Category Archives: Fashion

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The “We Need A Little Christmas, Right This Very Minute” Edition

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In the last week, I have seen the following outfits on young girls: a one-shouldered bodysuit paired with jogging pants, the type that are tightly elasticized around the ankles, super high-rise lululemon tights with a hoodie, the bottom hem of which ended two inches below the bra line, Cougar boots, and a very high ponytail, and a white mock-turtleneck tucked into very high-rise navy blue flared cropped pants, the shorter hemline emphasizing the old-school Adidas runners and ruffled white ankle socks. The last outfit was accessorized by a red purse with a gold-chain strap. If there was such a thing as a blog back in 1985-1993, all of those things would have made Nicole’s Favourite Things. As it is, I find it very interesting, like I am a fashion anthropologist analyzing current trends and how they related to my own youth.

But I did not come here to talk about the return of acid-wash jeans or bodysuits. I came here to talk about Christmas! It’s time for Nicole’s Favourite Things – and I have lots of favourite things at this time of year, so hold on to your hats! Your SANTA hats, that is!

Nicole’s Favourite Things – The “We Need A Little Christmas, Right This Very Minute” Edition

THE DRESS

I alluded to the dress I bought – from Le Chateau, no less – for my husband’s Christmas party. It has sprinted past my other favourite dresses to become, I believe, my all-time favourite. It has surpassed my wedding dress, my perfect black wrap dress, and the black-and-white Sixties-style swing dress I had when I was sixteen. It’s a bit hard to tell from the photo – my older son took the pictures and we switched the tree lighting to try to capture it – but it’s a black sheath with a piece of drapey fabric that makes for a swoopy, uneven hemline. Black and drapey, as we know from all my sweaters, is my jam.

I paired the dress with my three-inch wedge heels, which looked nice, but for someone who spends most of the day working in bare feet, it was kind of painful. I paid for it the next day with the tightest hip flexors you ever did see. I used to wear heels all the time, and they never bothered me. But hoo boy, I’m glad I don’t wear them much anymore.

 

Holidays on Ice

I bought this book in 2015 and I have read it every December since then. I love David Sedaris, and his “Santaland Diaries” and “Dinah, the Christmas Whore” still make me laugh until I cry, gasping for air, even after that many readings.

My Yard

It seems that my husband has a very competitive streak. We’ve always had a lot of Christmas decorations in the yard, but as our neighbourhood demographics start to change – read: the old people are, um, leaving and new young families are coming in – we have gone from Appropriately Festive to Griswold-Worthy Light Show. My husband’s goal is to show those young upstarts up and let them know how it’s done, I guess. We have the following: icicle lights paired with red ones, colourful signs in each of my three large planters, an entire candy cane lane along our sidewalk and stairs, two light-up trees and two light-up gift boxes, two light-up deer, one moose, one polar bear, two penguins, one hippo, and two snowmen, including a six-foot tall one that has flashing lights and stars. The Mayday tree is filled with sparkling colourful Christmas balls as well:

People stop to take photos of our yard, and at least three elderly men have stopped me, while walking Barkley, to tell me that they admire my husband’s work. How did they know it was him, and not me?

These Ornaments

My mom dropped off this little cutie-pie for me:

I put it near this one that I bought four years ago. They are little friends!

I buy an ornament every year, and this was the one I bought the first year we were married:

This year’s ornament, in honour of the pandas being in Calgary:

This was last year’s ornament, in honour of the cute little chickadees that hang out in the shrub by my garage and become immensely startled each and every time I come out of the house.

Musical Decorations

I love this little cookie-making machine; it plays music and is, frankly adorable. Note the box set of Seinfeld in the background. Santa brought that for the boys last year and it was some of the best money I have ever spent. Other than my new dress, that is.

This is another musical cutie, the snowman and reindeer bop around with the music. The creche in the background is one I brought back from Mexico back in 1997.

Old Timey Ornaments

This little Santa was one I bought from a craft fair, probably circa 1998. Behind him is a bowl where I keep beautiful smooth stones, seashells, and driftwood I collected from the West Coast, back when my husband and I were first married. My mother-in-law had given me the glass bowl; it was her mother’s, and she thought I might like it. I think it was filled with chocolates at the time. She also gave me those ornaments, they were hers from the Sixties. They are extremely fragile, which makes me appreciate modern unbreakable ornaments.

Soapie and Ed

Last year my husband took the boys to Canadian Tire for various Christmassy-yard things, and came home with this adorably fluffy sheep for me. I laughed with delight and christened her Soapie, as she looked like a big foamy soap bubble. This year the trio went to Canadian Tire – AGAIN for yard items – and presented me with the snowman. “He looks like an Ed” my older son said sarcastically, but it was exactly right. Soapie and Ed sit on the hearth above Barkley’s bed, and Barkley tends to be a bit jealous of Soapie. He usually nudges her over once or twice before resigning to his fate.

Dressing Up The Dog

Speaking of Barkley, I went to buy him some food and treats and lo, there was an entire aisle of things for which to dress up your dog. I chose this scarf, which is really meant for a much smaller dog, as it is fairly fitted on his fluffy neck. I’ve been putting it on him to take our walks, and the pure joy I get from seeing him jauntily walking around like a man about town in his festive scarf is much greater than the $5.99 price tag would indicate.

Those are my favourite things this year. I hope you have a wonderful holiday and that you can enjoy all your favourite things too. Merry Christmas. xo

Buddhas, Black Friday, and Bikinis

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I’m torn between not wanting time to go any faster than it already does, living mindfully in the moment, savouring every day, and also counting down the next three weeks until Christmas vacation. On the one hand – mindfulness! On the other – hoo boy, am I looking forward to the break.

Were you on the edge of your seat, wondering how the white chocolate fudge turned out? Well, wonder no more! IT DID NOT GO WELL.

I was so optimistic until the time came to cut it; it was not dissimilar to cutting into a thick pudding. Which is to say, it was messy and weird. Again, how? How did this happen? How do two things that become solid when frozen become a non-Newtonian fluid when mixed together? Why do I need a degree in chemistry to make fudge? At any rate, I was very disappointed. By this time, I had sunk approximately $15 worth of ingredients into that little pan, and I was loathe to throw it out. It’s like throwing $15 in the compost bin. I put the pan back in the freezer and took the dog for a walk.

Taking a walk is great for generating ideas, isn’t it? The little loop Barkley and I walk takes about thirty minutes, and it is good thinking time for me. It’s also a good way to practice mindfulness and notice my surroundings. For example, there is one house on our loop that has a Buddha statue on their front step; it’s not just any Buddha statue, either. There is a jagged edge where the head used to be. This headless Buddha has been there for many months, and the strangest thing is that the head sits on the drain spout directly beside its decapitated body. To my inexpert handywoman eye, it seems like it would be easily fixed with some Gorilla Glue, but no. I can’t help wondering why. It cannot be unnoticed by the residents of the house. Is it some kind of statement? Mere laziness? We may never know the answer.

In any case, as I was walking, I wondered why I was so attached to the idea of little squares of fudge. Practice non-attachment, Nicole. I came up with the idea of rolling the fudge-like-substance into little balls and then dusting with cocoa powder, like a truffle. I tried later that day and it was incredibly messy and oddly difficult, but it somewhat worked.

They did not hold shape particularly well, but my younger son assured me that they were delicious and that he would volunteer as tribute to eat the entire thing, if no one else wanted them. Always willing to sacrifice, that’s him.

I made a coffee date last Friday with a colleague of mine; we both had a brief window of time and she had an appointment in my quadrant of the city. For those of you who I have had actual coffee dates with, you already know that I never have any clue about cool and interesting coffee shops. I never know where anything is and I’m always at a loss to suggest a venue. But for this coffee date, I suggested the Starbucks at a nearby mall; my colleague’s appointment was just down the hill from it, and I live about five minutes away. Normally I do not set foot in the mall after mid-November, but I thought 10:30 on a Friday morning, how bad could it be?

It was Black Friday.

Later, when I was relating this story, a friend (HI ALANA) said to me How could you not know it was Black Friday? Didn’t you get all the emails? Well, yes. My inbox had been exploding over the past week, and yet I never made the connection between the mall and Black Friday. Neither did my colleague, which is how I ended up circling the road-rage-filled parking lot, trying to find a spot, and having to allow an extra twenty minutes to leave the parking lot, so that I wouldn’t be late for my class.

It’s ridiculous, really. Black Friday ISN’T A THING IN CANADA. Well, I guess it IS a thing now, no matter how much I deny it. The parking lot was similar to Christmas Eve or Boxing Day, with the exact kind of panicked, I must buy all the things attitude that one might see on those days. It was insane. The only upside is that I got to see all the pretty Christmas decorations that were not up when last I was in the mall, such as a gigantic sparkly moose.

And as much as I deny the existence of Black Friday, I am not made of stone. The endless barrage of emails from various retailers wore me down, and I actually clicked on the one from La Vie En Rose. I was in the market for a new bikini, anyway, and they had absolutely ridiculous prices. The one I fell in love with was obtained for a mere $22. Twenty-two dollars! Of course, my husband looked at the photo and pronounced it “ugly” and that the “embroidery looks old-ladyish.”

Well. I do not think it’s UGLY but he may have a point in terms of old-ladyish-ness. A few years ago I realized that triangle-and-string bikinis were really not suitable anymore, for a few reasons, most notably that they were no longer flattering – hello, gravity – and also they were not providing the, shall I say, coverage that I think is appropriate for a woman my age who is the mother of two teenage boys. Since I refuse to wear one-pieces for the same reasons I refuse to wear rompers or jumpsuits, more modest bikinis are my new jam. The key word here is COVERAGE. I don’t want to end up dressing like Stacy’s Mom.

Speaking of teen boys, this week I took them to the dentist for their cleaning and checkups. They are still going to the same pediatric dentist we’ve been patronizing for a decade. It occurred to me for the first time that perhaps it might be time to switch dentists; not because I have any issues with the actual dentist practice, in fact, it’s the opposite. I love their whole office. However, I thought maybe it was time to move on when I looked at my sons and their feet hanging off the small purple dental chairs, their heads popping up above the headrests. I asked the dentist at what point should we say good-bye to them, and he said that he sees kids up to age eighteen. I pictured their future six-foot-plus frames squished into the child-sized dental chairs.

The thing is, their office is so convenient. It is literally a three-minute drive from my house, and approximately that long from their school. They had an 8:00 appointment and both were back at the school by 8:25. I mean, you can’t buy that kind of convenience. Maybe I will keep them there until they are 18, their deep voices will be a change from the usual high-pitched screaming that is de rigeur in any given pediatric dental office.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Revisiting My Youth Edition

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I know you were all on the edge of your seat, waiting to see what would happen when we went to our doctor’s appointment last Friday. Would the scheduled time be incorrect again? Would I be berated by the long-suffering office receptionist for missing my appointment? Would I actually see the doctor?

Well, all was smooth, you will be happy to know. We were in the waiting room by 1:55. Of course, we waited for a while to see the doctor, but I wasn’t too concerned about that: we all had books and phones and weren’t really doing anything we wouldn’t have been doing at home anyway. I got a TEENSY bit of stink-eye from the receptionist, but I guess I would be annoyed if I thought I was a no-show as well. The boys were having standard checkups, but I was there to ask the doctor about a little white dot that had been on my face for – get ready – three and a half years. I had been fairly unconcerned about it, but lately people had – strangely enough – been commenting on it, including one concerned friend who related a long and detailed story of a similar thing she had which turned out to be a form of skin cancer, and my own mother-in-law thinking that I had Caesar salad dressing on my face. Well, I’d rather neither of those things be assumed, but the doctor assured me it was simply a calcium deposit, and within five minutes he had removed it. Five minutes! After three and a half years! I guess in future I might look into these things earlier, before people think I a) have cancer, or b) am an absurdly messy eater.

The Before

 

The After

I finished my Christmas shopping this week, which is neither early nor late for me. Some of you (HI JAN) have asked how this is possible, year after year, to complete the shopping in early November. I could write an entire post on that but let me assure you it is not because I am following that article that has been going around, “The Gift of Death;” after all, our family “adopted a senior” this year and I don’t think a printout of “The Gift of Death” would be appropriate. What I will say is that I do schedule in a couple of two-or-three hour chunks of time to go to physical stores and then I just power through; the rest I do online.

The reason I always finish my shopping early is because going to the mall in December, as my sons would say, harshes my mellow. This backfired on me slightly, however, since one of my time chunks that I had scheduled was this past Monday afternoon. A Monday afternoon in November is assured to be a quiet time at the mall, correct? Well, not if that Monday is November 12 and half of the city is also crowding into the stores that have – ridiculously – Black Friday specials and the like. Black Friday is not a thing in Canada. Anyway, I managed to get everything done, even if the parking lot crushed my soul, as cars were parked haphazardly for no reason, it wasn’t even snowing. The lines are there for a reason! They aren’t friendly suggestions.

Back to Monday. I had gifts to shop for but I also had ME to shop for. Which brings me to…

Nicole’s Favourite Things – The “Revisiting My Youth” Edition

Everything fashion-related reminds me of my long-lost youth lately, and not always in a particularly good way. These styles are not flattering, people.

Ah, but we all wore such unflattering pants back in the day, with our tight, tucked-in tops or bodysuits or crop-tops. Well. I shall leave the youth culture to the youth, when it comes to pants like these. To me, all this needs is a tapestry/ denim vest to complete the look, but then I am not the target market here. I revisited my youth this week in any case, in what I hope was a good way.

Your Mama Wears Army Boots

A large issue with not buying any clothes for a year, and buying very minimally in the years prior to that, is that everything seems to be wearing out at the same time. Specifically, winter boots. My favourite pair of winter boots died this week, literally died. I bought them from Sears – Sears! – maybe four or five years ago, and they were worn extensively through our very long winter seasons, so it is no surprise that their death was imminent. I stepped in a puddle and my foot was absolutely soaking wet; on further investigation it appeared that the sole had become detached. Since I was going to the mall anyway, I thought I’d shop for some boots. I found, and fell in love with, these:

Hello 1990s! There is a photo in my high school yearbook of people who were all wearing this style of boots, but Doc Martens. Back in the day I would have worn them with babydoll dresses; now I wear them with yoga pants and flowy black sweaters. Hey, you have to move with the times!

Speaking of babydoll dresses…

Le Chateau

The other thing I needed to buy for myself was a dress for my husband’s work party. Yes, I have many, many black dresses that would be appropriate, but I have worn them all many, many times. I wanted something new and fresh. First I went into the Bay, which was having a (Black Friday?) sale on dresses. It took me some time to even locate dresses in my size, let alone dresses I liked, but I finally ended up with three in the change room. I texted my husband to see which he liked best, to which he responded that he really had no idea since my hand was largely blocking the dress. My mirror selfie game is not strong, I will give him that. However, the expressions on my face are my favourite part of these gems:

If we were going by my facial expressions, it would be The Horror! But really, I was just trying to figure out how to capture the moment on camera.

I wasn’t in love with any of them, but I was going to settle for the third. Then I thought, did the one-year shopping challenge teach me nothing? NEVER SETTLE. To be honest, I wasn’t super comfortable in it; for lack of a better word, I felt a bit exposed and just a teeny bit slutty, and not in the way I want to be. I put it back on the rack, thinking if I didn’t find anything else, I would come back to it.

I started to wander through the mall and I came across Le Chateau, which I hadn’t set foot in since I was a teenager. God, how I loved that store. My all-time favourite teenage outfit came from that store:

It was a tiny black tube skirt with a swingy, A-line top, with little daisies attached to it. I would wear the hell out of that outfit now, if the skirt was longer. Or if the skirt were yoga pants. Anyway, I hadn’t been in Le Chateau forever since I have always associated it with my long-lost youth, but I will change that now because people, they have some great clothes in there. If I didn’t wear yoga pants five days a week I would stock up. As it was I found the perfect dress, but I will post a photo later, when I’m all dressed up with somewhere to go. Suffice it to say that my husband thought it was the best dress he’s ever seen me in, and given he’s seen me in a lot of dresses over the past twenty-two years, I think that says something.

The Body Shop

I remember when The Body Shop came to Calgary – I was around 13 and it was like a revelation to me. Against Animal Testing before Against Animal Testing was cool! All the interesting products! For years after that, all my babysitting money – and later, my Pizza Hut money – was spent on things like grapefruit skin toner, strawberry lip balm, and peppermint foot cream. Every Christmas I would be thrilled to receive one of their baskets containing Satsuma or Vanilla bubble bath, a little scrubby, and the useless glycerin soap that came with everything.

Oh, how I loved The Body Shop! And then…I just stopped shopping there. I don’t know why. Maybe I was too busy futilely trying to find an eye cream that made me look decades younger, and I haven’t taken a bath for years (I SHOWER, PEOPLE, DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT). But I stopped in and I’m so glad I did. They still have awesome gift baskets that are perfect for the ladies on your list, and they also have interesting new products like this:

I am an absolute sucker for things that claim to illuminate, even, and revitalize. I bought it for myself, along with a couple of gifts. But the results from this face mask will be the subject of another post. Stay tuned! xo

Yard-work fashion on point

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I admit that I’m very surprised that several of you have tried growing your own cilantro with no success, for the reason that I have had very little success with other herbs, but for me cilantro grows like a weed. Is it the super-dry climate I live in? Is it my basement grow-op that is never warmer than twenty degrees, and is frequently as low as 14 degrees in the winter? Is it the extreme love I put into it? No, the latter can’t be true – I’m sure you all were beaming your hearts like Care Bears at your own cilantro seeds.

Honestly, I can’t explain it. The only other herb that I’ve had any success with – and “success” is very loosely defined here – is basil, and even that was finicky and difficult and never amounted to much. Cilantro though! Here is my current crop:

And here is the set-up, from a distance:

I have two sets, and one I allow to lay fallow, like I’m an actual farmer. Then when my cilantro plants are at the end of their little life spans, I plant the other set so that I can smoothly dovetail between old cilantro and new sprouts and so that I am never – save for this summer’s incident – without.

Anyone still here? I didn’t really come here to talk about cilantro, although I COULD. I could talk about cilantro all day long. I could also talk about how happy I am that the snow is melted and we are suddenly into FALL, like an actual autumnal season that people in normal climates have. Who knows how long it will last, and so carpe diem, carpe diem all damn day. I’m just thrilled not to be wading through the snow for a few weeks. I managed to rake up the still-soggy leaves and I had enough spring in my step to make my sole contribution to Halloween decorating:

Aren’t they the most perfect pumpkins? This weekend the house will be transformed into something haunted, but it won’t be me doing the work.

What I really wanted to talk about today is current fashion, specifically one facet of current fashion: ripped denim. About a month ago I was at the mall shopping for a birthday gift for my dad, which was notable in itself as this was well in advance of my dad’s actual birthday. For some reason, I am usually scrambling at the last minute, like my dad celebrates on a lunar calendar and it is not actually the same date year after year.

Small digression: my dad is fantastic to shop for. He is the kind of gift recipient who immediately incorporates the gift into his life to show his appreciation, which I in turn appreciate very much. His gifts from me are strictly in three categories: shirts, golf balls, and aftershave, and I cycle through those categories throughout the year.

Another small digression: the last time I bought him aftershave, the woman at the counter – despite my clearly stating that I was shopping for my father – kept trying to steer me towards all sorts of pheromone-type sexy aftershaves with names like SEXUAL and similar. Lady, I am shopping for my DAD. I will leave the pheromones to my mom, thank you very much.

Back to the story at hand. I was in the Bay – an excellent dad-place – and I noticed a clearance rack of ladies’ clothing. I am not made of steel, and so I took a peek. This is what I found:

Further down the aisle:

I would have LOVED those when I was the age my own kids are now.

“I hate milennials!” my 14-year-old said to me just yesterday, and when I reminded him that he himself would be considered such, he replied, “I know, but still, we are terrible.” I was laughing so much I didn’t even get the context in which this statement was made. Note: I do not share this opinion, mostly because I do not like making sweeping statements about entire groups of people. Also, to quote my dad, we shouldn’t HATE anyone.

However, kids these days do have a lot of things easier than we did, that’s for sure. For one thing, google. If you wanted to know the primary export of Argentina or the capital city of Ethiopia or Tom Cruise’s height or the calories in a Reece’s Pieces Blizzard, you had to either a) look it up in the Encyclopedia Brittanica, which your parents had purchased volume by volume, b) hope for a Tom Cruise expose while paging through your mom’s copy of Star magazine, c) buy one of those calorie counting books and hope for the best, or d) spend time in the reference section of the library.

When I was in university, I had an actual preference between microfilm and microfiche.

Now, all kids have to do is grab their phones and google things. They don’t know what a busy signal is, they can shop for literally anything they want online, and, these days, they can buy their denim pre-shredded.

Back in MY day, if you wanted ripped denim – and who didn’t? – you had to do it yourself. There was none of those artful tears and frays that are sold at a premium. Back in MY day, we took scissors to our jeans and spent hours fraying them so it looked natural, and we LIKED it that way. Goddammit.

I am not one to revisit my youth, particularly in terms of style – BEEN THERE, DONE THAT – but this week as I was raking leaves I considered my yard-work outfit: old Skechers that have flowers on them (my special garden shoes!), my old Goodnight Moon t-shirt that I bought for Blissdom 2013, and these:

Look! I’m on point, fashion wise! This is what happens when you have the same jeans for six years. I earned that! Kids these days, sheesh.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Thankful Edition (sort of)

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Yesterday I learned that it was National CB Radio Day – 10/4! That was a cheering discovery, and if I was a trucker in the 1970s, my handle would be Red Pepper.

Speaking of which, it’s funny; the song Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode, a song I listened to and enjoyed back in 1990 or so, has come on the radio every single time I have gotten into the car in the past week. Every single time. Is it enjoying a resurgence in popularity? I am sure I haven’t really heard it much at all since the early nineties, yet, here we are. Did all the radio stations suddenly collaborate to pull it out of obscurity? A few years ago I witnessed a similar phenomenon with I Just Came Back To Say Goodbye, which is a terrible song to have going in a loop in one’s head. It’s even worse than Your own. Personal. Jesus. Someone to hear your prayers. Someone who cares. over and over.

I have felt like I needed my own personal Jesus in the past few days, mostly because of this:

That was my backyard first thing Tuesday morning, and then about six hours later it looked like this:

I stopped measuring after we hit twelve inches, because I only have a foot-long ruler, and I didn’t think the measuring tape would work.

I’m not going to complain about the weather, I’m not going to complain about the weather, we can’t control the weather, we can only control our own reaction to the weather…I kept up with this mantra over and over, even while I wondered why I live in actual frozen hell. Complaining about the weather is very boring, not to mention depressing, and weather talk in general is only interesting to those directly affected, and so while I’m sure you would all be fascinated by my dog walk that featured snow-laden branches completely giving way and dumping snow all over me not once, not twice, but five times in a thirty-minute walk, and how I actually calculated the calories burned by shoveling snow that felt like it was 100 pounds per square foot, I will abstain. Sort of.

It’s almost Thanksgiving! This is as early as it can possibly be, and I really do want to take the time to be mindful and thankful, even while I am completely depressed about the fact that I live on Planet Hoth and all of my frozen plants are covered in snow and probably will be for the next nine months. That was not being mindful and thankful, Nicole.

Positive thoughts! Positive thoughts! Let’s segue into Nicole’s Favourite Things, shall we! I missed September, so will smoothly combine it with Thanksgiving which is, in my humble opinion, kind of a lame holiday. I dislike pie in general; pumpkin pie is particularly abhorrent to me. Even when I did eat meat, I never liked turkey dinner; as a plant-based person, it is now, how shall I put this, very un-fun. But it’s not all about the food, is it? Well, it kind of is. I do like the thought of being thankful for things, which is something we should do every day, and Thanksgiving gives us a good reason to remember all those things for which we are thankful. So, here we go!

Nicole’s Favourite Things, the Thanksgiving Edition

Leaves

I’m sure glad I took this photo last week, because those same shrubs are now sagging under the weight of the snow. Sorry! I can’t seem to stop complaining. But they are pretty, aren’t they?

Boy, those leaves are going to be a bitch to rake up. Moving on! Positive thoughts!

Apples

I know all of you people are all about the Honeycrisp, but for me, there is only one kind of apple, and that is the McIntosh. Have I mentioned this already? Yes, I have. Many times. But Macs are so good, they are the perfect texture and the perfect tartness and the perfect taste. My older son was begging, literally BEGGING me to make an apple pie, and although I consider it to be an abomination, and a grievous waste of the perfect fruit, I bought a few extra apples specifically to make pie.

I am not gifted in the “making baked goods look pretty” department, so this is as good as it gets, in terms of pie crust. I read the shortening box, and one suggestion was to roll out the crust between two pieces of waxed paper and WHY HAVEN’T I BEEN DOING THIS SINCE THE BEGINNING? What a game changer. I highly recommend it; it makes it so much easier to roll and to transfer into the pie plate, and it is so much less messy than cleaning up flour that gets scattered everywhere since the dough keeps sticking to everything.

By the way, do you like my apron? My parents brought it back for me from their recent trip to Scotland. My youngest niece calls aprons “cooker capes” and forever that is how I will think of them.

Pears

As much as I love apples, I love pears a teensy bit more. Their season is so short that our whole family ends up bingeing on pears for the few weeks that they are really good. I have been buying them in six-pound bags; the first one contained pears of all the same greenness, so they all ripened at exactly the same time. We were a family of pear bingers for a few days; the next bag I bought had a few that were almost-ripe, so things have smoothed out around here, pear-eating-wise.

Inhale Smoothies, Exhale Love

After my one-year shopping challenge finished, I wasn’t actually going to buy much of anything; I really do have a lot of clothes. But I saw this tank and I could not resist:

It’s like it was made for me! I do both of those things! I had to have it and it makes me happy every time I wear it.

This Sweater

One of the nice things – I guess? – about living on Planet Hoth is that I have a number of gorgeous, warm sweaters. This one I bought right after my shopping challenge ended – it was on clearance for TWELVE DOLLARS, PEOPLE. I love the way it looks! But it is NOT the most practical item, as the sleeves droop into everything while cooking or washing dishes or doing any of those household tasks that seem to take up a large percentage of my life.

Barkley is wondering what is UP with those sleeves.

Happy Thanksgiving, my friends. I hope you have many things to be thankful for this weekend. xo

It’s Apple Season! And Snowman Season!

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Ah, fall. The season of colourful leaves, crisp air, apples, and this:

Snow!

Well, to look on the bright side, it’s just a dusting.

I feel like the world is divided into two kinds of people: those who love and embrace summer with all their hearts and souls, and those who do not. People in the latter category, please enjoy your season for the next 8-9 months, and meanwhile, I will be busy putting on legwarmers, scarves, and other layers for eternity. It seems like a very unfair distribution, but what can you do? Complain to the management? Because I don’t feel God will suddenly decide to make Calgary a climate of beauty, just because I complain.

I might complain just a little though, as tomorrow a certain young man is turning thirteen, and there will be a total of ten teen boys in my house for SEVEN HOURS. Why or how this was arranged I do not know, but I was counting on a few hours of let’s go play war with Nerf guns at the playground and so the forecast is, shall we say, disappointing. I am sure none of the parents will judge me for indulging in a glass of wine or two whilst the Festivities Are In Full Swing. My non-drinking husband will be there in case someone loses an eye to a Nerf bullet or, more likely, falls into a sugar coma from the requested Chocolate Layer Cake With Caramel Frosting And Rolos On Top. I think I fell into a sugar coma just writing that. To counterbalance, I have a lot of vegetables to make a veggie plate, to go along with the pizza, star-shaped frosted sugar cookies, and three giant “family-sized” bags of chips. If there’s one thing I know about teen boys, it’s that they are a hungry people.

Now that I have two of them, if anyone needs me, I’ll be grocery shopping. Again.

The happy news about grocery shopping – and about fall in general – is that it is officially Apple Season! Apples are, in my humble opinion, the very best thing about fall, followed closely by pretty leaves and the return of thick black sweaters and tall black boots. I am pretty particular about the type of apples I eat; I am strongly Team Macintosh. We are all, as I tell my children and yoga students constantly, different, and I’m sure that many of you will disagree, but I firmly stand by my opinion that Macs are the Superior Apple. They are the perfect flavour and texture, and I essentially binge eat Macintosh apples the second they hit the produce aisle until they are no longer available. I also like the Scottish name; it is as if the Macs and I are namaste-ing each other in a Scottish way. The Scottish way to namaste is probably Aye Lassie It’s A Broad Bricht Moonlit Nicht Tonich or something similar.

Again, we are all different and the world is a rich tapestry and variety is the spice of life, but when I get excited about Apple Season and someone becomes similarly excited about apple pie, my response is this:

I will not judge you, you lovers of apple pie and apple sauce and apple crisps and other mushy abominations, but I will never understand you. This is the same way I feel when I hear of people making jams and muffins with fresh fruit and berries. Such things are so precious to me that I would never do anything but eat them raw. Muffins and jams, in this house, will always be made with frozen fruit, and I stand by that decision, at least while I live in this godforsaken snowy hellhole.

Oh! But I wasn’t going to complain! Perhaps I shall just go eat an apple and finish frosting all the cookies, and dream about warmer climates instead. Have a wonderful weekend, everyone! Please spare a thought for me tomorrow night. xo

One Thousand

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Can I Get A Witness

I can hardly believe this, but this is – get ready for it – my ONE THOUSANDTH POST. One thousand posts. Can I get a medal or something for this? Very few people old-school blog anymore, but I am glad to have this diary of my life over the past – get ready for it – DECADE. Of course, I could have just kept a regular diary, but what would have been the fun in that? It’s nice to have a witness to this everyday life. Can I get a witness?

The Winner, In A Landslide

As I’ve mentioned before, I often think of the Soundtrack of My Life; it occurred to me the other day that there are songs that are inextricably associated with other people, in my mind. For example, my friend Hannah (HI HANNAH) is linked forever and always with Some Kind of Wonderful, and so now that I have asked if I could get a witness, I will be a) singing that all day, and b) thinking of her. For fun I asked Facebook friends what song reminded them of ME and it was a very interesting experiment. A friend who knew me way back in elementary school mentioned Corey Hart (HI MELISSA), a friend from high school reminded me that we always sang Hello City when we were together in chemistry class (HI TRACY), a friend from university mentioned Total Eclipse of the Heart, the Old School version (HI ALICE), and there was a nice mix of interesting music from friends made in the past decade (HI EVERYBODY). The most common song, however, was Landslide, which is both unsurprising and apt, given this time of year.

This Is Me In Grade Nine

My BFF, who I met in grade nine, (HI TARA) said what reminded her of me was Light My Fire, stemming from that period in which I was obsessed – OBSESSED – with The Doors, and also wearing all-black-all-the-time. Well, my interest in listening to The Doors has certainly diminished to zero, but my all-black fashion statement largely remains.

This is me in grade nine, baby. Yes, my love of black and also excessive jewelry has remained, nearly thirty years after the fact.

Speaking of which, I have had This Is Me In Grade Nine stuck in my head for days – DAYS – because the start of school has ushered in a new era: my oldest is, indeed, in grade nine. I am assuming the same will be true next year at this time as my youngest will be there as well. Usually I have Back To School, Back To School, To Prove To My Dad That I’m No Fool from Billy Madison stuck in my head for days; this is preferable. I got a red leather tie and a pair of rugger pants, I put them on and I went to the high school dance.

This is further proof that my brain is needlessly filled with song lyrics and if I could just channel that brain power I could probably work for NASA.

Dogpression

Barkley knows what packed backpacks in the kitchen means, and he does not like it. Now that we are four days in, he has come to weary acceptance, so long as he can come along for school drop-off.

Winter Games

I have been using the silent house and also the free time before my new registered classes start next week to get a few menial, tedious, and annoying jobs done. These include but are not limited to calling the cable company to order a new remote, necessitating me looking up serial numbers and account numbers and clearing up last name confusion, registering myself and my husband to vote in the upcoming provincial election so as to not have to wait for an enumerator, and calling a certain government agency to ensure an issue that was not caused by anyone in this household but instead someone who we actually paid for their services and still makes me irritated to think about it has been cleared up. (Spoiler: it hasn’t!). Yesterday I was on hold for what seemed like an eternity, only to be redirected a few times before getting the correct person for the job, who ended up completely unable to help anyway. The interesting part of this story, at least to me, was that while I was on hold, the theme from the Calgary 88 Olympics was played. Two things: a) that really took me back in time, and b) is it just me or does that seem like a strange choice of music? The rest of the music was pretty neutral elevator-Kenny G-type music, and then wham! Bah bah bah bah bah bah bah bah bah BAH BAH!

It’s Just Like New Year

September feels like a much milder form of January, doesn’t it? Everyone with their fresh starts and getting back to the gym and making crazy school lunches with bento boxes? I personally have a couple of resolutions for September and on, and one of them is to not use my phone when the boys get home after school. I instituted a “no screens” rule for myself and the boys, although it has since been amended to “no screens until homework, physical exercise, and something creative has been done.” For me, though, it’s no phone at all, unless someone texts or emails me. It’s really helping me be more present, which is an ongoing goal of mine, and also allows me more time to read and play the piano. In fact, it’s given me so much more time that I feel a twinge of shame about my (former) phone habits.

Only 1255 Pages To Go

I have had A Suitable Boy on hold from the library for some time, thanks to a recommendation from my friend Mary-Lynn (HI MARY-LYNN). Imagine my surprise when I went to the library to pick it up and discovered that it is almost 1500 pages long. Hoo boy. I have been keeping a spreadsheet of all my books read, in an attempt to be more like my bibliophile friend Allison (HI ALLISON), and so far this year I have averaged one book every 3.5 days. This is going to mess me up big-time. To add fuel to the reading fire, two more of my holds came in yesterday, so if anyone needs me, I’ll be over there, reading. I know, I know, it’s the journey, not the destination, but I like my current book-to-day average.

I Love Your Pictures

A few months ago, someone had posted on Facebook about how sick they were of seeing photos of other people’s kids, and no one cared, and just keep those photos to yourselves, you terrible attention whores. I’m paraphrasing, but only slightly. Then a friend told me that someone told HER that seeing back-to-school photos was the worst, and if your kids weren’t in kindergarten, then nobody cares. You terrible attention whores.

I am taking this opportunity – this One Thousandth Post opportunity – to say that I CARE. I love seeing all your photos, of your kids, of your pets, of your fancy drinks, of your houses, of your vacations. I love your selfies, your outfits-of-the-day, your bikini shots, your workout shots, your nature shots, I LOVE IT ALL. I want to see MORE updates about your lives, not less. What else are we on social media for? Outraged political updates? I think we have enough of those. After all, look how well all those political posts pre-US-election turned out.

I mean, I even love seeing photos of what you had for dinner, so long as it’s not already digested. Which brings me to this travesty:

You Know How I Feel About This Emoticon

People, this is a bridge too far. TOO FAR.