Category Archives: Luckiness

Halloween and Blue Moon Rising; Thirty-Three Weeks In

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There was a war going on in our neighbourhood and my husband declared himself the winner.

So how was your Halloween?

We had about 25 Trick or Treaters, which was a great number for our street. Our neighbours told me that they each had about six, and so I think kids were only going to houses with lots of decorations this year; a signalling thing, I suppose.

I handed out full-size chocolate bars like a Very Fancy Lady, in the most Covid-safe way I could think of. Most of the people in my neighbourhood, according to the Facebook page, had treat tables set up with little bags, and in one case, a giant spiderweb with full-size bars stuck in the web. However, I like to see the sweet costumes, and so tongs and PPE it was.

We weren’t going to carve pumpkins as the Decorative Gourds I bought are now, due to the extreme cold and snow, mush, but my friend offered me hers and so I stole an idea from my son’s friend:

I’m having a bit of a Nora Ephron I Feel Bad About My Neck moment here.

My kids did not Trick or Treat, being “too old,” but they did wander the neighbourhood for a few hours with their friends, all eight of wearing burlap sacks on their heads. Eight giant teen boys wandering around in the dark wearing burlap sacks on their heads, what could possibly go wrong.

Speaking of scary and spooky things, I have been reading Hans Christian Anderson Fairy Tales. When was the last time you read an actual fairy tale, one that hadn’t been modernized or Disney-fied? YOU GUYS. Shit gets REAL in Fairy Tale Land.

It all started months ago when I put this collection on hold at the library, as I was thinking about the original Little Mermaid. I knew it was a sad ending but couldn’t exactly remember how it went, and yes, it is definitely worth reading about the sharp and shooting pain that the Little Mermaid has once her fin is severed and she’s walking around on legs. It is a very sad story, but no more sad than most of the tales in this collection.

For example: The Little Match Girl. I vividly recall reading this story as a child; it was terrifying then and it’s even more so now. Here’s the premise for this tale geared towards children: a little girl, whose job it is to sell boxes of matches to passerby, is wandering around the street barefoot on New Year’s Eve. Let us recall that Hans Christian Anderson was Danish, and therefore it would be VERY cold wandering around the street barefoot on New Year’s Eve. She’s barefoot because she has no shoes; she wore her mother’s shoes to go out to sell matches, but as they were too big she lost them while dodging carriages in the street. Anyway, here it is, New Year’s Eve, and she is scared to go home as she has sold no matches today, and if she goes home without the pennies she would have earned for selling matches, her father will beat her.

Let’s just let all that information sink in for a moment.

So anyway, here she is, freezing cold and hungry – obviously she hasn’t eaten either – and not all that willing to go home. In any case, home is a literal shack with holes in the wall, and there’s no food there anyway. She sits down in a little corner of the street and tries to warm her hands by lighting a match, and from the illumination she starts to hallucinate things like a warm fireplace, a roast goose dinner, and a Christmas tree. She lights match after match and the hallucinations – yes, children’s story – continue until she sees her dead grandmother, the “only person who ever loved her.” She begs her grandmother to take her to heaven with her, and she subsequently dies, frozen, with a smile on her face.

WELL.

Another story I remember from my childhood – I am sure I had one of those little records with a book that you could read along with, that had a little chime when it was time to turn the page – was Thumbelina. Wow, is that a messed up story. I remember loving it as a child, and I can see why: everything is in miniature. Thumbelina has a walnut shell for a bed, a tulip petal for a boat, a little hammock woven out of grass. So sweet! And yet the story itself is Crazy Town. Thumbelina gets kidnapped by a toad’s mother so that she can be the toad’s bride. Hello meddling mother-in-law. She is, understandably, distraught about being kidnapped and marooned on a lily pad so she can’t escape her toady bridal chamber, but some fishes and a butterfly help her escape. When winter comes she seeks shelter with a little field mouse, who introduces her to her neighbour, a mole. The mole wants to marry her and all her troubles will be gone, as the mole is portrayed as being wealthy. The only catch is, because her new husband will be a MOLE, she will have to live underground forever and never see the sun.

I feel like a whole series of dissertations could be written about the symbolism herewith.

Anyway, Thumbelina finds what everyone thinks is a dead bird, but it’s really only just frozen. She nurses it back to health and it helps her escape her safe-yet-forever-underground life of Mrs. Mole; she subsequently lands in a flower and marries a little tiny prince who is in charge of all the flowers, and yay, happy ending.

Pandemic Reading

Thankfully, I did read something besides the unsettling and opium-trippy fairy tales this week.

I cannot recommend this book enough. It follows a woman who is principal of a Muslim girls’ school that is targeted by a shooter; it describes her life growing up and coming of age as a Muslim in America. It’s a very moving and important read.

On the other side of the spectrum was this book. It was the book equivalent of coming inside after shovelling snow in the freezing cold, and having a chai and a gingersnap. It’s a sweet, satisfying, warm hug of a book.

This series of essays about being a gay black Christian man in America was both hilarious and thought-provoking.

Here’s my best shot of the Blue Moon on Halloween; and on that note, Happy November! Or, as I like to call it, Happy Countdown To The Christmas Season! I’m thinking about all my American friends this week, and hoping for a peaceful transfer of power. Stay well. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Thanksgiving Edition

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With the Thanksgiving weekend, the amazing streak of weather has ended, leaving us with mostly bare trees and, well, some snow. I’m not sad, though; I knew the streak would end and I’m just happy, in a We’ll Always Have Paris kind of way.

“You do realize, this is what it’s like in the rest of the world?” a student said to me last week as I marvelled at the fact that we still had leaves on the trees in October. Leaves! On the trees! In October! The rest of the world is lucky, because this is a rare and precious GIFT in Calgary. Normally, we have a hard freeze in early September, followed by a gusting windstorm, which typically means that we have bare trees from September through to May. Wow, writing that down is a bit depressing. Anyway, NOT THIS YEAR.

Finally I understand what all you fall-crazy people are talking about. Usually fall is just a precursor to the long winter ahead, but NOT THIS YEAR. Any year that winter doesn’t start in September, well, that’s one less month of winter. Every day, every single day of this pandemic, I have been spending a lot of time outside, walking and/or running. The past six weeks, with glorious sunshine and warm temperatures, each walk has felt like a beautiful gift and I find myself humming look around, look around, how lucky we are to be alive right now.

Last week I went for an early morning 6 km before dropping the kids at school; I watched the sun come up and brighten the sky. When I started the run it was dark and drizzly, and when I was finishing, I saw a double rainbow.

If there is one thing that this pandemic has taught me, it is to appreciate every little thing that there is to appreciate. As Ma Ingalls always said, usually when the crop failed or they were almost literally starving or freezing to death, there’s no great loss without some small gain. Many things have been lost in this pandemic, but I am determined to keep my eyes open for all gains.

And it was Thanksgiving this weekend! So I think it is appropriate to write…

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Thanksgiving Edition

The Reno

One year ago, we started our renovation of our vacation place, which was my husband’s grandmother’s house. I am incredibly thankful for it for many reasons – reliably flushing toilet! functional kitchen! – but mostly, it has given us a beautiful place to stay in order to safely visit my mother-in-law. The aforementioned functional kitchen also means that I was able to roast a bunch of vegetables and chickpeas, and make a big salad, and contribute to the Thanksgiving dinner that I otherwise would have had almost nothing to eat at. After eating a plate of peas and carrots last year, and then later sneaking into the kitchen to scarf down peanut butter toast in secret, this is a huge gift.

My contribution!

Also, it has a perfect place for me to drink my coffee and smoothies at, while reading.

Fall Colours

A few weeks ago we visited my parents for my dad’s birthday, and I have never seen such colours at that time of the year. Am I turning into a Fall Person? What’s next? Pumpkin spice lattes? (answer: no).

It’s Decorative Gourd Season, Motherfuckers

This never gets old; a friend pointed out it was written ELEVEN years ago and wow, sometimes it seems like life is one of those fast-forward cartoons of pages tearing off of calendars. Anyway, the Co-Op had an assortment of decorative gourds, white pumpkins, and, of course, the regular kind. They were also selling bags of assorted decorative gourds but it turns out I have Real Opinions on decorative gourds and so carefully chose each one carefully from the bin.

There is a competition in the neighbourhood between my husband and a younger guy down the street, when it comes to seasonal decorations. As I was walking the dog, the young upstart asked me where OUR Halloween decorations were, as his have been up for two weeks already. Game on, shit is getting real this weekend. In the meantime, my decorative gourd display is the best motherfucking decorative gourd display on our street, DEAL WITH IT.

My dear friend Taryn (HI TARYN) gave me this sweet thing, so I can celebrate Decorative Gourd Season year-round. IT IS ALWAYS DECORATIVE GOURD SEASON IN THE BOYHOUSE NOW, MOTHERFUCKERS.

Grapes and Apples, Oh My

I know, I know, I just wrote about apples, but the season is full-on and I’m gorging. My mother-in-law saved me this “small amount” of Sheraton grapes from harvest a couple of weeks ago and my younger son and I tried our best to eat them all on the long weekend. We failed.

Typical conversation with my mother-in-law:

Her: Do you want me to save you some grapes?

Me: Sure! Just a small amount, you know, a few bunches would be great.

Her: sets aside ten pounds, thinking that is a small amount appropriate for one to two people to eat in three days

If I had one more day, I could have finished them. Alas.

My New Running Pants

To be honest, now that there is snow on the ground I’m going to be taking my running workouts back to the treadmill, but these funky new pants from Lululemon are my new favourite and have extended my season outside. They have pockets! And lots of support! And sweat vents! And I’m colourful like a speedy peacock!

Seasonal Masks

It all started when my older son mentioned he wanted a Halloween style mask; my friend Liana (HI LIANA) mentioned her friend Maria. She had made some masks that I had bought back in the summer, and it turns out she had just got some seasonal fabric for Halloween and Christmas. Well, and I had to get some adorable llama and birdie ones, just because.

Thank You For Being A Friend

In the spirit of gratitude, I want to extend my thanks to you, dear reader, for indulging me by reading this blog. My goodness, it has been TWELVE YEARS. Thank you for being a friend. xo

Mask courtesy of my friend Michelle (HI MICHELLE)!

Everything’s Coming Up Milhouse; Twenty-Nine Weeks In

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Two incredible things of note happened this week: I got excused from jury duty, and my son shaved off his moustache.

I am a woman who believes strongly in body autonomy, and that everyone should be able to express themselves via personal style, and yet. Yet I am happy that he – voluntarily, I hasten to point out – is no longer moustachioed.

As for jury duty, well, I do not think I need to say more. My grandmother, apparently, had wanted to serve on jury duty for her entire life and wasn’t called until she was in palliative care. Sorry, Grandma! I’m pretty relieved. I said to my husband that actually, I wouldn’t mind jury duty if I a) had nothing else to do, and b) it wasn’t a grisly or horrifying trial like a murder or assault, but something “nice.” What, you may ask, would be a “nice” trial? That I do not know. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I implore you to find this sparkly unicorn guilty of horn theft because, as you will see, SHE IS BUT A HORSE.

In any case, no jury duty and no moustache: everything’s coming up Milhouse!

Also this week I finally had my annual mammogram. All the diagnostics centres were closed for a few months in the spring, and it took me several weeks of calling and being on hold to book this appointment, back in July. I know many of you aren’t eligible to get mammograms until you are 50, but my requisition forms state “lumpy and dense” and so I go annually, and have for several years. Lumpy and dense. The feminine mystique stands to take a bit of a beating here.

Medical masks are mandatory at the diagnostics centre, as opposed to cloth ones, and as soon as I was out of the building I switched to my cloth one because this is where I am at, now, that I feel unfashionable without a mask that goes with my outfit. I have leveled up.

My sons wear masks all day long to school, and even when walking home after school, if they are walking with friends. My older son went so far as to say that he actually thinks “people look more attractive with masks,” and both sons have said to me, separately, that even when the pandemic is over, they will still wear masks in certain situations to avoid breathing in other people’s germs and to keep other people from getting sick. After all, my younger son said to me, I have all these masks, I might as well use them.

Is this Stockholm Syndrome?

I was talking to my friend Nicole (HI NICOLE) about this, and she said she hopes to see a cultural shift, in which we are not, as a society, constantly pressured to be in public while ill. This is an excellent point. Nicole is a professor and I confessed to her that while I was in university, I showed up to countless classes and exams sick, due to the stressful possibility of missing key concepts or getting a poor grade. If you recall, missing exams meant that you really needed a doctor’s note to be excused or rescheduled, and who among us goes to the doctor for the common cold? I clearly remember writing a third-or-fourth year final and using up an entire purse package of tissues while I coughed and sneezed and blew my nose. Who even knows how many people I would have passed that cold on to. Even think about pre-pandemic commercials for cold and flu medication, that advertised dosing up because no one can afford to take a sick day, least of all mothers who are busily Doing It All.

Well, maybe there will be a shift. The thought of just doping ourselves up to alleviate cold and flu symptoms and then going about our day-to-day lives seems so antiquated right now, just like being indoors in a public place without a (fashionably coordinated) mask or shaking someone’s hand.

Pandemic Reading

This, this was the palate cleanser I needed after all my heavy books last week. Perfectly fluffy and lovely, two best friends pretend to be engaged to each other, but then feelings get involved. I bet you would never guess the ending.

I cannot believe I made it this long in life without reading Virginia Woolf. Sure, I read A Room of One’s Own, or an annotated version thereof, in university, but nothing else. Until now! This was a really incredible read, although in all honesty it took me a few pages to get used to the stream-of-consciousness style of writing. The details and the theme of interconnectedness really spoke to me. Also of note: Mrs. Dalloway is described as having heart issues, in need of daily rests, and having grown very thin and pale since her illness, her illness being the Spanish flu. The other thing of note is that Septimus is suffering from what was known as shell shock, which was a topic in the book about trauma I just read, The Body Keeps The Score. Very interesting, and there are some great Downton Abbey-like party descriptions, which I am HERE FOR.

Oh, this book. This book really resonated with me as a yoga practitioner and teacher, and a longtime cardio enthusiast. Particularly after my hip injury, I find that I am constantly filled with gratitude and joy that I can move without pain; running, walking, biking, I feel is a pure gift now. However, there were many parts that made me very, very sad: for example, talking about the feeling of community and collective joy that comes with group exercise in person, and the sound of synchronized breathing that comes with a flow yoga class when we are all together. Well. We are lucky to be so connected in a virtual way, and able to be together while apart, I must keep that in mind. I’m sure Mrs. Dalloway would have had a grave sense of isolation and loneliness while almost dying from the Spanish flu and would have given anything for the kind of connectivity we have now.

Happy October! It’s hard to believe that Thanksgiving is this weekend already. I hope you all have a beautiful week; I will be practicing gratitude and thankfulness. Particularly about no jury duty and a clean-shaven face. xo

Bizarre Even For These Days; Twenty-Seven Weeks In

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This has been a bit of a bizarre week, starting with a phone call cancelling an appointment due to an unbelievably scary accident, happily segueing to a midweek birthday, followed by a letter summoning me to jury duty, and then finishing with a pre-dawn visit from the fire department due to our carbon monoxide detector going off. Happily, there was no carbon monoxide leak, the screaming detector was, apparently, at the end of its life span. Thanks for letting us know so dramatically, carbon monoxide detector! Your replacement has been installed.

I was scheduled to get my hair cut this week for the first time in six months, and when I heard the voice mail from my hair therapist’s colleague advising that she needed to rebook my appointment, the first thing I thought was She’s Got Covid. During the brief greetings I waited to hear the words, only to listen instead to the awful details of my hair therapist’s husband’s accident that entailed airlifting, and intensive care, all in another province, and with the usual difficulties around Covid protocol, after which the colleague cheerfully said, “So I have to rebook your cut and colour!” At that point, it seemed like the least important thing ever, and I told her so, as she pencilled me in for later this week. “Wow, thanks for being so understanding, you’re being so GOOD about this!” the colleague said in a voice that made me wonder: what are OTHER people doing? Are other people NOT being understanding? What is happening to our society?

I’m going to go out on a limb and say something that might be strongly disagreed with: this pandemic has been GREAT for my hair. I know! I know. For one thing, as we all know, I’ve been colouring at home and saving so much time and money, it is not even to be believed. I picked up a couple more boxes of Garnier at Superstore and they were on sale for $4.99 each, plus I got PC Points; more about points later. Four dollars and ninety-nine cents, people. The other part about the pandemic is that after not cutting my hair for six months, it has grown out beautifully. Pro tip: if you want to grow out your hair, stop cutting it. It’s true that I need a trim, as the ends are pretty dry and damaged, but I love the length. A while back I wondered if I should grow it out or not, and the decision, like so many others, was taken out of my hands.

The above were taken at the end of February and the middle of March, so you can see that my hair was above my shoulders at the time. This is from the weekend:

With mask-wearing and yoga teaching, I have my hair in a bun a lot, and it’s so much easier to put it up with the extra length; in other words, I don’t need twenty bobby pins to hold it in place. I’ve decided to follow in the footsteps of my good friend Denise (HI DENISE) who gets a professional colour semi-annually, and my friend Nicole (HI NICOLE) who gets a cut the on that same schedule.

In addition to my long, not-exactly-luscious-but-definitely-convenient Covid hair, I have developed Efficiency Skills when it comes to grocery shopping. I have never before received so many Gifts With Purchase as I have during this pandemic, and I am just now, twenty-seven weeks into this, that I am calming down about Buying All The Things. There are not many shortages of food or other necessities, and so I have finally relaxed about having backups of staples such as pasta or flour. ONE backup is all that is necessary, although I still have three bags of flour in my pantry purchased in the spring, which should get me through to Christmas at least.

I was at Superstore for my weekly shop, and you know how there are some employees who are REALLY good and dedicated when it comes to their jobs? I appreciate that so much. I remember when I waitressed in university, a customer said to me “You must really love your job! You’re always smiling!” I agreed, although I did NOT love my job. I mean, have you ever worked in a restaurant? It’s hard. Smiling was just part of the job. So, I really appreciate when others, no matter what their job is, embrace it, which is why I felt lucky to have the most cheerful cashier ever this week, who exclaimed over the quality of my produce, like I actually grew it myself and didn’t just pick items from a bin. “Do you collect PC Points?” she asked and I scanned my app for her. “You can use your points when you shop to get good deals, and don’t forget to check back every Thursday for your new offers!” I paused for a moment, imagining a world in which I did NOT spend time figuring out the offer algorithm, and subsequently making my weekly list based on when I was most likely to get points and for what items, and what I would get points for the following week, a world in which I did NOT wake up Thursday mornings and think, yay, it’s PC Points day!, a world in which I did NOT text my husband excitedly to tell him my points balance. Instead, I just nodded and said “Yes, you bet!” God bless that cheerful employee. I’m going to seek her line out next week.

As a runner, I always smile in solidarity when I see other runners in the street or pathways, even when not running myself, which probably means that I am perceived as the Crazy Smiley Lady much of the time. Well, I have become appreciative of a good smile, since we are masked so much of the time. Anyway, I was out walking Barkley, doing our forty-minutes-to-go-merely-two-kilometres pace, and I saw a young man running on the street perpendicular to me. I slowed our already-not-exactly-super-sonic-speed so that he could pass with lots of room, when I noticed something odd: he was not wearing shoes. He was perfectly clad in what I would call Real Runner Wear: a tidy ball cap, a sweat-wicking sleeveless tee, and running shorts. All that was missing was shoes. And socks. I watched him go up the street, making great pace, occasionally looking at his smart watch and occasionally brushing gravel and debris off his feet. What even. What is happening here.

So it has been a surreal week, more so than normal, but there was delicious cake, and some good books, and a smokey but lovely long walk with a friend.

Pandemic Reading

As soon as I finished this I went to the library app and bookmarked all of Emma Straub’s other books; this was SO good. Again, the slice-of-life book is the type I love best, and this had to do with adult sibling-and-parent relationships, families, and finding love.

My longtime friend Tracy (HI TRACY) recommended this book and it is FASCINATING. From Vietnam vets to survivors of child abuse, this book examines how trauma changes our brains and also our physiological makeup and also explores different therapeutic approaches to working with traumatized people.

Well, hello to Monday and I’m looking forward to what will hopefully be a less bizarre week. Take care, stay well. xo

One Day More; Twenty-Three and Twenty-Four Weeks In

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Summer’s Almost Gone

School starts TOMORROW, and at this time every year I have feelings of melancholy and why-is-time-so-fleeting and landslide. I would say that I am having those feelings on steroids this year. Despite everything, we have had a really good summer; last week the boys got back from their annual camping trip with their dad, and said that they have had the best summer ever. The best. Summer ever. In 2020.

A habit I’ve established during this pandemic is reading a poem every morning before my yoga practice, and then during the yoga practice I meditate on an aspect of that poem. Last week I read this by Mary Oliver:

The present is what your life is, and you are capable of choosing what that will be. I love that. I guess if my boys can think that Summer 2020 has been the best summer of their lives so far, I can march forward into Fall 2020.

Both boys will be in high school, and they have a lot of health and safety protocols that make me feel as comfortable as I’m going to feel. Although every time I turn around someone is raging “But HOW can they POSSIBLY (fill in the blank: social distance, eat lunch, have gym or drama class…)” and I have to just take deep breaths. They will do their best with mandatory masks and eating lunches in designated classrooms and sanitization stations; they won’t have lockers, or change rooms and tote boxes for gym, which should be interesting. Take a deep breath and jump in, is what it feels like.

The masks arrived!

Small Non-Pandemic-Related Grievance

Last week I learned that my Garmin watch automatically resets after 150 days of a movement streak. I discovered this while running on Friday; my watch congratulated me on my FIVE day step streak, when it was really 155 days. Well. This is a good opportunity to practice non-attachment and remember that this is just a fun gadget, not something that is dictating my life, all evidence to the contrary. Om.

Super Exciting Grocery News

While I was on vacation, my dear friend and soul sister Janet (HI JANET) texted me to let me know that after a two year hiatus, Costco is once again stocking the 34 ounce jars of sundried tomatoes. I am not sure I can adequately convey my excitement at this news; I have been buying the Much More Expensive, smaller jars of sundried tomatoes at Superstore, with which I make my pasta sauce for our Monday night meal. As soon as I was home I hightailed it to Costco.

That should hold us for a while.

In addition to that, after months of not having giant rolls of parchment paper, those were back in stock. When they went missing a few months ago, I went into Pandemic Panic At The Disco and started stockpiling parchment paper from Superstore, thinking that would be the next thing that would be completely unavailable, and that upset me more than the difficulty finding baking powder, back in April. Long story short: I now have enough parchment paper to see me into the spring of 2025, give or take.

Vacation

I was so burned out prior to our vacation. I was just emotionally exhausted; being everyone’s Emotional Support Person was really draining me. My goals for our vacation were as follows: sleep, go for walks and runs (BECAUSE I DIDN’T WANT TO BREAK MY STEP STREAK WHAT), read a lot of books, and drink wine. That is exactly what I did.

We also had some beach time with my sister-in-law; her apartment complex has a private beach which was deserted during the week. It also happened to be about 38 degrees, so that was perfect.

Pandemic Reading

I got so much reading done on vacation, which I’m glad of, as my library pile was actually fairly daunting. It’s still daunting but that’s because I have become a Weird Book Addict who can’t seem to stop putting things on hold and picking up three extra books every time I go to pick up a hold.

This was interesting: a trend forecaster sees a movement toward less technology and more actual communication and physical contact and touch. Meanwhile her boyfriend is part of an antisex neo-sensual movement. It is especially interesting to read NOW, as we are all not allowed to touch one another and my god, I miss hugging people.

A psychological thriller, and I won’t say more than that for fear of spoiling.

This was about one of Iran’s most famous women; all about poetry and feminism in a place and time that was not friendly toward women.

Just a fun, light read about a heavy topic: cancer.

Another book about cancer; I guess the man who wrote this is very famous, which I didn’t know when I picked it up. It’s very sad and touching.

If you’re at all interested in politics and racial issues between Indian and Black people in Kenya, this is a great read.

I think every woman should read this book. This was life-changing for me. It’s like a switch went off in my head. I should write an entire post just about this book, it affected me THAT much.

I really enjoy Moriarty’s writing, but this might be one of my favourites. It was just totally satisfying in every way.

Reading this book was exactly like watching a movie on the Hallmark channel, in a good way. Very soft and feel-good.

Well, off to prepare for a strange, staggered-entry week. Let’s do this! xo

Slowly Losing It; Twenty-Two Weeks In

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Get It On, Bang A Gong

With absolutely no prompting and zero information on the Noise Infraction Police Situation, my neighbours two doors down – a couple in their late sixties – told me that every day at 5:30, when my son practices his drums, they come out into their backyard to listen to him. “When you have your windows open we can really hear him,” the wife said, and when I sheepishly said that it’s pretty loud, she answered with “It’s music! He sounds great!” I feel Very Fortunate for my neighbours and more inclined than ever to encourage more band practices (the socially distanced kind, of course) in my basement. Get ready for some covers of Another One Bites The Dust and Plush, neighbours!

Channeling Tammy Faye

Every night for two weeks, I wondered why my mascara was so hard to remove, and every morning for two weeks I woke up with raccoon eyes and mascara residue still, somehow, on my eyelashes. I wondered if they changed the formula; it was going on a little funny as well. Every day. Two weeks. Then I looked at the tube and realized I had accidentally bought the waterproof kind.

You Go To School To Learn, Not For A Fashion Show

The boys have not worn jeans since March; they have been, weather be damned, exclusively in shorts. They are starting in-person school in just a couple of weeks, and so I had them try on their jeans to see where we were at.

You know how you can be around people for twenty-four hours a day and not really realize that they’ve changed until you look at old photos or, in this case, have them try on clothes they haven’t worn for five months? They’ve GROWN.

My older son went to try his jeans on and said, “Mom, I’m not sure if it’s just because I haven’t worn jeans in a while, but were they always this tight?” He came into the room looking like Kramer when he went back to jeans. They were absolutely, 1980s-Girls-Who-Wore-Jeans-Still-Damp-So-They-Could-Dry-Tighter, skintight, ending at mid-calf. He could barely walk. Then he bent over and the jeans completely ripped up the butt. My younger son’s jeans fit similarly but with less dramatic ripping.

Even if we weren’t in a pandemic, the thought of actually taking the boys to a store is defeating to me; their sizes are so strange that stores rarely carry them, so we ordered online and I chose in-store pickup. The date for pickup was last week, the same date that all the masks I ordered from a great company called Wedding Star were due to arrive. I cheerfully walked to the mall, which was busier than any place I’ve been to but with mandatory masks – and everyone complying – it felt okay. Jeans in hand, I waited happily for the masks to arrive on my doorstep…and waited. I wondered if I got the dates wrong, but when I went to look at the confirmation email, I couldn’t find it. I went to the website, and there was my order, that I HAD NOT FINISHED. My little cart was sitting there, ten masks in, waiting for me to pay. Oops. Happily, they are due to arrive BEFORE the start of school, and I have the confirmation to prove it. Plus, now all of the masks were on sale. Who knew being a flake could pay off?

Stick It To The Man

My younger son had to go for blood work, and, as with anything in our new reality, I was a bit nervous. The lab, at the best of times, seems like a disgusting petrie dish of humanity. I needn’t have worried. For one thing, as I said masks are now mandatory in all public spaces; even so, when we were allowed to enter, we had to remove our masks, sanitize our hands, and put on fresh, disposable masks provided by the lab.

Side note: is anyone else a little concerned about the environmental impacts of all of this? Disposable everything, harsh chemicals cleaning every surface that could possibly be touched by another person, not to mention gallons of hand sanitizer, possibly ingested when we eat anything and possibly absorbed into our bodies? Hello, superbugs and environmental crisis. Anyway. One thing at a time.

*repeat mantra* we are all just doing the best we can, we are all just doing the best we can

Anyhoo, back to the lab. We had to line up, physically distanced, in the hallway so the staff could control the numbers, and then after we were freshly masked and sanitized and signed in for his appointment, we were directed immediately to a cubicle where the technician would take his blood. There was a waiting room but I assume it was for people who had arrived a bit too early.

My son and I were reading and laughing at the warning signs with regards to getting blood work, that were posted on the cubicle wall. Side effects include minor discomfort! Oh no! You may have minor discomfort! My son pointed out bleeding from the puncture site. “Isn’t that how they take blood? Bleeding from the puncture sight?” Ha ha ha, yes, well.

We finished the appointment and went to the stairwell – I never take the elevator for less than five floors, and we were on the second – but it was closed due to cleaning. “Well, I guess it has to be the elevator,” I said, turning to my son, who at the same time said “Um, Mom?”

The cotton ball was soaked with blood and it was dripping down his arm. Huh.

Back to the lab!

Of course, there was a big lineup when we got there, and at the very front was an older couple, going through a very long explanation with the technician – who had her back to me – about why there was two of them and why they were there so early. The gentleman had aphasia, yes he speaks English but doesn’t always understand what’s happening, yes they understood that all chairs were six feet apart so in the waiting room, those were brand-new disposable masks they had on, did they really have to use the lab ones, okay, yes, they would use the lab ones. Meanwhile, my son and I stood there as patiently as possible; it’s not like he was bleeding OUT and also, as a society we should remember that other people exist and have needs. Aphasia is hard enough to live with, after all, and it was, as Monty Python would say, only a flesh wound.

Once the couple were inside, the technician gestured to the next person in line, who had watched my son and I standing there, and in turn gave me the universal “OMG, GO!” gesture. I apologetically explained to the woman that we were just there, but my son started bleeding…she looked at his arm and it was High Alert! Code Red! We were rushed into a new cubicle and quickly looked after, which seemed a little dramatic but was appreciated.

The lesson here is, of course, karma, because he also had some minor discomfort.

Pandemic Reading

I don’t know why I keep reading about Truman Capote, when I find his life completely sad and depressing. I guess I like reading about fashion and high society in the 1960s-70s. A few years ago I read The Swans of Fifth Avenue, which was, in my opinion, much more fun than Swan Song. However, this book contains a lot more about Lee Radziwill, who I find kind of fascinating, and also Pam Churchill. Worth a read if you don’t mind depressing end-of-life stories.

Oh, this was good. A psychotherapist seeks therapy to deal with a bad breakup, but ends up facing the fact that she is having a midlife crisis. This is wonderful and life-affirming in every way. I usually photograph pages that contain lines I want to remember, and I could have photographed this whole book.

In lieu of a mountain hike, this week my dear friend and frequent hiking partner Taryn (HI TARYN) and I headed for a 10 km in the foothills – very lovely and so close to home!

Lots more adventures to come this week, I’m sure. And for those of you wondering about my herb garden? Sorry to keep you hanging! xo

What Day Is It? Twenty Weeks In

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Very late to the party, but last night I finally watched Hamilton and it was worth staying up an hour past my bedtime to do it. The music! The costumes! The entire cast and ensemble! Normally I fall asleep within minutes of watching, well, pretty much anything, but this felt like an EVENT.

Watching Hamilton on a Sunday night did not help my complete disorientation with regards to time. As I mentioned, last week was our week of summer and we spent some days at my parents’ place up at the lake. This feeling of festivity and holiday, along with my husband STILL WORKING EVERY SINGLE DAY, has left me feeling like this:

The other day I squirted dish soap into the sink full of dirty dishes and turned the hot water on full blast. I puttered around, putting things back in the fridge and wiping the countertops, and when I turned back to the sink, anticipating it to be nearly full, I was startled to see it empty, just a couple of bubbles sadly resting on the dishes. I went into full panic mode that something! Had happened to our sink! And we are in a pandemic! And my husband is working EVERY SINGLE DAY! And I’ll have to call Tony The Hot Plumber to come and fix it and it’s just one more thing to schedule into the week that I don’t know what day is what! And then I realized that I didn’t actually PUT the plug in.

Well. I was at Superstore last week, and at the entrance is a giant bottle of hand sanitizer and a giant bottle of spray with which to wipe down carts. At the Co-Op – which I rarely frequent these days, given my enormous once-weekly routine – there is a bottle of spray that is meant for both wiping carts and sanitizing hands. Like I said, I am rarely there these days so it’s not like that is the routine I’m used to. I am used to Superstore. So I don’t know why I sprayed both my hands and the cart with the same bottle, belatedly realizing that the bottle contained BLEACH. I stood there in the entrance way, masked people zipping around me to grab the actual hand sanitizer, while I realized that I bleached my own hands and waited for my skin to dissolve.

That incident did NOT help the dried-out old-lady appearance of my hands.

Peas from my parents’ garden! If there’s anything better than eating them straight out of the pod, I don’t know what it is.

In addition to fresh garden veggies, we spent time paddle boarding and lots of time on my dad’s boat. It was warm enough to swim, although the water – like any Alberta lake – is NOT warm. The boys had a great time jumping from boat to water until, in what can only be described as a testosterone-fueled attempt to jump the furthest, my older son sliced his toe open on the edge of the boat. Oops. I hope Grandma’s not upset that I got blood all over her towel. Luckily it wasn’t deep enough for stitches, and also luckily, we take butterfly bandages with us wherever we go.

Well, we had a great week and it looks like there will be MORE sunshine and warm weather this week too! I can hardly believe it.

Pandemic Reading

I picked this up on a whim at the library and was glad I did; on the surface it’s about how we live our lives online, and what that means. What does it mean if someone likes your post? Or doesn’t? But deeper than that, it’s about systemic barriers for women of colour and trans women in the music industry, white privilege, and how the world tries to pit women against each other. A timely read, that’s for sure.

I picked this up because it was touted as uplifting, but I frankly found it just extremely sad. It’s a memoir written by a man dying of a very strange and debilitating neurological disease, and as he wrote about his childhood, I was reminded of the theory that painful and traumatic childhoods are associated with chronic health issues and illness in adulthood.

That’s it for me this week – August, my god, it’s August – I’m off to enjoy the next few days of summer. Next week…an update on my herb garden! I bet you can’t wait. xo