Category Archives: Hello Calgary

Don’t throw the rocks in your glass house

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Sometimes it feels weird, writing when there are so many tragic, horrific, and frankly depressing things going on in the world. It seems strange to complain about the astounding difference the subtraction of one child from the household makes in terms of noise, activity, and general household mood. This is not a particularly important thing in the world, but it is an important thing to me. I was in a state of low-level worry, but my young traveller actually phoned me yesterday, and all is roses and happiness, and to say that the phone call lifted my spirits would be a tremendous understatement.

All of our spirits were a bit low this week; there was an honest-to-god, Pa-sings-his-sunflower-song blizzard on Monday, complete with snow, high winds, and general despondency. Well, we had a good run.

I learned an important lesson yesterday, speaking of general despondency, and that is that choosing to shop at Costco on the day after a blizzard is not an optimal choice for anyone wishing to retain any semblance of sanity. A few months ago my friend Janet (HI JANET) told me about the magic time to shop at Costco, which is 2:00 pm on a weekday, and when I switched my shopping schedule to that time, the experience was better, albeit some days marginally so. But marginally better is still better, and so yesterday I pulled into the parking lot at 1:35, and I do not think that I am exaggerating when I say that I wondered if I was taking my life into my hands. There was much road rage, people randomly and rapidly backing up perilously close to my and other’s cars. There were people swerving around pedestrians wielding giant carts, nearly making contact with my and other’s cars. I am surprised I didn’t seem random people flattened like cartoon characters in the middle of the lot, and I hoped I could get out of there without loss of life or limb, or at least without having to make an insurance claim.

I made it inside the store and the lineups to the checkouts snaked all the way around the aisles; I despaired of reaching the toothpaste section, and I had a coupon for $4 off a five-pack of that 3D whitening toothpaste I like. Don’t make this coupon go to waste, people. I vowed to take a photo when my turn for the checkout came, so I could send it to Janet to let her know that her magical time wasn’t magical after all, as if Janet was the Costco-whisperer and this entire herd of people with their giant carts was somehow her fault. I went to fetch everything on my list, keeping a slight smile on my face, because in the words of Diane Court’s mother, “Smile, dear, because when you don’t your mouth turns down.” I grumpily noted that they did not have the giant can of cocoa powder that I wanted, but they did have some nice strawberries. I wondered if I would even make it out of the refrigerated produce section alive, but when I got there, it was empty with the exception of one woman looking at every single clamshell of strawberries and a man staring blankly at the kale salads.

People, by the time I wound my way around to the checkout, the crowds had dispersed and there were only a few carts in each line, at 1:55. Janet, I am sorry I doubted you. You are indeed the Costco whisperer. The parking lot had plenty of open spaces too. JANET IS RIGHT, IT IS MAGICAL.

Speaking of checkouts, do you ever notice those tabloid magazines that have incredibly unflattering photographs of celebrities with captions about beach bodies or the lack thereof, or the weight of the photographed celebrity with a caption about letting themselves go or eating themselves to death? These unflattering photographs must be a part of a very successful business plan, since the magazines have been doing this for many decades; obviously they sell the magazines. I always feel a wave of pity for the celebrities; clearly they are photographed without their knowledge or consent, and even though there is a little bit of caveat emptor, being in the public eye and all, it still is fairly vile. We have all taken those accidental selfies with our phones on our lap; imagine if those selfies were being used to sell magazines? Double chinned, wrinkly, and ruddy: Nicole is letting herself go! 

Imagine also if there was a photographer trained on you at all moments of the day, and that any moment – any moment at all – could be posted for all the world to see. Well, I have news, dear readers: this is already happening. You may remember a while back there was a meme going around with a photo of a woman at an airport; she was looking at her phone and her baby was lying on a blanket on the floor. SHAME, the internet said, SHAME THAT SHE ISN’T PAYING ATTENTION TO HER POOR BABY, I’M SURE HER PHONE IS MUCH MORE COMPELLING.

*I know, I didn’t really pay attention either. But the internet did, fortunately.

Well, that woman has released a statement – A STATEMENT – that saying that she was exhausted, her flight was delayed, and she just needed to put the baby down for a moment while she texted her family. I have a huge problem with this.

SHE SHOULDN’T HAVE TO SAY ANYTHING.

In today’s society, we seem to feel that we can view a snapshot of a person’s life, one single second, and make a sweeping judgement about them. She’s a bad mom, she doesn’t like her baby as much as her phone, she is making terrible choices and we are all a nation of zombies. I have more news: we can’t make these judgements. Until we are comfortable with someone tracking our every move and posting photos for all the world to see, maybe we should keep our snap judgements to ourselves. If you haven’t been exhausted and looked away from your baby for a moment, then you probably don’t have a baby. I did not have a smartphone when my kids were small, but I did take them to the playground and would often sit on the bench reading a book or O Magazine (don’t judge, I was living my best life). My eyes were not on them for every second and frankly, it would be weird if they were.

I also saw someone online berate this woman for having her baby on the germy floor, but honest to god, everything is germy. Airplane seats and seatbelts, public change tables, the key pad where you use your credit card – all of those are covered in filth, that’s the world, we have to deal with it. In any case, the baby was on a (presumably clean) blanket, and babies are much safer on the floor than lying on an elevated surface that they can roll off of. God, I’m all worked up again. LEAVE HER AND EVERY OTHER MOTHER ALONE, YOU PEOPLE WITH YOUR GLASS HOUSES AND GIANT ROCKS. NONE OF US ARE PERFECT, LET’S STOP PRETENDING THAT WE ARE, AND MAYBE STOP LOOKING AT YOUR OWN DAMN PHONE IF YOU’RE ONLY GOING TO SPREAD STUPID PHOTOS.

Hoo boy, I need to take a breath here. With all the awful things happening in the world today, let’s all be kind. Be nice. Be understanding and compassionate. And let’s not assume everyone else is the problem with society. If you want change, make a change within yourself first. xo

 

Fall is short for “snowfall”

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It is now officially fall and as I write this, the cold rain is falling, soon to turn into wet snow. Well, the beautiful summer was nice while it lasted, so I won’t complain.

I might complain just a little though. Wednesday was the first cross-country meet of the year, and it poured rain before and after the race, with a temperature of eight degrees. At least it didn’t rain during, I thought. I ran into a friend who looked at me, aghast. What are you WEARING? she said. I had come prepared; two thick sweaters, my good-to-minus-30 long winter coat, legwarmers, winter boots, gloves, scarf, and an umbrella. It worked, I wasn’t cold. My son, on the other hand, wore his regulation shorts and t-shirt, refusing to wear the regulation sweatpants and hoodie for the race, as it would “slow him down.” Sweatpants are not aerodynamic, MOM.

Fortunately I had spoken with my friend (HI FLORENCE) who is a seasoned cross-country mom; she had warned me that the parking situation would be a nightmare, and she was correct. There WERE a few hundred kids there from all over the quadrant of the city, and so you can imagine the driving/ parking/ people cutting off other people to squeeze into a non-existent parking spot situation. I was prepared, and yet I wasn’t prepared, as I had no idea of the magnitude of the meet. Anyone who knows me knows I have a bit of anxiety about driving to new places, finding parking, and getting lost, since my sense of direction is – to understate things – very poor. However! I was brimming with a bit of confidence since on Tuesday I parallel parked my minivan into a tiny spot, without hitting the curb or crying, and spacing myself perfectly between the two other vehicles. People, it was a thing of beauty. I felt like this:

But without the cigarette.

Despite that boost to my self-esteem, I did not feel equal to the task of parallel parking in the pouring rain, with a line of forty cars behind me, and so I found a spot on a side street instead.

Speaking of driving, whatever happened to the thank-you wave? Personally, if someone courteously lets me merge in busy traffic, or makes space so I can change lanes smoothly, I give at least one – and usually two – thank-you waves. The first wave is to acknowledge the courteous behaviour, and the second wave comes after I have successfully merged/ changed lanes. ALWAYS. However, when I pay it forward with my own courteous driving, I receive a thank-you wave less than five percent of the time. Why? I mean, I am driving courteously for reasons other than to receive a thank-you wave, namely to have good karma and also to not be an asshole, but it is NICE to receive one.

People, let’s teach our children to do the thank-you wave. At this point in my life, I am generally so happy and, frankly, astounded to receive a wave that I give the single-hand-off-the-wheel acknowledgement of said wave. It’s like the thank-you note to the thank-you note, which may be overkill but I regret nothing.

Tonight is the parents’ meeting for the Quebec French trip; I seem to be in some kind of denial/ disbelief that yes, my thirteen-year-old is actually going across the country without me and without the ability to text me. Deep breaths. I suppose this is character building, or training for the day when the little birds eventually leave the nest, texting or calling once a week out of a sense of duty.

Deeeeeeep breaths.

It’s 5:00 pm and I have had no one bring me cocktails.

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My husband and I took a quick trip to Cabo San Lucas, leaving the kids behind with my parents. I know! I can’t believe it either. We had a great time, the kids had a great time, and now it’s all “back to reality” and attempting to both reestablish a routine AND savour every moment of this last week before school, which seems like two non-intersecting circles of a Venn diagram.

We arrived home on Sunday night and yesterday I spent the day in that post-vacation state where you wonder if you were actually on vacation or if it was some kind of dream. I popped out to the grocery store before teaching in the morning, and the Co-Op was changing their aisles around. How long was I gone, I wondered, while staring at the shelf where the rice stick noodles used to be. I stood motionless in one aisle so long that an employee asked if I was okay. I’m okay, I just don’t know where the fusilli is.

Anyway, I am now feeling extremely refreshed and rejuvenated; I think that I was maybe a bit burned out before going away. Princess problems, I know. Even though it was just a quick trip, it was incredibly relaxing. I mostly did nothing except cool off in the pool, drink refreshing cocktails, chat with people, eat, and read. I have been on a roll of reading excellent books, and I also read one not-excellent-but-still-decent book that will be reviewed soon, as I am involved in a virtual book tour. Stay tuned!

One of my favourite things about travel is meeting people. Everyone has a story, to me, everyone is interesting. Most of the people I met were from the southern United States, and I stand firm in my opinion that Americans are the friendliest people on earth. However, they do not spell Toffifee correctly. I took this photo of the candy in the international departures part of the airport, because I was shocked – SHOCKED, PEOPLE – to see it spelled Toffifay. TOFFIFAY! Heresy! But several American friends have told me that is the American spelling and I just don’t know what to do with that information.

I suppose it’s a tomato tomahto thing, and as long as we all eat them by peeling off the caramel layer, and then eating it layer by layer, all is well and harmonious. If not, well.

In addition to all the lovely Americans, I also met a newly-single girl from Calgary. We chatted for a long while, and when I recommended to her the above book, The Choices We Make, she gave me the side-eye. “Is it a self-help book?” she asked with a sigh, and when I replied that it was not, it was an excellent novel, she told me that since becoming single her friends have inundated her with self-help books. That seems to me a little presumptuous, and I don’t think I would ever recommend a self-help book to anyone, in any circumstances.

Also a little off was the group of young men wearing red ball caps with what I THOUGHT said “Make America Great Again” but actually said “Make John Single Again.” Guys. In the first instance, I thought that it was pretty rude and insensitive to wear a hat like that in Mexico, of all places, but when I discovered what they really said I was kind of appalled on a whole new level. I mean. I presume this is a stag, where the fellows are lamenting their friend’s bachelorhood, but really. Really, guys. To make matters worse, the fellow I presume was John wore a cap saying “Make Me Single Again” and I feel for his bride-to-be. John’s fiancee, this may not be the best start.

Unless – UNLESS – he was actually newly single after a break-up and his buddies were cheering him up but a) that seems unlikely and b) this was a resort geared towards couples, and if they wanted the newly-single guy to get lucky there are probably better places to do that. Improbable, but not impossible, I guess.

The kids are back to school in one week, and I am feeling a bit melancholy about it; fleeting time, I miss them when they are gone all day etc., etc. I can’t complain though. We have had the most beautiful summer ever; I cannot remember another summer this warm, sunny, and lovely. It’s my favourite season and I’m trying to think of all the things I like about fall, but alas. The leaves are already turning and our front yard is sprinkled with dropped leaves; I don’t feel ready but here we are. We cannot stop time, as my trip to Costco today reminded me. Just in case anyone wanted to buy one of these they are now available – only 117 days until Santa is here!

Bathroom Renovation, Five Years Later

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The leaves are starting to turn on my Mayday tree, and even a few are falling to the lawn. All of you in places with long, unbearably hot summers probably cheer this, but Calgary summers are short and, although this year has been a beautiful, beautiful exception, not hot. In any case I love summer and wish it was longer, but alas. We are where we are, and in any case, time stops for no one. I shouldn’t get the cart before the horse, however, because there are a few weeks left.

The beginning of August marks seventeen years in our house – seventeen years! I ran into a friend of mine who is doing renovations on her house, and I mentioned that we have extensively renovated our 1962 bungalow; in fact, we have done two complete kitchen and two bathroom renos yes, in the same house, while living in the house. Longtime readers may recall our last renovation and all the adventures that came with Ron and Don, the brother team who did them. Ron, the general contractor who had a terrible temper and constantly swore at his crew, and Don, the dim-witted brother who didn’t seem to know how to use a level, much to Ron’s chagrin.

Who names their children Ronald and Donald, you may be asking yourself, and I will point out that it used to be quite fashionable to name twins with rhyming names, like Sherry and Terry. Perhaps their mother wished they were, in fact, twins.

That last renovation was completed five years ago; at the time I had been the recipient of some passive-aggressive commentary about our use of granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Apparently those two things are destined to be the avocado appliances and orange linoleum of this generation. Well, five years in and I still mostly love our renovations; I thought I would share a few photos and see if there would be anything I would do differently.

Before I start with that, let me describe to you the house we purchased, seventeen years ago. The living area was painted Pepto Bismol pink, with shiny, forest green trim. The fireplace was 1970s gold rock, the kitchen had homemade cupboards that stuck every time you opened or closed them, and there were five different – but coordinating – patterns of wallpaper in the kitchen. Included in the kitchen was a dishwasher that used to be mobile, but was now stuck in a cut-out piece of the cupboards, the main bathroom had brown fixtures, the basement was panelboard and linoleum, and there was panelboard and outdated wallpaper in the bedrooms. You may be asking yourself why we purchased the house in the first place. Well, it was in a neighbourhood we loved – and I still love it; walking distance to schools, library, shopping, a swimming pool, great community feel, and large, beautiful trees and lots. This fixer-upper was within our budget and we did all of our first renovations ourselves, saving a ton of money, back in the day when we were just newlyweds starting out. I have fond memories of all the work we did, because we did it ourselves. Nothing bonds a couple like scraping wallpaper directly off drywall. I also have fond memories of the later renovations, because someone else did them, and did them quickly and – sailor-like swearing aside – efficiently. Shut up and take my money.

The very first thing we did in our house – other than paint over the pink and green – was to get rid of the brown fixtures in the bathroom. We replaced them with basic white ones, and a plain vanity from Rona. When we did our big renovation five years ago, we decided to get rid of the bathtub altogether. We have a bathtub in our second bathroom, but no one really baths in our house – we are a family of shower people. So, we put in a big steam shower instead!

I’ve never regretted that decision for a second. We put in a fancy rain-showerhead, a regular hand-held showerhead, and a “body spray,” which to my knowledge no one in our family has ever used. If I was to do it over again, I would skip that fixture. I love having the bench in the shower; it makes it easy for product storage and also for shaving my legs.

One thing I love about our bathroom is the shower floor – like standing on perfectly smooth river rock. It was something I saw in a friend’s house, and I immediately coveted it.

The granite countertop and trim on the bench matches that in the kitchen and around our house – but more on that next time! For now, here is the bathroom before we did the big reno:

All in all, I’m very happy with our bathroom, five years in. Next time: the kitchen!

Hello darkness, my old friend.

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Can you even believe it is August already? We were on vacation last week and since I’ve been back I’ve noticed the huge change in daylight. Before I left the sky was light when I left the house at 5:00 am; now I have to turn on the outside light to go to the garage. I don’t need to close the blinds tightly when I go to bed because it’s already dark.

I know in many, many places in the world, August is still considered “summer” but to me, it begins to feel like fall. The air feels cool and crisp, and even though we have had the warmest, most beautiful summer I can ever remember, I am not ready for it. One thing to note about this city: our summers are short and once the weather turns, it turns. There’s no going back.

Don’t go, summer! Don’t go.

One thing about August is that it’s time to prepare for school; one of my tasks today is to figure out what clothes still fit the boys and what needs to be purchased. Spoiler alert: nothing fits and the children currently have bare drawers where once there were jeans and long-sleeved shirts. It is also the time to think of winter gear – no, it’s not too early, technically we can have snow any time now.

Recently a friend finished a one-year non-shopping challenge, in which she bought no clothes for a whole year. A whole year! I wondered if I myself could – and perhaps, looking at my overflowing closet of much-loved clothes – should take that challenge. Readers may recall that I did a challenge like this last year after I Kondo-ed my closet; I vowed not to buy any clothes for approximately six months, and I did it. Could I do it for a whole year? I was thinking August 1 might be a good start date for that, keeping in mind that asking for clothes for Christmas and my birthday would still be acceptable. Technically speaking, that is. If there is one thing my husband loves to buy for me for such occasions, it is Lululemon wear. What’s not to love? He knows my size, my style preferences (Wunder Unders, Power Y tanks, and long flowy black sweaters) and he can order it online. I shall not take that joy away from him/ I need an out in case a really cute top comes on “We Made Too Much.”

Anyway, I’m considering it. A whole year, though! I wonder if I could do it. I certainly wouldn’t do it for the boys, since their pants are currently in the “capri” zone and their shirts are inadvertently “three-quarter length.”

Speaking of which, does anyone actually like three-quarter length shirts? As a long-limbed girl, they make me feel like an ape or an orangutan wearing human clothes for some kind of animal-based sitcom.

We were on vacation last week, visiting family and friends, and for the most part it was very lovely; lots of long walks, pool time, sunshine, and tasty drinks. This week has been all about getting back to routine, such as it is in the summer.

Someone mentioned to me that my life looks pretty sublime, at least according to Facebook, which is kind of a funny metric. I mean, my life IS pretty sublime, I certainly have no complaints; the vast majority of my time is spent teaching yoga, preparing food, or grocery shopping, all excellent endeavors that I enjoy very much. But of course we rarely talk about the dreary parts of life, like washing dishes several times a day, or cleaning the yard of previously-digested dog food, or pestilence.

Yes, pestilence. We arrived home from vacation to discover that some young people in this house had improperly disposed of Freezie wrappers in the downstairs garbage can, leading to sticky fruit liquid on the floor, and an infestation of ants. Ants! Fortunately one of those young people redeemed himself by googling DIY ant traps, and so we mixed a cup of sugar with half a cup of water and a tablespoon of Borax, and I highly recommend this route. We soon had a Gone With The Wind-like scene featuring ants in the place of wounded soldiers.

Later that same evening, my husband and I were watching Game of Thrones and I found myself staring off into the distance as a coping mechanism during a particularly grim scene. I saw…something. Something black and long and…it disappeared into the useless little cupboard over the staircase. I looked, and my alarmed husband asked what exactly I was looking for. I said that I thought – maybe – it could be a mouse. My husband looked at me and said, “OH NO” in the manner of someone who has to deal with the fallout of a major disaster. We looked but couldn’t see any signs of previously-digested mouse food, and so I said maybe it was just my imagination.

You know how you say something, but you really don’t believe it? That was me. I just knew there was a mouse in the house but had no proof. Sure enough, the next day I took out the kitchen compost bin and underneath it was a sure sign. I called my husband, who asked me, in a very worried voice, why I sounded so calm. He was remembering my near-breakdown after The Moustastrophe of 2013. That evening I went out to teach a class, and my husband and the boys set traps. Later, after I was in bed, apparently there was a snap and then there was much jockeying and arguing about which boy would get to dispose of the mouse carcass. Another trap had to be set on the off chance that the deprived child would be able to act as Mouse Undertaker, but happily, this has not yet come to fruition.

Menu for when it’s too hot to cook, and things I don’t understand.

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I’m not trying to make any political statements here, honestly, but there is something I really do not understand. In the past week, I have seen three separate writings about the horrors of cargo shorts and I have to ask my dear readers: why? Why are cargo shorts such reviled things? I’m asking honestly here, since I am not a person who likes shorts to begin with, and I fail to see much difference between regular shorts and cargo shorts. Shorts, in my humble opinion, are unflattering at the best of times but I recognize that occasionally practicality must prevail. Just like giant puffy coats in winter, sometimes shorts are a necessary evil to survival in the summer. Not, I hastily add, for me, but for others.

Well, I say this, but I actually have a pair of booty shorts that I will occasionally don when it is very hot and I don’t want to completely dehydrate while doing my cardio workout. I have not yet worn them off my own property yet, to be viewed by people not related or married to me, but I do wear them on occasion nonetheless. Again, reiterating, the need for practicality sometimes – SOMETIMES – surpasses the desire to be fashionable.

Back to cargo shorts. Why are they any different from regular shorts? Sure, they have huge pockets, but aren’t pockets a thing we enjoy in life? At least I enjoy being able to carry things with me, not unlike a turtle. My overstuffed purse is testament to this.

I guess I just don’t understand. I also don’t understand the hate for Nickleback, which probably says something about me. Hey, I understand not liking certain bands or musical genres – not everything floats everyone’s musical boats. I just don’t understand the vitriol towards them, or, seemingly relatedly, cargo shorts.

But I am open to (reasonable) debate on those topics.

I will tell you one thing that I don’t understand the seemingly universal love and infatuation with: the poop emoji. Last week when I was at the local amusement park with the kids, I noticed that the majority of the large prizes at the (rigged) games were stuffed poop emojis, replacing the Spongebobs and Pikachus of yesteryear. Why. WHY. Why is this a thing? Why do we want to have our children snuggle with cartoon versions of piles of defecation, or worse, wear those cartoon versions of piles of defecation ON THEIR HEADS.

A smiley face does not counteract the grossness.

A friend (HI JENNIFER) pointed out that there is – and I cannot believe that I am typing this – a “poop emoji cafe” that serves food in toilet shaped bowls, features toilets for chairs, and specializes in chocolate soft serve ice cream someone please stop the madness. I feel ill just thinking about it.

Unless a person is a medical professional specializing in intestinal issues, I do not want to discuss bowel movements. I will talk about facial hair, waxing, ladies’ holidays, and underwear, but this is a bridge too far. What happens in the toilet should stay in the toilet, so let’s pretend that the poop emoji was never invented and instead bring our focus onto the unicorns, diamond rings, coffee, wine, and heart emojis. MAYBE even the taco and/ or eggplant ones if we are feeling saucy and in the mood for sexting, middle-aged style.

Anyway. This is not what I meant to write about today. What I had been meaning to write about was a menu for when it’s too hot to cook. I swear to you that it has actually been – for a couple of days – too hot to cook in Calgary, and that is a thing that is uncommon and rare. My husband took the kids camping on the weekend and for my evening “off” I made a single-girl meal of pesto, guacamole, crackers, dried mangoes, and vodka. It was a thing of beauty. I have an indoor herb garden and the basil was ready to be harvested, and so I made a glorious pesto. I just wish there was more of it! However, I am not suggesting this as a meal plan for everyday.

Lately, when it’s been too hot to cook, I’ve been resorting to simple meals like Greek salad with pita and hummus – for those of you non-dairy types, you can find my recipe for almond feta here. Although, frankly, Greek salad with pita and hummus is on the regular rotation here – it’s a Friday night meal that the guys round out with some sauteed chicken breast.

Other great ideas for simple summer suppers: Lemony Lentil Salad, Sundried Tomato Pasta Salad, Avocado Pasta Salad, and pasta salad with homemade ranch dressing. I also have been making a Thai noodle salad using stir fry noodles, veggies, and a sauce made up of 3 tbsp each soy sauce and rice vinegar, 2 tbsp sesame oil, 1 tbsp each lime juice and brown sugar, with fresh grated ginger and minced garlic, with a spoonful of chili garlic sauce. Veggie wraps (the guys add chicken) are also popular, as are tacos and, of course, barbeque. I am a person who does not use a barbeque because I am terrified of blowing everything up/ burning my hair off, but my husband is quite the griller.

And there is no need to skimp on desserts just because you don’t want to use your oven! Here are some ideas: Avocado Key Lime Pie, Homemade Healthy Fudgsicles, Homemade Dole Whip, Chocolate Covered Strawberries (perfect for the season!), Chunky Monkey Bites, Strawberry Dreamsicles, and YES, I also cannot believe I’m saying this given the political/ emoji climate but HEALTHY CHOCOLATE SOFT-SERVE “NICE” CREAM.

So you see, we have come full circle.

Nicole, the Cruise Director

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Those of you who do not live in places with incredibly unpredictable and volatile climates will not be able to understand my complete and utter joy that it is SUMMER in Calgary. Actual, bonafide summer. Warm – even hot – sunshiny days and calm, beautiful evenings. This is a thing that rarely happens, and it is forecasted to stay this way for at least another ten days. The regular reader, or any Calgarian, will recall last year at this time it was dark, frigidly cold, and rainy. And when I say “cold” I mean that a few daytime highs were eight degrees. Eight.

So it has been beautiful and I am doing what any person might do when faced with beautiful weather in Calgary: assuming that things could change at any time and desperately seizing the day. Carpe diem, and soak up that sunshine.

We have been spending as much time as possible at my parents’ place at the lake, boating and paddleboarding and biking, and also eating and drinking a lot. All that activity requires a lot of replenishment, and let’s not forget to hydrate! The kids have also been swimming, although that is a bridge too far in my opinion, as the lake is very chilly, even with all this sunshine.

I’ve been taking care of our very-good-friends’ kids for the past couple of days, and it has been very fun. It has brought out my inner Cruise Director, in that I am devising activities for the kids to maximize our outdoor time. Of course, they are awesome at finding their own things to do, which is just as well, because there is no need to be Helicopter Cruise Director.

I wonder what it would be like to be a Cruise Director. I’m guessing it would be terrible. In general, I don’t like to rule out whole ideas or paint with one big giant brush, but when I think “cruise ship” I immediately think “epidemiological disaster” or “Norwalk outbreak.” I know, I shouldn’t be close-minded, but still. Imagine contracting the Norwalk virus with only one of those tiny cruise ship bathrooms at your disposal. Ew.

Anyway, the kids have had epic water gun battles, including one with our hose, just like a real “1970s summer.” I don’t think anyone drank out of it though; slurping down warm, rubber-flavoured water is a thing of the past, I guess. They also had a water gun battle at a wading pool, which I thought would be fun and it WAS, albeit slightly nerve-wracking with all the little ones and their moms around. I reiterated the rule that no little kids get shot – or any adults – but I think a few may have gotten caught in the crossfire. Mostly I was just glad I wasn’t one of those moms, because I forgot how anxiety-inducing it is to have very small children toddling uncertainly around water.

The kids also had a day at the local amusement park, which was very fun for everyone involved, including me, since I took a book and read while they went on rides over and over. I guess I was channeling my inner Lazy Cruise Director at that point. And, of course, there were Minecraft and Mario Kart marathons; all in all a fabulous week.