldn’t have to risk running into That Guy From Church while perusing the Naughty Nurse costumes or flavoured lubricant or something really awesome that I don’t even know about*.

Lettuce Pray

I’m going to address the elephant in the room: the lettuce shortage! My friend Hannah (HI HANNAH) mentioned it to me early last week, and I was completely surprised. The week before, I hadn’t noticed anything amiss in the produce section. WELL. Things change, roll with the punches; I went to Superstore on Wednesday and while they did indeed have lettuce, it was insanely priced. Iceberg was $5/ head, which, as Hannah said, is a lot to pay for crunchy water. Romaine was $8 for a three-pack of hearts. I ended up buying two bunches of kale for our Sunday night dinner; I always make a salad to go with that particular meal, and kale Caesar is a very popular choice in our house. I mentioned the shortage to my Thursday morning yoga class, and one of the ladies said that when she was young, they never had salad in the winter, only potatoes, turnips, and canned vegetables. I mentioned frozen vegetables and how great they are to reduce food waste, and she said that frozen vegetables were brand new when she was a child and they never had them. This probably indicates to you the demographic of my students.

Although I don’t tend to notice the price on produce that much, a few weeks ago cauliflower was something like $7/ head. This past week, Superstore had them on limited special:

Whatever you do, don’t go over the limit!!! That’s my two cents, anyway.

Girls, Girls, Girls

I am very sad to say that Pippa the ornamental pepper plant has died. I was weirdly devastated by this. Apparently ornamental peppers are very easy to grow, as long as you live in a warm, humid climate, which is the opposite of the climate in which I reside. I kept looking sadly at her rapidly dropping leaves and wrinkly fruits, and then took matters into my own hands. Pippa ended up in the compost, and I ended up in the garden centre, and how I didn’t come home with a van full of gnomes, I will never know. Wow, the garden centre has a lot of Christmas gnomes. Anyway, what I did end up bringing home were two lovely plants that will hopefully not die in my chilly, dry house. Meet Eva and Stella!

Is my life goal of becoming a Crazy Plant Lady hampered by the Death of Pippa? I hope not. Actually, given the probably outsized nature of my sadness about Pippa, it probably escalates me firmly into Crazy Plant Lady Territory. Particularly since I refer to the plants, including Noelle the Christmas Cactus, as The Girls.

Weekly Reading

We All Want Impossible Things. Oh. You guys. I have been reading Catherine Newman since 2004, back in her Babycenter days, and, as I have surely mentioned, her writing was one of the inspirations to starting this blog. Her writing speaks to me so much, and I almost feel like I have one of those parasocial relationships with her. Anyway, this is her first novel, and I absolutely devoured it and didn’t want it to end. It is a novel based on her actual experience, of her best friend dying in hospice of cancer. The way she writes about hospice is beautiful and heartbreaking and also weirdly hilarious. It’s Signature Catherine Newman, that mix of wrenching and hilarity.

I listened to an interview of her on a podcast – I am not going to say which one because I DEEPLY dislike the podcast, but I made an exception for her – and she said that because this was her first novel, she read a book about how to write a novel, and I found that incredibly reassuring and inspirational. I mean. There is hope for all aspiring writers! And this book is about hope, and grief, and finding beauty in the most painful situation possible. There is also a scene in which she is plucking chin hair for her incapacitated friend, and I would like to tell my dear friends who in the terrible event that they are similarly incapacitated, I will offer my chin-hair-plucking-services. May that day never come, but I found that to be The Testament in Ultimate Friendship.

Startup. Speaking of parasocial relationships, I kind of feel like I have one with Doree Shafrir, who cohosts my current favourite podcast, Forever 35 (“a podcast about the things we do to take care of ourselves” – ladies, you are speaking my language). This is a novel about three women, whose lives become intertwined in the tech startup world. It’s a statement on toxic masculinity in tech culture, and I am here for it. It’s so smart and readable! The characters and their issues are so real; I dove into this book and did not want to come up for air.

So many random things to talk about! I have many more topics to touch on but that will have to wait for another day. Have a beautiful week, friends. Happy Thanksgiving week to all my American beauties! xo

*if you understand that reference, you have watched a lot of Old School. Not to worry, you’re in the Trust Tree with me.

Gifting

Posted on by

Last week I received a complimentary “New Puppy Package” from the vet, despite the fact that Rex is not a puppy, and in it was a stuffed squeaky toy. As I paid for the visit – and the lice treatment, ew David – the vet unpackaged the toy and gave it to Rex to play with. He seemed to enjoy it immensely, and then as soon as we got home he dropped it in the snow in the backyard. I picked it up and took it inside, and he immediately went to the door with it in his mouth, to drop it back in the snow. This went on for a while. Finally, my younger son came home from school, witnessed this back-and-forth, and said “Mom, give up. He doesn’t want it in the house. You’re never going to win this.”

I don’t like to anthropomorphize, but it felt like Rex was pretending to like his gift, but once he got home he didn’t have to pretend anymore. I suppose we have all been there. For the record, I have since tried to bring it back inside, but he continues to take it outside and then ignore it. It feels like a judgement.

This brings me, strangely enough, to Christmas shopping! Quite a few people have asked how I always finish my shopping so early, and the keys to this success are a) I don’t have a lot of people to buy for, b) I start in late October, block off a few hours here and there and just push through, and c) I don’t stress out about finding the Perfect Gift, I just try to find things the recipients will like and then call it a day.

Of course, some people are easier to buy for than others. My parents, for example, are the easiest; my dad in particular has received aftershave, golf balls, or some kind of shirt on rotation for every single Christmas, Father’s Day, and birthday from me for the past thirty years or so, and he always is happy with his gift. He’s the type of person who will ostentatiously wear his shirt or aftershave the day after it is gifted, to show his appreciation, and I am HERE for it. My mom is similarly easy to shop for since I know her taste, her size, and her favourite colours and scents, and I know she’ll like anything I give her.

The guys are also fairly straightforward. They know that I am an early shopper and that I do not want the stress of the mall, or the worry that online orders won’t arrive, in December, and so they provide some ideas and then I freestyle with them. All three of them generally receive some combination of shirts, workout wear, and books, with one larger item connected to their individual interests. For example, this year my younger son is getting a new kick pedal for his drum kit. I can guess at books the three of them are interested in, but I am always appreciative of my younger son’s giving me specific ideas as to manga that he wants. Have you ever looked at the manga section in a bookstore? It’s overwhelming to say the least, and I don’t know if he wants Chainsaw Man Volume 4 or Vinland Saga 2, if you know what I’m saying. Looking at the selection of books, I feel like I was dropped into an alternate planet where I don’t know the language or the customs, and I’m just blindly groping my way through. Manga is not in my wheelhouse; neither is fantasy or sci-fi, but I scan blogs and reviews (HI ENGIE) to cobble together ideas for my older son.

There are a couple of people on my gift list who are more challenging, as I have alluded to before, and I do get a little anxious about it. Many years ago I decided I was not going to do this anymore, and I did not buy them gifts, and I will tell you that that decision was a huge mistake. What I didn’t understand was that the gifts from our household constituted essentially 90-100% of the gifts under those trees, and when I realized they had zero gifts to open on Christmas morning, I was wracked with guilt. Thinking of it now, I STILL have to close my eyes and take a deep breath. It led me to a complete shame spiral and an examination of the kind of person I want to be. I want to be a generous person, not just gift-wise, but emotionally, and so I now push through my low-level gift-giving anxiety. Basically, I just Hail Mary it, and like any Hail Mary, sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t, but at least I tried.

On a related note, I finished the calendars! Or, the goddamn calendars. They are done, they are ordered, and they contain what I am going to whimsically call an eclectic mix of photos of old favourites, recent photos, and Rex. It turned out to be fairly fun, as I got to travel down memory lane with the old photos, and it gave me an excuse to include my Favourite Photo Of All Time:

MY HEART. This photo was taken in Palm Springs just before the 2010 Olympics, hence the t-shirts. The boys could not believe that we could be in snow-and-ice covered Calgary, get on a plane, and suddenly be somewhere where there was grass! And flowers! The miracle of travel. Honestly, I still feel that way when I travel, how incredible it is that in only a short amount of time you can arrive somewhere completely different from the place you left.

It was so cold this week; we had a few days that the temperatures dipped into the minus 20s, which is not just Cold but COLD. It’s a bit early in the season for such temperatures, and it made me think about all my friends in much warmer climates; specifically, my Florida girls (HI SUZ HI STEPHANY HI JENNY). I have been talking about one day showing up on your steps to swim in your pools and hang out on your lanais and look at your butterflies, and, in Jenny’s case, chatting about clothes and hair and shopping with your daughters, and HERE I AM. ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRICANE.

My husband joked that if Hurricane Nicole was like Me Nicole, she would start off really strong in the morning and then get sleepy and fade to a slight breeze and a bit of rain by 7:30 pm and he wasn’t far off in that assessment. I’m glad Nicole wasn’t too bad for my friends – except for wrecking your hair with rain and wind, sorry about that – because I’d feel awful if my namesake was a real bitch.

Weekly Reading

Black Cake. This was an excellent novel about family, legacies, and traditions. It follows estranged siblings who are dealing with their mother’s death, and discovering her life story and secrets. It is so well-written and spans decades, which I absolutely love, and shows how the characters are all interconnected.

All Of This. Sometimes I read a memoir of someone who has basically the opposite life of me, and this was that. The author’s husband died of pancreatic cancer, and he was diagnosed two weeks after she had asked him for a divorce. This isn’t your typical Mourning Widow Memoir. Instead, the author talks about how toxic her marriage was and how essentially she was glad he died because it made her free. A very large chunk of the book is devoted to her healing process, which can be summed up in this way: she put herself on a dating app with the description “recently widowed and DTF.” Much of the book is about her sexual experiences and how open she was with her children about those experiences, and you know what, I don’t THINK that I am a prudish person but then I read something like this and I realize that I AM. This was well-written but I found it quite disturbing and unsettling.

A Room Called Earth. I picked this up on a whim at the library and I’m glad I did. It is such a unique and interesting book, following a young autistic woman who goes to a party. The book is the description of the things she sees, perceives, and feels. It was fascinating and really well-done.

The temperatures popped up around freezing this weekend, so my husband was able to put up the outdoor balls on the tree; I’m starting to think about decorating the house. As my son says, it is now Legal to play Christmas music, and obviously my first song was Last Christmas! It’s getting festive around here! I hope you have a festive – and, for my coastal friends, tropical storm-less – week! xo

Sudden Season Shift

Posted on by

This is the time of year when my friends in milder climates are talking about crunchy leaves, and the beauty and splendor of fall, and meanwhile, we are in full-on winter!

The Weather hit November 1, which felt very appropriate for Tiny Secret Festive Season. Temperatures plummeted to the minus double-digits, a ton of snow fell, and the roads were pure chaos, as is usual for the first few snowfalls. Because I am apparently an idiot, I decided to go get groceries on Designated Grocery Day, even though that was the day of an actual blizzard, with ice under the snow and the streets not yet cleared. I will just say it was a pretty unnerving drive, going up a slippery hill with a lot of traffic, wondering if I would lose momentum and either stall out or start to slide DOWN the hill. Anyway, I made it, and to no one’s surprise there were very few customers, so it wasn’t long before I was on my way back home, vowing not to take the car out again for any reason. Of course, Rex needed a walk, so we went five kilometres in unplowed, unshovelled, ankle-deep snow, which was delightful for him and a massive leg workout for me. Win-win?

I am feeling festive, people! In a tiny and secret way. I’ve also finished most of my Christmas shopping; I still need little stocking stuffers, but I’m done, done, done. Here’s a question: do you have gift-giving anxiety? I don’t generally, but there are two people on my list who I do worry about, along the lines of is this the right thing, will they like this, what if they don’t like it. Intellectually, I think this is silly. It’s a gift! I’m trying my best to be thoughtful! When I receive a gift I am universally delighted! But emotionally, well, it’s a different story. This is possibly because last year, I thought I had hit on the exact perfect thing, FINALLY, after all these years, and I was so excited, and I really realized what all those people for whom gift giving is their love language felt like, and then I never heard a word about the gift from the recipient. So that was disheartening.

Well, no matter. The shopping is done! I tried my best! This is all we can do, and now I’m faced with The Great Wrapping And Shipping Task.

One thing I haven’t done yet is creating and ordering photo calendars. Ever since the boys were small – I can’t remember how small, because honestly 2004-2007 is just one big blur – I have made a photo calendar for each set of grandparents and one of their aunts. This year, I thought, you know what, they are too old to do this now. I mean, they are 17 and 18! I’m not even sure I have twelve photos of the two of them together in 2022 and if I do, it’s guaranteed they will feature ridiculous posturing and facial expressions. This gift, I thought, has had its day and now that day has passed.

Well. I will tell you, people, what I thought was a natural end to something brought massive consternation and angst to the involved parties. My mother (who is probably reading this, HI MOM) and mother-in-law reacted with sadness and a LOT of passive-aggressive commentary (my mother-in-law informed me that she has saved every single calendar and when she’s feeling blue she looks at them in order to see their age progression), but my dad went full-on aggressive-aggressive. Why WOULDN’T I make a calendar? Age doesn’t matter! If my mother-in-law was unhappy, and my parents were unhappy, why wouldn’t I do something, something SO EASY, to make everyone happy? Their happiness was in MY control! This continued until I finally broke down, like a prisoner being waterboarded. Fine! FINE! I’LL MAKE A GODDAMN CALENDAR! I think those were my exact words. Essentially, my dad bullied me into making another calendar, and so evidently I will be making calendars until the end of time.

Well, maybe I’ll try something new and add photos of them throughout the years; that would be pretty cute, to have toddlers next to high school graduation next to a day at the zoo. Or Rex photos! I used to put Barkley in our calendar, so this seems like a natural progression. I guess I better figure it out soon because a) I have a coupon for printing, b) I want to just finish the job and get it in the mail, and c) everyone’s happiness is depending on me so I must start immediately.

Speaking of happiness or the opposite, Time Change. It is hard to believe that this ridiculous imaginary construct is still going on, but here we are. Let’s send out all our love and good wishes to the moms of little ones who are now waking up at ungodly hours (and, let’s face it, me, because I get up between 4 and 4:30 normally, so you can imagine what my internal clock is doing) and who will be having meltdowns and falling asleep in their dinners this week (again, me). (Lisa, you okay? HI LISA) I have been ranting about Time Change for years, and so I won’t repeat myself, but for god’s sake, can we just pick a time and stick with it? There is a great article about it in National Geographic, and I love that it possibly started with a satirical letter by Benjamin Franklin; if indeed that is true, that seems fitting.

Weekly Reading

Well, one benefit of finding myself awake extremely early on a Sunday morning meant that I got some extra reading done. It was a week of two hits and a meh.

The Marriage Bureau. One of my yoga ladies loaned me this book, knowing my love for The Crown and Downton Abbey. I was under the impression that it was historical fiction but it’s not really; it’s more like a collection of anecdotes from researching the archives and old interviews of the founder of the Marriage Bureau, a matchmaking service in England in the 1940s. I did enjoy thinking about how people meet other people, and possibly marry, at that time but I didn’t love the writing style. I found it stilted and a bit clunky. It’s in development for a television series and I think it would play well on the screen, but it’s kind of tedious to read. Still, interesting to think – how did people meet during a war? During colonial times? Were these marriages successful? Out of all the marriages that resulted from the matchmaking, only two ended in divorce, which is a pretty good success rate.

Book Lovers. I will admit that I was a bit hesitant because this is such a popular book, and sometimes these popular reads do not live up to the hype for me. However! Nothing disappointing about this! It was tremendously fun and just a delight to read! It’s like a very witty, twisty Hallmark movie, in the best way possible. I loved it! What a feel-good book!

Blue Nights. Whenever I read Joan Didion, I become obsessed with Joan Didion. I end up looking at photos and reading her biography and imagining life in the Sixties, being a writer in Southern California with all the other famous writers. I imagine working at Vogue in the Fifties – think of that! Anyway. Blue Nights is a very moving book about the loss of her daughter, reflections on their life together, and her own struggles with the aging process and loss of health. It is in no way uplifting, and it is quite tragic, more in what is left unsaid than what is said, to roughly quote Hemingway (did I just quote Hemingway, obviously I am affected by Time Change).

It’s shaping up to be a very cold week here, as in “minus twenties” kind of cold. It’s officially Legwarmer Season, as well as Tiny Secret Festive Season! Whatever Season you are celebrating this week, I hope it’s warming and lovely. xo

Halloween and Teens

Posted on by

Happy Halloween, everyone! Whatever your plans today, I hope they at least contain some Fun Sized chocolates. Because I am a Very Fancy Lady, I have a big bowlful of full-sized chocolate bars, and because I get weirdly paranoid about Halloween, I also have purchase three giant boxes of mini chocolate bars and fruity candy, because what if we get swarmed by children and I run out of the big chocolate bars? What if? This has never happened, but there is a first time for everything.

Does Rex want to be a cowboy for Halloween, or would he prefer a tiny sparkly sombrero? We don’t know. We also don’t know what he’s going to think of Trick-or-Treaters. He doesn’t bark when people come to the door, but he is very interested in people, so we are going to have to make sure he doesn’t accidentally bowl small Paw Patrollers over.

This is my Annual Reminder that Teens Are People Too; my very strict rule is that if someone comes to my door on Halloween, they will get a treat. There is no age limit to this, I don’t even care if there is a costume involved, and I certainly don’t have a performance or singing requirement. I’m not telling anyone else what to do with their stash of Fun-Size Kit Kats, but in this house, everyone gets a damn chocolate bar, and I don’t care if the Trick-or-Treater is 6’2″ and is just wearing regular clothes. Halloween is for everyone!

My own teens are not Trick-or-Treating and haven’t for a few years now, but they have been pilfering from my boxes of mini chocolate bars, so maybe I should buy another box, just in case?

No. I need to stay strong. I HAVE ENOUGH.

Besides which, the guys have a lot of sugar cookies to eat, because it isn’t a festivity if there aren’t cookies involved:

The snow mostly melted, just in time for more snow coming this week. Prior to that we had a lot of heavy winds, and some of the decorations took the hit, particularly our hanging mummy:

My husband was out of town for a few days, but the boys managed to fix the decorations that ended up tangled in tree branches, but the ground was so wet from all the snow that they couldn’t get the mummy to stand back up. It took some effort but they jerry-rigged it to a tree. Between that and my younger son putting the winter tires on my car, I am really celebrating having teens, even more than usual. Even when they eat into my stash of mini chocolate bars.

The guys gave me this shirt for Christmas, and it has spurred a whole series of Fuck Things around here. For example, the song September only needs to play for someone to comment “Earth, Wind, and Fire. Fuck water.” There was a restaurant in a small town that we drove past this summer, called “Breakfast Matters…Lunch Too!” at which point, my younger son said “Fuck dinner.”

Good times. Today I teach my Strength and Tone Yoga class, and I think I’m going to take my ladies some Lindors from my secret stash that no one but me knows about, which is why it still exists; maybe I’ll dig out my little witch fascinator as well. Will it stay on during downward dog? Who can say.

Weekly Reading

The Wild Iris. I have been reading this beautiful book of poetry each morning prior to my yoga practice, over the past couple of months. It’s gorgeous. Thanks so much to Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) for introducing me to the incredible Louise Gluck!

The Dictionary of Lost Words. I think it was from reading a Bill Bryson book that I realized…the Oxford English Dictionary didn’t always exist. I mean, obviously! Someone had to write it! But imagine the work that went into that. It took decades, and that is the basis of this novel; the writing of the OED. Importantly, the story deals with words the dictionary DOESN’T include. There was absolutely a bias in the writing of the dictionary; words predominantly used by women and lower classes were typically not included. (There is a whole chapter on the c-word.) Given the fascinating topic, this book should have been a home run for me, but it wasn’t. There were good parts and it was thought provoking, but the story didn’t grab me; I had a hard time getting into it and I found the characters flat. I liked it okay, but not as much as I thought I would. This book got rave reviews, so take my review with a grain of salt, but I just could not CARE about the story as it was written, although I spent a lot of time thinking about the Educated White Man bias that decided which words were important enough to end up in the dictionary.

Unmask Alice. Now, this WAS a home run for me. This book was bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S. Did you read Go Ask Alice when you were a teen? I sure did and it scared the bejesus out of me. I credit it for keeping me from ever trying LSD or any hard drugs, and believe me, I was no angel. Who could forget the final freak out? Who could forget her ripping out her own hair and skin because she thought she was crawling with maggots? Who could forget when she ran away, got her period, and had no feminine supplies. Not that these things are equal, but all distressing. Anyway, the “diary” was completely fake and as an adult, of course, I can see it. I mean, no one goes from acid to speed to HEROIN to…pot. What I didn’t know is how insidious the author of Go Ask Alice was. This book is nuts and it takes you on a wild ride. It covers everything from Satanism to Art Linkletter, of “Kids say the darnedest things” fame. It’s wild and the side notes are supremely funny. At the same time, the religious background of the author makes things like the homophobia of Go Ask Alice even more disturbing than it was on first read. I had no idea that the author of Go Ask Alice went on to “edit” “real diaries” of many other troubled teens, right up until before her death in the early 2000s, always pretending that those diaries were completely authentic, although they all SOMEHOW backed up her own belief system. And just as soon as you think you know what’s happening, this book takes a crazy turn at the end.

Happy Halloween, everyone! Tomorrow is the start of Tiny Secret Festive Season! My Christmas bracelet is waiting in the wings, I have festive-scented hand soaps for every sink, and the fall-themed tea towels are preparing to go back in the closet, to be replaced by all the holiday ones. It won’t be long before I bust out the Christmas playlists and songbooks.

Rex will probably be glad for some Christmas music; I have been learning Bridge Over Troubled Water and it is a BITCH with key changes and difficult fingering.

Enjoy the festivities tonight, whatever you are doing, and best of luck to all my friends starting NaBloPoMo tomorrow! I’ll do my best to keep up with you, but no promises! Have a great week. xo

Flattering

Posted on by

I find it interesting that there will be concepts that I take at face value for my whole life, and then I hear another point of view, which changes that concept forever for me. These are all things that I have taken for granted as meaning one thing – usually with a value attached – and then I find myself startled to discover another side. It’s like when you discover that Ring Around The Rosy had its roots in the bubonic plague, which really puts a dark light on all those games we played in preschool. Or, and this is specific to me and my incredible naivety, when I was 23 and learned that the whole point of Three’s Company was that Jack was pretending to be gay in order to have female roommates. Even more specifically, when I was even older than that I learned that the Duke boys were running a still, and that is why they were in and out of trouble with the law since the day they were born. Also, what the what, Confederate flag and the General Lee. It was startling to me, as an adult, to discover who exactly General Lee was and what the Confederate flag stood for. What can I say, this was not covered in my Canadian public school curriculum. All I remember from my childhood, specific to that television show, is that my older brother had a Dukes of Hazzard-themed TV breakfast tray, the kind that a child could use to place their cereal on while sitting on the floor and watching Saturday morning cartoons, and that the show would inevitably cut to commercial when the General Lee was flying off a bridge or some other ridiculous thing. My own breakfast tray was Smurf-themed.

All of this is to say, in the strangest and most round-about way possible, is that in the last couple of weeks I have been really thinking about the term flattering. Along with, I’m guessing, the vast majority of people, I have always had a positive association with the word flattering, but now I am not so sure. I was listening to a podcast, and the guest said that when we use the word flattering in terms of clothing or outfits, it is almost universally intended to mean smaller. Sure, sometimes we say a colour flatters our skin tone or a neckline flatters our face, but in general, it’s true: when we say an outfit flatters us, we mean it makes us look smaller than we are, and this realization kind of blew my mind.

As women, we are socialized from Day One to take up less space. Smaller, thinner, quieter. As the mother of teen boys who work out to become bigger, and who are always trying to take up MORE space, this realization was unsettling.

A few weeks ago I mentioned that my body has changed in the past year and a half; some of it is menopause-related, but a lot of it is due to adding strength training into my workouts. I added strength training back in January 2021, when the gym was closed – and even when it did open, it felt unsafe – and it was far too icy and cold for me to run outside. I wanted to strength train to reduce the risk of injury when I started running again, and then I added a bit more upper body training in a bid to stave off osteoporosis, which my doctor informed me I am at high risk of developing. All medical literature indicates that bone density is improved by strength training, and although I do find it incredibly boring and tedious, I do it regularly; I never miss. This regularity means that my body shape has changed, and some body parts have become bigger. Namely, my glutes and quads; I have a real Baby Got Back situation going on these days.

Here’s the thing: I want to be strong. I want to have lots of juicy muscle protecting my aging joints and bones. I want to be healthy and active for life; I want to be able to still keep moving in my Golden Years. Basically, I want my body to be as strong as possible until I shuffle off this mortal coil; this is why I exercise. I exercise for health, it’s not about esthetics.

Except, it kind of is a little bit about esthetics, and here is the problem.

A lifetime of conditioning ourselves as women to be smaller and take up less space in this world takes its toll on our brains. There is a weird cognitive dissonance here: I regularly exercise to become stronger and healthier, and then being stronger and healthier means that my pants are tight across the thighs and bum. It’s hard to reconcile my newfound bootyliciousness after living 47 years in a society that values smallness, thinness, and pants that don’t fit because they have become too big. Add that to my perimenopausal soft, round tummy that proudly asserts itself despite any exercise routine and, well. It evokes feelings, is what I’m saying.

A while ago, Jamie (HI JAMIE) talked about this exact same phenomenon, but with her shirts no longer fitting due to a stronger and larger upper body. On the one hand: muscle is what we are working for! On the other: patriarchal pressures to be small and take up less space. Jamie has suggested a t-shirt saying “How are you going to smash the patriarchy with small delts?” I want one of my own, but with glutes instead of delts.

One of my most special, prized possessions is a framed Desiderata; the original hung on my grandma’s wall and I had it reframed years ago. I look at it every day. When I was a kid the words that most spoke to me were Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. Isn’t that everything? Isn’t that just everything? We all have a right to be here, we all have a right to take up space, we all can celebrate our bodies exactly as they are, in whatever way they change and grow as we age.

I’m pretty sure these running pants would not be considered flattering in the typical sense of the word. But you know what? They go great with all my black tops AND they have side pockets.

Weekly Reading

It’s Okay To Laugh (Crying Is Cool Too). This was a very good memoir. This woman lost her dad and husband from cancer, AND had a miscarriage, all in a six week period. She writes about her life with levity and wit, and I’m looking forward to reading more! Many thanks to Lisa (HI LISA) for the recommendation. In what felt like a Baader-Meinhof twist, I was reading this and then heard the author interviewed on a podcast, and I liked her even more after hearing her speak. She has a new book coming out and I have it on hold at the library, stay tuned.

The Real Wallis Simpson. When the Queen died, my local library had a big display of royal-themed books, and I picked this one up, saying to the librarian “Do I WANT to know the real Wallis Simpson?” Not to constantly talk about the patriarchy, but PATRIARCHY. Wallis was, of course, the most vilified woman in Great Britain. I did not realize how popular Edward was with the general public, although I did know that Mrs. Simpson was blamed entirely for the abdication and near-downfall of the monarchy. It is important to note that – proven through correspondence – she did not ever want to marry Edward, nor did she want him to abdicate, but once he did abdicate, well, the die was cast. It should also be noted that Edward never really wanted to be king in the first place, according to his own personal correspondence. This book was quite interesting and also very, very sad. It shows that no matter who you are, you need a purpose in life and a reason to get out of bed in the morning, which Edward struggled with after the abdication. This book also paints the Queen Mum in a very unflattering light. It shows her as a woman who held a lifelong grudge – she thought that her husband’s illness and death was brought on prematurely due to the strain of suddenly becoming a king – even though the abdication meant that ultimately her daughter would be the Queen, beloved and revered, for so long.

We had our first snowfall of the season this year, and I have a very, very happy dog on my hands. Also a very, very wet dog! It’s a good thing I have been working out, because walking this guy in the snow takes a lot of effort. I hope you all have a lovely week! xo