Category Archives: Kondo-ing my life

Not Okay, But Okay; Eighty-One Weeks In

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I’m okay. Everything in my life is fundamentally okay – good, even – and my little boat in this tsunami of a storm is strong and well-equipped. EVERYTHING IS FINE except everything isn’t fine? I know I’m not alone here. The other day Swistle (HI SWISTLE) mentioned the strong desire to lie down on the industrial carpet at her place of work and just…stay there and I felt like, girl, same. I was kneeling down to put away some of the hundreds of dollars worth of groceries from Costco and Superstore, and I just stayed there. For a long time I found myself kneeling in front of the low shelf in the pantry, motionless.

Everything is fine! But it isn’t, you know. I am SO SICK of writing about it but Covid cases are, again, through the roof. Every single day, every SINGLE DAY the new case count is enormous, the death count is shocking and saddening, and the strain on the health care system is unbelievable. My personal risk and that of my immediate family is low, it’s true, we are vaxxed and masked and we follow health protocols, but my nieces are too young to be vaccinated, and I have low-level anxiety about someone in my family needing urgent, non-Covid-related health care and not being able to receive it. NO ONE GET SICK, OKAY? NO ONE GET IN AN ACCIDENT OR ANYTHING. I mean, that’s how I feel in general, no one wants a medical emergency or an accident, but these things happen, and I feel like the universal health care safety net I have relied on my whole life is unravelling. Meanwhile, this week I have a routine mammogram.

My children are on the cusp of adulthood and although they still require support and guidance, they are on their own journeys and their own paths and I just have to let that go. The intensive part of motherhood is over, that chapter of my life is gone, and did I do okay? Who knows? I think I did, but who really can tell. Also, and this is probably a gender-construct, but I am finding that as the boys get older, my role in their life becomes more and more on the sidelines – which is great, we want our little birds to fly, we want them to embark on their own journeys in life and seek their fortunes as they do in fairy tales, but without the fairy tale death and despair – but their father’s role becomes more like that of a good buddy. Has anyone else felt that way? The three of them love doing things together that don’t include me – boys’ camping trips! Weight lifting! Watching wrestling! – and that’s okay, it really is, because I don’t really want my sons to be the kind of adult men whose “best friend is their mom” but still. It’s like I now have a minor role in the ensemble where I used to be the star. Also? I am an intelligent and highly-educated woman and the vast majority of my week is spent in food preparation, grocery shopping, and other household drudgery.

Barkley is in a decline. He is not yet in any pain that I can see, he is still eating and wagging and happy to go for our slow-boat-to-nowhere walks. But he’s also lived longer than I thought he would when he was diagnosed with cancer, he’s pretty much deaf now, and sometimes he has trouble getting up the three steps into the house. Every single day a well-meaning person stops me to ask about his lump, which then often devolves into a long story about “dogs they have known that have died of cancer” and, you know what, I don’t need those stories.

I had a lovely visit with some friends a couple of weeks ago, and I said that one of the hardest things for me has been giving up my idealism about the world. Back in the spring of 2020, I felt like THIS would be the event that brings us all together in humanity, we would all join metaphorical hands and overcome. I would walk down the street and see the window art that people had made to keep spirits up. And the world came together as the people stayed apart said one sign, decorated with children’s art. And now look at what we’ve become. My friend agreed and said if a global pandemic didn’t do it, I guess we have to wait for aliens to land and take over the world which only reminds me of Kent Brockman and the ants, which means humanity will be divided forever and ever, amen.

Anyway. It’s just life right now, and in the meantime these are the things that have been helping cheer and soothe me:

  1. Girly-girl self care: I had a pedicure last week and tomorrow I go for body sugaring, and although the audience for these things is limited, it’s like wearing pretty underwear: it’s not about the audience, it’s about ME, and I like these things.
  2. Kondo-ing social media: I deleted the twitter app off my phone months ago but I still sometimes would look at twitter on my desktop, and I would end up feeling sad and angry. I deleted my account altogether as it felt like time to Marie Kondo my social media: if it’s not sparking joy, it’s out. The moment I deleted it I felt relief.
  3. Eating: It’s Macintosh Apple Season, which is the greatest of all Apple Seasons, and so I have been mowing through pounds of them. It’s also Pear Season, which is second only to Macintosh Apple Season. Lest you think I’m being an obnoxious, Fruit-is-Nature’s-Candy person (although, let’s face it, I kind of am), yesterday I made peanut butter banana “nice cream,” heavy on the Reece’s Pieces and chocolate swirl.
  4. Kettle corn and Ted Lasso: Weekend evenings my husband and I have been watching Ted Lasso and eating popcorn, both of which are very cheering. Well, except for the “Coach Beard On The Town” episode we watched a few weeks ago, wherein I spent the whole time thinking how much longer is left of this stupid episode instead of my usual omg I love this show. If you know, you know. Anyway, kettle corn.
  5. Loud piano playing: I unearthed my old photocopied sheet music of Introduction and Fugato and if ever there was a song that gets the feelings out, this is it. SO CRASHY. I played this constantly as an angsty teen and the fingers have memory because it’s all come back to me.Listen
  6. Listen while you work: I have found that listening to podcasts while doing mind-numbing household drudge chores, or slowly walking Barkley, has been immensely fun. I never thought I’d be a podcast person, but here I am. If you’re interested, my number one favourite is You’re Wrong About.
  7. God bless Mother Nature, she’s a middle-aged woman too: The sunrises lately have been incredibly beautiful, and although many trees are now naked, there have been some absolutely beautiful days with blue skies and fall colours.

Pandemic Reading

Of course, nothing helps me so much as diving into a good book. I am currently doing a very special and excellent beta read, but I had time for a couple of classic rereads this week.

Northanger Abbey. It had been at least twenty years since I read this, and I forgot what an absolute delight it is! It is so witty and lovely, following sweet, guileless Catherine and her adventures in Bath, with the people she meets – both lovely and terrible, as is de riguer in Austen – complete with some some delightful misunderstandings. There’s something so soothing about a book that ends happily ever after.

Frankenstein. I decided to kick off spooky season with something I haven’t read since…English 231, circa 1994? Um. I don’t remember my 1994 impressions but this time around? I did not like it. I’m always so incredulous when it comes to sci-fi-ish books (how can the creature possibly have learned so much in such a short amount of time, how did he actually create a sentient being, do you even know how complex the brain is, if Frankenstein was worried about making a female because they would reproduce, couldn’t he have figured out the reproductive system and made them sterile, yes I know this was written in 1818 and medical information then was not medical information now) which makes reading them a real problem for me – I cannot suspend my disbelief. That’s on me. But also? The real monster is Frankenstein, not his creation. I mean, he makes a creature out of old corpses that he steals, and then is shocked by his ugly it is? Come on, buddy. Did you not think this through?? Take responsibility for your actions, Frankenstein. The poor creature just wants to be loved and instead, you just LEAVE. Because he’s ugly. I mean. What an asshole. You created something that is doomed to always be alone and shunned by the world due to his appearance, and then you’re surprised it went wrong? Yeesh.

Take care of yourselves, friends. It’s been a long haul, but we really are in it together. xo

Summer’s Almost Gone; Seventy-Five Weeks In

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I don’t think I can adequately describe the relief I felt when I received an email from the Calgary Board of Education, stating that not only would masks be mandatory for students K-12, but all other health protocols would remain in place. With the Delta variant of Covid cases skyrocketing, again, and the general mask mandate dropped in the province, I was somewhat concerned about in-person school. I just want my kids to go to school for the year, and maybe even see my oldest have a graduation ceremony, is that too much to wish for. But I was so happy to get the email about masking; masks kept us all so healthy last year – we’ve never had such an illness-free year – and with all of us fully vaccinated, I feel even better.

I was feeling less happy to see that school starts not on September 7, like I thought it did, but September 1, which means this is the last week of summer, I’m not ready. I am just not in the headspace yet, but I’ll get there, and meanwhile, our hot summer weather ended abruptly and now it’s cool and rainy and it feels like fall. The universe is trying to prepare me, is what I’m saying.

August is a month where I always feel a little glum and melancholy and Landslide-y, and the grey, chilly, rainy days are exacerbating those feelings. Well, these days are good for getting things done in the house – when it’s warm and sunny I spend most of my day outdoors, and there were a few things I really did want to get done before school starts (NEXT WEEK OMG) and I get back to teaching yoga and we are all busy with our fall schedules. Like making jam.

My husband reminds me that we have air conditioning, if I want to make jam on a warm day I can, but I never do want to do that. Jam making is for chilly days, I will die on this hill and also we have many months of chilly days, but few warm ones.

So Many Empty Boxes

One of the things I have wanted to accomplish practically since the pandemic hit was to clean out our storage/ furnace room. My husband, god bless him, likes to keep the original boxes of any electronic equipment while said equipment is under warranty, just in case there’s an issue. The problem is that he never gets rid of the boxes after the warranty expires, and therefore we have perfectly good storage shelves that are jammed full of empty boxes. We still had the PS4 box from Christmas 2014, for example, along with boxes for stereo equipment we no longer own.

Summer is coming to an end, the pandemic has been going on for seventy-five weeks, I go back to teaching in two weeks, IT IS TIME TO CLEAN OUT THE FURNACE ROOM. I took out every single box, rearranged everything, and was able to put all the bins full of childhood art and school projects, bicycle gear, and assorted sports things ACTUALLY IN THE STORAGE ROOM instead of behind my son’s drum set. He’s thrilled that he no longer hits his elbow on the bins when he’s practicing.

This is the van full of cardboard my older son and I took to the recycle depot, and doesn’t include the three garbage bags full of packing materials, RIP our earth, that came out of the boxes.

Not one day after The Big Cleanup, my husband – in a typical act of service to make my life easier – had ordered some new windshield wiper blades for my car. As he grabbed his keys for the garage, he said “Don’t throw out these boxes, just in case these blades don’t fit.” Dear reader. I answered him with a look only and, fortunately for our marriage and everyone involved, they DID fit and my husband subsequently recycled the boxes.

No YouTube Videos On How To Break In To Your House

Speaking of the garage, a couple of weeks ago older son went to get out the lawn mower, and couldn’t unlock the garage door. We typically lock the person door with just the knob, rather than the deadbolt, and while the key fit in the knob, it wouldn’t open. Obviously the automatic openers for the big car door were in the cars that were locked in the garage, and the keypad has not worked for years. My husband searched up YouTube videos but to no avail: all videos instructed what to do if you were locked INSIDE a house, rather than outside, because I guess YouTube doesn’t want to advertise how to break into someone’s home.

Anyway, it was either call a locksmith or actually break down the door, and we took the former option. We now have a garage door that locks by deadbolt only, in case such a thing should happen again. Unfortunately, we are all in the muscle memory mode of just twisting and locking the knob, and the number of times I’ve thought oh yeah, I need the key to lock the door over the past couple of weeks is extensive.

Burn Baby Burn

Remember how my son, after his braces removal, wanted to burn all his orthodontic elastics, and, failing that, his masks? This is what happened on the Annual Boys’ Camping Trip:

Pyromaniac dreams do come true, I guess. You are still going to need masks! I admonished him after seeing these photos, but he countered with a) it was just one mask, and b) that mask was unravelling anyway. Was it? Was it really? Well, he does have at least eight other masks, and it’s not hard to get masks now anyway, and what happens on the Annual Boys’ Camping Trip stays on the Annual Boys’ Camping Trip.

I Have Found My People

You all know how I feel about Thoreau and, also, many of the widely celebrated male authors/ fictional characters (Jay Gatsby, I’m looking at you). So I was so excited to discover this podcast:

The Fuckbois of Literature! If you, like me, think that maybe a person can’t claim to be self-sustaining while living intentionally in the woods when his mother is bringing him sandwiches and doing his laundry, then this is the podcast for you.

I’ll Take The Rapists For $500, Alex

On Peloton, people have the option to add a hashtag to their user profile, and those hashtags are used to connect with other people. Sometimes the hashtag has to do with a favourite instructor – I, for example, am part of the #yestoyoucrew and my son is a #denismenace – sometimes it concerns career choices, interests, or life in general, like #teachersofpeloton, #pelotonmoms, #peloforwine, #pelotonsingles.

I was riding the other day and the person on the leaderboard ahead of me had the hashtag #therapistsofpeloton and friends, it took me a really long time to realize that it was therapists of Peloton and not the rapists of Peloton. I spent some time being shocked that a) someone would cop to being a rapist, and b) there was a whole group of rapists, connecting through exercise.

In my defense, it was pretty early in the morning and I hadn’t yet drank my whole pot of coffee.

Outfit of the Week

I’m really glad I posted all those summery outfits, because SUMMER IS OVER and it’s time to pull out my jeans, socks, and long-sleeve shirts. This top dates from 2016, and I bought it in the small town where my parents live. Isn’t it cute? It’s great for this kind of weather as it’s too thin for winter, but great for a typical Calgary summer day!

The whole reason I have started the Outfit of the Week was to appreciate and express gratitude for my wardrobe; I am thinking about taking it off the blog and onto Instagram only, where outfits of the week belong. You all know I love clothes; I love reading fashion blogs and I love seeing Outfit of the Day posts. If you, like me, also enjoy seeing what people are wearing, you can check it out on Instagram. If you’ve hated my OOTW, lucky you! No more scrolling by to get to my weekly reading list.

Pandemic Reading List

The Soulmate Equation. I have read and enjoyed a few books from Christina Lauren, and this one did not disappoint. It’s just a very sweet and fun romance with very loveable characters. The main character is a single mom and freelance statistician (how often does that happen in a romance book, the statisticians are highly underrepresented in fiction) who is matched up with the founder of a DNA-based matchmaking company. Throw in her energetic seven-year-old and her romance-writer best friend, and you have got yourself a feel-good read.

Think Like A Monk. This book was so inspiring! As you know, I love the idea of living a peaceful and purposeful life, and this book deals with the kind of mindsets that work towards such an ideal. From feeding your brain positive material to finding your life’s calling, this book is full of wisdom and inspiration.

I discovered that I have a LOT of internal work to do. I enjoyed this book so much I started listening to the author’s podcast, and the first one I listened to had an interview with an absolutely lovely young woman, who spoke intelligently and with great enthusiasm about overcoming trials in life, the biggest being the death of her mother when she was a teenager. She was witty and smart and spoke about her work to empower young girls and women, and after the podcast I looked up the show notes to see who this remarkable young woman was. The link took me to her Instagram account, and people: if I had seen her Instagram first, I would have never listened to the podcast. I would have completely dismissed her as having nothing to say, and I would have been very wrong. It was a wake-up call that I need to examine my own biases as a person. Well, it’s a journey. We all have work to do.

And on that note, it’s Monday of the LAST WEEK OF SUMMER and although it doesn’t feel summery, I am going to embrace it. I hope you do too. xo

2020 Vision (I know, I know, but I had to)

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Happy New Year! As I write this, I’m still in my pajamas with a big cup of coffee; I’ve been spending the last (almost) two weeks sleeping late, reading, and watching movies. It’s been a very chill kind of holiday break and while I’m not EXACTLY feeling ready to get back to work and routine, well. There’s no stopping time.

Speaking of which, I came across this article, which I suggest you go and read in its entirety if you really want your mind blown, but here is a screenshot of the part that made me set down my coffee cup and stare off into the distance:

THE WONDER YEARS, YOU GUYS. I remember watching that with my friend Elise (HI ELISE) and we would talk about those long-ago hippie days. Long ago like, for example, when Bey burst on the scene or when we all got a Facebook account and poked each other.

Well! Let’s look forward to the new year. I did finally take down the decorations on the 31st, and most of all the outdoor ones are down as well (it’s a long process). The house is clean but seems awfully bare. A bit depressing but it cannot be Christmas all year, can it? January is the time for reflections, renewal, and resolutions. I know many of you balk at the ideas, but don’t get me wrong: I think we are all wonderful just the way we are. However, given the chance for self-improvement, I am going to take it.

I was talking to my younger son about resolutions, and he said “But my resolutions are never done! Because I just always want to keep on improving.” Which, yes. Exactly.

Being Mindful, Being Present

This has been an ongoing resolution for years, and I think it probably will be forever. I mean, none of us suddenly achieve samadhi. Life is a journey and mindfulness is also a journey. I want to really work on being present for everyone in my life, and taking the time to just mindfully enjoy the moment. Here I am, walking the dog, enjoying the blue sky and my fuzzy baby. Here I am, in the Costco lineup, looking at what other people have in their carts. Here I am, folding laundry…okay, it will be easier in some circumstances than others. But I will channel my inner Mary Oliver: “Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”

I read somewhere – where was it? – that in conversation, people don’t really LISTEN, they are too busy thinking about what they themselves are going to say next. I want to really focus on listening.

Mindful Shopping

Ever since Kondo-ing my house long ago, and my one-year shopping challenge, I have been pretty good about really thinking about things I bring into the house, whether they be clothes, food, or toiletries. This is an ongoing thing, because it can be easy to overbuy things that are really not needed. In thirty days leading up to Boxing Day, I recorded my outfits and I only re-wore one sweater. ONE. And then I received a few sweaters for Christmas…what I’m saying is I maybe don’t need to buy any new sweaters for a while. I keep several lists of things needed to run a household – food, mostly, but also important things like soap, toothpaste, cleaning supplies, etc. – because otherwise I tend to stock up way too much. I think that mindfully buying things that are needed/ badly wanted, rather than randomly shopping, is a good way to live, both from an ecological point of view, and an economic one. However…

Buy A Damn Bra Already

When did I do my shopping challenge? Hold please. Yes, 2017-18, that was when I made the decision to not buy clothes for a year, and I had said the exception was a new bra. Spoiler alert: I did not buy a bra. So back in 2017, my bras were already ill-fitting due to my much-deflated decolletage, so who knows how old my bras actually are? I have been wearing the wrong size bra for many years now. JUST BUY A BRA, NICOLE.

In my semi-defense, most of the time I wear yoga tanks under my clothes, for teaching, and so I don’t wear an actual bra that often but MY GOD HOW HARD IS IT TO GO TO VICTORIA’S SECRET AND JUST BUY A BRA. I don’t have a hard-to-fit size, I have a Victoria’s Secret in the mall that is a five minute drive away, I COULD DO THIS.

THIS. This is my main, non-vague resolution for 2020. Go to the mall. Get fitted for a bra. Buy a bra that fits in a few different colours. GO ME.

Read More, Phone Less

This has been a goal for a few years now, and I’m happy to say that in 2019 I read 133 books. This might be a bit on the high side given that I was alone for ten days while the guys were in Alaska, and mostly I read during that time. However, I’d like to read over 100 in 2020. I instituted a rule for myself that on days that I was very busy with classes – 2 or 3 days a week – I would not look at social media, not once. It turned out to be great for my mental health, particularly with two elections in 2019. I am going to institute that rule again. Let me tell you, the longer I was off twitter the less I wanted to look at it.

Sing Us A Song You’re The Piano (Wo)Man

I have been playing the piano for over 34 years, and I love it – but I don’t play often enough. I usually force myself to sit down once a week to play for fifteen minutes, and that is just not enough. I’d like to extend that time, and learn how to play Evil Woman.

Favourite Things

I am going to continue to write this blog once a week, and do Favourite Things once a month.

Mindful Exercise

Oof, I learned a big lesson about myself in 2019, and that is that specific fitness goals are NOT healthy for me. I love running but I think my own goals for running my first road race caused my big injury. Therefore, I am going to keep my gentle goals in mind: one long run, one short, treadmill only, cross train with spin and elliptical. Someone told me that treadmill running is not “real” running but you know what? What other people consider to be “real” is not my concern. My concern is health and enjoyment.

Also, my yoga practice has changed immensely to include lots of modifications and variations of gentle seated poses, as well as a focus on strength with sun salutations and standing postures.

Make the Plans

Last year my friend Nicole and I (HI NICOLE) resolved to have coffee once a month for the year – and we did it! Although her son thought it wasn’t a real resolution because “we like each other and we like seeing each other” it was a bit of a challenge getting our schedules lined up. A few years ago I changed “I don’t have time for X” to “X is not a priority” to see how that would sit with me, and it turns out saying that my friends are not priorities does NOT sit well with me. My friendships are important and as such they deserve my time and effort. So, my plan is to find the time, set the date, and stop saying we should get together and just do it.

 

I think that’s everything! We shall see at this time next year what’s what. Have you made goals or resolutions this year?

We’re getting the band back together

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It’s official: I am in Full Spring Cleaning Mode. This includes the yard, the basement, and every closet in the house. Nothing is safe! Everything must go! Or at least everything must be in use or spark joy. About three years ago I did a full Kondo of my house – some of you may remember that – and that, along with my One Year Shopping Challenge, really changed the way I brought things into the house. I am much more mindful about purchases and I ensure that if I am buying something, it is very much needed and/ or wanted.

Still, things add up. Children outgrow their beds rendering many sets of twin sheets unnecessary, books and toys also get outgrown, clothes don’t fit or become too worn to be desirable anymore. I have a pair of platform slides that date back to the Nineties that I was keeping in my closet “just in case” but really, I think the Platform Slide Ship has sailed.

Part of my cleaning frenzy has been spurred by the soon-to-be acquisition of an item that requires a certain amount of space: a drum set. As a long-time pianist, I have been anxiously awaiting the day that my children would show interest in learning a musical instrument. In your face, Nicole, as one would say. So we now have a new drummer, along with a new electric guitar player. Could you please turn down the amp, can you hear me, please turn down the amp. In all seriousness I am actually thrilled at their interest; along with my younger son taking up drums and my older son taking up electric guitar, my husband has taken up the bass, and things have become much more musical around here. Loudly musical.

My son’s drum teacher informed him, much to my relief about hearing concerns, that earplugs must be worn at all times when drumming, so I assume that means I should probably have a set as well, since there is no door to the basement and our house reverberates with any noise from the basement. I have not yet met the drum teacher, but my husband says that he is exactly what you might expect a drum teacher to be like. I imagine him as a more modern Garth Algar.

That reminds me: our resort in Puerto Vallarta was Now Amber, and on the card key it said “Live in the Now” which made me think of the scene in Wayne’s World where Wayne is obsessed with an expensive guitar, and Garth says, Stop torturing yourself, man, you’ll never afford it! Live in the now! Every time I looked at the card key, I would hear that voice, even though I have not seen that movie since probably 1993.

LIVE IN THE NOW.

Great advice from a fictional character. Gardening and yard work is awesome for living in the now; it’s hard to multitask when you’re covered in dirt and physically active. Last week I was cleaning one of my most labour-intensive perennial beds when I discovered this little guy:

He was hidden under the silvermound plant. How did he get there? Where did he come from? No one knows. No one has seen him before or has any idea how he came into our yard. It’s a mystery and likely one to remain unsolved.

Full Spring Cleaning Mode notwithstanding, I’m going to keep this little guy. He’s cute!

On the weekend my husband and I cleaned out the gutters; a very gross but extremely satisfying job. It’s disgustingly fascinating, the way I imagine a colonic might be. OMG look at what’s coming out of there! I shrieked to my husband as I kept guard of the exit end of the gutter, as he maneuvered the hose, trying to locate the clog.

Speaking of the unspeakable, last week I had my annual physical. Don’t forget I need the large speculum! I cheerfully reminded the doctor, just in case it wasn’t on his chart. Also my cervix is tilted and really hard to find. Ah, the feminine mystique.

My physical was initially booked for a day in March, but several days prior a conflict came up. I called the office immediately and left a message; it was after hours but I wanted to get the phone call out of the way. The ball is in your court now, doctor’s strange assistant. Remember the assistant/ nurse who mistakenly booked my appointment at the wrong time, and then gave me the gears for not being at the appointment? I wanted to avoid another such confrontation. So I left a message and she later called me back and re-booked the appointment. No problem. I repeated the new date and time several times during our phone call; So that’s 2:00 on the 4th, okay. Perfect. Let me just write this down. 2:00. On April 4. 2:00. Great. April 4. All fine, full speed ahead. Then, a day later, I got one of those text reminders for the OLD appointment, the one in March, the type of reminder that allows you to type C for Confirm or 9 to cancel. I hit 9 on my phone and got the message to call the office to re-book. Well, I had already re-booked, so I just went about my day. This was, let me stress, still in March, and still before my old appointment.

By now you may imagine ominous foreshadowing music playing.

The day of my appointment (April 4!) I was in the middle of doing my hair when my phone rang; it was the doctor’s assistant, saying that she saw that I needed to re-book my appointment and TYPICALLY they ask for more than 24 hours notice and that there might be a fee involved…I interrupted her by saying I did NOT need to re-book and that I would see her today, April 4, at 2:00. Well, she said sharply, You typed 9 on your phone to cancel the appointment. I explained that I a) typed 9 over a month ago, and b) I did not even get a confirmation text for this booking. You did, you typed 9, I can see that this was sent, when was this sent…then she paused. Well, it doesn’t matter. See you this afternoon.

IN YOUR FACE! I did not say, but thought. See you this afternoon AT TWO O’CLOCK! I said instead, in what I hoped was a friendly and polite voice. I wondered if things would be awkward when I saw her that afternoon (the 4th! At 2:00!) but there was, happily, another nurse there who dealt with me, a very perky and cheerful young woman. After weighing, measuring, and doing my blood pressure, she asked if I still get my period. Lady, I’m 43. Things may be crazy in that department but I’m not in full-on menopause yet. Isn’t it interesting how we suddenly go from getting the question When was your last menstrual period and Is it possible you might be pregnant to Do you even GET your menstrual period anymore, you old crone? 

Well, the best part of this story is that I appear to be in good health, albeit three pounds heavier than at my last check-up. I BLAME MEXICO AND ALL THE DELICIOUSNESS THEREIN. My doctor was highly unconcerned and dismissive about the three pounds, thankfully, saying, Three pounds is just a bowel movement away from where you were last year. Well, possibly, but it’s more likely that six margaritas a day added up in the calorie department. Oh well, that’s what holidays are for, am I right? On that note, it’s time for my green smoothie. xo

Age is just a number: FALSE. Age is a word.

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“I finally figured out who you remind me of!” a man, who I have known these past two years, said to me the other day. I waited, smiling, and was not at all prepared for the big reveal. “Charlene Prickett! You are so much like Charlene Prickett.”

There were a few other people around us at the time, and they all chimed in that yes, they could really see that, and yes, that’s exactly it. Charlene Prickett, local celebrity and the star of the television fitness program It Figures, whose popularity soared in the 1980s.

I take this in the spirit in which it was intended; our personal styles might indeed be very different, but Charlene Prickett was a BOSS when it came to accessible home fitness routines. And I might not be one for brightly-coloured bodysuits and tights, but I think we can all agree that legwarmers make for an amazing wardrobe.

The last time anyone told me that I reminded them of a celebrity, it was in the mid-nineties. A very inebriated man told me I looked exactly like Shania Twain; our hair colour and cut were fairly similar in that era, and also I was wearing a denim vest over a white tank top. As I said, though, the man was not a particularly accurate judge, given his level of intoxication and probable intent of obtaining some sort of sexual favours from me, a woman who should have been thrilled to be compared so favourably to a country music sensation but was, instead, nonplussed.

Thanks to the recent Facebook “aging challenge,” the last few weeks have seen an influx of photos comparing a person’s current appearance to that of many years ago, a comparison that I find very interesting. I truly think that the people I know have all improved with age, not just in appearance, but also in spirit and personality. Society likes to disparage aging but really, it’s a wonderful gift. I may have massive Bitchy Resting Face and hair that requires colouring every five weeks due to grey roots that I am unable to embrace just yet, I may have Crypt-Keeper-level forehead wrinkles and marionette lines, but I am very happy with my life and, by extension, my appearance. Happiness makes you shine, or some such inspirational quote.

Sure, I might not have the youthful look and perky bust that I did in the mid-nineties, but at least I’m not wearing ill-advised denim vests. With age comes wisdom, I suppose, and hopefully better fashion decisions.

If you look closely, you can see where the belt buckle is situated on my torso – approximately two inches from the bra line – and also that I am wearing a knotted crop top. With denim shorts. This was in 1997, in my defense, and is likely in style right this minute. Well, it’s January, so perhaps not, but let’s wait to see what happens when the snow melts.

I’ll tell you what has not aged well: my kitchen sink. This is perhaps an overstatement; the sink itself is just fine. However, on Saturday I was washing dishes and suddenly the sink became detached from underneath the countertop and started to slowly tip forward. I did what any strong, invincible woman would do: I started screaming. My husband – after draining the sink – jerry-rigged a support beam from an extension rod used for paint rollers before whipping out his circular saw and building a more solid one out of wood. Where did he get the wood? I have no idea. It’s a good thing he didn’t Kondo his workshop, I guess.

The plumber came to fix the sink more permanently on Monday, and praised the solidity of the support beam. Even though it’s fixed now, I’m planning to leave the beam in probably forever, just in case. We don’t see undermount sinks come apart very often! the plumber said cheerfully, which made me wonder about the workmanship of everything in my house. Can ALL the sinks come detached now? Is this just something that’s waiting to happen?

I am not, obviously, very good with house-related issues, but I’ll tell you what I AM good with: quoting the entire screenplay of When Harry Met Sally. I discovered that the greatest movie of all time was released THIRTY YEARS AGO last weekend, and since I saw it in the theatre, well. Thirty years! It’s been three decades since I discovered my fictional twin; even back in 1989 I was too structured, completely closed off…but in a good way, and I am always cold when it’s 72 degrees out. I do not have days of the week underpants, but there’s still time! As far as I’m concerned I haven’t even hit middle age yet – I’m hoping to live past 86 – and so maybe that will be a thing for me when I’m in the Home. But there definitely won’t be a Sunday. Because of God.

Life Luxuries

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“I remember you!” the cashier at Superstore said to me yesterday as she weighed out six pounds of red peppers and sixteen pounds of bananas. “You’re the lady with the teen boys who eat all those vegetables!” That would be me. I’m Superstore Famous!

They eat a lot of yogurt, too.

It’s an absolute luxury to be able to feed my kids fresh, nutrient-rich food every single day. It really is. I mean, think about it: we can buy any fruit or vegetable we want, in any quantity, ANY TIME OF THE YEAR. Isn’t that incredible? It is really, truly, a luxurious, incredible thing. I can buy eight pounds of grapes – which will, hopefully, last me a week – in the middle of January. Two or three generations ago we would have been all relegated to root vegetables and canned fruit, and a few generations before that? Very little fruit at any time of the year.

When I think about it, every single component of my life, and most likely yours as well, would be considered an enormous luxury for a very large proportion of the global population. Daily showers, with soaps and cleansers and little exfoliating masks, using hot water that is available any time from the turn of the tap, sleeping at night in a comfortable bed with warm covers and clothes in my heated house, easily accessible public education and health care. I drink four litres of water a day, all perfectly clean and from my tap. This very morning I chose to run on a treadmill, watching the sun rise, purely for exercise. And the laundry, my god, why would I ever complain about the laundry? I put clothes in one machine, and then transfer them to another or to a drying rack, without ever having to haul the water or scrub the clothes or carry baskets of wet laundry on my head. Every single moment of every day is a goddamn miracle, and we should all be thrilled just to be here every second.

Well. That’s not exactly how it works, does it? I count my blessings every day and I feel grateful every day and yet I might still complain about the amount of time I spend washing dishes, in my miraculous sink with hot water and soap at my disposal. That’s just being human; just because someone else has a terminal disease does not mean we cannot complain about a miserable cold. Just because someone else is unemployed does not mean we cannot complain about a bad day at work.

I was thinking about the word “luxury” the other day, as I noticed a long comment thread about the “luxury” of getting rid of things that don’t spark joy. There has been a large uptick in the number of snarky and disapproving comments about Marie Kondo; I couldn’t figure out why, as her amazing book The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up came out years ago. Ah, but apparently there is a new television program called Tidying Up, which has apparently rubbed people the wrong way. I haven’t seen it and probably won’t, since as longtime readers may remember, I happily Kondo-ed my life a few years back.

The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up literally changed my own life. I implemented most, if not all, of her strategies; to this day that book affects how I purchase and consume things. I roll my socks and stack my sweaters sideways. I keep all my bathroom items in neat cardboard boxes for easy access. If I don’t have a use for something, or if it doesn’t Spark Joy, I donate it.

It’s definitely a luxury to be able to do that, but this is where I circle back to my original point: our entire lives are luxury, comparatively speaking. Sure, maybe we would define luxury in a different way, like being an heiress or just living completely hedonistically, like Cleopatra drinking pearls or similar, but the reality is that we all have these wildly beautiful, incredible lives. I mean, my god, we can VOTE. We can vote and own things and we can get medicine when we are sick, we can be educated and wear clean clothes and if we want to visit another country, WE CAN DO THAT TOO. Sure, some things cost money and we may have to work for that money, but ultimately work is allowing us to live in this manner. Following that, work allows us to Spark Joy.

So yes, it might be very luxurious to just get rid of things that are not Sparking Joy Within Us. It’s a pure luxury to get rid of a perfectly good shirt, just because the colour doesn’t suit or that it was purchased several years ago. We are very fortunate indeed to be able to do just that.

Further to the conversation, a woman I know commented that stated that material things do not bring her joy; her joy is derived strictly from non-material things. I will confess that I derive a lot of joy from many, many material items. Every single day my blender, my jewelry, my clothing, my house, my piano, my books, that fancy brightening face mask from The Body Shop – all of these things and many more Spark Joy every day. I am, apparently, a Material Girl, living in my very own Joy-Sparking Material World.

Do you ever see comments about something you love and feel badly that you love it? That’s how I felt, ridiculously enough, after seeing so much negativity about Tidying Up. This is silly; why should I care what anyone has to say about a clutter-controlling methodology? One of my goals in 2019 and beyond is to just rise above such comments, and not allow them to penetrate my psyche, not just about Marie Kondo, but about everything that brings me joy. Further, I have decided that life is short and I have no time, none, for the following: passive aggressiveness, constant unmitigated outrage, unkindness, meanness, and, especially, smug commentary that make people feel badly about things they enjoy, be it music, books, food, or the way a sock drawer is organized.

Stepping into madness.

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I work very hard to be a calm and zen-like person, but those who know me well know that I am, deep down, a controlling and Type A person. It’s not even that deep down, one only needs to load the dishwasher differently from me, or fold the tea towels in halves instead of thirds, to know this. I like to think that being controlling and Type A is not actually in opposition to being calm and zen-like, really; I embrace the adage that you cannot control external forces but you can control how you react to them.

With that in mind, it doesn’t take a psychology degree to make the connection between the end of summer, and the new school year as a demarcation of the rapid passing of time, and my embarking on a Project. Normally these Projects are of the Cleaning and Organizing Type, which is, to me, only a benefit. One year, you may recall, I completely Kondo-d my entire house, donating twenty-five garbage bags of clothing and household objects. Another year I embraced the Kitchn Cure, right down to my multiple fridges and freezers. No one is harmed in these Projects; they fulfill my need for order, and the house is better off for it.

The only exception was the year my youngest started kindergarten; the day before school started I decided to make birthday invitations for his entire class, which ended with an inexplicably broken printer and me, sobbing on the phone to the printer help desk. I cried so hard that the very kind gentleman on the other end told me everything would be all right, he would take care of everything, and maybe I would like to get a glass of water? He ended up sending me a brand-new printer at no charge, so I guess the house was better off for it, even if it was at the expense of my own nervous breakdown.

It started off innocently enough yesterday; I decided to make granola. The house filled with a delicious, maple coconut aroma, and I noticed that a couple of the kitchen cupboards were a little smudged. I decided to wash them, which is not an unusual occurrence. The cupboards are white and I do wash them down once a month or so. But yesterday, after washing the cupboards, I started washing down and polishing all the appliances, big and small. Then I took everything out from under the sink and began scrubbing. Then I noticed some smudges on the wall in the back entry, which resulted in my scrubbing down the entire entry and the stair railings. I couldn’t stop there; the stairs leading downstairs also seemed smudgy, and so did the back door.

This way leads madness.

I could actually feel myself spiraling out of control; I recalled that there were some toothpaste spatters in the bathroom which meant I was soon washing the walls there too. As I scrubbed out under the bathroom sink, I realized that if I didn’t stop soon, I would be tearing all the pictures off the walls and moving furniture to wash the walls behind it, which would probably lead to hours of cleaning that no one, save me, would ever notice. I vowed to just wipe down the hall cupboards and stop; it took every ounce of willpower to empty my bucket and put it down in the basement. As it was, my kids and their friends came in from the back yard to get snacks, and were tiptoeing around me as I washed the hardwood. Don’t worry Nicole, we can minimize the amount of feet on the floor, one of them said as he took enormous steps on his tiptoes. In an attempt to model normal healthy behaviour, I stopped cleaning after finishing the floors.

Many years ago, my mother-in-law told me that when she was first married, her mother-in-law washed all the walls in the house once a month. Once a month! she said to me. Really, that’s too much. Once a season is plenty. I remember staring at her, thinking once a SEASON? The walls in my house get washed a) when they are going to be painted, and b) piecemeal, when I notice smudges. And c) when I become obsessive at the end of summer, I guess.

This cleaning binge put me in mind of a book I just read and loved, David Sedaris’ Calypso. Are you a Sedaris fan? If so, this book is a must-read. It is, in my opinion, his best writing ever. Oh, to write like David Sedaris! Every sentence is gold. One essay in, and I was telling my husband that it was on my Christmas list – I knew I would want to read it over and over again, and I had only gotten it from the library. My husband’s response was It’s August but no matter. Gold. Several times my family asked what I was laughing at, and more than once I was doubled over, with that silent laughter that comes from the inability to breathe and make any sound, tears running down my face.

Calypso includes the essay Stepping Out, which is my favourite thing he has ever written, and also perfectly articulates why I cannot have a fitness tracker. Some of us cannot be trusted. My husband has a fitness tracker and he uses it like a normal person. He looks at his steps, calories burned, and whatever else a fitness tracker records, and then he goes on with his life. If it were me, all semblance of a normal life would go out the window and I would be welcoming Fitbit, My New Overlord.

In the words of David Sedaris, “…there’d be no end to it until my feet snapped off at the ankles. Then it’d just be my jagged bones stabbing into the soft ground. Why is it some people can manage a thing like a Fitbit, while others go off the rails and allow it to rule, and perhaps even ruin, their lives?”

See, this is the thing. Self-awareness is where it’s at, and given my propensity to spin off the rails, I can say with confidence that a Fitbit is not for me. Occasionally I will mention to my husband that it would be “interesting to have one,” at which he stares at me silently, probably imagining a life with a lunatic who is “just getting her steps in” to the detriment of everything else. I mean, I’m already at the point in my life where I scope out parking spots that are the farthest from the door, and I refuse to take an elevator for anything less than seven floors. And imagine what would happen during the last week of summer vacation? I would probably end up in a different province, pumping my arms enthusiastically. And with my terrible sense of direction, I may never make it back.