Category Archives: Food

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Fancy Was My Name Edition

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A few weeks ago, we were having dinner and Fancy came on, via the Nicole’s Karaoke playlist, which sparked a discussion with regards to the mother-daughter relationship between Fancy and her mother. Well, she basically prostituted her daughter, I said, to which my son answered, What do you expect? She named her daughter Fancy. Obviously she didn’t think she’d grow up to be a lawyer.

One of my Favourite Things in the world is having Responsible Adult Children. Recently Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked what has, so far, been the best age when it comes to children, and I have thought about this a lot. I think I suffer from recency bias because if you asked me at any time in my children’s lives what the best age is, I would say, with great enthusiasm, this one! I loved babies and toddlers, I loved preschool and elementary school, and I loved – and am still loving – the teen years; yes, even the awkward junior high years. I’ve loved all the ages and stages and I think I just enjoy my children more and more as the years go on, as I see them grow and change and become more and more the people they have always been, but more awesome.

So there is probably some recency bias here, but wow, do I love my kids being Responsible Adults. My husband and I went away to Secrets Maroma in Mexico for a week; we have, over the years, gone away together several times, but never for very long, because when the kids were younger there were just so many logistics to account for, plus the typical motherly guilt about leaving the children behind. But now we have very few constraints and my younger son wasn’t working last week, so we left him to be in charge of the house and also Rex, which is no small task, given that he has Very High Needs when it comes to exercise and general affection. He drove us to the airport at 5:00 am, and picked us up in the middle of the night (read: 9:00 pm); I came home to a perfectly clean house – albeit one with an empty refrigerator, because he cooked all his own meals for the week – a happy dog, and no laundry to do except for the myriad bikinis and sundresses crammed into my carryon.

It was a really incredible week, and a perfectly indulgent one. We met up with friends, relaxed, ate and drank and soaked up the sun and played in the Caribbean. I have zero complaints; no notes. I do have many Favourite Things, though, so without further ado:

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Fancy Was My Name Edition

Life In Front Of The Curtain

The incredible vacation started out on the flight. We had splurged on premium seats and friends, I do not think I can ever go back to economy. I can’t! I won’t! Well, I will – we have a few upcoming flights that are not premium – but as god is my witness, I will never go economy again if I can help it. Flying in general feels like a tedious exercise in maximum discomfort, but flying premium? Oh la la. I felt a Mad Men-level of glamour, like it was the 1960s and everyone was dressed up for a fabulous flying experience. I mean, they served us actual meals on actual crockery and drinks in actual glasses; we got snack packs and offers of booze, refreshing hot towels, and the exclusive use of the premium bathroom. On a practical note, my circulation and varicose vein issues are pretty bad, even with my full-length, medical grade, “nude” compression stockings, and with the roomy seats and legroom I was able to stretch out quite a bit. Also, our flight was ninety minutes delayed on the tarmac before takeoff, and I think I might have died, or at the very least, been incredibly annoyed at having to sit in a cramped economy seat for an extra hour and a half on top of the over six hours of flying. As it was, I just chilled out and read, sipping from my complimentary water bottle. Ten out of ten, would recommend.

Here’s Your One Chance, Fancy, Don’t Let Me Down

We have been to many of the Secrets/ Dreams resorts in the past, and they are all really great. This one, however, was beyond everything I could have imagined. Every single detail was pure luxury. The rooms were beautiful, the pool areas were stunning, the service was incredible in every way; I have often thought that all-inclusive resorts are a bit like a fancy summer camp for adults, because it’s so easy to meet people and there are fun activities people can partake in, pretty much every hour of the day. My preferred activities were reading by the pool, cooling off in the pool, and swimming in the gorgeous turquoise Caribbean Sea. I did, however, partake in Spanish lessons one morning.

Hablo Espanol

I have been learning Spanish via Duolingo for a while; 702 days, to be exact. My son got me started on it – he’s learning Japanese – and every week we go on our Friends Quest together to maintain our positions in the Diamond League. Anyway, I felt like I had learned a lot, but I don’t have any friends to speak Spanish with, face to face, with the exception of my husband’s colleague’s wife, who very patiently, and with great encouragement, spoke with me at his retirement party in September.

Therefore, I was a little nervous to attempt to converse with actual people; practicing on an app is one thing, actually speaking is another. I was worried that I would use the wrong word or phrasing, I worried I’d use the wrong verb conjugation. Then, just before we left I had a pedicure, and the esthetician, who spoke little English, had a brief conversation with me about the weather; at that moment I realized that I would never judge someone learning English for using the wrong grammar or conjugating a verb incorrectly, so it stood to reason that the same would go for me, speaking Spanish.

I was right! Also, I was amazed at how well I could carry a conversation; I could understand everything being said to me, and even when it took me a moment to formulate a response, I could still formulate the response. Now, I probably have the conversational ability of a preschooler (I WOULD LIKE TO SPEAK SPANISH WITH YOU PLEASE) but it was so great to be able to practice. My Spanish lesson at the resort was fun and also enlightening; the teacher informed me that, in Mexico, one should never say estoy caliente, because that doesn’t mean I’m hot, it means I’m horny. This, I felt, was excellent information to have.

The Sharks Like It

After discovering that this invention was the highest valuation on Shark Tank, my husband bought us LARQ water bottles. The cap contains a special UV light that kills bacteria and there are two modes: regular, and “adventure.” I wanted to use fewer plastic water bottles, which are ubiquitous at these resorts, and so I was excited to give this a go. Now, there are two things to note: a) the concierges warned against drinking the tap water in the rooms, and b) there must be a big filtration system somewhere on the resort because there are a lot of fruits and vegetables, not to mention ice in drinks and jugs of water in restaurants. I did not know about a) until I had filled this bottle from the tap, and drank from it, at least four times. I didn’t get sick so I guess it works.

While I was by the pool, I asked one of the bartenders if I could have water to fill my bottle, thinking that he would just fill it from a tap behind the bar, but instead he just opened up a couple of plastic bottles and poured them in. That was a little discouraging, but then I discovered a bottle filler NEAR the bar. I’m sure it was filtered just fine, but still I used my little UV light, feeling like a well-hydrated rock star.

I got some kind of mystery marks on the bottle, which I THINK came from a travel-size black plastic tissue pack that melted in the heat, but happily, after an application of baking soda paste with a Scrub Daddy, they have since disappeared.

Here Comes The Sun(screen)

Just like (hopefully?) I will never go back to economy seats, I will (absolutely!) never go back to checking luggage. Generally it’s not too difficult for me to pack carryon only, but the one thing that is tricky is ensuring I have enough sunscreen. On our trip to Maui last year, I just purchased a lot of sunscreen on the island, but I didn’t want to do that here because omg, do you know what a bottle of sunscreen costs in a Secrets resort? FIFTY-EIGHT US DOLLARS. With the exchange rate and tax, we are looking at almost a hundred dollars for a measly bottle of Banana Boat.

But sunscreen we must have, and there are only so many travel-size bottles one can squeeze into the regulation one-litre bags, especially when one needs to take hair products, makeup, and night cream. It was serendipitous that I came across these solid Neutrogena stick sunscreens, which do not count as liquid, obviously, because they are solid. Bonus for the fishies in the sea, it’s mineral.

Some of you may remember my lament last year about mineral sunscreen and the white cast it leaves on the skin, and this one, despite being “Ultra Sheer,” is no exception. However, it works really, really well, as evidenced by the little spots of sunburn on my knees and breasts where I obviously missed with my application.

Welcome To Margaritaville, Population: Me

My husband’s birthday is in October; we went out for dinner to celebrate. Since that day, I have made dinner every single night. Every. Single. Night. So what I’m saying is that I was very excited to partake in unlimited food items that I had absolutely no hand in preparing. The food at the resort was so incredible, so vast in variety and so well-prepared and fresh, and, in comparison with other resorts, the plant-based offerings were Off The Chart. I couldn’t even begin to believe my luck. I’m used to very limited options, and so I was amazed at all the delicious vegetarian and vegan food available. At breakfast there was CHIA PUDDING. And little waffles made with almond milk. And incredible fresh fruit. And made-to-order smoothies. Lunches had me plowing through vast amounts of lentil and chickpea salads, and chips and guacamole; so much guacamole, friends. There were fresh berries and caramelized pumpkin seeds, there was every dessert you could imagine, and every dinner was more delicious than the last.

Of course there were also mango margaritas by the pool!

Probably it’s good to only have gone a week, my liver may have exploded in protest if we stayed longer. But oh! So delicious.

Outfit of the Month

I know, I know, I KNOW that we are all trying to avoid fast fashion. I really am. But also? I am not made of stone, and I found this dress at Old Navy last summer for ten dollars. That is TEN CANADIAN DOLLARS, which is essentially free for my American friends. What price my morals? I know. Anyway, I keep all my clothing for many years, to the chagrin of my husband, and so I’ll probably have this cute dress for decades. The sandals are old Skechers, but I think I need to retire them. I think these sandals are a half size too small. A few times after a big dinner and lots of wine, I had to walk barefoot back to the room as my swollen feet exploded out of their strappy cages in the heat and humidity. Probably that is not an ideal thing to do, but I’m still here, with intact feet, so I guess it worked out fine. I’m in the market for dressy new sandals, is what I’m saying.

This week of rest and relaxation was exactly what I needed after such a hectic and stressful year. I feel so rested and ready to take on anything. Up first: figuring out how to make my own caramelized pumpkin seeds, and finding new sandals. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Winter Solstice Edition

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Happy Winter Solstice, everyone! How are we all doing, on the darkest day of the year? I will celebrate by walking in the dark this morning as Rex has a grooming appointment at 8. A clean and fluffy Rex will be a highlight of this dark day; will I be able to keep him that way until Christmas? Who can say. Likely not. But anyway, today seemed like the perfect day to talk about Favourite Things, so without further ado:

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Winter Solstice Edition

New Home For The Holidays

After twenty-three years in a pretty small house, in which we had to rearrange the furniture in order to fit our Christmas tree, it is pretty exciting to have a spacious new home as the backdrop for All Things Christmas. It has been so fun finding little spots for all my decor; my holiday decorating aesthetic can best be described as Everything Everywhere All At Once. I have little things in every corner and windowsill, and it all feels so Merry and Bright, without feeling Claustrophobic and Cluttered, which, if we are being honest, is how things started to feel in our old house by the time Santa magically slipped down the metaphorical chimney.

We do not have a fireplace in this house and the lack of a mantel was the cause of some anticipatory consternation on my part last year, but I think using pretty ribbon to tie the stockings to the staircase hand rails is even better.

Part of my aesthetic can also be described as Sentimental Mom, and so I proudly display this cute candle set that my older son took a bite out of when he was eight months old and teething.

The Charlie Brown Christmas tree is nestled among the old farm equipment we have on display and, more festively, the little stuffies that used to hang on the knobs of the boys’ dressers; for some reason, the boys don’t want this as part of their room decor anymore.

Where’s Salvadore?

Many of you will remember when Salvadore first came into my life, the guys would move him into different parts of the house while I slept, just like my very own springtime gnome version of Elf on a Shelf. A few weeks ago I brought the outdoor gnomes indoors for the winter, and Salvadore has been springing up in the strangest locations. I’ll wake up to him covered in a pile of bananas, or in the vitamin cupboard, or masquerading as a Christmas gnome.

He’s literally Gnome on a Shelf!

He thinks he’s a present. Aw, he is. He’s a gift to all of us.

Speaking of gifts, look what Michelle made for me (HI MICHELLE!)

You must – MUST – check out her gnome Christmas party. Just prepare yourself. You may just spin off the planet with excitement, if you are a person who is Gnome Obsessed. Even if you’re not, it’s the cutest little thing you’ve ever seen. Is Michelle’s dollhouse just an evergreen Favourite Thing? MAYBE.

The Moving Pictures

I don’t watch movies generally; I usually fall asleep during them because I have become my own dad. Christmas is an exception! We all have Christmas movies that we must – MUST – watch every year, and mine are Elf and Christmas Vacation. But I also love what I think of as holiday-adjacent movies; I always watch my all-time Favourite Movie When Harry Met Sally around New Year’s, and I like to watch Little Women around Christmas.

Which one, you might ask, the one from the 90s or from 2019, and which is the favourite? You may also remember that I tend to loathe film adaptations of beloved books and I don’t know if I had a more beloved book as a child than Little Women. These movies are the exceptions! I love both of them and, like my children, I love them equally but differently, and just as I do not have a favourite child I also do not have a favourite Little Women. The one from the 90s is a pure nostalgic joy. If I need pure happiness, that’s the one. If I need to cry, I need only to watch the scene where Mr. March gives Beth a piano.

But the 2019 version is a love letter for the hardcore book fans. I think you need to be a real fan of the book to love this movie the way I do. Visually it is so perfect. So perfect! The sisters behave like sisters, the Hummels actually look like impoverished immigrants at the end of the Civil War, and the scene where Meg is at the ball, cutting to the scene where she has a grim financial discussion with her husband is pretty much cinematic perfection. We all know that Louisa Alcott was pressured to “marry off” Jo, which was how the sequel to Little Women – originally entitled Good Wives, although now it is just considered the second part of the book – was written. I love how the ending reflects Alcott’s true experience, and that it shows that Jo’s writing was her real love. The book itself is subversive and so strongly feminist, and the movie even more so. This is becoming a deep dive into the movie, which I didn’t want it to be, because who has the time, but I just watched it again and I love it so much. I felt like standing on a vulva-shaped soapbox with my ink-stained fist raised after watching it. The only thing that is a tiny bit jarring is the appearance of Bob Odenkirk as Father, which, what a casting decision that was. It takes me out of the movie EVERY TIME. Why is Saul Goodman here?

Let’s not get started on how Alcott’s actual father was a useless piece of shit who was FRIENDS WITH THOREAU. A less-successful Thoreau, if you will. We all know how I feel about Thoreau – do not quote that man to me, do not do it – so you can probably deduce my feelings about Bronson Alcott. Well. Is this Favourite Things or is it an Early Festivus Post? Let’s move on!

Oh, Miraculous Food

If you have watched a specific one of my favourite holiday-adjacent movies, you will immediately recognize that line, and it is one I think of almost every dinnertime. Miraculous food! I will say – and this is not a Favourite Thing, so bear with me, here I am in Early Festivus Mode again – I had a not-small degree of angst about a month ago when I realized that for the first Christmas in my forty-eight years on this planet, if there is a special holiday foodstuff I want, I need to procure it for myself. I know. I KNOW. Forty-eight is pretty old to discover Regular Adult Phenomena, and to shrug off the Spoiled Daughter Shawl, but there it is.

Here’s the thing: I prepare wholesome, delicious dinners every single night. FROM SCRATCH. I bake all manner of lovely muffins, loaves, and cookies year-round, and then I start leveling up every holiday season. I enjoy doing and eating all of those things. But I just kind of wanted some favourites without having to make some myself.

Well, boo hoo, you might be saying, and you would be right. There have been some Linus’ blankets wrapped around my sagging tree, which I deeply appreciate, but for the most part I have made peace with this and have womaned up to reality. Christmas dinner is going to be a joint affair between me and my mother-in-law; it will be at our house, and my mother-in-law is going to provide turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and gravy, and since none of those are things I eat, I am going to provide side dishes such as Suzanne’s fall salad (HI SUZANNE) – with the addition of roasted chickpeas and dried blueberries, omitting the pomegranate – roasted broccoli, peas, and, naturally, kalettes. Hashtag kalette influencer. A widowed neighbour lady who has no family is coming for dinner and is bringing her signature German stollen, which I don’t believe I have ever had, and of course I have many sweets for us all to nosh on. There will also, needless to say, be wine.

Speaking of sweets to nosh on! I have mentioned my mint squares, and my gingersnaps and gingerbread. I made truffles, but I used mint chocolate chips for them and then dipped them in a mixture of melted chocolate and refined coconut oil. They turned out really well.

If you need a last minute, easy, fancy-looking treat, may I suggest bark? You don’t even need a recipe for this, although I will include some for Lisa (HI LISA). Here’s the deal: melt some chocolate. Stir in some crumbled up bits of things – Pretzels! Candy canes! Nuts! – and then spread the mixture onto a parchment paper-lined cookie sheet. Put it in the freezer for 15 minutes or so, and then break the pieces apart, put in a cute tin, and voila. Festivity.

Holiday Re-Reading

I have a giant pile of library books waiting for me, but I put them aside for a couple of days for these three holiday re-reads. The Holiday Breakdown is a delightful little book about a writer who drives cross-country to escape LA and her writer’s block, to help her parents with their ailing ski resort. On the way her car breaks down in what appears to be a town from a Hallmark Christmas movie. It’s a fun, sweet read.

I read Holidays on Ice every year BUT you may remember that I dislike Sedaris’ fiction stories, so I only read the essays, with the exception of The Cow and the Turkey, which is hilarious. I skip from Santaland Diaries all the way to Dinah, The Christmas Whore.

My good friend Steph (HI STEPH) mentioned that she reads A Christmas Carol every year, and I thought I should do that! It had been YEARS. I searched out my copy that is so old my name is written in bubble letters in the front. I forgot how incredibly witty and descriptive the writing is; obviously, it’s a classic for a reason. My husband and older son also read it this week; it was the first time for both of them. “Scrooge is a total incel!” my son commented, and once you see that, you can’t unsee it. Anyway, we celebrated this literary milestone by all four of us watching the Muppets Christmas Carol which none of the guys had ever seen. I KNOW.

Outfit of the Month

There is never a bad time for a little black dress; it’s appropriate for almost every going-out occasion, festive or otherwise. The truth is I probably have a dozen or so in different weights, lengths, and styles, but I really love this turtleneck sweater dress. Paired with boots that I believe I bought in 2010, it made a perfect outfit for my night out with the girls to a candlelight concert (HI SAMMI HI JOY).

I wanted to give a little reminder that I have an Ask Me Anything form, so if there’s anything you want to ask, now is your chance! It will be fun way to start the New Year. The New Year that is only eleven days away, my goodness!

On that note, Happy Holidays, my friends. I am taking a little blog break to focus on the festivities; I’ll see you on the other side. Take good care. I wish you all joy, rest, love, peace, and the most delicious of the delicious treats there are. xo

Poetry In Motion

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If I were a Mary Oliver or a Maya-type person, I would be sitting at my desk, crafting a moving poem about the beauty in the mundane everyday, about the ordinary suddenly becoming extraordinary, after a little tiny bird, a chickadee, flew right in front of my cart at Superstore in the middle of the bakery section. I gasped, I was so filled with wonder. I watched it flutter up, up, up, and perch on one of the high ceiling beams.

If I were Mary or Maya, (HI MAYA, yes I DID group you with Mary Oliver, deal with it), I would write about thinking to myself what a wonderful world, I would write about going placidly amidst the noise and haste that is Superstore ten days before Christmas, I would write about reveling in the natural world among us. I might somehow craft a poetic sentence about thinking that there were no more tiny tubes of decorator frosting in the baking aisle, but then finding them behind a box of carrot cake mix; I would talk about how they are actually kind of gross but they work great for decorating gingerbread men, which I did this past weekend with my actual grown-men children, and then I would write about traditions, my heart, and the many blessings that surround me. Somehow this poem would reach its apex with the little bird flying between the displays of Danish and cookies in their plastic clamshells, crossing my path and filling me with delight and all the warmth and wonder of the holiday season.

I would not, however, include in my poem what happened when I joined the checkout lineup, a short line with only one woman with a full cart behind a gentleman who seemed to be just finishing checking out. I would be tempted to include the detail of the man who lined up behind me with only a small basket of items, and how I, filled with the holiday spirit, insisted he go ahead of me, and then the woman in front insisted he go ahead of her. She and I were conjoined in that little joy that is spreading happiness to others by allowing them to jump the queue, and the gentleman was gracious enough to inform the cashier that he had received two Christmas gifts from these lovely ladies, who allowed him to go first.

Alas. The first gentleman, the one who had ostensibly been already checked out, had some issues. There was a problem with one of the prices on his bill, and then there was a problem with one of his items. This problem was such that customer service needed to be called, but it was ten days before Christmas, and customer service was slow to respond. I coped by talking to the woman in front of me, who informed me that the reason she had so many groceries was because she was a) hosting a dinner for thirteen that very evening, and b) hosting a dinner for 160 at her church on the weekend. While I digested that information, we talked about her pink hoodie dress, her boots, and the raspberry Bubly in her cart. She realized she forgot eggs; I told her I would hold her spot until she came back. My offer was not one of significance, because by the time she came back we were still waiting for customer service for the first gentleman; the one who we allowed to go ahead of us was still standing there awkwardly holding his basket, waiting. Probably he thought it would be faster if he just left and found another, less-problematic lineup, but likely he did not want to throw our unfortunately meaningless Christmas gifts back in our faces.

Twenty minutes later, it was the lady’s turn, and unfortunately for me, it turned out AFTER the cashier had gotten through half the items that the woman remembered she needed her items separated into two different bills, one for her own personal party and one for the church’s, and so everything needed to be voided and re-entered. At that point I had a really hard time remembering the little chickadee.

If I were a poet I would be able to craft a beautifully haunting poem about the wide variety of the human experience, but I’m me, and I can tell you, I was feeling pretty salty by the time I loaded up my car. I had to aggressively listen to a podcast on holiday decor on my way home and then equally aggressively put together my daily Advent dog-themed puzzle before I could settle myself down and regain a sliver of my holiday spirit.

Ah, life. Sometimes it’s like this:

And then sometimes it’s this:

Here we are, one week until Christmas, can we even believe it? Last week my older son wrote four finals in 47 hours, and so he came home for a few days to decompress before heading back to prepare for his last final, late this week. I used that opportunity to corral the troops into, as alluded to earlier, our annual tradition of gingerbread decorating.

There was some interesting creativity this year – not from me, never from me – and yet not a single one with anything obscene written on it. We are growing as people.

Weekly Reading

A Manual For Cleaning Women. Someone mentioned this book, and now I can’t remember who. Was it you? Anyway, I do enjoy a collection of short stories, particularly linked short stories, but I want you to know that the word for this isn’t “enjoyable.” These autobiographically-inspired stories are well written and incredibly moving, but holy moly they are gritty. This is a grim and gritty book about mining towns, alcoholism, poverty, and illness. Huge content warnings ahoy for pretty much everything but particularly infanticide (whew, that was a ROUGH story to read), graphic descriptions of the physical side of alcoholism, child abuse, sexual abuse, domestic abuse, and a really gross story about pulling out teeth. I’m not squeamish about teeth in general but this had me feeling queasy. So, yes, a talented author and excellently written, but DARK AND GRITTY. Possibly not the right thing to read in December, is what I’m saying.

But Have You Read The Book? After the last book, I desperately needed something light and fluffy and that did not require thinking. This was PERFECT. I have never been reticent about my general dislike for book-to-screen adaptations; there are only a couple that I actually enjoy. But who knew so many movies were book-to-screen adaptations! Certainly not me (Mildred Pierce, really?). Anyway, this is a fun little book put out by TCM that talks about 52 movies that were made from books. Of the 52 titles, I have read OR seen 25, and of those I have read AND seen only five (Little Women, Clueless (Emma), One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, The Godfather, and The Color Purple). If you’re a movie buff – or know one, this would make a great gift – this is a book you’ll enjoy, particularly if you love older movies. Birchy (HI BIRCHY) I’m looking at YOU.

Contemporary Canadian Women’s Short Stories. All the short stories in this collection were written by Canadian women, which, hello, checks a lot of boxes for me. This did NOT disappoint. Of course my favourites Alice Munro and Margaret Atwood are featured, both in stories that I have read independently many times, but I was excited to see stories from the two women who taught the online creative writing courses I took this fall. I felt like Buddy the Elf: I KNOW THEM, I KNOW THEM! (I don’t really but kind of?). As with any short story collection with a variety of authors, there were some stories I absolutely loved, and some I did not. A couple of stories were incredibly moving but the subject matter was so upsetting I had to take a break and do something else for a while. If you love CanLit and women’s writing and short stories, this is a marvellous collection.

I get asked a lot about books – here for it! – and I was thinking, maybe there are other questions my dear readers may have. To that end, I am doing an Ask Me Anything! If you have a question for me, please fill out this form; I thought this would be a fun thing to do post-holidays. I will answer pretty much anything, books included! Then again, you may be thinking god no, I already know too much, in which case, well, I understand.

I shall conclude with a small addendum from last Friday’s post. After writing I was slightly concerned that my memory of the alien Christmas movie was part of a fever dream of childhood, but IT WAS NOT. Dailycrossword (HI DAILYCROSSWORD) who, coincidentally, grew up in Alberta, also remembered that movie, called A Cosmic Christmas. As soon as I saw the photos I was instantly transported (cosmically?) back to it. I had misremembered part of the plot, which involved the theft of a pet goose by the town bully who – in a bullies are bullied plot point – stole it because he was hungry. Ah, pet slaughter for food. Again, so much to unpack. But the part about the human chain to pull the child out of the frozen lake and the aliens helping, discovering for themselves the true meaning of Christmas was accurate. Wishing everyone holiday spirit this week, and no falling through the ice into hypothermia-inducing water, metaphorically or otherwise. xo

Wrapped, Rapped, Rapt

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Last Friday I woke up to the lightest dusting of SNOW, and people, I do not think I have ever been so excited by such a meteorological event. The first snow, IN DECEMBER! This is incredible to me, and also it felt so special and festive, even if it didn’t even cover the grass and disappeared by mid-morning. It snowed lightly throughout the weekend, though, so I may be able to use my new skis very soon!

I spent many hours last week grocery shopping and wrapping gifts and packing parcels to be mailed. So many hours, people. Any week that I visit Costco AND Superstore is going to feel exhausting, in the grocery shopping department, but whoa nelly. I think I’ve mentioned before that the Kelowna Costco is the busiest in Canada and second-busiest in North America, right behind the one in Maui. How they measure this I do not know, but having visited both many times I believe it. In any case, this past week it seemed worse than usual, in that it was almost impossible to move the cart as there were people literally everywhere, and then the lineup went two-thirds of the length of the store. She died the way she lived, standing in line at Costco. On the plus side, I had a nice conversation with two ladies, one with regards to the giant stuffed bear in her cart. Have you seen those? One bear fills an entire cart and costs $150; she was telling me that it was for her grandchildren but that she kind of wanted to keep it for herself. This was extremely understandable. “Touch it!” she said to me a little intensely, but I did as she said.

The other lady was also very intense, about the role of ingredient substitutes such as artificial sweeteners or keto-friendly bread in our society. I didn’t disagree with her opinions – after all, I myself am not a fan of those or meat substitutes – but her level of disapproval was, shall we say, heightened. Costco shopping can be a fraught time, emotions run high.

I generally like all manner of holiday-related jobs, such as baking or treat-making or decorating or what have you, but there is one festive job that is at the very bottom of my list, and that is gift-wrapping. I strongly dislike gift-wrapping, possibly because I am so abjectly terrible at it. I might be the worst gift-wrapper over the age of five. I don’t know why I am so bad, but I am: I’m always cutting the paper too big or too small, and then I am trying to either repair the gaping strip where the ends don’t meet or, alternately, folding up huge wads of paper on the sides. There is no in-between. I use far too much tape and somehow I always manage to tape strands of my own hair onto the gift itself; perhaps the stress of wrapping makes my hair fall out, I don’t know. And this is if the gift is in a box, which is the best-case scenario. If it’s irregularly shaped, forget about it. You might be thinking to yourself gift bags exist, which, indeed they do, but we are tear-open-the-gift-wrap people around here, and I also have four rolls of Costco wrapping paper purchased years ago and I still haven’t used them up. I might take them to my grave at this rate, the grave I’m working myself into by standing in line buying such things as giant rolls of Costco wrapping paper.

Anyway, one of the best things about having a newly-retired husband is that I can delegate such jobs to him, and he is happy to do them. I can’t outsource all my wrapping to him, though, which means all the gifts directed to him will be a jumble of wrapping paper and tape.

I don’t know how you get through the various drudgeries of your day, like gift-wrapping, but I mostly listen to music or podcasts. Spotify Wrapped came out this week and it turns out that I, as my friend Nicole said (HI NICOLE), am an actual teenager.

You guys. I am in the TOP ONE PERCENT OF SPOTIFY LISTENERS. Now, in my defense I did spend many hours this year packing and cleaning and moving and unpacking, but still. 93,784 minutes is a lot of minutes. My peak day was July 18, which checks out. That was moving day and I drove eight hours listening to podcasts, then spent another couple of hours unpacking the car and organizing things, so 643 minutes sounded about right.

I’m always a bit surprised when Spotify Wrapped comes out, to see what my top song was. For several years running it was, inexplicably, Midnight Train to Georgia, but this year it was Dog and Butterfly by Heart. Who could have guessed? Certainly not me.

The interesting thing about my top artists is that Wilson Phillips made it in there. There is only one song that I listen to of theirs, and that is Hold On. I feel like that says a lot about my mental state for the first half of the year. I had no idea I listened to that much TLC, but otherwise, I’m not terribly surprised.

I seem to be missing something in my brain – probably because it’s filled up with song lyrics – that allows me to create any kind of visual art. If, for example, you asked me to draw a car or a dog, I would be completely unable to. It would almost seem as if I had never in my life seen a car or a dog, but had only received a verbal description. Here’s a…tire? A dog has…a tail? It’s really bad and probably somewhat related to my inability to wrap gifts with any kind of normalcy. This past weekend we went to a party and I was asked to bring a veggie plate. My beautiful friend Sammi (HI SAMMI) sent me a few photos of Christmassy veggie plates, to see if I wanted to try to recreate one. I was a little nervous – as I said, this is not my forte – but after looking at the photos, and with strong encouragement from my husband, who suggested I try the absolute easiest one, I did it!

My husband, thankfully, made the star. I know I’ve seen a star shape but…?

Weekly Reading

I had a DNF this week; it was I Have Some Questions For You. I had started reading the e-book in September, and it just wasn’t captivating me, and I ended up not finishing it by the time it was due back at the library; I put it back on hold and thought I would finish it later. Well, it came in this past week and after another chapter or two I thought life is too short and I cannot waste any more time on this. This could be because I had just finished the below book.

The Invitation. By the time I got to this book, I was on a four-book meh streak. I thought this might break the streak; it’s a story about a woman in a loveless marriage having a one-night stand, and then the two lovers being inadvertently thrown together on a yacht in 1950s. Friends, it did not break the streak. Five meh books in a row.

You Could Make This Place Beautiful. Finally! The streak of meh books was broken! Thank god. I don’t think I could have taken another one (my DNF was right before this one). Anyway, I loved this author’s earlier book, Keep Moving. I read it in the thick of the pandemic and whoa nelly, did it ever resonate. What I didn’t know (or maybe I forgot?) is that she wrote Keep Moving while going through an absolutely terrible divorce, and this book, You Could Make This Place Beautiful, is about that divorce. Her prose is absolutely gorgeous and can I just say that a toxic marriage and dreadful divorce make for very good writing material – as one of her friends said, at least you’re a writer so all this material isn’t wasted. Isn’t that a silver lining? I love dark humour and I loved this book. 

Shelley: Also Known As Shirley. I first read this book in 1987; I was at my grandparents’ house, bored, and helped myself to my grandma’s paperback collection in the basement. I had never seen or heard of any movie Shelley Winters had been in, and in fact I didn’t even know who Shelley Winters WAS. But I have always been interested in women’s and girls’ stories only, and this was one of the few books about a woman. Well! You can see how many times I read this book over the years, because it completely fell apart. I haven’t read it for a long time though, and so I thought I’d revisit it to see how it holds up. IT HOLDS UP! This is one juicy autobiography, and wow, did she ever live an interesting life! As a child she lived in tenements in Brooklyn; when she was about nine her father’s haberdashery shop burned down and he went to prison in Sing Sing for arson. It was a wrongful conviction, so he got out after about a year but sunk into a deep depression. By the time Shelley (then Shirley) was 14 she dropped out of school, got her working papers, and organized a strike at the Woolworth’s she worked at, which led to all the Woolworth’s in the five boroughs being unionized! She became a model, acted in Broadway and off-Broadway plays, was discovered by Harry Cohn and ended up in Hollywood. Oh, and she got married to a man who was in the air force. He came home from the war and they got divorced, and this all happened by the time she was NINETEEN. If that wasn’t enough, she had so many interesting friendships and affairs, going on a publicity tour to Europe while engaged to a costar, and ended up meeting and marrying Italy’s biggest star, Vittorio Gassman while she was there. Later they had an absolutely explosive divorce while starring in an Italian film. This book HAS IT ALL. Wow, what a fun, star-studded read!

I know I talk about Costco with exasperation a lot, but here’s where it pays off: it’s kalette season again! I consider myself to be an unpaid Kalette Influencer; if you see them, just know that they are a life-changing vegetable that is here for a good time, not a long time. So have a good time, the kalettes won’t shine every day! xo

Cognitive Dissonance, Coney Island, Cows

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I have been having such a strange cognitive dissonance for this entire month. My brain knows it is November. The short amount of daylight indicates it is November. And yet my body seems to think that it is the end of September; perhaps, at best, the beginning of October.

I blame the weather. There is no snow, it is very mild, and there are still leaves on some of the trees. After a lifetime in Calgary, in which November is firmly a Winter Month, I’m finding it strange to still be in fall. I have to keep reminding myself of the date, and that December is THIS WEEK.

I did kick it into high gear last week, finishing my cards and making a few festive treats:

And of course, this happened:

I love our style of tree decorating, which is crazy and maximalist. Putting up the tree is a Whole Family Affair around here, and it’s always so fun to see all the ornaments that we have amassed over the years. It was especially fun this year, with finding places for decorations in the new house.

We add at least one new ornament to our tree each year and it usually says something about our lives. When the boys were little my parents would also give them ornaments that complemented their then-current obsessions, which means our tree features everything from tractors to Star Wars characters. It’s a fun trip down memory lane, is what I’m saying, and although it wouldn’t win any decor awards, I love it so much. When it comes to Christmas decorations, more is more, in my humble, festive opinion.

I was delighted to discover a Christmas store in Maui – sadly, I have no idea if it is still there, as it was on the main street in Lahaina. Anyway, I purchased an ornament for the whole family and one specifically for Rex.

Speaking of Big Silly, he was temporarily sporting a new look this week.

Poor puppy! I’ll spare you the details but he had a bit of an infection on the top of his paw, and although he was clearly in no pain and has his usual level of Big Energy, wearing a giant cone was an adjustment. He could not fit into his crate with his cone on, he constantly bumped into everything, and we are all realizing how often he affectionately smushes his face into our legs, as we now had a cone enthusiastically nudging our bodies dozens of times a day. Usually his frantically wagging tail is what accidentally knocks things over, now we have been constantly on guard for both ends.

It’s like living with the big guy at the party wearing a lampshade on his head, all the time. We took him for his one-week follow-up, and he bounded out of the car and enthusiastically jammed his cone against the window of the hair salon next to the vet, to the immense merriment of everyone inside. Then, he pulled enthusiastically to get in the actual vet, and if you’ve never had to corral an excited 97 pound dog in a small waiting room space who has noticed friends, there are dogs here, ahhhhh, never mind that those dogs are sick and scared and not at all interested in being greeted by him, well, you don’t know excitement. “Rex has arrived!” the cheerful receptionist said, speaking volumes. He jumped onto the scale, over and over, remembering how he got treats to be weighed, and we should all be so enthusiastic when faced with such an opportunity.

In an only somewhat futile attempt to keep his paws clean, I have been avoiding the dog park and the adjacent Golden Mile this week, instead walking him along Lakeshore Road and up through the urban landscape that is beside one of the main thoroughfares in the city.

Am I even living in a city? I don’t know anymore. There are cows down the street from the library, people. Do not get me wrong, I love that there are orchards and vineyards and livestock in the city limits, I do love it. It’s so pretty and peaceful, even if Rex does think that the myriad fields with cows and horses are full of friends to play with and bark at, which makes it quite a bit less peaceful.

Weekly Reading

Sure I’ll Join Your Cult. I had heard about this book on a podcast and it sounded quite funny. Well. Sometimes a person is a great oral storyteller but it does not translate to the written page. This is ostensibly a comedy memoir about the author’s mental health struggles, but it was so damn depressing I barely could read it.

The Dead Romantics. This book is a creative mix of love story, ghost story, and family story: a girl who grows up in a funeral home and who can see ghosts goes home for her father’s funeral, where she falls in love with…a ghost. It’s not my taste at all, and honestly, I thought it was too long, and it dragged for me, but I give it points for originality. 

Thankfully Rex’s paw healed by the time we put the tree up, and so the cone has been removed. Not that he seemed to mind it; whenever we’d say “You need to be a flower now!” he would sit at our feet and wait for us to put his cone on. However, a cone and a Christmas tree seemed like a recipe for Festive Disaster, thankfully averted. I did briefly get him into his Santa outfit, before he pawed the hat off his head and tried to eat it. I hope your week felt equally festive and included delicious, non-hat things to eat. xo

November Bits and Bobs

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My son was telling me about a throwback party he attended at the university bar; the throwback era, he said was mostly between 2012 and 2014. I was momentarily stunned into silence, and then had him list off a few of the songs that they had played: a lot of Pitbull and the Black-Eyed Peas, the notable era exception being the 2005 hit Hips Don’t Lie by Shakira. Shakira Shakira! All the songs he mentioned are on my Nicole’s Workout Spotify playlist, and they are all songs that I consider to be “modern.”

This reminded me of an 80s Retro party I myself went to at the bar at my university, and the year was probably 1995, so I guess the years go by and yet nothing changes. Still. At the time, I remember dancing to My Sharona and thinking how fun it was to dance to such retro music, and here is my son, grooving to Mr Worldwide. Sunrise, sunset.

We have a houseguest this week! My younger son’s best friend is visiting from Calgary, and he scheduled his visit to coordinate with the ending of my son’s seasonal golf course job as well as my older son’s reading week, so the house is full and so, if you will forgive the sentimentality, is my heart. My older son’s roommate just happens to be a good friend of both boys, so he has been over here as well and I am in my element, feeding everyone in a “Eat, Eat!” kind of way.

Speaking of my younger son, once again he has decided to grow a moustache for the month of November. Typically he only shaves every four or five days, meaning that he usually has a stubbly scruff most of the time, but now he is clean-shaven except for his old-timey Clark Gable-style moustache. As always I am a strong proponent of body autonomy, even in the facial hair department, but also, Clark Gable-style moustache. Remember that Jimmy Buffett song Pencil Thin Moustache? It’s not unlike that.

Rest in peace, Jimmy Buffett. He sure brought a lot of joy to this world, and particularly to me. He also brought us the song Why Don’t We Get Drunk And Screw which I secretly wanted to play at my wedding, but did not. Imagine how funny that would have been, though. I just got a water bed, it’s filled up for me and you. What a glorious time piece of a song. The 70s is my favourite era, music-wise: soft rock, yacht rock, cock rock, Motown, and, my top genre, disco. It would be very, very difficult for me to find a song I do not bop around to happily that was created in the 70s. Even the ones with terrible lyrics and misogyny I will happily sing and kitchen disco to, notably When You’re In Love With A Beautiful Woman and If You Want To Be Happy. I joked about having the latter played at our wedding and my husband was horrified at the very thought. It would be a fun ironic song if it wasn’t blatantly mean-spirited. Still, I will groove to it.

I was grooving down the pathway the other day and I stopped to talk to a gentleman I frequently talk to, who just so happens to look exactly like Kenny G. He and I are probably going to one day spin off this planet with our excessive morning positivity; he’s a kindred spirit, Kenny G is, is what I’m saying. He gestured to the path in front of me saying “Are you enjoying our Golden Mile?” and I was so charmed by this turn of phrase.

The path has been carpeted with leaves, and somehow Rex managed to walk an entire 90 minutes with a leaf on his head. I guess he was feeling Fall Festive.

Less festive is the fact that the dog park has been very, very muddy of late. I stopped to speak with yet another gentleman on the path, while our black and white dogs sniffed each other. The gentleman laughed at Rex’s paws, which were completely covered with mud. “Rex! Your boots!” he said, and I replied with a “This is the problem: no white shoes after Labour Day!” The man looked at me in the most puzzled way, with a completely furrowed brow, and then smiled and nodded as he said his goodbyes. Later, I asked my husband if men do not know about the Labour Day White Shoe rule and he replied with what are you talking about, so I guess that answers that, at least in the Boyhouse.

Weekly Reading

Pineapple Street. Have you ever picked up a book based solely on hearing other people mention the title, without looking at the synopsis or anything about it at all, and then, on starting it, realize that it’s completely different from what you might imagine? This was exactly my experience with Pineapple Street. In my mind it was something exotic, maybe something tropical, maybe women in a different country and their lives? Well. I did not realize Pineapple Street is in Brooklyn Heights and that this book would be about an ultrarich, old money family. I guess that is exotic in its own way, there’s no rich like NYC rich, am I right? But I have to say, while it’s a readable and easy book to digest, the writing is pretty lazy. All the characters are completely one dimensional and then most of them do a 180 near the end of the book with no nuance whatsoever. The theme is millenial heirs of old money, and it’s like the author thought “okay, three kids, we will make one of them represent the millenials who want to give away all their fortune because they disagree with inheriting large sums of money, one of them will just enjoy the money and work in the family business, and the last one, let’s make her someone who gave up her career to have kids and wants more, more, more money. Great, we covered it all.” Like I said, this is readable and for those of us who like to read about fashion and tablescapes, it’s kind of fun, but it’s not profound or nuanced or going to set the world on fire. I later learned that the author is actually a publishing executive so, you know, that answers that.

Please Don’t Sit On My Bed In Your Outside Clothes. This hilarious, smart, and thoughtful book of essays was written in 2020, so it definitely has a Quarantine Flavour to it. This woman has had a very, very different life experience from me, which makes this all the more eye-opening and thought-provoking. She has a way of starting with a hilariously shallow topic, that suddenly delves deeper, having me think of things in a totally different way, i.e., the concept of self-care. The essay that I think will stay with me the longest is the one about performative allyship, which is something that I have been thinking about since the summer of 2020. Actually, I’ve probably been thinking about the concept of people using social media to “raise awareness” without doing anything meaningful since the days of women posting their bra colours on Facebook to “raise awareness” about breast cancer. Friends, we are all aware. But what are we going to do about it? One takeaway from this is, in terms of allyship, that it can be actively harmful to repost violent viral videos. Marginalized people do not need to be inundated with that in the name of “raising awareness.” Anyway, this was a very enlightening – and did I mention, very funny? – read.

Some of you will remember a while back that I was interviewed as a guest post on my good friend Elisabeth’s blog (HI ELISABETH); sadly, that blog was deleted and my interview, including the story about topless sunbathing, was lost forever. Well, the happy news is that Elisabeth RE-interviewed me and it’s up there today, so please go check it out. Another piece of happy news is that my friend and writing support Laura Bray has a substack and this month she is offering 20% off paid subscriptions, in honour of her birthday month (HAPPY BIRTHDAY LAURA!). Do go check her out as she is a gifted writer and an all-round lovely person.

On that note, have a beautiful week, friends! xo

Still Spooky Season

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Harry: Look, when the shit comes down, I’m going to be ready for it. That’s all I’m saying!

Sally: Well, in the meantime you’re going to ruin the rest of your life thinking about it.

Sally and Harry were discussing death, but I think these viewpoints can be utilized more generally, or, at the very least, to refer in a symbolic way to little, everyday, non-fatal deaths. As a casual example, let’s say you’re planning a move from the place you’ve lived your whole life, from a neighbourhood where literally everybody knows your name, from the very house in which you were new bride, a new mother, and then raised your children to adulthood, to live at the end of the road in an agricultural part of a new city, next door to your mother-in-law. LET’S JUST IMAGINE SUCH A FICTIONAL SCENARIO. One might consider that to be the death of a certain kind of life; sure, it’s followed by the birth of a new kind of life, but it is a death nonetheless.

Typically I am a Sally-type person; in fact, if I was to describe my personality using only fictional on-screen characters, I would say I am a Sally Albright mixed with a healthy dose each of Monica Geller and Buddy the Elf. And typically I am a person who really does try not to worry overly about future events; I became extremely adept at this during the pandemic, when I basically turned into someone from a twelve-step program, taking things very much One Day At A Time. I firmly believe that worrying does not prepare a person for future events, instead it saps energy and strength for when those events come to pass.

And yet, during the past year I have had many Harry moments. I have had many, many moments of worry or concern or grief for events-that-have-not-yet-happened-but-will-happen. Halloween 2023 was one of those events that I was thinking about, during Spooky Season 2022. This time last year, I had a few verklempt moments, looking at our front yard, thinking next year our house won’t be a Halloween destination for neighbourhood children. Next year we won’t have any Trick-or-Treaters. Next year I will not be able to identify as the Fancy Lady Who Gives Out Full Sized Chocolate Bars In Her Spooky House. I had to swallow hard a few times, making Special Bags for the Special Children On Our Street who I knew would be coming, including cans of pop because why not give children caffeinated beverages to go with their full-sized chocolate bars and fun-sized Swedish Fish. I was mourning the death of myself as that Fancy Lady.

Life, as we all know, can be what we make of it. I’m as happy as can be here in my new home – maybe even a little bit happier as my old home had a snowfall warning last week and the grocery store parking lots are now entering, as my friend Janet calls it, 4×4 Cart Season (HI JANET) – and Halloween IS different, but different does not mean worse.

We have exactly two children on our road, and their mother told me that she definitely would be bringing them by to Trick or Treat, presumably on their way to a neighbourhood with higher population density. I sprang into action and purchased a box of full-sized chocolate bars, along with a four-pack of Hubba Bubba and two giant Kinder surprises shaped like monsters.

You know there’s only TWO of them, right? my husband asked me suspiciously. Of course I know, but my Fancy Lady Energy must be channeled somewhere, and that somewhere is going to the two neighbour children. We can still be a neighbourhood destination! It’s just that the neighbourhood is much, much smaller.

Longtime readers may remember our old neighbour Chad, who for years competed with my husband for Best Lawn Decorations; my husband famously declared himself the winner by making a sign out of caution tape that said “Chad I Win.” When we moved we passed most of the decorations on to Chad, including but not limited to the twenty-foot Grim Reapers and the giant ghosts and skeletons; it cheers me to no end to know that our old street is a Halloween Destination and that finally, Chad is the winner. My husband did keep a few things but in my Moving Angst I felt it was a useless waste of packing boxes; wasn’t I wrong though?

He and my son hung several undead and one creepy clown in the overhead vines and the carport, all of which have failed to faze Rex in the least.

We also have this cheerful guy who is apparently going to climb onto our roof and haunt us.

Living on a vineyard and walking the dog on a gorgeous greenway next to a creek filled with ducks and geese have obvious advantages, but there is one huge disadvantage that I did not properly account for, and that is that Rex is really filthy, all the time. If it was Barkley, with his brown fur, I probably would have never noticed, but Rex’s white paws really show it. One rainy morning last week he played happily with an energetic collie in the mulched, muddy area of the offleash park, and his paws matched the rest of his coat. Happily, I was able to get him in to the groomer on Friday, which was perfect as we had Halloween festivities and he was my accessory, or, Rexcessory, if you will.

Bring me all the puppies! Or at least, one large galoompa of a puppy.

Weekly Reading

I had a DNF this week: I started but just could not get into Dinner For One: How Cooking In Paris Saved Me. It sounded SO good, but I found it incredibly boring and by page 44 I aborted mission. I just had too many other good books in the pile!

Truth and Beauty. This is a memoir by the incredibly talented Ann Patchett, and it’s an intense one. It follows her friendship with poet Lucy Grealy, who survived a Ewing’s sarcoma at age nine, which left her with a jaw deformity and a lifetime of corrective surgeries. The memoir shows a close friendship starting when the women were up-and-coming writers, and this was the most interesting to me of all. It shows Patchett as the slow and steady friend, the writer who buckles down to work steadily, and Grealy as the wild, beloved genius who misses deadlines constantly, amasses debt, and is in constant physical and emotional pain. There is not a happy ending to this story. Grealy spirals downward while her friends – Patchett included – continue an upward trajectory and try to help her on the way. I will say that I don’t think I could have been as supportive a friend as Patchett was, if faced by the desperate cavernous neediness that Grealy displayed. 

The Brilliant Life of Eudora Honeysett. Are you in the mood for a heartwarming story of intergenerational friendship, family by choice, and a seemingly hardened old woman whose heart becomes soft and open? Of course you are! Who doesn’t need a light and uplifting book of goodness? This is a very sweet book about an elderly woman who has HAD ENOUGH of life. She lives alone, she’s 85, and she’s decided she wants to die on her own terms, so she applies for assisted death in Switzerland. Meanwhile – cue the music – a new family moves next door and the ten year old girl corkscrews her way into her life. This is just a really lovely book that switches between current time and flashbacks to her earlier life, showing how we all make choices and take paths that get us to where we are. Listen, this isn’t going to set the literary world on fire, and there are no surprises here, but it’s just a nice heartwarming book for a chilly day in fall.

Happy Halloween to everyone! Are you celebrating? I hope there are at least fun-sized chocolates involved for you this week. xo