Category Archives: Hello Calgary

Penne for Pi Day

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Happy Pi Day everyone! This year the grade sevens were really learning a lot about pi, and calculating circle area, and discussing how pi is actually calculated and how for every circle – every one! – pi is equal to the circumference divided by the diameter, every time, and isn’t that amazing? It is amazing. My grade seven student was pretty into it so I must say the apple did not fall far from the tree in this case. I don’t mean to brag, but I was known in certain circles as the Conics Goddess when I was in Grade Twelve, because of my conics calculating skills, I casually mentioned to my husband, who responded by saying that was the nerdiest thing he had ever heard in his life. But it’s true! I swear!

Anyway, I’m not making a pie for Pi Day because it’s Tuesday, and who has the time? Also, we are having penne, which is a cylinder of sorts, so that’s how I’m going to celebrate. Penne for Pi Day! It could be a new trend.

I am in a fabulous mood today; the hideous weather finally broke and everything is gloriously melty. Even wiping up Barkley’s constant muddy paw prints cannot bring me down from this cloud. I went to move the garbage bin back to its usual spot today – my life is extremely glamourous – and I noticed tiny green shoots where the yarrow grows wild. Tiny green shoots! What could be more heart-warming than that?

I also got a good, heart-warming laugh out of these pants that my friend Julie (HI JULIE) had posted on Facebook this morning. Although I must add that THIS IS NOT A JOKE, PEOPLE. These pants are available at Nordstrom and are called, hilariously, “Topshop Clear Knee Mom Jeans.” Since when are we using Mom Jeans as advertising? Also, not one mom I know actually wears Mom Jeans, so I’m wondering if this is a new trend with the youth of today, although I can hardly imagine that it is. Guys, let’s wear the least flattering pants ever! Oh, know what would be better than cropped, high-waisted, stone-washed jeans? Cropped, high-waisted, stone-washed jeans with plastic panels in the knees. It’s like ripped jeans, but waterproof if we kneel down in a puddle somewhere.

What do I know, though? Maybe it is a trend with Young People These Days; I am certainly not one of them so I can’t say. I certainly had my own share of unflattering pants back in the day, when everything was high-waisted, belted, and tucked-in. Hugely baggy jeans that were tightly rolled or pinned at the ankles was the big trend when I was in junior high. In fact, everything about junior high was terribly unflattering. It’s almost like someone said Let’s make a style that will cause everyone to look back on it and cringe. Okay, those jeans, giant tucked-in t-shirts, and while we are at it, let’s get all the girls to spiral perm their hair and tease the bangs into free-standing walls. Yes, that should do it. No wait, wait. Let’s add a crimping iron to the mix.

I mean…

You guys, I just realized that those Clear Knee Mom Jeans are $133! That is USD, my friends. That is nearly one hundred and eighty dollars in Canadian funds. Plus shipping! Who is exactly the market, here?

Well, there’s no accounting for taste, as they say. Judge not, says she who had a giant sweatshirt with Garfield’s Zodiac on the front, and wore it often. Judge not.

The hardest part is getting started

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It’s frigidly cold right now; cold enough for me to drive to pick the boys up from school, when they normally walk home. While I was waiting at the junior high, two girls walked by in the snow, purple and shivering, dressed in ripped skinny jeans, light jackets, and running shoes with no socks. Girls! It’s minus 24! Put on some socks. I had to restrain myself from grabbing the unknown girls and wrapping them in my car emergency blanket.

Last night was the junior high school play and I had promised to go. I was supremely grumpy at the thought: not only was I exhausted, but the thought of going out in the cold and snow AGAIN was too aggravating to even contemplate, not to mention that neither of my kids were actually involved in the play. However, their friends were, and they really wanted to go, so I put on my best Adult Attitude and my favourite lipstick, and drove over to the school. I am happy to report that The Little Mermaid was actually very delightful, and I was impressed with the quality of the singing and set. The boys’ bestie was in one of the biggest roles, and he rocked it. Best of all, I was home by 8:30, so I consider that a massive win.

The whole evening reminded me that, as for everything – exercising, attending something you don’t want to, cleaning up the kitchen after a massive cooking-fest – the Hardest Part Is Getting Started. I’m almost always happy to have Done Something, even when I Desperately Do Not Want To Do Something.

Speaking of things that I’m happy to have done but desperately did not want to do, yesterday I went bathing suit shopping. I know! I wasn’t supposed to buy myself any clothes until my birthday but a) I have been very good about this and b) needs must, sometimes. I needed a bathing suit and for various, uninteresting reasons, I found myself in a bathing suit deficit situation. So I took a deep breath and off I went.

Now, I have no issues with my body. I like my body. I am in the best shape of my life, including those years in university when I went to five step and boxing circuit classes a week, followed by weights and a quick turn on the Stair Master. And still, bathing suit shopping is agonizing.

I think part of it is the lighting. Why is the lighting so poor? Is it like a cult, or prison, where they just want to break your spirit so that you just desperately grasp at anything that fits moderately well, just so you can leave? Another thing is the selection. I went to La Vie En Rose Aqua, and in general I like that store very much. Their online store has a ton of selection but – as I am finding is often the case – instore is a different story. And much as I’d like to just buy something online, with bathing suits it can be tricky, if not impossible. The salesgirl, who was young enough to be my daughter, and not in a “teenage mother” kind of way, either, kept offering to call other stores to see if they had certain items in my size, as if it isn’t actually 2017.

Anyway. I did end up with something I’m very happy with – a black bikini with polka dots and a bandeau-style top – so all is well that ends well. I went into the store thinking I would step way, way out of my comfort zone and buy a NAVY bikini with white polka dots, based solely on the fact that my friend Liv (HI LIV) thinks I should wear more navy, or “black light,” as she calls it. Hilariously enough, her opinion on that stems from this photo of me in my swanky navy mammogram gown. Discovering your colours vis a vis mammogram gowns! But I do agree that it IS a good colour on me, but as soon as I tried on the navy bikini I knew I couldn’t do it. What can I say, colour and I have a shaky relationship. But you knew that already.

Another thing about bikini shopping specifically is that there are two types of tops: those for the busty, and those for the less-gifted. One semi-unpleasant realization, as a Less Gifted Girl, bikini tops geared towards Our Kind seem to be all padded. Sure, you can remove the padding, but who is going to do that in the change room? It is startling, to say the least, to become some kind of Mrs. Robinson-type while trying on bathing suits. I mean, suddenly I had a rack to rival a Victoria Secrets model, in stark contrast to my Sophia Petrillo face. It’s kind of tempting to keep the massive padding in but my bikini goals are now to be comfortable and relatively attractive, but not in a way that will embarrass tween boys. Thus, the bandeau-style top.

And while we are on Unpleasant Topics, it is time change this weekend. So, gear up for a week of crabbiness and general ennui. There is an MLA who has put forth a motion to abolish time change in this province, and I will say that I never thought I would be so positive about our current provincial government. I can’t even go with the semi-sarcastic saying about a blind squirrel getting a nut, because I am so thrilled with the mere possibility. YOU GUYS THIS COULD REALLY HAPPEN! My angst about time change for all these years may be coming to an end! I can’t believe it either! The sham that is time change MAY BE OVER.

Fifteen minutes of fame or writing or something.

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Last week was pretty hectic, so I was looking forward to a fairly open week in which I could get a lot of writing done and, in general, relax a bit. Unfortunately, I did not actually look at my calendar in that burst of optimistic feeling, and I am having an OMG it’s Wednesday already and OMG it’s March 8 already and OMG my life is flying by.

For one thing, I forgot that I had signed up to volunteer for a field trip to the Spaceport yesterday. The field trip itself was just fine; not the best field trip ever – that title still goes to the one to the Police Interpretive Centre – but certainly not the worst either. There were lots of fun and interesting activities for the kids and my Nerd might have been showing as I got pretty into the air compression station, when it was my turn to man the equipment.

There was also a very cool inflatable dome that the kids got to lie down in to look at the various stars and constellations, and it is pretty clear that the entire class is much more knowledgeable in this area than I am.

My favourite part by far was footage with Commander Hadfield and crew, snacking on bananas and M&M’s in space. You had me at Commander Hadfield.

One of the presentations included a very detailed demonstration – using a dummy with the creepiest face you’ve ever seen, seriously, this is nightmare stuff – about how astronauts use the toilet. Clearly the people who design the program have their fingers on the pulse of what interests students in this age group.

This morning, despite minus 15 degree temperatures and fresh snow, I decided that I needed to go to Costco. There was literally no other time this week that I could do it; as we all know, Costco is a time-suck of epic proportions. There is the driving, and the loading and unloading of the giant groceries, and the putting away of said groceries. However, I must note that luck was on my side today as I not only got an excellent parking spot, meaning that pushing the heavy cart through snow was only a moderate workout, rather than a “I may die here today” one. Also – and this has never happened before, so it is noteworthy – as I was in line, a NEW CHECKOUT OPENED UP AND THEY CHOSE ME TO BE THE FIRST IN LINE. I felt like a celebrity, getting into the hottest new club in town with nary an issue.

As I mentioned, I started watching Jane the Virgin a few weeks ago, but have not watched any since that time. Instead, I have been reading. I know that makes me sound like one of those douchey people who think television is much too pedestrian for their tastes, but here’s the thing: I put a ton of books on hold at the library, and they all seem to be coming in at once. I can’t keep up. I take back a book only to pick up three more, and now I feel like I’m in some kind of one-step-forward-two-steps-back world. Since I was in the queue for a lot of those books, I can’t renew them either, so I’m in a strange spot of frantically reading. It reminds me of my pre-social-media youth, which is a very good thing.

To Kill A Mockingbird has been one of my favourite books since the moment I read it at age 23. I’ve read it so many times I’ve lost count, and some of my very favourite lines ever written are in that book.

So imagine my surprise when I found out that the character of Dill was based on Harper Lee’s childhood friend, Truman Capote. I know what you’re thinking, and that is that everyone knows that. Everyone but me! This was completely new information for me, and although I’ve read a lot of his writing, I never connected the dots. It makes so much sense! Dill sounds exactly like what Capote would have been like as a child! I can’t get over it.

The only reason I even know this is because it was in one of the books I read, The Swans of Fifth Avenue, which is a dishy, delicious read. I highly recommend it and as you read it, be sure to google photos of the real people in the book. It is well worthwhile.

I also, after having it on hold since last June, and having it come up when I was on vacation in November, and then having to put it on hold again, finally read The Life Changing Magic of Not Giving a Fuck. I will say this – after all that, I did not really enjoy the book. I mean, I liked the premise. I like not giving a fuck about things that aren’t worth giving a fuck about. But I did not like the book itself. Maybe it was the way it was written, I just don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it but I am DEFINITELY in the minority here.

Well, I just challenged myself to write a post in the 15 minute window I had, and on that note, I must close and finish all the other (more pressing, but what can I say, I like blogging) things on my to-do list today. Have a great day, everyone, and I hope you are well. xo

Abbie’s Favourite Cookies

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On the radio last week, they were having a contest to win tickets to see Brian Wilson – of Beach Boys fame – in concert. I actually thought that Brian Wilson died a long time ago, which is the reason I am rarely, if ever, upset by celebrity deaths. I often think that the death has happened already. In any case, today I learned that Brian Wilson is the same age as my mother-in-law, which seems a bit old to be singing Surfin’ Safari and Fun Fun Fun, but who am I to judge? You do you, Brian Wilson.

The concert itself is titled Brian Wilson Presents Pet Sounds – The Final Performance. That feels a bit ominous and if I were him, I probably wouldn’t want FINAL in the title of my performance, but perhaps it helps with the ticket sales. Who knows? I remember a few years ago I saw KC and the Sunshine Band on television – maybe it was American Idol? I don’t really remember – performing Get Down Tonight and to be frank, it was pretty grim. There is something inherently depressing about watching disco stars attempt to perform in the exact same way as they did in the 1970s. Change can be good, aging disco stars. Embrace the change.

In other local performance news, Wayne Newton is touring. I repeat: Wayne Newton is not only alive, but touring! I was even more shocked to hear that than the Brian Wilson news. Sadly, it appears that touring is something that Mr. Las Vegas needs to do since he is – allegedly – in financial distress, which should be a cautionary tale for anyone whose expenditures exceed income. Of course, if at any time you feel that you just cannot live without a peacock aviary and exotic animal menagerie, perhaps you might need a new financial advisor.

I just this moment learned that Judge Wapner passed away, at the great age of 97. Again, who knew he was still kicking? Certainly not me. RIP, Judge Wapner.

One thing I love very much about being part of a yoga community is that I get to make friends with people of all ages. I have many sweet young friends, and it is lovely to be able to celebrate with them as they go through their engagements, weddings, and pregnancies. At the moment, I know of four little yogis due to be born between April and July, which is exciting and happy news. I highly recommend becoming friends with such sweet young mamas, so as to share in a lot of joy and excitement.

One very special yogi was born back in November; her mama (HI ABBIE) is a wonderful, sweet friend of mine who I miss a lot, since she moved away a few years ago. I used to make these cookies for her, since they were her favourite. In my head, I always call them Abbie’s Cookies. Last week another young yoga friend had a birthday, and so I baked these cookies for him; I kept the base the same but added in lots of healthy extras, because he’s a very health-conscious individual, even on his birthday.

My much-loved grandma once told me that when she experiments with a recipe, she would make it exactly as the recipe stated the first time, and then would change it subsequently to her own tastes. When I first started cooking and baking, I would be terrified to do this, convinced that one wrong step would ruin everything. Let me reassure you: rarely is this the case. I mean, yes, I have had some flops in my time. Observe, if you will, my attempt at free-styling white chocolate raspberry cookies:

But to be honest, mostly things work out. And so I loaded these cookies with lots of yummy healthy things, like chopped apricots, pumpkin seeds, coconut, hemp, and flax (and chocolate chips too, because I’m not a monster). When I would make them for Abbie I would add in peanut butter chips. You could swap out everything for dried cranberries and white chocolate, you could put in butterscotch chips and raisins. What I’m saying is that you do YOU. Have fun with these cookies. Throw in everything but the kitchen sink or take out everything but the chocolate. Just bake them with love and watch the love come back to you. xo

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*click here to learn everything you ever wanted to know about flax eggs

Women’s Health Week in the Boyhouse

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You guys, it is Wednesday already, and in one week, February will be over. Over! February feels like it just started, I have four months left before both of my children are junior high students, one month before I have a teenager, and six days until my very last book fair, all of which are good reminders that Time Stops For No One.

It has been a busy week already, even with Monday being a holiday; lots of lovely classes to teach, things to do, children’s dental appointments to sit through. For some reason I booked dentist appointments on the same day that the orthodontist office is closed, and woe, the cleaning will have to take place with wires still in place. The receptionist who called me to confirm sternly said that it would be okay this once, but next time would I please book the cleaning NOT on a Friday. Her tone made me feel like the consequences would be much more dire than they probably are.

It’s also, apparently, Women’s Health Week for me – I had my physical yesterday, and I appear to be fit as a fiddle, as they say in old-timey books about healthy individuals. I had my Pap test and I was not accidentally inseminated, which is my new bar for such things, thank you Jane the Virgin. I did, however, have to endure the usual Where’s Waldo game my doctor plays with my cervix. My cervix is apparently like a toddler in a clothing store; only one doctor has been able to locate it with precision and minimal discomfort. I feel like my cervix is starring in its own drama; like it’s a reclusive Greta Garbo, shying away from the public.

After my physical, I was given my usual requisition forms for blood work and a mammogram, and I went downstairs from the doctor’s office to book the latter. Now, I do not know what is going on with medical imaging in Calgary, but I have to tell you, I like it. For some reason every year that I’ve had a mammogram (this would be my fourth), it’s been in a different location, because the previous location “doesn’t do mammograms anymore.” Why? Why do they keep moving all the mammogram equipment around? I went to book it and was told that they didn’t do them anymore but fortunately, I was able to get an appointment at an even more convenient location. Score! Now, the first time I had a mammogram I had to wait several weeks for an appointment, and they ran late, and I had to sit shirtless, covered only by a paper robe, in a freezing room for thirty minutes before testing, the whole thing taking over two hours to complete. Yesterday, the woman at the clinic offered me an appointment that very afternoon. I was completely unprepared for that, so I declined, instead getting an appointment for nine-thirty the following morning. What is this magic? I don’t know if it’s a new imaging firm that has the contracts, but I LIKE IT.

This morning I trundled over to the imaging clinic, deodorant-less but with a book in my bag and several articles bookmarked on my phone. I was preparing for a hefty wait, when the receptionist told me “Your check-in is at 9:30, but your actual appointment isn’t until 9:35.” Talk about precision! I had barely made it into the waiting area, and taken my book out of my bag, before my name was called. I was literally in and out in fifteen minutes.

The technicians that do the mammograms must be specially trained for sensitivity and kindness; without exception every one of them has been lovely, especially when you consider the bizarre nature of their job, squishing and squeezing the girls to get them in “just the right position.” Getting a mammogram feels a lot like being part of the weirdest photo shoot ever, with the technician telling me to “place my hand here” and “turn my chin up and to the right” and gently fixing my hair just so.

My favourite thing about the new location is the style of medical gown they use. Remember last time, how I awkwardly had the gown on backwards, proving my ability to misunderstand basic instructions? There was no room for such issues today, as the robes were kimono-style, and one would have to be REALLY confused to not figure that out. In fact, I felt a little bit fancy in my gown, all ready for my squishy-breast photo shoot.

Sweatin’ to the Oldies

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I was driving home from yoga on Tuesday when I heard on the radio that Southern Alberta is under an extreme cold warning; Calgary is NOT included in this warning. I looked at the dashboard and the temperature read minus 26. What does a city have to do to get an extreme cold warning around here?

It’s already started to warm up, thankfully, and the streets are merely a mess of mushy snow and frozen-over ridges, which is much better than the sheer ice/ snow piles that they were. This morning I decided to wrap up warmly and take Barkley to the dog park since it was minus 15, which is my personal cut-off. I regretted the decision upon arrival but powered through, because this fuzzy little face was so happy.

Who’s a good doggy? Barkley is! Barkley’s a good doggy!

The grade seven gym class, having completed the Dance Unit, with their foray into the Cadillac Ranch and Cotton Eyed Joe line dances, are now in the Cardiovascular Health unit. Yesterday they participated in Tai Bo. Tai Bo! With Billy Blanks! The general consensus was that the video used was “creepy.” Creepy or not, I would have loved to be a fly on the wall to see 12 and 13 year old kids doing Tai Bo.

I do not know how the curriculum is created, but it seems to have a very large Nineties push. I wonder if step aerobics will be next. Oh, how I loved step aerobics. I would probably still love step aerobics, given the chance. I remember going through the group workout schedule in university and being able to attend such classes as Step and Pump, Interval Step, and Boxercise. Those were the days, when I would don my sports bra, shorts, and – inexplicably – ball cap for a workout between actual academic classes.

I just now remembered why I wore a ball cap to work out in. It was because of my extremely layered Rachel haircut; it was impossible to keep the hair out of my face otherwise.

Continuing with the video workouts, perhaps Sweatin’ to the Oldies will have a chance to make a comeback. I earnestly, and without irony, like Richard Simmons. Although for these kids, “The Oldies” could be defined as anything between 1995-2005, songs which often seem to me as “just released.” Maybe he has a “twerking” workout. A twerkout, as it were.

Discovery: the entire collection of Sweatin’ to the Oldies is available on Amazon for $282.53, which seems like a lot, but there is only one left in stock, so I guess Amazon knows what it’s doing.

Have a wonderful weekend, everyone! Stay warm. xo

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Glory days

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The other day I had just finished showering, preparing to teach an evening class, when the dryer finished its cycle. I brought the basket upstairs, in my bathrobe, and pulled on a pair of socks that were on top. I am now ruined for non-dryer-warmed socks. Regular socks are just a sad imitation of a superior product. However, it would be pretty bad, ecologically-wise, for me to run the dryer every time I put on a pair of socks, and yet it is a very tempting prospect, especially on a day like today when we are in “winter storm warning;” at minus 21 with a ton of snow I wish I could just live in the dryer. Or maybe have clothes made out of electric blankets.

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Brr!

Speaking of ecological warriors, because of changes – FINALLY – made by the CRTC, I was able to actually see Superbowl commercials yesterday! For those of you not in Canada, this is a huge thing. Local stations would take over and instead of seeing the big-time commercials, we would see locally-made commercials for a furniture warehouse, or commercials for the actual television station that we were watching. Normally my husband would just record the whole game, start late, and zap through the commercials. But not this year! This year I got to see this one with Melissa McCarthy and this one, which is my new favourite thing and, proving that advertising really does work, I am going to look into this hair care line.

My hair has reached critical “it’s winter” dryness and that, coupled with my grey-root situation that is typical in this stage of my hair-colour cycle, is making me feel a bit dreary. I am trying to reconcile my I-Am-Woman-And-Growing-Old-Is-Beautiful-Screw-The-Youth-Culture mentality with my Eeek-Don’t-Look-Too-Closely-In-The-Mirror mentality. Know what I mean? I want to not care about my marionette lines and my undereye circles and my forehead ridges, but vanity, it is the last to die. I wrote this piece all about self-care and I love it, I really do. I think it’s one of my favourite things I’ve written in recent memory, and I believe every word I wrote, and yet it is HARD sometimes, to smile while looking in the mirror. I mean, in some ways it’s not, because I suffer from a mad case of Bitchy Resting Face, and smiling alleviates that.

Ah, I should not focus so much on appearance, am I right? My friend and I were having tea the other day and talking about exercise and keeping in shape, as we grow older. “It’s not about aesthetics,” I said, and then, for the sake of honesty I added, “Well, maybe it’s a little about aesthetics.” I wonder what age I will be when I stop caring about my appearance. Death, maybe?

Does anyone else suffer from this internal struggle? I don’t want to care about my appearance, but I do. I want to celebrate my aging self, and I do, but I also am starting to fully understand why celebrities get plastic surgery. Can you imagine being an actress, seeing yourself in reruns? For the vain – scratch that, for anyone – that would be difficult. And in this time of filters and Instagram and photoshopped everything, it’s hard to remember what real people actually look like. And for me, I feel very strong and healthy, and so it’s sometimes startling to see myself in the mirror, pre-makeup in the morning.

On that note, I was half-watching a movie with my husband on the weekend: Fifty Fifty. It is a very touching – and, apparently true – movie about a young man with cancer and a fifty-fifty chance of survival. No spoilers here, except that we were 95% of the way through a movie when I realized that the mother was played by Anjelica Huston. She’s aged, I thought, then mentally slapped myself because of course she’s aged! She’s not dead. We should all be lucky enough to age. What a terrible way to think, especially while watching a movie of such content.

Am I alone in this? Anyone else struggling a bit with this whole “looking our age” thing? Come here and let me hug you and pat your back with my knobbly, veiny old hands. xo