Category Archives: Fashion

Downward Spiral, Uphill Climb; Sixty Weeks In

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There are a pair of woodpeckers in our neighbourhood, wreaking havoc and inflicting damage everywhere. One of my neighbours has a giant hole in his house stucco, at any time of the day you might hear the loud rat-tat-tat of a woodpecker on a chimney, and, this week, the pair decided to put our Manitoba maple on its path of destruction.

We tried all sorts of humane, non-violent deterrents, to no avail. Every time we tried something, I would look out the window, and there would be a woodpecker hammering away at the giant hole it had made in the trunk of the tree, the rocks and cement pieces we had lodged in there scattered on the lawn. I watched it scare off squirrels in the tree and wondered what it would take to attract the neighbourhood crows to nest there. It says something that I would rather have a murder of crows nesting in my front yard than a pair of woodpeckers. At first I would run out and try to scare it away, but after the twentieth time I just stood at my window, staring despondently. Well, I guess the tree is going to die, I thought sadly.

It felt like a weird metaphor for life right now. We are now in another lockdown – I have lost count of what number this one is – because Alberta has the highest Covid cases per capita in the entire continent. This whole time, this WHOLE TIME, I have been following the rules and so has my family. My teenage boys have been nothing but great about rule following for the past SIXTY WEEKS. We have been careful and have adhered to the rules, and I have been thinking the best of people: we are all in this together, everyone is doing their best. It turns out that is not true, if it was, we wouldn’t be the worst in North America. If we were all doing our best and following rules, we wouldn’t be in Lockdown Number Who Even Knows. It is extremely disheartening. I try to think compassionately and with empathy, and yet deep down I know that there are clearly enough people who do not care enough about other people to change their behaviours, and that is a hard thing for me to face.

The one thing I was looking forward to, the one thing I wanted to do for Mother’s Day, was to visit my parents, along with my sister-in-law and family, and we had to take that off the table because even outdoor gatherings are restricted to less than five people. That was a pretty modest thing to look forward to, given that my kids have been at-home schooling, her kids have been at-home schooling, and I am the only person going anywhere, and that is to the grocery store or pharmacy. All the adults have had their first vaccine shot, and STILL we had to cancel.

Isn’t it interesting that shitty things tend to happen in clusters? In a space of 24 hours, not only did we have a lockdown announced, plans cancelled, and a tree that was being damaged extensively, but I also found out that the company that hosts my blog – this blog – is not going to do that anymore, and I had 90 days to migrate it to another server or let 13 years of memories disappear into the ether. This all happened after I went to the community centre where I teach zoom yoga on Monday afternoon, and the heating system was broken. Teaching yoga to a screen is one thing, but teaching a 90 minute class to a screen in a completely empty community centre – literally, I am the only person in the entire building – when the cavernous room is eleven degrees Celcius is quite another. I am an intelligent woman but the technological side of blogging is not my strength, and the thought that I had one more thing to deal with was my breaking point, particularly \when my actual bones hurt from spending nearly two hours in yoga clothes in an 11 degree room. I discovered all this, put on two sweaters and my warmest legwarmers, and sat on the bed with my knees tucked under my chin, staring at the wall for a long time.

I find that once I start spiralling, if I can solve one thing, just ONE THING, then the other things tend to follow. I googled best blog hosting platforms and then I PHONED a person at Bluehost, who was so kind and patient and reassuring that I felt that after our 30 minute conversation we could be best friends, but more importantly, I got my issue resolved. This site has been migrated successfully, and no one (read: me) had a nervous breakdown while it happened. I found out that my kids will be eligible to be vaccinated as of this week, omgomgomg, let’s fucking gooooooo, and the guys told me that for Mother’s Day they would be making dinner Saturday AND Sunday night, with no help or input from me. People, there was even a CAKE baked. My husband went into the office one day this week and came home with a box of Purdy’s that a client had sent at Christmas, and two of the pieces in it were mint fudge and raspberry creme, my favourites. It took hours of trying but I finally got through on the phone to a local company that would deliver an orchid to my mom to tide her over until we can actually visit. Remember the crappy company that charged me for flower delivery but made my parents pick up their arrangement instead? That company never responded to me. GO SUCK IT, BLOOMEX. There’s a new kid in town, and that kid delivered on their promise of a beautiful orchid.

Oh, and the woodpeckers? My husband strapped a flat rock to the hole the woodpeckers had made in the tree and although at first I just assumed that the woodpeckers would peck through the strap, the rock would tumble down and it would all be for naught, it seems to have worked; we have had five days with no woodpeckers. It’s been an emotional roller coaster of a week, but it feels like things are turning around and coming up Milhouse/ Nicole.

Outfit of the Week

This week’s outfit is workout wear. I find it very motivating to have cute clothes to wear while working out, even though literally no one sees me. I mean NO ONE. On weekdays I finish my workout before my husband starts work, as the desk is beside the cardio equipment and it’s better on all counts if his colleagues are not subject to background noise of my heavy breathing, countdowns, and singing along to Girls Just Want To Have Fun. On weekends my workout is finished before anyone even wakes up, which goes to show that these outfits are just for me. As it should be! Dress for your own pleasure, not anyone else’s.

I’ve had this top for probably five years, and I think it’s so cute, even when I wear it for non-yoga activities. You cannot tell from the photo but these leggings are padded, which is good for spin bikes, and I have a scrunchie in my hair, proving that you can go back again.

Pandemic Reading

This was my library reading pile last Sunday:

I was feeling great about my pace of reading, until six more books came in before Friday.

Eeep! Well, we should get started.

Caste. This incredibly important book should be read by all. It explores the caste systems in three countries: India, Nazi Germany, and America. Back in the early 1930s, during the rise of the Third Reich, legislators took notes from America as to how to legislate discrimination. Let’s sit with that for a moment. Nazi Germany took a page from the US as to how to oppress a group of people, how to make it legal to discriminate and, ultimately, actually end people’s lives, based on Jim Crow laws. I cannot even describe how important this book is, you have to read it yourself; from Confederate statues to everyday micro-aggressions, from redlining to lynching for imaginary crimes, the dominant caste’s inhumanity – in all three countries – is breathtaking. Wilkerson is a brilliant writer. By the way, we Canadians tend to get smug but we have a long dark history as well, concerning our treatment of Indigenous people. A friend pointed out that South Africa took a page from Canada’s book as to the treatment of Indigenous people, so let’s keep that in mind. It is absolutely a challenge to keep our minds and hearts open when it comes to ingrained feelings about people, based on the way they look, but we can rise to the challenge. More understanding breeds a better world. I cannot recommend this book enough.

Just As Long As We’re Together and Here’s To You, Rachel Robinson. On a completely different note, my rereading of Judy Blume continues. These two books are great. No one understands youth like Judy Blume, and these two books perfectly capture being thirteen, with friend and family issues. They follow a trio of friends, and I think if you are female, you know what it is to be part of a trio. With a trio of friends, there is always one left out. Even as an adult woman I have experienced this feeling. One interesting thing I found about these books is that there is a character who I completely identify with. I could see my young teenage self in Rachel Robinson, and if I had read these when I was 13, I would have felt very seen. I think that’s the key with Blume, is that she really sees young people for who they are, flaws and all.

Such A Fun Age. It’s really exciting when a book that you have had on hold for months and months finally comes in. For MONTHS I have had people ask me “Have you read Such A Fun Age?” many, many times. I really did enjoy this book about a young Black woman who babysits for a wealthy white woman, and who is dating a man who, unknowingly to all, has a connection to her employer. I will say, though, that I liked this book better as a social commentary than as a novel, if you know what I mean. I found a couple of the plot points to be puzzling, but in a good way, in a way that made me think harder. I think that’s why it was more of a social commentary to me. Two out of three of the main characters I found quite gross and despicable, which is a sign of good writing.

I hope you all have a beautiful week; keep shining. To my friends who are going through lockdowns and are losing hope, we really are all in this together. xo

Dented Self-Esteem; Fifty-Nine Weeks In

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That’s A Dent To The Self-Esteem

I was asked if I wanted the seniors’ discount last week at Shoppers, so perhaps my skin-care routine isn’t working the way I had hoped.

The worst part is that I didn’t even get the discount. After the woman said “Are we doing the seniors’ discount today?” in the pleasantest voice, unaware of my dented self-esteem, I hesitated and said “Um, sure,” at which point she looked at me suspiciously and told me, sternly that I needed to be 55 plus. The only thing that would have been more awkward about this exchange is if she asked for proof of ID, and I would have been exposed as a liar for a discount that I never asked for in the first place, while a lineup of people idled behind me. I mean, it’s only ten percent, what price my dignity here? How badly do I want that extra $4.50?

Why did you ASK then? I did NOT say, but thought, because kindness is important even when a person is implying that you are nine years older than you actually are, and working in customer service is difficult at the best of times, and we have been in a global pandemic for fifty-nine weeks. I admitted that no, I was not 55, and then the woman proceeded to ask three times if I wanted a bag, which I did not, and I took my Advil and my nail polish remover and left the premises, only a little bit shattered.

Two things: I worked as a waitress for years while in university, and I never ONCE asked if a person required the seniors’ discount. I applied it only when asked, or if someone was obviously an octogenarian, or if they were regular customers who always asked for the discount. Believe me, with a last name like MacPherson, I will ASK for my ten percent off at Shopper’s the second I am eligible. The other thing is that I was at the garden centre a few weeks ago and I overheard the cashier asking the couple buying fertilizer for proof of age in order to get the discount. These people were 80 if they were a day. Apparently the garden centre has problems with people claiming the seniors’ discount who aren’t actually seniors, which, well. I love a good discount so I am not going to criticize, but it was odd to see this elderly couple dig for their driver’s licenses, and my paranoia about being asked for proof of age is based on real-life experiences.

Not In Our Lifetime, Clifford

My husband has a new toy:

He’s wanted an espresso machine for years, and after working from home for so long, and the Starbucks down the street closing, AND a highly-rated model going on sale at Costco online, he finally purchased one. He’s really missed his afternoon Americano and his latte and what have you, and meanwhile I am happy because I can drink my morning pot of coffee in peace, without someone trying to pour a cup at 8:00 am and finding there are only two ounces left in the pot, leading to the question did you drink all the coffee? Of course I drank all the coffee, by 8:00 am I’ve been up for hours, I am a quantity-over-quality girl when it comes to my pot of not-strong black Kirkland Signature. Anyway, he loves his new toy, I love my copious amounts of weak coffee, we have marital harmony, all is good.

Sometimes when we get an item like this in our house, I think of a conversation between my grandparents, years ago. My grandma had bought a bread machine, and my grandpa wondered if the machine would pay for itself in cost savings, by making bread at home instead of buying it. My grandma replied Not in our lifetime, Clifford, which should be embroidered on a pillow somewhere. Not in our lifetime, Clifford pops into my head when I think of the vegetables I am hopefully going to harvest from my new, not-cheap raised beds. Will they pay for themselves? Not in our lifetime, Clifford. Will the espresso machine pay for itself in homemade Americanos instead of Starbucks runs? Well, Starbucks is pretty expensive, so MAYBE in our lifetime, Clifford. But probably not.

Bananas for Bananas

The only complaint I have about the espresso machine is that it takes up space on the countertop that used to be where I kept the bananas. This might seem insignificant to most of you, and from Sunday through Tuesday it’s not a huge problem, but on grocery day and beyond things get a little crowded.

What can I say, we go through a lot of bananas in this house. I’d say we average 25 a week, depending on the season and what other kind of fruit is in the house. Twenty would be the absolute minimum, although we have gone as high as 35. Anyway, after reading Suzanne’s blog about bananas (HI SUZANNE) I had a craving for banana “nice cream.” Usually I blend together frozen bananas with cocoa powder and almond milk, and top it all off with homemade magic shell, but I was jonesing for a little chocolate-peanut butter action.

People. I blended together frozen bananas with peanut butter and almond milk, then stirred in mini Reece Pieces, and swirled the whole thing with homemade chocolate sauce and it was like a choir of angels burst into my kitchen and started singing.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Go Back Into The Water

I got my period for the first time in a very long time; it had been so long since I’ve had a Ladies’ Holiday that I was actually wondering if that was it, if I was entering the Change of Life. My period tracker on my Garmin app kept cheerfully reminding me that it was almost that time, and to make sure I log my symptoms, and I kept having to adjust the calendar, until I wondered if the app was going to blow up and uninstall itself.

The weird thing is that I had absolutely zero warning; I was as taken aback by its sudden appearance as a young teenager who wears white pants to school and doesn’t carry supplies in her backpack. In the days prior I didn’t feel like stabbing anyone for not putting the empty toilet paper roll in the recycling, even though it’s RIGHT THERE, I didn’t have breasts swelling out past my tank tops and bras, I didn’t have to surreptitiously use my sons’ acne medication, I wasn’t even a little bit emotional. I mean, I heard Landslide on the radio and I did NOT burst into tears. Am I a robot now? You might think the moderate craving for peanut butter and chocolate could be correlated with the upcoming Ladies’ Holidays, but I make a big Sunday dinner with dessert every week, and every week that dessert is just what I feel like having, and so I think any correlation would be coincidental. Anyway, I was startled to wake up to Aunt Flo knocking at my door with her suitcase in tow.

The excitement I felt at the possibility of entering my Next Stage of Womanhood probably goes against my feelings about being asked about the seniors’ discount, but emotions are complex, and here we are.

Outfit of the Week

The snow has melted – for now – and I was able to get a bit of gardening and yard work in this week. This week’s outfit features a t-shirt I bought in Maui for FIVE AMERICAN DOLLARS back in 2016, or possibly 2015.

You cannot expect a lot for five dollars, but this top has served me well. The only thing is that it’s quite short, and so I always wear a tank top underneath as this is not 1993 and I am no longer a person who wears crop tops, no matter how fashionable they may be right now. The tank top and jeans have made appearances on OOTW before; and those shoes are my designated garden shoes because they have a flower design on them. Dress for the job you want, people, and the job I want is to work in my back yard.

Pandemic Reading

Small Game Hunting at the Local Coward Gun Club. This was highly recommended to me by a friend (HI TARYN) and the writing really is excellent; the characters are complex and intertwined. It is also literally the saddest book I have ever read in my entire life, and I’ve read some doozies. Like, this blows Of Mice and Men completely out of the water, in terms of sadness, and that is my measuring stick. HOO BOY. It is as bleak, dismal, depressing, dark, and gritty as February in Newfoundland, which is where this book takes place.

Brave New World. Ugh. My older son is studying this in English and so I pulled out my own copy to reread and discuss with him. I last read it when I was a teen and now remember why I haven’t read it since. I know, I know, it’s an important book, but to me it’s a total snore. Me: I don’t like this book. My husband: why, was it written by a man? Why yes. I remember when I first read this, back in the 90s, I was puzzled as to why they refer to women as being “pneumatic.” I looked it up in the dictionary and it didn’t make sense. People, I was 46 years old before I discovered, as my son says, that they are referring to her breasts. And ass. Of course they are. Male writers, am I right? I know, I know, it was incredible for its time, satire, the dangers of population control and consumerism, etcetera, but ugh all the same. Oh! The only other thing I remembered from this book – other than the puzzling pneumatic statements – is the saying “Spending instead of mending” which isn’t even correct. It’s “ENDING instead of spending,” which, my way makes more sense.

The Mothers. Now THIS is a book! This was an excellent read about friends, secrets, and the different definitions of mothering. It was so good; I liked Bennett’s The Vanishing Half but I think this was even better. I highly recommend it.

Happy May, everyone! May your week be filled with sunshine. xo

I Am Not Throwing Away My Shot; Fifty-Eight Weeks In

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Thank you everyone for the lovely birthday wishes; it was a beautiful day. It was the rarest of Calgary spring days: warm and sunny, and without the gusting winds that often accompany warmer temperatures. I filled the day with all my favourite things, and had two slices of cake, and all is wonderful. Along with thoughtful gifts from my parents and the guys – and chocolates in the mail from my longtime friend Elise (HI ELISE) and my favourite wine from my favourite winemaker, my friend Brian (HI BRIAN) – my “big gift” was this addition to my garden; the guys have been putting together the raised beds and filling them – three truckloads of dirt – over the past month.

Yes, that’s snow, and I can’t wait to start planting, but wait I must. You know, it’s Calgary.

The biggest gift of all, though, was getting an appointment to get my first Covid vaccination. The vaccine rollout in Canada has been so slow and so plagued by supply issues that my hope was I would get vaccinated in the fall, and – because it’s Canada and second shots are coming a full FOUR MONTHS after the first – was just crossing my fingers I’d be fully vaccinated by Christmas. The bar, it is low. But then last Monday the government announced that they were opening up AstraZeneca vaccines for people in the 40 plus category.

For those of you not in Canada, here is what’s happening; AstraZeneca (AZ) is considered to be the, how shall I say this, bottom of the barrel vaccine. It’s somewhat less effective than Moderna and Pfizer, the other two available vaccines (BUT STILL VERY EFFECTIVE) and there is a very small risk of blood clots. Older adults were refusing the AZ vaccines, which led to a huge glut, and so with cases spiralling out of control, vaccine eligibility was opened up to people 40 and over, whereas previously it was only for older adults, people in health care, and people with high-risk health issues.

My friend Cathryn (HI CATHRYN) tipped me off that a pharmacy near us was doing the vaccinations, so I booked an appointment for this coming Friday, and then the next day she texted me to say that her appointment was cancelled due to supply issues for pharmacies. You guys, there was a huge glut of vaccines, and then after opening up eligibility to the 40 plus group, there was an almost immediate shortage.

Gen X, I love us. We spent our unscheduled and unsupervised youth hanging out at the smoke doors or 7-11, with packs each of cigarettes and birth control pills in our bags. Of COURSE we are going to take the unwanted vaccine. Just shoot us in the arm, please, thanks. Good enough.

All through the last fifty-eight weeks I’ve felt like this whole pandemic is a weird sociological experiment, and the vaccine rollout has only strengthened that feeling.

Anyway, after Cathryn told me about the cancellation, I managed to snag an appointment at the massive Alberta Health clinic at the convention centre downtown, the very next day. The appointment was for 11:50 and I wasn’t supposed to be there more than five minutes prior to my appointment, but I had taken the train and, due to my nervousness about being late paired with my semi-unfamiliarity with the train, was there at 11:15.

Side note: the train, my god, the train. Public transit squicks me out at the best of times, but during a pandemic? Ugh. Going downtown was fine, but coming back there was a fellow passed out, maskless, lying down on one of the car benches, and another fellow, staring out the window and rocking, with his mask hanging onto his ear. Addiction is a terrible thing, and this pandemic certainly has not helped those suffering, but also, being inside a train with maskless individuals whom I am loathe to approach was nerve-wracking at best. Also, the station going home is in the most desolate part of the city; I felt like I was in a weird apocalyptic movie.

Anyway, I needn’t have worried about being early. The lineup was like one at Disney World, winding through plus-15s and various rooms throughout the convention centre, all very well organized and spaced out. All told, it was a 50 minute wait to get through the line into the actual clinic, and then another five minutes until I was processed. I didn’t mind. It’s been so long since I was around people, and I was just so grateful to have the chance to get my vaccine. There were hundreds of people there and almost all of them were on their phones, with the notable exception of one guy, who had brought a Rubix Cube, and so I spent my 55 minutes people-watching. There were so many cute outfits to look at, and also, there were “fun facts” posted on the wall every twenty feet or so, so I spent a lot of time thinking about them. Did you know that walnuts, cashews, almonds, and pistachios are NOT considered nuts? Technically, they are seeds. I know that peanuts are legumes, so what ARE nuts? I spent a lot of time thinking about this. Macadamia? Brazil nuts? What else is there? Also, a blue whale consumes half a million calories in one mouthful, and the French-language Scrabble champion of the world is from New Zealand and doesn’t speak French. He just memorized the French dictionary for the tournament in which he was crowned.

I love looking at other people’s clothes. So many of us matched our masks to our outfits – once we were in the clinic we were made to swap out our fancy masks for disposable medical ones though – and one lady really killed it with her long purple dress with a coordinating scarf AND mask made from the same material. Madam, I salute you. Some people were in pajama bottoms or sweatpants, some had gorgeous boots, and the woman in front of me had a gorgeous Prada bag. I spent so much time thinking about clothes, what constitutes a nut, and shuffling from floor marker to floor marker that before I knew it, I was being squirted with hand sanitizer and given a medical mask.

The nurse who administered my shot was named Lovejoy, which brought me even more happiness than I thought was possible. Lovejoy! She wished me a happy belated birthday, gave me my shot, and sent me to the waiting area. I felt so well for the rest of the day that I kind of wondered did I get a shot, was this all a dream, but then I woke up the next morning with a very sore arm. Well, like an idiot, I slept on that arm, which is silly but we cannot control our sleep selves. It was easily controlled with Tylenol, and I was fortunate to have no other side effects. As of right now, my arm is sore like a bruise when I apply pressure, but otherwise is just fine.

Outfit of the Week

This week’s outfit is the one I wore to the vaccination clinic. My mom gave me this old-school library stamp tee for my birthday; it was really too cold for a short sleeve, so I paired it with a black cardigan (naturally), jeans, and tall boots.

Prior to my shot I had a cute coordinating mask, but you’ll have to be satisfied with the medical one.

If you get a shot and don’t take a selfie featuring your bandaged upper arm, are you even vaccinated?

Pandemic Reading

Homegoing. Some people are just so talented. Yaa Gyasi is one of those people. I loved her Transcendent Kingdom, and Homegoing is her debut novel. This incredible book follows the lineage of two half-sisters, one who lives a life of luxury in the Cape Coast Castle in Ghana, and one who ends up in the dungeon of the castle, sold into slavery, headed for America. An absolutely epic, fantastic book.

The Knockout Queen. Back when the libraries were open, several weeks ago, I picked this up on a whim. Then, I put off reading it because so many of my holds came in, many of which I had been waiting a long time. When I finally picked it up, I was blown away. It is just so good. I immediately put all the author’s other books on my “to-read” list. I can’t tell you much about it without giving things away but it follows two best friends who have secrets. It’s SO well-written, and disturbing, and witty, and original.

And Every Morning The Way Home Gets Longer And Longer. Backman is very hit and miss for me, but this little novella about dementia is very sweet and sad.

Kindred. This was written in 1979 and would have been a very important book of the time, illustrating the monstrosities of slavery from the viewpoint of a modern Black woman. However, I can’t say I enjoyed it as I dislike time travel as a literary device. I just can’t suspend my disbelief in order to lose myself in the story, especially one of such seriousness and importance. If you like time travel, you’ll love this. It was fine, but a bit flat for me.

All in all, it was the most amazing birthday week; we are one small step closer to hugging our people. Sending you all love and virtual hugs. xo

Pro-Aging; Fifty-Seven Weeks In

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I really hate the term anti-aging. I know it’s just semantics, really, but I hate it. What a ridiculous concept, anti-aging. We are all aging every single moment; as they say in Les Mis, at the end of the day you’re another day older. The only way to stop aging is to die, and I do not want that, not for me, or for you. I mean, of course, it is inevitable, we are all going to die at some point – one day nearer to dying – but I hope that is a long, long time away for all of us. Therefore anti-aging equals pro-death, QED, and so I am going to use the term Pro-Aging. We should be embracing aging, celebrating it, even, as we go through our one wild and precious life.

Embracing and celebrating aging, however, doesn’t mean we cannot use all the products and methods in our power to minimize and soften the actual visual signs of aging, though. While I am Pro-Aging, I am also Pro-Aging-But-Still-Pro-Moisturizer-And-Keeping-The-Skin-Glowing-And-Supple-And-Maybe-With-Less-Eye-Bags-And-Just-Generally-Less-Haggard-Looking. That’s a lot to write, though, so I will stick with Pro-Aging, and you can just mentally add that coda.

As an aside, isn’t it something that when MEN visibly age, the tendency is to consider them even MORE handsome than when they were in the prime of their youth, whereas women are considered crones, and not in a positive Wisdom Years kind of way? Gray hair equals distinguished, wrinkles equals life well-lived, whereas for women, the goal is to keep looking the same no matter how many years are under our belts, no matter how well-lived our lives are. It is incredibly unfair, just like everything else in our goddamned patriarchal society, and yet, I am still going to go through my extensive skin-care regime twice daily. I WANT to Fuck The Patriarchy and I also want to maintain my skin’s elasticity, so.

All of this is to say that last October, my dear friend Denise (HI DENISE) told me about a product she had been using on her forehead and under her eyes, and I immediately went home and ordered some. There are two things you need to know about Denise, and the preeminent one is that she is a couple of years older than me, yet looks ten years younger. Her skin is amazing. The second thing is that she is a very practical woman: she would never, ever recommend a product that would be at a La Mer-type price point, or one that is available only in an obscure little shop across the city, or similar. When she recommends something, it is always at a reasonable price and available at the drugstore or mall, and this product that she recommended – called The Ordinary – is exactly that. Each product is less than ten dollars a bottle, and I bought mine online at Sephora. I purchased a caffeine solution for day, and an intense one “for dynamic lines” for my forehead, day and night. I have been using them religiously, since late October.

Since, in the words of the late, great Nora Ephron, everything is copy, I took a photo of myself in October, pre-The Ordinary. I thought it would make a great blog post and I envisioned my skin like Denise’s, smooth, supple, and, if not totally line-free, then line-free-adjacent.

Here’s me in October:

And here’s me now, after nearly six months after twice-daily use.

I know what you’re thinking. How do I tell her I can’t see a difference. How do I tell her she’s been buying snake oil. I know. I know.

At first I was disappointed, and then I thought about it. No change in my skin in six months of product usage, six months of a global pandemic, parenting teens, having a husband work a high-stress job from home, and dealing with an elderly dog with cancer; within that time frame a locked-down Christmas, one kid going into quarantine, and our country going from a second to a third wave of Covid cases. Did I mention the schools closed again this week and the kids are home learning, AGAIN? No? I didn’t? Well, the schools closed this week and the kids are home learning.

No change is actually a WIN. It’s not like I have a control factor, that is keeping me from getting older every single day; no change is actually an improvement. Nothing short of surgery is going to have some kind of Benjamin Button effect, here. After the last six months, by all rights I should look like the Crypt Keeper, or, at the very least, much more haggard.

I am turning 46 this week, and I look 46, and that’s how it should be. I am going to celebrate my second pandemic birthday, and I am going to embrace every one of my wrinkles, and every part of me, because it is a goddamn gift to be alive, it is a gift to age, and I hope to see many, many more birthdays and signs of aging.

Outfit of the Week

This week is remarkable in that, for the first time since September, I wore a SHORT SLEEVED TOP. Not just once, but FOUR TIMES this week! Don’t get me wrong, yesterday it snowed and today’s high is going to be JUST above freezing, and we are going to get MORE snow this week, but let’s celebrate the little wins. It was nice last week! I raked the lawn and tidied a couple of garden beds! And I wore this to teach my Friday zoom class:

Short sleeved tee! Yoga pants that are really light, with no legwarmers! NO SOCKS.

Pandemic Reading

Wow, No Thank You. Fans of Samantha Irby’s bitches gotta eat will really enjoy this book of essays. She has a talent for writing about pretty serious topics in a hilarious way. My favourite essay was called “Hung Up” where she talks about the ability to block and mute people on the internet, because you can’t do that in real life.

Several years ago, a woman on my Facebook said in her own status “Enough with the kid pictures, I am not interested in them! No one wants to see what you eat, either.” I tilted my head to the side for a good couple of minutes before thinking, wow, we are different people. Because I am HERE for the kid pics, and pet pics, and I genuinely am interested in what you had at your last meal. I love your outfit of the day and what you saw on your walk and what you’re reading (of course!) No need to humblebrag, full-on brag about your new job, or your kid getting into an elite post-secondary program, or the really cool cake you decorated or sweater you knitted. I AM HERE FOR THAT CONTENT and I am 100% happy for you. Got a new exercise program, or piece of furniture, or bouquet of flowers? I’m interested! Bring it! I have LOW interest in your hot takes about vaccines, or the government, or any kind of weird rant about conspiracies. Luckily, there’s mute! If only life could be as curated as our IG feeds! All of which is to say I liked this book, but especially that essay.

13 Ways of Looking at a Fat Girl. You know when someone recommends a book, and you get it from the library, and the cover seems familiar, and then you start reading and realize you’ve already read it? After checking my spreadsheet I see I read this in 2019. Oh well, worth a reread, although much of it is deflating and made me feel despondent. I don’t think there’s a woman alive who wouldn’t see herself in at least one of the characters. The book itself covers so much ground with regards to society, how we view ourselves, how we treat ourselves, how others view and treat us depending on our physical appearance, and the overwhelming brain power given over to food and thinking about our bodies. You could write 100 dissertations on this book and still have topics to cover.

Fame. Justine Bateman’s treatise on fame and our society is pretty interesting. The writing style is very conversational, so a quick read but one that gives lots to think about in our reality show world.

Wishing you all a beautiful week and stay tuned for my pro-aging Favourite Things coming soon! xo

Magic; Fifty-Five Weeks In

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I have discovered an enormous upside to the physical aging process, other than the “not dying” part of the aging process. Not dying is a pretty big upside, but this new discovery is also huge.

First, some background. Every morning, because I am vain and also a bit masochistic, I examine my face in my Daylight 10x Magnification mirror, tweezers in hand. I pluck my eyebrows and also stray hairs from other parts of my face, notably the chin and upper lip. Hormones, am I right, ladies? If you know, you know. I feel like this daily ritual keeps me from becoming the Bearded Lady, not that there is anything wrong with that, but it’s not generally the look I am striving for. In addition to random stray hairs, I am also on the lookout for something I affectionately call my Magic Chin Hair.

The Magic Chin Hair is a tenacious, wiry black hair that appears intermittently on the underside of my chin, and it is magic because of its ability to grow a centimetre in a 24-hour period. One day I will peer under my chin and there will be nothing, and the next day, the literal next day, there it will be, waving at me in all its glory. If I put a time-lapse camera under my chin, I could maybe watch it bloom like one of those videos showing a rose going from bud to full blossom. Is it silly to ascribe an actual personality to a chin hair? Because for a long while I thought it was just an extrovert, as it always seemed to make its appearance when I had a social event, back when I had social events and didn’t have a mask on every time I was around other people. Fancy Christmas party? Dinner with friends? Social event with my husband’s colleagues? It was inevitable, the Magic Chin Hair would show up, excited to get its mack on, and I, the cruel mistress I am, would unceremoniously pluck it.

I hadn’t seen Magic Chin Hair for a long time, and you may think it’s crazy, but I wondered if it was pandemic-related. No need to get up when there’s no getting down, if you know what I’m saying. But then I was looking closely at my face, as I do, and I noticed something: Magic Chin Hair was there, but is now white.

Is this a thing that is going to happen to ALL my stray facial hairs? Are they all going to turn white? This is LIFE-CHANGING. White chin hairs are far superior to black chin hairs, and I will die on this hill. Don’t get me wrong, I still plucked Magic Chin Hair, white or not I didn’t really want a long hair protruding from my face. It feels like that could be a very slippery slope on the way to looking like Santa or Kenny Rogers.

Sometimes a person I haven’t seen in 25-30 years will post a photo of their child, and that child will look exactly like the person in question, when I last saw them. It’s both heartwarming and unsettling, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I do love social media for that kind of connection; for me it’s all about the updates and photos of kids and pets and food and – when it was appropriate – vacations.

It’s because of social media that I made kind of an error the other day. I was outside the library with Barkley, dropping books into the chute, and a man smiled at me, a man who looked very familiar. It occurred to me that he looked just like the Facebook photos of a man I went to high school with. “Hi!” I said, “Scott, right?” He shook his head and said his name was Dave. “Oh, sorry, you look just like a guy I went to high school with,” I said, and JUST as the words were coming out of my mouth I realized that he was a good many years my junior, and could justifiably be offended by the implication that he and I were teenagers together, when in reality I am probably closer to his mom’s age than to his.

That wasn’t the only awkward interaction I had at the library. The library is about a kilometre from my house, so the 2k loop is a perfect length of walk for Barkley. I generally have a book to pick up or drop off a few times a week, and so we take that route, and I fasten his leash to the bench outside the door while I dash in to pick up a hold. This is a process that takes about ninety seconds, maybe 180 if I stop to pile a few extra books from the “New and Notable” display in my arms. A few weeks ago I was doing just that and as I was leaving, I heard a woman speaking to the librarian at the door, whose job it is to count the patrons coming in and out and ensuring that everyone is sanitizing their hands upon entry and is appropriately masked. The woman in question was talking about a dog, and I heard her say “I sure hope the owner is in here!”

Uh oh. Was this about leaving my dog unattended for less than two minutes? Did Barkley somehow morph into an aggressive barking dog, rather than the sweet, waggy guy he is? I smiled at the lady nervously and said that I thought that was my dog she was talking about, and was he bothering her? “Oh no!” the woman said. “I just…you know how dogs sometimes look like their owners? I was going to look for someone with really long bangs and wild shaggy hair! I would have never guessed it was YOU.”

For the record, my hair that day was in a bun, like it often is. Also for the record, Barkley has since had his spring haircut and I think he lost about ten percent of his body weight.

See? Magic.

Outfit of the Week

Recording the outfit of the week makes me consciously appreciate the clothes that I already own, as I shop my closet. I truly believe we should all feel good in our clothes, and I do love my wardrobe. As well as my chin hair, I anthropomorphize my clothing, thinking that each piece gets excited to be chosen for the day. Putting together a cute outfit gives me a lift every single day, even when I have nowhere to go and nothing to do, I still like feeling cute and put-together.

This week’s outfit features a sweater that I love but don’t wear often as it is very impractical. For one thing: cream. You can be guaranteed that something will be spilled on this by the end of the day. For another thing: those sleeves. I love the way they look but unless I fold them over and roll them up, like we used to do to our jeans back in the eighties, they fall into the dish water or drift dangerously close to the oven element when cooking. It’s so cute though. I know for a fact that the long-sleeve tee was purchased in 2010, and my old jeans and boots complete this outfit.

Pandemic Reading

This book of essays was so original and charming! I didn’t realize until I read the author bio that she is an actress/ comedian/ the lamb in Zootopia. One of the essays has to do with planning a garden, and how she wanted that garden to reflect what is inside her, and also she wanted flowers that her dog would sniff and the flowers were sticky and ended up on her dog’s face, and it was just absolutely sweet and charming, and I felt it in my soul. I loved the way she speaks about herself – “I washed my dear little face” – and I vow to speak that way about myself. Thanks to Swistle for the recommendation (HI SWISTLE).


What an incredible, troubling, hopeful book with so many layers and nuanced characters. This deals with a Barbadian woman, and the generations of women before her, who are living with systemic abuse. If you have ever had the luxury of lying on a tropical beach, and have wondered about the lives of the people who are working to make a living from you lying on a tropical beach, well. This is a debut novel and I look forward to seeing more from this author.

A woman’s marriage is in shambles, they’re too broke to get a divorce, her son is a teen who doesn’t need or want to be around her…so she starts wearing her dog in a baby sling. Seems like a funny concept but was kind of grim and depressing. There were funny parts but mostly it fell quite flat for me.

I hope you all had a lovely long weekend; however you celebrate, I hope there were lovely treats involved! I personally am now about 10% Mini-Eggs. xo

A Very Eventful Week; Fifty-Four Weeks In

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It has been a Very Eventful Week in the Boyhouse! First of all, it was our wedding anniversary. Just look at this fresh-faced young thing:

Fast forward nineteen years to the day and that fresh-faced young thing was asking her handsome groom to please look at the varicose veins on the back of her calf to see if anything Looked Weird. Keeping the romance alive, people! If anyone has any questions about how to keep those home fires burning, I’m your Huckleberry.

As an aside, longtime readers will remember that I had my extensive (EXTENSIVE) varicose veins stripped, exactly ten years ago, and for most people that is a permanent solution to the problem. I am, apparently, a rare and unique snowflake as I have developed new ones, and the result is that nothing can be done; it’s just me and my varicose veins, together forever. But on the anniversary of my wedding day, I was having weird intermittent pains and my calf was swollen, and I actually, uncharacteristically, consulted Doctor Google and went down a spiral of “do I have a blood clot.” I had two out of four symptoms but zero risk factors, and the advice Doctor Google had was GO TO URGENT CARE IMMEDIATELY DO NOT PASS GO YOU ARE GOING TO DIE. Settle down there, Doctor Google. Going to urgent care for a bit of pain and swelling seems extreme in the best of times, and this is not the best of times – our Covid cases are WAY up, so no thank you. I put on one of the calf compression sleeves I use for running and went to bed, thinking that if I had an elephant leg in the morning I would call my doctor, but anticlimactically, All Was Fine In The Morning.

All Was Fine In The Morning seems like the title for the story of my life.

If you want to REALLY kill the romance on your wedding anniversary, I have some advice: have a baby on that day! Our anniversary has been eclipsed by my older son’s birthday for the past 17 years. (Don’t worry, friends, we do celebrate our anniversary, just not on the day of. The romance is still there, I swear! Varicose veins and all.) Anyway, as Steph said (HI STEPH), everyone in the world has now had a Pandemic Birthday, and now my son has had two. (Her youngest and my oldest share a birthday, so happy happy to them!) His 16th birthday – ten days after The Lockdown – was, in his words, The Worst Birthday Ever, but his 17th was The Best, so I guess the universe has evened things out for him. He had a great day, despite writing a big math exam on it, and, of course, there was cake.

Look at this little bean!

Just to even the excitement out for the whole family, this week my younger son got his braces off! It has been a long 26 months and, to be honest, we have had so many delays that I was not one hundred percent confident that it would actually happen this week. Until he came into the waiting room and told me they were off, I didn’t really believe it would happen. But it did! It did happen! So much happiness and caramel corn awaits!

By the way, if you happen to make that caramel corn, do not blame me if you become hopelessly addicted. Caveat emptor, my friends, caveat emptor.

On the way home from the orthodontist, I suggested that we, in a celebratory manner, throw out all the orthodontic elastics in the bathroom and backpacks, to which my son suggested he have a better idea: “Can I use that lighter you have for birthday candles? I’m going to burn them!” You know, sometimes you think that you are doing a great job preparing your children for adulthood and responsibility, and then they suggest something like setting fire to plastic bags of latex orthodontic elastics. When I said that was not a good idea, no, not even outside, don’t even think about it, he muttered that when Covid is all over, he’s going to burn all his masks, anyway. Given the agonizingly slow rollout of vaccinations in this country, he will likely have left home by that time, and I will have nothing to say about it. Sure! Burn them all.

Outfit of the Week

On the surface, this is just a Nicole Signature Outfit, with yoga tank and leggings, long-sleeved tee, and long sweater, but what you don’t know is that I have had that sweater since 2008. Observe!

Baby Barkley! Look at that little fuzzball. Anyway, that sweater is a longtime favourite, and it’s held up pretty well for thirteen years of wear.

Pandemic Reading

After a month or so of having just a few library books at a time on my table, a whole bunch of holds came in.

Challenge accepted!

After reading this by Swistle (HI SWISTLE), I realized something: the percentage of books I read written by male authors is small, and it is extremely rare that I will read a book ABOUT men, or with a male protagonist. This isn’t a conscious choice, but it is one that I have made my whole life: I have always gravitated towards books by women, about women. There are, of course, exceptions: David Sedaris, for example, is one of my favourites, I have enjoyed everything I have read by Malcolm Gladwell, and I have recently become a fan of Bill Bryson. Graeme Simison’s Rosie books and Peter Mayle’s A Year In Provence are delightful and worthy of many rereads, but in general, I don’t seem to enjoy or choose male-written books, and yes, I am just realizing this now. I have a clear memory of me, in grade one, being in a gifted reading program and LYING about “having that book at home” so that I didn’t have to spend my reading time with a book featuring boys going to space. I got busted for that lie, by the way, when my mother went to parents’ night at the school.

Anyway! Books I read this week:

Wow. Wow! What an incredible book; it is wrenching and heartbreaking and hopeful and beautiful. Yaa Gyasi is such a gifted writer, I am looking forward to reading Homegoing, and any future novels she might have. This book has so many levels. I read a lot (obviously) and rare is the book that consumes me like this, that makes me slow down my reading, rereading pages to absorb every tiny detail. So incredible, what a book. So full of meaning, so moving, so transporting.

HOWEVER, friends, this book is not for everyone! There are some major trigger warnings here: themes of addiction, depression, death, suicide.

We are the authors of our own stories, and each choice we make in life has repercussions of all sorts, which is something I think about a lot. We can regret things and grow from them. This is the premise of this book, that life is full of infinite possibilities. It’s very sweet, with a great message, if predictable. There was a LOT of Thoreau-worship in it, which dimmed it for me, but overall I liked it.

God, Thoreau. I cannot with that guy. I cannot see a quote from him without thinking about how he was living deliberately in the woods and all the while his mother was bringing him food and doing his laundry. It infuriates me when I see men celebrated like that, when in fact none of it would be possible without women. Take, for example, Tolstoy. I cannot read Tolstoy without thinking of Sophia Tolstoy painstakingly copying out all his books by hand, by candlelight, all the while raising his 13 children. I mean, have you ever read War and Peace? It’s a MONSTER of a book and she rewrote and edited it – BY HAND, YOU GUYS, BY HAND – seven times. The list of women supporting male writers and their Creative Genius is endless: Wordsworth, Dostoyevsky, Eliot, Dr. Seuss, are some examples. Oh, OH! And Louisa May Alcott, who was a Creative Genius herself, was supporting her whole family because her father was a good friend of Thoreau’s, and subscribed to the same Transcendentalist philosophy, and also ruined their family financially. She was not only writing amazing works but also supporting the family as a seamstress, while her father, who was a useless piece of shit, was off Thinking Great Philosophical Thoughts and forcing the family to Live Deliberately and impoverished.

The whole thing makes me so mad I can barely breathe; as it is I am doing ujjayi breaths just writing this. Anyway, The Midnight Library was good, but it would have been better without all the Thoreau quotes and worship, is what I’m saying. Also, trigger warning for the overlying suicide theme.

I know very little about Colombia, its history and politics. This was a shocking, eye-opening novel based on the author’s life experience. Kidnapping, for example, was extremely commonplace in the time of guerrillas and narcos, pre-2005. It’s a fast-moving, wrenching, and quite sad read.

Ultimately a testament to the importance of having support and witnesses to life, and the power of connection, I however found this to be mostly sad and frustrating to read.

And it’s spring break this week which means…not much. A regular week with less rushing, I guess! I will enjoy it, and I hope you do too. xo

Costco, Then and Now; Fifty-Three Weeks In

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One of the best things about having a blog is being able to look back to see what was happening at any given month in the past; I always think in the moment that I’ll remember something forever, and then I’ll find myself wondering if that something happened in 2018 or 2017, only to find out it was 2012. To the archives! I’m finding this to be helpful during The Pandemic because time has lost all meaning, and I’ll think something just happened and then I’ll realize that event was in July. Similarly, things that seem years away just happened in December. I can’t tell if this time warp feeling is strictly Pandemic Related or if this is a Natural Result of Getting Older.

Last week I was at Costco; I go there every two to three weeks, right after my weekly shop at Superstore. Because of the restrictions with regards to numbers – stores are currently required to have no more than 15% capacity according to fire codes – I go right at opening. When it’s a Double Shop day – Costco AND Superstore – I aim to be at Superstore for opening at eight, and then zip over to Costco for opening at nine. It feels like I’m in some kind of race to the finish when I do this but there are many benefits: a) everything is DONE and generally put away by eleven, b) there are almost never any errant carts left in random places in the Costco parking lot so early in the day, thus decreasing my impotent cart-rage to almost zero.

While I was at Costco, I couldn’t help but compare and contrast my experience with Costco Trips One Year Ago. It feels like a weird fever dream: lining up in the parking lot for an hour just to get into the store, not unlike a ride for Disney World but much less fun, whole categories of items completely unavailable, the feeling of fear and panic everywhere, people just getting used to the whole social distancing concept and mask wearing. The simple act of getting groceries had turned into a nightmarish, harrowing event that would leave me drained and exhausted for the whole day.

Meanwhile, last week I sauntered through the aisles with my giant cart, humming to myself, noticing things like the availability of every kind of flour you can imagine, a shelf full of the giant boxes of yeast for $5, and while I didn’t walk through the paper product aisle, I assume that there was as much toilet paper and paper towel as anyone could need. I wondered idly if the people who left Costco a year ago with whole carts full of toilet paper are still using their supply. The one thing that was on my list but unavailable was, strangely, Worcestershire sauce. I’m guessing this is not a pandemic thing.

Everything is just so much better. Grocery staff seem like they are no longer stretched to the limit, trying to cope with ever-changing rules and stressed-out customers. With the ubiquity of hand sanitizer, I actually feel LESS appalled at the thought of touching things in stores than I ever have. I have always been a person who uses the bottom of my shirt to open door knobs, and now I feel like there are LESS germs on public surfaces due to our constant sanitization; everywhere you look people are squirting sanitizer in their hands from all available dispensers. People are politely giving distance to other shoppers, and I haven’t had to line up outside the store since last spring. Costco does not allow anyone in the store without a mask on, but still I was pleased to see all masks worn properly. I was thinking just as I left I didn’t see one nose today! but alas, I thought too soon. As I was heading for the door a man came in with a mask below his nose – why is it always older white men…oh wait, I know why – and I looked him straight in the eye. I smiled – smized – and gestured to my own mask, miming pulling it up. And you know what? HE PULLED UP HIS MASK. IT WORKED. If I had known that a smize and a gesture might actually change someone’s behaviour I would have tried it months ago.

Outfit of the Week

Full disclosure: this was not my planned OOTW, but I was having a really good hair day and felt like the moment needed to be captured.

This is a Nicole Signature Outfit; yoga pants and tank, layered with a long-sleeve tee and a long drapey sweater. This sweater is quite light, a nod to the lovely mild weather we have been having.

Hair close-up! In these times, so few can witness our good hair days. Thank god for the internet and the ability to selfie.

Pandemic Reading

Yes, I know it’s March, but library holds come in when library holds come in, we cannot control them, serenity now. In any case this was a delightfully sweet, silly, and satisfying read, not unlike watching a holiday Hallmark movie.

Is it weird to put this on a blog? Maybe. This was a fascinating book about paying attention, society, and connection.

This page spoke to me – bringing humanity to the people around us. Rather than viewing others as an inconvenience, viewing people as actual people, with lives and hopes and dreams and realities that we are unaware of.

“…firecrackers setting off other firecrackers in a very small room that soon gets filled with smoke. Our aimless and desperate expressions on these platforms don’t do much for us, but they are hugely lucrative for advertisers…” – this put into words uneasy feelings I have been having about social media and outrage.

Such a perfect way to say that we need to be happy and thankful for the things we have.

Speaking of thankful, I was able to run this week and it was glorious. The sunrises have continued to be beautiful, and we have a birthday and anniversary celebration coming up this week. Enjoy your week, my friends. xo