Category Archives: I love my friends

One Thousand

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Can I Get A Witness

I can hardly believe this, but this is – get ready for it – my ONE THOUSANDTH POST. One thousand posts. Can I get a medal or something for this? Very few people old-school blog anymore, but I am glad to have this diary of my life over the past – get ready for it – DECADE. Of course, I could have just kept a regular diary, but what would have been the fun in that? It’s nice to have a witness to this everyday life. Can I get a witness?

The Winner, In A Landslide

As I’ve mentioned before, I often think of the Soundtrack of My Life; it occurred to me the other day that there are songs that are inextricably associated with other people, in my mind. For example, my friend Hannah (HI HANNAH) is linked forever and always with Some Kind of Wonderful, and so now that I have asked if I could get a witness, I will be a) singing that all day, and b) thinking of her. For fun I asked Facebook friends what song reminded them of ME and it was a very interesting experiment. A friend who knew me way back in elementary school mentioned Corey Hart (HI MELISSA), a friend from high school reminded me that we always sang Hello City when we were together in chemistry class (HI TRACY), a friend from university mentioned Total Eclipse of the Heart, the Old School version (HI ALICE), and there was a nice mix of interesting music from friends made in the past decade (HI EVERYBODY). The most common song, however, was Landslide, which is both unsurprising and apt, given this time of year.

This Is Me In Grade Nine

My BFF, who I met in grade nine, (HI TARA) said what reminded her of me was Light My Fire, stemming from that period in which I was obsessed – OBSESSED – with The Doors, and also wearing all-black-all-the-time. Well, my interest in listening to The Doors has certainly diminished to zero, but my all-black fashion statement largely remains.

This is me in grade nine, baby. Yes, my love of black and also excessive jewelry has remained, nearly thirty years after the fact.

Speaking of which, I have had This Is Me In Grade Nine stuck in my head for days – DAYS – because the start of school has ushered in a new era: my oldest is, indeed, in grade nine. I am assuming the same will be true next year at this time as my youngest will be there as well. Usually I have Back To School, Back To School, To Prove To My Dad That I’m No Fool from Billy Madison stuck in my head for days; this is preferable. I got a red leather tie and a pair of rugger pants, I put them on and I went to the high school dance.

This is further proof that my brain is needlessly filled with song lyrics and if I could just channel that brain power I could probably work for NASA.

Dogpression

Barkley knows what packed backpacks in the kitchen means, and he does not like it. Now that we are four days in, he has come to weary acceptance, so long as he can come along for school drop-off.

Winter Games

I have been using the silent house and also the free time before my new registered classes start next week to get a few menial, tedious, and annoying jobs done. These include but are not limited to calling the cable company to order a new remote, necessitating me looking up serial numbers and account numbers and clearing up last name confusion, registering myself and my husband to vote in the upcoming provincial election so as to not have to wait for an enumerator, and calling a certain government agency to ensure an issue that was not caused by anyone in this household but instead someone who we actually paid for their services and still makes me irritated to think about it has been cleared up. (Spoiler: it hasn’t!). Yesterday I was on hold for what seemed like an eternity, only to be redirected a few times before getting the correct person for the job, who ended up completely unable to help anyway. The interesting part of this story, at least to me, was that while I was on hold, the theme from the Calgary 88 Olympics was played. Two things: a) that really took me back in time, and b) is it just me or does that seem like a strange choice of music? The rest of the music was pretty neutral elevator-Kenny G-type music, and then wham! Bah bah bah bah bah bah bah bah bah BAH BAH!

It’s Just Like New Year

September feels like a much milder form of January, doesn’t it? Everyone with their fresh starts and getting back to the gym and making crazy school lunches with bento boxes? I personally have a couple of resolutions for September and on, and one of them is to not use my phone when the boys get home after school. I instituted a “no screens” rule for myself and the boys, although it has since been amended to “no screens until homework, physical exercise, and something creative has been done.” For me, though, it’s no phone at all, unless someone texts or emails me. It’s really helping me be more present, which is an ongoing goal of mine, and also allows me more time to read and play the piano. In fact, it’s given me so much more time that I feel a twinge of shame about my (former) phone habits.

Only 1255 Pages To Go

I have had A Suitable Boy on hold from the library for some time, thanks to a recommendation from my friend Mary-Lynn (HI MARY-LYNN). Imagine my surprise when I went to the library to pick it up and discovered that it is almost 1500 pages long. Hoo boy. I have been keeping a spreadsheet of all my books read, in an attempt to be more like my bibliophile friend Allison (HI ALLISON), and so far this year I have averaged one book every 3.5 days. This is going to mess me up big-time. To add fuel to the reading fire, two more of my holds came in yesterday, so if anyone needs me, I’ll be over there, reading. I know, I know, it’s the journey, not the destination, but I like my current book-to-day average.

I Love Your Pictures

A few months ago, someone had posted on Facebook about how sick they were of seeing photos of other people’s kids, and no one cared, and just keep those photos to yourselves, you terrible attention whores. I’m paraphrasing, but only slightly. Then a friend told me that someone told HER that seeing back-to-school photos was the worst, and if your kids weren’t in kindergarten, then nobody cares. You terrible attention whores.

I am taking this opportunity – this One Thousandth Post opportunity – to say that I CARE. I love seeing all your photos, of your kids, of your pets, of your fancy drinks, of your houses, of your vacations. I love your selfies, your outfits-of-the-day, your bikini shots, your workout shots, your nature shots, I LOVE IT ALL. I want to see MORE updates about your lives, not less. What else are we on social media for? Outraged political updates? I think we have enough of those. After all, look how well all those political posts pre-US-election turned out.

I mean, I even love seeing photos of what you had for dinner, so long as it’s not already digested. Which brings me to this travesty:

You Know How I Feel About This Emoticon

People, this is a bridge too far. TOO FAR.

A Confession

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Aretha Franklin is, without a doubt, my favourite singer of all time; what a gift she was to the world. I love every single thing she has ever done, but I especially love this clip from 2015 because wow. Talk about owning it. I love how she swans out in a gigantic floor length fur coat, 2015 be damned, dripping with jewelry and in that absolutely fabulous dress, to belt out Natural Woman. That voice, not dimmed in the least by her age, which was 73. In fact, her voice may have been better than ever. I love how she just drops the coat to just finish it off. What a goddess.

Sirius is honouring her by making the Soul Town channel into a tribute to Aretha for the next week. This morning I heard her renditions of Satisfaction and Let It Be, and she makes the Stones and Beatles sound like absolute hacks. Go home, boys, you’ve been owned. That woman was a queen, let’s not ever forget that.

Speaking of Sirius, a few weeks ago I mentioned that after years of my declarations that I Do Not Need Sirius In My Car, I finally acquiesced and my husband had it installed, just in time for our Epic Road Trip. I am so glad we did because I don’t think I could have listened to our Summer Mix 2014! CD one more time. The only blip came when my husband, whose musical tastes are much more contemporary than my own, refused to listen to Seventies Soft Rock or Pop Hits of the Eighties, two of my staple channels. I am extremely open-minded about music in general – I enjoy a wide and eclectic variety of genres – and so I let the doggy have his bone, so to speak. This went fine until the last long leg, when I snapped and declared that I Could Not Listen To “The Middle” One More Time. Deadlock had been reached, and we ended up compromising by listening to Bloomberg for four straight hours, which was both fascinating and kind of depressing, as this was exactly when the Chinese trade sanctions were starting.

The other day I was scrolling through my news feed and I came across this:

Never before have I felt so seen by an Onion headline, not since this one:

Oh, remember those days when the kids were small and a vacation was not at all a vacation, but rather a trip, and one in which all regular chores and drudgery had to be done, just in less convenient circumstances? Thank god that passed. When the kids were little our “vacations” were exclusively limited to “trips to visit my in-laws” and I remember the sheer exhaustion of it all. In fact, when the kids were two and three I remember saying to a fellow preschool mom that I couldn’t imagine ever PAYING to go on a vacation just so I could be exhausted in a different place. Clearly my sleep deprivation was affecting me deeply; obviously I am in a different stage of life now, one in which I can sit by the pool with a drink and a book for hours before wondering casually if the kids were hungry yet. It gets better Current Me wants to tell Past Me. Whenever I see a woman on a plane with little ones in tow, and the look on her face says why am I doing this I always give an empathetic smile and a silent prayer for her that she will get five minutes to herself.

But back to the Guest Offering Help With Dishes. This is a confession, you guys, which means I am not proud of this, but instead I am telling you something a little bit shameful, and that is that I really cannot bear to have help in the kitchen. Well, that’s not exactly true; my younger son is my dish drier, my older son is the table-and-chair wiper, my husband scrapes plates and loads the dishwasher and packages up leftovers (but only in containers that I have approved, because I am an insane control freak). Guests, though. I want my guests to just enjoy another drink and relax, or chat with me while I do the dishes, but I do not under any circumstances want help.

I know, I know, it’s terrible. In fact, I wonder if it’s some kind of pathological illness. Why wouldn’t I welcome help? It’s perverse! After all, I happily help in other people’s kitchens. But when it comes to mine…well. A few months ago we had dear friends visiting, and after dinner my sweet, sweet friend Sammi (HI SAMMI) started stacking plates. She took one look at me and said “You don’t want me to do this, do you?” I shook my head and we burst out laughing at my weird mental deficiency. Then she had a glass of wine while I washed the dishes AND I WAS HAPPY.

When we were staying at our friends’ place in Vancouver (HI CHRIS!) I was helping in the kitchen by drying the dishes. I asked my friend where to put a particular knife, and he said “Oh, anywhere. It’s a small kitchen, I’ll find it.” People, I stood there for several seconds in shock because I had obviously found Bizarro Nicole. What, you don’t have a specific nonnegotiable spot for every single kitchen item and when said item is put away wrong, you don’t silently plot the murder of the individual responsible? Huh. 

Well, the world is a rich tapestry. It takes all kinds, as Grandma would say. My husband and I were chatting the other day and I said that I was “easy-going.” He raised his eyebrows at me. “I am! I’m very easy-going!” I said defensively. He wordlessly went to the knife block and switched the knives around while my blood pressure skyrocketed and my eyes bulged out.

I’m easy-going about many things but the knife block is not one of them. Or the entire kitchen. Or the entire house. But otherwise! Very placid and carefree. Yes. Very.

The Boyhouse Takes An Epic Road Trip

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The clock in the kitchen has been two minutes slow for weeks now, and although there are two other clocks – on the stove and microwave – I always find myself glancing at that one. Yesterday I decided to seize the day and after changing the time, I hung it back on the wall. I did not, however, hang it properly, as evidenced by the smash and shatter that came a minute later. I knew that I would be constantly glancing at the bare spot in the wall, trying to ascertain the time of day, and so after dropping the kids at their swim lessons, I found myself at Bed Bath and Beyond.

What is it about that store? I have been very conscious about what kinds of things I purchase, and the quantities thereof – I don’t want to add to the landfill any more than I have to, and also I don’t want a whole lot of clutter in my house. However, walking into Bed Bath and Beyond, I find myself completely and immediately overwhelmed. Do I need a spiralizer? Do I need a floating cooler? How about Jelly Belly flavoured syrup? What about these throw pillows? What about a shower caddy that has a separate waterproof pocket for my phone? Does Barkley need a cooling bandanna? In the end I walked out with only a clock, thanks only to iron willpower. I was sorely tested though, even when I made it through the store. Near the checkout I was very tempted by a deal on streak-free stainless steel and granite cleaner, scented hand soap, and special pens for writing on glass.

Iron willpower, and maybe I am also a little shopped out since I crossed a new line this week: I bought so much at Costco that I could – and this is not an exaggeration – barely move the cart. I normally am at Costco every 2-3 weeks, but due to vacation it had been almost five, and I was into my backups of almost all my staples. The cart was so heavy that it was taking every ounce of strength I had to move it, and I briefly wondered if the slight incline in the parking lot would be the actual death of me. I pushed with all my might, inching through the lot, while cars zoomed past me, probably raging about the renovations at the gas station. The next day my back and shoulders were a bit sore and I wondered if that counted as the World’s Lamest Injury.

Speaking of vacation, I meant to write about it before now, but clearly I have been too busy breaking clocks and buying groceries to do so. It was, the kids said, our Best Canadian Trip Ever. Emphasis is on Canadian, I guess, because hey, Disney World. But we did have a wonderful trip, starting with a drive up the Icefields Parkway to Jasper.

Hoo boy, that was a cold hike! My husband and I went to the Athabasca Glacier on our very first trip together, way back in 1998, so it was very fun to see it with our kids, twenty years later.

We did lots of great hiking, and also went white water rafting for the first time. In the evenings we played board games and cards, and it was, all in all, fabulous.

Circling back to my shopping challenge, I purchased these boots in 1998. They have seen a lot of kilometers in the past twenty years. I was going to boast about them, how they are still going strong, but sadly the soles are coming off! I don’t even know if I can get them repaired, sad trombone. Anyway, twenty years is pretty decent for a pair of hiking boots, and they saw me through all the hikes we did in Jasper.

After Jasper we headed for the coast. I hadn’t been to Vancouver since I was pregnant with my oldest, which was fifteen years ago. I was Quietly Pregnant, and we stayed with the same friends we stayed with on this trip. We had a lovely time with our very generous hosts (HI CHRIS) and spent time at Kitsilano Beach, Granville Island, and the Seawall.

The original Lululemon! I did not even go inside because I was still on my shopping challenge, and a person can only take so much temptation.

After Vancouver we went to visit my mother-in-law, and a number of friends, in Kelowna. The four hour drive ended up taking seven and a half hours, due to – dramatically – a truck and trailer on fire a few kilometers in front of us. Other than that little blip, we had a great time enjoying the heat and the water.

Just as we were getting back into routine last week, I decided to take advantage of the hot weather and took the kids up to my parents’ place mid-week for a mini-vacation. We paddleboarded and boated, and the kids were getting a little hot so I encouraged them to jump out of the boat and swim to shore. It turned out to be a lot farther than I initially thought but hey, they did it!

So now we are home and back in the swing of things, with slightly tighter pants – sigh – and lots of great memories. A friend of my husband’s is very sick and it’s on my mind a lot, how time can be fleeting and at the end of the day, this is what matters most. I don’t ever wish to go back in time but I do wish I could slow it down just a little – the boys are back to school in less than three weeks, it’s mid-August! – but failing that, I guess we just need to enjoy the time we have together. xo

Letters From The Edge

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*cue Alice Cooper music*

What a weird week it has been; not really in a bad way, but in a what day is it again kind of way. In addition to the very weird half-day/ no school/ last day schedule, I had ten yoga classes to teach, and I spent much of the week reminding myself of the day. I swear I thought it was Wednesday twice and Friday three times, and now it IS Friday, so whee! School’s out for summer! As I write this it is 6:30 am and I have a cardio workout on the books and a class to teach but you can bet that when those things are finished there will be alcoholic drinks involved. Many alcoholic drinks. 

The weirdest part of the week was Wednesday, which was a PD day. Wednesday, the day before the last day of school. Doesn’t that strike anyone else as very weird? Why not just finish on the Wednesday, you might be asking, as I was. Well, it is in the past now, and let’s just keep moving.

Four years ago, my parents moved out of the city permanently, and they gave me a number of boxes that they had been keeping in storage for me, ever since I moved out of the house in 1998. I went through a couple of them and found some weird knitted childhood dolls, my old Care Bear (Cheer Bear!), a framed picture of young Elvis, some scrapbooks of the Royal Family, and, best of all, a letter from the Corey Hart Fan Club. Mostly, though, they were filled with junk that I recycled or trashed or – in the case of the weird knitted dolls – gave to my niece. I swear she liked them!

COME PLAY WITH THE BABY.

I did keep my Cheer Bear, for nostalgia’s sake.

*screams like a 1964 Beatles’ fan*

What I’m trying to say is that THESE were the childhood treasures I kept, which says something, I think. Something not great about my childhood treasures.

Anyway, once I had gone through two of those boxes – in 2014 – I got a little tired. I think maybe I was running a book fair, and it was almost Christmas, and so I thought I would deal with the other boxes later. I put them in my garage and promptly forgot about them. Well, I didn’t really forget about them, but years went by and they just became part of the garage landscape. I figured that they contained just more of the same, how shall l say this, unimportant things that were destined for the landfill. Sure, it was fun to imagine my husband’s reaction if I hung the Elvis picture above our marital bed, and sure, it was fun to read a mimeographed letter from Corey Hart about the Everything In My Heart video, but really. So years went by and I averted my gaze when I looked at the boxes. There just never seemed to be a good time to go through them, and also my husband mentioned that he hoped a mouse didn’t make its way in to live out its final moments; so on top of lazily not wanting to go through a box, I was concerned I would find a mouse corpse and subsequently would never stop screaming, until I myself followed in the mouse’s tiny footsteps.

This past weekend things came to a head. We need more garage space. My husband bought a lawnmower specifically for the boys; his lawnmower is a top-of-the-line, gigantic, self-propelled one that is absolutely impossible for anyone other than his muscle-bound self to use. Think about this: we have boys who are fourteen and almost thirteen, and my HUSBAND is mowing the lawn. This, I think you’ll agree, is tragic. Things are changing this summer, with the purchase of a much-smaller and not-self-propelled mower. We are now sauntering down Easy Street, people!

I say “we” but in reality, the number of times I’ve mowed a lawn can be counted on one hand.

In any case, with two lawn mowers, and space at a premium, I decided to finally go through the boxes in the garage. And let me tell you, it was amazing. They were chock-full of treasures: my childhood sticker album, with many scratch-and-sniffs, every Girl Guide badge I had earned, more Princess Diana scrapbooks, a box set of Sweet Valley High – expect some book reviews in the near future, what DID happen when Elizabeth broke the rules and rode on a motorcycle? Stay tuned – and this, from my candy-striping days:

More importantly, though, the boxes had stacks and stacks of letters. Apparently I had kept every letter ever written to me, and so I have letters from my grandma dating from 1984 to the late nineties, from camp friends, from pen pals, from far-flung cousins. And let me tell you, they are a hoot! Except for the ones from Grandma, almost every single letter is about a) the classes we liked, or, alternately, hated, b) boys we liked, or, alternately, broke up with, c) extra-curricular activities and the awards we gained from them. Sure, there was the occasional tidbit about things going on in the world, like activities pursued during summer/ Christmas holidays, or when my cousin/ pen pal from California wrote about an earthquake, but mainly it was “Are you still going out with X? Y and I broke up.” The letters were all written on stationary, usually embellished with teddy bears or hearts. It reminded me that Grandma gave me stationary for Christmas every year. Is that a hint, Grandma? If it was I guess I took it to heart, given all the letters.

There were also a number of notes from junior high friends, written surreptitiously during class time, exclusively written on foolscap. The theme of the letters was also largely boys, but also about how boring the class was and how mean our parents were.

It made me think a lot about how times have changed – I mean, letters? Who writes letters anymore? Now we just email, text, and – for us long-winded people – blog. It’s kind of sad; it was a little slice of my life, one that I had kind of forgotten about. I used to tie up the phone for hours, and spend time writing letters, and these days teenagers just text each other and like Instagram photos. Well, turn, turn, turn, and all that. I don’t want to be one of those In My Day people, but having those letters to read over has been really wonderful.

In any event, here we are at the long weekend, I hope you all enjoy it very much! xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things – June Edition

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Happy Summer Solstice! Can you even believe it? I only just got used to it being May, and now here we are, the longest day of the year. I know I’ve mentioned this, but it is June, JUNE PEOPLE, and I am not at all feeling overwhelmed or stressed out. I have no end-of-the-year commitments to attend, I am not doing anything at a frantic pace, and even the last two weeks of school, which are mostly half days or no school at all, are giving me a feeling of relaxation, rather than stress. It is a miracle. Yesterday was one of those half days and I had a house full of starving boys all afternoon, and I am going to tell you that I love, love, love this age. I love my kids’ friends who all feel at home here, and who are thrilled every minute with homemade waffles and muffins, and who roam our basement and jump on our trampoline and talk about ridiculous video games I don’t understand, with gratitude for food. These are the best waffles ever! So easy to please. I think of what *I* was like at that age and I shudder. Thank god for these happy boys and their fantastic friends.

Every day I look at my garden and marvel at everything – there are buds on the roses! – and every morning I get into the car at 4:50 and I notice how bright the sky is. When I finish my yoga practice, I have to put on sunglasses to drive home, and every night I fall asleep way before the sun even thinks of setting. June! It’s a really great month! Funny how when we get so wrapped up in the craziness of life, we can forget that.

So two weeks (or “weeks”) left of school, six weeks left of my no-shopping challenge (whomp whomp). SIX MORE WEEKS YOU GUYS. I kind of cannot believe I’ve made it this far and I think I might just make it after all, not unlike Mary Tyler Moore, if Mary Tyler Moore decided to do something as stupid as a one-year no-shopping challenge. Yes, right now it feels like the most ridiculous thing but I can’t give up now, even though I want a new bikini and summer pajamas in the most desperate way. Six more weeks.

Anyway, back to the Joys of June. It is time for…

Nicole’s Favourite Things – The June Edition

Siberian Irises

Look at these babies! This is one of the few things in my garden that I didn’t plant. The original owner was apparently quite the gardener, and this beautiful plant just thrives in its sunny spot by the downspout. It spreads in a funny way – little clumps of Siberian iris come up in unexpected places, like behind the garage. They bloom every June. I also have a lovely memory of my boys, when little, playing with the seed pods, which dry out and become rattly, late in the fall.

Strawberries

Strawberry season is upon us! I admit I buy out-of-season strawberries frequently, but this time of year they are truly Nature’s Candy. Fruit is Nature’s Candy! I’ll say to my kids in a Marge Simpson voice, which I’m sure they love. We eat a lot of fruit in this house, but it really ramps up during strawberry season. We can easily eat six pounds of strawberries in less than a week, in addition to all the other fruit we eat, and did I mention I’m practically living at the grocery store now? I am. But oh, they are so good just by themselves, or on waffles, or dipped in chocolate for Sunday night desserts.

Did you know that if you wash strawberries in a sinkful of cold water with lemon juice, they will last longer and be even more delicious? It’s true. I usually squirt a bit of lemon on the berries and then spray them down with cold water; sliced, they keep in an airtight container for up to five days. Of course, they don’t really last five days in this house, but I’ve been doing this for years; I also think the lemon also helps clean off some of the farming ickiness.

My Pillow Dot Com

I wanted to mention this in my last post but a) technically it was something I heard about on the radio, not through the internet, and b) I forgot. Last summer I found my neck and shoulder would be in pain every single morning; I’d be fine throughout the day but sleeping was causing me agony. SLEEPING should not cause a person physical agony, but here I was, getting up in the morning to rub A535 on my neck like an old man. I would wake up in the middle of the night and wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep because of the pain. Well. I had been hearing about My Pillow on the radio for the longest time, and I guess their method of long, repetitive advertising worked (“Betty Jo Kaiser here, and I just had ANOTHER great sleep all because of MY PILLOW.”). I went online and ordered the two-for-one deal, and…I waited. And waited. And waited. And finally the pillows showed up, after calling to complain and receiving a very big discount, and I have to tell you, it was worth the wait.

The pillows themselves are filled with, apparently, pieces of foam, and they arrived all bundled up in a tiny roll. What is this. I’m not kidding, the pillow was the size of one of those giant ballpark hotdogs. I was a little bemused when they arrived, until I, as per directions, put them in the dryer. They fluffed out and LET ME TELL YOU THEY ARE AMAZING. No more neck or shoulder pain, and I feel like I could be on one of those commercials. Nicole MacPherson here, and I woke up refreshed and ready to start my day because I had another great sleep on MY PILLOW. I can never go back to a regular pillow again. It’s even fun to order them, the company sends you a pillow based on your size and sleeping preference (I am a side-sleeper).

What does this have to do with June? Well, technically nothing, except that I’ve had the pillow for exactly six months now, so I can report with accuracy that yes, it really has improved my life. Let me tell you, if you are working as a yoga teacher, you really do not want a non-functional shoulder.

Solo

I was so upset to hear that Solo bombed at the box office. It is, in my humble opinion, the best Star Wars movie ever made. I really loved the character development, I loved the story, and I loved the intimacy of the plot – one of the things I don’t love about Star Wars is the pinging around the galaxy, from one planet to another. I find that confusing and uninteresting, and I’m constantly whispering to my kids where are they, who’s that guy, which I’m sure they enjoy greatly. I loved all the characters, and the richness of the development. Han Solo has always been one of my favourite characters, and I loved the peek into his early years. Now, to find a Han Solo costume for my husband to wear for my personal benefit next year’s Halloween festivities.

Wild Crocus

My friend Amy has an Etsy shop, called Wild Crocus. I think I’ve mentioned this before – she makes malas and bracelets, and I purchased one for my sister-in-law last Christmas. She is so talented and makes many beautiful, one-of-a-kind items. Well, she has a Goddess Collection of malas, and when I saw the “Star” one I knew. I knew the way you know about a good melon*. I kept looking at it and admiring it and reading the description…and one thing led to another and now it’s mine, all mine.

“Fire Agate lights the fire within, energizing and encouraging one to blossom and shine into their brightest self.” I mean, come ON. This was made for me!

There are even rose-shaped silver beads involved. Roses! I love it so much, and I encourage you all to check out her beautiful Etsy shop. Who knows, you may just find a piece that speaks to you as this did for me.

Shine on, people, blossom into your best selves. Enjoy this, the longest day of the year; look around you at all the beauty still to be had in this world. xo

 

* random reference from my favourite movie ever, big prize to whoever guesses it**

** the prize is not physical, it is the glory of guessing correctly

This winter has frozen my brain

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Do You Want To Build A Snowman

No, not really. It’s been the snowiest – or one of the snowiest? I don’t really know – winters on record, and frankly, I am at the point where I cannot even conceptualize a time where I won’t be wearing numerous layers and a coat that requires its own postal code. I cannot remember what the yard looked like without giant drifts of snow, and I am starting to forget what it was like to drive down the street. I refuse to drive down the our street due to the enormous snow banks and ruts – if a car comes in the other direction, one of the cars must somehow get somehow onto a snow bank in order for the other to pass. It feels like a recipe for disaster, and as we all know, automobile-related disasters can only end in dramatic tears and frantic phone calls to my husband who, inevitably, will be at work and unable to help. I shall not drive down my street until such time as I do not need a four wheel drive and/ or nerves of steel. I was looking at my closet yesterday and noticed all the footwear that is lying dormant. I know there was a time when I wore light shoes and even light boots, but I cannot really remember it. I’ve lost all perspective – haven’t I just always worn heavy boots every single day? The local meteorologists insist that the melt is coming, but frankly, I can’t imagine it. I feel like I’m in a much less-gory and not-at-all-incestuous Game of Thrones winter, which is destined to last until we all die from lack of food/ murder/ being killed by White Walkers.

I’d Rage Against The Machine But I’m Too Tired

I realized with a start that time change is THIS WEEKEND. Goddamn Daylight Savings and all the lies associated with it. The Alberta government – not for the first time, and certainly not for the last – was the cause of grave disappointment when they announced that they would not do away with the time change, because “everyone else is doing it.” I feel like my own mother, if everyone was jumping off a bridge, would you do it too? Are we all lemmings here? If EVERYONE thinks that time change is an antiquated concept, and that it really does nothing for energy savings, and that it is inconvenient and the cause of many car accidents and issues due to pure exhaustion, then why doesn’t EVERYONE band together and just agree to do away with it? Every single year I think this and I am sure that given that this ridiculousness has lasted this long, I will be in the Home saying the same exact thing.

Awkward Is As Awkward Does

This week I had my annual physical, and my doctor’s office was very accommodating when I mentioned I was a little tight on time. I got there a few minutes early and the nurse promptly weighed and measured me, and took my heart rate and blood pressure. I was quickly escorted to the room where I was asked to change into the robe. I glanced at the enormous robe, momentarily forgetting which way to put it on. Does it tie in the back or the front? At that exact moment, while I was standing in the freezing room, completely nude, the doctor knocked and started to open the door – thinking, probably, that he was helping me out by not making me sit idly in the freezing room, but instead starting the checkup right away. I appreciated his promptness but, as I said, I was standing there naked, so I asked for just a moment, please. Does it tie in the front or the back? I remembered from my mammogram a few years back – when I made the wrong choice – that that gown tied in the front. Were we doing a breast exam today? Maybe? Front or back, front or back, just make a decision. I quickly pulled it on and tied it in the front just as the doctor knocked again and walked in. It was immediately apparent that I had, gravely, made the wrong decision. The doctor looked at me quizzically as I awkwardly said I couldn’t remember which way to put the gown on. “Well,” he said tactfully, “Usually it’s the other way.” USUALLY. Like there are other women out there desperately holding the gown together at the front, showcasing their complete lack of medical gown intuition. There were a few awkward moments when the doctor was testing my reflexes and listening with his stethoscope. Wardrobe malfunction! I am not generally a shy person and the doctor has seen it all before, but still, there is something unsettling about unexpectedly flashing the doctor while just sitting on the examining table as he asks questions about general energy levels and if I’m still getting my periods.

That’s One Way To Get More Business

With all the snow, and the usual thawing and refreezing cycle, sidewalks and parking lots have been absolutely treacherous. A few months ago I came across an elderly woman who had just fallen and, subsequently, broken her arm while walking on the sidewalk. She was just sitting there on the sidewalk, waiting for the ambulance to arrive. If you can make it down the sidewalks without such calamity, you need the agility of a mountain goat to climb over the huge snowbanks surrounding them. Walking the dog is becoming an adventure, is what I’m saying. The other day I saw a man slip and nearly bail right in front of a chiropractic/ physio clinic. Sheer ice…right in front of the clinic.

All The Ladies In The House Say HEY

Happy International Women’s Day! I may not still have my posters of the Feminist Manifesto and the fish on a bicycle, but the principles are still there (automobile-related incidents notwithstanding.) Keep on keeping on, you beautiful women. Let’s continue to lift each other up and support one another. xoxo

How To Be A Better Person

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Did you realize that TODAY is March 1? How did that happen? Well, time keeps on ticking and meanwhile it keeps snowing…but I’m not going to go there today.

What I was thinking about is that today – MARCH 1 OMG – marks two months from traditional New Year’s Resolution beginnings. Did you make any resolutions this year, and, if so, how are they going? My own resolutions ran the gamut from the somewhat vague – focusing more on single tasks, practicing more patience and mindfulness, being grateful every single day for the amazing gift of LIFE – and the concrete – squeeze in more movement every day, read more, play the piano once a week – and I’m happy to report that I am doing all those things. Well, the piano doesn’t always get played weekly but I did learn how to play the theme song from Cheers, which has been a goal for a long time and, frankly, is not very difficult. I could have done that years ago!

My resolutions, such as they are, are a work in progress. This isn’t like the time I resolved to learn how to bake bread or use my decorator tips or how to play Where Everybody Knows Your Name – it’s not a One and Done thing. I think that one of the great benefits – and part of the appeal – of New Years Resolutions is that they make us BETTER. Whether our resolutions have us paying better attention to our physical health and wellness, or to attaining or honing a skill, or to becoming better equipped emotionally to make the world a happier place, there is generally a common theme: we want to be better people. We want to be better, we want to do better.

This is the premise of my friend Kate Hanley’s latest book: How To Be A Better Person. You may remember that Kate is the author of Stress Less, which I reviewed last April with an anecdote about becoming curious instead of furious when a delivery man became incredibly angry with me. How To Be A Better Person is similar in format to Stress Less, and reads like a combination self-help book and checklist for life. There are over 400 simple ways to make a difference in yourself and the world, each with a little box beside it so you could, presumably, check one off each time you achieve them. I did not do that, but I did dog-ear each page when I thought hey, that’s what I can write about. Don’t judge me! It’s my book, I’ll dog-ear if I want to. But there were so many good little nuggets in there that my book is now one big dog-ear. I could write a whole blog series on this book! I’ll try to be succinct.

The book is broken up into eight sections: See the Positive, Connect With Your Feelings, Be Healthy, Show Love, Give Back, Stay Committed, Work Well, and Let Go of Your Stuff. I will admit that I liked the Be Healthy section the best, because I was already doing literally everything in that chapter: eating lots of fruits and vegetables, drinking lots of water, doing yoga, moving more, getting outside no matter what the weather (thank you Barkley for the motivation on that one). But I think the other chapters, that felt more difficult when it came to self-awareness, are more helpful.

For example:

If there ever was an Important Parenting Reminder, it would be this. We are all walking our own paths, and no one can do it for us. This is HARD though, when it comes to parenting, but so very important. This reminds me, a bit, of that famous “Your children are not your children” poem from Kahlil Gibran, which you can read in its entirety here. “And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.” How often do we think of our children as extensions of ourselves? Their failures become our failures, their successes are our successes. Sometimes we may even find ourselves living vicariously through them, through our own dreams and visions, and those dreams and visions may not have any import to them. Of course we must show we care and give them tools to make good choices, but those choices are theirs and theirs alone. This is so difficult, particularly when our children are different from us. Actually, it’s difficult when our children are similar to us too, as we can really take to heart their experiences and way of thinking. Their lives are their lives, and they must live them. I mean, think back when you were a teenager – you had choices to make and consequences to live with, and those decisions were yours and yours alone. We must let our kids do the same – even if it kills us!

Which brings me to this:

Sometimes my kids will be telling me something about their day, and I will become panicked about a small detail, whereas they are calm and cool. Clearly, this is my own issue and I’ve made it about me, and not them. Triggers – we have to learn what sets them off and how to deal with them. Just like I know that I cannot eat even one potato chip or else I will be scarfing down the entire Costco sized bag in minutes, a trigger can lead to regrettable outcomes.

But, it can also lead to good outcomes if managed properly. I was at Costco on Monday and as usual, the parking lot was a disaster; not only are there giant snow piles taking up parking spaces, but the usual “corral, what corral?” mentality was rampant. My friend Janet (HI JANET) always says that weekdays at 2:00 are the Magical Costco Times in terms of lineups and general busyness, but unfortunately 2:00 means that there are four hours for people to leave their carts willy-nilly all over the place, and on Monday there were many carts scattered throughout the lot, taking up parking spaces and generally destroying my sense of Parking Lot Feng Shui. Do I talk about shopping carts too much? Probably. But clearly this is a trigger for me; I can stand in long lineups with patience, I can let people go ahead of me, I will take a spot farther from the door to free up others for people less mobile, I will smile and chat happily with the staff.

But when it comes to seeing people walk their carts over to where ten other carts are scattered in the parking spaces and leave them, when the CORRAL IS RIGHT THERE, OMG, IT’S TEN STEPS AWAY, well.

I weep for humanity.

But as Kate says in the book, use it as a reminder to do something nice for yourself. For the amount of time I spend grocery shopping, I will be able to do many nice things for myself when I see disasters like this. Maybe I should book a pedicure. As it was, I put my bins in a cart – when you can’t do a lot, do a little, says Kate – and I practiced my ujjayi breathing as I went into the store. I bought two packs of my favourite cherry tomatoes, I smiled at a cute baby and his mama, I practiced gratitude for the ability to buy healthy and delicious food for my family.

And then I glared at a perfectly-able person shoving his cart in the direction of a bunch of other errant carts, causing a pool-table ripple effect of carts, some coming close to hitting parked cars. I glared and glared, and then, like a crazy person, gave a giant smile to another person who was actually returning his cart to the corral. GOD BLESS YOU, SIR. I hope he felt my positive vibes and I hope he had the best Costco Karma ever.