Category Archives: I love my friends

Reseating The Theatre

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I listen to a lot of podcasts; if those podcasts were audiobooks I’d probably be able to increase my Yearly Books Read by at least 100. Alas, they are not! I walk a lot and also do a lot of boring household things, like laundry and chopping vegetables, and podcasts entertain me while I do that. One of my favourites is Were You Raised By Wolves, and a couple of years ago it introduced me to the concept of Reseating The Theatre.

The idea is this: your life is a theatre, and everyone in your life is somewhere in the theatre and its vicinity. You are the star, and you are on stage. Perhaps there are one or two other people onstage with you, but perhaps not. There are a few people who are backstage, and then there are a few people in the front row; those people are the most important in your life. There are people in the orchestra and people in the mezzanine. Some people are in the balconies, and maybe there are a few balcony tiers. Some people are wandering around in the lobby and still others are not allowed in the theatre at all.

The brilliance to this is that not everyone gets full access to the show that is your life; of course they don’t, imagine how exhausting that would be. But the theatre metaphor is perfect because it allows me to prioritize my time and energy; the people in the front rows and backstage are my ride-or-dies, and I give those relationships a lot. I get a lot out of them too. People in the mezzanine and balconies are welcomed and even cherished in my life, but they get less personal attention, and some people are more like friendly acquaintances who I’d happily chat with, but who I wouldn’t be necessarily hanging out with.

I like to think that everyone has a theatre, and just like they have a seat in my theatre, I am seated in theirs. An important thing to note in this metaphor is that circumstances can change and people can be reseated.

I truly believe in the old saying about friends coming in to your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. How this relates to the theatre is that seasons change, and people can move from the balcony to the orchestra, or from the front row to backstage, or from the mezzanine to the lobby, depending on the circumstances. If I realize that I have been reseated in someone’s theatre, and not in a growing in importance kind of way, then I can feel free to move them back in mine, and not feel obligated to expend more energy.

It’s so important to meet people where they are in life, but also to put them where they need to be.

Recently Elisabeth asked (HI ELISABETH) what personality trait do you absolutely require in a friend? This question, frankly, stumped me, probably because I have a very wide and flexible definition of the word friend. The people backstage are obviously my closest friends and confidantes, but I also consider the people on the third tier balcony to be friends, just in a less intense way. There are friends that I do fun activities with, friends I feel comfortable travelling with, friends that I read with and talk with about books, friends that just sit and talk and listen as I pour my heart out. Some friends check all those boxes, some check just one. There’s room for everyone in the theatre, is what I’m saying, but obviously not everyone can be everything.

I have a few lifelong friends (HI TARA, HI ELISE), women who have known me since my very awkward early teens, and even earlier, and who have loved me this whole time. That’s really saying something! I mean, I went through a period of obsession with Jim Morrison, who had been dead for decades by that time. Also, ew. On the flip side, I have some friends who I have known only a short time, but they have quickly moved from mezzanine to the front rows; these are women I love to spend precious time with. Some previously close friends have slowly lost touch with me over the past couple of years, and so I have sadly moved them back in my theatre. Very, very occasionally, I will find myself no longer with anything in common with a person, or at a place in which I find myself to be in constant disagreement with every decision that person makes, when that person is just too toxic and too difficult. That situation requires a move to the lobby, or maybe even outside the theatre.

I am very grateful for the friends who do not let distance stand in the way of our relationships. I can think of at least four friends who live far away but who I consider to have front row seats. One of my dearest friends, Hannah (HI HANNAH) could not live farther away from me without leaving the country or falling into the ocean, and yet we chat several times a week. My friend Nicole (HI NICOLE) has never failed to keep our monthly friend date since we started them in January 2018; since I moved we call each other every month. Allison (HI ALLISON) lives in Ottawa but when I saw her last spring for the first time since 2014, it was like no time had passed. And Jen (HI JEN) will be sipping poolside margaritas with me next week; she is a sister to me, except that we never fight.

All of these friends are so different, but the common thread is that they always have time for me, they always are supportive and loving, and I always know where I stand with them. They always make me feel uplifted and fill me with positive energy.

Speaking of being uplifted and filled with positive energy, I hope you all had wonderful Galentine’s and Valentine’s Days! Galentine’s for me was such a special day: the morning with The Squad, an afternoon writing date with Laura (HI LAURA), and an evening at the theatre with my relatively new, but already very dear, friend Sandi (HI SANDI). Look at this incredible spread of goodies! It just doesn’t get any better than that.

My dear friend Sammi (HI SAMMI) made this cake. You know how I feel about cake!

I did make my own cake for my Valentine and Valentine-adjacent sons, and also for myself, because we all need more heart-shaped cakes in our lives.

Weekly Reading

It was a reread week around here!

The Husband’s Secret. This was the first of Moriarty’s books I had read, back in 2017. It got me hooked on her style – twists and turns and very complicated characters. I loved it in 2017 and I loved it now, this story of secrets and choices and how they affect our lives. It’s such an interesting thing to think about: if you made a different life choice, where would you be right now? Who would be around you? It’s fascinating and so well written; it’s an unputdownable read.

The Burgess Boys. This was historically my least-favourite Strout – the bar is high, though! – but I thought I would reread it, after Bob Burgess featured so heavily in the new, and much-loved-by-me, Tell Me Everything. I liked it so much more on the reread, although it would still rank last in all the Strouts. It is a very bleak and grim story, and all the characters are either absolutely abhorrent or really pathetic. But I did find it to be a good reread and things resonated with me differently this time around, particularly the character of Helen, who is mourning her empty nest. (hashtag: landslide, relatable). I think that the story line, which centres around what appears to be a hate crime but might just be a crime of stupidity, is absolutely relevant today, with its theme of xenophobia and distrust of immigrants and different cultures.

It snowed this weekend! We have had so little snow this year that it is remarkable and exciting when it happens. It snowed just in time for me to leave it! I am off on a little adventure that will feature sunshine, beaches, and a whole lot of mango margaritas. I’ll see you all on the other side; take care of yourselves. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Jan Stan Edition

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I asked my son if people still used the word “stan,” and he said what do you mean, like the Stan countries? When I explained that no, I wasn’t talking about the Central and South Asian, mainly former Soviet countries, I was talking about describing how I feel about things I like, he tilted his head. I don’t think people your age say it, probably. Excuse me? I was listening to Stan before you were BORN. I am TAKING BACK the Stan.

I know January has been a rough, grim, and frankly terrifying month, on the international front particularly, but you know me:

And to that end, there are many things I found I could Stan in the month of Jan. I would like to go on record to say that January sunsets are truly things of beauty, and even though we still haven’t made it to 5:00 yet – tonight’s sunset is at 4:48 – there is more and more daylight and clear skies every day.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Jan Stan Edition

If I Could Turn Back Time

Where have the Cerave products been all my life? I know where they have been, inexpensively hanging out in the drugstore, so I suppose the real question is WHY haven’t I used them before now? A few months ago my skin was feeling so tight and dry with the change in seasons, and I bought this moisturizer for my first morning ablutions:

It’s revolutionary! I put it on first thing in the morning after washing my face; it’s much thicker than what I would usually use on my face, but it absorbs by the time I’ve brushed my teeth. In the summer I prefer a much higher SPF but I think 30 is perfectly fine for a) winter, b) walking in partial darkness, and c) the cloudiness that is typical of winters here.

I also purchased this product, allegedly a “serum,” but which seems more like a lotion:

I put it on before my Neutrogena retinol night cream, which leads to a LOT of tingling, but I think it actually does make my skin brighter and softer and maybe – MAYBE – even lessens the look of wrinkles. Does it turn back time? Absolutely not, but I think that’s just too tall an order for any kind of topical treatment, particularly one for less than $20 at the drugstore.

Bundt and Hustle

As I have mentioned before, I have been diligently working my way through my friend Julie’s cake cookbook (HI JULIE) since I bought it in 2022. I ran into a roadblock, though, because a number of recipes call for a Bundt pan, which I did not have until this Christmas, when my son gifted me one. This was along with a copy of Commonwealth, which I mention only because it otherwise sounds like he gave himself a Christmas gift under the guise of generosity. Also, I wanted both of those things. In any case, I made Julie’s Family’s Chocolate Cake, and instead of the ganache called for, topped it with a cream cheese frosting in order to use up the last of the four pack of Costco cream cheese I had purchased for a friend’s birthday carrot cake.

I foresee many Bundt cakes in our future. I have the pan, nothing can stop me now!

Snow Much Fun

It’s so strange to me to live in a place where in January there is next to no snow on the ground. Yes, it has snowed. But each snowfall was accompanied by a melt within a day or two. Someone recently informed me that one year it snowed here in December and that snow was still on the ground at the end of January, and my response was one of befuddlement. This was not as winterly impressive as that person thought. I’m from Calgary? Sometimes the snow from October lasts until May? But in any case there is no snow here in the valley, and so my husband and I have been occasionally driving up into the mountains to do some snowshoeing.

I love snowshoeing so much. What a great way to experience the winter. It’s fantastic exercise that takes in the beauty of nature, and it also makes me feel Wholesomely Canadian.

There is also no falling, and after I bruised my tailbone last year cross-country skiing, I am a big fan of staying upright in wintry conditions.

I Understand You Completely

I don’t know what is going on lately, but there seems to be an explosion of Pride and Prejudice merch available, and I am here for it. Before Christmas I was shopping at Indigo and although I most certainly did not need to buy myself anything, let alone another mug, I could not help myself.

Not to get all snobby and pedantic, but this delights me on so many levels. A regular, non-Jane-Austen-stan might think oh yes, there IS no enjoyment like reading and yes, we all feel that way. But it’s much funnier on a deeper level. The quote actually belongs to Miss Caroline Bingley, who is ostentatiously picking up a tome of a book in order to impress Mr Darcy. After flipping a few pages she abandons the book for other, more enjoyable pursuits. It’s a deep cut, and it makes me absolutely delighted every time I use it.

While purchasing new clothes, I came across a whole lot of Pride and Prejudice-themed items, and I immediately added to cart this sweatshirt, purchased two sizes larger than normal in order to be as cozy and comfy as possible.

I had to explain the significance of Most Ardently to my husband and son, who looked at me like Shrek and Donkey when they first hear the song Duloc Is A Happy Place. They much preferred my tee that the three of them bought me several Christmases ago:

Poor maligned Lydia. She’s only trying to exercise the only economic power women had back then. Also, we were all fifteen once, and I’m sure if I lived in that era my head would also have been turned by a red coat, even if I am a Charlotte Lucas at heart.

Paint It Black

Have I mentioned lately how much I love my girlfriends here? I adore The Golden Gals Squad; they are always up for something fun, and to that end my friend Sandi (HI SANDI) booked us in for a paint night at a local restaurant.

Credit for the above goes to my friend Sara (HI SARA), and honestly, she saw me. I was objectively the worst painter in the group by a long shot. I was there for the vibes and the hysterical laughing.

My husband, of Supportive King fame, said wow, it’s so much better than I thought it would be! I mean, me too? But the bar was pretty low. Also I’m not sure what he thought it would look like, but probably he assumed it would be tear-stained. Frankly, it looked nothing at all like the demonstration piece – for one thing, there is supposed to be a stag involved but I know my where my artistic limitations lie – but it wasn’t like I was planning on displaying this anywhere in my home anyway. I’m not Botticelli, people! This isn’t the Birth of Venus! It’s just a bunch of apparently dancing trees in a winterscape. Happy little trees! Let’s have a moment of silence for Bob Ross.

Outfit of the Month

This month’s outfit has a nice mix of old, new, and medium pieces. The polka dot tank and long-sleeve tee date from around 2017, the jeans are new, obviously, and nicely stretchy, and the cozy long sweater was purchased sometime during the pandemic. I don’t know when, as all those years blur together and what is time anyway, but I do like the sweater. It’s a perfect layer for an occasionally hot-flashy woman like myself in the dead of January, because it’s easy to slip off.

A few years ago I saw a meme about Decorative Gord Season, the Canadian version, which included a photo of the Barenaked Ladies’ Gordon album, Gordie Howe, Gord Downey, and, of course, Gordon Lightfoot. These days around 4:48 pm I start humming Sundown, which is an honourary favourite thing this month.

I know there is a lot to be glum about right now, and I personally have to completely skip over the news and even the headlines, lest I spiral into complete and utter despair. But I hope you can find a lot of beautiful things in your own little world, and I hope you found some this January. xo

You Can Find Me…

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In Da Club

I am thrilled at the response to my yoga post! Don’t you just love the thought that we are all in our own separate lives, but yet together? I like to imagine you all just adding touches of loving-kindness and asana throughout your day. I think we could have a monthly check-in, with perhaps a mantra or featured pose (asana to do in your kitchen while you wait for the oven to heat up!) or a very short video. In early days of the pandemic, I created a series of gentle yoga videos specifically for my students as a stop-gap measure as we all tried to figure out the zoom life; the quality is pretty bad, and it was never meant for a wider audience, but perhaps someone will find them useful. At the very least, you can see what parts of my Calgary house looked like. Full disclosure: I have not rewatched these as they are a bit triggering, as it were, remembering the circumstances that led me to making yoga videos in whatever space in my house was unoccupied for whatever time I could manage.

If You Get Caught Between The Moon and The Walking Path

The Okanagan valley where I live is famously overcast in winter; this helps keep the temperatures mild and windless, and to me, that is a pretty sweet tradeoff. It does get gloomy though, and often it’s too cloudy to see the astronomical wonders in the sky. Over the last week, though, the clouds have been lifting, right in time to view the Wolf Moon.

On my early morning walk with Rex, I felt like I was inhabiting a Mary Oliver poem as the Wolf Moon fell on my right and the sun rose on my left.

The sun sets close to 4:30 now, which is a solid half hour later than a month ago. I’ve been known to suddenly scream at everyone in the house to look outside, oh my god, look outside, so I am one step closer to my Life Goal of Becoming Judy.

And look at this sunrise! I truly AM living in a Mary Oliver poem. No joke, Canada geese have been flying around me on every walk. WILD GEESE. I cannot make this up.

Please Please Wait A Minute Mr Postman

When we went to Italy, Rex went on his own little vacation to the pet resort. It seems like it was a three week bender. He came back with an eye infection, an ear infection, lice, and an extra two and a half kilograms. His collar was partially shredded and his license tag was missing. Wasn’t that a party…look at the mess I’m in! We should all have such a good time.

It was great timing, though, because I had been meaning to get him a nicer collar, and so I ordered one from Etsy as a Christmas gift, not that he knows what Christmas is or, more accurately, every day is Christmas for him. The Etsy shop MAILED it, even though the postal strike was already on, and so it was stuck in the US lo these many weeks. It finally arrived this week and I think he looks pretty sharp.

December felt very strange with zero holiday cards in the mail; I was a little blue about it but my husband assured me that I would be very excited when the mail started moving again. He was right; who knew holiday cards in January would be exactly what I needed? The mail is exciting again!

Also exciting was my package from Allison, who was my Secret SANta (HI ALLISON)! Allison and I have been friends for about fifteen years, and boy, does she know what I like. Look at this box of treasures!

Every single thing was a complete delight! Fuzzy socks and lotion, chocolates and candies, a bookmark and a gnome!

A gnome cross-stitch card? Omg! Thanks Allison!

Weekly Reading

The Body. A few years ago my friend Leanne (HI LEANNE) introduced me to the Bill Bryson Theory of Diminishing Returns that states that the first Bill Bryson book that you read – any of his vast collection – will be completely and utterly fascinating, and will cause you to excitedly read more and more. The next book – no matter which book – will be slightly less fascinating, and subsequent books will decrease in delight as you go along. I found this to be very true, abandoning the author altogether after Notes From A Small Island. But I saw The Body displayed at my local library; it was the very first Bill Bryson book I read, in 2021, and I wondered if it would be subject to the law of diminishing returns or if it would be as fascinating as when I first read it. Friends, it was the latter. It’s an absolutely incredible study of the human body and its functions and foibles. Now, I will say if you are squeamish at all, or if you even slightly veer to hypochondria or germaphobia, then you should probably give it a pass. I fortunately remembered the horror that was the breast cancer section and the description of the first mastectomies, and so I quickly skipped over that section this time around. Sadly, I did NOT remember the lobotomy section and read it again, which led to the same nightmares I had the first time around. Still, an excellent read, even if I did re-learn that “vagina” comes from the Latin word for scabbard, which, really? Can we have NOTHING for ourselves? It’s bad enough that until very recently clinical trials excluded women on the basis of their pesky old Aunt Flo, which led to inefficacies and sometimes toxic overdoses of prescription drugs for the female body, it’s bad enough that women are constantly misdiagnosed for heart attacks as we present differently from men, it’s bad enough that menopause is only recently being studied and that for hundreds of years women died en masse during childbirth not because of the birthing itself but because of puerperal fever brought on by MALE doctors NOT WASHING THEIR GODDAMN HANDS. We can’t even have that most female of body parts named in a way that isn’t in reference to the man and his MIGHTY SWORD? God, I could flip over a table and scream into the void. TAKE BACK THE VAGINA, LADIES! But back to the book. Modern medicine and everything we know about the body can be attributed to a) dogged, tireless, and often personally hazardous work by scientists, researchers, virologists, and other medical professionals, b) wild accidents, and c) absolutely atrocious and inhumane experimentation on people by Germany and Japan during World War II. A fascinating, if sobering, read. Also? Wash your hands! It’s the single most powerful way to stop disease, not just childbed fever, but almost all disease, including those considered airborne. The description of how a cold virus ends up everywhere is pretty disgusting and I am NOT going to think about it for one minute longer. Pardon me while I go wash my hands.

Don’t Forget To Write. When I was mired in emotional instability brought on by the beautiful but haunting Moon Road, my friend Hannah (HI HANNAH) suggested this as an antidote. It’s just fun; a story about a young woman in 1960 who gets caught making out with the rabbi’s son and gets sent to live with her great-aunt for the summer. This great-aunt just happens to be a matchmaker, and capers ensue! Sassy comebacks abound! There was a surprise ending that really was a surprise – I usually can see these things coming but I did not. Is it believable? Absolutely not! But it’s a perfect diversion from life.

Home Stretch. The day before a wedding, in small town Ireland, there is a terrible accident that kills three people – including the bride and groom – and seriously injures another. Two others are able to walk away, one of them being the driver, whose life in this small town is now ruined. This book is a perfect example of how to write compelling character-driven prose. Secrets abound and while some can be guessed at, the reader is compelled to keep going; it’s an un-put-down-able book that spans 1987 to 2019, from Ireland to England to New York City and back again. It’s a great story of choices, secret lives, and redemption. Thanks to Lisa (HI LISA) for this recommendation!

I hope you all have a beautiful week filled with fun mail, pretty skies, and, of course, yoga moments! xo

A New Kind of Yoga Challenge

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It’s that time of year where people are making all sorts of goals; specifically, it seems, health and wellness goals. I miss teaching yoga, a little, at this time of year because my classes always had some enthusiastic and curious new students. I really loved it, introducing people to yoga and specifically introducing them to my view of the practice.

Recently Stephany (HI STEPHANY) asked do you plan to teach yoga again and I don’t really, not right now. The thought of building up a clientele from scratch, looking for a class to teach, and finding substitutes for the classes that I will inevitably need when we travel just seems too overwhelming.

But I miss encouraging my beloved students on their yoga journeys. Many years ago – I think it was 2008 – a teacher said to me that there is a difference between going to yoga classes and having a yoga practice, and it is this latter that I wish I could impart on everyone.

I taught many different people with many different body types and abilities, and I feel like every one of them benefited from a practice. I taught seniors and I taught young people, I taught people who were able-bodied and people who were injured and people with chronic pain, I taught people who had suffered strokes and people who couldn’t get down to sit on a yoga mat and people in scooters. Over the years I taught hundreds of classes and I learned a lot about people and their bodies.

I remember one day looking around at my Yoga for Stroke Survivors class; there were probably fifteen people there, and everyone had wildly different physical abilities. I remember thinking how will I teach this? and then a lightbulb went off. I realized that there were so many different ways that a single asana could be experienced. Cat-cow, for example, is typically experienced on hands and knees, but the same spinal flexion and extension could happen if a person was seated on a chair, or standing with hands on a wall or another support.

Sometimes friends will tell me I wish I could do yoga, but I don’t have time. Or, I can’t do downward dog, I can’t touch my toes, I’m BAD AT YOGA. Friends, I am here to say that no one is bad at yoga. And you can have a yoga practice, if you want to, even if you feel you don’t have time.

Listen. I’m not your mom, unless one of my kids is reading this, in which extremely unlikely case I say hi lovies, I love you! I’m not here to be the boss of you or tell you what to do, but I do wish that I could spread the word that a yoga practice can be whatever you want it to be. Yoga videos and those thirty-day challenges are all great, if that’s your thing. I would never say a word against them.

But here’s the thing: for every person who benefits greatly from a yoga challenge and for whom that is the beginning of a lifelong practice, there are many others who find them discouraging or injury-inducing or otherwise detrimental. It doesn’t have to be that way, it really doesn’t. There are no yoga police. No one is going to kick you out of the Yoga Club if you aren’t able to hold a plank or if you can’t go into child’s pose without discomfort.

One doesn’t need lululemon pants or a video or even a yoga mat to have a daily yoga practice. I had a lovely older lady who came to my class once a week, and the rest of the week incorporated a small daily practice into her life. She would do a tree pose while she brushed her teeth, using her bathroom counter for support. She would do a standing cat-cow while she waited for her coffee to brew. A few times a week she would roll out her mat and do a few sun salutations, or she’d lie in savasana. I found her inspirational.

Here’s my challenge, should you choose to accept it. Pick five favourite postures, and then every day do ONE of them. If time allows, do two or more. There’s no need to do them together or at any particular time during the day, just whenever you find yourself with an extra minute. Maybe twist on the chair that currently houses your body, maybe stand up and reach your hands toward the ceiling. Take a forward fold when the shower is heating up. When stopped at a red light, turn off the radio and listen to the sound of your breathing. Bam! Meditation. Hell, if you have time, roll out a mat and do all five postures, maybe more, maybe do a whole practice or a video or go to a class, but just know that even one minute a day adds up over time.

One of the key tenets of a yoga practice is the concept of maitri, or loving-kindness, and this is not limited to how a person interacts with other people. The first person one should extend loving-kindness to is oneself. Giving yourself a little stretch during the day, permitting yourself to sit in quiet meditation for one minute, allowing yourself some grace to come as you are when life is chaotic and the pressure is on to set goals, goals, goals, these are gifts we can bestow on ourselves every single day.

Weekly Reading

Speaking of gifts, what could be better than a few good books?

Save the Cat! Writes a Novel. I have started my revising and editing course this week, and I have found this book on beats and scenes so helpful in terms of organizing my manuscript. I have work to do in the editing process but it all feels manageable, and I’m happy with my progress so far.

Worry. This was a wild, darkly funny satire about two sisters who end up living together in New York city. The older sister suffers from anxiety, hypochondria, and massive phone and Instagram addiction; the younger sister, who suffers depression and debilitating hives, moved in with her sister after a suicide attempt. Meanwhile, their mother, down in Florida, has become a Messianic Jew, doomsday prepper, and pyramid-seller of essential oils. There is almost no plot, but instead a statement about life in 2019, about codependency and sisterhood, about the numbness of internet connections. I loved it but it is satire; it’s like David Sedaris meets Hello Beautiful meets Prozac Nation meets Momfluenced in the weirdest way possible. It’s bonkers and I loved it. 

Alphabetical Diaries. This is such a wild idea: the author took a decade’s worth of journals, put each line in a spreadsheet, and then sorted alphabetically. Each line. From every journal entry for a decade. The result was half a million words, which she edited down to a much more readable 60000. The result reads like a really long free-form prose poem. I couldn’t help but wonder if the amount of work that went into this project paid off, monetarily, but I guess one doesn’t go into writing for the money. Thanks to my friend Engie (HI ENGIE) for bringing this one to my attention!

I started writing this post just wanting to talk about my views about yoga, and now I’m thinking – let’s make it a real challenge! Who wants in to my Yoga Club? To join, you have to a) commit to at least sixty seconds of a stretch or sitting in silent meditation once a day, and b) practice loving-kindness towards yourself if you miss a day. It’s a practice, not perfection! And since I do miss that aspect of teaching, if anyone ever has questions about postures and their variations, please send me a message. I’d be more than happy to share what I’ve learned through the years. xo

Five For Friday: The Costume Change Edition

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Typically, I go through what the Edies would call four Costume Changes a day, which might seem excessive, but I don’t see any way around this. But this week, on Wednesday, I had FIVE Costume Changes, which felt like a perfect topic for today. However, my main motivation for this post was something that I will probably talk about at more length later, and that is that as much as I love clothes, as much as I love Costume Changes, I and my perimenopausal body have been experiencing a bit of a wardrobe crisis of late. As you know, I am a firm proponent of feeling good in my clothes at all times: if I don’t feel beautiful, or at least really cute, then the clothes are wrong. This has been a bit harder to swallow lately, so I decided to record my Wednesday Costume Changes to rediscover my love of clothes.

  • Costume Change #1: The Workout Outfit. The first outfit of the day is for my yoga practice, followed by a Peloton spin class and strength workout. It consists of a yoga tank and crops, plus a tee since it’s chilly in the mornings. Since the house is asleep at this time, I had to rely on the one full-length mirror in the house, the one beside the guys’ squat rack. I don’t know how to move the bar, which hits at face height when I’m standing, so hence the awkward posture. Also I don’t know how to take a good mirror selfie, which explains the maniacal facial expression.

Listen, I’m a sweaty gal. When I work out I am dripping, and my clothes could actually be wrung out, which leads us to…

  • Costume Change #2: The Dog Walking Outfit. Obviously I can’t leave the house in wet clothes, because a) it’s gross, b) it’s cold, and c) I have some semblance of dignity and self-worth. It’s also chilly in the mornings, so in addition to a fresh yoga tank and pants, I have on a sweatshirt, leg warmers, a bum warmer, winter jacket, toque, and mittens. I also have brand new Timberland boots that are so comfy and warm. As a note, my older son said admiringly, You got Tims! and I, Canadian cool girl that I am, wondered why he was talking about Tim Hortons. TIMBERLANDS. They are cool, you guys, university student approved. I’m not a regular mom. I’m a cool mom!
  • Costume Change #3: The Regular Life Outfit. On Wednesday I wanted to accomplish exactly two things: a Superstore grocery shop, and 1500 words on my novel’s second draft. I got both of those things done in this sweater and jean combination. These (non-Timberland) boots and puffer jacket are perfect for Kelowna November: the temperatures are just north of zero, and this outerwear is warm but not overly so.

Anyone who knows me will be alarmed to see that single banana on the countertop behind me. I know! That’s why I was heading to Superstore! Not to worry, this is what it looks like now:

  • Costume Change #4: Girl’s Night OUT! Listen, it’s pretty rare and remarkable for me to go out on a Wednesday night, but the Squad and I were going for dinner and to see the community theatre production of The Golden Girls – The Laughs Continue. We all know how I feel about the Golden Girls! Not one of us realized until we were actually there that it was a drag show. Wait a minute…I think that’s a man was the thought that went through my mind after the show started. Wait a minute…I think they’re all men! Again, not a regular mom. A cool mom. I don’t like to judge based on appearances, but if I did, I would say that at least 80% of the audience also didn’t realize it was a drag show. Well, lots of laughs had by the Squad, and it was a great excuse to wear a dress and heeled boots.
  • Costume Change #5: Stop! Pajama Time. I always wear a coordinated pair of pajamas, and it’s the holiday season, which calls for festive jammies. My husband gave me these for Christmas last year along with matching socks.

Speaking of perimenopause, my feet don’t get cold anymore like they used to, but I like to apply foot cream at night, and wearing socks helps to absorb it. Also, I don’t like leaving lotion footprints, nor slipping on the floor, so the socks stay on until I’m actually in bed.

I hope you all have a fabulous, fashionable weekend! xo

In It Together

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I was taking a Peloton class the other day, and I noticed something. I am a person who likes to send out “high fives” to everyone surrounding me on the leaderboard, particularly people who have the same group hashtags as I do. My people! I will think, happily, if I see someone from the #yestoyoucrew or #PelotonCanada. I was cheerfully moving my way up when I saw the hashtag #therapyfortherapists.

It reminded me of the time I saw #therapistsofpeloton and all I could think of was this:

What I’m saying is that I’m glad the rapists are getting therapy through exercise.

I love Peloton for many reasons, and one of them is that I love the idea that there are other people out there, doing the same exact workout as me at the same exact time. It gives me that wonderful feeling of we are all in this life together, doing the same things, but differently that I absolutely love. Here we all are, going about our lives, separately, but somehow interconnected.

When I was in university, I took a couple of classes from a professor who had the worst body odour you can imagine. This wasn’t simply a matter of oops, forgot my deodorant before I hit the gym. This was on another level altogether. It had to have been a medical issue; it was a Seinfeld-level entity. You didn’t dare sit in the first three rows in his classroom, or, if you did, you’d never make that mistake again. Even in the very back, at best you’d leave the classroom surreptitiously sniffing your clothes to ensure that the smell didn’t cling, at worst, you’d finish class with a nauseous headache.

It occurred to me one day, as I took notes on microeconomic systems, that this professor was married. I looked with wonder at the fluorescent overhead light glinting on his wedding ring, and I marvelled at the idea. There is a lid for every pot, I thought with awe. It hit me, maybe for the first time ever, that day back in 1995, that we all have sides of us that other people don’t see. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, as I scribbled down the required equations. Maybe his wife had no sense of smell, I thought, or maybe she liked his smell, maybe she felt it was a sexy, manly musk. Maybe she just loved him so much that his smell didn’t matter, and this realization – that maybe this professor had a whole different personality and set of interests that no one else knew about – made me feel a bit dizzy. Or maybe it was the body odour, wafting its way to my desk.

It started a bit of a fascination for me; not with that professor in particular, but with people in general. Professors for sure were interesting to think about. If you have ever been in an economics department, you will know what I mean. How interesting it is to think that at some point, these men – they were almost exclusively men back then, in the 90s – fell in love and, presumably, proposed to the women that they were married to. At some point, that professor who was dully talking about the utility curve had passionately declared his love and, most likely, had sexual relations. THEY INTERCOURSED. Most likely, anyway.

Later, when I was working in a very male-dominated department, the same thing would occur to me, not the intercoursing, but the romantic relations. I would be sitting in a meeting or working on a pricing model or listening to someone talk about synergies or optionality or circling back, and suddenly the idea that the speaker in question had presumably gone to a jeweler and chosen an engagement ring and given it to a woman, a woman who I had met at the office holiday party, with words of love and romance, popped into my head. Once, when speaking about a case of mergers and acquisitions, a former boss used the term opening the kimono. I’m sure that phrase is now out of use, but at the time I thought what if he HAD a kimono, an actual kimono, and he opened it for his wife.

The point of all this is that people are complicated, and interesting, and can be more than one thing at the same time. Every single person is so much more than they present to the world, which is something I try to remember every day. That person is beloved to somebody, I’ll think when I have a less-than-rosy interaction, sometimes with my teeth gritted.

A few months ago I was driving home and was followed very closely by a very large truck. I was driving with the flow of traffic, just barely over the speed limit, and I was being tailgated in an alarming way. All I could see in my rearview mirror was this giant truck grill. I stopped at a red light and just as it turned green, the driver in question wildly passed me on the right, which wasn’t a lane at all but a shoulder, cut me off, and then slammed on the brakes. He then proceeded to drive at least thirty kilometres below the speed limit.

What you have to understand is my reaction. His slow driving did not even register to me until I realized that there was no one in front of him to cause it. It took me a few minutes of this to realize that he was “getting me back.” Buddy. You’ve got the wrong girl. I wasn’t bothered at all by this, in fact, I was amused. I didn’t mind in the least. What, am I going to be two minutes late to get home? Am I going to be late to unload these groceries? I calmly, smilingly continued to follow him at this slow speed, listening to my Forever 35 podcast, when he tired of this ruse, and screeched his tires as he sped through the upcoming traffic circle. I imagined him going home, and complaining to someone about the middle aged bitch who slowed him down. I hope he had someone to complain to.

Weekly Reading

It was re-read week at the Boyhouse! I re-visited some old favourites. I’d like to please remind my friends that, when it comes to Alice Munro, I am only interested in discussing her craft and writing. Thank you for supporting my mental and emotional health.

Diary of a Provincial Lady. When I mentioned this book last week, I had an absolute craving to re-read it. This is one of my all-time favourites and no, nothing happens. I have read it so much that it is literally falling apart, and I have to carefully keep the pages in order. It is just so witty and clever. It contains one of my favourite paragraphs ever written: “Move about after dinner, and meet acquaintance whose name I have forgotten, but connect with literature. I ask if he has published anything lately. He says that his work is not, and never can be, for publication. Thought passes through my mind to the effect that this attitude might with advantage be adopted by many others.” HA. Also, I love this: “Overhear one lady in stalls ask another: Why don’t you write a play, dear? Well, says the friend, it’s so difficult, what with one thing and another, to find time. Am staggered. (Query: Could I write a play myself? Could we all write plays, if only we had the time?)”

Amy and Isabelle. No one can write like Elizabeth Strout; her prose is so beautiful and moving and heartbreaking. This book was a reread for me. I first read it in April 2020; my husband gave it to me for my birthday, when all the libraries were closed, and because of that, I was reminded of that time, rereading. It’s a bleak story about a mother and daughter in a small town in Maine – it IS Elizabeth Strout, after all – and the secrets they keep from each other. I am always fascinated by people’s lives, and the things we don’t know about the people we think we know, and this book is all about that. What I didn’t know until I read it this time is that this is Strout’s debut, which she wrote at age 42! I love knowing that. And what a debut! It’s a really incredible, character-driven book. It’s gritty. It’s grim. It’s beautiful. I love it.

Too Much Happiness. This book is a master class in spare, moving writing, and it is one of the few – maybe it’s the only? – Alice Munro collections that contains a novella. The novella is the title story, about famed Russian mathematician Sophia Kovalevskaya. More than that, this collection contains a really wide variety of really incredible stories. Munro is unmatched in creating stories of characters that I think about often.

I hope you all had a wonderful weekend. In an unbelievable twist, I actually finished my Christmas shopping, which is a new record by far, and one which I don’t really want to repeat. There’s a reason for that, but I will tell you all about it later. For now, I hope you all have a beautiful October week. xo

Don’t You Get Me Wrong

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I was just finishing preparing dinner the other night when I heard a very familiar guitar riff. I left what I was doing to run to the living room, which sounds dramatic, but it’s literally five steps away.

Rewinding twenty-seven years or so, I was modestly famous among my friends in grad school for my uncanny ability to identify a song – title and artist – by hearing only the first half-second of the opening chord. We Are Family! Sister Sledge! I would yell at Name That Tune Night in the grad lounge. I Am Woman! Helen Reddy! My abilities meant our team consistently came in first, although I don’t think I would be able to do that now, with any kind of modern music. And by “modern,” I mean music that came out this millennium. Maybe I’d be able to identify some Pitbull or Eminem, but even so, I would have to hear at least thirty seconds of a song before accurately naming it.

But essentially any song from the last century I’m good at both identifying and also singing all the lyrics to, and when I heard that familiar guitar whine I was excited because I knew Jesus Christ Superstar was on TV. Why now? I have no idea. I always think of it as an Easter show, but here we are, in September, learning about the Crucifixion.

The very best part of Jesus Christ Superstar is the beginning, when all those hippies are getting ready for the play. I could watch the overture over and over. I love seeing them create – and strike – the set, and getting into their characters. I also love Herod’s Song – who doesn’t? prove to me that you’re divine, change my water into wine – but honestly, the whole musical is kind of bland to me. Don’t you get me wrong but other than three or four songs, I think the music is boring and the whole thing is kind of a downer. You might be saying to yourself well, consider the subject matter, but the American war of independence, political corruption in Argentina, and a creepy disfigured man living underneath an opera house who is obsessed with a young ingenue singing his arias are not exactly uplifting either, and yet I love every moment of Hamilton, Evita, and The Phantom of the Opera.

I love musicals generally so I was very excited to be invited to watch Mamma Mia! with the girls at my friend Carolyn’s home theatre (HI CAROLYN). When I say “home theatre” I mean she actually has a literal theatre in her home. It’s one of the most incredible things I have ever seen inside someone’s house. Anyway, given my deep love for disco generally and ABBA specifically, it was surprising that I hadn’t ever seen this before, but I hadn’t, and I found it absolutely delightful. PIERCE BROSNAN AND COLIN FIRTH. Rawr. That girl seems too young to get married, I thought, like the aged woman that I am, but what a fun movie. Plus, did I mention Pierce Brosnan and Colin Firth.

It occurs to me that there are many, many pop culture mainstays that I have never observed myself, although I am well aware of their contribution to our society. For example, I have never seen a single episode of Cheers, the movie Groundhog Day, or Star Trek in any iteration. I have never watched Gilmore Girls, Dawson’s Creek, or The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, although I can to this day rap every single word to Parents Just Don’t Understand. Okay, here’s the situation, my parents went away on a week’s vacation…

Everyone could save time by just assuming that the answer is “no” when wondering if I have seen any film or television adaptation of any book, ever, other than Little Women or a Jane Austen. I reread Bridget Jones’ Diary so many times that I have parts memorized, although now it seems very dated and quite toxic. I have never seen the movie, though, because I loved the book so much at the time that I couldn’t bear to see anything changed, even if Colin Firth WAS in it. That’s right, Mr Darcy himself couldn’t change my mind.

Weekly Reading

I have SO much to talk about this week, in terms of reading. Here we go!

The Burnout. This is a very cute, light read about a woman named Sasha who is suffering burnout at work; after a small breakdown she heads for the beach that she frequented as a child to stay at the once-fancy hotel. The hotel has gone through some rough times, and honestly the hotel staff and description of the issues are hilarious. She meets up with a man who is similarly burned out AND also frequented this same beach as a child. You can probably guess what happens! Let’s not overthink this. It’s just fun. 

Every Last One. This is the type of book I like thinking about more than I liked reading, if that makes sense. It follows a family in a small town in which there are many interconnected characters – kids’ friends’ parents are the parents’ friends – and a massive tragedy strikes. I thought I knew how things were going to go in this book and so I was very surprised when, after kind of a sleepy first half, there was a massively dramatic event halfway through. I think if you’ve ever parented teens you will recognize the particular challenges involved here, even without the tragedy. But the book begs the question: if you build your entire life around your kids, what happens when they aren’t around? I found myself thinking about this book a lot, but as I said, I didn’t love it. The writing style hops back and forth in time, which is interesting but can be a bit confusing. It’s a little slow and sleepy, even with the Big Dramatic Event.

Long Island. This is the sequel to Brooklyn, which I recently read, and despite the title, it mainly takes place in Ireland in 1976. After our protagonist Eilis discovers that not only has her husband slept with another woman, that woman is pregnant. The pregnant woman’s husband is going to just…deliver the baby to Eilis and her husband to raise, as he will not raise a child who is not his. What? Well, Eilis does not want anything to do with this baby, but her in-laws – who live next door, I feel seen – do. This strange storyline is the reason Eilis decides to go visit her mother in Ireland, who is turning 80, where she reconnects with an old flame. My friend Hailey (HI HAILEY) described this as a book where the characters have big emotions and face big issues, but the author only skims the surface, and I think that’s a perfect description. But, as with Brooklyn, I was left wanting more, wanting to know what happens next. And I didn’t get that. Maybe it’s the setup for another sequel.

We are now officially in fall! Happy first week of fall, friends! xo