Category Archives: Fleeting Time

File Under “Landslide”

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This week my older son and I went to the open house for the high school that he will be attending in less than eight months. It is a very strange feeling, having a child prepare for high school, and it is a feeling I will go through again next year at this time. Before you know it, the nest will be empty and I will have many extra hours a week, that are currently consumed by grocery shopping and food preparation.

This is very much a Landslide Moment; I recall my high school years vividly, and here we are. HERE WE ARE. I will say this though, as a neutral comment: elective classes are much, much more interesting than they used to be. I am actually very hard-pressed to remember what my electives were in high school; drama, I suppose, and French, perhaps? I don’t recall there being too much variety but at this school there are all sorts of things: mechanics and foods, robotics and computing, financial management and marketing, drama and music, sports medicine and yoga, cosmotology and design studies, and a number of languages including Mandarin. So it is an exciting time for a soon-to-be-fifteen-year-old. It’s exciting for me as well, to see his interests take off.

Also exciting for him is the Winter Camping Trip he’s going on next week, or, as the informative email subject line read, the ENVOE 9 Winter Adventure Overnight Trip. Adventure seems to be an apt term as a group of twelve Environmental and Outdoor Education students are being bussed to Yoho in BC, and then cross-country skiing twelve kilometers with elevation gain to a backcountry cabin, where they will melt snow for drinking water and build a snow shelter, with the option of sleeping in said snow shelter. I love cross-country skiing, I love the outdoors, I love Yoho, but my god, this trip sounds like my actual personal hell. All that would need to be added would be a thousand ice zombie moths and the nightmare would be complete. The kids are packing in everything that they will need, food included, for the two night trip and honestly, it sounds dreadful. My son, obviously much hardier than I am, is very much looking forward to it, and one of my girlfriends – whose son is also going on this trip – enthusiastically recalled a winter camping trip from her youth as being one of the highlights of her teen years. I am actively working on keeping an open mind, or more accurately, thinking better you than me, buddy. 

I will say that the parent information night did nothing to assuage my secret fears about this trip; if anything, it exacerbated them. The teachers in charge are both strong outdoor enthusiasts, the dads who are volunteering on the trip also seem similarly hardy and woodsy, but the following statement was not reassuring: I will have a satellite phone in case of emergencies, but I need to point out that due to our remote location, emergency crews will have a much longer response time. They SHOULD be able to get through via the fire road, but it will take longer. Also not great was pointing out that the area is considered “low risk” for avalanches, but the nearby lake is considered “Class 2 Higher Risk” but we probably won’t spend much time around there. PROBABLY?

I had to employ my ujjayi breathing techniques throughout the whole meeting, along with figuring out how to send lunch for Tuesday and Thursday, keeping in mind we don’t have any food storage facilities.” I stared at the What To Bring list with mounting panic, culminating in a long underwear, we need to buy long underwear, and OMG wool socks internal dialogue. Rather than feeling relief at the information divulged or excitement for the adventure to come, I just felt increasingly overwhelmed, which was manifesting in anxiety about the What To Bring list. Do we have a 60 L backpack, DO WE?

I am now eternally grateful for two things: that my husband never Kondo-ed his own drawers and therefore has all the high-quality, if dated, outdoor gear he purchased back in the nineties, and that he and my son are nearly the same height, albeit with a seventy-pound weight difference. As it turns out, he had every single thing that was needed on the list, to my great relief, and it ALL FIT, more or less.

We have been having an extraordinarily mild winter, so Wednesday’s blizzard, complete with white-out conditions and high windchill, felt like a bit of a shock. That also happened to be Grade Eight Ski and Snowboard Day, when my own grade eight child was to head to Canada Olympic Park for his introduction to snowboarding. All through the day I thought of the poor, frozen children on the ski hill. I loaded groceries into the car with the wind whipping my hood off my head, thinking sympathetically. I fully expected a poor report from said child but when he got home he raved about how much fun it was, how much he loved it, and no, he wasn’t cold, why do I ask?

Well, that’s another good reminder that we are not our children and also that an important part of parenting is to not project our feelings. Based on both the opting for Winter Adventures and the enthusiasm for snowboarding in terrible weather conditions, my children are much, much hardier than I am, not that I particularly needed further proof of that.

One of my biggest failings/ flaws is my inability to really roll with the punches. I am a highly organized individual, and I kind of fall apart when things change. Last week the orthodontist office called to reschedule an appointment, which has never happened before and which filled me with annoyance. By the way, what is it with orthodontists? Me: Could I get an appointment quite late in the day? Orthodontist office: Sure! The latest we have available is 1:30. Anyway, yesterday I took my son to get his impressions, in anticipation for getting braces on next Wednesday.

First: the appointment was rescheduled because the orthodontist, who just bought the entire practice from the former, retiring, well-established orthodontists, is no longer there. I tried very hard to be sympathetic – maybe he is terminally ill! Maybe he has a major family emergency! – but all signs point to maybe he has some major financial issues or possibly some sort of shady licensing thing going on. Let’s try very hard not to think of that too much. Second: the new orthodontist Does Things Differently and so when we showed up to the office, the office that was in total chaos because the staff only found out about this big change on Monday, we were told that impressions were not to be done. In fact, the braces were going to be put on NOW, THIS VERY MINUTE.

My internal dialogue went something like, now, omg, not now, my dinner plan for tonight doesn’t include soft foods, I’m not ready, no, not now, I’m too structured, I’m completely closed off whereas my son shrugged and said, “Okay, let’s do it, just put them on now.” I should be striving to be more like this, rather than waking up in the night and fretting that this man was actually not an orthodontist and what if the office closes forever and what will we do about my son’s braces?

Breathe. Just breathe. And rewrite the meal plan for the week. The children grow up to be their own people, and while I might be afraid of changing, they are not.

Age is just a number: FALSE. Age is a word.

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“I finally figured out who you remind me of!” a man, who I have known these past two years, said to me the other day. I waited, smiling, and was not at all prepared for the big reveal. “Charlene Prickett! You are so much like Charlene Prickett.”

There were a few other people around us at the time, and they all chimed in that yes, they could really see that, and yes, that’s exactly it. Charlene Prickett, local celebrity and the star of the television fitness program It Figures, whose popularity soared in the 1980s.

I take this in the spirit in which it was intended; our personal styles might indeed be very different, but Charlene Prickett was a BOSS when it came to accessible home fitness routines. And I might not be one for brightly-coloured bodysuits and tights, but I think we can all agree that legwarmers make for an amazing wardrobe.

The last time anyone told me that I reminded them of a celebrity, it was in the mid-nineties. A very inebriated man told me I looked exactly like Shania Twain; our hair colour and cut were fairly similar in that era, and also I was wearing a denim vest over a white tank top. As I said, though, the man was not a particularly accurate judge, given his level of intoxication and probable intent of obtaining some sort of sexual favours from me, a woman who should have been thrilled to be compared so favourably to a country music sensation but was, instead, nonplussed.

Thanks to the recent Facebook “aging challenge,” the last few weeks have seen an influx of photos comparing a person’s current appearance to that of many years ago, a comparison that I find very interesting. I truly think that the people I know have all improved with age, not just in appearance, but also in spirit and personality. Society likes to disparage aging but really, it’s a wonderful gift. I may have massive Bitchy Resting Face and hair that requires colouring every five weeks due to grey roots that I am unable to embrace just yet, I may have Crypt-Keeper-level forehead wrinkles and marionette lines, but I am very happy with my life and, by extension, my appearance. Happiness makes you shine, or some such inspirational quote.

Sure, I might not have the youthful look and perky bust that I did in the mid-nineties, but at least I’m not wearing ill-advised denim vests. With age comes wisdom, I suppose, and hopefully better fashion decisions.

If you look closely, you can see where the belt buckle is situated on my torso – approximately two inches from the bra line – and also that I am wearing a knotted crop top. With denim shorts. This was in 1997, in my defense, and is likely in style right this minute. Well, it’s January, so perhaps not, but let’s wait to see what happens when the snow melts.

I’ll tell you what has not aged well: my kitchen sink. This is perhaps an overstatement; the sink itself is just fine. However, on Saturday I was washing dishes and suddenly the sink became detached from underneath the countertop and started to slowly tip forward. I did what any strong, invincible woman would do: I started screaming. My husband – after draining the sink – jerry-rigged a support beam from an extension rod used for paint rollers before whipping out his circular saw and building a more solid one out of wood. Where did he get the wood? I have no idea. It’s a good thing he didn’t Kondo his workshop, I guess.

The plumber came to fix the sink more permanently on Monday, and praised the solidity of the support beam. Even though it’s fixed now, I’m planning to leave the beam in probably forever, just in case. We don’t see undermount sinks come apart very often! the plumber said cheerfully, which made me wonder about the workmanship of everything in my house. Can ALL the sinks come detached now? Is this just something that’s waiting to happen?

I am not, obviously, very good with house-related issues, but I’ll tell you what I AM good with: quoting the entire screenplay of When Harry Met Sally. I discovered that the greatest movie of all time was released THIRTY YEARS AGO last weekend, and since I saw it in the theatre, well. Thirty years! It’s been three decades since I discovered my fictional twin; even back in 1989 I was too structured, completely closed off…but in a good way, and I am always cold when it’s 72 degrees out. I do not have days of the week underpants, but there’s still time! As far as I’m concerned I haven’t even hit middle age yet – I’m hoping to live past 86 – and so maybe that will be a thing for me when I’m in the Home. But there definitely won’t be a Sunday. Because of God.

The Studio Audience

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Happy New Year! As I write this, on my desk are two brightly-coloured paper hat, two Hawaiian leis, and two noisemakers that the boys brought home from an early New Year’s Eve party. Picture loud, family-friendly dance music and what appeared to be several thousand – although it was probably only twenty – children all blowing into noisemakers. When we left my husband said that he suddenly had a headache, which, no kidding. But a good time was had by all, and meanwhile, I was asleep by 11:15.

I know we are all supposed to loathe January, with its cold and dark – although, less dark than December – but these first few days of the month, I love. I love the feeling of new beginnings, although September always feels much more like a new beginning to me. January resolutions tend to be continuations of September resolutions, which is okay by me. I have the usual health and fitness resolutions – no specific goals, but a continuation along my path – and also such goals as “read more,” “buy less stuff,” “less social media,” “pay attention,” and “notice the moment.”

One of the reasons that I think many people are anti-resolution is that their resolutions are much too specific or too overwhelming. Small steps add up, people! There’s no need to go cold-turkey on everything you love, but maybe, just maybe, add a few small things that will improve your health and welfare. That’s my take on it, anyway. If there are ways that can make me a better person, why wouldn’t I try them? Resolving to be kinder, more aware, and to give the people I love more of me.

I also have a resolution just to make that damn dentist appointment already. I loathe going to the dentist, I hate that it takes up a whole afternoon, I hate trying to fit it into my schedule, I hate having my teeth scraped while silently staring into that overhead light, and most of all, I hate hearing that I use the “wrong” kind of floss. I FLOSS EVERY DAY AND I WILL NOT USE THE NON-DENTAL-TAPE-FLOSS, YOU CANNOT MAKE ME. I also am trying not to feel overwhelmed with a) my younger son getting braces this month and all the related appointments that go with it, b) parent meetings for my older son’s absolutely insane winter camping trip, c) HIGH SCHOOL PARENT ORIENTATION NIGHT, HOW DID WE GET HERE, LANDSLIDE, d) everything else that happens in a normal month. When can I fit my slightly-overdue dental appointment in? Maybe I should wait until February.

Today is my first day back at work since December 21, and it has been so lovely having this break with my husband and kids. Our house has been so relaxed, we’ve all caught up on sleep, and all those little jobs around the house have gotten done. My husband and older son took down all the outdoor lights and decorations, and our front yard now looks extremely desolate. Between Christmas and Halloween, it’s been a while since we have had an empty yard. Not to mention that in the right season, my garden adds some lovely cheer to the front of the house, but now, thanks to Chinooks melting snow, it’s just a mix of brown grass, dead plants, and dirty snow.

Well, I’m not going to complain. The weather has been very mild for January, so I’d rather have melted, dirty snow than what January usually has in store for us. The kids have been using the trampoline, which really says something. I brought groceries in without wearing gloves, which says more.

Oh, I’ve enjoyed this break so much, I don’t want to let go. Before the break an equally-burned-out friend of mine (HI JAN) said, “I just want to drink coffee and watch a movie” and I totally related to that. My entire goal this break has been to get up and drink coffee in my pajamas for hours, which I have done every day. What a treat! No rush to go anywhere or do anything. It’s a beautiful thing.

Eat your heart out, Jan, we also watched a movie yesterday, Spiderman: Homecoming, which was pretty good and I only fell asleep a couple of times. That’s a big win for me; I think I deal with onscreen action/ conflict by falling asleep. Also, it really challenged my perception of Aunt May; Marisa Tomei looks great, but I really disagree with those pants.

We have also been watching the occasional morning game show, such as Price is Right and Let’s Make a Deal. I tried to explain the Monty Hall statistical problem to the kids but it turns out there are no longer goats involved in the new Let’s Make a Deal, or a second door being opened, so the statistics don’t work anymore. The Price is Right, though. That show hasn’t changed and it’s still as exciting as ever when the little mountain climber comes on or they announce that Plinko is the next game or that the next prize is a NEW CAR. We even saw one guy get $1 on the big wheel and then he went on to win a sweet Showcase Showdown, and we were all screaming with happiness like we were actually in the studio audience. Wouldn’t it be nice to cheer on other people as they just go through life, like we were in a studio audience? Being happy for others as they succeed, sharing in their disappointment with empathy when they do not. Life goal: to be in the studio audience.

Festively Limping To The Finish Line

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I won’t ask if you are all ready for Christmas, because I know you already are! a friend (HI GLENN) said to me last week, and it’s true, my gifts were all purchased over a month ago, cards have been sent out weeks ago, everything is wrapped, and yet. This last week, these last few days before a break, may just be my undoing. We are all so exhausted and completely burnt out that it is taking every ounce of energy to rouse myself and the kids out of bed in the morning and just get through the day. We are all counting down the days until vacation, even though it specifically goes against my Enjoy The Moment mantra. If we are always looking ahead to the next thing, we can forget about what’s happening right now. Or, as Ferris Bueller said, Life moves pretty fast, if you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you might miss it.

Deep thoughts from teen movies of the Eighties.

What is it about this week? This morning I felt like my sanity was holding on by a thread, and not a sturdy thread either, but one that is completely frayed and shoddy. Yesterday my younger son said that he thought there was no school on Friday. Weeks ago I had checked the school website; since Thursday is “activity day” I thought that might be the case. But on the website, Friday was listed as Last Day of Classes. So, by that logic, I concluded that Friday was indeed the Last Day of Classes and there would be school.

Strangely, the kids kept telling me that over the morning announcements, there were x-1 days of school left, when I felt there should be x days left, based on Friday being the Last Day of Classes. After my son’s claim yesterday though, I looked again at the website. Friday: Last Day of Classes. But oh! When I started to scroll down to confirm the date of my older son’s Environmental and Outdoor Education trip to the mountains, I noticed something. Underneath Friday: Last Day of Classes was Friday: PD Day NO CLASSES.

WHAT.

It seems to me like there could have been a much better way of communicating that information. I looked through all the paper forms in my possession and not one mentioned this fairly salient fact. To be sure, it is not a big deal; if anything, it’s an unexpected bonus since that will allow me to have a much more relaxed morning, but yet it was unsettling.

More unsettling was the realization that the Grade Eight Ski Trip – for which no forms or information has been distributed to parents as of yet – was on the exact same day that my eighth grader was due to go in to get molds made for his upcoming orthodontic work. Under normal circumstances, this would be No Big Deal. I would Figure Things Out. But with everything else going on right now, and a January packed full of one-off appointments, and the fact that I had already rescheduled this particular appointment twice, and this appointment needed to occur 7-10 days before the actual braces are put on actual teeth, and finding an appointment time that both works for my crazy schedule and minimizes the missing of Important, Difficult To Make Up classes is incredibly trying, well, this was the thing that took the thread from Sturdy to Completely Frayed.

I’ll just call before I head into the studio, I thought, with deep ujjayi breaths. I had a few minutes between the time the office opened – 8:00 – and the time I had to leave. No problem! Except that I kept getting the If you are calling to reschedule or book an appointment, please contact us during our regular office hours message. But I AM calling you during regular office hours! This IS your regular office hours, why is no one answering the PHONE?

Well. I got it done, not without the requisite mental anguish. The finish line is indeed in sight. Soon, I will be able to pour giant glugs of Almond Baileys into my coffee and drink it in my pajamas, with nowhere to go and no place to be. Soon.

I don’t want to complain, I really don’t. I do love this time of year; I love the parties and gatherings and getting cards in the mailbox. Speaking of which, last year someone sullenly tweeted that they had received only one Christmas card, and it was a standard-issue from a local business. It turned out that she had sent ZERO cards but was expecting many. Well. That might not be how it works. Perhaps expectations need to be adjusted. And perhaps I need to adjust my own expectations about my own limits and go to bed every night this week at 8:00. That sounds like a very good plan.

Speaking of expectations, I had very low ones yesterday when I drove into the Costco parking lot. Costco, one week before Christmas. I was, to be honest, expecting a complete nightmare and I spent a few minutes in my car just deep breathing. I had just taught a yoga class and I discussed the stressful time of year with my students, using words like “self-care” and “meditative breathing” and I felt like the teacher could be the student, so to speak. The parking lot was strewn with carts, which, as we all know, causes me much grief, and the man in the car across from mine literally shoved his cart into the VERY SAME SNOWBANK from which I had retrieved a cart only two weeks prior, and drove off. DEEP BREATHING, SERENITY NOW.

So I was expecting the literal worst as I went into the store, wondering, not for the first time, if the items on my list really were worth the angst involved. And then…nothing. The produce section was a bit crazy, due to very poor aisle engineering, but the shopping trip was really…fine. All my items were available, some were discounted, all the produce looked great, and then when I went to check out there was NO LINE. I wheeled my giant heavy cart up to the till and immediately unloaded. WHEN HAS THAT EVER HAPPENED, I ASK? Certainly it was not what I was expecting the week before Christmas. Maybe it was all that cart karma during the year. It all paid off.

And speaking of karma, my lovely friend and yoga student Sara (HI SARA) brought me these cookies, along with – get this – chocolate pretzel bark and honestly, this kind and beautiful gesture absolutely turned my whole day around. I went from Being Ready To Cry to having my sanity reinstated. It is no longer hanging by a thread. It is now securely double-stitched together. Never underestimate what kindness will do for someone, especially this time of year. 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.

I think we’re going to make it after all

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A few months ago I offered to bring desserts to a Christmas party on December 1; I love making holiday-themed sweet treats and I always, without exception, make more than even my family with two teen boys can possibly eat. Or, should eat. In any case, I happily offered and two days ago I realized with a start that December 1 is next weekend. How did that happen? In my mind it’s still September. Well, kind of. It feels like this fall has flown by and now I am in full-on Christmas treat-making-mode, going through massive amounts of coconut milk, chocolate, and peppermint extract.

Yesterday I made two different kinds of fudge to have in the freezer; I decided to make a white chocolate fudge with dried cherries and almond slices, and I followed the base recipe from Kraft Canada, thinking that it couldn’t go wrong. Well. I guess I can’t really blame Kraft because I DID alter the recipe slightly – instead of using condensed milk I used full-fat coconut milk which, in my defense, has worked as a substitute every single time before. Even as I was making it I thought it didn’t seem quite right, it seemed too thin and liquidy. After a full 18 hours in the freezer, it was still soft and certainly not set in the least, which begs the question: why? I mean, if I put coconut milk in the freezer it would be solid. If I put white chocolate in the freezer, it would also be solid. WHY DO THE TWO TOGETHER NOT WORK?

That is how I found myself scraping the strange soft, and cold, mixture into a saucepan at 7:00 this morning, adding white chocolate like there was no tomorrow, based on the theory that more solid matter could only make it more solid. It’s science, bitches. My kids watched with interest; the younger one was particularly invested in the process and kept suggesting other things we could try. I find myself, this morning, obsessively checking on it, as if the state of the fudge is much more important than it actually is. Maybe I’m projecting my emotional state on the fudge? Maybe I’m compensating for something in my life? I don’t know. As it stands it seems to be firming up, but will I be able to cut it into squares, and if not what do I do? Who knows. I am full of regret. Why would I substitute when I’ve never made this before? White chocolate isn’t even vegan so I can’t say I was trying to make a dairy-free version. I was just being too lazy to buy condensed milk, I guess, like I haven’t spent two full afternoons this week grocery shopping. I most certainly could have picked up a can.

Yesterday when I was in the checkout line at Superstore, the cashier handed me the little “this till closed, please use next register” sign to put behind my groceries. I love when that happens! It felt like payback for the week before when I made a decision between two lines and chose the one that had only two men, both with maybe a dozen items each. This will be fast, I thought happily, as I was in a hurry. If this was a movie, albeit a very boring movie, some very dramatic music would start playing, foreshadowing disaster. Grocery store disaster. The first gentleman kept trying to pay with cards that didn’t work, which took several minutes and a special customer service supervisor to resolve. The second gentleman seemed fine, until he pulled out his giant Samsung and started price-matching everything. EVERY SINGLE ITEM. I know it’s their policy to price match but MY GOD PEOPLE. Things got a little tense when it appeared he could NOT price-match his already-discounted meat because it was the wrong kind of meat and by this time I started spiralling into despair, as I watched five – FIVE – people go through the other lineup, the lineup I could have been in if I hadn’t smugly assumed that two men with small amounts of groceries would not actually take twenty minutes. An older lady behind me had started unloading her groceries, and when it appeared we weren’t going anywhere anytime soon – customer service again had to be called with regards to the discount meat – she said to me in a heavy Eastern European accent, What have I done to deserve this? What indeed. I considered asking her if she was the type to leave her cart in the parking lot at Costco, but refrained. After all we were both in this together, I with my good cart karma, and also it was Superstore, not Costco.

I just checked on the fudge again. I think it might be okay. We might be okay, everyone. xo

Hello November!

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Yesterday a friend asked me how much Halloween candy I had eaten while waiting at home for Trick or Treaters, and I will tell you this: zero. My secret? I buy the candy that I don’t like, which is for me a giant box with a mixture of those little Kit Kats, Coffee Crisps, Smarties, and Aero bars. The new young couple down the street – who reminds me of my husband and I many years ago – came by with their two little ones. This is their first Halloween in the neighbourhood, and the woman told me enthusiastically she had bought 100 little bags of chips and hoped that would be enough. I was loathe to tell her that we have never had more than 20 Trick or Treaters, and that she would be munching on chips for some time to come. See, that is a mistake I would never have made – it’s not that I don’t buy hundreds of tiny chocolate bars, it’s that I would never buy that many potato chips, for the simple reason that I cannot resist them. For me, salty beats sweet any day.

Next year I think I’ll buy full size chocolate bars, because I want to feel like one of those fancy ladies; a princess distributing largesse to the populace, as it were.

Thursday after classes I took the Halloween decorations down, with the help of the boys. Normally this is something I would leave to my husband but a) it’s completely dark by the time he gets home and b) today is supposed to be a “rain/snow mix” which would be a bit disastrous for our animatronic thingamagigs. Electric shorting out might add to the creepiness though:

The kids went Trick or Treating with all their friends; I was very happy to see them come back candy-laden and happy, with no one commenting on their giant statures. Does it seem to you that EVERYTHING is a divisive topic nowadays? You name it, everyone has a STRONG and IMMOVABLE opinion on it. Teens trick or treating is definitely one of them. I am of the camp that would give candy out to literally anyone who comes to my door; they could be in university – hell, they could be senior citizens and they would still get a handful of Kit Kats from me. As for my own kids, they can Trick or Treat for as long as they want as far as I’m concerned.

So here we are in November, and I for one am happy about it. Our house was hit by an absolutely deplorable virus, and I seemed to have gotten the worst of it. I recovered enough to be on my feet but the residual exhaustion has been something else. It’s been a week of just setting one foot in front of the other, and occasionally bursting into overwhelmed, exhausted tears. Today I’m finally starting to feel like myself again; I spent some days last week wondering how on earth I usually had the energy to do my normal day-to-day things. Here’s how poorly I felt: I haven’t had a sip of wine in two weeks. Dark times, people.

This morning, after napping all yesterday afternoon and sleeping ten hours last night, I felt well enough to return to my usual Saturday morning spin class. You know how they say the first time back is the hardest? I certainly hope that’s true. All during the class I kept looking down at the little orange warning on my bike: Over exercise can result in serious injury or death. Death! It seemed like a terrible portent. Usually I am filled with all sorts of personal-best goals during the class; this morning my aim was to just make it through without death. If I have a choice in the matter, I would rather not Meet the Maker while wearing sweaty padded leggings.

Fortunately, I am still here to tell the tale.

The kids are in that teenage phase where every morning, they seem taller than the day before. This has resulted in them completely outgrowing their single beds; my older son in particular is several inches longer than his bed, which has led to some uncomfortable nights. We decided to buy them both extra-long-full-size beds, which is more complicated than you might think, given we live in a 1960s bungalow. There has been much jenga-like moving of beds, and there were twenty-four hours when the new beds were delivered into the front entry, in which the entire entryway and front door were completely blocked off. The chaos of this has not added positively to my mental and emotional state this week, but the final result is extremely satisfactory. At one point I looked at all the wrappings and cardboard and craziness and repeated to myself the only way out is through over and over. Happily, after much rearranging and quite a bit of purging, things are looking up! The only problem is that I lay down on one of the beds and damn, it is way more comfortable than my own bed. The only thing keeping me from surreptitiously bed shopping is the thought of going through all this chaos again so soon. Maybe I’ll feel well enough for a glass of wine tonight, to give me some courage. Let’s hope!