Category Archives: Fashion

The world is a magical sphere.

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Yesterday was Pi Day and I spent much of it thinking of the magic of mathematics and, by extension, the world. Just think about this – for every single circle in the world, every single one of them, if you divide the circumference by the diameter, you get pi. YOU GET PI EVERY TIME. Isn’t that just incredible? Life is beautiful, made up of so many magical moments, and we should never let a day go by without appreciating them. In eager anticipation of pi day, I made a strawberry daiquiri pie for Sunday dessert; this recipe, but I omitted the avocado and cut the coconut milk to one cup, and then I poured my homemade magic shell on top and let me tell you, it was a glorious celebration of the circle.

Speaking of glorious things and mathematical magic, my husband sent me what must be one of the sexiest texts a girl can get: he informed me that he will soon be able to collect PC Points at Esso. You know that feeling when someone just GETS you? That’s the feeling I had when I read that. For, dear reader, I have become completely obsessed with collecting PC Points and redeeming PC Points and making up my grocery list with PC Points in mind. One day I swept into the yoga studio and excitedly told the girl at the desk my main accomplishment that morning: getting 10,600 points IN ONE SHOP BUYING ONLY THINGS I NEEDED AND NOTHING FRIVOLOUS. She was duly impressed. It’s gotten to the point where I eagerly anticipate Thursday mornings, when I can load my new offers onto my app. More importantly, I have figured out the basic algorithm and can make my list with that in mind. For example, I can predict with 90% accuracy when a certain offer is going to pop up, and I shop accordingly.

Is anyone still reading this?

In case there is any confusion, I am not being paid by Loblaw’s or anything, this isn’t in any way sponsored, it’s just that whenever I’m not teaching yoga I’m grocery shopping or cooking. This is literally true. Having young teen boys who eat pretty much constantly, and being a person who likes to make everything from scratch, my life is entirely revolving around my yoga classes and going to the grocery store, which may explain why my main source of unhappiness in the world is due to grocery carts gone awry.

Slight digression: my younger son pointed out that we had quite a few blueberry-pomegranate juices in the pantry, commenting that they “must have been on sale!” For years I have been slowly turning into a female replica of my father, and now it appears that I am simultaneously turning into my mother.

Back to the point: life is beautiful, math is beautiful, and I’m trying very hard to just take the heavy snowfall event that is going on right now in stride. The snow had just started its slow melting process and now everything is back to square one; this is not atypical for Calgary, but it does feel like winter will never end and spring will never come and we will be stuck with snow drifts and treacherous roads until the end of time.

The first person to complain about the “heat” when it gets to be 25 degrees in Calgary is going to get stabbed.

Well, perhaps not literally stabbed. Maybe just stabbed with an angry glare, like the Care Bear Stare but with much more vitriol.

My childhood Cheer Bear! This is, generally, my spirit animal, except when thinking about snowfall warnings and grocery carts.

Last weekend I found myself at the mall – not to worry, I’m still on my One Year Shopping Challenge, unbelievably enough, with four and a half months to go and I have bought nary an item – but I wanted some compression socks for running. I did enjoy peeking at the window displays and looking at the young girls wandering around, young girls being my fashion barometer. It’s one thing to see items remembered from childhood back in style, but it is, frankly, quite another to see items worn in one’s twenties back in style. It reminds me of the fleeting nature of time; the nineties were actually NOT JUST YESTERDAY, PEOPLE. Crop tops are the thing now, and while I loved them in my step-aerobics youth, I do not feel a woman of my age can really wear them without looking, as they say, like mutton dressed as lamb. What a gross and deplorable saying, and yet, it can accurately describe the feeling I have when I mentally try on today’s styles. Pants with very high waists, distressed and ripped jeans, cropped tops, and the like – these were things I wore in university. I finished grad school twenty years ago this year, TWENTY YEARS. So it only makes sense that they are now on point again but still.

Well, my wardrobe these days basically consists of yoga wear, topped with a cozy sweater and finished off with warm boots. I rarely wear a bra anymore due to the handy shelf bras in yoga tanks, which is starting to feel like a slippery slope. But even my much-loved lululemon is reflecting the styles of the nineties. For one thing, they now sell what is called a Belt Bag but is, in actuality, a fanny pack. The day I wear a fanny pack is the day I die, but there you go. Also for sale: the scrunchie. The SCRUNCHIE. I did love a good scrunchie back in the day, but I don’t think it’s mine to revisit. It reminds me of the Sex and the City episode where Carrie criticizes her boyfriend for writing a novel featuring a woman wearing a scrunchie, which seems like a very specific detail for a man to write about.

Ack! I just browsed a fashion site and came across a photo of a young woman wearing a floral dress with ankle boots, which was half my wardrobe, back the nineties. I guess I’ll just go back to researching my wrinkle creams and I’ll tell you about my amazing vegetarian glucosamine supplements another day. xo

God bless mathematical algorithms

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“We are gearing up for the saddest week of the year!” the radio DJ said this morning, which startled me: is it Blue Monday already? I guess that’s what happens when January 1 is a Monday; god bless mathematical algorithms.

For all that, I am not blue today. Last week, a combination of the frigid temperatures and impending ladies’ holiday put me at Low Level Crabbiness, With A Tendency To Spike To Full-Blown Crabbiness. Today, though, feels fine, even though HOO BOY are there a lot of reasons to be blue these days. I mean…I will not go into them all so as to not depress us all but there are people out there who are not toddlers who are voluntarily eating Tide pods. I saw a small video clip, from Tide, of Rob Gronkowski telling people not to eat Tide pods and I laughed, people, I laughed. Then I found out that people are actually eating Tide pods and my laughter turned into a blank stare of confusion and disbelief.

Let’s not dwell on this, though, because I am assuming this is a very small portion of the population who looks at laundry detergent as a delicious, delicious snack. I’m trying not to see this as a reaction to the Crazytown Bananapants presidency and the appalling news that changes every five minutes. Probably it’s a weird way to get high. Don’t tell me, I don’t really want to know. Or do I? No, I don’t.

I don’t know why or how this happened, but I have had the old 1980s ParticipAction theme song going through my head ALL DAY LONG. This is even worse than the time I had the old Channel 2&7 Hello Calgary theme song stuck in my head. Hello Calgary, hello Calgaaaarrrryyyy…channels 2&7 love you! Well, if you’re feeling nostalgic and would like to see some very fit people clad in nothing but shorts and roller skates, or leotards and tights, click here for the old commercial. If you let it keep going you will be treated to some Body Breaks with Hal Johnson and Joanne Macleod, but I don’t recommend going down that particular rabbit hole unless you have some time on your hands.

Okay, I admit that I did watch the one on Airplane Exercise. Hey, what can I say, I have varicose veins and they become painful with air travel (yes, again) (I know) (apparently it’s rare) (I’m a unique snowflake/ unicorn). I do wear my super-sexy, full length beige support stockings while travelling, in case you’re wondering about how glamourous it is to be me.

Speaking of high fashion, do you people have any idea what is going on in this world? The fanny pack is back, I repeat, the fanny pack is back. It is now called a Belt Bag which, a rose by any other name, etc. As well: scrunchies. Scrunchies are back in style, so I guess my high school self should have saved all those little puffy bands that I colour-coordinated with all my outfits. I could be the hippest mom around! All I need are my old high school jeans with big belts and giant t-shirts all tucked in and I’ll be set!

Well, they always say you can never go back again, and so I shall leave the scrunchies to the next generation. Or will I? I’m due for a Nicole’s Favourite Things so…no. No, I just can’t go back there.

Happy Monday, lovely readers, if you’re feeling blue know that I’m sending you virtual hugs and cookies. xo

Well, it’s January

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“Well, it’s January.” This seems to be my answer to everything lately, from the wildly-fluctuating weather to my own general idiocy. Well, idiocy may be a strong term for “writing down the dog’s veterinary appointment on the wrong day” but here we are. I had my entire morning planned around Barkley’s appointment. I had called a few weeks ago, specified the necessity of a Thursday morning appointment, and yesterday, when I bundled myself up and hauled us both over to the clinic, discovered that the appointment was for the next Thursday. Sadly, that time was not going to work for me so now today at 3:30 is my new time; an inferior time, if I do say so myself. Friday afternoon is no time for an appointment. Friday afternoon is no time for anything except collapsing in exhaustion from the week’s travails. However, I could see no real alternative, given my schedule over the next few weeks. No sooner than I had arranged this with the receptionist and arrived back home, I received a phone call from the vet clinic, reminding me of my appointment tomorrow at 3:30. But I just SAW you twenty minutes ago to arrange this is something I did not say to the young receptionist, instead circling “Barkley 3:30!!!” several times in pink ink on my calendar. Mental note: do not miss this appointment.

Well, at least it’s Friday, and as soon as I return from the vet I am cracking open a bottle of wine and grabbing myself a funnel. No, a glass. A glass.

When I went scissors-shopping this week, it took everything in my power not to immediately spend thousands of dollars on beautiful kitchenware at The Bay. Did you know Kate Spade has a whole kitchenware collection? I spent a lot of time looking at the beautiful dinnerware and oversized wine glasses, mentally picturing myself sipping from a 500 mL wine glass and eating dinner off a “in good taste” plate. Then I saw Le Creuset bakeware and, my goodness, how did I get out of there alive? Well, I remembered that I DO have lovely glassware (not 500 mL ones though) and I DO have lovely Denby dinnerware, and almost every single piece is chipped, because of children. Children, nay, TEENAGERS and fancy dinnerware are not really compatible and so I felt powerful and strong, if regretful, as I left with only scissors and two tiny cut-price Christmas ornaments.

Relatedly, I mused aloud to my husband at the end of December, wondering if I should cut back on my wine consumption for the New Year. He looked at me with what can only be described as a mix of horror and bewilderment, as he asked me why, why in the world I would think about doing that. Um, okay! Go grab the corkscrew, honey! After all, Santa did bring me some nice bottles for my stocking.

Santa also brought me this sweater, and I think it’s so cute and cozy that I just have to share:

It’s like wearing a bathrobe over all my clothes and it is just the best thing ever. Especially since this was the temperature when I dropped off the kids yesterday morning.

Brrrr!

Filing this also under “January Idiocy” is what I shall always refer to as the Music Incident. Monday afternoon I was subbing a yoga class for a lovely group of ladies. It wasn’t the first time I’d subbed for them, so I knew what they liked: a mix of gentle and more vigorous postures, a strong standing sequence followed by some slower, relaxed seated asana. They also seemed to enjoy the instrumental playlists that I had used for them in the past. I chose one of my favourites, “Peaceful Piano” for the class. Now, Peaceful Piano is a very long playlist and I have always played it from the beginning, so I confess that I had not heard every song on it. I put the playlist on shuffle and enjoyed some of the gorgeous music.

As the students went into savasana, the song changed. My mental process went something like this:

This song sounds familiar. Why do I know this song?

I’m feeling kind of agitated. Why am I so agitated?

Where is this song from?

Oh my god, it’s from Game of Thrones. This is Game of Thrones! This is the song that played right before Cersei blew everything up.

Oh my god, I’m playing a death song for savasana. A DEATH SONG FOR THE CORPSE POSE.

I wonder if anyone here watches Game of Thrones. 

I seemed to be the only person reliving (SPOILER ALERT) the death and destruction of King’s Landing and the suicide of Tommen, so I guess all is well. But whew, what a week. How many hours until I’m home from that vet appointment?

Tis the season to start shopping

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I know many of you loathe November with the fire of a thousand suns, and for those of you I offer you a big hug and also the not-really-news that it is already half over! It feels like it was just Halloween, just a day or two ago, and here we are, less than six weeks away from Christmas.

I officially finished my Christmas shopping yesterday; it’s the one task I like to accomplish early so as to not worry about the mall, or, more often, shipping. I will confess that the vast majority of my shopping is done online, because really, what could be easier? Click click click, and boxes show up on my doorstep. However, sometimes a trip to the mall is necessary, which is what I did last week, to pick up a few special gifts. It’s still early enough in the season that no one was road raging in the parking lot and the customer service people were not yet in the depths of despair; on that note, don’t forget to be nice to the people working customer service. It’s a hell of a job this time of year.

Digression: I have become obsessed – OBSESSED – with PC Points, to the point where I get really excited every week to view my new offers. Sometimes they are great – 200 points per dollar spent on cauliflower, 400 points for red wine vinegar – but often they are nothing I would ever buy, which is more disappointing to me than it probably should be. However, I am avidly collecting my points and, like my Type A personality might indicate, I try to be super-efficient and collect as many as possible while not going off my actual grocery list. It’s like a linear algebra equation!

Anyway, I was involved in a conversation regarding such things, along with in-store savings, and a woman I don’t really know said When a cashier says “you saved $25 today!” I say “No, I spent $200, YOU’RE WELCOME.” This person has clearly never worked customer service: a) cashiers usually have a script that they need to follow, in order to keep their jobs, and b) wow, why would you be so rude? I invite such people to spend one day working customer service; it’s no picnic. Too long, didn’t read, BE NICE, PEOPLE.

The past two weeks have felt weird and a bit hazy; I think it’s due to the time change and our sudden plunge into darkness. No, I know it’s theoretically the same amount of daylight, minus the several minutes of daylight we lose each day at this dark time of year, just shifted, but when the sun sets before five o’clock and it’s pitch black when I’m making dinner and I know there are still five weeks left before things start to get lighter, a little bit, well, it’s disconcerting.The last few days have been foggy and ice-crystally and the sky was the same greyish-white as the ground, and it was a bit gloomy. The hoar frost was pretty but that was the only visually redeeming quality.

Bringing a little bit of joy to the gloomy day was my afternoon spent finishing my shopping yesterday. No, I didn’t go to the mall, I visited my good friend who is an artisan and she makes the most beautiful malas and bracelets you have ever seen. She custom made a bracelet for someone on my Christmas list and I was just blown away by the craftsmanship and beauty of it, and all of her wares.

Gorgeous, right? She also has something called The Goddess Collection, and you can find her on Etsy right here. She’s a dear friend of mine and I’d love it if you’d check it out or let anyone who might be interested know about it.

The new Book Fair Lady at the elementary school (HI HAYDEE) had sent me a message about the fair going on right now; the first one without me since 2009! I was happy to hear that she answered “The posters are five dollars” several thousand times; the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Today was Parent-Teacher Conferences, and there was a book fair being held at the same time! The boys perused the offerings after the conferences and I spied this:

EACH. ONLY $5.00 EACH! We had this exact same sign in the elementary school and yet it did nothing to quell the steady stream of questions regarding the monetary value of each poster. However, once one gets to junior high, the comprehension skills must be more advanced; I did not hear any such queries during my short time at the fair.

Strange things are afoot on the internet; The Shoe on the Roof

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Just in case you’ve always wondered what it’s like to live in this meteorological hellscape, on October 28 it was 24 degrees Celsius, and within a week we had a 43 degree temperature drop. It is basically impossible to acclimatize to that kind of temperature swing, and so this is what I look like when preparing for a dog walk:

Except with my head covered.

The bad weather really started on Halloween; it poured rain all afternoon and I despaired for the kids and their costumes. It had mostly let up by 7 pm, but by then, the damage had been done; the Trick or Treat crowd was greatly thinned. My own kids, however, made out like bandits, and we now have a metric tonne of candy in the house, probably to still be here next summer, if the past is any indication of the future. They were also, they said, toasty warm.

At least the snow held off until the next day, but it is a winter wonderland around here now. It’s given me a very festive feeling, and I will say that I am almost entirely done Christmas shopping, with the exception of the calendars I make for grandparents and other relatives; that shall be done this weekend, I think.

One of the things that I vowed to do this year was to read more and be on social media less. So far, so good, and since it’s November, I feel like I can pretty much say that was a New Year’s goal that I achieved. I am on my 72nd book since January 1, which I think is a pretty solid number. Notably, Simon and Schuster Canada sent me a copy of The Shoe on the Roof, and it was a very interesting read. Three homeless men all believe they are the true Messiah, and a psychology grad student decides to cure them of the delusions by bringing them all together; after all, only one can really be a Messiah. What a great thesis topic, he thinks. But the twist is that the student was himself the centre of a study; in fact, his entire childhood was exploited as a study in children’s behaviour, by his father, a renowned psychiatrist. Lots of twists and turns, it was like nothing I’d read before. I recommend it!

But I am not a book-reading robot, and so I do still enjoy my daily fix of social media. It’s a strange, strange world though, and sometimes I see things I wish I hadn’t seen.

Okay, we all know babies’ bums are adorable but…I can’t get behind (heh) this. I’m imagining the scenario in which teenaged children figure out that the table centrepiece is really an imprint of their own derriere. I’m also wondering how many diaper wipes it would take to get that paint off. I’m also…well, I just…you do you, bum imprint people. I’ll just enjoy the “tiny handprints” playgroup crafts of days of yore.

One of the things about Facebook that I like, generally, is that I can see businesses and pages that my friends have liked. I have discovered some sweet yoga sites, some tasty recipes, and some fabulous fashion that way. But then one day something pops up that you cannot un-know.

Will someone please tell me what I’m looking at, here? Actually, maybe don’t.

Is this a sauna? A portable sauna?

 

WHAT IS THIS

While something like this might come in handy for those frigid dog walks, I think I’ll pass.

The World Is A Rich Tapestry

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You guys, it is happening. IT IS HAPPENING. Remember back in 2012, when I predicted we would see a resurgence in the popularity of the names of our mothers’ generation? I have now made the acquaintance of two young women named Barbara and Brenda; these lovely ladies are, I believe, the lead-offs in the trend that we will certainly see unfold over the next fifteen years. Mark my words, Barbara and Brenda will soon be joined by a whole host of Beverlys, Donnas, Corrines, Carols, Lindas, and Susans. IT IS HAPPENING. There is a very good chance that our granddaughters will be Bev and Barb.

Then, thirty years down the road, Bev and Barb will have their own granddaughters, and we will suddenly be swarmed by a sea of Jennifers, Julies, Michelles, Melissas, and, yes, NICOLES.

It is mind-blowing, people. Mind-blowing. Just as mind-blowing as seeing girls wearing pleated, high-waisted, belted shorts with little crop-tops. None of us learn from previous generations, we do not, not one bit*.

* Since the writing of that post, I have fully embraced skinny jeans and their beautiful ability to pair with tall boots. I know that the tide is starting to change, however. I know this because I saw a young woman, named neither Barbara nor Brenda, wearing straight-cut jeans with a belt, loafers, and a cropped top, taking me back to the days of “going dancing” and drinking vodka “slimes” out of a pitcher. Young women are the Indicator Species of fashion, as we know. Bodysuits will not be far off, MARK MY WORDS.

But I digress. One thing that we also do not seem to learn is that some things recur on an annual basis, and every year we see individuals become extremely combative with regards to the desirability or otherwise of these recurring events. For example, for every individual who lives for summer there is another who loathes the heat, for every skiier and snow-lover there is a Reynaud’s syndrome sufferer who dreads the long, cold winter (i.e., me). At this time of year, we see people firmly divided into two camps: those who love all things Pumpkin Spice, and those who do not. And of those who do not, there is a subsection of people who feel the need to disparage and shout from the rooftops how much they hate Pumpkin Spice, and how Pumpkin Spice things need to die in a fire and that Pumpkin Spice is the worst of everything and a harbinger for death by White Walkers. Or something. These are the same people who proclaim loudly that they Hate All Sports while everyone else is enjoying the Super Bowl, or that The Olympics Are A Giant Waste Of Money And Everyone Who Watches Them Are Contributing To The Decline Of Society.

We all know these people. We know, we know, such pleasures in life are just too bourgeois or pedestrian for you, special snowflake that you are. It’s not enough for you to NOT partake, you must mock all those who do. I am not a Pumpkin Spice fan myself, but far be it for me to ruin it for any of you who do love it (Rebecca, enjoy your PSL!) (HI REBECCA). While you’re enjoying your Pumpkin Spice lattes and Oreos and breakfast cereal, I will be over here waiting for MY favourite flavour season – Mint Chocolate. It’s coming.

As Swistle says, Do Not Yuck Another Person’s Yum. (HI SWISTLE). Some of us have the Cilantro Is Delicious gene, and some of us do not, and our differences make the world go ’round. The world is a rich tapestry, people.

Speaking of rich tapestries, I have been on a roll with reading excellent books lately (go read A Man Called Ove! It’s excellent.). One of the things I started doing this year, in a bid to be more like Allison (HI ALLISON), is recording the books that I have read so I can look back on the year, and recommend ones I loved. It’s also a good way to see how much I read in a year – so far I am on book number 59. I have the Calgary Public Library app on my phone, so as soon as I hear of a book recommendation I immediately put it on hold. I love the library. I love how I can read things I wouldn’t want to necessarily buy, and I love exposing myself to different genres. Once in a while, though, I pick up a book that has rave reviews and it turns out to be…how shall I say this…not for me.

I just finished a book that sounded so promising – two estranged sisters, coming together under the mysterious circumstances of their missing sister and the murder of one of their husbands – it was touted as a thriller and a mystery and I guess it was. If you really like books about the abduction, torture, rape, and eventual murder of young girls, then this is the book for you! If not, well, maybe learn from my mistake and don’t read Pretty Girls. I was somewhat traumatized after finishing it – I kept reading in the hopes that it would get better and be less violent, and IT DID NOT – and so I was happy to pick up the book I had put on hold a while ago, Difficult Women by Roxane Gay. It is a collection of short stories, and the very first one featured the abduction, rape, and sex slavery of two preteen sisters. So that wasn’t the best for my state of mind.

However, I would still very much recommend Difficult Women as it is a very compelling series of short stories; even the first one is not graphic, not really. I have had four books on hold suddenly all come in, and the next one I am reading is a “light British novel about life around a bookshop” so I am really hoping for no details about abduction, torture, rape, or murder.

Red wine and cowboy boots

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Well, hello there, Friday. You beautiful thing, come give mama a kiss.

I desperately try not to wish my life away but I have been looking forward to today. It hasn’t been a long week, not really. If anything, I feel like time is rushing by like one of those super speed videos; I can hardly believe that June is past the halfway mark, 2017 is almost half over, and life is just going by quickly. All the same, I have been looking forward to cracking open a bottle of wine tonight.

Speaking of which, last night I was in Superstore, which is my wont on evenings that the kids are in karate. Usually at that time – which is non-negotiable for me – it is a disaster zone. Things are unstocked, empty cardboard half-boxes sitting on shelves which previously contained my much-desired items. But not last night, dear reader, NOT LAST NIGHT. Last night I got every last thing on my list, including a three-pack of Romaine hearts, which they NEVER have in stock when I shop. I got everything I wanted and in record time, so I thought I’d pop into the liquor store to grab a bottle of wine.

That’s when I saw it: Wayne Gretzky Cab/ Shiraz, on sale for $13.77 a bottle. The friendly man working there asked if he could help me, and I just said “I’d like a case, please.” In and out, and then tonight I will be able to enjoy that delicious wine and revel in my (relative) thriftiness.

It’s been a busy week though, and I had a dentist appointment, which I always dread. It’s the scaling that gets me, every time. That scraping noise just gives me the chills. I floss daily and brush my teeth several times a day, and scaling is still a torturous process for me. Maybe it’s the red wine.

Honestly, given the choice I’d take a Pap test over dental scaling, even with my ham-handed doctor searching for my elusive cervix. The last time I had a test I endured what felt like hours of poky cervical torture, and then a week later the office called to say that they’d made a mistake with the sample and I had to come back for another test. I nearly cried. But cervical health – like dental health – is no joke, and so off I went, only to find out that the doctor needed to use a totally different speculum, for my special-snowflake lady-parts. “Remember to ask for the LARGE speculum next time!” my doctor cheerfully said, which was a hit to my already-beaten-up feminine mystique.

I’d still take that over scaling. However, no one wants to end up with a mouth full of dental issues, and so I shall soldier on.

Today was the elementary school’s Stampede Breakfast, our last one. I got all kitted up in my annual cowgirl wear; I was responsible for manning the syrup station. It was literally the easiest volunteer hour I’ve ever spent. I kind of wished I’d volunteered for that every year.

If you’ve ever wanted to dress up for the Stampede, or if you are not in Calgary and you – for reasons unknown – need Western-style wear, I refer you to my post of yesteryear, entitled How To Dress For The Calgary Stampede Without Looking Like An Idiot. Since the writing of that, I have actually purchased cowboy boots; I bought them last year for the Zac Brown concert. They were breathtakingly expensive, and so I justified the cost by promising myself I would wear them often and incorporate them in a cute way into my wardrobe. They are, without a doubt, some of the most comfortable footwear I have ever had on my tootsies, and so I thought that would be easy.

I have worn them exactly zero times since then. Well, except for today. I guess today really brought down the average-wear cost. At this rate I will be wearing them in the nursing home, in fifty years or so, when it’s Country Western Theme Day, just to justify the cost of purchase. I’ll wear them with my old-lady beaded and fringed cowgirl dress, my lipstick bleeding into the lines around my mouth. It’s going to be great!

Some people think of nursing homes as sad places they never want to end up in, but in my opinion, it sounds kind of nice. I mean, in fifty years do I really want to be worrying about my hot water heater or who’s going to mow the lawn? No! I do not! I want to be concerned with making my macrame owls or whatever happens during craft time; I want to have someone else make my meals and wash the floors. Bloom where you’re planted is my motto; I want to be like that 98-year-old yoga teacher when I grow up. With red wine and comfortable cowboy boots.