Category Archives: I am really 90

We Are Groot

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So one week ago today we were in the thick of a snow-related apocalypse, the power off and trees down, streets treacherous and temperatures dipping below freezing. Today it’s sunny and 25 degrees Celsius, which really indicates how average temperatures are calculated in this city.

On a related note, this weekend we cleaned up the tree carnage in our front yard, and for those of you who have small children who need to be corralled and distracted and given “jobs” like “put this little stick in the bin, that’s right, just like that, good boy! Okay, now another stick.” every time you need to do yard work, take heart. My kids are actually helpful now, and the cleanup was faster by about 200%, if it was just my husband and I doing it. The giant branches needed to be taken to the back alley, where ostensibly at some point they will be picked up and chipped by the city, and the boys were eager to see who could drag the larger branch and/or the most branches through the back yard to the alley. This competition was punctuated by constant loud declarations of “I AM GROOT” each and very time they picked up a branch. Each and every time. But I am not complaining, because their competition to get all the heavy branches to showcase their immense strength meant that I could gather all the light ones, and I’m all about not lifting heavy things.

Jake’s birthday was on Monday, and so we did a bunch of celebrating this weekend. Mark gave him some Lego and a keychain of the Lego Movie good cop/ bad cop which had the added benefit of a small LED light. Jake thanked his brother profusely for such a thoughtful gift.

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My husband and I gave Jake a camera, and he immediately tested it out by photographing things around the house, then making a video, which seemed to star the dog scratching his ear and then lying down. My friend Lyn suggested that with the right music, this could be an avant-garde film of sorts – crescendoing music with the PING of an xylophone. Maybe I have an artiste on my hands.

It’s been a bit of a busy week; tonight is the school’s Welcome Back Picnic, which was rescheduled from last week due to snow, followed by the first School Council/ Parent Association meeting of the year. Did I mention I’m chairing again? I am. I am chairing again. I probably need offer no further comment.

Yesterday I had some running around to do; namely a post office visit that turned epic when it became apparent that the woman helping me was brand new to the job. It took a long time, while I breathed and smiled and thought of my to-do list with increasing agitation. It’s like I have two little angels on my shoulders, one that says I am doing a civic duty by being patient so this woman can practice her skills on me, and the other that says OMFG how long have I BEEN here? In any case, it got sorted with me still smiling politely, and after that I stopped by the adjacent Walmart to pick up a few items that say a lot about me: lipgloss, cocoa butter hand cream, and wax strips.

And Walmart, usually so soul-destroying and spirit-breaking, Walmart served to lift me up where I belonged, where the eagles cry on a mountain high. Because as I entered the usually cringe-worthy store, I witnessed the cutest thing: the elderly greeter hardcore flirting with a cute elderly lady who was returning a cart from somewhere in the mall. I actually slowed my pace and pretended to look at the display of bathroom tissue and Oreos, just so I could eavesdrop. After a few minutes I went on my way, but they were still chatting. Maybe they were going to meet for a coffee and donut at the Tim Horton’s after his shift? I certainly hope so.

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon.

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Yesterday I was so melancholy; the summer was just so full of fun and sunshine and it felt, yesterday, like a plug had been pulled. Suddenly, it’s fall. Suddenly, it’s back to school. Suddenly, my children are all grown up with gangly limbs and giant teeth and floppy clown feet.

Of course, none of this was sudden at all. There’s been a slight chill in the air for the last ten days, the kids have had gangly limbs, giant teeth, and floppy clown feet for a while now, and as for back to school, well, it’s not like I didn’t know it was coming. Fortunately getting back into routine is exactly like riding a bike; we have all adjusted exactly as if summer never happened. The only one in our family who hasn’t adjusted is the dog, who is moping weirdly around the house and then flopping sadly on the floor. Or maybe I’m projecting here.

It’s gloomy and drizzly, and so I decided to work on a savoury new pasta sauce. I turned on the radio to eliminate the creepy silence in the house, and as the warm smells of garlic and mushrooms filled the kitchen, Landslide came on the radio. LANDSLIDE. On the first day of school, as I live and breathe. Maybe the radio programmers have a maudlin sense of humour, because right after that was Talking In Your Sleep by Gordon Lightfoot, and really, what could be more melancholy than that combination? At least it wasn’t Cat’s in the Cradle, I guess.

This past weekend we attended another wedding, and a few days prior to that I took the kids up to stay at my parents’ place at the lake. Rarely do I do a solo road trip with the kids; I don’t like highway driving as a rule, and the QEII is a crazy speedway at the best of times. I headed out Thursday around lunchtime, and the light drizzle quickly turned into pouring rain. Two hours of driving in pouring rain with almost no visibility pretty much did me in. By the time I arrived at my parents’ place – at which the sun was shining and there was no rain whatsoever – my hands hurt from white-knuckling the steering wheel and I felt like I was going to have a nervous breakdown. The kids, on the other hand, were completely oblivious to my plight, having donned their headphones to watch a movie in the back. I felt somewhat virtuous for shielding them from my driving angst, so immediately accepted a nice vodka cooler and a seat on the porch. I had to make the return trip all by myself a few days later – having left the kids with Grandma – and happily, it was completely uneventful.

So ends the summer, I guess. The first morning of Grade Four and Five seemed to go off without a hitch; everyone is happy with their teachers and their classes, so hopefully it’s a good omen for the year to come!

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The first time ever they have “dressed up” for school.

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Who’s excited? THIS GUY. Also the other guy.

Wardrobe Malfunction

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In case you’re wondering how scintillating I really am, let me tell you about my recurring dream in which I am folding laundry. That is all that I do in the dream; fold laundry. Even my dream self gets bored as I patiently fold shirts, towels, etc., and sort them into neat piles. Sometimes I’m able to wake myself up, like a person having a nightmare, by saying to my dream-self you’re having that boring dream again – wake up! Unfortunately, when I go back to sleep I often have my second recurring dream in which I’m making soup. Just me, stirring a large Dutch oven full of soup. Often the soup in question is eggplant soup, and sometimes I wonder if I should leave it chunky or puree it, and then I get out my blender. At this point I usually wake up.

If dreams indeed do mean anything at all, I wonder what these say about me. I’m afraid it wouldn’t be flattering.

But who needs exciting, anyway? The house has enough excitement without ME being a thrill-a-minute. While we were on vacation, I realized – not for the first time, nor for the last – that my husband truly is the fun parent. He’s the one cannonballing into the pool with the kids while I lazily float by, only in the water long enough to cool off before resuming my poolside book reading. He’s the one who could spend hours with them playing in the wave pool while I need to go warm up in the hot tub after ten minutes. He’s the one who takes them on epic bike rides and stages legendary water fights while I drink wine and gossip with my mother.

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Me, hanging out lazily while my husband takes the kids on an epic ride in the utility vehicle.

It might be weird having two fun parents anyway; I mean, someone has to be the grim-faced harridan who oversees sunscreen application and adequate hydration and proper nutrition even while on holiday. So that someone might as well be me.

On occasion, I can be actually fun. I will go down any waterslide at a water park, I will go on any rollercoaster, and I even buy the kids the occasional sno cone or cotton candy, considering that all that sugar and food colouring is PROBABLY okay in moderation. We were at a very fun aquatic centre while on vacation, and the kids had a blast. They finished the afternoon by jumping off the diving board several times, and they urged me to join them. I declined, but then started to think that maybe I should. I should TRY to be fun, I want the kids to remember me as being occasionally adventurous and cool. I watched my husband do a spin jump off the diving board, to cheers from them, and so I decided yes. I hadn’t jumped off a diving board in thirty years but dammit, I can be fun too, I thought. I removed my hair band, patted my braid into place, and stepped onto the diving board. I jumped, then swam to the side. My husband looked at me for a moment, then informed me that my bikini top had not stayed where it was supposed to. Wardrobe malfunction! I fixed it and said that I hoped no one witnessed my embarrassment. He was silent for a moment, while I was briefly encouraged that I was right, that no one saw my nipple. Eventually he broke it to me; several people, including the lifeguards and the parents at the side of the pool, DID see. Oh.

Fun and exciting, it’s overrated. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some laundry to fold.

Back in my day…

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Today was cool, windy, and drizzly and so I decided we would have a lazy indoor day, as opposed to the playground afternoon I had planned. Jake wanted to show me something on the Wii and so I acquiesced, sitting down in the armchair to watch him. Apparently I promptly fell asleep and woke up a while later, drooly and disoriented. “Wow, Mom!” Jake said pleasantly. “You were sleeping for a long time!” He didn’t seem at all put out that I’d missed whatever it was that he wanted to show me.

Falling asleep during the day is so unusual for me that, when I related this to my husband, he immediately wondered if I was well and also which chair it was I fell asleep in, a detail that seemed irrelevant at the time but, upon further reflection, is actually quite important. Falling asleep in a comfortable armchair with the soothing tunes of Star Wars: The Clone Wars playing in the background is significantly different than, say, passing out at the table or computer desk.

It’s been a fairly uneventful week. I had planned to take the kids swimming but it was a bit chilly this week; instead we went to the library. I picked up a copy of The Tipping Point and I highly recommend it to anyone who is interested in socioeconomic phenomena and epidemiology, which I am. Lest you think this sounds terribly pretentious, I just finished reading the Anne of Green Gables box set, which was lovely, excessive ejaculating notwithstanding.

The boys wanted a book for me to read aloud, and so we chose a Beverly Cleary book; Henry Huggins and the Paper Route. I had to field some difficult questions: what is a paper route? I was a little startled, but realized that, other than at their grandparents, the children never see actual print newspapers. I had to explain that that was how kids primarily made money, back in my day, that and babysitting. It was also a little startling to realize that no kids ever would have a paper route now, because who gets the paper?

BACK IN MY DAY has been something I’ve been thinking a lot lately; there’s so much press lately about free-range parenting and people getting arrested for leaving their kids in the car or leaving them at the playground all day. So many sad stories and so many people pretending to be Good Samaritans when in reality, they are Bad Judgmental Unhelpful People. I mean, back in the 80s it was pretty common for elementary school-aged kids to run to the corner store to buy cigarettes for their parents, and now I feel like I cannot leave my almost-nine-and-ten year olds in the car while I run into the grocery to get a loaf of bread, lest someone be filming me as a negligent parent. When I was a kid all the adults in the neighbourhood knew what the kids were doing, but in a “keep you safe and be sure you’re not being an asshole” kind of way, not a “let’s arrest your mother” kind of way. It’s a different world; mostly that people seem to be less inclined to help out their neighbours.

Speaking of neighbours, one of the elderly men down the street was straining the decorative rocks beneath his fir tree, to rid them of the fir needles. It seemed like a massively arduous task, and made me imagine my husband twenty years hence. Would he be shovelling decorative rocks onto a gigantic homemade sieve? Maybe.

Yesterday we went to the zoo, and it was lovely as usual. What caught my eye was this adorable little topiary:

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I am now trying to figure out how to get this into my own garden. I’m also trying to figure out what to do this lovely Friday night – I’m so rested, thanks to my impromptu nap. I’ve actually watched TWO movies in the past week – one was “I Give It A Year” which was a witty British comedy, and the other was “Despicable Me 2”. This exactly sums up my entire cinematic desires: either witty British humour or complete slapstick. All I know is that I’m not going to fall asleep before nine o’clock tonight, so I’m starting off the weekend with a bang.

 

NO WIRE HANGERS

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On Friday my husband and I had one of our weird arguments about whether or not French fries can be referred to as “chips”. My point was that we are not in England, Governor, and they are French fries. The kids tended to agree with me – they aren’t potato chips, DAD – but then my husband counterpointed with “fish and chips”. This led, sadly, to my rendition of the song Fish and Chips and Vinegar, Vinegar, Vinegar…until the kids stopped me by saying they had learned that song at school. Me too, I told them, excitedly. “Wow,” Mark said, “That really shows that throughout the ages music class has been lame.”

THROUGHOUT THE AGES. On a separate, but related note, I was telling my kids an anecdote about a broken phone. And in those days, phones had CORDS and they were attached to the WALL, so it was kind of a big deal. Liver spot are breaking out on my hands as we speak. The kids are always so enthralled with my “back in MY day” stories, television shows that could not be rewound or paused, ten hour road trips during which we kids silently stared out of the window wearing our tape-cassette Walkmans because there was nothing else to do, phones with cords that were plugged into the wall.

At my in-laws’ house there is a non-working rotary dial phone that is semi-fascinating to them. This is how people phoned each other in the olden days. They had to DIAL. There was no texting. My parents only recently got rid of their heavy, flesh-coloured, touch-tone phone, and the only reason they got rid of it was because my dad dropped it on the floor and it broke. I had good memories of that flesh-coloured phone. Remember taking the 15 foot cord in the other room to talk to your girlfriends for two hours? During a conversation about KIDS THESE DAYS AND THEIR TEXTING, a friend mentioned that we, as teens, were probably just as bad, but instead of texting we would tie up our phone lines for hours. I do remember getting “grounded from using the phone”, and instead resorting to writing my girlfriends six-page notes, because if we didn’t talk for two hours a night, we would miss important updates like “He’s cute but his hair is weird.” and “Do my new Benetton pants make me look fat?” and “Do you think Miss Herget makes her own clothes?” Also “Tom Hooper is so hot, I’m totally going to marry him one day.”

Ah, the fires of youth. I am feeling, lately, like I’m a rigid old lady, like I’m two steps from the Home and wearing slacks with floral blouses. For one thing, I am holding on a little too tightly to old-school style rules, especially the one about matching your shoes to your purse. My shoes will always match my purse, the end. I cannot fathom life without matching my shoes to my purse, even if I see other people with brightly coloured handbags and differently-coloured shoes and I think, hey, that looks great. Apparently I cannot incorporate such flamboyancy into my own lifestyle and I may as well go straight to pumps and a giant matching purse that will hold a change purse, a roll of mints, and a whole lot of Kleenex.

Less old-lady-like, but just as quirkily rigid, is my underwear rule: my bras and panties must match, every day, or the world will end. You know how your mother always told you to have nice panties on in case of an accident? Well, just this second it occurs to me what a weird thing that is to say. I’m pretty sure the ER doctors are not going to be upset if you have old faded panties that say “Hot Stuff” on them, or “Wednesday” panties on a Friday. Or are they? Maybe it’s a thing – if any ER doctors are reading this, I am going to pose the question: do you look askance at non-nice underwear?

Back to the original point, which was the matching. I have this thing where I have to match my bra and panties: if, in the middle of the day I change my shirt to a light coloured one that necessitates a light coloured bra, I will actually change my panties so that they match the bra. Even if the day is half over. Even if no one else is going to see those panties. Even if I am aware that I am completely crazy. I am like Joan Crawford, but with matching underwear instead of wire hangers. NO NUDE BRAS WITH BLACK PANTIES!!!!!

Other reasons it’s fun to live with me: I set out my clothing the night before and I do not deviate from that pre-arranged outfit, ever, I write down every daily job I have on a to-do list in an old-fashioned agenda, and if I do a job that wasn’t on the list I write it down just to check it off, and I have a strange need to write long, complicated packing lists even if I’m only packing for one night away and I always pack exactly the same things anyway (Shampoo! Toothpaste! Makeup bag!).

Well, we all have our little quirks, I suppose. Would you like to share yours? xo

39 Clues…about being 39

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Yesterday was my birthday and I turned 39. It’s the start of my last year in my thirties! Some people feel gloomy on their birthdays, but not me. I love birthdays, and also, I don’t want to be dead, which is the alternative to aging. Bring on the age, I say! One step closer to shuffleboard, slacks, plastic jewelry, and sexually harassing young male orderlies in the Home. I also think that birthdays are the day to party, caramba, fiesta, forever, and to also wear tiaras.

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Thanks to my friend Rebecca and her girls for bringing it, tiara-style.

 

With the vantage point of being 39 and one day, I give you my list of 39 random thoughts about being 39.

1) I like the way “39” sounds. Not quite middle-aged, but old enough to OWN these forehead wrinkles.

2) I feel way more healthy and attractive than I did twenty years ago.

3) I’m confident enough to rock a bikini, which I didn’t do twenty years ago.

4) Still, I would like the girls to be more like they were twenty years ago, if I’m being honest. Gravity and age has been hard on my poor deflated rack.

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Ah, youth. Remember drinking before going to the bar? It was all about economics.

 

5) This would be why I’m a Victoria Secret devotee. I need all the engineering I can get.

6) I think I have better style now than I did twenty years ago, but that might be due to the fact that twenty years ago I was wearing high waisted jeans and bodysuits.

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And puffy pirate shirts.

7) Letting my hair go more than six weeks between colours is disastrous, not only for the inch long grey roots, but because the rest of my hair resembles orange straw.

8) Every morning I check my chin for long black hairs.

9) Despite checking every morning, every once in a while I will notice a one-inch black hair under my chin that wasn’t there the day before.

10) Although the whole world drools over Don Draper, the man I find most attractive on Mad Men is Henry Francis. And also, disturbingly, Jim Cutler.

11) In a similar vein, I find Mike the most attractive man on Breaking Bad.

12) I feel disappointed in a motherly sort of way when I think of Jesse. I do not find him attractive in the least.

13) I recently referred to Chris Evans as a “very nice looking young man”.

14) It’s been 25 years since my first viewing of Say Anything, and I still kind of identify with Diane Court. I AM a show pony, after all.

15) While at the salon on Friday, getting my grey roots and orange straw hair coloured, I read People magazine and realized – not for the first time – that I don’t know any of today’s hot new celebrities. Celebrities featured in People that I did recognize: George Clooney, Jennifer Aniston, and Boo the Pomeranian.

16) I am older than Sally Albright, Mrs. Robinson, and Princess Diana when she died.

17) Of all fictional movie characters, I most identify with Sally Albright, even if I have a few years on her. This is especially true of the way I order food in restaurants. “On the side” is a very big thing for me.

18) My husband took the winter tires off my minivan and put on the fanciest rims you have ever seen on a minivan. My ride has been pimped, as they say. It’s like I’m having a midlife crisis, minivan style.

19) Because of these hot new rims, I feel like I’m going to be the bitchin-est mom at pickup. I already kind of look like this guy when I’ve got the beats going, but with a minivan.

20) Damn. It feels good to be a gangster.

21) My husband says I am the easiest person to buy gifts for, because I’m hysterically excited at just the thought of gifts.

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Presents presents presents!

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PRESENTS!

 

22) This was exemplified by my squealing excitement at the receipt of a dish towel from my children. But then, it was this dish towel, so that’s pretty amazing.

 

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Easy as Pi! There’s even a graphic of a double cone. I’m sure there are some reading this who knew me in high school, and so “Conics Goddess” may have some meaning for those readers.

 

23) Last year I received a dehydrator and this year I received a juicer, and I am absolutely thrilled to receive kitchen appliances as gifts.

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But then, I guess I’ve always been excited about receiving kitchen appliances.

24) I am old enough to see not only fashions from my childhood back in style, but also from my teen years. I’m too old to wear them though, so I guess I will leave the bubble skirts and gladiator sandals to the young people.

25) I use terms like “young people”.

26) When I read magazines that have those “Beauty At Any Age” articles, I flip to “In Your 40’s” because the advice for “In Your 30’s” feels a bit irrelevant. I feel like my fertile years are greatly in the past (knock wood).

27) I cannot blame my children anymore if I’m tired.

28) I cannot watch movies that are sad, scary, or violent.

29) I did, however, recently watch Love Story on a plane, and was struck by my teenage resemblance to a young Ali MacGraw. It must be the eyebrows.

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29) I spend a great deal of effort plucking those eyebrows because these days, they would make me look less like Ali MacGraw and more like Martin Scorsese. See also: chin hair.

30) I can remember the song lyrics to practically every song I’ve ever heard, yet I need to write down “put out garbage” every second Monday.

31) I feel vaguely shocked when I hear of people going out at nine pm, even though I know I once did that too.

32) To me, a perfect evening sounds like watching Downton Abbey in my pajamas with a bottle of wine.

33) Only on weekends though, because I had one measly drink on Sunday night and my Monday morning yoga practice felt like I had turned into the Tin Man.

34) Speaking of which, I’ve never watched The Wizard of Oz the whole way through because it freaked me out as a child and it freaks me out now. Tornadoes, flying monkeys, general creepiness.

35) I actually said to my husband, when we were spring cleaning and getting rid of old toys, that “maybe we should keep that for our grandchildren”.

36) I don’t actually want grandchildren until my kids are 30 or so.

37) I point out pretty girls to my husband, who tells me that it is not normal to tell your husband “Look at that girl! She’s hot!”

38) I have friends who really get me, and every day I am awash in appreciation for them. You know who you are, you ladies who make me laugh and smile and think about things, you who I see daily and you who I only see a few times a year but it’s as if no time has passed, you who read my blog and you who try my recipes. I love you all! xoxo

39) Every day, I can’t believe how lucky I am. My family, my life, it all feels charmed. I’m filled with gratitude for every year and I’m excited for the years to come.

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Lucky, lucky me!

 

Get Off My Lawn

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Ever since I complained about my too-tight-post-vacation pants, my Facebook feed has been full of advertisements regarding the most efficient way to get rid of belly fat, the one simple exercise to rid myself of belly fat, the one surprising food to avoid to eliminate belly fat, and ways to become bikini ready in just ten days. Well, thanks, Facebook, but I think I’m good now. My pants fit again so you can go back to advertising whatever it was you advertised before (Yoga studios? Clothing stores? Makeup? I don’t really know.).

How was your weekend? Mine started off by the delivery of a new freezer and fridge for the basement; their chilliness warms my food-hoarding little heart. I am beyond excited to be able to buy tons of produce and not have to play Tetris to get it all to fit in my fridge, and now I have an actual honest-to-God freezer to freeze things instead of jamming things into the beer-fridge-sized freezer and the compartment on my fridge, breaking my nails, and crying. The receipt of these items meant that my husband and I had a lot of reorganizing/ purging/ moving things/ swearing to do in order to make everything fit. It turns out that we have differing opinions on what sort of things are appropriate to keep – old golf how-to manuals versus a box of old fridge magnets – and that if a dumpster were in the neighbourhood, I should not leave the house lest my husband gets hold of my boxes of old Christmas cards and the kids’ old art projects. Not that I’m really a hoarder – I happily packed up many boxes and bags of things to be donated/ recycled/ garbaged – but it turns out my husband is much more brutal in his spring cleaning efforts than I am. I AM NOT GETTING RID OF THE FRIDGE MAGNETS AND ART PROJECTS.

Anyway, after the excitement of the new appliances, then there was the excitement of Mad Men! I sternly told the boys to shower and read their books in silence, because I had been waiting for ten months to watch this show and sssshhhhhhh. I will say this: it did not disappoint. I was struck, watching the scenes on the plane, by how much air travel has changed in the past 40-50 years. It used to seem so glamourous; now it’s all about watching your seatmate grossly eat Cheezies and drunkenly pass out beside you.

So that brings us to Monday morning. Apparently it is Bermuda Shorts Day today, which, if you did not go to the University of Calgary and are therefore in the dark why a) anyone would wear Bermuda shorts and b) why that would occur in April in Calgary, here is a little background information for you. Basically, it boils down to the last day of classes being celebrated by much drunken debauchery. The reason I know that it is Bermuda Shorts Day today is that I live in walking distance to the university, and while I was peacefully folding clothes I looked out the window and saw hordes of students in various ridiculous shorts-based outfits, walking down the street, beers and red Solo cups in hand. I smiled to myself, thinking of my youth and many fun Bermuda Shorts Days of my own…when I saw a girl chug a beer and throw the can on my lawn. I ran – not walked – to the front door and by the time I got there I noticed people putting their empty cans underneath the tires of the cars parked on my street. Whipping the door open, I screamed “HEY! DON’T THROW BEER CANS ON MY LAWN!!!” while the students looked on, startled. One young man in cutoff denim shorts with the pockets hanging down started collecting the cans while the rest stared at the crazy red-haired hausfrau reaming them out. At least I wasn’t wearing an apron and/or hair curlers. “Have a good time, but have some fucking respect for my neighbourhood. I don’t want to see this shit ANYMORE!” and mid-sentence a cop car patrolling the neighbourhood for drunken debauchery pulled up. Good timing, sir! I left him to it while watching out the window with a furrowed brow at the state of the young people today. GET OFF MY LAWN AND TURN OFF THAT INFERNAL RACKET.

Happy Monday to everyone! On that note, it’s a good day to get to know each other better – did you know littering makes me lose my mind? – and so I bring you Meme Monday. If you want to play, either blog these questions or answer in the comments. Getting to know you…getting to know all aboooouuut you…

Is it spring where you are?

Well, yes, in that it’s “spring in Calgary” spring, and not “things are actually growing and blossoming” spring. Things are brown, mostly, but there are some tiny buds on the trees and the glacier in my back yard is starting to retreat so, yes. Also, two magpies got into a fight with a squirrel yesterday in the trees in our front yard; I’m not sure why. Maybe the magpies had a nest nearby, or maybe they were just being assholes. Either way I was rooting for the squirrel.

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Kind of depressing glimpse at my back yard. At least it’s melting!

 

What was the last book you read, and would you recommend it?

I read so many books on vacation that I was considering a “Monday on the Margins” type post in the style of my erudite friend Allison, but actually the last book I read was Bossypants. And yes! I’d recommend it. That was about the sixth time I’ve read it – it is a hilarious and entertaining read, and since I read The Bear on vacation and I cannot read anything remotely heavy for a while.

Reality TV – yes or no?

I feel like I’m the star of my own show – Real Housewives Near The U of C With Food Hoarding Issues. But no. I think reality TV is a wretched chapter in the history of television, and I will not watch any of it.

Who is your favourite cartoon character of all time?

Well, that’s easy. Ralph Wiggum.

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Do you have a song stuck in your head right now? If so, what?

I always have a song stuck in my head and it can vary from “Summer Breeze” to “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go” to “Linda Put The Coffee On” to “Empire State of Mind” – you should hear me hit the high notes. Today I have “Monster” by Eminem and Rihanna stuck in my head, over and over, I wanna be the Bruce Lee of looseleaf. But that is a post in itself.

Go ahead, play along! And Happy Monday/ Bermuda Shorts Day to all. xoxo