Horse With No Name. For the past thirty-five years or so, my younger brother and I have had a running April Fool’s joke, the punch line of which involves a dead horse. I cannot even begin to explain to you the nuances of said joke, but nary an April 1st passes by without one or the other of us referencing a dead horse.
This hilarity is at the edge of my limit when it comes to April Fool’s. I hate jokes that come at other people’s expense, and so I very much dislike pranks, which often feel mean-spirited and unkind. Also, they can backfire. I felt vindicated in my general loathing of pranks when a friend told me about removing the filling from Oreo cookies and replacing it with toothpaste, thinking her kids would immediately spit out the concoction and laugh at her antics. Instead, the kids ate all the tampered cookies. I’m no doctor, but probably we shouldn’t be consuming that much toothpaste? And I could see myself falling for this as I love the taste of mint. Anyway. April Fool’s! I find it SO dumb at best, and potentially hazardous at worst.
Up On Cripple Creek. I was telling an elderly couple about my leash mishap and fall, and the gentleman asked which side I fell on. I assumed he was talking about what side of my body, but he meant what side of the pathway; i.e., the creek side or the non-creek side. I fell on the non-creek side.
After he asked that, I started to have some weird post-mildly-traumatic stress thinking. I could really visualize an alternate scenario in which I was on the creek side of the path, and ended up tumbling down the very steep bank into the icy cold water, breaking bones and drowning my phone. Like, I could really SEE it, and now I can’t unsee it, and I am guiding Rex to the opposite side of the path at all times because WHAT IF. And THEN I started seeing a scenario in which I was being watched and filmed, because of course people are interested in the fascinating and action-packed way Rex and I plod along every morning, and the video of me flying through the air and landing in the creek, hitting everything possible on the way down, becomes a viral sensation and I turn into Pete from Mad Men.
Feeling All Right. Other than this weird mental imagery, I seem to have recovered from my fall. In other words, my sitz bone is no longer bruised and painful. Happily, my plantar fasciitis seems to be abating as well, after three weeks of intense foot stretching, ball rolling, and icing, along with a steady rotating diet of Advil and Tylenol. It probably would have gotten better quickly if I stayed off it entirely, but we all know that’s not going to happen. I cannot even imagine the mental state I would be in without my daily constitutional, not to mention Rex.
Rex does have a bed – several beds, in fact – but when I am reading on the couch he wedges himself between it and the coffee table. I was marvelling to the guys about how calm and mellow Rex is, and they looked at me like I had just eaten a shoe. After a brief silence, they all started to talk at once about how Rex is NOT a calm and mellow dog, and that I only think that because we walk 5-7 km daily prior to 9 am. I suppose this is correct. Again I started imagining alternate scenarios in which I shatter bones by falling into the creek and Rex DOESN’T get his daily walk and omg you guys, I must stop thinking of this alternate universe.
Boogie Shoes. Part of my plantar fasciitis recovery process has been wearing sandals in the house, as opposed to my usual bare or sock feet. I think it’s really helpful and also, I cannot help but feel like the guy wearing crocs and socks.
At least I’m not leaving the house like this.
Rich Girl. My friend Hannah (HI HANNAH) sent me this:
Because I am a woman of great privilege, I texted her this photo from Superstore.
LOOK WHO WON THE LOTTERY Hannah replied, because I am a Fancy Rich Lady who buys Mini-Eggs and who will be making them into little nests today.
Also, I cannot think of the word “nest” without thinking about the couple’s therapy scene in Old School, where Frank talks about panties and then, when his wife makes a noise of disgust, says “I thought…I thought we were in the Trust Tree, are we not? In the nest?”
I hope you all have a lovely weekend, and that you can splash out on Mini-Eggs or similarly ridiculously priced Easter treats. xo
I was at the library the other day, and the woman at the checkout very warmly thanked me for “bringing in my library card today.” My “you’re welcome?” must have sounded exactly the way I felt, and so she started to explain that not everyone brings their cards in, and pointed me to a little sign, heretofore unperceived by me. The sign gave numerous helpful hints as to how to remember to bring your library card to the library, such as putting your card with other important items, like a credit card or house keys. I tried to imagine a scenario in which I strong-arm the librarians into lending me books without a card. It’s one of those problems that I never would have guessed was a problem.
I met a former sex worker while in line at Superstore. I have many interesting conversations while grocery shopping, but this was the most fascinating. The woman was about my age, with shortish light brown hair, large glasses, a stoutish figure, and a fairly plain face. She was wearing a long down vest overtop a hoodie. In other words, she looked just like anyone you might see shopping at Superstore, and the only difference was she had a very fancy-looking bag made out of fur. She informed me it was from a fur coat given to her by a client when she was eighteen, but it didn’t fit her anymore, so she had part of it turned into a purse. It was a reminder to her to be grateful that she could pay for groceries without turning tricks anymore. Actually, her exact words were It used to be $125 for a suck and a fuck, but things are more expensive now. I’d have to do a lot more to pay for this! Grocery costs, am I right? Honestly, it was kind of inspiring. She wasn’t ashamed of her past, she did what she had to do to support her children, and now she had moved on in life.
Speaking of gratitude, today is a very special day! It is not only our 24th wedding anniversary, but it is also our older son’s 22nd birthday. It’s also Rex’s fifth birthday, and honestly, that is a lot of things in one day. Since Mondays are our son’s busiest day, we celebrated yesterday with a dinner out and, of course, cake.
What a joy to have this spiky-haired fellow in my life, what a gift he gave me when he made me a mom.
My husband and I have never really celebrated our anniversary on the actual day – this is a result of spending one’s second anniversary on the labour and delivery floor. That said, we have many exciting plans for this, our twenty-fifth year of marriage. My friend Laura (HI LAURA) recently discussed the unique features of long marriages, saying growing old with the love of your life is both an honor and marathon of patience, and there is a beauty in it that you never expected, and I agree.
I read The Five People You Meet In Heaven in 2003, and even though we had been married only a year at that time, a paragraph stood out and stayed with me. Marguerite said something about the bikini bathing suits the young girls were wearing and how she would never have the nerve to wear such a thing. Eddie said the girls were lucky, because if she did the men would not look at anyone else. And even though by this point Marguerite was in her mid-40s and her hips and thickened and a web of small lines had formed around her eyes, she thanked Eddie gratefully and looked at his crooked nose and wide jaw. The waters of their love fell again from above and soaked them as surely as the sea that gathered at their feet.
It’s one of the simplest, but most touchingly beautiful paragraphs about marriage I have come across.
Of course, I know many of you will wonder how we celebrated Rex, and I will merely reiterate what I say at Christmas: every day is Christmas for Rex, except actual Christmas. He is a creature who revels in sameness and predictability, and is much less happy when his daily schedule is disrupted. For such a big galoompa, he has an incredibly delicate digestive system, and he is also a fussy eater with a long memory. In other words, should we give him a very special treat, even if he can eat it without resulting in my grimly cleaning up after him and regretting all my choices, he will expect it every single day from here on out, and is likely to hunger strike when given his regular food. So we celebrate Rex by giving him the love and regular treats he gets every day. Every day is his birthday! Except his birthday.
Weekly Reading
If last week’s reading theme was Straight White Men, then this week’s is Grief. I am grieving that I actually read the entirety of one of the books, let me tell you. I should have DNF’d it.
The Unexpected Journey. In the interest of full disclosure, I must say that I picked this up thinking it was a memoir. It is NOT. It is a prescriptive manual on caretaking for individuals with various forms of dementia, and I believe that there would be good takeaways for anyone caring for terminally or chronically ill people. There are some very sobering statistics regarding the toll this takes on caregivers’ health, and some very encouraging words about accepting help and caring for oneself while caring for others. It’s an easy-to-read book, very simply and clearly laid out, and I can see this being a very good resource for anyone who is a caregiver, particularly of a person with cognitive decline. It wasn’t right for me, but it could be very useful for someone else.
How To Lose Your Mother. I read Fear of Flying years ago and I remember exactly two things from it: a lot of chlamydia, and the “zipless fuck.” The author of this book asks us to imagine being the only child of Erica Jong, the woman who brought us the concept of the zipless fuck, where two strangers just come together and fuck, no strings, and almost no words. The author also says that she has no compunction – none! – in writing about her mother, since her mother wrote about her for her entire life. And this is where I have a problem, not with the tit-for-tatness of this book, but because the author states that she loves her mother MORE than a daughter has EVER loved a mother, and that the two of them are closer than ANYONE could EVER be. Those statements are followed by what is quite honestly a grim and disturbing account of life with a dementia-addled narcissist. I don’t blame her for her resentment and bitterness; by all accounts Jong-Fast had a very unhappy childhood with a neglectful and distant mother, one more interested in exploiting all her relationships than having loving ones. But the details of her mother now – SHE IS STILL ALIVE – are awful. Jong-Fast writes about her mother losing control of her bowels in bed, never showering, and drinking all day long. The best-case scenario that I can think of is that Jong-Fast needed money to keep her mother in what she calls The Most Expensive Nursing Home In The World, and so she wrote this gross and mean memoir to get some cold hard cash. The worst part about this book is the writing. It is very poorly written. It reads like a collection of unedited Morning Pages. The sentences are jerky and abrupt, the story, such as it is, is disjointed, and it is SO repetitive and full of name-drops. If we had a drink every time she wrote “since I got sober” or dropped a big name, we would all be hospitalized for alcohol poisoning before the second chapter. The is an affront to every aspiring author out there who is struggling to get published. This is the problem! Nepotism is the problem! AND I CONTRIBUTED TO THIS PROBLEM BY READING THIS ABSOLUTE GARBAGE. Well, I did it, so you don’t have to.
Promise Me Sunshine. I needed a palate cleanser after the last book, and this delivered! This was such a sweet and heartwarming read; a romance between two people who are learning to live again after the loss of loved ones. It is a truly lovely musing on the nature of grief, and how we can lose someone beloved but also keep their memory in our hearts. The characters were charming and well-written, and the whole book was – despite, or maybe because of the sadness – delightful and warm.
I have a exciting and social week ahead of me, friends, including a visit tonight from one of my dearest friends! I hope you have a beautiful week, and I hope spring is springing for you. xo
In yoga, we try to cultivate what is known as “beginner’s mind,” which means that we want to approach our practices with openness and a sense of curiosity, letting go of expectations of what we “should” be doing, and focusing on what we are doing. In this way we can experience growth and mindfulness, without preconceived notions, judgement, or ego getting in the way. For example, just because I could do this in 2012 doesn’t mean I should be able to do it now:
My yoga practice looks much different these days, but it is still nourishing and joyful.
My friend Tara (HI TARA) sent me this Facebook memory from 2009:
No context needed, really, given that on that date I had two preschoolers and a puppy in the house, the days are long but the years are short, etcetera. This little gem explains a lot of what was going on in my house at the time, and it also made me think how incredible children’s minds are, and how their view of the world is so full of wonder and curiosity. My friend Pearl (HI PEARL) wrote about how, instead of “living every day as if it’s your last,” we should live every day as if it’s your FIRST. It reminded me of how I spent hours, literally hours every week just walking around the neighbourhood with the boys and standing there staring at different cars or trees, because they were fascinated with them. The whole world is fresh and new from a child’s point of view. There was a mechanic who lived at the end of our block; he had many cars in his yard that were in various states of disrepair, and the boys would spend HOURS peeking through the fence to look at the cars. HOURS. Occasionally there would be construction or demolition in our neighbourhood, and we could eat up an entire afternoon just watching it. There were always rocks to pick up and house decorations to notice, there were puddles to splash in and sticks to brandish, making me concerned that someone was going to lose an eye. We spent so much time doing what would appear to be nothing from the outside observer.
This was a time of my life where I was very in the moment, even if my mind occasionally wandered while the kids splashed in snowmelt. I was very present, in large part because smartphones weren’t around then, and there was nothing to do but watch the kids at play. I would like to remember it as a time of great mindfulness and presence, and I do, but truthfully I remember it as being often very lonely.
Every time my life has changed and I’ve entered a new era, I’ve been a bit nervous, worried about making new friends. The years before my children were in elementary school were lonely ones, particularly when they were babies. I did have friends, but scheduling playdates with everyone’s naptimes and preschool and the inevitable viruses that all the children had in perpetuity was difficult, and even when we did get together, conversation was constantly interrupted by said children. I went to a weekly playgroup but friendships never got past the surface level. Some of it, I think, was the inability to converse uninterrupted, but some of it was weird parenting time that we were in. Gen X women, it seemed, reacted to their own free range childhoods by becoming total weirdos when it came to parenting, especially in those early years. One had only to bring cupcakes with pink frosting to a soccer game to garner judgement and disdain. A certain kind of conversation about breast or bottle feeding could drive a wedge between two women, and bad feelings could fester forever.
Friends truly do come into your life for a reason, season, or lifetime. I have been so lucky to have found a circle of women here who are the epitome of encouraging, of lifting up other women. This weekend, they gave me a party, and I am still so warm and fuzzy from it. I mean, would you look at this cake?
My friend Sandi (HI SANDI), who was the beta reader that gave me the title Inhale Exhale, had this VEGAN cake made! Isn’t it incredible?
Can you even? Can you even believe this? It was beautiful.
In my Ask Me Anything, Anna asked how I met my wonderful new friend group, and the truth is that I was very, very fortunate (HI ANNA). I had been friends with Sam, hostess with the mostess (HI SAMMI) since 2014, and when I moved here, she threw a girls’ night to introduce me to some of her friends. Then some of those friends introduced me to their friends, and now we have a circle. We are all in a similar stage of life and we are all open to meeting and getting together and doing fun things. It’s a real gift; I was very worried that I would be lonely here, but it’s been the opposite, as you can see. (HI SQUAD).
Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked what is an absolute deal breaker in a friendship and I’ve been thinking about that since she asked it, months ago. I would be much more likely to reseat the theatre than to dramatically end a friendship, to be honest. I mean, if someone was a toxic mean bigot, that would be a deal-breaker, but I probably wouldn’t be friends with such a person in the first place. I have had friendships fade away, and I have been ghosted, but if someone has time for me, generally speaking I’m going to have time for them.
It’s interesting that the word “friend” is such a wide umbrella term for me. In the same way that I use “love” to describe both my feelings for my children and for Aperol spritzes, I use “friend” very liberally. Former schoolmates who I haven’t seen for decades but keep up with on Facebook, a random woman I met at a blog conference in 2013, the people I talk to briefly every morning on the walking path, all of these people I consider my friends. But on the other end of the spectrum are the lifelong friends who have seen me through every iteration, and loved me all the same, even during my Jim Morrison poetry phase. There are also the local friends, my squad, who I see regularly and miss desperately when I don’t talk to them for three days. And then there are the long distance friends who make an effort to keep in touch and who I might not see for years at a time, but when we do it’s like no time at all has passed.
Of course, there are all of you, my long-distance blog friends and readers, my pen pals. Without all of you, these words would just be floating off into the abyss, and so I’m grateful for all of you.
Weekly Reading
Just one book this week but it was a big one, clocking in at almost 500 pages.
Homeseeking. This is an epic story that follows two people over a six-decade span, from their childhood home in Shanghai to Hong Kong, Taiwan, and the US. This is the kind of book that you want to read with references – I learned so much about Chinese history, the Chinese diaspora, relations with Taiwan, and multiple languages. The author makes a very interesting stylistic choice, telling the story from both points of view but in different timelines. She also changes the names subtly to reflect the different languages being spoken (Shanghainese, Taiwainese, Mandarin, Cantonese, English). It’s a love story but it’s also a story of devastating choices and occurrences. I’m not going to spoil anything, but I did wonder what would have happened to the male character had he stayed in Shanghai; I think he would have been killed in the Cultural Revolution. I learned a lot reading this, and I’m really glad I read it.
Happy March, everyone! One of my dear new friends just turned 50 yesterday, and I’m so excited for her to enter this new decade. Thirty years ago I kind of thought 50 was the end of the line, so to speak, and even fifteen years ago I thought it would be a wrenching time of Landslide feelings. Now I realize it is a decade for reinvention and revival, and the empty – or semi-empty – nest has allowed me space to really cultivate and bring richness to my relationships, with friends and with my marriage, and also with my adult children. Spring is springing here in the Okanagan Valley, and I am feeling the renewal. I plan to spend this month, and hopefully all to come, with the goal of viewing the world with a beginner’s mind, with curiosity and awareness. The buds on the trees are swelling, the perennials are greening, the grey and clouds of winter have lifted, and I spent time yesterday weeding. It’s happening! I hope you all have a beautiful, lamb-like first week of March. xo
I love looking around other people’s houses, and I love seeing all the little touches that make a house a home: photos and artwork, knickknacks and book stacks, colour and materials and furniture. I particularly love it during the holiday season when I think homes reflect the personalities of the inhabitants. My personal theme for holiday decor is Nostalgic Festive Chaos. Nothing need match, and indeed, it’s preferred if it doesn’t!
My tree in particular is a historical record of our family. We add at least one ornament every year, something that speaks in some way to the year that has passed. When the kids were younger, my parents would give each of them an ornament that would also reflect their interests that year, which means we have everything on our tree from Lightning McQueen and Thomas the Tank Engine to Roman Reigns as a snowman, the latter of which careful readers might be able to discern in the photo above.
Every ornament has a story; sometimes the stories are simply that I took my preschoolers on an outing to Walmart and we ended up with stuffed decorative snowmen, and sometimes the stories are more involved and emotional.
The Santa in the middle came from Rome, the white and red ball in the very bottom right-hand corner came from Tofino the year of the Vancouver Olympics, and the ball beside the snowman came from my best friend Jen (HI JEN).
This year’s new ornaments came from a ceramics factory tour in Fes: the goat and the hand of Fatima. My friend Sandi (HI SANDI) brought me that snowman with a Scottish cow from her trip to Scotland; she has the same one, so when I look at the ornament I feel extra connected to her. My sweet friend Michelle (HI MICHELLE) sent me the handmade gnome, my friend Sharyl’s husband (HI SHARYL) carved the little snowman in the bottom left corner, and the Clue ornament came from my parents, after many, many games of Clue with the boys at their house one summer. Each of the four snow globes has a family member’s name on it, and the narwhal was our ornament from 2020, because I could not bear to have anything on the tree that reminded me of masks or Covid or isolation. A narwhal seemed much the better choice! Bye Buddy! Hope you find your dad!
One of the most marvellous things about having children is that their personalities are all their own. One of my sons dutifully hangs all his childhood craft ornaments, most notably the kindergarten photo of him in a Santa hat mounted on a CD and surrounded by glitter, but he puts them on the very back of the tree, unperceived by anyone. The other son insists on having his preschool angel in the most visible spot on the tree. Every year we laugh at it, because the face. The face is like something out of a horror movie. This year it’s next to our Barkley ornament, and close to Bob Ross, even if it is as unartistic as can be. I love how different my boys are in this respect. It’s like the New Year’s that they came home from the same party: one of them was the designated driver, who made sure everyone got home safely, and the other one was missing his shirt.
Twenty-five years ago, my husband and I were visiting his parents and I gathered these gigantic pine cones from this very property, so it feels very full-circle to have them on the table in this house. I have displayed them in this bowl for twenty-five Christmases now.
I have had this Nativity scene for even longer; I bought the figures in Mexico in 1997, and every year setting up the creche is an event. The gnome in the background was given to me by my friend Sammi (HI SAMMI) on the first Christmas we lived here, and behind the creche is a bowl of rocks and driftwood from a long-ago trip to Vancouver Island, which is displayed year round, and to which I add some ornaments from my husband’s childhood. I have to be careful though, because ornaments from the 60s are VERY fragile. I have, sadly, shattered a few accidentally.
In my last office Christmas party before resigning, the executive assistant to the CEO had made – by hand – one of these felt snowmen for every one of the 150 people at the party. The work that went into that astounds me, but then, I am unable to even sew on a button, as evidenced by the missing buttons on these fellows. Buttonless or not, I display them every year in honour of my former career and for the tireless woman who always went above and beyond in every way. The vase and candlesticks were wedding gifts from my husband’s company, and I like to fill the former with ornaments that are missing hooks or are otherwise unsuitable for the tree.
I had many worries when we moved into this house two years ago, and one of the most consuming worries was where are we going to hang the stockings. I definitely had better things to worry about than not having a mantel, however, I will say that I am pleased with this stocking placement. The low-key Advent calendar was bought on one of those I must get out of the house with preschoolers trip to Walmart, to ceremoniously count down to Christmas.
Last, but definitely not least in this tour of Nostalgic Festive Chaos is this pair of candles that I purchased from London Drugs in 1999 for our new apartment. The snowman has a bite taken out of his hat, courtesy of my then-teething older son, when he was eight months old.
Speaking of bites and chaos, this weekend was our Annual Gingerbread Decorating.
Weekly Reading
HOLD ONTO YOUR HATS. This week’s list is CHAOS.
Wild Dark Shore. Wow, what an ending! There are so many twists in this book and I didn’t see ANY of them coming! My friend Suzanne (HI SUZANNE), who loved this book enormously, warned me nervously that it is “dystopian-adjacent” and it IS. It is just teetering on the edge of dystopian which, of course, is something I avoid at all costs. Why, though? Suzanne asked me what it is about dystopian novels that are a big NOPE for me, and I really had to think about it. What is it? I think it’s the despair and the futuristic feel. I also think that climate-change dystopian novels – of which this is one – give me anticipatory anxiety. The thought that this COULD happen is really, really scary for me and I’d rather not read about it. HOWEVER. Like she said – and I agree – this is more dystopian-ADJACENT, and if the story was not so compelling and the writing so beautiful, I probably would have abandoned it. The story itself, and the message of a family fighting for each other, and the hope that goes into just living when the world around you is being destroyed, was a message that I really liked. The twists and turns were also so well done! So while this is a book that is upsetting in idea – people taking care of a seed bank off the coast of Antarctica, seeds that are being saved for the end of the world as we know it – the story itself was both beautiful and thrilling.
The Face on the Milk Carton. Another one from my friend Suzanne (HI SUZANNE, again) who had read this with her daughter. What happens when a girl recognizes her younger self as a “missing child” on the side of a milk carton? Was she kidnapped? Memories start to surface for her and she seeks the truth. This is a YA book and I would say it’s for slightly older tweens, as there is a surprising (for me) amount of sex talk between the 15 year old protagonist and her boyfriend. Actually her boyfriend is a bit of a sex pest, which feels accurate. I remember this phenomenon from being a 15 year old girl myself in 1990, when this was published.
Wave. When I read about this book on my friend Julie’s blog (HI JULIE) I thought it was a novel about a woman who, along with her parents, husband, and two small children, was caught in the tsunami in Sri Lanka 2004. She was the only survivor. I was surprised, then, when I picked it up to see it is not a novel but a MEMOIR. And it is very raw, as you can well imagine, the descriptions of actually being swept away and then dealing with the sudden death of all her family members. Eventually the woman goes on to heal, but it is obviously very painful in every way. A remarkable story and one that is devastating.
The Relaxed Woman. I have not felt this way about a book since I read Your Body, Your Best Friend in August 2020. I wondered if this woman and I actually share a brain and, interestingly enough, she is also an Ashtanga yogi and meditation practitioner. Maybe we are long-lost sisters! This incredibly affirming, uplifting, inspirational, and also very smart and well-researched book examines the guilt and shame that we as women are conditioned to feel when we require rest and restoration. It examines the very damaging ideal of “Superwoman,” the woman who can do it all and push through everything in order to be as efficient and productive as possible. It shows that not only is the Superwoman mindset terribly damaging to our personal physical, mental, and emotional health – not to mention our relationships and actual quality of work – but it is also damaging to feminism and women as a whole. When we refuse to take the rest our bodies, minds, and souls need, we are perpetuating this myth that we need to “earn” rest, just like we need to “earn” calories. It’s just wrong. We don’t need to EARN anything, we deserve it just by being humans on this earth. And in fact, we need it. Our bodies need it, our souls need it, our minds need it. This shows how constant “busyness” damages our physical health – including metabolism – and our minds, with brain fog and cognitive decline. The book blends neuroscience and psychology to show – without victim blaming that can often rear its head in these types of books, I’m looking at you, Dr Mate – how to journey towards becoming a Relaxed Woman. There are very practical and gentle suggestions in this book, and if I was a billionaire, I would buy one for every woman on this earth. I am not, sadly, and so I will just buy my own copy and tell everyone about it. I put sticky notes in for reference but then realized the entire book is a sticky note. I have so much more to say about this, but will write a blog post about it – but not until January, because I am RESTING.
Yes, I am resting – I am taking a holiday break and will be back for my annual roundup on New Year’s Eve. Until then, friends, take care of yourselves and I hope you all have a beautiful holiday season. xo
At this time of year when my kids were small, we would read many holiday-themed books, and the favourite of all of ours was The Littlest Christmas Tree, about a tiny tree who despairs of ever becoming a Christmas tree because of his diminutive size.
Eventually the tree is taken by the tree lot man, who is actually a squirrel. “They walked for what seemed like forever, and then suddenly stopped. The man carried the Littlest Tree inside, where it was warm and smelled of yummy things. The Littlest Tree looked around and thought Oh, this must be a home.“
I would pause at that point because the three of us would all be teary-eyed and emotional. This must be a home. I think about that all the time, and to this day both of my sons remind me of it.
One of my goals in life has been to have a home that feels like a home, warm and smelling of yummy things, and I think I have achieved that. My sons told me that our house WAS famous for its smell of baking and general plethora of baked goods, back in the day when it would be swarmed by boys. This is MUCH better than one friend, whose house apparently smelled like garbage, and another, whose house smelled like feet. Well, that latter one had three boys in athletics, so there’s really no getting around that.
Anyway, I do think this is the season for warmth and yummy things, and on that note:
Nicole’s Favourite Things: The “It Was Warm and Smelled of Yummy Things” Edition
It’s Mint Chocolate Season, Motherfuckers
Am I just going to say It’s X Season, Motherfuckers for every single Favourites Thing post going forward? I make no promises but it feels like a pattern. Every fall – or, technically, late summer – the Pumpkin Spice People get all excited, and I am happy for them, but I am not of them. I merely think yes, yes, my pretties, wait until November 1st, when it is MY time to shine. Oh, how I love mint chocolate. I love it in all iterations. I love making mint squares and peppermint bark – both, I should say, are vegan, if that’s something you look for in your holiday treats – I love eating peppermint Lindt and York patties and After Eights and even Chipits mint chips straight out of the bag, in a minty emergency. In my recent Ask Me Anything, San (HI SAN) asked what my favourite ice cream flavour is and, sadly, ice cream is no longer part of my life. Well, non-dairy ice cream is, but I have yet to find my favourite flavour in non-dairy form, namely mint chocolate chip.
No matter. Frozen minty treats are just as good!
Typically, I drink my coffee black. When you drink in excess of fifty cups a week, black is definitely the way to go. However, on weekends I like what I call, when talking to Rex, a little treat-treat, and then I pull out the peppermint mocha non-dairy creamer.
Isn’t that mug adorable? My niece picked it out for me, saying Aunty Nicole loves mugs AND gnomes, we have to get it! It’s true! I DO love both of those things!
Wine Time
Speaking of gnomes, my dear friends Jen and Dom (HI JEN HI DOM) gave me these VERY fancy wine glasses for my birthday. Wine, gnomes, Christmas? ALL OF MY FAVOURITES ROLLED INTO ONE.
It reminded me somewhat of a little friend of my son’s who, for her sixth birthday, declared the party theme to be ROYAL CHRISTMAS TEA PARTY!!! My friend, her mother, thought that was a lot of specificity for a sixth birthday party and yet, the Royal Christmas Tea Party went off without a hitch. For me, my weekly wine time is now Christmas Gnome Wine Party!
Love Makes Little Things Grow
Speaking of gnomes, my friend Joy (HI JOY), who is the actual physical embodiment of her name brought me this:
Isn’t it the cutest? If that wasn’t enough for my off-season growing love, my friend Sandi (HI SANDI) gave me an amaryllis bulb.
Does anyone remember the television show Clifford’s Puppy Days, where the theme song was Love Makes Little Things Grow? If you need a little nostalgic festive cry, there’s your link.
Isn’t She Lovely
For those of you following along with the Saga of the Stand Mixer, here is the beauty that now graces my home. Buddy the Elf, what’s your favourite colour? This! This is my favourite colour although not, obviously, for clothing. Wearing robin-egg blue makes me look corpse-adjacent.
When you have an appliance for a long time, you get used to the way that it works, you know all its little quirks and ways, and then when a new appliance comes along, the difference in functionality is vast. This was like trading in a broken down old Dodge Caravan with wood siding for a Porsche 911. I was absolutely astonished at how well this new mixer works, how efficient and quick it mixes everything together perfectly. It has an attachment that has a SPATULA BUILT IN. It scrapes the bowl ALL BY ITSELF. It is a whole new world for me, friends. It made baking my grandma’s gingersnaps a snap.
Let me tell you, this made our house smell like yummy things, because these are the yummiest cookies around.
Scent of a Cookie-Woman
I have long loved Dove products, and when I saw a set of Limited Edition Sugar Cookie-scented products, I was all in. Marketers know what’s what, let me tell you. They know someone like me is shopping for just a regular product, but then the words Limited Edition jump out, and before you know it, I’m exfoliating and shaving with things that smell like…well, not really sugar cookies. I would never sniff this and say sugar cookies, yes. It’s a pleasant, ginger-forward scent which I do not associate with sugar cookies, but, as mentioned above, I do enjoy it.
Outfit of the Month
I was invited to a festive Sunday afternoon open house, which is a very fun kind of gathering that calls for what I think of as Festive Casual Fashion. I had a perfect outfit for it, but before I get to that, let me tell you about the two remarkable things that happened at said party.
First, I was talking to a woman who I had just met, and we were doing the customary small-talk of basic backstories when she interrupted me to say that the math wasn’t adding up. She went on to say that I must be older than she thought, because I had mentioned my sons and their ages, 20 and 21. This woman thought I was thirty-five or thirty-six. Reader, I married her.
Another woman, unknown to both of us, joined in on our conversation and this is where things took a turn. We three were talking about our dogs, all of us being dog people and dog lovers, and this is a very important point. All of us. Dog lovers. Dog owners. When I mentioned Rex the Bernedoodle, the new woman asked if I knew much about the breed, before going on to say that Bernese Mountain dogs are notably short-lived, and the Bernese that she had known had all died not long past their fifth birthday. This was after – AFTER – I had relayed Rex’s age, which is four and a half. She hoped, she said, that this wouldn’t be the case for me. Maybe, she mused aloud, the poodle part would add to the longevity, but who knew, because, as she said before, every Bernese she knew died young.
If you could have seen the look on my face and that on the woman who mistook me for someone much younger. Our faces were the absolute personification of What The Fuck. We both stood, mute, with mouths open, heads tilted to the side, and a slight furrow in our brows.
I think I even made that hand gesture, before excusing myself to get another cookie. Some people are just VERY BAD at conversation, and this woman was clearly such a person. She didn’t even backpedal, she just KEPT GOING. Small dogs live so long! And big ones die early. Especially Bernese.
Anyway. Let’s get to the outfit! These pants are probably the most comfortable pants ever, and that is coming from someone who has spent the entirety of 2025 searching for and wearing comfortable pants. They are from Lululemon, and the turtleneck sweater is one I’ve had for a decade or so. The boots are winter ones, and the pendant was a gift from Sandi, last Christmas (HI SANDI, AGAIN). (I gave her my heart) (the very next day she gave it away but gave me a pendant instead which I love and wear for every occasion that I can).
I hope you are having a week in which you are warm, and surrounded by the smells of yummy things. I personally will be making more yummy things on the weekend, because this week, friends, THIS WEEK. I am a husk of a woman, let’s put it that way. I had multiple administrative things to do before Friesen Press closes for the holiday season, I went to the MALL to buy a new phone, which yay, new phone, but also, the mall the week before Christmas is not for the faint of heart, and speaking of things that are not for the faint of heart, I was at Costco and Superstore. I will only say that in both cases I kept saying to myself put your patience pants on and everyone is a beginner at some point, not everyone is adept at Costco shopping and we are all gathered together in this thing called life, buying groceries. I will say that I got into a very involved and lovely conversation with an employee who was tidying the carts in the parking lot. It started with apples and ended up with Nickelback and Guy Fieri, both of whom the Cart Fellow had met and both of whom we admire. Do not come at me! I am unapologetic in my love for both, and I will hear no dissenters!
Take care of yourselves during this busy time, friends. Don’t forget to treat yourself to some yummy things. Maybe take a trip to Flavourtown! xo
While decorating the tree and the interior of the house is firmly a whole-family affair, putting up the outdoor lights and decorations are solely in my husband’s jurisdiction, with some help from one or both of our sons. He was finishing setting them up a few weeks ago, and when I looked out the kitchen window I saw him hanging a large red ball on our heart tree, a miniature tree whose branches grow in a downward swoop. I knew immediately what he was doing and I ran outside, with Rex at my heels. Is that a Charlie Brown Christmas tree? I squealed, and he said that it was.
In my recent Ask Me Anything (still open!), Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked: How did you know your husband was The One? At this point in time, my husband has been a part of my life for longer than he hasn’t. We were friends for almost two years before we started dating, and by “dating,” I mean “having sex,” since we had spent much time in each other’s company on platonic dates prior to that. How did you go from friends to more than friends? someone asked me, when I related my husband’s apparent 20 month seduction plan. Um, we were supposed to go see The Full Monty but ended up having sex? I guess I saw A Full Monty, if not The Full Monty.
Anyway, by that time, I knew that he was everything I wanted in a man: he was, and is, very smart, logical, and handy, fun to be around and to do things with but also responsible and serious, and, not incidentally, incredibly attractive. I would say that all of those attributes – especially his attractiveness – have only increased with age and time. In addition to that, when it comes to love languages we share the same one, which makes marriage and life a lot easier, and that is Acts of Service.
My husband does many things every day just to make me happy. Sometimes these are big things, like building an entire garden complete with garden boxes from scratch, but sometimes they are smaller things, like taking my car out just to fill it with gas. And sometimes it is putting up Christmas lights and creating a Charlie Brown tree that I can see from my kitchen window.
For the past fifteen years or more, my husband has set the timer for our Christmas lights so that they not only come on in the late afternoon, but also at 4:30 in the morning, so I can look at them when I have my coffee and practice yoga. It’s those kinds of little things that make a happy marriage, I think.
Marriage is an interesting thing; if you’re lucky, it goes on a long time and you can grow and change together while still maintaining the core of who you are as an individual. And it goes through so many stages over the years and decades: there are choppy waters and smooth sailing, there are times when you can’t keep your hands off each other and times when you’re so exhausted by babies and toddlers that you can’t abide more touching. There are times when life is so busy and so stressful that you feel like semi-amiable roommates who fuck once in a while. But then there’s a time when you just feel so fortunate to have found one another, and hopefully that time lasts for most, if not all, of the marriage.
No matter what endeavor I come up with, my husband is supportive. I have only to mention that I want to go somewhere or do something, and by the time I turn around he’s knee-deep in research about how to make it happen. Although, I will say he is less than enthusiastic about my recent world war obsession. How long will this go on? he asked in a tone that can only be described as “despairing,” when I mentioned Blitzkrieg. You’re only on Blitzkrieg? The war has barely started! You’ve been talking about this for weeks! I didn’t have the heart to tell him it’s an ongoing series and they drop new episodes all the time. My son suggested that this was going to be our new reality, and I will be talking about war for the rest of our lives. God, I hope not. I miss the person I used to be back in November, listening to podcasts about skin care, before I became a Military Strategist. At this time of year I should be listening to podcasts about holiday fashion and parties, or the best books of 2025, and instead I just downloaded four hours’ worth of episodes about the assassination of Franz Ferdinand.
Weekly Reading
I had a great week of reading, but I have to mention that I had a DNF this week. It’s been my goal to DNF more when a book is not hitting, so I can spend time with books I love, rather than…not. The book in question was The Egg and I; it had potential but there were three racist slurs within the first two chapters of this supposedly humourous book, and that was just three too many. I know it’s “of its time” but no thanks.
The Road To Tender Hearts. In the Acknowledgements section, the author says of the house she lived in from 2020-2021, “that rental house gave us two gas leaks, two basement floods, a gang of rats who nested in our car and caused $1400 in damage (not covered by insurance because the car “didn’t explode” FU GEICO), black mold on the walls, lead in the water, three trees that the arborist said were going to fall on the house after he came to cut down one, poison ivy that blanketed the yard, a neighbor who stabbed her sister on the day we moved in, and a teenager who crashed his car driving too fast and died at the base of our driveway. When we moved out, I sent the new tenant a message to make sure she filtered her water, and she wrote back: “Did you ever have any paranormal experiences in this house?” “No,” I wrote back. “But that could explain some things.”” Now, if this paragraph made you laugh a horrified coughing laugh like it did for me, then you must read this book immediately. Because while she doesn’t write about a house that’s actively trying to kill her, she does say she wanted to write a book about every single terrible and traumatic thing she could think about…but funny. And did she ever. This book is the weirdest heart-warming delight of a book about all the journeys to death one can have, and I loved it with all of my (tender) heart.
Wreck. The poem that starts “Your children are not your children” by Kahlil Gibran came to mind a lot while I was reading this book. “You may give them your love, but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts.” On the surface this – much anticipated for me, I love Catherine Newman! – book is about a woman grappling with a strange autoimmune diagnosis and her own mortality, while also coming to terms with a fatal accident in her town that is only tangentially connected to her and her family. But to me it was about loving and accepting people even when their lives and choices are different from your own, and what it is like to be a mother of adult children. I will say that my favourite parts of this book were the scenes with the local Buy Nothing group. Did that ever take me back to my Calgary days! “To gift: leftover pizza from my kid’s birthday party. To gift: coconut milk, expired six months ago. To gift: a variety of Sephora samples.” (That last one was me). Thanks again to my friend Lisa (HI LISA) for sending me a SIGNED and personalized copy of this book!
Because of Winn-Dixie. Oddly enough, this book is referenced extensively in Save The Cat! Writes a Novel, and so I decided to pick it up. It’s about a girl who adopts a big dog who subsequently won’t let her out of his sight and also makes her life immeasurably better. Relatable! It’s a very sweet story about letting people into your life, not judging people for their past but for their present actions, and that everyone has sadness within. I wondered why I hadn’t ever read this lovely little book as a child and then realized I was twenty-five when it was published.
This is by no means a flex because none of us have control over the weather, but we have been having such a mild December, with drizzly rain and, other than one short-lived day, no snow. Looking at photos of my friends from Alberta, Ontario, Saskatchewan and the Midwestern US, I feel like I’m on an entirely different planet. Although this is my third December living here, I am still not used to rain in December. Maybe I never will get used to it! In any case, every day we are edging closer to the least amount of daylight – just over eight hours now, sunset at 3:56, sunrise at 7:47 – which makes the outdoor lights even more of a gift. Have a beautiful week, friends. xo
Happy December, everyone! Are we all starting Advent calendars today? I have my usual dogs-in-Santa-hats puzzle calendar ready to go, but after last year’s extreme disappointment over a much-coveted After Eight calendar, I decided not to buy myself one. Instead, I opted to purchase a few bags of treats that I love – Lindts, mostly, but also York peppermint patties – and I’m going to choose one daily. It’s like my own low-effort, high-rewards calendar.
I did buy three actual Lindt calendars from Costco for the guys at least six weeks ago, and while I was browsing I came across this:
Please notice the stack of Godiva chocolates for scale. This Lindt calendar was over five feet tall, and on sale for a mere $249.99. To be fair, each day in the calendar contains an entire bag of Lindts or a full-sized Lindt bear, and that is probably a decent price for that volume of quality chocolate. And I will say that I did have a moment when I wondered if I could fit it in the car, and then I had another such moment last week when I saw it again, and it was discounted by $50. However. That really is a lot of chocolate. I think it would be an incredible addition to, say, an office break room, if one had a lot of staff. Which I do not.
Am I still thinking about it? Am I wondering how discounted it would be now? Am I considering asking my husband to bring his truck to Costco? Yes to all of those questions. However, his truck is currently full of leaves, ready to be taken to the organic waste section of the landfill, so I guess that is a no for me.
It’s Really The Twenty-Fifth Night of December
My sons both loathe December by Earth, Wind, and Fire, citing it as the stupidest Christmas song ever written. They changed one word and then called it a Christmas song, they say, which is true. I still like it though, as well as Taking Care of Christmas, which I probably shouldn’t mention in the same sentence as December. After all, there are festive lyrics in there, not just a swap of “December” for “September.”
The song I really loathe is Wonderful Christmastime. The second I hear the opening bars, my shoulders creep right up to my ears and I do whatever I need to not to listen to that tuneless tripe. However, my friend Hannah (HI HANNAH) sent me this as a coping mechanism:
Reframe the narrative, as they say. I cannot always control hearing Wonderful Christmastime, but I CAN control my thoughts about it, and now I will constantly think of it as masking witchcraft.
It’s Mariah’s Time To Shine
The truth is I love most holiday music and will bop along to anything. I will also, as per Buddy the Elf, sing out loud for all to hear, although I admit I don’t do this consciously. It just sort of happens. Sometimes I will see someone else singing quietly in Superstore, and our eyes will meet with great understanding.
And let’s not forget about my all-time favourite!
I swear, the first person to hurt my feelings about Whamaggedon will get buried in my floorboards. Emotionally.
First Sob of the Year
Back in October, we were having breakfast in Morocco with our new Australian friends, and somehow I volunteered the information that one of my favourite songs of the season is White Wine in the Sun. How or why this topic presented itself, I cannot say, but I got into an involved conversation with one of the Australian men. He told me that Tim Minchin wrote it when he was 25 and far from home. And when he gets home, everyone is waiting for him drinking white wine…I started to say before choking up, waving my hands in front of my eyes. It’s too much! I said, welling up, which made the Australian man also well up, while our respective spouses looked on, dry-eyed.
It’s my go-to Christmas Cry song, along with River and, if I’m in a certain mood, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Recently, my friend Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked what was the last book that made you cryand I had to sheepishly answer that it was Of Mice and Men, when I was 19. I am very often moved, sometimes vastly, but I never cry while reading. I just stare off into space for a while, sometimes with my hand on my throat. Am I made of stone? No, because even thinking about and you won’t understand, but you will learn someday brings tears to my eyes, and if I go further than that, heaving sobs are guaranteed. Am I crying RIGHT NOW, just thinking about it? Yes. Did I listen to that song on Friday and go hug my son tearfully, who asked Mom, are you listening to that stupid song again? Yes.
For the record, if I have to tell anyone the ending of Of Mice and Men, I will also start with the heaving sobs.
Buble, King of the World
My husband watches The Voice, and, by the powers of osmosis, so do I. Technically I read on the couch while he watches, but I look up often enough to reflect that it is one of the nicest shows I have ever seen. Remember the days of American Idol? Perhaps those days still exist, I don’t know. What I do know is that there is no nastiness on The Voice, all of the judges are kind to the contestants and to each other, and their appreciation of the music is unmatched.
Michael Buble is one of the judges, and wow, do I love him. What’s not to love? He’s a proud Canadian, by all accounts he is a great husband and father, we never hear anything bad about him, and he gently makes fun of himself while advertising for Bubly, which I ALSO love. Not to mention that he created the single greatest Christmas album of all time! I love all versions of Santa Baby, but I love his best of all.
Blue Jays fans: did anyone else think his name was spelled Boba Shett?
All of this is to say I love holiday music and at any given time these days I’m grooving along to it.
Weekly Reading
This was a VERY fun week for reading!
All The Other Mothers Hate Me. This was a ride and I loved it! It’s a fast-paced, weird and funny book about a former girl band singer who is a hot hot mess, and whose only reason for getting out of bed in the morning is her quirky 10-year-old son. When her son’s nemesis – an heir to a frozen food fortune – goes missing on a field trip, she springs into action…to make sure her son isn’t accused. I don’t know how to describe this book. A thriller? A comedy? A thrill-com? It’s just FUN. A good time, quick read. Fun fact: the author wanted to create a main character who was as awful as can be while still being a very loving mother, and DID SHE EVER.
The Love Haters. What I love about Katherine Center is that while her books are warm-hearted, light, and so much fun, they also deal with deeper issues. For this book, that deeper issue is body image and, in the words of Whitney Houston, learning to love yourself. It is the GREATEST LOVE OF ALLLLL. The body image issues that the protagonist has certainly resonated with me, even if she is of my children’s generation, rather than mine. In fact, the love interest mentioned his mother’s year of birth, which is the same as my husband’s. Nevertheless! I really loved this book, even if at times the story was a bit silly and far-fetched. WHO CARES. It was a delight! It had it all: a handsome rescue swimmer with the Coast Guard, a group of old ladies known as The Gals whose ringleader was named Rue, a Great Dane named George Bailey. It was just a perfect romp with a great message about loving your body because it’s your body, and not wasting time and energy trying to live up to some stupid societal standards. My one quibble was the title. I did not get the feeling that any of the characters hated love. But that is such a minor quibble – I really loved this.
It’s that time of year again! Now that the madness of November and NaBloPoMo is over, I am going to do an Ask Me Anything. Do you have questions for me? Just fill out this form and I will be happy to answer them in the upcoming weeks. I am, as you know, willing to talk about almost anything. Happy December, friends. I hope you have lots of light and chocolate and music and all the good things. xo
