Category Archives: Damn Hippies

Maitri, Loving Kindness

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I try to incorporate maitri, or loving-kindness, into every aspect of my life, but I specifically do a maitri meditation a few times a week. This involves repeating the following four times: May you be safe, may you be happy, may you be healthy, may you live with ease. Each time the mantra is repeated, the mind is to focus on different people, the first being someone who is easy to love, followed by someone who is difficult to love. After that, the focus is on oneself, and then the mantra is sent out to the universe at large.

Easy To Love: My Boys

In my Ask Me Anything, Christa (HI CHRISTA) asked Were you ever disappointed not to have a daughter? Thank you for such a deep and vulnerable question, Christa! The short answer is no. I was thrilled to have two boys, although I’m sure if I had two girls, or one of each, I would be equally thrilled. The interesting thing is that as soon as I knew I was pregnant, I was certain I was having a boy. Then when it was clear our second child was a boy, I was over the moon that I would have brothers. I feel extremely fortunate in that they are the best of friends, as well as being wonderful sons.

I wanted two children, and that is what I got, so I was and am perfectly content. I will say that I was asked frequently whether we were going to “try for a girl,” which is a question innocently meant but one that I found, and still find, very upsetting and offensive on a number of levels. Being the mother of those two boys has been the great joy of my life, and I would not change it for anything. They have grown into remarkable young men who are easy to love, and hence they are frequent recipients of the first maitri meditation.

Difficult To Love: A Sociopath

One of the best things about having an Ask Me Anything is the wide variety of questions. My dear friend Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked Have you ever met a sociopath in real life? Well, Suzanne, not only have I met one, but through the marriage of a close family member, I was related to one! Technically I still am. I cannot say more, because there are eyes everywhere, but suffice it to say that this person is the literal worst person I have ever met in my life: cruel, diabolical, and manipulative.

I have tried to focus on this person in the second part of the maitri meditation, but I have never been able to make it all the way through. I feel like if I ever do, I will have reached samadhi. Maybe then that person would cease to be a sociopath! Perhaps I should try harder.

Loving Myself

Exactly seven years ago this weekend, I suffered an immense and debilitating hip injury just two days before my first – and, as it turned out, last/ never – road race. It was the most physical pain I have ever experienced, and I had two unmedicated births. It took a long time to be able to merely move without extreme pain, and for many months afterwards, I couldn’t walk without a limp. Looking back, I can see very clearly that I brought this injury on myself through over-training and under-fueling. In the months before, many friends had commented on my physical appearance and I brushed them off, but now when I look at photos of myself, I can see what they were saying.

In addition to my training, I was teaching 10-12 yoga classes a week, and at every class I would remind my students to pay attention to their own bodies, to work within their own boundaries, to respect limitations and particularly pain. I was a hypocrite. I pushed myself past my own limits, for reasons that now seem stupid. My body tried to tell me quietly that it was too much, and then it finally forcibly shut down my training, forever, as it turned out.

I am a firm believer that we all need a balance of yin and yang in our lives, and if we don’t take enough yin, our bodies will force us to through exhaustion, illness, or, in my case, injury. I recently read something, with regards to injury, that said my body didn’t fail me, I failed my body, and that really resonated. I failed my body by not listening, I failed my body by letting my ego take over, I failed my body by not nourishing it properly or treating it with respect and gentleness.

I do not necessarily subscribe to the idea that every painful thing is a blessing in disguise, but in this case, it was. It just took me a while to see it. As Ma Ingalls says, there’s no great loss without some small gain, and in my case, I gained massive empathy for people with chronic pain; it’s exhausting and deflating. More than that, I was reminded that I need to treat myself with tenderness and loving-kindness. I treat myself the same way I would my dearest friend, I treat myself with as much love as I would a small child.

I gave up practicing Ashtanga second series for the primary one, with modifications to care for my hip. I did restart running eventually, but gave it up in the fall of 2022 in favour of long walks with Rex. One of my senior yoga students, back in 2019, asked about my limp and when I told him it was a running injury, he looked at me incredulously. Running. Running? Why would you run? he asked. What is wrong with walking briskly? What IS wrong with walking briskly? Nothing at all. In fact, I prefer it.

There are still Peloton rides and there is strength training, but there is also a lot of restorative yoga and gentle stretching. Most importantly, I nourish my body and soul with plenty of nutritious food and, of course, delicious treats. I won’t deprive myself. After all, would you tell this little girl she couldn’t have that cake?

I also meditate a lot, and I direct my maitri meditation towards myself, as I should. As we all should.

Weekly Reading

Awake. I picked up this book without any preconceptions; the author, I discovered, is pretty famous in evangelical circles, and when her marriage blew up due to infidelity on her husband’s part, she was “cancelled” by some of those circles. I found this book to be disjointed, dull, and the epitome of telling instead of showing, and I really should have DNF’d it. But, I had DNF’d the previous two books I had picked up prior to that, so I decided to push through. It was not worth the push, although I will say that her husband’s “voice to text” to his girlfriend in the middle of the night was a sign of someone begging to be caught. Also, that voice to text was “I just can’t quit you.” ARE WE IN BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, SIR? Ridiculous.

Let’s Just Say It Wasn’t Pretty. I thought I would enjoy this collection of memoir-like essays about being a not-conventionally-pretty woman in appearance-obsessed Hollywood, but I was wrong. I did relate to the essay about bad hair days, but the rest were navel-gazing, self-indulgent, and grinding. It was written in 2014, so there is no excuse for all the loving anecdotes about her beloved friend Woody, as well as the multiple appearances of the word “retard.” This book made me like Keaton less and I wish I never read it.

The Blind Assassin. So, after two DNF’s in a row, and two books that I SHOULD have DNF’d, I needed a win. I needed a five-star. I pulled out my favourite book of all time, a book I have read many, many times before. My dear friend Lisa (HI LISA) had recently read this for the first time, and while she texted me about it, I became overcome with cravings to reread it. I sighed the sigh of pure happiness as I read “Ten days after the war ended, my sister Laura drove a car off a bridge.” So starts this masterpiece, which is a story within a story within a story, and has the most incredibly beautiful, incredibly clever, incredibly symbolic, incredibly powerful writing of any book I have read. I think about it all the time; the characters, the plot, and certain lines are in my brain forever. It is a work of art and I love it immoderately.

My feelings on the podcaster who recommended The Idea of You as the Best Book Ever.

The final maitri meditation is toward the universe as a whole, and I am sending out those thoughts to all of you, as I take a blogging break. May you be safe, happy, healthy, and live with ease. I will see you in a little while, friends. Take care. xo

Cold, Cold, Cold, Warmer, HOT

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Cold As Ice

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

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

Cold Hearted Snake

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

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

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

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

This Leaves Me Cold

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

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

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

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

Warming My Heart

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

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

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

Weekly Reading

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

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

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

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

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

A New Kind of Yoga Challenge

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It’s that time of year where people are making all sorts of goals; specifically, it seems, health and wellness goals. I miss teaching yoga, a little, at this time of year because my classes always had some enthusiastic and curious new students. I really loved it, introducing people to yoga and specifically introducing them to my view of the practice.

Recently Stephany (HI STEPHANY) asked do you plan to teach yoga again and I don’t really, not right now. The thought of building up a clientele from scratch, looking for a class to teach, and finding substitutes for the classes that I will inevitably need when we travel just seems too overwhelming.

But I miss encouraging my beloved students on their yoga journeys. Many years ago – I think it was 2008 – a teacher said to me that there is a difference between going to yoga classes and having a yoga practice, and it is this latter that I wish I could impart on everyone.

I taught many different people with many different body types and abilities, and I feel like every one of them benefited from a practice. I taught seniors and I taught young people, I taught people who were able-bodied and people who were injured and people with chronic pain, I taught people who had suffered strokes and people who couldn’t get down to sit on a yoga mat and people in scooters. Over the years I taught hundreds of classes and I learned a lot about people and their bodies.

I remember one day looking around at my Yoga for Stroke Survivors class; there were probably fifteen people there, and everyone had wildly different physical abilities. I remember thinking how will I teach this? and then a lightbulb went off. I realized that there were so many different ways that a single asana could be experienced. Cat-cow, for example, is typically experienced on hands and knees, but the same spinal flexion and extension could happen if a person was seated on a chair, or standing with hands on a wall or another support.

Sometimes friends will tell me I wish I could do yoga, but I don’t have time. Or, I can’t do downward dog, I can’t touch my toes, I’m BAD AT YOGA. Friends, I am here to say that no one is bad at yoga. And you can have a yoga practice, if you want to, even if you feel you don’t have time.

Listen. I’m not your mom, unless one of my kids is reading this, in which extremely unlikely case I say hi lovies, I love you! I’m not here to be the boss of you or tell you what to do, but I do wish that I could spread the word that a yoga practice can be whatever you want it to be. Yoga videos and those thirty-day challenges are all great, if that’s your thing. I would never say a word against them.

But here’s the thing: for every person who benefits greatly from a yoga challenge and for whom that is the beginning of a lifelong practice, there are many others who find them discouraging or injury-inducing or otherwise detrimental. It doesn’t have to be that way, it really doesn’t. There are no yoga police. No one is going to kick you out of the Yoga Club if you aren’t able to hold a plank or if you can’t go into child’s pose without discomfort.

One doesn’t need lululemon pants or a video or even a yoga mat to have a daily yoga practice. I had a lovely older lady who came to my class once a week, and the rest of the week incorporated a small daily practice into her life. She would do a tree pose while she brushed her teeth, using her bathroom counter for support. She would do a standing cat-cow while she waited for her coffee to brew. A few times a week she would roll out her mat and do a few sun salutations, or she’d lie in savasana. I found her inspirational.

Here’s my challenge, should you choose to accept it. Pick five favourite postures, and then every day do ONE of them. If time allows, do two or more. There’s no need to do them together or at any particular time during the day, just whenever you find yourself with an extra minute. Maybe twist on the chair that currently houses your body, maybe stand up and reach your hands toward the ceiling. Take a forward fold when the shower is heating up. When stopped at a red light, turn off the radio and listen to the sound of your breathing. Bam! Meditation. Hell, if you have time, roll out a mat and do all five postures, maybe more, maybe do a whole practice or a video or go to a class, but just know that even one minute a day adds up over time.

One of the key tenets of a yoga practice is the concept of maitri, or loving-kindness, and this is not limited to how a person interacts with other people. The first person one should extend loving-kindness to is oneself. Giving yourself a little stretch during the day, permitting yourself to sit in quiet meditation for one minute, allowing yourself some grace to come as you are when life is chaotic and the pressure is on to set goals, goals, goals, these are gifts we can bestow on ourselves every single day.

Weekly Reading

Speaking of gifts, what could be better than a few good books?

Save the Cat! Writes a Novel. I have started my revising and editing course this week, and I have found this book on beats and scenes so helpful in terms of organizing my manuscript. I have work to do in the editing process but it all feels manageable, and I’m happy with my progress so far.

Worry. This was a wild, darkly funny satire about two sisters who end up living together in New York city. The older sister suffers from anxiety, hypochondria, and massive phone and Instagram addiction; the younger sister, who suffers depression and debilitating hives, moved in with her sister after a suicide attempt. Meanwhile, their mother, down in Florida, has become a Messianic Jew, doomsday prepper, and pyramid-seller of essential oils. There is almost no plot, but instead a statement about life in 2019, about codependency and sisterhood, about the numbness of internet connections. I loved it but it is satire; it’s like David Sedaris meets Hello Beautiful meets Prozac Nation meets Momfluenced in the weirdest way possible. It’s bonkers and I loved it. 

Alphabetical Diaries. This is such a wild idea: the author took a decade’s worth of journals, put each line in a spreadsheet, and then sorted alphabetically. Each line. From every journal entry for a decade. The result was half a million words, which she edited down to a much more readable 60000. The result reads like a really long free-form prose poem. I couldn’t help but wonder if the amount of work that went into this project paid off, monetarily, but I guess one doesn’t go into writing for the money. Thanks to my friend Engie (HI ENGIE) for bringing this one to my attention!

I started writing this post just wanting to talk about my views about yoga, and now I’m thinking – let’s make it a real challenge! Who wants in to my Yoga Club? To join, you have to a) commit to at least sixty seconds of a stretch or sitting in silent meditation once a day, and b) practice loving-kindness towards yourself if you miss a day. It’s a practice, not perfection! And since I do miss that aspect of teaching, if anyone ever has questions about postures and their variations, please send me a message. I’d be more than happy to share what I’ve learned through the years. xo

Don’t Worry About A Thing Because Every Little Thing Is Going To Be All Right

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Let Your Love Flow Like A Mountain Stream

Last week I was channeling Miley Cyrus, this week I am all about Bob Marley. It’s been a very busy, very productive week, and – to also channel Melissa Manchester – I think we can make it.

Friends, this is going to sound like the most Out There, Hippie Shit ever, but I made a bit of a mental shift and suddenly, things started magically clicking. Maybe they would have clicked anyway! Maybe this is just a weird coincidence! Maybe our minds have nothing to do with what happens in our lives BUT early last week I was doing my yoga practice and throughout my sun salutations I kept thinking this is what my life is, this is my life, and then as I moved on to standing postures I thought I choose how to respond, and I accept this life and THEN throughout my seated vinyasa and closing I thought of the line in Desiderata, whether or not it is unclear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. I finished my practice, feeling peaceful and zen, and then everything started falling into place. Can that really be a coincidence? Maybe. But also? Maybe not.

My husband and older son drove a truckload of boxes and household items, including all our artwork, to our new house this weekend, leaving only nails and picture hangers, plus an incredible amount of dust on the walls. Did you know that the walls behind your pictures and artwork get very dusty? They do! In any case, I was absolutely astounded by the sheer amount of things my husband squeezed into his truck, and am now feeling much, much better about the move in general and what happens if everything doesn’t fit into the moving van in particular. I also have phoned the moving company not once, but twice, and they have been nothing but wonderfully reassuring, even in the face of my incredibly panicked, probably stupid questions. One such question? How do they make it fit? The women on the phone did not give me an answer like “lube, obvs,” or “that’s what she said” although I kind of wish they did. Instead, they explained, over and over, that the movers were essentially professional Tetris players, and after seeing what my husband – not a professional Tetris player – fit into his regular truck I am definitely feeling more confident.

We are also in the process of donating and selling cheaply a lot of items in the house, which means I was using our neighbourhood Buy Nothing group a lot, and you all know how that goes. My heart strings are pulled by stories of breakups and divorce and children needing items, and when I reach out to those people to arrange for a pickup or drop off? Crickets, they are chirping. I had reached my this is not worth it breaking point, and less than an hour after that the Diabetes Association called to see if I had any donations to be picked up. YES PLEASE, and also, the universe is unfolding as it should, om.

Doctor Doctor Give Me The News

I had two appointments in this past week with two different doctors, and at each appointment I ended up getting into a long, completely non-medical-related conversation. These conversations went on so long that I started to worry about other patients, and if their appointments would be delayed. I kept trying to close off the conversations with a smile and nod, and then they just kept going. What is it about me? I am a chatty person for sure, but there is something about me that seems to encourage long, in-depth conversations with random people, which, don’t get me wrong, I love, but also what about your other patients, you guys?

To illustrate the completely unrelated, non-medical nature of these conversations, one of the doctors talked to me about Snowmobile Culture In Rural Saskatchewan and his Love For Ice Fishing, which led to Bush Parties of Our Youth and Cruising Main Street As A Saturday Night Activity. This conversation was after my regularly-scheduled Pap smear, in which we also discussed Nicole’s Cervix: It’s In An Unusual Spot Which Is Why This Is So Awkward, a conversation we have every single time I get my Pap.

Doctor: I’m so sorry, this must be painful for you.

Me: I’m fine.

Doctor: I’m not! I’m sweating here.

Me: *starts laughing while the speculum is searching in vain for my elusive cervix, makes everything actually painful and even more awkward*

The conversation with the second doctor was my fault entirely. I noticed a photo of a much-younger him crossing a finish line, with a neon sign saying the time was 11 hours and 35 minutes. I asked the doctor if that was an Ironman he competed in, as I couldn’t imagine what else it could be, which started a very long discussion about how it was his first of three, segueing into How The Pandemic Changed Our Exercise Routines, which led to an involved discussion about my love for Peloton and his love of swimming pools and how devastating it was when they closed in 2020, and concluded with his suggestion that I myself compete in an Ironman before I turn fifty. Sir. I think you have grossly overestimated my interest and abilities, flattering as that is. Also flattering is that this doctor informed me that I am the “healthiest person he’s seen in years” and was definitively able to rule out MS as a cause for my constantly-going-numb left foot. Unfortunately, there is no telling why this happens and has happened for five years now, but a diagnosis of Definitely Not MS is really happy news.

Also happy news is that we have a date for the medical procedure for the recently-mentioned health issue, and that date is BEFORE we move. Now, this is the Canadian health care system so anything can happen, but as of now we have a date, we don’t have to think about going back and forth between provinces, and I am just so goddamn grateful.

This Is The End, Beautiful Friend

I wonder if all the community centre’s recent HVAC woes have helped me come to terms with saying goodbye to my beloved yoga classes. I taught my last two classes this week, and I felt very at peace with it. I expected to be very emotional and teary but I wasn’t; I was just happy that I was able to spend so many years at this place, getting to know all my wonderful students. They were so lovely, giving cards and notes and gifts and baking, and only one student burst into tears, which made it easier on me.

Many people have asked if I will teach yoga in my new city, and the answer is I don’t really know. I probably could, and I have a few ideas, but the yoga industry, such as it is, is very different from when I started teaching, what with so many studios closing after and during the pandemic. I advertised to the Calgary yoga community to take over my classes, and my inbox instantly exploded, and each interested potential teacher was incredibly qualified. There are just so many teachers competing for not very many classes, and I feel like the same is true for my new city. It might be time for a pivot!

School’s Out FOREVER

Speaking of pivots, my younger son has his last exam tomorrow, which means we are DONE with the public school system! I am no longer a Mother of School Aged Children, instead I am a Mother of Semi-Functioning Adults. Landslide to infinity.

Weekly Reading

Hold My Girl. Friends, I want so badly to champion every single book written by female Canadian authors, I really really do. I want to tell you to read and support all of them. But this book, well. I didn’t HATE it. I read it to the end because I was invested enough in the story to want to see how it turns out. And on the positive side, it did provoke some interesting thoughts about what makes a parent: is it biology, is it nurture, and is love like a pie that is finite or is it ever-expanding the more people we let in? So the concept – about an IVF mixup that led to two women discovering that the babies they had (one late-term miscarriage, one healthy birth) were not, biologically speaking, their babies – is interesting. The execution, however, was lacking. The story itself is cliched in every way, trite, and the dialogue stilted. And there are so many parts that I thought what, that would never happen, like how the women’s eggs were purposefully switched by the nurse who was a friend of one of the women (what, why), and the doctor revealed the name of each woman to the other without legal representation (what, how) that I just lost the thread a bit. Anyway, it’s fine but I hate that I can’t be more enthusiastic about it.

Buy Yourself The F*cking Lilies. I am not a person who is bothered in the least by swearing, generally, but I have a history of strongly disliking books that have a bleeped out F*ck in the title. If you can’t just say Fuck then just don’t say it, you know? I’m looking at you, Mark Manson and Caroline Dooner. Yes, I know this is a publishing thing but I stand by my anti-f*ck stance. I feel similarly when people use the word “effing” or “fricking.” Say it or don’t say it. And I also had a moment in the first few pages where I thought oh no, I am way too old for this as the author describes waking up in a hungover haze after her 25th birthday when she drunk-dialed her therapist and, although she doesn’t remember it, said she had nothing to live for. But I had heard her interviewed on a podcast and she seemed really lovely, so I gave the book a chance and I am SO glad I did. I really loved this book, which is part memoir, part self-help, part enthusiastic cheerleader. Yes, some of the self-help did not in the least apply to the stage of life I find myself in, but the rest of it was just so cheering, so affirming, and the author herself does so many things that I do personally – make your bed every day, treat yourself in small ways every day, don’t hang out with people who make you feel terrible – that I wondered could I write a book like this? It was truly joyful to read, and I am looking forward to reading her latest.

I am feeling energized and optimistic for the week ahead, like the universe is unfolding as it should. I hope you all have a wonderful week. xo

Hippy-Dippy Goals; Ninety-Four Weeks In

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Happy New Year!

As I mentioned in my 2021 roundup, the year ended – and the New Year started – on kind of a low point. The boys were supposed to be going back to school tomorrow, but on December 30 it was announced that winter break would be extended to the 10th, and January diploma exams, of which my older son was due to write three, would be cancelled.

For the past several months, I have been saying to myself that as long as the kids are in school, I can take anything. I could go back to patchy grocery store shelves, I could line up at Costco, my husband could continue to work out of our basement, I could wear a mask anywhere and everywhere and see friends outdoors, I could forgo parties and travel and everything else, just let the kids be in school. They have been so happy in these past four months, and, well. Here we are.

The announcement made me feel like folding in on myself like an accordion, and to just go to bed. I did, however, get up on New Year’s Eve, rolled out my yoga mat, and picked up my poetry books. I read the final Rumi poem of the year, I did it, you guys, and then, because it was completely uninspiring to me, I opened up Mary Oliver’s Devotions and came across this:

This whole pandemic, all ninety-four weeks of it, I have been thinking to myself Just Keep Swimming. But it occurred to me, after reading this, that the past ninety-four weeks have had a lot of long lonely falls and frenzied risings. Perhaps all these swings will mean that our children will be the most resilient generation, learning to pivot and adapt and thrive in any circumstances.

My younger son scoffs at the idea of New Year’s resolutions or goal setting; he sets goals throughout the year, not just in January. I am the same way; throughout the year I add goals or concepts or mantras that I want to live by, and then I start right away. However, it’s nice to lay them out in January, feeling like it’s a fresh start; at the least, January is a good time to reflect on past goals and future ones. There’s nothing quite like a brand-new calendar to make you feel fresh and rejuvenated.

OKAY, CALENDAR, I’LL TRY.

It must be said that the majority of my goals are completely unquantifiable. Not all of them – I’ve had “buy a new bra” on my annual list for YEARS and finally, last year, I bought not only one, but THREE, STRIKE IT FROM THE TO-DO LIST – but most. How do you measure “mindfulness,” for example? I like having unquantifiable goals, though, because they are things that you can always keep in mind and work on throughout the year, and easily add to. Over the next couple of weeks, I am going to lay out some actually quantifiable goals that I work on daily. I mean, what else is there to write about in January? The never-ending feelings of despair that come from nearly two years of pandemic life? The fact that my teenagers will never experience normal high school life? The worry that my sons’ activities that they love will be cancelled? The concern about their education and preparation for adult life? NO. I’ve written enough about that. I’ve thought enough about that. We have all had enough.

Anyway, for today, I want to talk about the concepts and mantras that I use for everyday living.

Embrace The Season

Back in *checks blog* June 2021, I was inspired to Embrace the Season, by an incredible woman who has since passed. Rest in peace, Melanie. I think that Embracing the Season that you are in is probably the best way to go through life; you are here, this is now.

There are wonderful, joyful, inspiring things happening in every season of our lives, yes, even this one, yes, even though it’s actually minus 28 right now. It’s Winter, both literally and figuratively, let’s treat ourselves like favoured children, like our most loved ones. Right? Right.

Bloom Where You Are Planted

This goes with Embracing the Season. I’m planted here, in this city, and this is where I’ll bloom. I can make things better one tiny step at a time; I can do this with my yoga classes and my interactions with people, friends and strangers alike, I can make my yard and home into something beautiful, I can write things that will hopefully reach people in the way that I intend. I’m going to bloom, damn it.

Does anyone remember the old poem called You Learn? It was sort of about breakups and relationships, and I read it as a teenager. Back then, it was deeply meaningful to me; I’m pretty sure I read it after a breakup. Oh, the fires of youth. Anyway, there is a line in there that I have remembered lo these many years, and it was Plant your own garden and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers. Let’s plant our own gardens, and we can bloom in them.

Friluftsliv

It feels very appropriate to talk about Friluftsliv when it’s MINUS 28. I first discovered this concept in the fall of 2020, and I have adopted it in my life. It’s a Norwegian word that means, roughly, outdoor living, and goes with the idea that there is no bad weather, just bad clothes. I like to tie Friluftsliv in with Embracing the Season and Blooming Where You Are Planted because this is where I live, and where I live is more often cold and unpleasant than not. I go for a walk every day, no matter the weather, and I can tell you that dressing appropriately is the key. With proper clothing, even minus 30 is doable, with the bonus that I feel like a hardy Norwegian superstar afterwards. This segues nicely into…

Hygge

I absolutely love the concept of hygge – am I spiritually Danish? Maybe. – because what could be better than coziness and warmth in the winter? I see lots of books and warm drinks and baking in my future; not that this is a change for me, but still. Hygge.

Gratitude and Awe

Sometimes it’s easy to have feelings of gratitude and awe; maybe the sky is brilliantly blue and the trees are covered with snow, and it’s a perfect scene. Maybe my family picks up some of the household chores without being asked, gratitude, gratitude. Maybe we will get an email from the school that says the kids are going back – too much to ask? Maybe.

Several months ago I was listening to an interview with Giselle Bunchen, of all people, and she said that she practices gratitude daily; when she has a plate of fruit she thinks of the farmers, of the sun and the rain that helped the fruit to grow, the people who pick the fruit, the person who drove the truck to the supermarket, and the people who work at the supermarket. When you think about it that way, an apple can seem like a miracle. Then I was reading Wake Up To The Joy In You, and there was a paragraph about the miracle that is a book: the process to make paper, the years of perfecting the printed word, the writer who wrote the book, and the miles the book has travelled to be in your hands. When you start thinking about life that way, everything is miraculous. It takes practice, but I’m trying.

Pandemic Reading – The Year Long Books

A Year With Rumi. I did it! I finished this! I did consider, very briefly, not finishing, but then the day after I posted about it, the poem of the day was The Guest House, which is probably my favourite Rumi poem (the bar is kind of low), and I took that as a sign to keep going. 365 poems and just a handful resonated with me; apparently I’m not a Rumi person. “Is it because he’s a man?” my son asked me. Maybe?

Wake Up To The Joy In You. I loved this book of meditations so much that I think I will re-read it in 2022. I read one chapter a week and then kept the meditation in mind throughout the week. I cannot say enough about this book; it’s an incredible journey of self-care and self-acceptance and self-love, and what could be a better thing to start the year with? I mean, look at this last chapter. EXACTLY WHAT I NEEDED TO READ.

Pandemic Reading – The Regular Week

How To Be A Victorian. Good lord I am glad to live in the modern age, even with a global pandemic and the polarization of our population on literally every topic. AT LEAST WE HAVE WASHING MACHINES. And food. And toilets. And central heating. And pretty much everything else. This book is an incredibly well-researched book about daily life in the Victorian age – the author has lived and worked on a “Victorian farm” and I admire her commitment to detail. Corsets, skirts, brushing her teeth with soot. Going without water-based washing for four months. Eating suet, SUET PEOPLE. Anyway, some chapters dragged for me and others were fascinating, particularly the home remedies and medical chapter. Oh! And the air quality in Victorian London was so gross – pea soup fog, no proper sewage…yay for the modern age! There is a passage about the pea soup fogs of London; at the worst of times you could wave your hand in front of your face and not see it. IMAGINE. Anyway, thanks to my friend Jeni (HI JENI) for the recommendation. Talk about gratitude. I AM GRATEFUL FOR MY LIFE, I SWEAR.

The Relatives. I was really interested to read this as I have been mixed on Gibb’s books. I loved Sweetness in the Belly, but did not love This Is Happy – sorry to all of you who adore that book. I really liked The Relatives, a lot. In fact, I devoured it. Such an interesting cast of characters, all interrelated but unknowingly. I am going to give some trigger warnings here for…a lot of things? Infertility, child neglect, abuse, and a lot of kind of gross imagery. But for all that, I really enjoyed this.

Love and Other Words. This was so disappointing for me. I really like this author and I really do like a nice, light romance, but this just didn’t do it for me. It dragged so much and I had a hard time caring about the characters and the story line. Blah blah blah. Anyway, not for me but on to the next book!

I feel like this post has been a bit of a journey for me, since I started writing it. I am still low-level worried and anxious and sad about school, but we are here, we are together, we’ve come this far and we can keep going. Right? I mean, let’s think about the Victorians. We have running CLEAN water, we might be facing Covid but we have vaccines and medical care and, presumably, we are not going to all die of cholera, because of the running water. My kids are at school, not in a sweatshop doing child labour, and today I’m going to bake muffins and do laundry and neither of those things will require massive amounts of physical exertion. Life is good, even when it feels a bit disheartening. How are you feeling, this New Year? Tell me everything. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Cleaning Items That Are The Real Heroes Of The Pandemic Edition

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I think we can all agree that household chores have taken on new importance during this pandemic. I like to have a clean and tidy home and that has been amplified by being at home all the time.

It’s interesting to me, how different we all are in terms of cleaning preferences: not just products, but also methods. My mom, for example, was a Spring Cleaning kind of person, who would literally clean the house from top to bottom over a 24-hour period, not just in spring but several times a year. She kept a very clean house, and there was always one day a week that was Cleaning Day. I am more of a Short Bursts of Energy kind of person, wherein I like to do one or two things each day, rather than set aside a whole day or weekend.

When I was first married, my mother-in-law told me that HER mother-in-law used to wash the walls monthly. Every single month, she would take everything off the walls, move the furniture, and wash them. My mother-in-law said, in a very well meaning way, “That’s just not necessary! Every month. Once every three to four months is plenty!” I remember smiling and nodding and thinking every three to four months? To this day, I think I’ve washed the walls a) when we’ve repainted, and not always then, and b) when we were first in lockdown and I was bored. I spot-wash the walls when they look grubby but other than that? No.

In general I spend between 10 and 30 minutes a day doing household chores, depending on the day and not including the kitchen. The kitchen, really, is its own entity. I spend so much time cooking and preparing food, and I am a clean-as-you-go kind of person, and so much more time is spent doing dishes and wiping down countertops. If I add that time up, I will become depressed, so I am not going to do that.

One thing I will NOT do as an adult is dry dishes. That was one of my chores as a child and to this day I cannot stand it. If no one is home to dry them, I pile everything into the drying rack and allow them to air dry; the only exception is if I have wine glasses or the coffee pot in the drying rack and I am trying to fit something heavy in there, like pots and pans. I will not risk the life of my coffee pot, and hence the life of my family, and so I will dry it with a feeling of being under extreme duress.

Anyway, 10-30 minutes a day of small things adds up, especially because my house is not very big and I am very fortunate to live with three pretty neat and tidy guys. They do the post-dinner cleanup on weekends, the boys keep their rooms neat and clean, and they are all good at putting dishes away and emptying the dishwasher and not doing gross boy things like peeing on the toilet seat. Don’t get me wrong; I am not sure at what point anyone would actually wash the dishes in the sink without being asked specifically, and no one has EVER cleaned the bathroom without specific instructions, or emptied the bathroom wastepaper basket, and there is constantly an empty juice container squished and left on the kitchen island when the recycling bin is literally fifteen steps away and everyone passes it every time they go downstairs, not that I’m bitter. In general, my cleaning time is mostly spent in the bathroom and also dealing with the floor; at this time of year it is generally covered in paw prints.

This month’s Favourite Things was inspired by Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) and her Chores Chat, where I discovered I am LITERALLY fascinated by other people’s housework methodologies and cleaning products.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Cleaning Items That Are The Real Heroes Of The Pandemic Edition

Roomba

I cannot say enough about my Roomba. I actually have two Roombas; one on the main floor and one downstairs. I am not in the least exaggerating when I say that getting a Roomba was Life Changing. I mean, I can go about my day while a robot cleans my floors, what could possibly be better than that, cleaning-wise? A ROBOT IS CLEANING MY FLOORS.

Go, Roomba, go! I believe in you!

White Vinegar

I am going to confess something here: I am a little bit of a hippie when it comes to cleaning products. While we do have some chemical products – for example, toilet bowl cleaners, I am not a monster – I like to be as natural as possible. I know, it’s weird to say that during a pandemic, but here we are.

I love white vinegar and use it diluted for washing mirrors, windows, glass shower doors, and the hardwood floors. As a result, my house often smells like a pickle factory, but hey, it works. It’s a potpourri, really: vinegar, delicious baking, and elderly dog. Maybe I should market it: Nicole’s Home Fragrance.

I buy the STORE BRAND because, Scottish.

Swedish Dish Cloths

Another confession: I was almost thirty when I realized that people use paper towels for cleaning. I honest to god thought that those commercials showing people using paper towels to clean up spills were just commercials; I didn’t know anyone who used them that way. I know! I know. I was brought up in a house in which spills – and everything else – were cleaned up using rags that were kept under the kitchen sink, and so my house has rags kept under the kitchen sink; rags, by the way, that I have made out of old receiving blankets, pajamas, and towels. Between that and the vinegar I’m practically Ma Ingalls.

However, someone had mentioned Swedish dish cloths to me, which are like a reusable paper towel. I ordered some and yes, I keep them under the sink. They are pretty and cute, and they work great for cleaning the sink and stovetop, and buffing fingerprints off the stainless steel appliances. I still mostly use rags for everything else though.

My Mother-in-Law’s Dish Cloths

My mother-in-law knits these dish cloths and is extremely generous with them. She can whip off one in an hour or less, and she has literal drawers full of them, so I help myself whenever I visit. As a result, this is in my hall cupboard:

These are my EXTRAS, for when my current kitchen stash wear out and become, in the Circle of Life, under-the-sink rags. I have enough to last me until I’m in the Home. Or dead. My great-grandchildren will be divvying them up amongst themselves and wondering why Great Grandma had so many dish cloths. Anyway, these are great for washing dishes – which I spend an alarming amount of time doing – and also wiping down the kitchen countertops – ditto.

Method Cleaning Products

These hippie products smell good and work well. I use the blue one for the bathroom sink and toilet, the granite cleaner mostly for the bathroom granite but sometimes for the kitchen when I’m feeling fancy, and the antibacterial one for the kitchen sink.

Scrubbing Bubbles

I quick-clean the bathroom every other day with vinegar and Method, but once a week I give it a thorough cleaning: scrubbing the shower tiles and floor. We have two bathrooms in the house and the main floor one is heavily utilized. Twenty-eight showers a week – at minimum – means that the main floor shower gets quite a soap scum and hard water buildup that really, no amount of diluted vinegar and hippie cleaning products are going to touch. I love Scrubbing Bubbles for that purpose; this is the only bathroom cleaner whose smell I can stand. It’s fresh and clean smelling, and it really works.

Plus, I like to imagine a the bubbles actually looking like that, in a world we cannot see, scrubbing away happily.

Weiman Stainless Steel Cleaner

Anyone that has stainless steel appliances knows the bane of their existence, fingerprints and smudges. My mom told me about this and WOW, does it ever work. I have tried every hippie method known to man – coconut oil, vinegar, praying to the cleaning gods – and nothing has worked like this.

Caveat: be careful when spraying it on the appliances, because if you get it on the floor it is VERY slippery. Be warned! Also, admire my shiny fridge!

Feel free to share your favourite cleaning hacks, products, and methods. Or, don’t! If cleaning is not your jam, don’t worry, next week we will delve into another favourite topic: Costco. Until then, my friends! xo

Lockdown, Redux; Thirty-Seven Weeks In

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Double Up The D

I am a person who feels very strongly about the benefits of various vitamins and dietary supplements, and if you are a person who, like my dad, thinks that AT BEST such items are useless and a waste of money, not to worry. I am not going to try to sway you to the side of tumeric supplements and the various vegan glucosamine options available to you. I am, however, going to talk about Vitamin D.

I am not a medical professional or being paid by Big Vitamin, but I want to encourage you all – especially those of us in the Great White North – to double your Vitamin D intake. I have long been a believer in Vitamin D, and not just for the bone growth and development that it is officially touted for. I think Vitamin D plays a significant role in mood stability and also immunity. Current research shows a correlation between Vitamin D deficiency and the more severe of the Covid symptoms for those who contract it, and I feel vindicated.

Although, technically, I think that a Vitamin D deficiency is probably present in most severe cases of viral and bacterial illness, not just Covid, but let’s stay on trend here.

We all take a multivitamin in the Boyhouse, which contains 400 IU of Vitamin D, but that is, in my non-medical opinion, NOT ENOUGH. During the summer we take 1000 IU in addition to the multivitamin – yes, I spend a lot of time outside in the sun, but I am always wearing sunscreen which prevents Vitamin D absorption – and then, when we roll the clocks back, we take 2000 IU. Actually, this year we started taking the double dose early, since we had such a stretch of cold and grey weather, but you know. I approximately time it with the end of Daylight Saving.

School’s Out…For A While

I feel like we need all the Vitamin D we can get our hands on, not only because the sun is setting before 5 pm, but also because new restrictions were announced on Tuesday, and the only one that affects me – as I was already NOT gathering with people, NOT eating out, NOT playing team sports, NOT going to worship services, and really NOT doing anything at all – is that all grades 7-12 students are doing “at-home learning” now until January 11.

I had a really hard few days last week; I am generally perky and optimistic, but I was feeling extremely despondent and sad. Monday morning as I was finishing my cardio workout, my watch started exploding with notifications from Power School, saying that my younger son was marked “in isolation” for the week. As it was 7:45 am and he was a) still at home, and b) healthy, I was very confused. It turns out that there was a Covid case in one of his classes and he was to be home for two weeks.

To be totally honest, I was not worried about his physical health; the case was in his math class, all kids are masked and relatively distanced, and it wasn’t one of his friends with whom he eats lunch (outside, also relatively distanced). I was, however, worried about his mental health. He’s a very social kid and the thought of him spending hours doing schoolwork alone in his room on his laptop was…not great. The next day, however, I learned he would soon be joined by his brother, as everyone was transitioning to “at-home learning.”

So that was a blow. I get it. I do. But! My kids have been thriving in their strange, masked-up school environment. They have never complained about wearing masks, they have never complained about all the restrictions, they wear masks even when outside, when they are with friends. We’ve had a few days to process it, and the school is doing everything to make this a smooth transition, learning from the chaos that was in the spring, but still. It’s a blow.

Also we do not have a big house and, well. Everyone is home, all the time.

All Quiet On The Grocery Front

Before the restrictions were announced on Tuesday, I was getting multiple texts from friends saying a) Costco and Walmart were both completely sold out of toilet paper, b) lineups at Costco were snaking doubly through the warehouse, and c) everything was terrible.

Wednesday is my regular grocery shopping day, and all I could think was I can’t do this again, I can’t do it. I was so stressed by the thought of grocery shopping, I hardly slept Tuesday night. I hauled myself to the grocery store for 8:00 am, right after seniors-and-those-with-disabilities hour, and…it was fine. Busier than a regular Wednesday at 8:00 am, but fine. There was plenty of everything, including toilet paper and other paper products, there were tons of cleaning supplies, including Lysol in spray and liquid AND wipe form, and all of the usual staples were stocked up. The only thing they did not have was large packages of spinach, of which I usually buy four per week. I figured this was just a delay in shelf stocking, and that there was no actual spinach shortage, so I am not ashamed to tell you that I completely cleaned out the store of smaller packages of spinach, stacking seven of them in my cart. As god is my witness, if I have to give up my daily green smoothies, someone is going to get stabbed.

Despite the overall fine-ness of the shopping experience, and despite the fact that I got a Lindor chocolate house as a gift with purchase instead of the dreadful poinsettia (they give them away for free, do NOT try to fundraise with them, NO ONE WANTS THEM) I was in a funk. I could not shake it.

Do you know what DOESN’T work when you’re in that kind of sadness spiral? Telling yourself that a trip to Superstore in a pandemic is not exactly standing in a bread line in Ceausescu’s Romania. Telling yourself that your life is not exactly like that of the dad’s in that movie about the little boy who was a ballet dancer, the dad who was a striking coal miner in 1980s Britain, who had to chop up his dead wife’s piano just to use the wood for the fire, who eventually crossed the picket line and endured the verbal abuse of his former friends just so he could provide for his family. I mean, next to that, I am practically Kate, Duchess of Cambridge.

I eventually told myself that while a paper cut is not a broken leg, it still hurts, and I sat with my sadness for a while. I went to bed early and felt much more myself the next day.

Oh Yes, We Need A Little Christmas. Right This Very Minute.

The tree is up!

That was the boost this week needed! This year’s ornament is a narwhal. The unicorn of the sea! Bye, Buddy, hope you find your dad!

I also started my Christmas baking, kicking things off with my annual gingersnaps (thank you, Co-Op, for having molasses).

Here’s your one chance, Fancy, don’t let me down.

Pandemic Reading

This was lovely and sweet and as soon as I finished it I put every single one of Camille Pagan’s books on my “to-read” list.

It is, I think, very important to read stories about people who encounter life differently from me, with different backgrounds and experiences. With that said, I did not at all enjoy this book. While it was beautifully written, I found it extremely disturbing, upsetting, depressing, and sad. It probably didn’t help that I read most of it on Wednesday of this week.

Following up on my reading of Hans Christian Anderson fairy tales, Grimm’s are also pretty nuts. Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) in particular mentioned Hansel and Gretel, which was in this collection. HOO BOY. Did you know that in the original version, Hansel gets turned into a fawn, then they live in the forest for a long time, the King goes on a deer hunt and injures him, and then falls in love with Gretel and marries her? This is all after their parents abandon them in the woods to die and instead they get taken in by a witch who – for reasons that are not clear – locks Hansel only into a cage to fatten up in the manner of veal, for later feasting. Not at ALL a disturbing concept for children.

It’s the last day of November and as we head into December let’s all remember to be extra kind and patient with people in customer service, and people in general. Everyone has something going on, always, but especially this year. In the meantime, enjoy this Barkley photobomb. xo