Category Archives: Empty Nest Travel

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Viva Las Vegas Edition

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One of my very Favourite Things about air travel is the insane cultural whiplash you can experience in only a few hours. It’s pretty incredible, when you think about it. One moment one is involved in their sleepy little life, and the next moment one is on the Vegas strip, being bombarded with sights and sounds and lights and people. And then? Back to the sleepy little life.

We had an absolute blast in Las Vegas; we got back on Monday and things have been smoothly puttering along since then. We have houseguests arriving today, but not for a happy reason: our friends from Ottawa, who we will be visiting next month, are here for his father’s funeral. What this means is that we have our anniversary, two birthdays, and a funeral, all on the same day. Well, we celebrated our anniversary in Vegas, really, and my son is spending his Saturday night 20th birthday NOT with his parents, and I have always vowed that Rex’s special day shall be October 10, the day he came to us, and NOT on his actual birthday. I only have so much bandwidth, people.

But Vegas! As I mentioned before I am a non-gambler, and yet this is my fourth time in Vegas. There are many things to do in Vegas for people like me, but of course, gambling IS the main event there. I find it fascinating and wild to walk through the casinos; it’s exciting, seeing people at the craps tables, and also depressing, seeing people glassily hitting the spin button on the video terminals at 7:00 in the morning. One thing that was very surprising to me is that all of the casinos allow smoking. It’s been so long since I experienced cigarette smoke indoors that I found it kind of shocking. There was a lot of pot smoke too, and while I dislike cigarette smoke I absolutely loathe the smell of pot. It makes me feel actually nauseous, but happily the casinos do have great ventilation systems and unless a person is right beside someone smoking, it’s not noticeable, to me anyway. Another thing I noticed was that there were many fewer cocktail waitresses bringing free drinks to the gamblers, with the exception of the people at the card tables. Vegas in general is insanely expensive, much more so than the last time we were there, in 2015.

Speaking of that last trip, prior to it I had stayed healthy and virus-free for months leading up to it, which is remarkable considering I had elementary-school-aged kids at that time, and the morning of our trip I woke up with a head cold. Back then I doped myself up with cold medication and that, with the addition of a lot of alcohol, led to me having a prolonged and dramatic nosebleed in the middle of one of those super-expensive shops at Caesar’s Palace. I had to make a run down the fake-marble floors to the washroom, where people averted their eyes at what they assumed was a cocaine-addled hot mess. It wasn’t my best moment, and so I wasn’t super excited to wake up last Tuesday with a sore throat and general malaise. Not wanting history to repeat itself, I kicked it into High Gear, Tender Loving Personal Care-wise, and did almost nothing but sleep and eat for the days leading up to our flight and I am happy to report that I was mostly recovered, energetic, and, crucially, public nosebleed-free for the trip.

Was that too much information? Perhaps. Anyway! I have much to say so I will start with all of my Favourite Things.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Viva Las Vegas Edition

This Flower Loves Flowers

We stayed at the Bellagio, and arrived around noon on Friday, and it was absolute mayhem. There were so many people everywhere, and I noticed this amazing indoor garden, but the number of people there made it impossible to move through it. Happily the crowds are almost non-existent in the morning hours, and so I was able to walk through and admire it all.

The garden was a tea party theme, and all the flowers were spring ones. I am delighted to tell you that two of my girlfriends were there recently, and the themes change with the seasons; my friend Megan (HI MEGAN) was there when it was Lunar New Year-themed, and my friend Karin (HI KARIN) was there at Christmas to see the Nutcracker theme. I love thinking that this is someone’s JOB, to create a new garden regularly, and in the morning I watched the grounds crew replanting and watering, and it just seemed to me to be the loveliest occupation possible. Am I excited to get started on my own gardens? YES I AM.

Food, Miraculous Food

Right next to the garden was a delightful breakfast and lunch place called Sadelle’s, a gorgeous place that had the most incredible avocado toast. We went there every morning for breakfast and every morning I ordered this:

For our anniversary dinner we went to another restaurant in the Bellagio called Harvest, and let me tell you, it was absolutely incredible. They had a full, separate vegan menu that was so divine that my husband ordered off of it. We had other great meals too, including a falafel pita at this crazy little hole-in-the-wall place that was to die for.

This drink was called You Broke My Heart, Fredo, so of course I had to order it. Times two. It was delicious albeit expensive, although probably pretty average for Vegas prices. I mean, don’t apply the exchange rate or think too hard about it, is the moral of the story.

Show Me The Way

We went to see Cirque de Soleil’s KA, which was absolutely incredible. In 2015 we went to see O, which I think is actually a better show, but our seats for this were perfect and the performers were acrobatically swinging right above us at times. The breathtaking strength of the performers has to be seen to be believed.

We also went to the Sphere, which is a pretty amazing work of technology and engineering. The show we saw there was Postcard From Earth, about which I have much to say, but for brevity’s sake will tell you that it is an incredible experience and is absolutely stunning.

Not So Still Waters

The Bellagio has a famous water and, if you see it at night, light show that happens…well, I don’t know how often it happens. It seems like it happens every half hour, but it could be more frequent than that. There is music playing, often some old school Elvis or Frank Sinatra, which I am HERE for, although my husband and I had a great conversation on what life would have been like for those two specific performers prior to the days of the 24-hour news cycle, social media, or, you know, feminism. Pardon me while I separate the art from the artists here, because I do love that music, even if the performers themselves were pretty suspect.

I also loved the water show both during the day and at night:

It’s a gorgeous hotel and I’m so glad we stayed there.

A Miracle of Chocolate Engineering

Speaking of fountains, the Bellagio also is the proud home of the World’s Largest Chocolate Fountain, which impressed me to no end and which my husband probably does not want to hear about ever again. But you guys! It’s the World’s! Largest! Chocolate! Fountain!

You might be wondering if I partook in any of the chocolatey delights, and sadly, the answer is no. There was a glorious patisserie and gelato assortment, but all of it was very dairy-heavy. Whomp whomp.

That’s It! You People Have Stood In My Way Long Enough! I’m going to Clown College!

Remember the episode of The Simpsons when Homer goes to Clown College, and then he admires himself whilst wearing the requisite pants? Homer incessantly talks about how comfortable the pants are, while Krusty yells that the pants are supposed to be baggy. Baggy!

This is how I felt in my new plane pants.

I know, I know, I JUST talked about skinny jeans and the horror that are wide-leg pants, but we should all know that I cannot be trusted when it comes to advertising. To be completely honest, I really wanted a pair of pants to wear on the plane that would be cute, stylish, and, most of all, comfortable. As some of you may know, I have some pretty serious circulation issues that require the wearing of full-length – up to my bra line, people – medical grade compression hose for any flight over about an hour. My hose are “nude” and I only need to put on a patterned housedress with white open-toed sandals to display the reinforced toe to become my own grandmother. Anyway, a fun little side effect of my myriad circulatory issues is that my legs also actually swell up on planes, even with the compression hose, which makes any non-yoga pants to be very tight and uncomfortable.

So I was on the search for new travel pants and Lululemon had these on clearance; it’s a risk, buying pants online, but I have what is known as a “Sweat Membership” at Lulu, and one of the many perks is that I can return clearance items. Full-length, they look like frumpy palazzo pants from 1996, but I cuffed them and added boots and a close-fitting top, and I think it worked!

By the way, “kale salad” on that sign was only an advertising gimmick. There was no kale salad.

Outfit of the Month

Speaking of boots, having the right footwear is so important in Vegas.

Those heels are normally very comfortable, but after 20,000 steps and a day of walking and a couple of You Broke My Heart, Fredos, wearing them made me feel like Lotus from The Good Earth. Except with giant swollen feet. So not at all like Lotus, but I was walking like Lotus with tiny, painful steps, and I ended up carrying my shoes and classily walking in my stocking feet after dinner, through the casino, and back up to our room. Huge shout-out to Sheertex stockings, because they are still intact after all that abuse.

What I am saying is my little Sorel boots are the unsung heroes of this trip. So comfortable, so grippy, so cute, they held up for miles and miles of walking, and I did not have sore feet for even a minute with them on.

I bought this Lululemon rain coat when I moved to Kelowna: it’s unlined, which is a completely impractical item while living in Calgary, because when it rains, it’s freezing and probably raining sideways. But in Kelowna it can rain and still be warm, so this coat is perfect. It was also perfect for Vegas, because look at this forecast:

It was actually warmer in Kelowna than in Vegas, which wasn’t actually as bad as that sounds; I find cooler weather to be better for walking around and exploring. The Sorel boots are also unlined and waterproof, which was perfect because, as Vicki, our world-weary Uber driver originally from Oregon said, Vegas has no drainage and can flood with less than an inch of rain. It’s true, there were giant puddles of standing water everywhere. The sun came out when we were leaving, and our other Uber driver, Vernon said that he hadn’t seen a nice day like this in months. Months! The day we were leaving! Ah, well, one cannot control the weather. Vernon, in case you’re wondering, was originally from Miami but has lived in Las Vegas for twenty-eight years, and the only thing he misses about Florida is access to his eleven grandchildren. When I said wow, eleven grandchildren, how nice, he talked for a while about how his two sons make choices, and he does NOT have an opinion on those choices, but one of his daughters-in-law practices a religion that will not allow her to get her tubes tied, and he doesn’t know why and he doesn’t WANT to know why, it’s not his business, but yes, ma’am, he misses his grandchildren. It was a ride. A literal ride!

People are SO interesting, and I have a lot of people-watching to tell you about – we were inadvertently there during St Patrick’s Day, and there were thematic green clothing items and shamrock headbands as far as the eye could see – but it will have to wait until later. In the meantime, if you’d like to tell me your Vegas Vacation Stories, or any story about your favourite things this month, I would love to hear them. xo

Gardeners and Flowers

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Before she was part of the Real Housewives franchise, Carole Radziwill wrote a really excellent memoir entitled What Remains, which I have read many times. There is a part in the book where she and her husband’s cousin, who is none other than JFK Jr (spoiler alert, everyone dies around her), have a discussion about marriage. They have a theory that in a successful marriage there is one Gardener and one Flower; it’s possible a marriage could work with two Gardeners, but never with two Flowers.

I have thought about this theory approximately one million times since first reading this book in 2006.

I am, of course, a literal Gardener; it’s almost actual gardening season around here, and we have SO much to do, to plan, to plant. But I have always believed that, in the Carole Radziwill and JFK Jr context, I am also a figurative Gardener. I am a nurturing, mother-hen type of person who likes to make sure loved ones are special and cared for. That said, my husband is not really a Flower, so I have always thought that we are one of those double-Gardener marriages.

Except sometimes, I think I am a Flower, or, at least, I’m turning into one.

The area in which my Flower-ness becomes most apparent is in travel, or more specifically, travel planning. I love to travel, I love to see new things and have new experiences. I love it all! What I don’t love, however, is dealing with the logistical details. I am capable of dealing with logistical details – I can and have in the past booked flights and hotels and activities – but I find it boring and tedious.

Someone who does not find it boring and tedious, and, in fact, who shines at travel planning is my husband. The man can spend hours researching places to go, things to see and do, and, importantly, how to physically get there. He loves doing it and so over the course of our marriage I have just stepped back to the point where I have ceded all control.

I am completely a Flower. We are now at the point where I only barely know not only our travel itineraries, but I also barely know where we are going. If anything, this attitude of just being along for the ride increases my enjoyment of travel exponentially. I’m like Rex going for a car ride; I’m just excited to be going somewhere, it doesn’t hardly matter where.

Now that my husband is retired and the kids are grown, we have so much flexibility for travel, and to that end we have a few big trips booked for this year, plus some smaller ones, and one of those is coming up this weekend. My husband and I are going to Las Vegas.

I am a complete non-gambler – I do not enjoy it in any way – but Las Vegas is just so much fun; this will be my fourth time going and I am very excited. Needless to say, I did none of the bookings and had nothing to say about the actual itinerary, other than to enthusiastically say “That sounds fun!” every time my husband brought up an idea. My husband has booked us a few shows, and other than that, I don’t know what we will be doing. It doesn’t matter! I’m just excited to go!

So clearly, I am a Flower.

One of my earliest memories is one of complete and utter emotional devastation upon learning that flowers die in the winter. To be fair, I was an incredibly sensitive and dramatic child and I probably experienced utter emotional devastation daily, if not more bi-hourly. However, I have a very clear memory of devastation about the fate of flora during the winter, winter being a very long season in Calgary. How or why this occurred to me, I don’t know, but I would guess that there was a book about seasons involved; I clearly remember my level of hysteria that my dad tried to quell by telling me that the flowers come back again in the spring. This was small comfort indeed, because of a Very Big Idea that Very Small Nicole had, and that is that when I grew up, I wanted to be a flower.

I was probably three, and so I had no concept of symbolism or anything else, and I obviously had only the most tenuous ideas about what constituted growing up. I genuinely thought it was an interspecies free-for-all, and that becoming an adult meant that you could literally morph into any kind of animal, vegetable, or mineral.

So you can imagine my devastation when I realized just how brief my life on this mortal coil would be after achieving adulthood. I guess I believed that my life would follow this rough trajectory: I would be a child, I would go to school, I would be grown up, I would immediately change from human to flower form, and then I would die. I would die in the winter, thus missing Christmas and a visit from Santa.

I don’t know at what point I realized that my anxiety about an instantaneous winter death was unfounded, but eventually I went on with my little human life, enjoying flowers for what they were and not as a mirror of my future self.

Weekly Reading

An Elderly Lady Is Up To No Good. This was an absolutely delightful little book of connected short stories about a murderous little old lady. It is very clever and quite hilarious. It is translated from the Swedish, so there are many wonderful Swedish tidbits in here, and one made me genuinely squeal out loud, thanks to Were You Raised By Wolves. Do you listen to that podcast? If not, why not? Do you hate joy? The podcast is a beam of light in this dark world. Anyway, there is a little line in this book about Christmas Eve, and one of the characters mentions that the “children will have watched Donald Duck.” I knew EXACTLY what they were referring to, thanks to Were You Raised By Wolves, and if you don’t know, look up their Kalle Anka episode. Obviously it involves Donald Duck, but it is so much more. It is PURE delight, and so is this book. 

Dual Citizens. In the past six months, I have been made aware of a conversation in the writing and publishing community about the role of prologues in novels, and the current thinking seems to be just DON’T. I didn’t really think about it too much prior to these past six months, but now I really notice when there is a prologue, and what, if any, value is added. And I will say that the prologue – and epilogue, for that matter – in this book not only does not add to the book, but they actively subtract from it, in my view. Particularly since there seems to be a strange discrepancy; in the prologue the character is going into labour at 38 weeks, but later in the book she is said to be “overdue.” So that actively took me out of what is otherwise a really wonderful story, with incredible writing and prose, about two sisters and their narcissistic, neglectful mother. There are some interesting character arcs and a message about understanding others as we gain life experience. Some of the imagery is a little heavy-handed and slightly unbelievable – sleeping with wolves, really? – but this is a really excellent character-driven novel. I guess we can excuse the prologue.

Is anyone else totally exhausted from the time change? I SURE AM. Other than “Lose A Precious Hour Of Sleep” day, it was a lovely weekend. We attended a surprise birthday party for my friend Joy (HI JOY) and, unrelated to that, I made another cake from Julie’s You Are Human And You Need Cake book, and I took Rex for a nice long Sunday morning hike. It was an attempt to change my attitude when I can’t change the circumstances, the circumstances being the ridiculous ritual of shifting the clocks hither and thither semi-annually for absolutely no reason. ANYWAY. This Flower is heading for bright lights and (relatively) late nights, and will see you on the other side. Take care, my beautiful flower friends. xo

Five For Friday: The Ask Me Anything Edition

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Thank you to everyone who submitted questions for my Ask Me Anything! Today I have quite a variety to answer; I love how different these all are.

  • From Bijoux (HI BIJOUX): As I like to travel, what would be your Canadian not-to-be-missed sights? I considered putting off answering this question until May, when I will be back from a trip to Ontario and Quebec; I am sure there will be many not-to-be-missed sights that I will discover. Then I thought that no matter what I see on that trip, my number one answer will not change, and that is the Canadian Rockies in general, and Banff in particular. I think there is no place on earth quite as beautiful and as special. The town of Banff is very expensive and touristy, it’s true, but that is because it is so beautiful and special. The Canadian Rockies are an absolute feast for the eyes in every way; the colours, the mountains, the trees.
Prairie Mountain, Kananaskis
Lake Louise
Lake Agnes
Me and Lake Louise
Hiking in Kananaskis
One foot in Alberta, one foot in BC, which seemed to be the theme of 2023
Simpson Pass
Galatea Lake
The iconic Banff Springs – worth the splurge, I swear
View from the Banff Springs
  • From Kate (HI KATE): Do you plan to teach yoga in your new town? Do you ever go to a studio class, or only practice on your own? I don’t currently have plans to teach; we have a lot of travel planned this year, and so I did not want to commit to any classes, only to have to find substitutes. I would be willing to teach one-off or event-style classes, but I don’t want a firm commitment. I also get extremely attached to my students and I miss my Calgary ones so much; I’m not quite ready for that again. As to the second part of the question, the short answer is no, I don’t go to studio classes. For thirteen years I did practice at a studio; I practiced Mysore-style Ashtanga, which is very individual and student-led; there is a set sequence of postures that each student practices at their own pace, with a teacher available to assist and also to teach the next posture in the series. My friend Lucas (HI LUCAS) made a video of this practice at our studio back in 2012, and if you watch the video, I am in the bright pink pants. At about the 2:20 mark, you can see the wild backbends I used to be able to do. Anyway, I was so grateful to have this kind of daily practice established because when the pandemic hit, I continued with it, just at home, and without a teacher. One or two days a week I take a restorative or yin practice, again, at home. I did take one led class last year, as my friend Sara (HI SARA) was giving a special class at an art studio; I enjoy this kind of thing once in a while, but generally I prefer a practice which is more of a moving meditation than a led class.
From 2015
Practicing in what is now my kitchen, before it was my kitchen
A fancy studio shot, 2019
Another studio shot, 2019
Current yoga setup
  • From Steph (HI STEPH): Do you think you will eventually work again or are you and and your husband both retired for good? This question also answers Coco‘s question (HI COCO) who asked what does your husband do? Steph’s is a very interesting question, because I always think of “work” as the days when I worked in an office, on a trade floor, which I quit in 2004 after having my first baby. Of course, I have had various little jobs, including teaching yoga, since then, but I guess I don’t think of them as work that one retires from, exactly. So the answer to that question is never say never! I have a few ideas and projects, but whether or not they will result in any monetary compensation remains to be seen. I can confidently say my husband is definitely retired; he is enjoying the retirement life immensely. Currently, he is in his workshop building me cedar garden beds, so I can also say we are both benefitting from his retirement.
Work in progress
  • From Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH): What is your least favourite food item in the world? No contest: celery. I loathe celery. Everything about it is disgusting to me: the smell, the taste, the weird stringy texture. I clearly remember a kid bringing ants on a log for shared preschool snack, and the absolute horror it inspired in me. I love peanut butter. I love raisins. WHY MUST WE PUT THOSE DELICIOUS THINGS ON A PIECE OF THE DEVIL’S GREENERY? Close second to least favourite food: onions. I don’t mind onion flavour, so a dehydrated onion flake or onion powder is fine. But the texture of onions, particularly raw onions, gives me a full-body shudder. Not as bad as celery, and if there was a gun to my head I’d probably eat one, but that gun would have to be loaded. Obviously I don’t eat meat or seafood ever, and I don’t like to eat eggs either, although if an egg is in a baked good that you presented to me – especially if that baked good was a cake – I would eat it.
My husband made me this for Christmas!
  • From Engie (HI ENGIE): Do you think aliens exist? I am an Alien Agnostic: I just don’t know. I don’t see any reason why they couldn’t exist. The universe is big, and no one has the answers, so why not? As an alien aside, I have always had a terrible fear of E.T. I was seven when E.T. came out, and all of my little gal pals both loved the movie and loved E.T. as a concept; they were all getting E.T. stuffies and shirts and backpacks, and the horror, the horror. He’s so cute they’d say, while I would try not to cry. Look at him hiding in the stuffed animals, they would say, while I would panic, thinking about my own stuffed animals and what I would do if there was an alien among them. I have never once seen the movie the whole way through; I always have to stop it before curling up in the fetal position in a corner. I have a real visceral reaction to the whole thing. Many years ago my husband gently tried to get me to face my fears, saying in a calming voice “It’s really a nice movie, E.T. just wants to go home to his family!” and at that I started crying uncontrollably, and he probably wondered if he should return the ring, or just go ahead and face life together with a grown woman with E.T. trauma.
My Cheer Bear, without an E.T. I believe in the power of the Care Bear stare!

People Who Watch People

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The world is such an interesting place, isn’t it? It’s wild that a person can go from this:

To this, in only a matter of hours.

It has been very grey and foggy this week, but it’s so mild and windless that I don’t mind it at all. Our snow is basically all gone, except for piles in parking lots and along the walking paths where it had been shovelled. Those piles are a source of great joy to Rex, who likes to roll and slide down them, and then starts to eat them. His penchant for eating snow is pretty cute, and so I’m trying not to be horrified when he shoves his face into filthy parking lot snow. I mean, he is a dog, so I am assuming his digestive system can handle it.

After what felt like a long run of books that ran the gamut between Good and OMG Boring, last Friday I read a really fabulous collection of short stories, entitled Today A Woman Went Mad At The Supermarket, and if that title does not pique your interest, then you are living a very different life from me.

Hilma Wolizer has been around and writing for decades – most of these stories were written in the 1970s, one as early as the 1966 – and so I am puzzled as to why I haven’t heard of her before this. All the stories are interconnected and deal with my favourite genre: ordinary, everyday things written in an extraordinary way. The last story has to do with the pandemic, written in 2020, and I mention it as a warning for anyone who is not in a mental space to read about the early days of Covid, specifically how it affected elderly people living in New York City.

The foreword of this book is written by Elizabeth Strout who, as you know, is one of my favourites and who also really writes the Slice Of Life books that I adore. In the foreword are two quotes from Wolitzer, which resonated with me so much and made me want to call her up and scream ME TOO into the phone.

Everyone’s face was fascinating to me, and I would wonder what their lives were like.

I don’t believe there’s such a thing as ordinary life. I think all life is extraordinary.

I cannot even begin to explain how seen I felt after I read that; I felt a deep kinship with this 90 year old writer.

On our trip to Mexico, I spent a lot of time by myself at the pool; I am the early bird of our group, so I would lounge around waiting for my husband and our friends to arrive, reading and soaking up the surroundings. I tend to chat with anyone within ten feet of me, but on this trip people were mostly swimming by me, or in large groups, and so instead of chatting, I’d just imagine what their lives were like. How long had that couple been married? What was it like to look exactly like the guy who talks about the O Face in the movie Office Space? What does the man swimming early-morning pool lengths do for a living? Where did that woman get that fabulous hat?

One afternoon I was reading while my husband and our friend were floating around in the pool, drinks in hand. They noticed a couple who was in the pool beside them; this couple was involved in what can only be described as An Extensive Makeout Session. The guys couldn’t believe I didn’t notice the couple, because, as I mentioned before, I am always people-watching, and so they were shocked I missed the estan caliente teenage-like making out and, if you will pardon the extremely crude expression, but nothing else comes close to describing this accurately, dry-humping that was happening in the pool right in front of me. How did you not see it? our friend asked, puzzled at my obliviousness. The guy got out right in front of you and he had a massive boner, how could you miss that? my husband told me, with his usual delicacy of manner.

How indeed?

Nevertheless, it wasn’t long before I started seeing this couple everywhere, though, and always in a similar state of semi-clothed in flagrante: in the lobby bar, standing next to the pool, in a single pool lounge next to the pool. From what I could see the man was probably in his fifties, and the woman a couple of decades younger. Their level of passion was truly inspirational, although if continued to completion, I would assume that there would be a lot of chafing and possible cystitis involved in this holiday.

I did, of course, wonder what their story was. I concluded that if they were married, it wasn’t to each other, and before long I had an entire Harlequin-like romance written in my head about them.

Speaking of marriage, my husband and I were wandering through the resort one night; our friends had gone back to their room, and we were enjoying the full moon and the music that was coming from a wedding reception being held nearby. One of the songs was Baby Got Back, which I love, but which also seems like a strange choice for a wedding reception. In any case, there we were, getting our groove on, when my husband was swarmed by a group of young women in an advanced state of inebriation. Josh! Josh! they squealed, to our bemusement.

It turns out that these lovely young women had mistaken my husband for an actor named Josh Duhamel, who I had never heard of before, but who has the distinction of being from Minot, North Dakota, which is not far at all from where I was born, in Saskatchewan. These girls were slightly disappointed that my husband was not the star of a Transformers movie, but were extremely sweet and cheerful. We saw you by the pool today! they said, then turning to me. We just thought he had gotten remarried! Well, that was cute, but there are two things that I found out later: Josh Duhamel used to be married to Fergie, of Black Eyed Peas fame, and is now married to a former Miss World America.

I do not have low self-esteem or lack for confidence, but I admit I did feel a bit strange at this exchange. The tables, they had turned. My people-watching had ricocheted back to me; me, with my giant sunhat and streaks of mineral sunscreen on my legs and bikini, with my slightly-bloated margarita tummy and fuzzy, out of control beach hair. Did these women really think that Josh Duhamel, one-time star on All My Children, left Miss World America for ME? Were they making up their own mental stories about people around the pool generally, and me specifically? I cannot imagine such stories would cast me in a very flattering light. Listen, I would like to believe that we live in a world in which women of all ages, visages, and bodies are embraced equally by ex-soap stars, but let’s be realistic. The most likely answer is that these women’s vision was blurred by unlimited day-drinking; in fact, I think that is probably my best-case scenario. Maybe they thought you WERE Miss World America, my husband ventured, to which I answered with a look only. He shrugged sheepishly. When a couple has been married for a few decades, sometimes non-verbal communication is the best kind of communication.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Fancy Was My Name Edition

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A few weeks ago, we were having dinner and Fancy came on, via the Nicole’s Karaoke playlist, which sparked a discussion with regards to the mother-daughter relationship between Fancy and her mother. Well, she basically prostituted her daughter, I said, to which my son answered, What do you expect? She named her daughter Fancy. Obviously she didn’t think she’d grow up to be a lawyer.

One of my Favourite Things in the world is having Responsible Adult Children. Recently Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked what has, so far, been the best age when it comes to children, and I have thought about this a lot. I think I suffer from recency bias because if you asked me at any time in my children’s lives what the best age is, I would say, with great enthusiasm, this one! I loved babies and toddlers, I loved preschool and elementary school, and I loved – and am still loving – the teen years; yes, even the awkward junior high years. I’ve loved all the ages and stages and I think I just enjoy my children more and more as the years go on, as I see them grow and change and become more and more the people they have always been, but more awesome.

So there is probably some recency bias here, but wow, do I love my kids being Responsible Adults. My husband and I went away to Secrets Maroma in Mexico for a week; we have, over the years, gone away together several times, but never for very long, because when the kids were younger there were just so many logistics to account for, plus the typical motherly guilt about leaving the children behind. But now we have very few constraints and my younger son wasn’t working last week, so we left him to be in charge of the house and also Rex, which is no small task, given that he has Very High Needs when it comes to exercise and general affection. He drove us to the airport at 5:00 am, and picked us up in the middle of the night (read: 9:00 pm); I came home to a perfectly clean house – albeit one with an empty refrigerator, because he cooked all his own meals for the week – a happy dog, and no laundry to do except for the myriad bikinis and sundresses crammed into my carryon.

It was a really incredible week, and a perfectly indulgent one. We met up with friends, relaxed, ate and drank and soaked up the sun and played in the Caribbean. I have zero complaints; no notes. I do have many Favourite Things, though, so without further ado:

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Fancy Was My Name Edition

Life In Front Of The Curtain

The incredible vacation started out on the flight. We had splurged on premium seats and friends, I do not think I can ever go back to economy. I can’t! I won’t! Well, I will – we have a few upcoming flights that are not premium – but as god is my witness, I will never go economy again if I can help it. Flying in general feels like a tedious exercise in maximum discomfort, but flying premium? Oh la la. I felt a Mad Men-level of glamour, like it was the 1960s and everyone was dressed up for a fabulous flying experience. I mean, they served us actual meals on actual crockery and drinks in actual glasses; we got snack packs and offers of booze, refreshing hot towels, and the exclusive use of the premium bathroom. On a practical note, my circulation and varicose vein issues are pretty bad, even with my full-length, medical grade, “nude” compression stockings, and with the roomy seats and legroom I was able to stretch out quite a bit. Also, our flight was ninety minutes delayed on the tarmac before takeoff, and I think I might have died, or at the very least, been incredibly annoyed at having to sit in a cramped economy seat for an extra hour and a half on top of the over six hours of flying. As it was, I just chilled out and read, sipping from my complimentary water bottle. Ten out of ten, would recommend.

Here’s Your One Chance, Fancy, Don’t Let Me Down

We have been to many of the Secrets/ Dreams resorts in the past, and they are all really great. This one, however, was beyond everything I could have imagined. Every single detail was pure luxury. The rooms were beautiful, the pool areas were stunning, the service was incredible in every way; I have often thought that all-inclusive resorts are a bit like a fancy summer camp for adults, because it’s so easy to meet people and there are fun activities people can partake in, pretty much every hour of the day. My preferred activities were reading by the pool, cooling off in the pool, and swimming in the gorgeous turquoise Caribbean Sea. I did, however, partake in Spanish lessons one morning.

Hablo Espanol

I have been learning Spanish via Duolingo for a while; 702 days, to be exact. My son got me started on it – he’s learning Japanese – and every week we go on our Friends Quest together to maintain our positions in the Diamond League. Anyway, I felt like I had learned a lot, but I don’t have any friends to speak Spanish with, face to face, with the exception of my husband’s colleague’s wife, who very patiently, and with great encouragement, spoke with me at his retirement party in September.

Therefore, I was a little nervous to attempt to converse with actual people; practicing on an app is one thing, actually speaking is another. I was worried that I would use the wrong word or phrasing, I worried I’d use the wrong verb conjugation. Then, just before we left I had a pedicure, and the esthetician, who spoke little English, had a brief conversation with me about the weather; at that moment I realized that I would never judge someone learning English for using the wrong grammar or conjugating a verb incorrectly, so it stood to reason that the same would go for me, speaking Spanish.

I was right! Also, I was amazed at how well I could carry a conversation; I could understand everything being said to me, and even when it took me a moment to formulate a response, I could still formulate the response. Now, I probably have the conversational ability of a preschooler (I WOULD LIKE TO SPEAK SPANISH WITH YOU PLEASE) but it was so great to be able to practice. My Spanish lesson at the resort was fun and also enlightening; the teacher informed me that, in Mexico, one should never say estoy caliente, because that doesn’t mean I’m hot, it means I’m horny. This, I felt, was excellent information to have.

The Sharks Like It

After discovering that this invention was the highest valuation on Shark Tank, my husband bought us LARQ water bottles. The cap contains a special UV light that kills bacteria and there are two modes: regular, and “adventure.” I wanted to use fewer plastic water bottles, which are ubiquitous at these resorts, and so I was excited to give this a go. Now, there are two things to note: a) the concierges warned against drinking the tap water in the rooms, and b) there must be a big filtration system somewhere on the resort because there are a lot of fruits and vegetables, not to mention ice in drinks and jugs of water in restaurants. I did not know about a) until I had filled this bottle from the tap, and drank from it, at least four times. I didn’t get sick so I guess it works.

While I was by the pool, I asked one of the bartenders if I could have water to fill my bottle, thinking that he would just fill it from a tap behind the bar, but instead he just opened up a couple of plastic bottles and poured them in. That was a little discouraging, but then I discovered a bottle filler NEAR the bar. I’m sure it was filtered just fine, but still I used my little UV light, feeling like a well-hydrated rock star.

I got some kind of mystery marks on the bottle, which I THINK came from a travel-size black plastic tissue pack that melted in the heat, but happily, after an application of baking soda paste with a Scrub Daddy, they have since disappeared.

Here Comes The Sun(screen)

Just like (hopefully?) I will never go back to economy seats, I will (absolutely!) never go back to checking luggage. Generally it’s not too difficult for me to pack carryon only, but the one thing that is tricky is ensuring I have enough sunscreen. On our trip to Maui last year, I just purchased a lot of sunscreen on the island, but I didn’t want to do that here because omg, do you know what a bottle of sunscreen costs in a Secrets resort? FIFTY-EIGHT US DOLLARS. With the exchange rate and tax, we are looking at almost a hundred dollars for a measly bottle of Banana Boat.

But sunscreen we must have, and there are only so many travel-size bottles one can squeeze into the regulation one-litre bags, especially when one needs to take hair products, makeup, and night cream. It was serendipitous that I came across these solid Neutrogena stick sunscreens, which do not count as liquid, obviously, because they are solid. Bonus for the fishies in the sea, it’s mineral.

Some of you may remember my lament last year about mineral sunscreen and the white cast it leaves on the skin, and this one, despite being “Ultra Sheer,” is no exception. However, it works really, really well, as evidenced by the little spots of sunburn on my knees and breasts where I obviously missed with my application.

Welcome To Margaritaville, Population: Me

My husband’s birthday is in October; we went out for dinner to celebrate. Since that day, I have made dinner every single night. Every. Single. Night. So what I’m saying is that I was very excited to partake in unlimited food items that I had absolutely no hand in preparing. The food at the resort was so incredible, so vast in variety and so well-prepared and fresh, and, in comparison with other resorts, the plant-based offerings were Off The Chart. I couldn’t even begin to believe my luck. I’m used to very limited options, and so I was amazed at all the delicious vegetarian and vegan food available. At breakfast there was CHIA PUDDING. And little waffles made with almond milk. And incredible fresh fruit. And made-to-order smoothies. Lunches had me plowing through vast amounts of lentil and chickpea salads, and chips and guacamole; so much guacamole, friends. There were fresh berries and caramelized pumpkin seeds, there was every dessert you could imagine, and every dinner was more delicious than the last.

Of course there were also mango margaritas by the pool!

Probably it’s good to only have gone a week, my liver may have exploded in protest if we stayed longer. But oh! So delicious.

Outfit of the Month

I know, I know, I KNOW that we are all trying to avoid fast fashion. I really am. But also? I am not made of stone, and I found this dress at Old Navy last summer for ten dollars. That is TEN CANADIAN DOLLARS, which is essentially free for my American friends. What price my morals? I know. Anyway, I keep all my clothing for many years, to the chagrin of my husband, and so I’ll probably have this cute dress for decades. The sandals are old Skechers, but I think I need to retire them. I think these sandals are a half size too small. A few times after a big dinner and lots of wine, I had to walk barefoot back to the room as my swollen feet exploded out of their strappy cages in the heat and humidity. Probably that is not an ideal thing to do, but I’m still here, with intact feet, so I guess it worked out fine. I’m in the market for dressy new sandals, is what I’m saying.

This week of rest and relaxation was exactly what I needed after such a hectic and stressful year. I feel so rested and ready to take on anything. Up first: figuring out how to make my own caramelized pumpkin seeds, and finding new sandals. xo

Five For Friday: The Five W’s Of Rest Edition

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When (Is It Beddy-Bye Time). Years ago I came across a rather treacle-y poem called The Last Time, which talked about the many “lasts” in parenting, the upshot of which is enjoy it all because one day they won’t hold your hand to cross the street, you won’t read them bedtime stories, they won’t climb into your bed at night. Etcetera. I will admit that at some point in my life I would have been very emotionally moved but now it just fills me with puzzlement. When WAS the last time any of those things happened? Things I thought I’d never forget are completely lost to the annals of time. I cannot remember when I stopped tucking the children in to bed for the night, for example. I cannot remember what ages they were when I would have supervised bedtime and told them it was Lights Out. Were they 12 and 13? 11 and 12? Who can say. All I know is that it has been many years since I was responsible for anyone’s bedtime except my own, and my own bedtime happens much, much earlier than the rest of my family, including my husband. We never go to bed at the same time; I typically am in bed well before 9:00 pm and am fast asleep by the time he retires for the night. This is not a commentary about the state of our marriage, don’t worry! I am more of an Afternoon Delight kind of gal, rather than a Pina Colada one. Making love at midnight, are you crazy? Unless I decide to start a cocaine habit, that is OUT.

Where the magic happens.

Why (Am I Obsessed With Bedtime). Even without cocaine, I am a pretty high energy person, somewhat like a Jack Russell terrier, and I believe strongly in the yin/ yang connection – if a person has too much yang in their life, their bodies will force them to get yin, typically via a illness. Believe me, I have been there. Our go-go-go society pretends to value productivity at all costs, but in my mind true productivity can only come from a rested body and mind. REM Y REM is my motto – Rest, Exercise, Meditation, Yoga, and REM sleep. I really make a point to prioritize sleep; if I have a bad night of sleep, I have no compunction whatsoever about taking a sleep aid the next night to get reset. I feel no shame in that game; needs must, sometimes, as my grandma would say. I have always been an early riser; I wake up naturally between 4 and 4:30, and because of this I work my bedtime backwards from there. I typically get an average of 7 1/2 hours of sleep a night during the week, according to my watch, and I get a little more than that on weekends; I can usually coax myself back to sleep for an hour or two. It’s not often that I get less than 7 hours of sleep, but when I do I can really tell in my face and body, which become haggard-looking and creaky, respectively, not to mention my brain, which becomes foggy and unfocused. I’m like a cross between Aunt Bethany and C3PO. I’m not, however, an actual robot and I am in perimenopause, so despite my best efforts, plenty of nights have me waking up sweaty at strange hours with my mind racing, but I try to take it in a zen way, which means I am often doing breathing exercises in the middle of the night and telling myself that a) just lying and resting is beneficial, even if I’m not technically sleeping, and b) my body is a wonderland and hot flashes are a natural part of a woman’s life, if she’s lucky, which I am. Usually this borderline unhinged way of thinking is enough to lure my body back into slumberland, or into an incredible state of boredom that is akin to slumberland, at least until 4:30, when I am Wide Awake and Ready For The Day.

Good morning world!

What (Do I Do To Prepare). The act of getting ready for bed feels almost ritualistic for me; I love the feeling of ending the day and preparing for my cozy bed. I start my bedtime routine about an hour before I actually snuggle into said cozy bed; I floss and brush my teeth, I detangle and brush my hair, I remove my makeup and put on a number of different moisturizers on various parts of my face and body, and I put on my pajamas. Every day I carefully choose pretty workout clothing even though my gym is in the basement and I work out before anyone else is awake, and every day I put on a coordinated outfit with jewelry and makeup even if I am going nowhere and seeing no one, so it should surprise no one that every night I wear pretty, matching pajamas. Every evening I choose my pajama set based on the season, the temperature, and my general mood. I have many pajama sets, thanks to Christmas and birthday gifts mostly from my mother, but also from my husband. I have worn pretty nightwear for my entire life, so the idea of NOT choosing a pajama set is as foreign to me as not matching my bag to my shoes, or going a day without makeup, which is to say, incredibly foreign. After I am pajamaed and lubed up, I join my husband on the couch for a while, reading while he watches TV. I don’t read in bed because I reserve the bed for sleep and sexytimes only, and also to fold laundry on. I am adamant about not using any screens, other than the TV in my periphery, before my bedtime, to the chagrin of anyone trying to text me after 8:00. By the time 8:30 rolls around, I’m making my way up to bed and nestling in.

Where I wish the magic would happen.
Stop! Jammie Time.

Who (Changed My Life With Her Life-Changing Magic). Many years ago I adopted the KonMari method of decluttering and tidying, and I started rolling all my clothing pieces that reside in drawers. The exception was pajamas, which tend to be floppier than regular clothes, and resist rolling. My pajama drawer felt like a mess compared with its daytime-wear compatriots. That is, until a few years ago, when Gigi (HI GIGI) mentioned her brilliant method of rolling pajamas: she puts the top and bottom flat together and THEN rolls them up, and it is simply genius. Why didn’t I think of that? In any case, I have done that ever since, which means I have perfectly organized pajama drawers, and can choose my set with ease.

Rolling, rolling, rolling in a pajama drawer.

Where (Am I Going). In the theme of rest and relaxation, my husband and I are heading to Mexico for a week. We are meeting our good friends down there and I am so excited; am I more excited about the trip itself, or about not preparing dinners for a whole week? Who can say. I’m just happy to be going somewhere, to be honest. Maybe I’ll even have some pina coladas! Who am I kidding, I don’t even like pina coladas, no euphemism implied. Today is filled with all those exciting pre-holiday things, like a pedicure and sugaring, and seeing how many bikinis and sundresses I can squeeze into a carryon. In any case, I’m looking forward to fun, food, and lots of relaxation; I will catch up with you all when I return. Take care, friends. xo

Gratitude and Grievance

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Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Yesterday my husband and I took a ten hour road trip to visit my parents. It was a gorgeous drive but I am a tiny bit tired; not, however, as tired as I was Saturday morning when I was woken up several times by a pack of howling coyotes in the vineyard. They even woke my very hard-of-hearing mother-in-law up, so you can imagine how loud that must have been.

What I’m saying is I’m not feeling particularly rested this holiday weekend, but it was such a beautiful drive and, of course, it was lovely to drive into my parents’ very welcoming home. This is what I’m looking at right this minute:

I meditate every day, as part of my self-care REM Y REM; most days the meditation is part of my yoga practice and savasana, but once or twice a week I listen to a guided meditation. A few weeks ago I listened to one that had a gratitude theme, and one of the lines in that meditation was What you focus on is what you see more of. I mean, yes, obviously. But also YES!

Let’s say, for example, that you wake up one morning and perceive, on looking in the mirror, that for the first time in a very long time, possibly years, a pimple has inexplicably developed underneath your left eye. Perhaps, instead of feeling gratitude for the exuberance of youth that has suddenly revisited your face in such a way, you unhappily focus all your vision on this little red protuberance. In fact, you focus on it so much that, upon viewing your reflection, you cannot see anything else. You might as well have no other facial features; your face has become Only The Pimple.

At the same time, you might notice that it has been three weeks since you last coloured your hair, and so the hair framing your Only The Pimple visage is white with grey accents, contrasting sharply with the rest of your kind-of-orange-fading-red hair. Instead of feeling deep gratitude for this interesting confluence of Youth and Old Age that is your current reflection, you feel simultaneously grieved for your loss of youth and also for this strange resurgence of youth. Instead of thinking that your body, indeed, is a Wonderland, you are laser focused on what you perceive as flaws, which are really not flaws at all but just glorious markers of the human experience.

What you focus on is what you see more of, and if you step back and soften the focus on the things that you are unhappy with, and maybe take a selfie with the knowledge that car lighting is the very best kind of lighting, maybe you can focus a bit more on gratitude than on grievances.

I’m sure that’s what the guided meditation meant.

So many of my friends have Gratitude Journals, and I deeply admire that, although I do not have one myself. My friend Ally (HI ALLY) recently brought my attention to something called a Grievance Journal. I had never heard of such a thing before but indeed, there are many such items for sale; the price of such things might surprise you, for example, this grievance journal is $208. Ally correctly pointed out that one could simply purchase a simple spiral notebook that would serve the purpose, but we are often more inspired by thematic stationary, aren’t we?

My thought on this is that anyone who had a diary with a lock and key in their youth was most likely keeping a Grievance Journal. I shudder to think of my own teen angst committed to the pages of my locked diaries, but on the other hand, maybe I was a trend-setter without even knowing it! I was Grievance Journaling before Grievance Journaling was cool.

Then again, what is a blog but a repository for grievances – and gratitude, of course. And because it is Thanksgiving, I will share with you, my dear readers, something that I am very grateful for. One year ago tomorrow Rex came to live with us!

I like to call this our Rexaversary, although I’m sure my husband would like me to note that he hates that term, and no one really knows why. Perhaps it reminds him of Brexit? Or the ridiculously stupid Wexit? As a side note, a couple of years ago we were at the dinner table and my older son said, out of absolutely nowhere, “Remember that thing, Wexit?” and for no reason at all we all became hysterical with laughter. WEXIT.

Anyway, it is one year tomorrow that we received such an incredible gift. He was much loved by his former family, and I still can’t believe my luck that we were the ones chosen to care for our Big Silly, our Notorious D.O.G., our Doughnut, our Puppy Pup, our Rexie. He’s brought so much joy to us every single day; it’s ironic that I was the person who, after Barkley died, was so devastated that I refused to even consider bringing another dog into our family, and now I have a shadow, every waking minute.

My view upon getting out of the shower.

I did feel, a year ago, like Clifford the Big Red Dog was coming to live with us, but after a year of Rex, he just seems like a normal-sized dog, and all other dogs are miniature. Anyway, it’s appropriate that this celebration day coincides (ISH) with Thanksgiving as we are all so thankful to have his Big Silly Energy in our home.

Weekly Reading

The Magician’s Assistant. I really enjoyed this book about Sabine, a magician’s assistant who was married to the magician. When he dies, she discovers everything about his past that he had kept hidden. What’s not to like? Complicated families, interesting female protagonist, beautiful prose. It checks all my boxes! The thing about Ann Patchett is while many of her books follow a similar theme of brokenness and family secrets, they are all so different and unique. Content warning for mentions of domestic and child abuse.

The Perfect Marriage. Did you ever read the Sweet Valley High books? Remember how the physical descriptions were “All American good looks, with blond hair and blue eyes, size six?” That was what this book was like, a grown up SVH, but a “thriller.” The physical descriptions of the characters were so over-the-top: he is a hunky six-foot-two man with broad shoulders, she is a tiny blonde with never a hair out of place, wearing her Louboutin heels and pencil skirts. Basically, a man is accused of murdering his mistress and his wife is his lawyer for the trial. Is this well-written? No. Are the characters interesting and nuanced? No. Is the dialogue natural and believable? No. Is the plot in any way realistic? Absolutely not. Is this book hilariously entertaining in its ridiculousness? Kind of! It’s pretty ridiculous but hey, it’s a fast read and won’t require any heavy thinking or reflection.

I hope you are all enjoying this holiday weekend, or, for my non-Canadian friends, this Monday in October! I am grateful for all of you. xo