Category Archives: Embrace the Season

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Nourishing Edition

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How has June been treating you, friends? I hope you have all been enjoying my Nourishment series; I have certainly enjoyed putting it together. There will be a final post on Monday to wrap it up, and in the meantime, I want to tell you about my Favourite Things this month. They are all things that are nourishing for my physical and mental states, if we use the term fairly loosely. You know me, I like a theme.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Nourishing Edition

Strawberry Fields Forever

This is the second year for our strawberry plants, and they have been prolific! Almost every day I have a harvest of these sweet sweet berries. We have to net the plants to keep the birds from feasting, and when I’m crouched down underneath the netting, picking them, I’m reminded of Mrs Elton at the berrying party in Emma.

And check out this very funky specimen:

It was delicious, although I do feel like I snacked on Patrick from Spongebob.

The raspberries have also been showing up and showing out; we have several different varieties, so hopefully we will have berries from June to September.

Did you hear that? It’s ominous music playing.

AND SO IT BEGINS. Zucchini season is now, alarmingly, in full swing. I have already harvested eight zucchini, including an absolute monster that quadrupled in size from last Wednesday, before our road trip, to the following Monday. My husband and son are giving me the side-eye, after last year’s zucapocalypse.

Postcard from the incomparable Michelle (HI MICHELLE) for scale.

Like A Good Neighbour, Amanda Is There

The emotional and psychological issues I have around my hair could keep a therapist busy for decades, and probably buy the aforementioned therapist a vacation home on Maui, but such issues are not available for public consumption. I will merely say that fifteen years ago or so, my hair stylist put down her comb and scissors in exasperation, and said to me Nicole, will you STOP saying that. There is nothing WRONG with your hair. It’s just REGULAR hair. Stop telling me how weird and terrible it is. IT IS JUST NORMAL HAIR.

So. I have issues around my hair. I dislike having my hair cut not because I’m Samson or Rapunzel or anything, but because I fear negative commentary about it, although with few exceptions that is not something that happens. It takes me a while to build trust with a new stylist, so you can imagine the tizzy I was in when I moved here. And listen: my hair is not complicated to cut. It does not require precise styling. I know this and yet, I still feel stressed and worried whenever I go to get my hair cut.

My neighbour Amanda cuts hair out of her home, and it took me nearly a year of living a three-minute walk from her house before I got the courage to ask her to cut mine. She’s a busy mom with a full-time job, but she told me cheerfully that she cuts hair for friends and family! and I took MONTHS to contact her. Are we friends? Is this overstepping? If I ask her will she think I’m weird and presumptuous? Finally, after my husband told me to just call her already, and if she didn’t want to do it she could say no, I contacted her.

Friends, she is the sweetest woman around and she immediately set me at ease as I talked a mile a minute about my hair worries. She has been cutting my hair for almost a year now, the latest time being just a couple of weeks ago, when I had delayed getting it cut for a few months. The ends were, to say the least, not great, Bob.

Amanda told me gravely we would have to take off some length. She asked if I was okay, and then she asked again. She explained very carefully what would happen, what her plans were for future cuts, and then she proceeded to give me the best haircut of my entire life.

I might be getting over my hair issues! I love you, Amanda! (HI AMANDA, if you’re reading this)

Power Pants

I am about to relate an anecdote, but before I do, I want to note that the following occurred years ago, in 2011 or 2012, when it was considered not only appropriate but complimentary to comment on other people’s bodies, particularly when the other person’s body appeared smaller. I know, I know, we would never ever think this was okay to say these days, but I am setting the scene for you.

Picture it: it’s 2011 or 2012. I’m standing with the Circle Moms, so named because we all stood in a circle and chatted in the schoolyard when our kids sledded or built snow forts or played on the playground after school. As we were talking, a woman came up to a friend of mine in the circle, and asked her in a congratulatory, complimentary tone if she had lost weight. Nope! my friend said happily. I just bought bigger pants.

Several months ago, when I did a big purge of my ill-fitting wardrobe – mostly pants, but also a not insignificant number of little black dresses – Michelle (HI MICHELLE) congratulated me. It’s so empowering to have clothes that fit! she said, and she was right. It IS empowering! It IS a big deal to go into my closet and know I can wear all the things in it.

Here we are, in a new season – not just of life, but an actual season – and it’s really time to bust out all the crops and capris. I needed new pants. I needed bigger pants. And so I went to Mark’s, because it seems like this is where I get all my pants lately, and I bought three pair of very lightweight capris, and two denim ones. Friends, they are comfortable, I feel cute, and I AM EMPOWERED! Behold a few of my powerful pants!

It’s so simple. Putting on pants without shimmying or struggling, and just…doing them up? It’s the best. Our bodies change throughout our lives, shouldn’t our pants? Why try to squeeze into pants that are uncomfortable and most likely unflattering in their discomfort? JUST BUY BIGGER PANTS. Fitting my body should be the very least we ask for from pants, right after making me not be naked, and yet. And yet it’s revolutionary.

Stop Bugging Me

We had quite a bit of rain, which was desperately needed – I do not want to go through another August like the one in 2023! – and the rain was followed by sunshine and lovely warm temperatures. Glorious! And also? Perfect mosquito weather.

Something you may or may not know about me is that I am a person you want to invite to your parties, not just because I would talk to a chair if it looked marginally friendly, but also because I am a Mosquito Magnet. I am ABSOLUTELY IRRESISTABLE to the female mosquito population. They cannot get enough of my sexy, juicy flesh. And another neat thing to know about me is that I have the kind of allergic reaction to mosquito bites that makes people say Oh GOD, what HAPPENED to you? What on another person might be a slight annoyance is, to me, torture. Mosquito bites swell to enormous, hard, red lumps, and then turn into bruises, and that is not a look I like to embrace. Some topical ointments soothe somewhat, others give me a secondary reaction, it’s a wheel of fortune.

I want to be the type of person who just smooths on a little Skin So Soft, or spritzes on a homemade essential oil mixture, and then calls it a day, but I am not. I am just so sexy and irresistible to those rental houses for souls of the cruel, that I need The Big Guns.

Do I want to be spraying chemicals all over my body? No, I do not. But faced with the choice between that and having gigantic swollen itchy lumps all over my body, between that and praying for the sweet release of the bruising that follows, even though I look like I’ve fallen off a cruise ship, pinballing down, hitting a lot of railings on the way, well, I’ll take the Fresh Scent Deet every time. I leave it on the outside steps to spray on just before my walk, then I strut through the greenway like John Travolta with a paint can, while everyone around me is losing their minds and slapping the air and their own bodies.

Come Back With A Warrant(y)

The most-used small appliance in my kitchen is the Vitamix; it gets used by various people three to four times a day at minimum. So it really was no surprise when, several months ago, it finally gave up. It’s too much! the Vitamix would have said, were it sentient. Stop with the continuous smoothies already! The container blades seized up, started to smoke, and died.

This was an absolute crisis. The motor still worked perfectly, so we ordered a new container for it, making the huge and predictable mistake of purchasing a quick-to-arrive, much-less-expensive knock-off that was compatible with our motor. In what can only be described as You Get What You Pay For, the container worked perfectly for two weeks, and then developed a tiny leak. It still worked, but it would leave a teaspoon or so of smoothie on the motor. Over the course of a few months, that teaspoon increased to a few tablespoons, and every time I wiped up the resulting mess I could only think that this was not great, Bob.

The problem was that our model is no longer available, and so my husband called Vitamix to ask what he could purchase as a replacement, which is when we discovered that we have a seven-year warranty on all parts, expiring in August. Vitamix sent us a brand-new container, free of charge, and we are all happily consuming smoothies without having to clean up a little puddle afterwards.

Outfit of the Month

As I mentioned above, I was running low on little black dresses after The Great Closet Purge of 2024. The purge happened in November which, as my husband pointed out, was perfect timing for Black Friday. How or why Black Friday became a thing in Canada, I do not know, but I was grateful that Ricki’s – a proudly Canadian company – had such a sale. I picked up three dresses for $120, and I love them all.

I wore one a few weeks ago for a friend’s 60th birthday party, paired them with Skecher sandals, and posed with the best black-and-white accessory I have.

I hope you are all enjoying our first official week of summer! I’d love to hear about all your Favourites this month. Tell me everything. xo

Then Sings My Soul: Nourishing Through Nature

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It is not yet officially summer, and yet it is summer!

I have this very strange scarcity mindset when it comes to beautiful summer days, the cause of which I can pinpoint exactly: living 95% of my life in Calgary. Listen, when a beautiful day presents itself in Calgary, you had better drop everything and enjoy every second of that beautiful day, because you don’t know when the next one will happen. There is every likelihood that the temperatures will drop, or the wind will pick up, or there will be a violent thunderstorm that will flatten every single plant in your garden and possibly tear the shingles off your roof.

I need to get over this mindset because here, when it’s summer, it’s summer. And I love it, I am spending every moment that I can outside even while reminding myself that there is always tomorrow.

There isn’t always tomorrow for everyone, sadly. We had a perennial die and we replaced it with a clump of happy looking pink annuals, and then realized WHY that perennial died, which had nothing to do with the neighbour’s dog surreptitiously urinating on it. Or, that wasn’t the only reason. The main reason is that the small corner where the plant resided is just out of reach of our irrigation system, and so the poor thing just died of a lack of water. To ensure our little clump of flowers will not follow the same path of demise, we have been keeping my little watering can filled and close by for ease of use.

I got back from my walk the other day and went to give those happy little flowers a drink. I paused, upon seeing what I initially thought was a large piece of bark floating in the watering can. On closer inspection, this turned out to be a drowned bird.

I set down the watering can and backed away, repeating my husband’s name in a stunned manner and with increasing urgency, followed by there’s a, there’s a, there’s a over and over. I would like to be a Strong Invincible Woman in the face of a bird corpse, but alas. The fate of that little bird’s physical being was decided by my husband, and hopefully one of the many coyotes zipping around here had a little snack. Poor birdie. I hope its little soul is flying around happily, maybe inhabiting the body of a hawk or eagle, just for a different experience.

I was talking to my friend Sandi (HI SANDI) recently about insects, and whether or not they possess souls. We both agreed: why not? Why not, indeed? Everyone can agree that animals have souls: anyone who has ever had a pet in their life, or even watched a nature show on television, can see this. If we believe that, why can’t we believe that insects also have souls? Rather, I should say, ALL insects, because some, like butterflies are often considered vehicles for the soul. They are widely viewed as beautiful symbols of spirits flitting around in nature. It follows, then, if butterflies have souls, why wouldn’t all insects?

Opinions about insect souls can really say a lot about a person’s view of the world. It’s like the insect version of Denis Leary’s old bit about wanting to save the animals, but only the cute animals. One might think, okay, butterflies have souls, not spiders or earthworms, but why? Where do we arbitrarily draw the line? It makes more sense if everything does, perhaps spiders especially – have we not all read Charlotte’s Web? Those heroic arachnids spin webs to save us all from pests, and Wilbur from being eaten. Spiders have a job to do, people! Let’s give them some love!

“This sheep can go fuck itself,” I appear to be saying. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say “I will pet this sheep but I will not enjoy it.”

I think every living thing, including plants and trees, including earthworms, yes, even including mosquitoes, have a soul. Possibly the soul of a person who lived a life of great cruelty might be destined to be housed in the body of a mosquito for centuries, who can say? None of us are The Divine, least of all me, and so I’m not here to judge. Maybe slapping that mosquito that lands on our bodies will release the soul to…another mosquito? The universe is full of mysteries.

Well. What started as a post about what I love to do to nourish my soul – working in the garden and enjoying the glory of nature – took quite a turn.

When I started to write down the things I do to nourish my soul, I was heartened to see that every single thing overlapped with the things I do to nourish my body and my brain: gardening, walking, yoga, playing music, reading. The number one thing that feeds my soul, and always has, is being outside.

The garden, of course, brings me so much joy; seeing perennial plants and tree leaves emerge in spring, the planting and then harvesting of vegetables and berries, the beauty of the flowers. Walking, whether it’s through nature-rich paths or on city sidewalks, and yoga are moving meditations for me – and regular, seated meditation is also a daily practice for me that is nourishing to my whole self. The beauty of music, the beauty of a book, the beauty of poetry – all of it is good for my soul. And as a bonus, at this time of year I can relax on my glider chair on the deck with a book and a beverage, and it feels so restorative.

While I was walking last week, a bald eagle soared right over Rex and I, and I just stood there watching him. Maybe one day my Watering Can Bird will inhabit such a glorious creature, or maybe a butterfly. Wherever it ends up, I hope it’s happy.

Weekly Reading

I had a DNF this week; it was More or Less Maddy, by Lisa Genova. I have to accept that I have not enjoyed anything she’s written besides Still Alice. I have to accept that this author is not for me. I made it through the first chapter, and then skipped around to see if there was any sign it would get better. It did not appear to. After all the Coco Mellors recently, I just could NOT deal with another book about drug use, mental health, and suicidal ideation. Moving on to what I did finish:

Heartwood. I enjoyed this very propulsive read about a woman who, after the stress of being a nurse in the pandemic, decides to hike the Appalachian Trail. She goes missing somewhere in Maine, and the search begins. It didn’t go at all like I expected it to, and I liked that! It was a great ending, and the story told from different points of view made for a compelling read. I learned that the idea of the book came from a true incident that ended sadly, which made the book even more interesting to me. Thanks to Lisa (HI LISA) for the recommendation!

Lives of Girls and Women. Yes, I had four library books sitting on my coffee table, but I needed – NEEDED – to reread the book that made me a Munro fan, 31 years ago. The heroine of this coming of age story – Del Jordan – is so resonant and relatable to me and always has been, even though I did not come of age in 1940s rural Ontario. My husband looked at the book and said how many times have you read that? I don’t know, but enough for the book to start falling apart.

The Simple Art of Killing a Woman. This book was intense. Intense and upsetting but very compelling, the story follows a young lawyer who accepts an assignment in an Amazonian border town, to escape her aggressive and potentially violent boyfriend. While there she learns about the epidemic of femicide, which is rampant in Brazil but particularly in this area. Some of it reads like a fever dream, the parts where the lawyer partakes in ritual ayahuasca use. It was a well done but very upsetting book.

Every morning I am up before the sun, and every morning I think of the Mary Oliver poem that wonders why people ask to see God’s identity papers, when seeing the sky break into morning is enough. At this time of year, the mountains across the lake are glowing pink as I roll out my yoga mat, and it is such food for the soul.

Speaking of poetry, look what I got!

My dear friend Maya (HI MAYA) has not one, not two, but THREE poems published in this very moving anthology. I highly recommend it. It is only available on Amazon at the moment, but when the choice comes to shop more ethically OR support my friend, I am going to choose the latter every time.

I am going on a long-in-distance, short-in-length road trip this week, so I will catch up with you on the flip side! I would love it if you told me what you’re doing to fill your cup and nourish your souls. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The I Got The Power Edition

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Serious question, friends: where did May go? It feels like it went by in a flash, but I guess that’s not any different from any month. One day you’re noticing all the It’s Gonna Be May memes and Star Wars movies on TV, the next you’re scheduling appointments for June and thinking about the month’s Favourite Things.

I have an interesting variety of things to talk about this month – and they are not all garden related!

Or iris related, despite the iris photos.

Irises are definitely a great part of May, but what I want to talk about today are things that are powerful and energizing on so many levels. Life changing things, as it were.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The I Got The Power Edition

I’ve Got The Power!

A while ago I posted about trying branched-chain amino acids to combat perimenopause symptoms, after hearing about it on a podcast, and I had said it was difficult to tell if it was helping because I am absolutely a Placebo Effect person. I decided to give it several weeks and a full menstrual cycle (yes, I do still get my period – every three and a half weeks, thank you very much, no one needs such frequency) to determine the impact of adding amino acids to my life.

Friends. I cannot overstate how much this has changed things for me! I used to get so fatigued the week before my period; my body would ache and my sleep would be off, and my energy would be low. And no, I am in no way a medical or nutritional professional, this is anecdotal evidence based on a sample size of one, but wow. Wow! I have been sleeping really well, I have not been experiencing any kind of fatigue pre-period, and in fact my period took me by slight surprise, with no symptoms other than slightly sore breasts. No sadness, none of the soul-crushing despair that hits us all before Aunt Flo arrives, not even the cravings for sugary treats or salty snacks. The difference has been astonishing. My resting heart rate is lower, and did I mention the sleep? I go to bed, fall asleep, and wake up seven and a half hours later. Every night! What even is this magic.

Again, not a doctor. Sample size of one. Only five weeks usage. But my husband suggested that due to my plant-based diet for so many years, perhaps I had been missing amino acids this whole time. It does make sense. Will it work for you? I have no idea. But it feels magical to me, that I have Jack Russell terrier energy the whole month through.

I’ve Got The Shower (Cap, For My Food)!

I have long been a fan of beeswax wraps for food, but the ones I bought a decade ago are starting to look a little worse for the wear. I also feel slightly icky when it comes to cleaning them off, as hot water makes them melt. They never get as clean as I could wish them to be, as I don’t like to use harsh cleansers for things that could come into contact with my food. Basically, I wipe them with warm water and dish soap and hope for the best.

So I decided to splurge and buy a set of bowl covers that are easily washable – in hot water – and they are referred to, in our house, as shower caps. I now have a number of them in different sizes and produce-related patterns.

It’s a perfect solution to single-use plastic wrap, which I still do use for meat because that is my line in the sand. Still, a small step towards less plastic is still a step!

I’ve Got To Scour!

Speaking of cleaning, I love this scouring product from Mint. I loathe a gunky sink, but I’m also – see above – not willing to use harsh chemicals in the kitchen. I found this product at the eco-friendly store my friend Joy works at (HI JOY), and it’s wonderful. It’s a scrub – think Comet, but with a minty-fresh smell – and it’s made by two women on Vancouver Island. I love supporting small local businesses, especially those run by women!

It works great at getting the sink shiny and clean, and it smells fantastic.

I’ve Got The Flowers!

May is the month for flowers, and while my perennials and bulbs have been popping, I want to talk about annuals. We have annuals in the pots beside and around the deck, and so far they have not been eaten by deer. Hopefully I didn’t just jinx myself and won’t wake up to deer on our deck. Perennials are so fun to see pop out of the ground, but there is something wonderful about the instant colour of a pot of annuals.

The last photo features flowers that were a free gift with purchase from Superstore, which I love. The purple clematis climbing up behind it – obviously not an annual – was planted last year and is insane! The flowers are huge, they are significantly larger than the palm of my hand, and I have gigantic hands.

I’ve Got The Eyebrow-er!

My eyebrows are naturally a dark brown, but lately many, many of those dark brown hairs have turned pure white, the unhappy result being very patchy-looking eyebrows. I certainly cannot pluck the white hairs, because that would lead to eyebrow bald spots, and I have enough to worry about in the bald spot department, I do not need to add to it.

I love Maybelline products, as you likely already know, and I think their BrowFast Sculpt is genius. It’s like a mascara, but for eyebrows, and it works like a gel for errant hairs while also colouring them. Warning: it’s really really easy to go overboard with this product and then look startlingly like Uncle Leo.

I usually wipe the wand on the side of the tube to get the excess product off, and then I apply with a VERY light touch.

One eyebrow done, to show you the difference. Not to worry, I did the other eyebrow post-photo.

Outfit of the Month

Friends, two things of shopping significance happened this month: I bought a new sweater, and that new sweater was NOT black. Look at me, colourfully peacocking around.

It’s from Lululemon and is advertised as being the Sweater for Summer, which garnered raised eyebrows from me. A sweater? For summer? I’m not in Calgary anymore, people, that is UNNECESSARY. However! I am here to tell you that it is an absolute dream to wear; light and airy, and a perfectly comfortable fit. I probably wouldn’t wear it in temperatures over 20 degrees, but it’s a lovely addition to the shoulder season wardrobe.

The jeans are my favourite brand, Silver, and they are the “Beau” style – the so-called boyfriend jean. Shoes are Skechers, and the tote is from Rome! The latter fact is something I would like to work into more conversations, but alas. There are only so many times a person can mention it.

Last week I was having my coffee and preparing for my yoga practice; I looked up to see this amazing sky. What a reward for being an early riser! It faded quickly, which made it feel all the more special. I hope you have all had a month filled with special treats and favourite things. I’d love to hear all about them. Tell me everything. xo

Ducks, Dialects, Daddy Cool

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I learned something absolutely wild this week, and even though I immediately fact-checked it, I still was in shock and disbelief. I still AM in shock and disbelief.

From an episode of Were You Raised By Wolves – my current and longtime favourite podcast about modern etiquette, which is more fun than it sounds, really – I learned that, in Minnesota, the children’s game Duck, Duck, Goose is not Duck, Duck, Goose. Instead, it is Duck, Duck, GREY DUCK.

I had to turn off the podcast for a moment to stare out the window. It felt like everything I had ever known was in question. Do I, like Oprah, know anything for sure? I just cannot say, I just cannot say.

I instantly texted my favourite Minnesotan, Lisa, to ask her if this was true, if everything I have ever known was a lie? And Lisa, darling Lisa, Lisa who would never lead anyone astray, told me that yes, all is true and more. Not only do Minnesotan children chant Grey Duck before running around the circle, but so do those in North Dakota.

The world, it is a wild and wonderful place. (HI LISA).

Isn’t it wild, isn’t it WILD how things differ between regions? Let’s take language and dialect, for example. It is a common perception that Canadians pronounce about like aboot, and yet I have never in my fifty years met a single person who sounds like that, and I have met people from all over the country. Accents and dialects do differ across our great country, of course. I can tell a prairie accent from a Maritime one, I can pinpoint if a person is from Newfoundland or Quebec; I live in BC and I have friends all over Ontario, and yet never once have I heard the word aboot. Eh, I hear and say often, but aboot? Never.

Calgarians can easily identify non-Calgarians, simply from how the city is pronounced: it’s Cal-GREE, not Cal-GARY, and although I no longer live there, I will offer a gentle correction. That is the only thing I will correct, though, because so many words are pronounced differently based on regional dialect, and there is no such thing as “correct” or “incorrect” when it comes to that. When it comes to mischievous, coyote, groceries, mascara, and tomato I personally say mis-chee-vious, kai-oh-tee, grow-sher-ees, mah-scare-ah, toe-may-toe. I also pronounce tour with two syllables, too-er, rather than “ture” or “tore,” but I pronounce tournament as ture-nament. I contain multitudes.

It’s funny that language and dialect are so interesting to me, yet so dull to write about. I’m boring myself. Let’s move on.

The other day I heard the song Daddy Cool twice during a single workout: once on my own playlist while I was on the elliptical, and then once during a Peloton ride. God, I love Boney M and I love that song. It reminded me of a funny, albeit embarrassing story circa 1995. My friend Alice (HI ALICE, if you’re reading this) was engaged, and had confided to the Econ Girls, of which I was one, that she hated the word fiance. Our friend Tony, not an Econ Girl per se, but as he was studying economics we didn’t exclude him based on his sex, suggested that we refer to her fiance as Big Daddy Cool, and that stuck.

It stuck a little too well. I was at her bridal shower, and one of the games involved questions about the couple, including the correct spelling of the groom’s name. It was at that moment that I realized that not only did I not know the correct spelling of the groom’s name, I did not know his name at all. I had never called him anything at all except Big Daddy Cool, or, sometimes, Big Daddy. I was seated right next to his mother, and if there’s anything worse than being at a bridal shower and not knowing the groom’s name after meeting him dozens of times, well. There’s actually a lot of things that are worse, but still, it wasn’t my best moment. It could have landed me on a segment from Were You Raised By Wolves.

Weekly Reading

The Spoon Stealer. This book concerns a peppy old lady looking back on her life, which is divided between Nova Scotia and England. She has a talking dog and a habit of stealing spoons wherever she goes, after her brother tells her that a spoonful of kindness is all it takes to make a difference. It’s a very sweet concept and there are a lot of heartwarming messages in this book, but the writing style just wasn’t for me and I found it very difficult to be engaged with the story. In fact, I kept thinking when is this going to end, and then at the actual end, I discovered that the story was based on the author’s family, which made me feel terrible for mentally disparaging it.

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. This has been on my TBR for a long time, but I had forgotten about it until Lisa and Laura (HI LISA, HI LAURA) mentioned it to me recently, so I bumped it up. I have a lot of thoughts, buckle up. This is a memoir by a very acclaimed author of her family’s move from Tucson to a piece of land in Appalachia; the move was precipitated by their desire to eat entirely locally which the author claims is impossible in the arid land of Arizona. They were motivated to reduce their carbon footprint via trucked-in or flown-in food, and I do think this is a very admirable thing to do. Each family member was able to choose one exception to this rule, and her husband chose coffee, which was extremely relatable to me. They do accomplish this locavore-style of eating, both through community purchases and their own garden and animals. I will say I skimmed over quickly the parts in the book where they discuss slaughtering their own meat versus factory farmed meat. I already know about this, I agree raising one’s own meat is a sustainable way to eat meat if one does, and also I do not want to read about it. The book is peppered with recipes – Laura had mentioned one for zucchini chocolate chip cookies, you can bet I’ll be trying that – and that is quite delightful. However, I found the book as a whole to be a bit dated – it came out nearly 20 years ago, and even the updated epilogue from 2017 was a moment in time – and also reeking of privilege and judgement. I was in my early thirties – around when this first came out – when I read The Good Food Revolution; before reading that book I had absolutely no idea what a food desert was. I had never heard of it. I had never heard of children unaware that carrots and potatoes grow in the ground, that apples are from trees, etcetera. I had never, not once, realized that there were entire communities of people without access to a grocery store or to fresh fruits and vegetables. That book really changed my perspectives and cultivated a lot of empathy in me for people who are just trying to feed their families in any way that they could, and after reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, I felt that the author was a privileged white woman whose answer to climate change was to a) grow a garden, or b) go to the farmer’s market. And I love both of those things but it is an incredible privilege to do so. Gardening is a lot of work and takes a lot of time. Going to the farmer’s market requires access to one, as well as money, and I’m not sure in this day and age if that is always possible. We don’t all have a piece of land in Appalachia that we can ditch our life for, even if we could all just leave our jobs. Another thing that stuck in my craw a bit is that the author and husband takes a trip to Italy, and while I loved reading about their local eating in places I had so recently enjoyed, I also wondered how they justified the jet fuel. I suppose one doesn’t preclude the other, but it was a detail that bothered me. The last thing I’ll say is that the author speaks very lovingly and with great empathy for the tobacco farmers of her youth, who built the communities surrounding her. I do think it’s a really hard thing, seeing an industry that employed everyone you know disappear, but I wondered what her take on other reviled industries – let’s say energy, for example – would be. I wondered if she would have the same level of kindness for people who were also just putting food on their tables via an industry that is generally not looked on with love. Laura and I spent some time discussing the author’s more recent book – which I haven’t read and I WILL NOT – Demon Copperhead, which is about the opioid crisis in her very community. Was the disappearance of the tobacco industry a precursor to that? Maybe. Anyway, lots to think about, the tl;dr is that I loved the descriptions of gardens and seasonal recipes, and I hated the privilege and judgement emanating from this. The food industry as a whole, and the way we approach eating and nutrition are extremely complex and often terribly problematic, and this book does shine a light on those issues.

Whew! After all that, I am going to give you an update on my own garden! Because I am nothing if not a multicoloured tapestry of a person. I have been using garden spinach in my smoothies all week, there are teeny tiny green tomatoes on two of my plants, and the iris garden, friends, the iris garden is bringing me so much happiness. Every morning there is something new! We have so many different colours – purples and burgundies, white and yellow, peach and variegated – and I love them all.

You have no idea how difficult it is for me not to post a photo of every single iris in the garden, thus making this ridiculously long post even longer. I blame Barbara Kingsolver! No, I only have myself to blame. Have a beautiful, flower-filled week, my friends. xo

Homegrown Salad Season Begins!

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For absolutely no discernable reason, for five days last week I had Slide by the Goo Goo Dolls intermittently stuck in my head. How this happened, I have no idea. I hadn’t heard it recently. I wasn’t thinking about anything that could trigger such a thing. I had not been on any slides and I hadn’t watched any slideshows and I hadn’t thought I’ll just let that slide. The source remains a mystery. Then on Friday, after five days of singing I wanna wake up where you are, I took a Peloton ride and near the end was the song Slide, the familiar tune coordinating with my already-there earworm.

The universe works in strange ways.

My own little universe has been very green lately as I have been sliding into homegrown salad season. We’ve had quite a bit of rain over the past month or so, and temperatures have been in the mid-to-high teens, which is ideal growing weather for green leafy vegetables. I had my first harvest of kale and arugula last week, which was celebrated by making a giant salad for dinner.

I harvested on Wednesday, and by late in the day Thursday I could barely see where I cut from. The greens are growing before my very eyes! A key lesson I took from last year is to stagger the plantings so that I’m not completely overwhelmed, and even so, even so I currently have an astonishing amount of spinach, kale, and arugula. Well, I like smoothies and I like salads, and I really don’t mind this problem at all.

Another key lesson from last year was to only plant one zucchini. I confess that I did plant more than one zucchini seed, and until last week I had two pretty healthy looking, sizable plants. My husband, upon learning this, grabbed a spade and dug one up. My baby! Murderer! After a short period of mourning for the zucchini that never was, I had to concede that it was for the best. I still, despite best efforts, have nine cups of grated zucchini in the freezer from last year’s bumper crop. I also still have friends, although those relationships may become strained if I tried to force zucchini on them like I did last year. I’m leaving these here, no take backs! I actually said at a girl’s movie afternoon last September. I was only steps away from leaving zucchini on people’s doorsteps before Nicki Nicki Nine Dooring myself out of there.

Maybe that could be a thing, but call it Nicole Nicole Nine Door, where a person answers a door only to find a pile of zucchini.

I’m getting ahead of myself, however, as it will be a few months before The Great Zucchini Season begins. In the meantime, my cilantro is coming up strong, which I am also stagger-planting, as I am the only person who eats it. I harvested a little last week to have on my stir-fry, and it was absolutely delicious.

In other garden news, the perennial garden is popping, the irises are irising, and in general everything is very fresh and green right now.

On one of our walk routes is a tree that is hung with dozens of handmade birdhouses, which is truly delightful. I have yet to see a bird in any of those birdhouses, or even in the vicinity of the tree, but no matter. It’s lovely to look at, even birdless. I don’t know the who, why, or how of it, but I enjoy it.

Weekly Reading

This Motherless Land. As mentioned last week, I reread Mansfield Park in preparation for This Motherless Land, as the plot of the latter is taken from the former, and I highly recommend doing that for a really interesting reading experience. This Motherless Land deals with two cousins, one in Nigeria and one in England, who due to tragic circumstances start living together, before another set of tragic circumstances separate them. It’s a story of finding home and belonging, and it contains a few of the most abhorrent, atrocious characters you ever did read. Fortunately for us readers, it all wraps up in a very neat bow, with a series of satisfying coincidences. Where Mansfield Park explores the British class system of the early 1800s, this book explores straight-up racism, which is pretty breathtaking, and not in a good way. It was a solidly satisfying read; I did not love it, but I liked it well enough, which is a lot coming from a person who has a strong tendency to dislike modern retellings of classic books.

Blue Sisters. What I am about to say is absolutely a Me Problem, not a Book Problem. The thing is, I have a very hard time reading about addiction, particularly hard-core drug addiction and alcoholism. I have a very hard time with the details about benders, physical effects, and the psychological behaviours and impacts. I blame Trainspotting for scarring me, back in the Nineties. Anyway, I know this about myself and yet I picked up this book that is about addiction, and wow, it was not for me. I almost DNFed it several times, but pushed on because I have so many friends who have read and loved it. But it was just too much for me. That said, it is well-written and contains a lot of other interesting themes, particularly about pain and how people cope with it, along with trauma, inter-generational and otherwise. So this book might be perfect for you! But it was just awful for me.

On that kind of downer of a note, I hope you all have a beautiful week ahead of you. Maybe with some homegrown salads? Or flowers? Take care of yourselves, friends. xo

The 100 Day Project Begins

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100 Days of Music

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

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

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

The Bears Are Back In Town

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

Eeep!

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

Walking Each Other Home

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

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

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

Weekly Reading

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

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

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

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

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

Cinco Para Cinco de Mayo

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Smile More

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

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

We both obliged.

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

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

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

Science, Bitches

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

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

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

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

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

Taking It Personally

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

I’m a Creep, I’m a Weirdo

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

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

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

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

Weekly Reading

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

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

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

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