I have been having such a strange cognitive dissonance for this entire month. My brain knows it is November. The short amount of daylight indicates it is November. And yet my body seems to think that it is the end of September; perhaps, at best, the beginning of October.
I blame the weather. There is no snow, it is very mild, and there are still leaves on some of the trees. After a lifetime in Calgary, in which November is firmly a Winter Month, I’m finding it strange to still be in fall. I have to keep reminding myself of the date, and that December is THIS WEEK.
I did kick it into high gear last week, finishing my cards and making a few festive treats:
And of course, this happened:
I love our style of tree decorating, which is crazy and maximalist. Putting up the tree is a Whole Family Affair around here, and it’s always so fun to see all the ornaments that we have amassed over the years. It was especially fun this year, with finding places for decorations in the new house.
We add at least one new ornament to our tree each year and it usually says something about our lives. When the boys were little my parents would also give them ornaments that complemented their then-current obsessions, which means our tree features everything from tractors to Star Wars characters. It’s a fun trip down memory lane, is what I’m saying, and although it wouldn’t win any decor awards, I love it so much. When it comes to Christmas decorations, more is more, in my humble, festive opinion.
I was delighted to discover a Christmas store in Maui – sadly, I have no idea if it is still there, as it was on the main street in Lahaina. Anyway, I purchased an ornament for the whole family and one specifically for Rex.
Speaking of Big Silly, he was temporarily sporting a new look this week.
Poor puppy! I’ll spare you the details but he had a bit of an infection on the top of his paw, and although he was clearly in no pain and has his usual level of Big Energy, wearing a giant cone was an adjustment. He could not fit into his crate with his cone on, he constantly bumped into everything, and we are all realizing how often he affectionately smushes his face into our legs, as we now had a cone enthusiastically nudging our bodies dozens of times a day. Usually his frantically wagging tail is what accidentally knocks things over, now we have been constantly on guard for both ends.
It’s like living with the big guy at the party wearing a lampshade on his head, all the time. We took him for his one-week follow-up, and he bounded out of the car and enthusiastically jammed his cone against the window of the hair salon next to the vet, to the immense merriment of everyone inside. Then, he pulled enthusiastically to get in the actual vet, and if you’ve never had to corral an excited 97 pound dog in a small waiting room space who has noticed friends, there are dogs here, ahhhhh, never mind that those dogs are sick and scared and not at all interested in being greeted by him, well, you don’t know excitement. “Rex has arrived!” the cheerful receptionist said, speaking volumes. He jumped onto the scale, over and over, remembering how he got treats to be weighed, and we should all be so enthusiastic when faced with such an opportunity.
In an only somewhat futile attempt to keep his paws clean, I have been avoiding the dog park and the adjacent Golden Mile this week, instead walking him along Lakeshore Road and up through the urban landscape that is beside one of the main thoroughfares in the city.
Am I even living in a city? I don’t know anymore. There are cows down the street from the library, people. Do not get me wrong, I love that there are orchards and vineyards and livestock in the city limits, I do love it. It’s so pretty and peaceful, even if Rex does think that the myriad fields with cows and horses are full of friends to play with and bark at, which makes it quite a bit less peaceful.
Weekly Reading
Sure I’ll Join Your Cult. I had heard about this book on a podcast and it sounded quite funny. Well. Sometimes a person is a great oral storyteller but it does not translate to the written page. This is ostensibly a comedy memoir about the author’s mental health struggles, but it was so damn depressing I barely could read it.
The Dead Romantics. This book is a creative mix of love story, ghost story, and family story: a girl who grows up in a funeral home and who can see ghosts goes home for her father’s funeral, where she falls in love with…a ghost. It’s not my taste at all, and honestly, I thought it was too long, and it dragged for me, but I give it points for originality.
Thankfully Rex’s paw healed by the time we put the tree up, and so the cone has been removed. Not that he seemed to mind it; whenever we’d say “You need to be a flower now!” he would sit at our feet and wait for us to put his cone on. However, a cone and a Christmas tree seemed like a recipe for Festive Disaster, thankfully averted. I did briefly get him into his Santa outfit, before he pawed the hat off his head and tried to eat it. I hope your week felt equally festive and included delicious, non-hat things to eat. xo
My son was telling me about a throwback party he attended at the university bar; the throwback era, he said was mostly between 2012 and 2014. I was momentarily stunned into silence, and then had him list off a few of the songs that they had played: a lot of Pitbull and the Black-Eyed Peas, the notable era exception being the 2005 hit Hips Don’t Lie by Shakira. Shakira Shakira! All the songs he mentioned are on my Nicole’s Workout Spotify playlist, and they are all songs that I consider to be “modern.”
This reminded me of an 80s Retro party I myself went to at the bar at my university, and the year was probably 1995, so I guess the years go by and yet nothing changes. Still. At the time, I remember dancing to My Sharona and thinking how fun it was to dance to such retro music, and here is my son, grooving to Mr Worldwide. Sunrise, sunset.
We have a houseguest this week! My younger son’s best friend is visiting from Calgary, and he scheduled his visit to coordinate with the ending of my son’s seasonal golf course job as well as my older son’s reading week, so the house is full and so, if you will forgive the sentimentality, is my heart. My older son’s roommate just happens to be a good friend of both boys, so he has been over here as well and I am in my element, feeding everyone in a “Eat, Eat!” kind of way.
Speaking of my younger son, once again he has decided to grow a moustache for the month of November. Typically he only shaves every four or five days, meaning that he usually has a stubbly scruff most of the time, but now he is clean-shaven except for his old-timey Clark Gable-style moustache. As always I am a strong proponent of body autonomy, even in the facial hair department, but also, Clark Gable-style moustache. Remember that Jimmy Buffett song Pencil Thin Moustache? It’s not unlike that.
Rest in peace, Jimmy Buffett. He sure brought a lot of joy to this world, and particularly to me. He also brought us the song Why Don’t We Get Drunk And Screw which I secretly wanted to play at my wedding, but did not. Imagine how funny that would have been, though. I just got a water bed, it’s filled up for me and you. What a glorious time piece of a song. The 70s is my favourite era, music-wise: soft rock, yacht rock, cock rock, Motown, and, my top genre, disco. It would be very, very difficult for me to find a song I do not bop around to happily that was created in the 70s. Even the ones with terrible lyrics and misogyny I will happily sing and kitchen disco to, notably When You’re In Love With A Beautiful Woman and If You Want To Be Happy. I joked about having the latter played at our wedding and my husband was horrified at the very thought. It would be a fun ironic song if it wasn’t blatantly mean-spirited. Still, I will groove to it.
I was grooving down the pathway the other day and I stopped to talk to a gentleman I frequently talk to, who just so happens to look exactly like Kenny G. He and I are probably going to one day spin off this planet with our excessive morning positivity; he’s a kindred spirit, Kenny G is, is what I’m saying. He gestured to the path in front of me saying “Are you enjoying our Golden Mile?” and I was so charmed by this turn of phrase.
The path has been carpeted with leaves, and somehow Rex managed to walk an entire 90 minutes with a leaf on his head. I guess he was feeling Fall Festive.
Less festive is the fact that the dog park has been very, very muddy of late. I stopped to speak with yet another gentleman on the path, while our black and white dogs sniffed each other. The gentleman laughed at Rex’s paws, which were completely covered with mud. “Rex! Your boots!” he said, and I replied with a “This is the problem: no white shoes after Labour Day!” The man looked at me in the most puzzled way, with a completely furrowed brow, and then smiled and nodded as he said his goodbyes. Later, I asked my husband if men do not know about the Labour Day White Shoe rule and he replied with what are you talking about, so I guess that answers that, at least in the Boyhouse.
Weekly Reading
Pineapple Street. Have you ever picked up a book based solely on hearing other people mention the title, without looking at the synopsis or anything about it at all, and then, on starting it, realize that it’s completely different from what you might imagine? This was exactly my experience with Pineapple Street. In my mind it was something exotic, maybe something tropical, maybe women in a different country and their lives? Well. I did not realize Pineapple Street is in Brooklyn Heights and that this book would be about an ultrarich, old money family. I guess that is exotic in its own way, there’s no rich like NYC rich, am I right? But I have to say, while it’s a readable and easy book to digest, the writing is pretty lazy. All the characters are completely one dimensional and then most of them do a 180 near the end of the book with no nuance whatsoever. The theme is millenial heirs of old money, and it’s like the author thought “okay, three kids, we will make one of them represent the millenials who want to give away all their fortune because they disagree with inheriting large sums of money, one of them will just enjoy the money and work in the family business, and the last one, let’s make her someone who gave up her career to have kids and wants more, more, more money. Great, we covered it all.” Like I said, this is readable and for those of us who like to read about fashion and tablescapes, it’s kind of fun, but it’s not profound or nuanced or going to set the world on fire. I later learned that the author is actually a publishing executive so, you know, that answers that.
Please Don’t Sit On My Bed In Your Outside Clothes. This hilarious, smart, and thoughtful book of essays was written in 2020, so it definitely has a Quarantine Flavour to it. This woman has had a very, very different life experience from me, which makes this all the more eye-opening and thought-provoking. She has a way of starting with a hilariously shallow topic, that suddenly delves deeper, having me think of things in a totally different way, i.e., the concept of self-care. The essay that I think will stay with me the longest is the one about performative allyship, which is something that I have been thinking about since the summer of 2020. Actually, I’ve probably been thinking about the concept of people using social media to “raise awareness” without doing anything meaningful since the days of women posting their bra colours on Facebook to “raise awareness” about breast cancer. Friends, we are all aware. But what are we going to do about it? One takeaway from this is, in terms of allyship, that it can be actively harmful to repost violent viral videos. Marginalized people do not need to be inundated with that in the name of “raising awareness.” Anyway, this was a very enlightening – and did I mention, very funny? – read.
Some of you will remember a while back that I was interviewed as a guest post on my good friend Elisabeth’s blog (HI ELISABETH); sadly, that blog was deleted and my interview, including the story about topless sunbathing, was lost forever. Well, the happy news is that Elisabeth RE-interviewed me and it’s up there today, so please go check it out. Another piece of happy news is that my friend and writing support Laura Bray has a substack and this month she is offering 20% off paid subscriptions, in honour of her birthday month (HAPPY BIRTHDAY LAURA!). Do go check her out as she is a gifted writer and an all-round lovely person.
At the end of October I always head to Bath and Body Works to purchase festive hand soaps for Tiny Secret Festive Season, and this year was no exception. I prefer regular liquid soap to the foaming variety for reasons that are mostly hard to articulate, with one exception: foaming soap never seems to pump nicely, instead I seem to always have to apply what I consider to be excessive force just to wash my hands. The result of this is that the soap often shoots out wildly, in the best case scenario into my sink, in the worst case scenario onto my sweater. As I shopped for my soaps this year, I noticed that all the soaps were of the foaming variety; when I asked the salesperson about it, she directed me to one small shelf near the back, where the selection was very small and the bottles themselves very bland, and not festive at all. According to her, foaming soaps outsell regular by twenty to one, and so the company has now focused the majority of their festive soap effort on foaming. Rather than buy a sad, pine-scented hand soap – I love pine trees, but I don’t want pine-scented hands – I gave in and bought the foaming soaps. The scents are glorious – Coconut Snowball! Twisted Peppermint! Winter Candy Apple! – and I’ve mostly mastered the pump-without-spraying-my-sweater, but not entirely. I’m learning and growing as a person.
Despite all this festive hand-washing, last week my husband and I succumbed to the cold-like viral sickness that has been going around. I was, pardon my indelicacy, desperate for my Neti rinse, but I could not find my squirt bottle nor the giant Costco 200-pack of Neti salts to go with it. I looked everywhere, but sadly concluded that those items must have been part of my Insane Moving Purge in the spring. I wasn’t comfortable sharing indoor air with anyone, so instead of going to the drugstore I ordered a new bottle and salts from Amazon, which I thought was a one-day delivery, but it ended up being three. As soon as it arrived I ripped the package open and showered the sinuses I love with love, if you know what I’m saying, and it was such a relief. I washed out the bottle and then went to put it under my bathroom sink, where I found my old bottle, partially hidden behind my hair products. I was very annoyed, thinking this whole time I could have been Neti-ing. However, I had noticed on the package that the company recommends replacing the bottle every three months and at that point, I’d probably had my old bottle for at least eight years, so it was probably for the best. Although, doesn’t it seem like an environmental disaster to throw out a perfectly good bottle every three months? That seems like an excessive reaction, and a ridiculous waste. I’ll probably keep this one for another eight years, I have not died from not replacing my Neti yet.
This might be a uniquely Canadian problem right now, but has anyone else noticed the sugar shortage? About five weeks ago there was no brown sugar at Superstore, and then there was no white sugar, and this lasted up until this week. I mentioned this to my mother-in-law who had NOT noticed, but then she called me in a panic to say that the workers at the Rogers’ factory were on strike. Ah! No sugar tonight! This explains why I could buy a giant bag of imported brown sugar in the international aisle but not in the baking aisle. I think the strike is now resolved but sugar is, of course, slow to get back to its regular supply level. I was at Costco and they had the giant ten kilo bags; an older couple was there with two carts, one of which was completely full with sugar, and they were working on filling the other one. Should I be hoarding sugar too? I thought. Maybe? Is this like 2020? The woman noticed me looking at her, lost in my own thoughts, and I startled myself back to reality. “You must have a lot of baking to do!” I said in the most pleasantly normal voice I could, trying not to sound accusatory like I know what you’re doing, you hoarder. “We have a lot of JAM to make!” she said, and I wondered if she had some kind of jam home business, or if it was all a cover to profiteer on the sugar black market, like we were in Europe in World War II. Either way I grabbed a bag, which I technically didn’t need, but let us remember Lessons From The Pandemic: if you see it, maybe buy it. Within reason, of course, let’s not forget how I ended up with six boxes of expired cream of tartars in 2023, and I don’t even use cream of tartar.
I have been talking about the nightmare that is time change for twenty years, so I won’t bore and depress us all with its history, how it makes no difference with energy usage which is WHY it is touted to be still in existence, and how everyone is just fucked up for a week twice a year, including, importantly, the pets of the world. JUST PICK A TIME AND STICK WITH IT, I DON’T EVEN CARE. What I did not realize is how early it gets dark here; it is completely dark at 4:30 pm. I even thought I was maybe hallucinating a little, due to time change and my brain fog from my lingering sickness, but no, a check of my weather app tells me that the sun sets at 4:21 pm. What will happen in December? Well, there’s nothing for it but to embrace my inner Dane and get Hygge with it. I have my light-up gnome and electric candles, so I can participate in the Danish Hygge ritual of candles without the fear of scary actual candles burning my house down.
I have been so looking forward to a women’s weekend retreat that was to take place next weekend. I haven’t been away by myself since my YMC days, and I was so excited as my friend Sara (HI SARA) was teaching the yoga sessions, and in addition to that there was going to be snowshoeing, lovely meals, and a comedy night. I was hoping to meet other snowshoeing women in the area, and did I mention it was a weekend of meals someone else prepared? Bring your swimsuit for the hot tub! the website said cheerfully. DONE AND DONE. Then, earlier this week, I got a notification that the weekend was cancelled, or, technically, postponed until 2024. And this after my husband bought me a new headlamp so I could take part in the Night Snowshoe Adventure. Well, I did get use out of the headlamp when I walked Rex before sunrise a few weeks ago; the completely unlit path was a little terrifying even with the headlamp, and I kept waiting to get murdered or for us to get attacked by wildlife, but perhaps wildlife could smell Rex and kept out of our way.
Happy Friday everyone! I hope you have a great weekend. xo
Harry: Look, when the shit comes down, I’m going to be ready for it. That’s all I’m saying!
Sally: Well, in the meantime you’re going to ruin the rest of your life thinking about it.
Sally and Harry were discussing death, but I think these viewpoints can be utilized more generally, or, at the very least, to refer in a symbolic way to little, everyday, non-fatal deaths. As a casual example, let’s say you’re planning a move from the place you’ve lived your whole life, from a neighbourhood where literally everybody knows your name, from the very house in which you were new bride, a new mother, and then raised your children to adulthood, to live at the end of the road in an agricultural part of a new city, next door to your mother-in-law. LET’S JUST IMAGINE SUCH A FICTIONAL SCENARIO. One might consider that to be the death of a certain kind of life; sure, it’s followed by the birth of a new kind of life, but it is a death nonetheless.
Typically I am a Sally-type person; in fact, if I was to describe my personality using only fictional on-screen characters, I would say I am a Sally Albright mixed with a healthy dose each of Monica Geller and Buddy the Elf. And typically I am a person who really does try not to worry overly about future events; I became extremely adept at this during the pandemic, when I basically turned into someone from a twelve-step program, taking things very much One Day At A Time. I firmly believe that worrying does not prepare a person for future events, instead it saps energy and strength for when those events come to pass.
And yet, during the past year I have had many Harry moments. I have had many, many moments of worry or concern or grief for events-that-have-not-yet-happened-but-will-happen. Halloween 2023 was one of those events that I was thinking about, during Spooky Season 2022. This time last year, I had a few verklempt moments, looking at our front yard, thinking next year our house won’t be a Halloween destination for neighbourhood children. Next year we won’t have any Trick-or-Treaters. Next year I will not be able to identify as the Fancy Lady Who Gives Out Full Sized Chocolate Bars In Her Spooky House. I had to swallow hard a few times, making Special Bags for the Special Children On Our Street who I knew would be coming, including cans of pop because why not give children caffeinated beverages to go with their full-sized chocolate bars and fun-sized Swedish Fish. I was mourning the death of myself as that Fancy Lady.
Life, as we all know, can be what we make of it. I’m as happy as can be here in my new home – maybe even a little bit happier as my old home had a snowfall warning last week and the grocery store parking lots are now entering, as my friend Janet calls it, 4×4 Cart Season (HI JANET) – and Halloween IS different, but different does not mean worse.
We have exactly two children on our road, and their mother told me that she definitely would be bringing them by to Trick or Treat, presumably on their way to a neighbourhood with higher population density. I sprang into action and purchased a box of full-sized chocolate bars, along with a four-pack of Hubba Bubba and two giant Kinder surprises shaped like monsters.
You know there’s only TWO of them, right? my husband asked me suspiciously. Of course I know, but my Fancy Lady Energy must be channeled somewhere, and that somewhere is going to the two neighbour children. We can still be a neighbourhood destination! It’s just that the neighbourhood is much, much smaller.
Longtime readers may remember our old neighbour Chad, who for years competed with my husband for Best Lawn Decorations; my husband famously declared himself the winner by making a sign out of caution tape that said “Chad I Win.” When we moved we passed most of the decorations on to Chad, including but not limited to the twenty-foot Grim Reapers and the giant ghosts and skeletons; it cheers me to no end to know that our old street is a Halloween Destination and that finally, Chad is the winner. My husband did keep a few things but in my Moving Angst I felt it was a useless waste of packing boxes; wasn’t I wrong though?
He and my son hung several undead and one creepy clown in the overhead vines and the carport, all of which have failed to faze Rex in the least.
We also have this cheerful guy who is apparently going to climb onto our roof and haunt us.
Living on a vineyard and walking the dog on a gorgeous greenway next to a creek filled with ducks and geese have obvious advantages, but there is one huge disadvantage that I did not properly account for, and that is that Rex is really filthy, all the time. If it was Barkley, with his brown fur, I probably would have never noticed, but Rex’s white paws really show it. One rainy morning last week he played happily with an energetic collie in the mulched, muddy area of the offleash park, and his paws matched the rest of his coat. Happily, I was able to get him in to the groomer on Friday, which was perfect as we had Halloween festivities and he was my accessory, or, Rexcessory, if you will.
Bring me all the puppies! Or at least, one large galoompa of a puppy.
Weekly Reading
I had a DNF this week: I started but just could not get into Dinner For One: How Cooking In Paris Saved Me. It sounded SO good, but I found it incredibly boring and by page 44 I aborted mission. I just had too many other good books in the pile!
Truth and Beauty. This is a memoir by the incredibly talented Ann Patchett, and it’s an intense one. It follows her friendship with poet Lucy Grealy, who survived a Ewing’s sarcoma at age nine, which left her with a jaw deformity and a lifetime of corrective surgeries. The memoir shows a close friendship starting when the women were up-and-coming writers, and this was the most interesting to me of all. It shows Patchett as the slow and steady friend, the writer who buckles down to work steadily, and Grealy as the wild, beloved genius who misses deadlines constantly, amasses debt, and is in constant physical and emotional pain. There is not a happy ending to this story. Grealy spirals downward while her friends – Patchett included – continue an upward trajectory and try to help her on the way. I will say that I don’t think I could have been as supportive a friend as Patchett was, if faced by the desperate cavernous neediness that Grealy displayed.
The Brilliant Life of Eudora Honeysett. Are you in the mood for a heartwarming story of intergenerational friendship, family by choice, and a seemingly hardened old woman whose heart becomes soft and open? Of course you are! Who doesn’t need a light and uplifting book of goodness? This is a very sweet book about an elderly woman who has HAD ENOUGH of life. She lives alone, she’s 85, and she’s decided she wants to die on her own terms, so she applies for assisted death in Switzerland. Meanwhile – cue the music – a new family moves next door and the ten year old girl corkscrews her way into her life. This is just a really lovely book that switches between current time and flashbacks to her earlier life, showing how we all make choices and take paths that get us to where we are. Listen, this isn’t going to set the literary world on fire, and there are no surprises here, but it’s just a nice heartwarming book for a chilly day in fall.
Happy Halloween to everyone! Are you celebrating? I hope there are at least fun-sized chocolates involved for you this week. xo
At the risk of sounding like an incredibly demented Little Miss Sunshine, I do not have a Least Favourite Month. I don’t have a Most Favourite Month either; I love April because it’s my birthday, and December because of Christmas, I love July and August because of the heat and summery vibes and I love September because it’s my younger son’s birthday and, together with January, there are those fun Fresh Start Feelings. I love May and June because of gardening, and March because it’s my older son’s birthday and our wedding anniversary. Even the less-popular months like November and February I love; the latter because I like to celebrate Galentines’, Valentines’, and eating half-price chocolate, and the former because of TinySecretFestive Season. October, of course, is a great month for Halloween and all the festivity that comes with that, including, but not limited to, fun sized candy.
But in my mind, due to a lifetime lived in Calgary, October is the beginning of winter. The leaves were always blown off the trees, meaning that the trees would be naked until May. It would always snow. The constant wind meant that wearing lip gloss and having my hair down at the same time was hazardous. My whole life I have always secretly wondered at those people who are strongly Fall People; it always seemed aspirational to me, while I dug out my winter coat and boots, to be walking around in October in only a sweater and scarf, with leaves still on the trees, eating fresh apples and looking at pumpkin displays that hadn’t been frozen and thawed so many times that they turned into mush.
But wow! Do I ever love fall here! October is gorgeous; even on the rainy and cool days, it’s beautiful. I’m turning into a Fall Person! And so of course it’s time for…
Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Oooh, It’s October Edition
If You Leave Me Now
Now, of course I greatly enjoyed the fall colours when I lived in Calgary, of course I did. Every year for approximately two to three weeks, I would walk around like the aforementioned demented Little Miss Sunshine and photograph the changing trees against the blue sky backdrop. Then there would be a hard frost and an enormous windstorm and the trees would be mere sticks against that blue sky backdrop. And then it would snow.
You guys, not only are the leaves in full, glorious colour right now but they have been for over a month AND there are some trees on which the leaves are STILL GREEN. What is this magic? It is so gorgeous, I can’t even. I CAN’T EVEN. I have gone from demented Little Miss Sunshine to possibly scaring fellow walkers with my enthusiasm for fall foliage. The vineyard is golden, trees are all green, yellow, orange, and red, RED, you guys. I can’t get over it. I actually phoned my husband the other day, while driving, to shriek about the alternating colours of the trees near the library. I would have taken a picture but you know, I was driving.
The Book Of Love
Speaking of the library, after my rough start I am getting really comfortable with my local branch. I still have my CPL account for ebooks, but I am finding the selection here for paper books is quite good. I went in the other day to pick up a hold, and ended up cleaning out almost their entire shelf of “Staff Picks.” As I went to the counter with my arms stacked, I mentioned somewhat sheepishly and guiltily that I had done so, and the librarian checking me out cheerfully said That’s what they are there for! We will just put in new ones!
Also, the loan period is four weeks, which seems gloriously generous and justifies my giant, greedy piles.
People Of The World, Spice Up Your Life
If you are not following my friend Suzanne’s blog (HI SUZANNE) you are sadly missing out: not only is she an incredibly gifted writer who is an absolute delight to read, but she also frequently posts recipes and dinner ideas. Last fall she posted the Perfect Fall Cookie and my goodness, friends, you need this cookie in your life.
This particular one was more chocolate chip than cookie, which should be Cookie Goals.
Now, because I’m me, I made a few changes: I added vanilla and omitted the cloves, and I did not want eight giant cookies, I wanted many, smaller cookies, and so I just adjusted the baking time accordingly. They were perfection, all the beauty of fall in cookie form.
Kale-ing Me Softly
Back in the spring, my sister-in-law thought I would be sad, moving to Kelowna, particularly since I would miss out on a whole year of gardening, and so she planted some cherry tomatoes and kale for me in my mother-in-law’s garden. You may remember that my mother-in-law is next door, but what I haven’t mentioned is that the garden will be mostly my responsibility next year. I have BIG PLANS, including raised beds for all the veggies, but in the meantime, I had these lovely cherry tomatoes and kale that were just for me.
The kale is STILL GOING STRONG. I have had so many cuttings of it this year, and it’s still going! We’ve been enjoying giant salads every Sunday dinner since we arrived here, and it’s been so prolific that my husband MAY have hinted that he’s tiring somewhat of kale. Well, too bad for him, because we still have some in the garden! Plus, my favourite farm market still has them in giant bunches 2/$5, so get ready for more Vitamin K!
That sounds like a joke, but kale really is high in Vitamin K. Moving on!
Snack-ual Healing
Let’s stay with the topic of food for a while; I have two items that I am obsessed with. Now, the first one I am a little shy to tell you about, as I JUST wrote about the madness of diet culture and my belief that we CANNOT assign some kind of morality to food choices, we just can’t. It’s absolutely wrong and destructive and I WILL NOT DO IT.
But OMG, this popcorn. Look, I know. I know the name is stupid and goes against every single thing I just said, but this popcorn is SO good. Could I pop my own corn and toss it in a coconut oil and nutritional yeast concoction to make something similar, precluding me from financially supporting a snack food company called Lesser Evil? I sure could. Will I? NO, because this is so delicious and also I make every single thing from scratch around here, just let me have this. Let me just have something easy.
I picked this up at Costco on a whim; I was hungry, and also I was stuck in a cart traffic jam, waiting for a dozen people to get their free sample of crackers and file out of the aisle so I could move on with my life. I saw this and was intrigued, and let me tell you, it is every bit as amazing as I could have ever hoped. It’s spicy and sweet, and tart and sour all at the same time. It’s like an incredible chewy candy, but it’s fruit. It is so good and I plan on grabbing several bags the next time I spot this. Of course, this is Costco we are talking about, and so who knows if I will ever see it again.
Smooth Operator
If you have been reading this blog for any length of time, you will know that I have been a Neutrogena devotee for years, decades even. You will also know that any skin care or beauty product must be used by me for a minimum of three months, and must show some kind of benefit, for it to be featured in my Favourites. Well! Let me tell you about this:
I started using Neutrogena Retinol Plus about six months ago, both the eye cream and the regenerating night cream. I was initially attracted to it because it comes with a warning label: NOT FOR BEGINNERS. This cracks me up so much, but it also indicates that it involves some pretty potent retinol. Well, this is not my first retinol rodeo, people, I’ve been riding that retinol bull for some time now.
Does it work, you may be asking, and the answer is I think so? But it’s impossible to tell, really, because time keeps marching forward and I do not live in the multiverse, people, and so there’s no Nicole Without Retinol to compare to. But I do think that my makeup-free face is less haggard-looking than it was when I started; then again, when I started I was in the midst of preparing for a move and an empty nest and my husband’s retirement, and was having a nervous breakdown every other day, so who can say what the cream is doing. It could be working OR I could just not be under an unbelievable amount of stress, who knows. What I know for sure is that my forehead lines are a permanent fixture and nothing short of surgery or massive filler injections is going to change that, so que sera sera.
Welcome To Her Dollhouse
Do you need a little pick-me-up? Of course you do! Well, let me tell you about my lovely friend Michelle (HI MICHELLE). She is an artist and a crafter and she has been working on a dollhouse for a while now, and let me tell you, it is the MOST incredibly adorable thing you have ever seen. Like, I have actual fantasies of shrinking myself down to live in that dollhouse. Every single new addition is better than the last, and I honestly feel like I might spin off the planet whenever I look at it, it is SO cute. I go and look at her photos at least once a week, when I need cheering or when I just want to see how the doll-half lives. THERE ARE GNOMES, PEOPLE. I find when I’m looking at it I am barely coherent because LITTLE TINY ROLLING PIN AHHHHHH.
OOTM
Look at me, swanning around with no coat, just a jaunty sweater and blanket scarf! This is Peak Fall Fashion Goals for me.
Rex wants you to see his white tuft, which matches my outfit.
These pants, boots, and top have all been discussed at length before, I am sure, but what I want to talk about is this cream poncho-like sweater. I bought it from lululemon at least ten years ago, and while I love it, I don’t wear it often. Mostly, because it’s cream and I almost always immediately spill something on myself whenever I don light-coloured clothing. But there is a funny story attached to this sweater, and that is that I was wearing it at the playground, underneath my winter coat, while waiting for the kids to finish sledding after school one day. My friend Helena (HI HELENA) came up to me and pulled me aside to tell me that she thought I should know I had toilet paper hanging down in the back.
Now, first of all, god bless everyone who tells people things like this, whether it’s a toilet paper mishap, lipstick on the teeth, chocolate on the face, or skirts tucked into pantyhose. These people are doing the lord’s work. But the thing was, I did NOT have toilet paper stuck in my waistband and hanging down below my winter coat, it was just that the jaunty edges of the poncho-like sweater gave the ILLUSION of having toilet paper stuck in my waistband and hanging down below my winter coat, and I think we can all agree this is not a look anyone would aspire to.
Therefore, I swore I would never wear that sweater again underneath any outerwear, and since I lived in Calgary until three months ago, this meant that my opportunities to wear it were greatly reduced. Calgary is not a place that really encourages a person to go anywhere without a jacket. But now! Now I can wear it in all its glory, I just have to make sure I’m not going to immediately spill wine or salsa on it, which is what happened the last time I wore it. Resolve Stain Remover: also a Nicole’s Favourite Thing.
The thing about moving is that, once a person has moved, there is still so much paperwork to deal with, there are still so many decisions to make, and there is so very much to learn about the new environment. Moving across provinces, I am discovering, means that much time must be spent in a variety of government and other official offices and on their websites, just getting the basics figured out. In the past three weeks, for example, we have spent countless tedious hours just getting all of our driver’s licenses switched, organizing registrations, plates, and insurance for all five vehicles plus the RV, why do we have so many vehicles, why do we have an RV, and switching our health care from Alberta to BC.
It’s quite exhausting and every day I think of something new to add to the running list: I need to get Rex licensed, for example, and I need to find him a vet, having already found him a good groomer and boarder. I don’t think it will be hard to do these things, but all takes time.
Other things I do not have figured out: medical and dental care. I’m not at all worried about finding a dentist, they are everywhere and all seem to be accepting new patients, but there is a massive physician shortage so I feel like I’ll be lucky to get one before I turn 65. Just don’t get sick, I guess. There are plenty of walk-in clinics, if I do get sick, and on the plus side, a friend told me that a doctor referral is not necessary for a mammogram, unlike in Alberta; apparently, I can just simply book one. But then, that’s one more thing added on my massive to-do list, and my dense, lumpy breasts and I are due for one in October. Guess what! It IS October!
Before my husband retired, I used up all his optical benefits to get my eyes examined and new reading glasses. This is something I have been putting off for years, for no good reason. Can I blame it on the pandemic? In any case, finding an optometrist was easy – I looked for the closest one with the highest Yelp rating – and due to the time of year, they were having a back to school sale. I ended up with Dolce and Gabbana reading glasses, and with the sale and the optical coverage, they were very low cost.
I feel fancy!
Speaking of my husband’s retirement, at his party I was chatting with a woman who will be relocating in the next six months or so, to one of four locations, as yet undetermined, but the move will either be cross-country or out of country. She was, naturally, quite anxious about all the logistics involved in such a move and said to me plaintively I just don’t know how I am going to find someone to cut my hair. Girl, I know. I KNOW! I related so much because of all the myriad things I had to deal with upon arrival, finding someone I could trust with my delicate locks was top of the list.
It’s just such an intimate relationship, isn’t it, the one between hair stylist and hair stylee. There is so much trust involved, and then there are personalities that need to be able to mesh, not to mention actual hair styling talent. When I find a stylist I like, I hold onto them like grim death. I very briefly considered going back to Calgary every three or four months to get my hair cut, but that seemed ridiculous even for me, and the logistics involved were stupid.
So began my search for a stylist.
The first part of my search began, interestingly enough, back in July, when I was very new to town. I made a sugaring appointment at a local place; there are a couple of sugaring salons in town and I chose this one purely because their online booking process was easy and one I was familiar with. The first body sugaring place I tried had an incredibly difficult booking process which required the download of an app, and then it was tricky to find the actual place on the app itself, and I ended up deleting it all in frustration and going with the other, slightly less conveniently located option. It probably says something untoward about my character that while I am distressed at the thought of someone new taking scissors to my hair, I have absolutely no problem exposing my unclothed fuzzy vulva to a complete stranger, speaking sugaring code like can we also do the back, and that my choice of person for this service is made merely by their location and ease of booking process.
In any case, in late July I found myself half-naked with a lovely young woman named Kate, chatting about being brand new to town, the stress of moving, and how it was bathing suit season and what kind of cut did I wear? Kate herself had moved here from a small coastal town, and referred to Kelowna as the hustle and bustle of the big city, which made me smile, as I had the opposite experience. When we were finished, she kindly asked if there was any way to help me feel settled, if there was any information she could share with me. I told her that I was looking for a hair stylist, did she have any friends who she could recommend?
She did, saying cheerily to my express concern about needing a stylist who was well-versed in aging, thinning, brittle hair, that, in addition to servicing all her friends, Abi cuts my mom’s hair! Well. I could certainly be Kate’s mom’s age, but the image I had immediately was a no-nonsense style favoured by senior ladies everywhere, and I felt a little disheartened. However, I accepted the contact information, and was a little taken aback to see that it was a) an Instagram handle, and b) that Instagram handle was Abi Gives Good Hair.
And you guys, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pick up the phone to make an appointment with Abi, who Gives Good Hair, partially because of the Instagram handle and partly because I visualized the clientele as being two-pronged: on one hand, the cute young things getting their beachy waves, who were featured on the Instagram feed, and on the other, the moms. This was probably an unfair assessment on my part, but it’s the truth, and so the weeks passed and my ends became more and more frayed.
Finally, feeling desperate, I reached out to my lovely friend Sammi (HI SAMMI) for help. You may be wondering why I did not reach out earlier, since Sammi has been an extraordinary resource in this move, helping me feel welcome, introducing me to people, and also recommending her very excellent nail salon, which is everything I want in a nail salon. The reason is that the woman who cuts Sammi’s hair is known to be a bit brusque and gruff, and I have been feeling a little emotionally fragile, worried that I would be judged for colouring my own hair or for too much heat styling or for having crunchy, uneven ends.
And of course, this ended up being not the case. This woman was truly wonderful, giving me possibly the best haircut I have EVER had in my life, asking me very thoughtful questions about my hair and its history, and not once criticizing or judging my hair choices. I did not find her brusque but did find her extremely efficient, as I was in and out within a half hour, and the moral of the story is that sometimes a person has to take the risk to get the reward.
Weekly Reading
Probably the most exciting development, other than finally getting my hair cut, was that since I have official BC identification in the form of a driver’s license, I was able to obtain a library card! I immediately put a stack of books on hold, and, while I waited, I picked up an old favourite.
Emma. I love this book so much! I so identify with Emma, although now I’m over twice her age. This book is brilliant – romance, hilarity, class introspection…it has it all. It is maybe one of the funniest of Austen’s collection, as the side characters are absolutely hilarious and relatable; don’t we all have a gabby Miss Bates in our lives, or a ridiculous Mrs. Elton, isn’t everyone related to a Mr. Woodhouse, with his anxious hypochondria and his refusal to allow for any other point of view? Such a great book.
The Swimmers. The first of my library books was a winner, albeit an absolutely heartbreaking and incredibly moving winner. This novel is essentially a love letter from a daughter to a mother with dementia. I do not tend to be a crier when I read, but this book made me well up several times.
In other news – what could top a hair cut and a library card, you may wonder? – our dear blog friend Elisabeth is back! Check out her new site, Optimistic Musings of a Pessimist. All of this is a great way to start a fresh new month, and I wish you all a happy first week of October. xo
What a month September has been; oddly enough, it simultaneously feels like it flew by, and that it was three months long. We packed so much in, and now my already tenuous sense of time is completely warped. Everything already feels like it happened so long ago. Was it only three and a half weeks ago that my older son moved out? Were my parents really here only last Monday? Was my husband’s retirement party only one week ago today? Was my younger son’s 18th birthday less than two weeks ago? Did I get Rex groomed two and a half weeks ago and his clean fur lasted only two hours? Yes to all of those things.
I have been in Kelowna for two and a half months now, and I have to tell you, I really love it here. I am a person who really loves being outside and who enjoys the beauty of nature, and Kelowna is really gorgeous, with pretty much perfect weather. Even when it rains, it’s beautiful. I mean, look at this double rainbow I spotted from my window this week!
My husband, who grew up here, always said that September was his favourite month. For me, growing up in Calgary, September was a bit of a gamble; the leaves could be still beautifully coloured, on the trees, or they could be blown off in a massive windstorm, resulting in naked trees until the following May. The days could be sunny and warm, or they could be cold, windy, and possibly snowing. There was no telling what the week could bring; too long, didn’t read, wear layers, make sure the winter coats are at the ready. But here, September means cool, crisp mornings with sunny, warm afternoons. We’ve had some rainy days, but the temperature is still so mild that an unlined rain jacket is all that is needed. Some of the trees are changing but many are still green. It’s just full of beauty, and I am really happy here.
You never know, right? You never know what a new place is going to be like until you’re in it, and certainly there have been some adjustments to be made – I spent a lot of time on my yoga mat, meditating in a what lens am I viewing this through, we can control our own responses but not other people kind of way – but I’m happy with our move, and I wanted to share some of my favourite things about this month.
Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Wake Me Up When…Wait, September Is Ending Edition
To Market, To Market
Kelowna is a hotbed of fruit and vegetable production, and this time of year is just rife with so much fresh produce. There are what are called Farm Markets on every corner, it seems, which sell all manner of local goods. I have discovered my favourite one and I visit there weekly to get the freshest local fruit you can imagine.
McIntosh apples have been in abundance this month, my favourite apple. Tree ripened fruit, sign me up! Also, my favourite Farm Market is selling kale at $5 for two bunches, and those bunches are absolutely enormous. Like, Fill Up All Available Lidded Bowls enormous.
It’s Gourd Season, motherfuckers! Decorative and otherwise.
Pumpkins for DAYS, people, and all locally grown. Listen, for a Calgary girl who has never successfully grown a gourd, this is pretty incredible.
My older son was over for dinner, and upon seeing my bowl he said “It’s Decorative Gourd Season already?” Usually I wait until October, but these little cuties were too good to pass up, and only $0.75 each!
Looking Out My Back Door
One of the most incredible things about living on a vineyard is actually living on a vineyard. Most of the grapes are used by the winery above us, but there are a few rows of Concords and Sheridans, and I do not think I will ever get tired of stepping out the back door to snip myself a snack.
There is a short window of Concord Grape Eating, Before They Get Too Soft, and I am doing my best to keep up.
I Didn’t Want To Love You
One strange, possibly surprising little quirk about me is that when it comes to beauty products, I absolutely hate free samples. I think they are wasteful and environmentally unfriendly, in their tiny little packages, as well as useless. How can one tell if a product is going to work for them from one use? In my mind, most products need to be used consistently to see results, one dab of cream or hair mask is just not going to cut it. I am a product monogamist and I’m not interested in trying things willy-nilly. Why would I engage in a one-night stand when I’m happily married? Does the one-night stand understand how important Top Gun is to me and will possibly don a flight suit? No? Then I am NOT INTERESTED.
So when I got a notification from the Nutrafol people that I was receiving a sample of shampoo and conditioner in my spring shipment, I was annoyed, and resigned myself to either donating or angrily throwing out the sample. What I didn’t realize until the shipment arrived was that they sent me full-size bottles to try. Well! That’s different.
But it’s expensive, especially for Canadians who are not only swimming against the exchange rate, but also have to pay international shipping. The last thing I wanted to do was add ridiculously pricey shampoo and conditioner to my already burgeoning hair budget. Listen, Nutrafol is not dumb. They are a 1970s cocaine dealer, giving me a couple of bumps before I take my platform shoes and sparkly jumpsuit to the dance floor, only to have me coming back to them, wrecked and desperate, with mascara smudges and missing a shoe, weeks later. The first one is free, and then all goes to hell.
What I’m saying is that this shampoo and conditioner is really, really good. In combing out my wet hair, perhaps one or two strands are left in my comb. The scent is gloriously citrusy, and my hair is bouncy and healthy-looking. I am still using my free bottles, and I haven’t decided if I will purchase more when they are gone; I keep hoping that they’ll send me more for free. I will keep you posted, and in the meantime, I’ll toss my hair around while grooving to Get Down Tonight.
The Eyes Have It
Speaking of product monogamy, long-time readers will know that I have exclusively used Maybelline’s The Falsies Lash Lift mascara for years, and before that, The Falsies. If it isn’t broke, let’s not fix it. It works great, it washes off easily, and although I don’t think anyone would mistake my eyelashes for actual falsies, I am happy with them.
Since I love this line so much, I was tempted when I saw that The Falsies has a new product, called The Surreal. I decided to give it a try.
I don’t think the end result is very different from the Lash Lift – and both are superior to The Falsies, in my mind – but the Surreal seems much less prone to smudging. It seems to last a lot longer without giving raccoon eyes, which is an important consideration, particularly for those of us who just naturally seem to have raccoon eyes and bags underneath that should be really checked in at the airport, rather than carried on.
The downside to less smudging is that it is a little bit more involved to remove – it requires a bit of extra effort, but nothing that I would consider a hurdle for purchase.
Outfit of the Month
As I mentioned in my last post, last Thursday was my husband’s retirement party, and I figured I would just wear one of my many little black dresses. When this was communicated to my husband, well, I won’t say he begged me to buy something new, that would be an exaggeration, but he strongly encouraged me to buy something new. I think his exact words were “For god’s sake, Nicole, stop being so fucking cheap! You can’t wear the same dress to every event for a decade!” WELL I NEVER. For one thing, I have NOT worn the same dress to every event for a decade, but I have reworn several of my dresses several times, and while I think that is great, and that I am not being fucking cheap but merely being in keeping with my own personal mindful consumption goals that were renewed after reading Unraveling, I do see his point. The dress I was planning to wear I purchased in 2014.
So I took a reconnaissance trip to the one mall in Kelowna, and found the perfect dress at the first store I went to, which is how I like to shop. Get in, get out.
Isn’t it cute? It’s a little lower-cut than I generally prefer, but it felt simultaneously sexy and classy. The heels I have had since probably 2014, and wow, am I unused to wearing heels. Our Uber driver let us off a block and a half from our destination to avoid us sitting in traffic for 20 minutes, and normally I would welcome the extra steps. NOT SO IN THESE SHOES. My feet felt like they were going to snap off at the ankles and I would have to tap tap tap my way into the event on my sheared-off ankle bones. Still, they went nicely with the dress.
That wrap dress wraps up all my favourite things from this busy, busy month! What are you loving in September? Tell me everything. xo
