New Dishes. I have a very loose, “let’s see how this goes” goal of making one new thing for dinner each week, or, trying one new recipe. These are two different things as I am notoriously poor at following recipes when it comes to dinners. I am essentially one of those people who I loathed when I worked at YMC, a person who changes pretty much every element in a recipe, and then comments on that recipe, but without the commenting part. So, I guess not at all like a person I loathed. In any case, this week’s new recipe was cold quinoa salad with lots of veggies and edamame, a Thai-inspired dressing, and crispy chickpeas and lentils. If you’ve never had crispy lentils, I recommend it: I tossed some drained and rinsed canned lentils in olive oil, salt, and pepper and roasted them at 400 convection for about 20 minutes; they are small little things so I wasn’t sure how long to do it, and I checked on them every five minutes. My whole family loved it, I repeat, my family of meat-lovers LOVED THE LENTILS. I normally dislike leftovers and never eat them, but I put aside a small container for myself, as it was a perfect lunch to take on our hike the next day.
The Path Sometimes Taken. I also have a loose goal to go to the mountains More Often, which is about as loose a goal as one can get. Yesterday the boys and I hiked around Stewart Canyon which is about seven kilometres and not as much elevation as I typically like in a hike, but it was a lovely day. Once we reached the end of the trail, there was a small path with a sign that said “Warning: Path Ahead Not Maintained,” so of course, we took it to see what would happen. What happened is that we had to climb over many fallen trees until we got to the point where the path was completely blocked, at which point we turned back and ate the afore-mentioned lunch.
There’s A Sign, Read It. Speaking of signs, we have a No Soliciting one on our mailbox. At least ten years ago, but probably more, our doorbell stopped working. I asked my husband, who is very handy and who has repaired many, many things in our house over the past 22 years, to please NOT fix it. At the time, I was home alone most days, and the only people ringing the doorbell were door-to-door solicitors, and I am never going to want to save money on my heating bills or purchase a paper copy of the Calgary Herald. If I was having company, I’d watch for people at the door, and all my friends know to knock, anyway. This was great for a time – it’s pretty easy to not answer the door when there’s no doorbell – but then solicitors started knocking. Can I just say the best thing about 2020 was that door-to-door soliciting stopped? Anyway, sometime in 2021 it restarted, which is when we put the sign on our mailbox, which is directly beside our door. Yesterday I was relaxing after our hike, reading, and I heard a very loud knock at the door. I looked up, thinking it was a delivery and wondering what we had delivered, when I saw a man looking in the window at me reading in my chair. I could see he had a lanyard and a Telus uniform, and I just knew, the way you know about a good melon, that he was here to talk to me about changing internet service providers. I opened the door, and as soon as he greeted me, I said “I have a No Soliciting sign, and I ask that you please respect it.” I said it pleasantly and politely, with my face arranged in a pleasant and polite way, and then I shut the door. I could see him lift up his hands and shake his head in a what’s with this woman kind of way and I will tell you, I was VERY annoyed. This is the second such interaction in as many weeks. The first was a fellow with no lanyard and no uniform who told me he was selling “organic meat and seafood,” which a) ew, b) I eat neither meat nor seafood, not that he would know that, c) who sells MEAT door-to-door, d) we are in land-locked Alberta, SEAFOOD, really, e) this sounds like a scam, and f) I HAVE A NO SOLICITING SIGN ON MY DOOR. I could have pointed out any of those things but I went with f. Anyway, after yesterday’s interaction I found myself unaccountably enraged. I mean, over-the-top, screaming-into-the-void enraged. I immediately texted my very good friend and neighbour Taryn (HI TARYN) and asked her if I was overreacting. She very gently said that I had every right to feel that way but also, perhaps, my emotions were near the surface as I didn’t have a fuzzy companion by my side when I opened the door. She was 100% right, of course. I went into the garden to calm down a little.
Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz.I have been spending a lot of time in my garden this week; Tuesday was a particularly low and sad day, but I found it healing to watch the giant fat bumblebees buzzing around. They seem to love the flowers just below the kitchen window, and I could watch them forever, collecting their pollen, as busy and purposeful as can be. The first of my daylilies are blooming, my roses are just about to, and my columbines are putting on a glorious show. This weekend I will have my THIRD cutting of kale, which is the upside to this very cool and rainy start to the summer. It’s maybe not great for the rest of the garden, but I have a tiny little pepper on one of my plants, so there’s hope.
Reliable? Or “Reliable?” This sign is on my running route and it cracks me up every time I pass it.
I was listening to this fantastic, new-to-me-but-well-established podcast the other day, about the importance of ritual and soulful practices in our everyday life. It got me thinking about all the little rituals I incorporate into my day, from my coffee-and-early-morning reading and writing to putting on my five different moisturizers before bedtime. Some of the little rituals came about because of the pandemic: daily inspirational reading and poetry before my morning yoga practice and my long daily walks are the two most notable ones. However, some rituals predate the pandemic by a long shot, and one of those is Sunday Dinner.
We eat dinner as a family every night, with the exception of the evenings when my younger son is at wrestling practice; those nights, it is just the three of us, and I save him a plate for when he’s home at 8:30 pm. Sunday Dinner is a different thing, though. It’s a big, semi-elaborate meal that always ends in dessert.
I cook a lot; it feels like half my life is devoted to food acquisition, preparation, and the cleanup afterwards. It can be very boring and tedious; this is why I listen to so many podcasts. But there is one thing I am never bored of, and that is making Sunday dessert. Throughout the week I bake a lot of things and I make a lot of ice cream, but I don’t partake in any of those; Sunday dessert, however, is my jam. I think about different recipes and I always get excited, choosing and then making the Dessert of the Week.
This past weekend was really fun for me, though, because we went up to my parents’ house for two nights. Not only did I not cook for two days, I also had my favourite dessert:
My birthday is coming up this week, so we had a combined birthday/ Easter celebration.
Not only did we have a wonderful dinner made by my mother with my favourite strawberry angel food cake, but we went out to dinner in an actual restaurant, we played a lot of games, drank a lot of wine, and my mom and I went shopping.
I have been searching for the perfect garden gnome for my entire life, and this fellow was the first thing I saw at Merry’s Mercantile, and I love him so much. His name is Salvadore.
Side note: longtime Calgary bloggers may remember Merry as Merry About Town or Merry With Children! She has the cutest little store in Bentley, and if you are ever in Central Alberta, you must go. You must! I saw this and I did not buy it, which I regret deeply.
Regrets about mug non-purchases aside, it was a nice finish to what was a really cold, grey, snowy week. On Wednesday I was getting groceries and the parking lot was so cold and windy that I checked my weather app.
Feels like minus 18! No wonder I was cold. Luckily the weather is supposed to turn warm and more “seasonal” this week; I feel like the whole city was starting to slip into depression, what with the return of winter.
Back to the topic of groceries, there are supply chain issues that are AFFECTING MY POPCORN PURCHASES. Boom Chicka Pop has gone from just my favourite light kettle corn being unavailable to being all flavours being completely unavailable. And – AND – there was also no Skinny Pop popcorn, my second choice, which feels like a Punishment From The Universe for buying something with such a stupid name. What’s next, am I going to be forced (“forced”) to buy Lesser Evil popcorn, just because I publicly announced I would not support a company that assigns moral values to food? Or will that start a chain reaction of more popcorn emergencies? I’m in a vicious circle of my own making. The snake is eating its own tail!
Sure, I could make my own popcorn. I do own all the appropriate accoutrements. But I don’t want to. I look forward to opening a bag of popcorn on Friday night and not doing anything else; I don’t WANT to pop my own popcorn, like a Luddite. Is a bag of popcorn too much to ask for?
Pandemic Reading
Girls Lost. I really appreciated the quality of the writing and the creativity of this book. This author is renowned and award-winning, and I loved the Swedish setting. It’s a really unique concept and English classes everywhere could have a field day with the symbolism of a meat-eating flower whose nectar turns girls into boys; the theme of toxic masculinity and violence is strong. However, I didn’t really love the book as a whole, as magic and fantasy are not to my taste. If they are to your taste, though, I think you might love this.
The Space Between Us. Wow, just wow. This is one of the best books I’ve read in a long time, perhaps ever. There’s just so much in here, I hardly even know where to begin. This is a story of two women; one is the house servant to the other. It’s a story about intertwined lives, about class differences, about the incredible burden of being a woman, about how pain is universal, about poverty and literacy and education and the lack thereof. It’s set in Bombay but honestly, the lessons are for everyone, all over the world. It’s an incredibly written book, with so much beauty and sadness. I was distraught and uplifted and so sad to finish this. It is the first book I have read by this author; I have had one of her books on hold for a few months now, and I just put everything she’s ever written on hold. I cannot say enough about this book and how it touched me.
How To Be A Grown-Up. I picked this up on a whim since the authors wrote The Nanny Diaries, which I really enjoyed back in the day. This book is okay; it deals with a woman going through a separation from literally one of the worst non-physically abusive character you can imagine. I mean, this guy is a complete loser of a child-man. So I found it hard to get into the story as I was so constantly incensed by what a jerk this guy was, and how he reminded me of someone I know who is also involved in a divorce from someone I know, and I am not going to put any more details than that but THOSE OF YOU WHO KNOW ME WELL KNOW WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT. I guess I found it triggering? Anyway, it’s fine, this book is fine, I liked it fine, everything is fine. Parts of it are really, really funny and parts of it are astonishingly distressing.
I am very much looking forward to this week, and not just because it’s my birthday; I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of milder weather so I can find a spot for Salvadore to live. I hope you have a beautiful week, my friends. xo
I have been tracking my sleep on my Garmin watch since the New Year, and although I have no idea HOW my watch knows how much I sleep and how much of that sleep is deep or light or REM, it seems pretty accurate. I generally average between seven and seven and a half hours each night during the week, with more on Friday and Saturday.
This year, Springing Forward coincided with the celebration of my parents’ golden anniversary. That means, in addition to staying up late visiting and drinking wine, the clocks moved forward AND I ended up having massive wine-fueled hot flashes. Here is my Saturday Night Sleep Report:
So I was pretty fuzzy going into the week, and the time change always makes me feel just slightly off for at least four or five days. I would rage about it for a while but a) it looks like there is a US bill to get rid of the time change, and b) if this happens in the States I am hopeful it will happen in Canada. PLEASE GOD LET THIS HAPPEN IN MY LIFETIME.
I Am Not An Anti-Dentite
I had a dental cleaning scheduled for this week, and the dental office sent me the following reminders: five emails, eight texts, and three phone calls, two to my cell and one to my landline. I felt like this was an excessive number of reminders, particularly since I responded to and confirmed at least one of the very many reminders.
It brought to mind the days when my older son was going through orthodontic treatment, and the office would send a text, an email, and a phone call, and that never stopped even though at every single appointment – for twenty-six months – I would ask them to please just give me ONE reminder. ONE. They would make a note, and then nothing would change. After this barrage of reminders from the dentist, I longed for the orthodontic days.
Well, not really, but I was feeling pretty irritated by the time my appointment came around; that morning, I had a text and an email saying “see you soon!” and honestly, I felt like cancelling the whole thing, or maybe burning down the entire office. I was so grumpy about it that my husband commented on said grumpiness. “Why are you so mad about this? Things like this don’t usually bother you.” True.
I couldn’t stop complaining about going to the DENTIST and how I HATE the dentist and argh, I’m going to the DENTIST. I didn’t really understand my own crabbiness, except that it was maybe a Bridge Too Far, what with time change and all. I mean, I do not have a fear of the dentist, as many people do. I have never had a difficult dental procedure. Tooth scaling, while unpleasant, isn’t even painful for me. So why was I so worked up?
The answer came when I got to the office and the receptionist informed me that my “usual” hygienist was unable to see me, so would it be okay if I saw a different hygienist? I shrugged agreeably and said I didn’t even know who my usual was, and I was sure that whoever they put me with would be just fine.
People, the woman who cleaned my teeth was a literal angel of a hygienist. Never have I had such a pleasant dental experience. It was then that I realized that I never learned or retained the names of my past hygienists, which is highly out of character for me. I am a person who gets very attached to people in my life. I mean, I have favourite cashiers at the grocery store and I know all their names. The fact that I seem to block out the names of my dental hygienists speaks volumes, and then I remembered that at my last appointment, the hygienist talked incessantly about her unvaccinated family members, and any time she asked me a question, she would unpleasantly laugh and tell a follow up story about her kids and their superior athletic abilities. She told me I drank way too much coffee, which, while true, isn’t a nice thing to hear.
On the other hand, my new hygienist talked to me about fuzzy dog breeds, told me a lovely story about her own dog and her dog’s best friend, and that her daughter left her job as a legal assistant to become an ultrasound technician. She was incredibly gentle with my teeth and told me that I was doing an excellent job maintaining my oral health. I felt like hugging her at the end of our appointment.
When I told my husband about it, he realized that she is the hygienist that he sees, and that he has been trying to get me to go to for two years, but I kept saying that it doesn’t matter who the hygienist is. He didn’t actually say I told you so but point taken.
Walking Down The Aisles
I am back to my regular, first-thing-in-the-morning grocery shopping, and my faith in humanity has somewhat been restored, as it is too early in the day for Costco shoppers to leave their carts wherever they may be. I’m sure it’s still happening, but I’m not there to see it, and a tree falls in the forest.
My goodness, there are a lot of empty shelves right now. I am not in a panic; there is plenty of food, plenty. Everything is fine.
But also, there seems to be an oatmeal shortage? Regular rolled oats are very sparse on the shelves, and there seems to be only one variety of instant oatmeal. One of my sons likes to have instant oatmeal once or twice a week, and his favourite flavour has been unavailable for many weeks. There is a ton of sugary cereals like Froot Loops and that strange Timbits cereal, but very little of the hippie, high-fibre brands I like. Although, I did find Kashi Cinnamon Wheat Squares, which have been unavailable for well over a year. Mini-Wheats are also scarce, which, again, is not a big deal but something I noticed.
I walked down the frozen aisle to get some fruit, and I noticed that there were whole sections, usually devoted to pizza, that were completely empty. In the produce department, I have noticed that grapes are either completely unavailable or are really gross and wrinkly looking, although that could certainly be a seasonal thing.
My favourite Boom Chicka Pop Light Kettle Corn has been unavailable for over a month, but a few weeks ago I picked up a bag of Skinny Pop Kettle Corn, because god forbid I go without kettle corn. This is where the story twists: IT IS AMAZING. It BLOWS Boom Chicka Pop right out of the water, RIGHT OUT. As Ma Ingalls always said, There Is No Great Loss Without Some Small Gain, but let me tell you, if it hadn’t been for the Boom Chicka Pop shortage, I would have never tried something with such a ridiculous name as Skinny Pop, and now I cannot go back. I have since bought several bags and I may be hoarding, just a little.
Speaking of ridiculous names, I came across this at Superstore:
I didn’t buy it out of principle. I didn’t want to buy into the culture that food is somehow evil if you are enjoying it but this is less evil than other foods. NO. No sir, I will not do it. This may sound rich coming from a person who just admitted to hoarding something called Skinny Pop, but even I have my limits. I marched righteously past the display, thinking angry thoughts about society and putting value judgements on the food that we eat.
Except, strawberry white chocolate popcorn. STRAWBERRY WHITE CHOCOLATE POPCORN. I can’t stop thinking about it! I wonder if it’s delicious. Regrets, I have them.
One Slipped Past The Goalie
The biggest grumble is that, after two years, we succumbed to the plague. My younger son’s best friend texted to say he’d tested positive for Covid; my son – who had zero symptoms and never did develop any – took a test and it was positive. The rest of us were negative at that time, but the next day it was pretty clear the negatives had become positives. My husband had a headache, sore throat, and fatigue, my other son had a sore throat, and I was so tired I could barely pull myself out of bed, even having slept an extra two hours. I continued to be exhausted all day, even taking an afternoon nap. My energy level, normally approaching that of Jack Russell terrier, was downgraded to Barkley:
By about day three we all felt “approaching normal,” and more bored than anything. That’s the grumble – the good thing is that none of us were very sick at all – no one even had a cough or sneeeze, I had JUST gotten groceries so we had plenty of food in the house, and we were all able to just take it easy. I attribute our extremely “nothing” cases to the efficacy of vaccines; if this had happened a year ago, I think things would have been very different. As it is, meh. One slipped past the goalie and we are all just fine.
Pandemic Reading
Five Tuesdays In Winter. Wow, did I love this collection of short stories! They were wrenching, heartwarming, and beautiful, and also incredibly varied in terms of character and setting. I want to read all her work now, and have put myself in the queue for her other books.
We Are Not Like Them. This book is written from two points of view, by two different authors, which is interesting. It deals with a white woman married to a police officer who is involved in the shooting of an unarmed, innocent, 14 year old Black kid, and a Black newscaster who is covering the story. The complication is that the two women are lifelong friends. This is a very important story with very important information. I’m glad I read it. But, the book itself? Meh. The characters are cliched and one-dimensional, and the writing itself is pretty flat. It is, in every way, a Book Club Book. It’s very readable, don’t get me wrong, but if you’re looking for a beautifully written book with complex, nuanced characters, this isn’t it.
With Love From London. My goodness, what a sweet, cozy, charming little book about a woman who inherits a bookshop in London, from her estranged mother. Everything ends exactly as you’d want it to, it’s a Hallmark movie in book firm, but better. So satisfying and lovely!
Mitzi Bytes. This book deals with a woman who has an anonymous blog, that gets found out – and the people she has been writing about are NOT HAPPY. It was fun to read about the early days of blogging – remember the Mommy Wars, and how there was actual debate about no-nut policies in schools – and there is also quite a bit of “why do we blog” discussion. If you were a part of those early days, and remember the stardom of some bloggers, you’ll really enjoy this trip down memory lane. It’s a fun read! I obviously do not have an anonymous blog, but this book is also a bit of a cautionary tale about what we write about: my personal view is that I assume everyone I know could possibly read this blog, so I never write anything I would be ashamed to say in person. YES, THAT INCLUDES DISCUSSION ABOUT MY BRAS, TAMPONS, AND CHIN HAIR. But mostly, that means that I don’t say anything about other people that I wouldn’t say to their faces.
Everything is back to semi-normal around here; we are out of isolation today, everyone is feeling well. And it’s Spring Break! Which means…absolutely nothing, although we did have a trip to Mexico planned that we cancelled back in January when all our travelling friends were getting stranded here, there, and everywhere. Two weeks ago I was bitterly regretting cancelling, but now I’m rejoicing, because at least we didn’t have to do a last-minute-scramble-to-cancel! Isn’t it nice when things work out for the best? Take care of yourselves. xo
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 beautifulcrafty 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
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
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
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.
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.
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.
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
