Category Archives: Embrace the Season

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

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Jan Stan Edition

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I asked my son if people still used the word “stan,” and he said what do you mean, like the Stan countries? When I explained that no, I wasn’t talking about the Central and South Asian, mainly former Soviet countries, I was talking about describing how I feel about things I like, he tilted his head. I don’t think people your age say it, probably. Excuse me? I was listening to Stan before you were BORN. I am TAKING BACK the Stan.

I know January has been a rough, grim, and frankly terrifying month, on the international front particularly, but you know me:

And to that end, there are many things I found I could Stan in the month of Jan. I would like to go on record to say that January sunsets are truly things of beauty, and even though we still haven’t made it to 5:00 yet – tonight’s sunset is at 4:48 – there is more and more daylight and clear skies every day.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Jan Stan Edition

If I Could Turn Back Time

Where have the Cerave products been all my life? I know where they have been, inexpensively hanging out in the drugstore, so I suppose the real question is WHY haven’t I used them before now? A few months ago my skin was feeling so tight and dry with the change in seasons, and I bought this moisturizer for my first morning ablutions:

It’s revolutionary! I put it on first thing in the morning after washing my face; it’s much thicker than what I would usually use on my face, but it absorbs by the time I’ve brushed my teeth. In the summer I prefer a much higher SPF but I think 30 is perfectly fine for a) winter, b) walking in partial darkness, and c) the cloudiness that is typical of winters here.

I also purchased this product, allegedly a “serum,” but which seems more like a lotion:

I put it on before my Neutrogena retinol night cream, which leads to a LOT of tingling, but I think it actually does make my skin brighter and softer and maybe – MAYBE – even lessens the look of wrinkles. Does it turn back time? Absolutely not, but I think that’s just too tall an order for any kind of topical treatment, particularly one for less than $20 at the drugstore.

Bundt and Hustle

As I have mentioned before, I have been diligently working my way through my friend Julie’s cake cookbook (HI JULIE) since I bought it in 2022. I ran into a roadblock, though, because a number of recipes call for a Bundt pan, which I did not have until this Christmas, when my son gifted me one. This was along with a copy of Commonwealth, which I mention only because it otherwise sounds like he gave himself a Christmas gift under the guise of generosity. Also, I wanted both of those things. In any case, I made Julie’s Family’s Chocolate Cake, and instead of the ganache called for, topped it with a cream cheese frosting in order to use up the last of the four pack of Costco cream cheese I had purchased for a friend’s birthday carrot cake.

I foresee many Bundt cakes in our future. I have the pan, nothing can stop me now!

Snow Much Fun

It’s so strange to me to live in a place where in January there is next to no snow on the ground. Yes, it has snowed. But each snowfall was accompanied by a melt within a day or two. Someone recently informed me that one year it snowed here in December and that snow was still on the ground at the end of January, and my response was one of befuddlement. This was not as winterly impressive as that person thought. I’m from Calgary? Sometimes the snow from October lasts until May? But in any case there is no snow here in the valley, and so my husband and I have been occasionally driving up into the mountains to do some snowshoeing.

I love snowshoeing so much. What a great way to experience the winter. It’s fantastic exercise that takes in the beauty of nature, and it also makes me feel Wholesomely Canadian.

There is also no falling, and after I bruised my tailbone last year cross-country skiing, I am a big fan of staying upright in wintry conditions.

I Understand You Completely

I don’t know what is going on lately, but there seems to be an explosion of Pride and Prejudice merch available, and I am here for it. Before Christmas I was shopping at Indigo and although I most certainly did not need to buy myself anything, let alone another mug, I could not help myself.

Not to get all snobby and pedantic, but this delights me on so many levels. A regular, non-Jane-Austen-stan might think oh yes, there IS no enjoyment like reading and yes, we all feel that way. But it’s much funnier on a deeper level. The quote actually belongs to Miss Caroline Bingley, who is ostentatiously picking up a tome of a book in order to impress Mr Darcy. After flipping a few pages she abandons the book for other, more enjoyable pursuits. It’s a deep cut, and it makes me absolutely delighted every time I use it.

While purchasing new clothes, I came across a whole lot of Pride and Prejudice-themed items, and I immediately added to cart this sweatshirt, purchased two sizes larger than normal in order to be as cozy and comfy as possible.

I had to explain the significance of Most Ardently to my husband and son, who looked at me like Shrek and Donkey when they first hear the song Duloc Is A Happy Place. They much preferred my tee that the three of them bought me several Christmases ago:

Poor maligned Lydia. She’s only trying to exercise the only economic power women had back then. Also, we were all fifteen once, and I’m sure if I lived in that era my head would also have been turned by a red coat, even if I am a Charlotte Lucas at heart.

Paint It Black

Have I mentioned lately how much I love my girlfriends here? I adore The Golden Gals Squad; they are always up for something fun, and to that end my friend Sandi (HI SANDI) booked us in for a paint night at a local restaurant.

Credit for the above goes to my friend Sara (HI SARA), and honestly, she saw me. I was objectively the worst painter in the group by a long shot. I was there for the vibes and the hysterical laughing.

My husband, of Supportive King fame, said wow, it’s so much better than I thought it would be! I mean, me too? But the bar was pretty low. Also I’m not sure what he thought it would look like, but probably he assumed it would be tear-stained. Frankly, it looked nothing at all like the demonstration piece – for one thing, there is supposed to be a stag involved but I know my where my artistic limitations lie – but it wasn’t like I was planning on displaying this anywhere in my home anyway. I’m not Botticelli, people! This isn’t the Birth of Venus! It’s just a bunch of apparently dancing trees in a winterscape. Happy little trees! Let’s have a moment of silence for Bob Ross.

Outfit of the Month

This month’s outfit has a nice mix of old, new, and medium pieces. The polka dot tank and long-sleeve tee date from around 2017, the jeans are new, obviously, and nicely stretchy, and the cozy long sweater was purchased sometime during the pandemic. I don’t know when, as all those years blur together and what is time anyway, but I do like the sweater. It’s a perfect layer for an occasionally hot-flashy woman like myself in the dead of January, because it’s easy to slip off.

A few years ago I saw a meme about Decorative Gord Season, the Canadian version, which included a photo of the Barenaked Ladies’ Gordon album, Gordie Howe, Gord Downey, and, of course, Gordon Lightfoot. These days around 4:48 pm I start humming Sundown, which is an honourary favourite thing this month.

I know there is a lot to be glum about right now, and I personally have to completely skip over the news and even the headlines, lest I spiral into complete and utter despair. But I hope you can find a lot of beautiful things in your own little world, and I hope you found some this January. xo

Those Days Are Gone Forever

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Typically I am a person who likes to finish jobs in a reasonable amount of time, the exception to this rule being putting photos into albums. I have photos from January 2024 and on that I have printed, but that are still awaiting their placement into the albums that have been purchased for the purpose. It is a weirdly overwhelming job.

Other than that, I generally finish tasks fairly quickly, which is why it is notable that as of this week I completed something that has taken me since November to get through, and that is a closet purge.

I feel like I just did this; late last spring I threw all of my jeans into a big pile, and replaced them all with styles that boasted infinite fit and promised no more muffin top. I wasn’t happy having to do that, buying all new jeans, but I felt it was a worthwhile investment to have pants that fit and were comfortable.

It turns out that the jeans were just the thin edge of the wedge, so to speak.

I have a strict rule about my clothes, and that is that I want to feel beautiful – or at least cute – in every single item. You might think that is a tall order for workout wear and gardening clothes, but I stand by it. If I don’t feel cute, I stridently tell myself that it is the fault of the clothes, and that those non-ego-boosting items have no place in my closet, which should be a safe space of love.

This is great in theory, but in practice there is a big problem, and that is that it turns out I am very emotionally attached to a number of items, specifically my collection of little black dresses.

I went through the five stages of mourning for all of these items, as I tried them all on with increasing distress. At first I denied it was happening, even while I struggled to pull them over my newly-strong-and-juicy booty and to zip over my newly-disappeared waist and softened tummy. Then I was angry, I was angry about all those beautiful clothes that no longer fit, on which I had spent a significant amount of money over the years. One might rationally say that I most certainly got my money’s worth out of dresses and sweaters that were not even bought in the last decade, but rational thinking has no place here.

This led to bargaining, which is the most shameful part of the story. I wondered what I would have to do to be able to zip up that adorable sheath dress. I ignored my inner voice that was reminding me that bodies change over time and it is a perfectly natural and beautiful part of life. I looked at myself in the mirror unhappily and thought about shapewear and giving up wine. Giving up wine! This is what crossed my mind, friends. It was a dark moment.

This led to depression. Intellectually I know that it is unreasonable and probably not even desirable to hang onto clothes for decades, but I was really sad that my cute dress I bought at Jacob in 2009 no longer fit. It saw me through so many occasions! I was sad the black and white polka dot dress I wore for my son’s grade nine graduation no longer flattered my shape and I was devastated that the dress I bought for my husband’s company Christmas party in 2017 was unzippable. I remembered how beautiful I felt in all those items, and it was the opposite of how I felt now, and it felt very, very sad.

Then I felt sad for being sad. I mean, shouldn’t I be beyond this by now? I’m almost fifty! I told myself I was being ridiculous and that I had no right to be sad; I should be celebrating my body for what it is and what it can do, not judging myself on whether or not I could feasibly wear a fifteen year old dress without the seams exploding. And then I would look at the stuffed-full bags heading for the donation centre and feel sad all over again, after which I would be angry about being sad, and suddenly I’d be experiencing the first four stages of grief once more, the snake is eating its tail.

In a way, it reminded me of a day many years ago, when I found myself pushing a double stroller through the mall. I walked past my then-favourite store, the long-defunct aforementioned Jacob, from which I had purchased the majority of my clothes for many years, mostly office wear and the like. But that day, when I walked past the store and saw the gorgeous slim pants and blazers and skirts, I realized that that store was no longer appropriate for my life. I looked down at my two babies in the stroller, at the gigantic diaper bag stowed in the back, and at my jeans and casual sweater and low-heeled boots, and I had a Saint Paul on the road to Damascus-style realization. I realized that I would never again find myself in those kind of clothes with that kind of life, and I burst into tears. I would never trade my children for anything, I would never make a different decision with regards to my career path, and yet with the one-two arrival of my children I had never actually said goodbye to my old life. I had never allowed myself to mourn that former self and her daily clothing choices and so there I was, crying in the mall.

Those days are gone forever, I should just let them go.

Well, there were a lot of hormonal new moms in the mall, likely no one would have noticed one more, and in any case no one did. Back then I was awash in postpartum hormones, these days I am bouncing around in perimenopause; it feels like two sides of the same coin. A new era is upon me, and in a radical act of acceptance, I bought new clothes.

The majority of this existential clothing crisis occurred in November, which was fortuitous; my husband pointed out in the most positive way, this is the best time for this to happen, because Black Friday is just around the corner! We stan a supportive king, as Heather McMahon says. Just to provide a little balanced insight into my marriage, though, that supportive king also said For god’s sake Nicole, if you keep this up you’re going to turn into C. This is in reference to our crackpot former neighbour who would mutter non sequiturs about weeds and other people’s pets while garbed in much faded neon outerwear from 1985, as well as her merch from the Calgary Olympics. Everyone in the neighbourhood avoided conversation with her because it was always completely unhinged, and also it was hard to not look at her wildly swinging braless breasts underneath her Blues Fest 1991 tees.

But he was right, honestly, because it’s a slippery slope from thinking a nine-year-old item is practically brand new to wandering around the neighbourhood frightening people with your weird monologues about street sweeping. Plus, new clothes are fun, particularly new clothes that don’t make a person feel constricted or unattractive or that destroy one’s self-esteem. Embrace the season! And this is my season of comfortable pants and dresses without tight waists.

In a radical act of self-acceptance, and also a full-on copy of Marie Kondo, I said goodbye to my clothes and dresses. I thanked them for their service, as I piled them in garbage bags. I told them that I hoped that they would make someone else happy, that they would find themselves at a special occasion someday, and that they would make their new owners feel beautiful and special.

And in a radical act of honesty I will tell you that during those same Black Friday sales, I also purchased some shapewear.

Weekly Reading

The Divorce. There are two sides to every story, and this book – translated from Swedish – explores the lives of two people getting divorced after 32 years. What seems like a sudden and snap decision is actually a long time coming, and it was both interesting and terribly sad to see the nuances of something that happens every day. It reminded me not to judge, because we never know what goes on in someone else’s marriage. Fun fact: the translator has the same name as one of my great-grandmas! Thanks to Pearl (HI PEARL) for the recommendation!

This Time Next Year. This was a very fun rom-com about two people born three minutes apart on New Year’s Day 1990. The first born wins the prize for “First Nineties Baby,” and the second, Minnie (HER NAME IS MINNIE COOPER) feels her life has been jinxed forever. She does have some truly bad luck on New Year’s Eve, and the two live parallel lives without knowing it…until their joint thirtieth birthday, when they finally meet. Capers ensue! It’s really delightful but also interesting because – let’s do the math – their thirtieth birthday is January 1, 2020. Much of the book takes place in 2020 but because it was published pre-March, there is no pandemic. It actually made the book more delightful, a sliding doors, if you will, but without the soul-crushing reality of 2020. Thanks so much to Ariana (HI ARIANA) for introducing me to this lovely author’s works!

I hope you all have a lovely last week of January! Rex and I have been enjoying the Canada geese – from a distance – and he enjoyed barking at a coyote until it ran into the partially-frozen creek. We later saw a dead coyote on the side of the road and boy, do I hope it wasn’t the same one and that Rex was inadvertently responsible for its demise. But look at that face. xo

You Can Find Me…

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In Da Club

I am thrilled at the response to my yoga post! Don’t you just love the thought that we are all in our own separate lives, but yet together? I like to imagine you all just adding touches of loving-kindness and asana throughout your day. I think we could have a monthly check-in, with perhaps a mantra or featured pose (asana to do in your kitchen while you wait for the oven to heat up!) or a very short video. In early days of the pandemic, I created a series of gentle yoga videos specifically for my students as a stop-gap measure as we all tried to figure out the zoom life; the quality is pretty bad, and it was never meant for a wider audience, but perhaps someone will find them useful. At the very least, you can see what parts of my Calgary house looked like. Full disclosure: I have not rewatched these as they are a bit triggering, as it were, remembering the circumstances that led me to making yoga videos in whatever space in my house was unoccupied for whatever time I could manage.

If You Get Caught Between The Moon and The Walking Path

The Okanagan valley where I live is famously overcast in winter; this helps keep the temperatures mild and windless, and to me, that is a pretty sweet tradeoff. It does get gloomy though, and often it’s too cloudy to see the astronomical wonders in the sky. Over the last week, though, the clouds have been lifting, right in time to view the Wolf Moon.

On my early morning walk with Rex, I felt like I was inhabiting a Mary Oliver poem as the Wolf Moon fell on my right and the sun rose on my left.

The sun sets close to 4:30 now, which is a solid half hour later than a month ago. I’ve been known to suddenly scream at everyone in the house to look outside, oh my god, look outside, so I am one step closer to my Life Goal of Becoming Judy.

And look at this sunrise! I truly AM living in a Mary Oliver poem. No joke, Canada geese have been flying around me on every walk. WILD GEESE. I cannot make this up.

Please Please Wait A Minute Mr Postman

When we went to Italy, Rex went on his own little vacation to the pet resort. It seems like it was a three week bender. He came back with an eye infection, an ear infection, lice, and an extra two and a half kilograms. His collar was partially shredded and his license tag was missing. Wasn’t that a party…look at the mess I’m in! We should all have such a good time.

It was great timing, though, because I had been meaning to get him a nicer collar, and so I ordered one from Etsy as a Christmas gift, not that he knows what Christmas is or, more accurately, every day is Christmas for him. The Etsy shop MAILED it, even though the postal strike was already on, and so it was stuck in the US lo these many weeks. It finally arrived this week and I think he looks pretty sharp.

December felt very strange with zero holiday cards in the mail; I was a little blue about it but my husband assured me that I would be very excited when the mail started moving again. He was right; who knew holiday cards in January would be exactly what I needed? The mail is exciting again!

Also exciting was my package from Allison, who was my Secret SANta (HI ALLISON)! Allison and I have been friends for about fifteen years, and boy, does she know what I like. Look at this box of treasures!

Every single thing was a complete delight! Fuzzy socks and lotion, chocolates and candies, a bookmark and a gnome!

A gnome cross-stitch card? Omg! Thanks Allison!

Weekly Reading

The Body. A few years ago my friend Leanne (HI LEANNE) introduced me to the Bill Bryson Theory of Diminishing Returns that states that the first Bill Bryson book that you read – any of his vast collection – will be completely and utterly fascinating, and will cause you to excitedly read more and more. The next book – no matter which book – will be slightly less fascinating, and subsequent books will decrease in delight as you go along. I found this to be very true, abandoning the author altogether after Notes From A Small Island. But I saw The Body displayed at my local library; it was the very first Bill Bryson book I read, in 2021, and I wondered if it would be subject to the law of diminishing returns or if it would be as fascinating as when I first read it. Friends, it was the latter. It’s an absolutely incredible study of the human body and its functions and foibles. Now, I will say if you are squeamish at all, or if you even slightly veer to hypochondria or germaphobia, then you should probably give it a pass. I fortunately remembered the horror that was the breast cancer section and the description of the first mastectomies, and so I quickly skipped over that section this time around. Sadly, I did NOT remember the lobotomy section and read it again, which led to the same nightmares I had the first time around. Still, an excellent read, even if I did re-learn that “vagina” comes from the Latin word for scabbard, which, really? Can we have NOTHING for ourselves? It’s bad enough that until very recently clinical trials excluded women on the basis of their pesky old Aunt Flo, which led to inefficacies and sometimes toxic overdoses of prescription drugs for the female body, it’s bad enough that women are constantly misdiagnosed for heart attacks as we present differently from men, it’s bad enough that menopause is only recently being studied and that for hundreds of years women died en masse during childbirth not because of the birthing itself but because of puerperal fever brought on by MALE doctors NOT WASHING THEIR GODDAMN HANDS. We can’t even have that most female of body parts named in a way that isn’t in reference to the man and his MIGHTY SWORD? God, I could flip over a table and scream into the void. TAKE BACK THE VAGINA, LADIES! But back to the book. Modern medicine and everything we know about the body can be attributed to a) dogged, tireless, and often personally hazardous work by scientists, researchers, virologists, and other medical professionals, b) wild accidents, and c) absolutely atrocious and inhumane experimentation on people by Germany and Japan during World War II. A fascinating, if sobering, read. Also? Wash your hands! It’s the single most powerful way to stop disease, not just childbed fever, but almost all disease, including those considered airborne. The description of how a cold virus ends up everywhere is pretty disgusting and I am NOT going to think about it for one minute longer. Pardon me while I go wash my hands.

Don’t Forget To Write. When I was mired in emotional instability brought on by the beautiful but haunting Moon Road, my friend Hannah (HI HANNAH) suggested this as an antidote. It’s just fun; a story about a young woman in 1960 who gets caught making out with the rabbi’s son and gets sent to live with her great-aunt for the summer. This great-aunt just happens to be a matchmaker, and capers ensue! Sassy comebacks abound! There was a surprise ending that really was a surprise – I usually can see these things coming but I did not. Is it believable? Absolutely not! But it’s a perfect diversion from life.

Home Stretch. The day before a wedding, in small town Ireland, there is a terrible accident that kills three people – including the bride and groom – and seriously injures another. Two others are able to walk away, one of them being the driver, whose life in this small town is now ruined. This book is a perfect example of how to write compelling character-driven prose. Secrets abound and while some can be guessed at, the reader is compelled to keep going; it’s an un-put-down-able book that spans 1987 to 2019, from Ireland to England to New York City and back again. It’s a great story of choices, secret lives, and redemption. Thanks to Lisa (HI LISA) for this recommendation!

I hope you all have a beautiful week filled with fun mail, pretty skies, and, of course, yoga moments! xo

Holiday 2024 Roundup and Reading

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I am a person who derives a lot of energy from the idea of a Fresh Start, and it doesn’t even have to be anything as significant as a new year. It could be a new month, a new week, a new day; even a new lipstick or pair of panties will signify a Fresh New Start, and I will be energized at the thought. A new era is upon us, I’ll think on a random Tuesday, Today is where your book begins, the rest is still unwritten, I’ll think while applying a new shade of Maybelline Ultimatte.

And so it was that I found myself de-Christmassing and deep cleaning the house for many hours yesterday. I don’t know when exactly I started this routine on New Year’s Day, but it does feel like the Festive Season is officially over for me, and so all signs of it are now packed away until November.

Half of the holiday season was marked by a completely empty nest, as the boys went on a road trip last Saturday to visit some friends; they are returning tonight and I can hardly wait. Recently Kamryn (HI KAMRYN) asked How are you managing adult children, how do you set boundaries, how often do you communicate? Well! It’s a New Era indeed. We were all having dinner the night before they left for their trip, and Landslide came on the playlist. My husband looked at me for a moment, and then said “Maybe we should put on a different playlist when they’re gone.”

When they were younger, any time we reached a new era I would think I’ve been afraid of changing because I’ve built my life around you and then my eyes would well up and threaten to spill over; one would think that I would be a complete mess these days, particularly over the holidays when they are not here. In a completely unexpected turn of events, I am not a mess at all. Or much of one.

No one is more surprised than me, honestly, but I really love having adult children, and I only get happy nostalgic feelings when something like this reminds me of what the holidays used to be. Also, a huge upside of an empty nest means that I can really put that Jimmy Buffett song into action: why don’t we get drunk and screw?

I mean, not every day, but it’s nice that the option is there.

Back to the topic at hand, for me the key to a good relationship with my sons is the ability to step back and trust that they will make good decisions, and if they make mistakes, to trust that they will fix them and learn from them, or live with them. This isn’t always easy, of course. The other key is to keep open communication and to keep my judgements to myself. I never want to put guilt trips on my kids or to make them feel badly about themselves, and so unless I am specifically asked, I don’t offer unsolicited opinions. This is also not always easy! Particularly when they are going on an eight hour road trip through the mountains, and it’s snowing and raining the entire way, just as a small example.

In terms of boundaries and communication, one of my sons does still live with us, so I talk to him every day. I text with the other one a few times a week, and I generally see him weekly when he comes home to do his laundry and to share in our big Sunday dinner. I am not an overbearing type, so I step back and let the communication flow in a way that makes sense. The exception to this is when they are, you know, driving in winter conditions for eight hours, then I not only ask for updates but I also check where they are via location tracking, which is something I do NOT do normally.

When my kids were very small, I came across Kahlil Gibran’s poem On Children, which starts Your children are not your children and continues You may give them your love but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. I have kept that in my mind ever since, and I try to remember that they are their own people, they are not me, they are not my chance to live a different life.

Moving on! I had a lot of downtime this holiday season, and so was able to read some good books.

The Knockout Queen. I was about halfway through the first chapter and I thought “hmm, something seems familiar.” And indeed, I had not only already read this in April 2021, but I also apparently liked it a lot since I gave it a 4.5 star rating. Yet I couldn’t remember what happened! Can I blame the pandemic? I think this was exactly after my first vax, maybe I was foggy. Even though I have a huge stack of books that I have actually not read, I decided to keep going with The Knockout Queen and I’m so glad I did. What an excellent book this was, what a statement about the nature of violence and the way we view it differently depending on if it involves a man or a woman. Rufi Thorpe is such a talented writer, and I just sank into this book and resented everything that took me away from it. It is not at all a forgettable book, so I am going to just go ahead and hope that my complete memory lapse was indeed vaccine and pandemic related.

Tell Me Everything. This book felt exactly like a love letter from Elizabeth Strout to her devoted readers. The moment I heard that she had a new book, and that book involved both Lucy Barton AND Olive Kitteridge, I put it on my Christmas wish list and mentioned it approximately ten times a week. Well, Santa did bring it for me and it did not disappoint! Not only are Lucy and Olive central to the story, but there are characters from every single one of her books, even the more obscure Abide With Me, even her debut Amy and Isabelle. I can imagine a scenario in which someone who HASN’T read Elizabeth Strout’s works obsessively might be looking askance at this book, like “who are these people and why are they all together” but OH, for us fans, oh, it is wonderful. I loved every single vignette, every single moment, every single slice of little lives. The book addresses all the unrecorded lives of everyone surrounding us, and you KNOW that is my favourite thing. I love thinking about how extraordinary all of our ordinary lives are, and this book just hit perfectly. 

Love Your Life. And now for something different! Listen. If you pick up a Sophie Kinsella book, you should expect a Sophie Kinsella book. What can I say, the woman sticks with what works, and in this case it’s an Opposites Attract-type rom-com. It’s fluffy and silly but also fun, let’s not overthink things here. Two people meet on what sounds like the weirdest writing retreat ever, where everyone has fake names and are not allowed to divulge any personal information to each other. Wouldn’t you know it, these two people immediately start boning and fall instantly – INSTANTLY – in love. When they get back to regular life in London, reality hits. Ava is wildly unfocused and chaotic, whereas Matt is dutifully but unhappily working for the family firm. These two characters cannot sustain the magic that they had at the weird writing resort, but a satisfying twist that has each of them adopting a little of the other’s personality makes for a happy ending. Is this realistic? Of course not, we don’t read Sophie Kinsella for realism. It’s a fun bit of escapism and was a pretty cozy holiday diversion. 

My book total for 2024 was 130, and of those 118 were women writers, 99 were fiction, 12 memoir, 18 other non-fiction, and only one book of poetry. That felt off to me but then I remembered that I spent at least nine months re-reading selections from Mary Oliver’s Devotions, but I didn’t “finish,” as it were. I don’t have any particular reading goals this year, except an evergreen one of not being afraid to DNF a book if I’m not enjoying it. Life is too short to read unsatisfying books! We will see if I keep to this goal, because I have a tendency to push to the end, just to see.

Happy New Year, friends! I hope you had a beautiful holiday season or – if you’re an Orthodox kind of person – are still having a beautiful holiday season! xo

One Day In Your Life…

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

Well. That got a little dark for a minute.

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

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

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

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

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

This is followed by a Peloton ride.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weekly Reading

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

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

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

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

Seasonal Specialties

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It’s that time again!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weekly Reading

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

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

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

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