Category Archives: Hello Calgary

Losing My Religion; One Hundred and Three Weeks In

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A brief timeline of Covid-related happenings over the past six months, if you will indulge me:

Fall: After “Open for Summer” which had all restrictions dropped, massive Covid outbreaks, ICUs are full, masks once again mandated, and vaccines required to go to restaurants, fitness classes, and entertainment venues.

Mid-December: Gathering restrictions for (largely unvaccinated) children under 18 dropped entirely. Gathering restrictions for adults continue, but there is no differentiation between vaccinated and unvaccinated.

Christmas-New Year’s: The biggest Covid outbreak yet, demand for testing far exceeds supply, PCR tests become impossible to get except for health-care workers and hospital patients, rapid test supply completely runs out and people line up the block, Soviet-bread-line-style, at pharmacies for a chance to get one.

January: The people I know who have Covid exceed the people I know who don’t have Covid. Back to school is delayed, diploma exams cancelled, Fuck Lydia.

Mid-January: School reopens, and medical masks and rapid test kits are distributed to every student, with the understanding that they are all supposed to test themselves twice weekly. Parents are warned that school could go online “at any time.”

February 14: NO MORE MASK MANDATES FOR CHILDREN UNDER 18, INCLUDING IN SCHOOL SETTINGS. This occurred exactly one week after the last delivery of masks and test kits. My kids have reported that “no one” goes without a mask at their school of 2300, including themselves.

March 1: All restrictions dropped completely, it’s a free-for-all.

My friend Janet (HI JANET) asked if I would stop my week counting now that restrictions were dropped, and my response was no. This is not our first rodeo. Let’s see how this plays out, and in the meantime, we are coming up to the two year mark.

My older son is graduating in a few months, and it is also my parents’ 50th anniversary in a couple of weeks, so I had the need for a lot of photo frames, one of which was a kind of odd size. I had run into a photographer friend who assured me that all could be found at Michael’s, which is how I found myself at Michael’s, last Tuesday morning.

Here’s the thing: I deeply admire crafty people. I follow a few very beautiful crafty blogs, which are purely pleasure and contain nothing that I would be able to do. I have incredibly crafty friends who paint and cross-stitch and knit and crochet and even spin their own wool. My mother-in-law knits everything from dolls to slippers, often making up her own patterns. My mother crochets and sews; she made clothes for us when we were kids, as well as our Halloween costumes and my kids’ Halloween costumes, even when my older son decided he wanted to be an eagle one year, and a pattern for an eagle could not be found.

I, on the other hand, once ripped a gaping hole in my pants when I tried to sew a button on; I almost failed the sewing portion of junior high Home Ec, where I spent three years ripping seams out until my projects were filled with holes.

What I’m saying is that I feel very out of place in Michael’s. As soon as I step through their doors I feel immediately overwhelmed, and the chorus from Creep starts to go through my head. What the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here. As I stood near a display of Easter items – could I make my own wreath? No. – women dashed around me, grabbing fake flowers and pastel coloured eggs. I felt like an alien who had just been dropped onto the planet and was unsure of the customs or language of the people around me. Where. Are. Frames.

My legs eventually became ambulatory again, and I did find the frames, albeit not before getting distracted by a huge display of baking supplies. Ooooh, there are so many sprinkles. I got what I needed and then, because Costco was next door, I decided to just stop in there rather than rush over post-Superstore on grocery day, which is Wednesday.

And now I will say that I have been in a bubble for many months, as my routine is this: go to Superstore for opening at 8:00, after that head to Costco for opening at 9:00. It’s rushed but civilized, and it’s exhausting but fine.

Costco at 9:00 is very, very different from Costco at 11:13.

It was pandemonium! Pandemonium! There were people everywhere, including one woman who was clearly in a rush, as she kept sweeping past all of us patiently making our way down the aisles, bumping our carts aggressively and sighing as though the state of the union was dependent on her getting out of Costco quickly with her giant detergent and frozen fries. Plus, since the mask mandate was lifted, at least a third of the customers and staff were maskless, and I am just not used to seeing that many faces. Sample tables were open and there were people jammed around them, trying to get a piece of ham or a pickle. My usual quiet, gentle Costco experience was no longer. As I wheeled my cart towards the parking lot, silently admiring the fellow behind me whose cart held nothing whatever except two jugs of milk, the song in my head abruptly switched away from Creep.

That’s me in the aisle, that’s me in the parking lot, losing my religion.

I have not said anything for many months about people not returning their carts, probably because I have been there right at store opening, which is too early in the day to give people a chance to prove that they are terrible. But my god! People are terrible. As Gigi said (HI GIGI), people are VILE and have no conscience. I mean, look. The cart carrel is RIGHT THERE. It is TWO parking spots away. WHY.

Seriously, WHY. I know there are people out there who say ridiculous things like people are hired to collect the carts and those people need jobs, and to the people who say that I say, fuck you. I mean, people are also hired to clean public washrooms but we are not peeing all over the floor and throwing our toilet paper and paper towels everywhere just so those people can have job security. The people are hired to collect the carts FROM THE GODDAMN CARRELS AND LEAVING CARTS HERE THERE AND EVERYWHERE IS NOT HELPING THEM DO THEIR JOBS OR SOMEHOW INCREASING THEIR JOB SECURITY. IT IS JUST BEING A LAZY ASSHOLE.

Well. I am going back to my first-thing-in-the-morning bubble, because as we all know, we cannot control what other people do, we can only control our reactions, and as such, I will just go into my own personal rage corner, this blog. Also, when I see this kind of mayhem like I did this week, I rescue one of those poor abandoned carts that just want to go to their HOME, the carrel, to take into the store for my own use. Small steps lead to marathons, and small gestures can change the world. Even in the Costco parking lot.

Why doesn’t Costco retrofit their carts so that a coin is needed for their use? It would certainly solve the problem. Why am I not in charge of these things?

Pandemic Reading

Life and Other Near-Death Experiences. This was a light book about a heavy topic: cancer. I had recently read the sequel to this book, without knowing it was a sequel. Whoops! It would have made more sense to read it in the correct order. I liked this book fine, I didn’t love it, but it was fine.

My Monticello. I am mixed on this book, which is made up of short stories and a novella. I loved the short stories and thought they were so smart and moving. The novella was a great concept, but it just dragged for me; I could NOT get into it. I would say all in all that this was a very original and interesting book – lots of fascinating facts about Thomas Jefferson and his Black descendants – but the novella was a bit too dystopian for my personal taste.

This book is bananas. BANANAS. It is dark and juicy and hilarious and horrifying and terribly sad, all at the same time. The details are so good! Some are hilarious – “(the waitress) tells us the specials in such a way that we know put some responsibility as patrons in her section us to just go right ahead and fuck ourselves” – and some details made my eyes get wider and wider and my eyebrows started to disappear into my hairline. Whoa Nelly. Like, it’s CRAZY. Every single situation is crazy. That said, it was really good! I was compelled to keep reading even when I was supposed to be doing other things. I am looking forward to more from this author. What a debut!

Happy March, everyone! Next week is our two-year Pande-versary, who would have thought? Take care of yourselves. xo

Marital Mismatches and Superpowers; One Hundred and Two Weeks In

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It feels like I was JUST saying that February is tomorrow, and here we are, MARCH is tomorrow! February flew by; part of it was that it felt like Life Was Hectic, with wrestling tournaments and a new school semester and a five-day weekend thrown in for good measure, but part of it was that we have had absolutely gorgeous, mild weather in a I Can’t Believe It’s February kind of way. This, however, came to an abrupt end this past week; I had to put on my snowpants, again, to go for a walk.

It’s weather like this that makes automatic car starters so popular around here, for people who don’t have garages. I mean, obviously. I am no expert on this subject, but I can only assume that if a person were to use an automatic car starter while their car was in a garage, they might drop dead of carbon monoxide poisoning on entering the garage, unless the garage door was open, but if it was, why would you need the automatic car starter? Why would you go into the garage, open the door, and then use an automatic car starter? Why wouldn’t you just start your car?

Anyway, automatic car starters. I don’t have one – I have a garage, and I use it – but I’m sure they are great for weather like we had this past week. As I was walking the other day, attired as above, I started to pass a truck parked on the street, and then that truck started lightly honking its horn. I thought maybe it was a neighbour, trying to get my attention, but then I wasn’t sure how anyone would know I was me, dressed as I was, with sunglasses to boot. Startled, I looked up, but no one was in the truck. Then the truck started, and I thought, oh, automatic car starter and kept on my way. Shortly after that, the same thing happened with ANOTHER vehicle. And then another one! Three times this happened to me in a sixty minute walk, a light honk and then the car starting just as I was passing it, with no one in the vehicle.

I actually started to wonder if I had suddenly developed the world’s weirdest and most useless superpower, the ability to start cars merely by passing them on the street. Imagine! It would have been nicer to suddenly develop the ability to fly, or control the weather, or even swing from buildings using webs shooting out of my own wrists, but I will admit I will take anything I can get in the superpower front.

As I was walking, I was listening to a podcast that was recorded in the summer, in Los Angeles, and one of the hosts mentioned that she hates showering, and showers only when she has to, which turns out to be every three to four days. Now, before I get further, I am going to say that if you are a person who is of similar mindset, I am not judging you: I assume we all know our own bodies and needs best, and this is a safe space, we are in the Trust Tree here. You do you.

Personally, I am a Daily Shower person, and I realize this is a great privilege of the Modern Age, but my Daily Shower is an Anchor in my day, and without it I feel like I would drift off into the Sea of Life. Even though I do not wash my hair every time I shower – that I do only about every 2-3 days – I feel refreshed and happy and like I hit the Reset Button Of Life every time I step out of the shower. It’s an important ritual in my day, and also, if you’ve ever seen me post-daily-workout, you would probably think a daily shower should not only be encouraged, but vital.

I get sweaty, is what I’m saying. I haven’t weighed myself since August 2020, and I don’t plan on weighing myself ever again, but sometimes I wonder how much water weight I lose in a workout. I’m a person who sweats a lot and I shall not sweat-shame myself, but honestly. I could wring out a tank top post-workout.

Back to the podcast. After the host mentioned her distaste for showers, the other host asked if her husband was still showering twice a day and that brings me to my whole point. Twice a day showers feels like a lot, but I have definitely done that in the summer, after a day spent outside gardening or hiking, covered in sunscreen and bug spray. But what I have a hard time reconciling in my head is what is their marriage like? You never know, of course, what goes on in someone’s marriage, but if my husband – who also showers daily – started showering every 3-4 days, I think it would end in divorce. I just couldn’t handle it. I recognize, again, privilege and that our bodies adjust to what we do to them, but still.

It’s the mismatch that gets me. It’s not like I think my husband and I should be clones of each other, because that would be weird and disturbing, and also I would not want to be married to my own clone, god, there can’t be TWO of us. But I also don’t think that Opposites Attract, or if they do Attract, they don’t Stay Attracted, if you know what I mean.

I have been thinking about this because we are coming up to our twentieth anniversary – twenty years! – in a few weeks. I find it interesting, there are so many behaviours that would never bother me if anyone else in the world did them, but if it was my husband, NO. NO SIR. The following would put an actual strain on my marriage, an I don’t think this is WORKING kind of strain: smoking, leaving dirty clothes on the floor instead of in the hamper, drug use, neglecting his health, and, importantly, less frequent showering than me. Fortunately, none of those things have come to pass, so we shall happily celebrate our China Anniversary later this month, minus the china.

Look at that sweet young thing! She had no idea that in twenty years, she’d be writing about marital shower habits.

Pandemic Reading

Notes From A Small Island. When I posted this on Instagram, a friend introduced me to the Bill Bryson Theory: the first one you read is hilarious, and then each subsequent title is progressively less funny. YES. I have enjoyed Bryson so much in previous books but this, meh. It follows him on a seven-week tour of Britain, his adopted country, and yes, this was published in 1995 so it is obviously dated and yes, Britain in the 80s and 90s was a grim and depressing place to be, but ugh. This book was so dull and disappointing. There were a couple of amusing anecdotes and some interesting facts, but whoever reviewed this at The Globe and Mail – “Doubled over belly shakes and seltzer through the nose funny” – was maybe drunk.

Black Is The Body. This was excellent! I love a good essay collection and this one was insightful and thoughtful. The first essay, about the author being randomly stabbed at a coffee shop, was startling; the rest of the book deals with race, home, marriage, and motherhood, all tying back to her body and what it means to be black in America. 

The Echo Chamber. This is a very clever satire and commentary about appearances, social media, and cancel culture. The Cleverley family is an absolutely ridiculous group of caricatures, but there’s a thoughtful and interesting pre-SM backstory. Also interesting to me is that it was published in 2021 and there are quite a few references to past mask-wearing, vaccinations, and how fun it is to go shopping again, now that the pandemic is over. Oh, sweetie. The epilogue I could have done without, but in general it was smart and amusing. As I say, it’s satire, so definitely not for everyone, as there are a few storylines that feel distasteful.

My Boyfriend Wrote A Book About Me. I am NOT the correct demographic for this book, that much is obvious. It is supposed to be a humorous book of essays about bad dates, relationships, and one-night stands, but I found it so terribly sad. The whole time, I kept thinking Oh, sweetie, no. No, don’t sleep with that guy. No. That’s not going to help your self-esteem. It’s been a long time since I was on the dating scene but hoo boy, this woman had literally the worst luck with men. As a preview, her ex wrote a book about her, referring to her as his “fat-assed girlfriend,” which should give you an idea about the general temperature of the book.

There has been a lot of terrible news this week, as we are all aware. I haven’t mentioned the incredible sadness and fear for the people living in Ukraine, for all my Ukrainian friends, but of course that has been on my mind this week. Lots of love to all of you, from my little corner of the world. xo

Fun In Your Forties; Ninety-Nine Weeks In

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Ninety-nine! I’ve got ninety-nine problems, but Covid isn’t one, yet. Doesn’t it feel like a ticking time bomb, though? In the first four waves, I knew only a handful of people who had gotten sick; now it feels like I know only a handful of people who haven’t gotten sick, all of whom, needless to say as they are my friends, have been careful and cautious and following all the protocols. Fortunately, all of those that have been infected in this wave have recovered quickly and with no ill effects, unlike the people I knew in previous waves, who suffered immensely. On that note, I am scheduled to get my booster this week!

I was preparing for my walk the other day and thought I would check the temperature to see if it was a Legwarmer Day or a Snow Pants Day.

Frigid! You know, maybe the weather is just not that into you, or maybe the weather just wants to take things slow. There’s no reason for…what’s the opposite of slut-shaming?

For what it’s worth, I don’t even think minus 19 is worthy of a “frigid.” It’s Cold, to be sure, but it’s not Extremely Cold, particularly in February.

I was pleasantly surprised to find a hand-delivered card in my mailbox, from my former neighbours, with a note saying that they enjoyed having such congenial neighbours for so many years and that they were sorry they missed us before they left. Okeley-dokely! It still doesn’t explain WHEN they left and how I didn’t notice, but it was nice.

Am I a super-nosy neighbour? Probably. But how does someone move furniture without the neighbours knowing?

Our new neighbour told me that he is a Car Guy, and is building a whole new garage, with a lift and everything. I can’t help but think that this would have been incredible had it happened fifteen years or so ago, when the boys were little. They would have been glued to the fence, watching the construction and cars. You can’t buy that kind of entertainment. Well, I guess I’ll have to enjoy it on my own.

On a completely different note: it is a source of small annoyance to me that every hair on my body – including long white hairs in my eyebrows, which cannot be plucked without resulting in bald spots in said eyebrows – has gone or is going grey, with the exception of my upper lip. The latter seems to be having some kind of youthful resurgence; perhaps I’m unknowingly embracing my inner Magnum PI? In any case, I spend time each morning with tweezers and my Daylight Magnifying Mirror, which is something I do not recommend for the faint of heart.

It recalls to my mind the paragraph in Bridget Jones’ Diary, where she compares her grooming process to farming – “so much harvesting and crop-spraying…The whole performance is so highly tuned you only need to neglect it for a few days for the whole thing to go to seed.” Word, Bridget.

I was complaining about this to my friend Hannah not long ago (HI HANNAH), as even my magical chin hair has gone perfectly white. Immediately after complaining that only my upper lip is sprouting dark hair, the rest of me is grey, I noticed several very dark CHIN HAIRS sprouting from my face. NEVER COMPLAIN. The universe is listening.

You’re not happy being Magnum PI? How about becoming a Bearded Hipster, how do you like me now.

If ever I am in a coma or am otherwise unable to access my tweezers and magnifying mirror, I will end up like one of the members from ZZ Top or, possibly, Santa. Santa with a dark moustache.

Perimenopause! It’s an interesting time, to be sure. Years ago – literally, years – I bought a box of tampons at Costco, and I JUST finished them in December. I was a little unsure as to what to do, going forward.

Here’s the thing: I am very fortunate in that my periods, such as they are, while irregular, are very light. I know so many women who suffer from heavy periods with lots of pain, but so far – and this can change, I’m sure, Hi to My Hormones – that’s not me. Other than my breasts suddenly spilling out of my bra or tank top like a 1980s swimsuit model, and the Feeling of Extreme Resentment and/ or Sadness that pervades the day or two before the start of Ladies’ Holidays, I don’t have much trouble with my periods.

Note: I related this to my sister-in-law over wine last summer, and she looked at me and said “I hate you right now.” I’m sorry! (HI JO).

Anyway, my periods are so light that my tampon usage is maybe 2-4 tampons per period, thus making a Costco box last for years. I have no idea how many years I have left of tampon usage at all, so I bought a regular sized box from Superstore, and it was fifty cents less than the giant Costco box. I mean. The Scottish side of me immediately regretted the smaller box – economies of scale! – and yet, will I use up the Costco box? No one can say. All I’m going to say is that I will be annoyed with myself if I do have to purchase another box. I could have been a contender.

I can sometimes feel maudlin when I realize that I have done something, mothering-wise, for the last time. The boys wake up with their own alarms, meaning I don’t waltz into their rooms singing Good morning, good MORNING, it’s time to start your day, good morning, I LOOVVVVEEEE you, time to start your day anymore. I don’t – obviously, the oldest is almost a legal adult – read them stories or sing them songs or walk them places unless we happen to be going in the same direction. I don’t remember the last time I did any of those things, but as god is my witness, I am going to remember the last box of tampons I buy.

The landslide’ll bring you…down.

It’s been a busy week for Barkley; he had a vet appointment and a grooming appointment, on back-to-back days. The woman who grooms him, who is someone that I would describe as perfect for working with animals, with everything that entails, told me he seemed really tired, and that he just wanted to lie down while groomed. I mean, can you blame him. We humans get to be at least seated for grooming procedures, and in some cases – body sugaring! – supine. I have had three (THREE!) beauty appointments in the past month: haircut, pedicure, and body sugaring, and I can’t imagine having to stand up, on a table no less, to get said treatments.

Slight digression: before body sugaring, these items are set out for preparation of the honey pot, and it never fails to make me smile.

Self-love! It’s wonderful.

Anyway, the vet was perhaps a bit surprised to still see Barkley thriving, his cancers haven’t grown significantly in the past year, although he’s pretty deaf and quite blind and is arthritic, he’s still happy. When a dog gets to this age, every week we have with him is a gift to treasure, even while mopping up paw prints and picking up massive amounts of poop. Keep on keeping on, Barks!

I was walking him and an elderly lady crossed the street specifically to pet him, and somehow the conversation turned from how much we love dogs to the lady’s tale of getting Covid in early 2020. “I cured myself with the power of prayer and oil of oregano,” she said to me, followed by “I’ll keep your dog in my prayers.” Very sweet sentiments, although I couldn’t help but think that “curing yourself” could also be considered “recovering,” but I am not one to criticize methods of comfort for other people. Plus, I’ll take any and all extra prayers and positive thoughts for my old puppers.

Pandemic Reading

The Man Who Saw Everything. I have been reading and enjoying Deborah Levy’s memoirs, so when I saw this at the library I impulsively picked it up. Levy is a very talented and creative writer, and this book will really keep you on your toes. The narrator is the ultimate in Unreliable Narrator, to the point where I had to stop reading and go back, thinking wait, what, just a second here. This is the book equivalent of a fever dream and I honestly didn’t 100% know what was happening until the very last page.

Diary of a Provincial Lady. This is one of my all-time favourite books. I desperately needed a comfort read this week, so I picked this up. I have read it so many times, it is falling apart, and I never ever get tired of it. It is just so delightful on every level. Even though E.M. Delafield and I are living almost a century apart, I feel like she’s my soul sister. I FEEL this book so much. It’s so wonderful and witty and warm, and never fails to make me happy.

Calypso. Another day, another comfort read. This is my favourite of Sedaris’ collection; it is funny, but it is also quite introspective. It contains Stepping Out, which is my favourite of his essays, and which really resonates with me, what with my being under control of my smart watch.

Next week is going to be ONE HUNDRED weeks of pandemic life, I can hardly believe it. I mean, unless the pandemic suddenly ends, but that feels pretty unlikely. Take care and stay safe! xo

A January Roller Coaster; Ninety-Eight Weeks In

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Tomorrow is February! I simultaneously feel like it’s February, whee, already! and also that New Year’s was several months ago. I’m looking at the calendar, and the first of the month, with the taking down of the tree and the Fresh Start of New Year’s, feels like a fuzzy date eons ago. February! Is tomorrow! The month of hearts and chocolates, and, in two weeks tomorrow, the month of DEEPLY DISCOUNTED hearts and chocolates! I have already sourced myself some Lindor strawberry chocolates, and I have plans for my heart-shaped cake and cookies, AND we are having dinner guests this weekend, for which I have planned a Mexican Theme, given our actual trip to Mexico in March is no more, for The Usual Pandemic Reasons, Not That I’m Sad About It But We Would Have Celebrated Our 20th Anniversary And My Son’s 18th Birthday Whilst There. Anyway.

Hidey-ho Neighbourino

We are getting new neighbours, and this is me:

A few weeks ago, a For Sale sign went up on our next-door neighbour’s lawn, and not only did it sell within 24 hours, but there was a BIDDING WAR. It must be the incredible neighbours, no?

I met my new neighbour-to-be a few days ago and he seems incredibly pleasant, which is always nice. I am friendly with all my neighbours, and good friends with a few of them. Our former next-door neighbours were nice people; we lived next to each other for 21 years, and were friendly but not friends. They would very kindly purchase big buckets of candy popcorn for the boys every Halloween, and we always exchanged pleasantries with them in passing. They kept to themselves mainly, so they weren’t the kind of neighbours who would have extra keys or anything, but we had a very cordial relationship.

So I was surprised to see the For Sale sign, and even more surprised to discover that the house was vacant when it went up for sale: a) they didn’t tell us they were moving, and b) when did they move? I am home ALL THE TIME and I never once saw a moving truck or anything that would indicate that they were leaving. I mean, you’d think I’d have seen someone moving a couch or boxes or something. Did they move on Christmas Day?

These were the neighbours who have had Hot Rod the Plumber many times over the past few months, so perhaps it was in preparation for their Stealthy Big Move.

Wisdom from my teabag.

What’s The Over-Under On This

The other day Stephany (HI STEPHANY) posted about being an over-or-under-buyer, and it is clear that I have over-buying tendencies, which have been vastly exacerbated by the pandemic. These tendencies really flared up through 2020, and I tamped them down somewhat in 2021, and I have just had another round that has ended with OMG Nicole Please Stop Buying This.

Now, in my defense, nothing goes bad in this house, in terms of food. With the exception of the occasional mushy mini cucumber, I never throw anything out. This is a combination of meal planning, targeted grocery shopping for those meals, and having two teen boys who will hoover anything down that is edible and in the house. I always have backups in the pantry of household staples: flour and oils, nut butters and baking items, toilet paper and soap and toothpaste. If the backup comes into use, then I buy another backup. It gives me an enormous amount of comfort to know that if we run out of an item on the main floor, there is a backup in the pantry downstairs.

Non-dairy milk is a staple for me.

From 2012-2021, I used exclusively almond milk for myself – the guys happily use dairy – but in 2021 I discovered macadamia nut milk, and I never looked back. It’s creamy, it’s delicious, and buy it by the case at Costco. I go through about a case every two weeks, what with smoothies and all, and since I am at Costco every two weeks, I generally have TWO cases in my pantry at any given time. You know, just in case there’s a delay in my Costco shopping. And then it was December, and I bought an extra case, and by the time my first Costco trip of 2022 came around, I had THREE cases in my pantry.

There was, during that first Costco trip of 2022, no macadamia nut milk.

Now, the rational part of me said that I had three cases at home, and there was certainly no shortage of different non-dairy milks in the city. We are so used to abundance that it is unsettling to not have exactly what we want exactly when we want it but there is still An Abundance of Food. My last Superstore trip showed very few varieties of eggs, for example, but there were still eggs. My favourite hippie crunchy natural peanut butter has been out of stock for weeks but there is still the store brand hippie crunchy natural peanut butter. There was no – oh my god, I cannot believe how spoiled I am – organic spinach for my smoothies, but there was plenty of spinach. The frozen fruit section is pretty sparse but there are still non-frozen fruits. This is not Ceausescu’s Romania where people are lining up to get bread. We have plenty of everything.

And yet, I pushed the Panic At The Disco button, about the macadamia nut milk. I thought, well, if it’s not available, maybe I can find another kind of creamy non-dairy-non-almond milk. The next week at Superstore I bought two different brands of cashew milk and an oat milk, just to try, just in case, what if there is no macadamia nut milk ever, what if, what if.

And here I will interject to say that this is all ridiculous, and also back in 2012 when I first went non-dairy, the options were almond or soy; those were my choices, along with the saddest item ever, known as rice milk. Now there are so many different kinds and brands and really, I want to punch myself in the face at my reaction to this blip in the macadamia nut milk supply.

Very long and kind of boring story short, the next time I went to Costco, there was a big display of macadamia nut milk, and I bought two cases, and I now have four full and one partial case, along with cashew and oat milk, and this is ridiculous, and I am spoiled. Imagine! Imagine transporting the Ingalls family, or a Victorian, to our modern life. Wait, you can eat more than a single potato and a slice of bread in a day? Vegetables and fruit are available to you in the winter?

All of which is to say, on my next grocery trip my mantra will be You do not need any more non-dairy milk, for the love of god, Nicole, do not buy any more non-dairy milk. I hope my mantra holds. I have officially gone from Prudent Backup Buyer to Slippery Slope Towards Insane Hoarder.

Mousetastrophe

Speaking of hardships, we had a mouse in the house last week; this is a thing that happens every three to five years, and every single time it happens I feel like I might die. It’s not enough that we are in a global pandemic, now I have to think about the Hanta virus? Not to mention the possibility of a MOUSE near our FOOD. The FOOD that we EAT. From the moment I discovered mouse droppings underneath the kitchen sink to the moment said mouse was summarily removed from the premises, I felt like a haunted shell of a woman. My younger son strolled into the kitchen to find me sweeping out the droppings and spraying down the kitchen sink cupboard with non-hippie super-chemical cleaning spray, and asked what was going on. I told him, in that kind of eerily calm voice that means I am having a breakdown, that there was a mouse in the house. “I see,” he said, “It is going to be okay, Mom. It’s going to be okay.” Then he turned and went to find the traps.

It turns out that in the times of adversity, I can be sanguine and can face almost everything with good cheer and a Can-Do Attitude, but a mouse in my kitchen is One Toke Over The Line, Sweet Jesus. Global pandemic? We can do this. Husband working from home, forever? It’s fine. My kids constantly facing cancellations and disappointment? It’s making us stronger and more resilient and flexible. Mouse in the house? I AM GOING TO DIE. Later, over dinner, I suddenly put my head in my hands and said I had a bad feeling. There was no noise. I just, like Lawrence in Office Space, had a feeling. The boys scurried over to the cupboard, and my older son announced, “We got him!” at which point I screamed frantically and ran from the room.

Later, the boys would tell me I reacted like a contestant on The Price is Right, but with less happiness and high-fiving.

Pandemic Reading

Black Girls Must Die Exhausted. I really loved this book; I was hooked from the first page and became completely invested in the characters. Tabitha is 33 and the trajectory of her life is perfect; she has checked all the boxes she wanted to check…until some medical news comes her way, derailing her plans. This book is so much more than the sum of its parts: important social issues in an incredibly readable and entertaining book. It is a book that normalizes Black culture and I think that is a really important thing: the tendency is to make white the default. It’s enlightening and joyful, as well as a thought-provoking book. I just saw that this author has another book coming soon, I will be reading it for sure. 

The Art of Travel. Okay, first, a digression. I put this on hold over a year ago; it is the only copy in the library system, and I was fifth in the queue. The rule is that books cannot be renewed if there is a hold on them, and so the reader has three weeks before returning. Let’s do the simple math: five people, three weeks, fifteen weeks. Add in a couple of days of processing and transit, and we will say that I should have expected to read this about four and a half months after putting it on hold. It was over a year! The library eliminated late fees, which in general I think is a good thing, except that it can lead to Very Bad Behaviour by patrons who just don’t bring the book back. I was number ONE in the queue for over two months. WHO DOES THAT.

Anyway. It’s not a complaint, exactly, as I had more than enough to read over the past year. It’s more of an observation, and slight admonishment. We are living in a society!

Back to the book. It’s an interesting, and at times, delightful little book about travelling, and the search for happiness, and the theme is that wherever you go, there you are. We tend to idealize vacations, thinking our troubles will melt away with sunshine, palm trees, and margaritas, but honestly, if we are unhappy in life, a change of scenery MAY not be the ticket. The author writes about different places and brings in 19th century artists, writers, and philosophers (ALL MEN, OF COURSE), which makes this a really unique and interesting read. Even though Flaubert sounded like a real ass.

The Most Precious Substance On Earth. This is exactly the kind of book I love: it follows a woman from her teen years to adulthood, and it’s an “ordinary is extraordinary, day-to-day life” book. But. It’s a Big Downer of a book, I felt, and there is a Huge Upsetting Disturbing Occurrence in the first little bit that is written so casually and calmly that I thought at first that it didn’t really happen. Content warning for parents of girls, specifically teen girls. You may not want to read this. It’s touching and sad and also funny and smart. I’m glad I read it but be aware that at times it is a hard read.

Happy End of January, everyone! The month that seemed to be months-long is at its end! How was your January? xo

Hippy-Dippy Goals; Ninety-Four Weeks In

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Happy New Year!

As I mentioned in my 2021 roundup, the year ended – and the New Year started – on kind of a low point. The boys were supposed to be going back to school tomorrow, but on December 30 it was announced that winter break would be extended to the 10th, and January diploma exams, of which my older son was due to write three, would be cancelled.

For the past several months, I have been saying to myself that as long as the kids are in school, I can take anything. I could go back to patchy grocery store shelves, I could line up at Costco, my husband could continue to work out of our basement, I could wear a mask anywhere and everywhere and see friends outdoors, I could forgo parties and travel and everything else, just let the kids be in school. They have been so happy in these past four months, and, well. Here we are.

The announcement made me feel like folding in on myself like an accordion, and to just go to bed. I did, however, get up on New Year’s Eve, rolled out my yoga mat, and picked up my poetry books. I read the final Rumi poem of the year, I did it, you guys, and then, because it was completely uninspiring to me, I opened up Mary Oliver’s Devotions and came across this:

This whole pandemic, all ninety-four weeks of it, I have been thinking to myself Just Keep Swimming. But it occurred to me, after reading this, that the past ninety-four weeks have had a lot of long lonely falls and frenzied risings. Perhaps all these swings will mean that our children will be the most resilient generation, learning to pivot and adapt and thrive in any circumstances.

My younger son scoffs at the idea of New Year’s resolutions or goal setting; he sets goals throughout the year, not just in January. I am the same way; throughout the year I add goals or concepts or mantras that I want to live by, and then I start right away. However, it’s nice to lay them out in January, feeling like it’s a fresh start; at the least, January is a good time to reflect on past goals and future ones. There’s nothing quite like a brand-new calendar to make you feel fresh and rejuvenated.

OKAY, CALENDAR, I’LL TRY.

It must be said that the majority of my goals are completely unquantifiable. Not all of them – I’ve had “buy a new bra” on my annual list for YEARS and finally, last year, I bought not only one, but THREE, STRIKE IT FROM THE TO-DO LIST – but most. How do you measure “mindfulness,” for example? I like having unquantifiable goals, though, because they are things that you can always keep in mind and work on throughout the year, and easily add to. Over the next couple of weeks, I am going to lay out some actually quantifiable goals that I work on daily. I mean, what else is there to write about in January? The never-ending feelings of despair that come from nearly two years of pandemic life? The fact that my teenagers will never experience normal high school life? The worry that my sons’ activities that they love will be cancelled? The concern about their education and preparation for adult life? NO. I’ve written enough about that. I’ve thought enough about that. We have all had enough.

Anyway, for today, I want to talk about the concepts and mantras that I use for everyday living.

Embrace The Season

Back in *checks blog* June 2021, I was inspired to Embrace the Season, by an incredible woman who has since passed. Rest in peace, Melanie. I think that Embracing the Season that you are in is probably the best way to go through life; you are here, this is now.

There are wonderful, joyful, inspiring things happening in every season of our lives, yes, even this one, yes, even though it’s actually minus 28 right now. It’s Winter, both literally and figuratively, let’s treat ourselves like favoured children, like our most loved ones. Right? Right.

Bloom Where You Are Planted

This goes with Embracing the Season. I’m planted here, in this city, and this is where I’ll bloom. I can make things better one tiny step at a time; I can do this with my yoga classes and my interactions with people, friends and strangers alike, I can make my yard and home into something beautiful, I can write things that will hopefully reach people in the way that I intend. I’m going to bloom, damn it.

Does anyone remember the old poem called You Learn? It was sort of about breakups and relationships, and I read it as a teenager. Back then, it was deeply meaningful to me; I’m pretty sure I read it after a breakup. Oh, the fires of youth. Anyway, there is a line in there that I have remembered lo these many years, and it was Plant your own garden and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers. Let’s plant our own gardens, and we can bloom in them.

Friluftsliv

It feels very appropriate to talk about Friluftsliv when it’s MINUS 28. I first discovered this concept in the fall of 2020, and I have adopted it in my life. It’s a Norwegian word that means, roughly, outdoor living, and goes with the idea that there is no bad weather, just bad clothes. I like to tie Friluftsliv in with Embracing the Season and Blooming Where You Are Planted because this is where I live, and where I live is more often cold and unpleasant than not. I go for a walk every day, no matter the weather, and I can tell you that dressing appropriately is the key. With proper clothing, even minus 30 is doable, with the bonus that I feel like a hardy Norwegian superstar afterwards. This segues nicely into…

Hygge

I absolutely love the concept of hygge – am I spiritually Danish? Maybe. – because what could be better than coziness and warmth in the winter? I see lots of books and warm drinks and baking in my future; not that this is a change for me, but still. Hygge.

Gratitude and Awe

Sometimes it’s easy to have feelings of gratitude and awe; maybe the sky is brilliantly blue and the trees are covered with snow, and it’s a perfect scene. Maybe my family picks up some of the household chores without being asked, gratitude, gratitude. Maybe we will get an email from the school that says the kids are going back – too much to ask? Maybe.

Several months ago I was listening to an interview with Giselle Bunchen, of all people, and she said that she practices gratitude daily; when she has a plate of fruit she thinks of the farmers, of the sun and the rain that helped the fruit to grow, the people who pick the fruit, the person who drove the truck to the supermarket, and the people who work at the supermarket. When you think about it that way, an apple can seem like a miracle. Then I was reading Wake Up To The Joy In You, and there was a paragraph about the miracle that is a book: the process to make paper, the years of perfecting the printed word, the writer who wrote the book, and the miles the book has travelled to be in your hands. When you start thinking about life that way, everything is miraculous. It takes practice, but I’m trying.

Pandemic Reading – The Year Long Books

A Year With Rumi. I did it! I finished this! I did consider, very briefly, not finishing, but then the day after I posted about it, the poem of the day was The Guest House, which is probably my favourite Rumi poem (the bar is kind of low), and I took that as a sign to keep going. 365 poems and just a handful resonated with me; apparently I’m not a Rumi person. “Is it because he’s a man?” my son asked me. Maybe?

Wake Up To The Joy In You. I loved this book of meditations so much that I think I will re-read it in 2022. I read one chapter a week and then kept the meditation in mind throughout the week. I cannot say enough about this book; it’s an incredible journey of self-care and self-acceptance and self-love, and what could be a better thing to start the year with? I mean, look at this last chapter. EXACTLY WHAT I NEEDED TO READ.

Pandemic Reading – The Regular Week

How To Be A Victorian. Good lord I am glad to live in the modern age, even with a global pandemic and the polarization of our population on literally every topic. AT LEAST WE HAVE WASHING MACHINES. And food. And toilets. And central heating. And pretty much everything else. This book is an incredibly well-researched book about daily life in the Victorian age – the author has lived and worked on a “Victorian farm” and I admire her commitment to detail. Corsets, skirts, brushing her teeth with soot. Going without water-based washing for four months. Eating suet, SUET PEOPLE. Anyway, some chapters dragged for me and others were fascinating, particularly the home remedies and medical chapter. Oh! And the air quality in Victorian London was so gross – pea soup fog, no proper sewage…yay for the modern age! There is a passage about the pea soup fogs of London; at the worst of times you could wave your hand in front of your face and not see it. IMAGINE. Anyway, thanks to my friend Jeni (HI JENI) for the recommendation. Talk about gratitude. I AM GRATEFUL FOR MY LIFE, I SWEAR.

The Relatives. I was really interested to read this as I have been mixed on Gibb’s books. I loved Sweetness in the Belly, but did not love This Is Happy – sorry to all of you who adore that book. I really liked The Relatives, a lot. In fact, I devoured it. Such an interesting cast of characters, all interrelated but unknowingly. I am going to give some trigger warnings here for…a lot of things? Infertility, child neglect, abuse, and a lot of kind of gross imagery. But for all that, I really enjoyed this.

Love and Other Words. This was so disappointing for me. I really like this author and I really do like a nice, light romance, but this just didn’t do it for me. It dragged so much and I had a hard time caring about the characters and the story line. Blah blah blah. Anyway, not for me but on to the next book!

I feel like this post has been a bit of a journey for me, since I started writing it. I am still low-level worried and anxious and sad about school, but we are here, we are together, we’ve come this far and we can keep going. Right? I mean, let’s think about the Victorians. We have running CLEAN water, we might be facing Covid but we have vaccines and medical care and, presumably, we are not going to all die of cholera, because of the running water. My kids are at school, not in a sweatshop doing child labour, and today I’m going to bake muffins and do laundry and neither of those things will require massive amounts of physical exertion. Life is good, even when it feels a bit disheartening. How are you feeling, this New Year? Tell me everything. xo

Boyhouse Year In Review 2021

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Is it just me or was this year actually a decade?

Well! I think at this time last year we thought the Pandemic At The Disco would be in the rearview mirror, and yet it is not. Currently we are going through our FIFTH wave, which is extremely disheartening and, at this point, makes me feel like this is forever. Intellectually I know that’s not the case; everything passes with time and this will too. (WHEN?)

We are ending the year on a low; yesterday it was announced that the winter break would be “extended” and the January diploma exams, of which my older son was due to write three, have been cancelled. It is very discouraging. Going through this post I realized that there were many low moments, but I do feel like there was a lot of joy and laughter this year as well. I think living through a global pandemic has forced me to re-examine my life and to make new kinds of choices about it. There have been ups and downs and in-betweens, and, on that note, let’s examine the year in the Boyhouse.

Boyhouse Year In Review 2021

January

I set some goals and expressed my gratitude, I cleaned my oven and reused canning lids, after six weeks of at-home learning the kids went back to school and my son immediately broke his glasses in gym class, and I talked about being judgmental and how I don’t want to be that way, but we are only human. I also shared my hot tip on how to grow your hair out – just stop cutting it.

I kind of forgot how grim things were last January, with everything closed down for the second wave. Wait, was it the second? Yes, second. Still, look at that photo! Lots of beauty still to be found.

February

I continued to embrace the concept of friluftsliv with my fabulous wardrobe choices, I decided to change my mindset towards overstocking the pantry and also my period, it was really, really cold and it was also Family Day, which was great since I hadn’t spent every SINGLE waking hour with my family for eleven months, and I was really sad and couldn’t figure out if it was hormones or, you know, life in a pandemic. I also expressed my love for hearts and chocolate.

I must have cleaned my fridge right before that photo – it’s so shiny!

March

My son was almost done with his braces and to celebrate, I made him be my pack horse at the liquor store, in the spirit of Trying New Things I had body sugaring done and it was life-changing, I reflected on one year of Pandemic Living, I compared Costco 2021 to Costco 2020, and we had A Very Eventful Week which started with me thinking I had a blood clot to my son threatening to burn his orthodontic elastics, and, failing that, his masks. To add to the excitement, I talked about my favourite cleaning items, please don’t everyone click on that at once, you might break the internet.

April

Wow, a lot of things went wrong and so I was as cross as two sticks, my tenacious chin hair turned white and I had lots of awkward interactions at the library, we were in another mini-lockdown and so I talked about my Coping Mechanisms, I talked about being Pro-Aging, as opposed to Anti-Aging, which is a ridiculous concept, and I got vaccinated the day after my birthday! I also talked about my favourite skin-care products FOR PRO-AGING.

Gosh, remember how hopeful we all felt back then? Like the Pandemic was no longer going to be At The Disco. Good times.

May

After talking about Pro-Aging, I was asked if I wanted the senior’s discount at Shoppers, and then the lady didn’t even give me the discount, I had a really big downward spiral and then started to climb back up, then I had lots of ups and downs, including lineups at Costco (down) and flower purchases (up), it snowed and the kids were slated to go back to in-person school, Barkley turned 13, and I discussed all my favourite little helpers!

June

I was inspired to Embrace the Season – inspired by a woman who, sadly, has just recently passed after a long and difficult illness. Her words will remain with me forever, and she will be much missed. Rest in peace, Melanie.

Less sadly, I talked about clothing trends and how depressing the mall is these days, after a couple of weeks being in school the boys were on exam break, our provincial government continued to be stupid and dropped every single Covid protocol which, spoiler alert, was not a good idea, and I did a lot of gardening.

July

We visited my parents and I swam in the lake, the province may have dropped their mask mandate, but I kept my own, I talked about aging and my aging face, and I bought new bras and shared my favourite life-changing items.

August

We went on vacation and unsurprisingly given the complete lack of Covid restrictions, there were tons of outbreaks, I read a lot, I was grateful to Spotify, my aunt sent me Royal Family memorabilia, I almost lost my mind not being able to find my clothes, I did an “Ask Me Anything” post, I recycled all the old boxes my husband had hoarded out of the storage room, I got very Landslide-y, and recalled all the stupid things I used to worry about, and I loved my garden.

September

Thank you, Universe, the kids went back to school, we got our ducts cleaned and found a sheep, and my husband and I went to Lake Louise, I recapped eighteen months of Pandemic Life, my son turned 16 and I did a deep dive into Jane Eyre, I talked about clothing trends and bought new jeans, and I shared all my handbags with you.

October

I was feeling very low, I talked about gourds and Gords, I was – as always – grateful for modern technology as I have zero sense of direction, my cute little mini-gourds were being eaten by something in the neighbourhood, and I shared my favourite things about Spooky Season and discovered a gruesome scene.

November

I shifted my festivities focus from Spooky Season to Tiny Secret Festive Season, I was living la vida hygge, I had one-on-one time with my younger son and WE ATE TAKEOUT FOOD, I learned about thirst traps, I got full-on festive, and I talked about the reasons I love November.

Usually by this time in the annual recap, I think well, this just happened! but it feels like November was a year ago already. Time has no meaning.

December

I received the most thoughtful Secret Santa gift and my son came down with a cold, I completely lost track of the days, I had not one, but two Christmas miracles, I went to Banff with my husband, and I shared my favourite things about December.

As we wrap up the (very strange and weirdly long) year, I wish you all the best in 2022. WHO KNOWS WHAT 2022 WILL BRING. I think we can all agree that no one can predict anything anymore, but I hope you are all safe and healthy, and am wishing you much joy, peace, and happiness. Thank you, always, for reading my little blog. xo

Post-Christmas Haze; Ninety-Three Weeks In

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Hello there! I’m currently in that lovely post-Christmas, pre-New Year’s haze, still sipping coffee from my Christmas mugs, still surrounded by Christmas decorations and cards but with added Christmas CHOCOLATES everywhere, but without the busyness that comes pre-Christmas. It’s nice. There’s not much on my to-do list this week, other than the regular and never-ending household things, like the two giant loads of laundry I did yesterday after returning home from two nights at my parents’, not that I’m complaining, I will never complain again about the laundry, I have learned my lesson.

As a side note, I am currently reading an incredibly well-researched book about day-to-day life in the Victorian age, and there is a note about how the invention of the washing machine is considered to be up there with contraception and the vote in improvement of the lives of women. Reading about what was entailed in Washing Day certainly shows that. He worked really hard, Grandpa. So do washing machines.

Anyway! The big news around here, apart from the constant, never-ending, increasingly grim and worrisome Pandemic Updates, is the Weather. This was the ambient temperature at my parents’ house yesterday morning:

FEELS LIKE MINUS 42 YOU GUYS. There is cold, there is Cold, and then there is COLD.

One of my Christmas gifts from my husband – and this was a really lovely surprise – was a pair of battery-operated heated mittens. I feel this will be a life-changing item for this Reynaud-y girl.

Friluftsliv! Could I BE wearing any more clothes? There’s no bad weather, only bad clothes, I’m half Norwegian, etc.

I have never posted a photo of my husband on the blog before, and I probably never will again, but get ready because here he is:

If you recognize him on the street, be sure to say hi.

Despite our frosted heads, I was actually really warm, which goes to show that layers do work, and heated mittens are an incredible invention; maybe not quite as incredible as the automatic washing machine, but they are up there, Steve.

We spent Christmas Eve at home, watching Elf and wearing our WWE Christmas sweaters; the guys did their annual gingerbread house and you know what, there are no obscene markings with frosting or dead Santas, things have really changed in the Boyhouse:

We opened our gifts and stockings at home, and then drove up to my parents’ place to eat, drink, and be merry. I think I am now actually about fifty percent snack mix, and the other fifty percent is wine and Christmas sweets. We also played some heated rounds of Rummoli and rediscovered the sadistic joys of Sorry. Remember that game? It was really fun.

Oh! I almost forgot to tell you, because it happened six days ago and, you know what that’s like in Pandemic World, it feels like six months. My husband booked a night away for the two of us in Banff, and it was just so wonderful. Two things of note: this was the first time that we have left the boys alone for a night, and this was the first night away for the two of us since 2017. Per the first part, the boys are very responsible and all was just fine, of course, and per the second: 2017! I am going to go out on a limb and say that five years between having a night away is probably too many years. We hadn’t been to the Banff Springs since the boys were very small; I think perhaps my oldest was in kindergarten the last time, and the experience was even more magical than I remembered.

We walked downtown for dinner, and on the way back we walked through the town’s special light show, The Spirit of Christmas, which was gorgeous.

Our timing could not have been better; we were there the one day that temperatures were relatively mild – just below freezing – and when we got home the snow and wind started, and the temperatures plummeted, and I focused on hygge feelings and friluftsliv, as per my Northern European heritage.

So that was a wonderful way to kick off the holidays! The next day was Festivus and I did not even feel like I had any grievances to air, so floaty and relaxed was I. We did, however, play this game with the boys:

If you see this in the store and feel tempted to buy it, I am going to warn you that it’s actually not very fun. It was surprisingly dull and I think that Sorry would have been much better.

Pandemic Reading

Between Two Kingdoms. I’ll be thinking about this book for a long time to come; what an incredible memoir. Imagine being 22 and diagnosed with an aggressive form of leukaemia. The author goes through years of debilitating treatment, and comes through to wonder what’s next. She realized her whole life was centred on survival, but not living, and went on a road trip across the States. This book got me really thinking about the nature of illness, but also the role of the caregiver in such a relationship. The author’s boyfriend of only a few months essentially took on this role, and honestly, I don’t think I could have done a tenth of what he did. Anyway, it’s an incredible story, the author is a brilliant writer, and what she survived is actually breathtakingly horrific.

Where The Grass Is Green And The Girls Are Pretty. This was a good read about college admission scandals, which is something I don’t actually know much about. It’s just so different in Canada, I guess. The thing about this book is the characters are very complex – all at once sympathetic and also unlikeable. I have read a few books by this author and I think her writing has really gotten better with time, although the title? It’s not great. But, it’s just a title.

I hope you are all getting some well-deserved rest and relaxation! How have your holidays been so far? Tell me everything. xo