Category Archives: Pandemic At The Disco

A Week of Winter Outfits; One Hundred and One Weeks In

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When you were a kid, did you have paper dolls or Barbies or those Mattel Fashion Plates? I sure did and I loved them immoderately. I loved the idea of different clothes for different activities; I loved putting together the outfits and imagining what the doll would do in those outfits. Gardening! The opera! Or, in the case of my Princess Di paper dolls, dancing with John Travolta or heading to Balmoral for some kind of Scottish holiday! In my world, Princess Di was free of crushing sadness and eating disorders; her life was non-stop fun and excitement, and there was an outfit for every occasion.

What I’m saying is that I love clothes, then and now. I love my own clothes and I love other people’s clothes, too. I admire other people’s style, even when – maybe especially when – it is really different from mine. I love the thought of expressing oneself through one’s clothing, I love looking at new fashion trends, even when I have no intention of incorporating them into my own wardrobe – I’m looking at you, balloon leg jeans – and I absolutely LOVE accessories and how easy it is to add flair to an outfit.

To that end, I follow a number of fashion bloggers, from a woman in her 30s to a woman twice that and everything in between, and the blogs all have one thing in common: they are aspirational. I mean, one of them JUST posted about what to wear in St. Barth’s. Like, this isn’t information I NEED, but I like it. I love looking at the fashion blogs, with their gorgeous scenic backgrounds and their perfect clothes, but rarely do the outfits resonate with me in a I could wear that kind of way. Almost never do I see an outfit and think that it could fit into my life.

Also, I’m not going to St. Barth’s anytime soon, but if I do, I will know what to wear.

I am not a trendy woman in any way, nor do I believe in the Fashion Police, but I have one very strict rule that I follow when it comes to clothes, and that is that I should always feel good in my clothes. When I get dressed every morning, I want to feel happy, comfortable, and cute. If I don’t, something is wrong with my outfit. This is a very important distinction: something is wrong with my OUTFIT, something is NOT wrong with ME.

It is really important to me to get dressed in something that makes me feel good, every single day, no matter what the day has in store for me. That’s why I decided to write about all the outfits I wore last week, why I chose them, and my feelings associated with them. What else is there to write about in February? The snow? As a note, it’s winter here and currently very cold, but last week the temperatures are what I think of as mild winter temperatures – hovering around the zero mark, give or take a few degrees.

In the spirit of keeping it real, I have had photos taken at various places in my home, which is where I am most of the time, so no pretty backgrounds for me. Not interested in clothes? Skip forward to this week’s reading; I have a couple of great titles and one not-so-great title.

One Week Of Winter Outfits

Monday

This was Valentine’s Day, and it was also a teaching day, so I festively decided to wear my pink pants, which I bought in the 2016 Boxing Day sales; the tank and legwarmers are even older than that. The long-sleeved top is new, purchased online, and this was its debut. Regrets, I have them. The trouble with online shopping is that it’s so hard to tell what an item is going to look like. I expected this to be at least waist-length, but it barely covers my ribcage, not that I’m going to wear it without a tank underneath, but still. It’s short. It’s also really open in the back:

It turned out to be comfortable to teach in, but I would only wear this in a class with female students; I prefer a bit of coverage for the few older men that are in my Thursday class. So that I didn’t freeze for the rest of the day, I put on this tunic that I bought at Jacob many years ago, Jacob having gone out of business in 2015. I love this tunic, and I love these super-tall boots – they zip up the side so I get the funkiness of laces without the bother of laces.

Tuesday

I don’t normally have class on Tuesdays, but I was teaching a one-off for a friend, and so I put on this, which is one of my very favourite outfits. The sweater and legwarmers are so cozy, and I love the light grey long-sleeve top for extra coverage while teaching.

Plus, polka dots!

Wednesday

Wednesday is Grocery Day, and it was quite cold, so I layered up. I think I bought this sweater in about 2013 or 2014, and it’s still in great shape. The most sustainable fashion pieces are the ones that last forever, in my humble opinion.

The kitchen is my habitat for a good portion of the day, and a good portion of that portion sees me chopping vegetables. Please note that my hair matches my wall colour quite nicely; THAT is how you coordinate, people.

Thursday

I teach on Thursdays, so I slipped on this long cardigan to match the stripes in my tank top. I teach in a very chilly community centre, so I put on a long-sleeved tee and legwarmers. For fun I added my mala made for me by my friend Amy (HI AMY), although I’d never wear it to teach – the risk of getting smacked in the face is way too high.

All of these pieces are at least five to seven years old, but I think that the leggings and tee are much, much older. The tee is from Jacob and I’m sure I wore it in our annual family photo in the fall of 2010.

Friday

An outing! I had an outing that wasn’t a class OR groceries! I took the car for an oil change. You only live once, people.

This sweater and these jeans are fairly new. I love the cozy warmth and the fit of the sweater, and it’s so soft. I have it layered with a long-sleeve tee underneath, naturally.

Jeans! I have things to say. So, in the last six months or so, my body has changed. I am not going to tell you in what way it has changed, nor will I assign a value – positive or negative – to that change, but I am going to tell you that my jeans, purchased in 2014-15 no longer fit the way I wanted them to. I no longer felt cute or comfortable in them. I bought these jeans, and another pair, last Black Friday online, which sounds more bold than it really was, as I had tried on jeans from that store, Bootlegger, only a month prior. I am SO happy with them. They are a perfect fit, and they feel great.

I am not interested in judging changes to body shape, either my own or someone else’s. Body shapes change, and that is a neutral statement, it is not something we need to celebrate or condone. It just IS. And sometimes, that means new jeans.

This is my reading chair, where I spend a lot of my non-kitchen time. Please note cute and fuzzy companion, where he spends a lot of his time.

Saturday

I spent most of Saturday afternoon – surprise! – in the kitchen.

Very long time readers will recall my gig as a food writer over at YMC – all my recipes can be found here, if you’re interested – and at my time there, I amassed a number of very cute aprons, of which this was one. Also, shout-out to my Lee Valley apple corer/ peeler. I baked a pie for the boys, riffing on Jessica Seinfeld’s recipe for apple blackberry, and I am always grateful not to cripple up my hands peeling apples. Look at how silly it turned out!

Doesn’t it look like it’s winking and sticking it’s tongue out? Sassy thing.

Anyway, during my non-baking hours, I wore my other pair of new jeans, along with a black sweater over the stretchy grey top. Comfy and cute, and I actually had my hair down. The girl who cuts my hair chided me, saying that wearing it in a bun all the time causes breakage, and I promised her I would try to wear it down more often, which means, apparently, once a week.

Sunday

For me, Sunday is a day for long walks and cooking, and so jeans, a long warm tee (from Jacob again! RIP Jacob), and a nice thick black sweater from the Gap was just the ticket. These are the jeans I bought that ended up having too much stretch to them, and so I always wear a long shirt to cover up the inevitable sagging that occurs by early afternoon.

You can probably deduce for yourself that my general esthetic is a) lots of layers, b) cozy and comfortable pieces that I’ve had for many years, and c) black and grey. It works for my life, which may not include trips to St. Barth’s (YET), but is pretty cheery and pleasant nonetheless.

Pandemic Reading

The Art of Forgetting. Hmm. Well. I went in with decent expectations, as I’ve read a few books by this author – one last week! – and I have enjoyed them. However, this was…not good. I found the characters unlikeable and there was just so much about body weight, dieting, and “getting fat” talk. It was like Mean Girls, but grown up, and not funny. The author tried to tie together traumatic brain injury with empowering yourself, but most of the time I just found myself reading with a furrowed brow. Not great for my facial lines, save yourselves the trouble.

The Choice. Wow! This book! I cannot say enough about this incredibly inspiring memoir. The author is a Holocaust survivor, and she’s still alive today; she wrote this book at age 90. She was imprisoned at Auschwitz at age 16, and from there was marched to a number of work camps, and then subjected to the Death March and was found in a pile of bodies at the end of the war by American soldiers. She was an accomplished dancer and gymnast – she was cut from the Olympic team because she was Jewish – but when she was found after the war, she needed to learn how to walk again, she was so broken. Not only did she survive, but she thrived, immigrating to America with nothing, and building her way up to become a renowned psychologist, working with patients with traumatic stress disorders. This book is nothing short of incredible.

The Gift. This book was written after The Choice, and is more self-help than memoir. It is a wonderful book about seeing your darkest moments as your greatest teacher. It is inspiring and empowering.

How do you feel about fashion? Do you love getting dressed in the morning or is it a chore? I hope you enjoyed this little glimpse into my clothing life and, by extension, my home! xo

Valentines and Galentines; One Hundred Weeks In

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Tomorrow is the big day, everyone! It’s Half-Price Heart-Shaped Chocolate Day! I think I might pop out for a box of Ferraro Roche to take to my Thursday class, as they put up with my very dumb “archaeologists discovered a mummy covered in nuts and chocolates, they think it was the first Pharaoh Roche” joke.

Happy Valentine’s Day! I teach my usual Monday afternoon Strengthen and Tone Yoga class today, and I have made up little love packages for my ladies:

And of course there have been heart-shaped cookies and cake, because that is how I roll.

The cake was visually very imperfect but absolutely delicious, which feels like a Beauty Is Found Within kind of metaphor.

I know some people loathe these so-called Made Up Hallmark Holidays, but any reason for cookies, cake, and – tomorrow – half-price chocolate is a good reason, in my books.

My feelings towards Valentine’s Day have shifted many times in my life; things have evolved a lot from my high school days when the success of the day was directly proportional to the number of Candy Grams received. These days I tend to lean more into the Friendship Aspect of Valentine’s; in other words, Galentines!

Oh, how I love and treasure my girlfriends, past and present. I’m not a woman with many male friends – I do have them, but they are, with few exceptions, the male half of Couple Friends, or a Spouse of a Girlfriend – but I cherish my girls.

My friend Marion (HI MARION) posted this the other day:

I can’t stop thinking about this. How interesting it is that we are all made up of little pieces of people who come into our lives; I do firmly believe that everyone is in my life for a reason, even if they are not a part of my life anymore. It’s a very No (wo)man is an island feeling. Not an hour in the day goes by when I don’t think of a friend, and it’s more than just things I do; day-to-day associations and household items will remind me fondly of the friend in question. Recipes, gifts, books; all of those remind me of people in my life. Songs, especially, remind me of particular people – pretty much everyone in my life has a song I associate with them. Even certain yoga poses will remind me of friends or students. It’s like The Word Association Game in my head, all day, every day, if you want to know what it’s like to be me.

We all have an effect on people, often unknowingly. If you’re reading this, you have most likely influenced my life in some way, and I guarantee there is a song that I associate with you.

I have been reading Agapi Stassinopoulos’ new Speaking With Spirit, and the theme last week was “It’s an offering, not a transaction.” The idea is that if we think of everything in our life – what we do and what others do for us – as an offering, rather than something to be “paid back,” we can discover gratitude for even the smallest things. For example, think of the incredible steps that bring us clean water every single day. We turn the tap and voila, clean water. Think of the scientists who came up with filtration systems, the engineers that created the infrastructure, the people who work in filtration and who built the infrastructure, and the plumber who hooked your house up to the existing infrastructure. IT IS AMAZING. Such a small thing, but if your water gets shut off for any period of time, you know how very important it is. Gratitude for water! And electricity! And heat! All things we generally take for granted but are a marvel of technology, engineering, and effort.

Now, I’m not saying we should go through every minute thinking about this – our hearts would probably explode from gratitude, or we would be paralyzed thinking of all the amazing things in every single part of our lives – but it is worth a moment of marvel. The technology and process that brings us paper! Books being printed en masse, thank you Johann Gutenberg or the guy you stole the idea from. Distribution of books! Education systems that have us all literate!

What I’m saying is that I am grateful for my life and I am grateful for the people in it, including you, dear reader.

Speaking of gratitude, I had my booster shot on Friday. My husband and I walked over to the Alberta Health Services centre – it was like a date, but lame – on his lunch hour, and, predictably, things were running super behind. When I got my first shot, through AHS, I had a warning to only join the lineup 10 minutes before my appointment, but then the line itself took two and a half hours to get through. Similarly, on Friday I had a message not to arrive until five minutes prior to my appointment, which was exactly what I did, and then ended up waiting 45 minutes. THERE HAS TO BE A BETTER WAY. WHY EVEN HAVE APPOINTMENTS. Any vaccination at the local pharmacy has been perfectly on time, why not with AHS?

Well, that’s a small grumble. I had – and still have – a sore arm, and I was tired and low-grade feverish Friday night, so I took a nighttime Advil, which I have taken before and will take again, but wow, did things go sideways. My younger son was out at a wrestling tournament, and I wanted to stay up to hear how it went, but ended up passing out on the couch. When he did get home – at nine o’clock, which tells you something about me – I woke up hearing him excitedly talk about the match that he won, 18-14. I stumbled off the couch like a drunk, and hugged my other, non-wrestling son, telling him how proud I was of him. “Um, Mom, I’m glad you’re proud and everything, but I think you’ve got the wrong guy.” Oops. I repeated the process on the actual wrestling son, then stumbled to my bed where I – according to my husband – tried to set my alarm for some unknown reason, before passing out again. The next day, after eleven hours of sleep, I realized that I had put on a fresh, regular shirt instead of my pajama top, along with my normal pajama bottoms, and that prior to my couch sleep I had consumed an entire bag of white chocolate peppermint popcorn, very kindly sent to me by the lovely Kari (HI KARI THANK YOU). THE ENTIRE BAG, YOU GUYS. It was not a single serving bag, not by a long shot. It was a wild Friday night.

Pandemic Reading

Home Body. I have been reading Rupi Kaur’s poetry prior to my morning yoga practice, and it is really beautiful. I mean, look at this:

And this:

I think this could be part of every woman’s collection; the latter half of the book is very uplifting. However, I feel I must warn the reader that the first part of the book is very dark and there is content about sexual abuse and racism that is very upsetting.

Standard Deviation. Have you ever known, just KNOWN, that you would love a book and so you put off reading it, you save it and save it and wait until you NEED to read it? That’s what I did with this book. I have loved the other two Heiny books I have read, and I have been saving this until the perfect time. I pulled the trigger last week and let me tell you, it did NOT disappoint. I absolutely love Heiny, she has become one of my favourite authors, writing one of my favourite genres, which is “ordinary life made extraordinary” and “slice of life.” Because, plot-wise, well, there isn’t one really. There is no way to summarize what happens in this book in a succinct way because it is just LIFE. And I am 100% here for it. It’s a book about marriage, about friendship, about parenting, about special needs. It’s just so good and I am planning on asking for all of her books for my birthday, because they are all rereads for sure. The only thing is that now I’ve read this book, there are no more to look forward to.

The Mother Tongue: English and How It Got That Way. Have you, like me, ever wondered about the origins of language, how it develops in terms of speech, spelling and grammar? Have you ever wondered about dialects? How is British English so different from North American English? How do Liverpudlians sound so different from Londoners? How do Texans sound so different from Brooklynites? How do our swears originate? After all, technically, getting fucked can be very nice. If you’ve wondered any of these things, this book is for you! Note: it was published in 1990 and so it is dated. It’s so interesting, though. I mean, imagine writing the first dictionary. IMAGINE.

Don’t Make Me Turn This Life Around. I enjoyed this book about a woman – exactly my age – who finds out she’s ten years cancer-free and feels…meh. It’s a great commentary on the dangers of toxic positivity, how your life can look perfect but still be hard, how all pain is valid, and how the people we love are with us always.

One hundred weeks. I can hardly believe it! When I first started my weekly count, I didn’t think I’d get into the double digits, let alone triple. Well, here we are. Some people have asked me when I will stop my weekly count, and I will stop when this is no longer considered a Pandemic, which is not this week. Stay safe, everyone! Are you going to buy half-price chocolates? If so, what kind? Tell me everything. xo

Fun In Your Forties; Ninety-Nine Weeks In

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Ninety-nine! I’ve got ninety-nine problems, but Covid isn’t one, yet. Doesn’t it feel like a ticking time bomb, though? In the first four waves, I knew only a handful of people who had gotten sick; now it feels like I know only a handful of people who haven’t gotten sick, all of whom, needless to say as they are my friends, have been careful and cautious and following all the protocols. Fortunately, all of those that have been infected in this wave have recovered quickly and with no ill effects, unlike the people I knew in previous waves, who suffered immensely. On that note, I am scheduled to get my booster this week!

I was preparing for my walk the other day and thought I would check the temperature to see if it was a Legwarmer Day or a Snow Pants Day.

Frigid! You know, maybe the weather is just not that into you, or maybe the weather just wants to take things slow. There’s no reason for…what’s the opposite of slut-shaming?

For what it’s worth, I don’t even think minus 19 is worthy of a “frigid.” It’s Cold, to be sure, but it’s not Extremely Cold, particularly in February.

I was pleasantly surprised to find a hand-delivered card in my mailbox, from my former neighbours, with a note saying that they enjoyed having such congenial neighbours for so many years and that they were sorry they missed us before they left. Okeley-dokely! It still doesn’t explain WHEN they left and how I didn’t notice, but it was nice.

Am I a super-nosy neighbour? Probably. But how does someone move furniture without the neighbours knowing?

Our new neighbour told me that he is a Car Guy, and is building a whole new garage, with a lift and everything. I can’t help but think that this would have been incredible had it happened fifteen years or so ago, when the boys were little. They would have been glued to the fence, watching the construction and cars. You can’t buy that kind of entertainment. Well, I guess I’ll have to enjoy it on my own.

On a completely different note: it is a source of small annoyance to me that every hair on my body – including long white hairs in my eyebrows, which cannot be plucked without resulting in bald spots in said eyebrows – has gone or is going grey, with the exception of my upper lip. The latter seems to be having some kind of youthful resurgence; perhaps I’m unknowingly embracing my inner Magnum PI? In any case, I spend time each morning with tweezers and my Daylight Magnifying Mirror, which is something I do not recommend for the faint of heart.

It recalls to my mind the paragraph in Bridget Jones’ Diary, where she compares her grooming process to farming – “so much harvesting and crop-spraying…The whole performance is so highly tuned you only need to neglect it for a few days for the whole thing to go to seed.” Word, Bridget.

I was complaining about this to my friend Hannah not long ago (HI HANNAH), as even my magical chin hair has gone perfectly white. Immediately after complaining that only my upper lip is sprouting dark hair, the rest of me is grey, I noticed several very dark CHIN HAIRS sprouting from my face. NEVER COMPLAIN. The universe is listening.

You’re not happy being Magnum PI? How about becoming a Bearded Hipster, how do you like me now.

If ever I am in a coma or am otherwise unable to access my tweezers and magnifying mirror, I will end up like one of the members from ZZ Top or, possibly, Santa. Santa with a dark moustache.

Perimenopause! It’s an interesting time, to be sure. Years ago – literally, years – I bought a box of tampons at Costco, and I JUST finished them in December. I was a little unsure as to what to do, going forward.

Here’s the thing: I am very fortunate in that my periods, such as they are, while irregular, are very light. I know so many women who suffer from heavy periods with lots of pain, but so far – and this can change, I’m sure, Hi to My Hormones – that’s not me. Other than my breasts suddenly spilling out of my bra or tank top like a 1980s swimsuit model, and the Feeling of Extreme Resentment and/ or Sadness that pervades the day or two before the start of Ladies’ Holidays, I don’t have much trouble with my periods.

Note: I related this to my sister-in-law over wine last summer, and she looked at me and said “I hate you right now.” I’m sorry! (HI JO).

Anyway, my periods are so light that my tampon usage is maybe 2-4 tampons per period, thus making a Costco box last for years. I have no idea how many years I have left of tampon usage at all, so I bought a regular sized box from Superstore, and it was fifty cents less than the giant Costco box. I mean. The Scottish side of me immediately regretted the smaller box – economies of scale! – and yet, will I use up the Costco box? No one can say. All I’m going to say is that I will be annoyed with myself if I do have to purchase another box. I could have been a contender.

I can sometimes feel maudlin when I realize that I have done something, mothering-wise, for the last time. The boys wake up with their own alarms, meaning I don’t waltz into their rooms singing Good morning, good MORNING, it’s time to start your day, good morning, I LOOVVVVEEEE you, time to start your day anymore. I don’t – obviously, the oldest is almost a legal adult – read them stories or sing them songs or walk them places unless we happen to be going in the same direction. I don’t remember the last time I did any of those things, but as god is my witness, I am going to remember the last box of tampons I buy.

The landslide’ll bring you…down.

It’s been a busy week for Barkley; he had a vet appointment and a grooming appointment, on back-to-back days. The woman who grooms him, who is someone that I would describe as perfect for working with animals, with everything that entails, told me he seemed really tired, and that he just wanted to lie down while groomed. I mean, can you blame him. We humans get to be at least seated for grooming procedures, and in some cases – body sugaring! – supine. I have had three (THREE!) beauty appointments in the past month: haircut, pedicure, and body sugaring, and I can’t imagine having to stand up, on a table no less, to get said treatments.

Slight digression: before body sugaring, these items are set out for preparation of the honey pot, and it never fails to make me smile.

Self-love! It’s wonderful.

Anyway, the vet was perhaps a bit surprised to still see Barkley thriving, his cancers haven’t grown significantly in the past year, although he’s pretty deaf and quite blind and is arthritic, he’s still happy. When a dog gets to this age, every week we have with him is a gift to treasure, even while mopping up paw prints and picking up massive amounts of poop. Keep on keeping on, Barks!

I was walking him and an elderly lady crossed the street specifically to pet him, and somehow the conversation turned from how much we love dogs to the lady’s tale of getting Covid in early 2020. “I cured myself with the power of prayer and oil of oregano,” she said to me, followed by “I’ll keep your dog in my prayers.” Very sweet sentiments, although I couldn’t help but think that “curing yourself” could also be considered “recovering,” but I am not one to criticize methods of comfort for other people. Plus, I’ll take any and all extra prayers and positive thoughts for my old puppers.

Pandemic Reading

The Man Who Saw Everything. I have been reading and enjoying Deborah Levy’s memoirs, so when I saw this at the library I impulsively picked it up. Levy is a very talented and creative writer, and this book will really keep you on your toes. The narrator is the ultimate in Unreliable Narrator, to the point where I had to stop reading and go back, thinking wait, what, just a second here. This is the book equivalent of a fever dream and I honestly didn’t 100% know what was happening until the very last page.

Diary of a Provincial Lady. This is one of my all-time favourite books. I desperately needed a comfort read this week, so I picked this up. I have read it so many times, it is falling apart, and I never ever get tired of it. It is just so delightful on every level. Even though E.M. Delafield and I are living almost a century apart, I feel like she’s my soul sister. I FEEL this book so much. It’s so wonderful and witty and warm, and never fails to make me happy.

Calypso. Another day, another comfort read. This is my favourite of Sedaris’ collection; it is funny, but it is also quite introspective. It contains Stepping Out, which is my favourite of his essays, and which really resonates with me, what with my being under control of my smart watch.

Next week is going to be ONE HUNDRED weeks of pandemic life, I can hardly believe it. I mean, unless the pandemic suddenly ends, but that feels pretty unlikely. Take care and stay safe! xo

A January Roller Coaster; Ninety-Eight Weeks In

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Tomorrow is February! I simultaneously feel like it’s February, whee, already! and also that New Year’s was several months ago. I’m looking at the calendar, and the first of the month, with the taking down of the tree and the Fresh Start of New Year’s, feels like a fuzzy date eons ago. February! Is tomorrow! The month of hearts and chocolates, and, in two weeks tomorrow, the month of DEEPLY DISCOUNTED hearts and chocolates! I have already sourced myself some Lindor strawberry chocolates, and I have plans for my heart-shaped cake and cookies, AND we are having dinner guests this weekend, for which I have planned a Mexican Theme, given our actual trip to Mexico in March is no more, for The Usual Pandemic Reasons, Not That I’m Sad About It But We Would Have Celebrated Our 20th Anniversary And My Son’s 18th Birthday Whilst There. Anyway.

Hidey-ho Neighbourino

We are getting new neighbours, and this is me:

A few weeks ago, a For Sale sign went up on our next-door neighbour’s lawn, and not only did it sell within 24 hours, but there was a BIDDING WAR. It must be the incredible neighbours, no?

I met my new neighbour-to-be a few days ago and he seems incredibly pleasant, which is always nice. I am friendly with all my neighbours, and good friends with a few of them. Our former next-door neighbours were nice people; we lived next to each other for 21 years, and were friendly but not friends. They would very kindly purchase big buckets of candy popcorn for the boys every Halloween, and we always exchanged pleasantries with them in passing. They kept to themselves mainly, so they weren’t the kind of neighbours who would have extra keys or anything, but we had a very cordial relationship.

So I was surprised to see the For Sale sign, and even more surprised to discover that the house was vacant when it went up for sale: a) they didn’t tell us they were moving, and b) when did they move? I am home ALL THE TIME and I never once saw a moving truck or anything that would indicate that they were leaving. I mean, you’d think I’d have seen someone moving a couch or boxes or something. Did they move on Christmas Day?

These were the neighbours who have had Hot Rod the Plumber many times over the past few months, so perhaps it was in preparation for their Stealthy Big Move.

Wisdom from my teabag.

What’s The Over-Under On This

The other day Stephany (HI STEPHANY) posted about being an over-or-under-buyer, and it is clear that I have over-buying tendencies, which have been vastly exacerbated by the pandemic. These tendencies really flared up through 2020, and I tamped them down somewhat in 2021, and I have just had another round that has ended with OMG Nicole Please Stop Buying This.

Now, in my defense, nothing goes bad in this house, in terms of food. With the exception of the occasional mushy mini cucumber, I never throw anything out. This is a combination of meal planning, targeted grocery shopping for those meals, and having two teen boys who will hoover anything down that is edible and in the house. I always have backups in the pantry of household staples: flour and oils, nut butters and baking items, toilet paper and soap and toothpaste. If the backup comes into use, then I buy another backup. It gives me an enormous amount of comfort to know that if we run out of an item on the main floor, there is a backup in the pantry downstairs.

Non-dairy milk is a staple for me.

From 2012-2021, I used exclusively almond milk for myself – the guys happily use dairy – but in 2021 I discovered macadamia nut milk, and I never looked back. It’s creamy, it’s delicious, and buy it by the case at Costco. I go through about a case every two weeks, what with smoothies and all, and since I am at Costco every two weeks, I generally have TWO cases in my pantry at any given time. You know, just in case there’s a delay in my Costco shopping. And then it was December, and I bought an extra case, and by the time my first Costco trip of 2022 came around, I had THREE cases in my pantry.

There was, during that first Costco trip of 2022, no macadamia nut milk.

Now, the rational part of me said that I had three cases at home, and there was certainly no shortage of different non-dairy milks in the city. We are so used to abundance that it is unsettling to not have exactly what we want exactly when we want it but there is still An Abundance of Food. My last Superstore trip showed very few varieties of eggs, for example, but there were still eggs. My favourite hippie crunchy natural peanut butter has been out of stock for weeks but there is still the store brand hippie crunchy natural peanut butter. There was no – oh my god, I cannot believe how spoiled I am – organic spinach for my smoothies, but there was plenty of spinach. The frozen fruit section is pretty sparse but there are still non-frozen fruits. This is not Ceausescu’s Romania where people are lining up to get bread. We have plenty of everything.

And yet, I pushed the Panic At The Disco button, about the macadamia nut milk. I thought, well, if it’s not available, maybe I can find another kind of creamy non-dairy-non-almond milk. The next week at Superstore I bought two different brands of cashew milk and an oat milk, just to try, just in case, what if there is no macadamia nut milk ever, what if, what if.

And here I will interject to say that this is all ridiculous, and also back in 2012 when I first went non-dairy, the options were almond or soy; those were my choices, along with the saddest item ever, known as rice milk. Now there are so many different kinds and brands and really, I want to punch myself in the face at my reaction to this blip in the macadamia nut milk supply.

Very long and kind of boring story short, the next time I went to Costco, there was a big display of macadamia nut milk, and I bought two cases, and I now have four full and one partial case, along with cashew and oat milk, and this is ridiculous, and I am spoiled. Imagine! Imagine transporting the Ingalls family, or a Victorian, to our modern life. Wait, you can eat more than a single potato and a slice of bread in a day? Vegetables and fruit are available to you in the winter?

All of which is to say, on my next grocery trip my mantra will be You do not need any more non-dairy milk, for the love of god, Nicole, do not buy any more non-dairy milk. I hope my mantra holds. I have officially gone from Prudent Backup Buyer to Slippery Slope Towards Insane Hoarder.

Mousetastrophe

Speaking of hardships, we had a mouse in the house last week; this is a thing that happens every three to five years, and every single time it happens I feel like I might die. It’s not enough that we are in a global pandemic, now I have to think about the Hanta virus? Not to mention the possibility of a MOUSE near our FOOD. The FOOD that we EAT. From the moment I discovered mouse droppings underneath the kitchen sink to the moment said mouse was summarily removed from the premises, I felt like a haunted shell of a woman. My younger son strolled into the kitchen to find me sweeping out the droppings and spraying down the kitchen sink cupboard with non-hippie super-chemical cleaning spray, and asked what was going on. I told him, in that kind of eerily calm voice that means I am having a breakdown, that there was a mouse in the house. “I see,” he said, “It is going to be okay, Mom. It’s going to be okay.” Then he turned and went to find the traps.

It turns out that in the times of adversity, I can be sanguine and can face almost everything with good cheer and a Can-Do Attitude, but a mouse in my kitchen is One Toke Over The Line, Sweet Jesus. Global pandemic? We can do this. Husband working from home, forever? It’s fine. My kids constantly facing cancellations and disappointment? It’s making us stronger and more resilient and flexible. Mouse in the house? I AM GOING TO DIE. Later, over dinner, I suddenly put my head in my hands and said I had a bad feeling. There was no noise. I just, like Lawrence in Office Space, had a feeling. The boys scurried over to the cupboard, and my older son announced, “We got him!” at which point I screamed frantically and ran from the room.

Later, the boys would tell me I reacted like a contestant on The Price is Right, but with less happiness and high-fiving.

Pandemic Reading

Black Girls Must Die Exhausted. I really loved this book; I was hooked from the first page and became completely invested in the characters. Tabitha is 33 and the trajectory of her life is perfect; she has checked all the boxes she wanted to check…until some medical news comes her way, derailing her plans. This book is so much more than the sum of its parts: important social issues in an incredibly readable and entertaining book. It is a book that normalizes Black culture and I think that is a really important thing: the tendency is to make white the default. It’s enlightening and joyful, as well as a thought-provoking book. I just saw that this author has another book coming soon, I will be reading it for sure. 

The Art of Travel. Okay, first, a digression. I put this on hold over a year ago; it is the only copy in the library system, and I was fifth in the queue. The rule is that books cannot be renewed if there is a hold on them, and so the reader has three weeks before returning. Let’s do the simple math: five people, three weeks, fifteen weeks. Add in a couple of days of processing and transit, and we will say that I should have expected to read this about four and a half months after putting it on hold. It was over a year! The library eliminated late fees, which in general I think is a good thing, except that it can lead to Very Bad Behaviour by patrons who just don’t bring the book back. I was number ONE in the queue for over two months. WHO DOES THAT.

Anyway. It’s not a complaint, exactly, as I had more than enough to read over the past year. It’s more of an observation, and slight admonishment. We are living in a society!

Back to the book. It’s an interesting, and at times, delightful little book about travelling, and the search for happiness, and the theme is that wherever you go, there you are. We tend to idealize vacations, thinking our troubles will melt away with sunshine, palm trees, and margaritas, but honestly, if we are unhappy in life, a change of scenery MAY not be the ticket. The author writes about different places and brings in 19th century artists, writers, and philosophers (ALL MEN, OF COURSE), which makes this a really unique and interesting read. Even though Flaubert sounded like a real ass.

The Most Precious Substance On Earth. This is exactly the kind of book I love: it follows a woman from her teen years to adulthood, and it’s an “ordinary is extraordinary, day-to-day life” book. But. It’s a Big Downer of a book, I felt, and there is a Huge Upsetting Disturbing Occurrence in the first little bit that is written so casually and calmly that I thought at first that it didn’t really happen. Content warning for parents of girls, specifically teen girls. You may not want to read this. It’s touching and sad and also funny and smart. I’m glad I read it but be aware that at times it is a hard read.

Happy End of January, everyone! The month that seemed to be months-long is at its end! How was your January? xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Hygge-Chaka, Hygge-Hygge-Hygge-Chaka Edition

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I can’t stop this feeling, deep inside of me, January you just don’t realize what you do to me…when you are cold but it’s getting more light you let me know everything’s all right…

Ever since I read The Little Book of Hygge, I’ve been a bit obsessed with the concept: winter in Calgary is long, and being intentional about being cozy fits the bill. This January has been all over the map, weather-wise, from extreme cold to pretty mild, but windy days.

Some of the things featured in this month’s Favourite Things have been featured in previous Favourite Things; because of that, I had some doubts. Should I continue with Favourite Things if I’m repeating them? Should I press myself to continue with this monthly feature if I’m just going to write about the same things over and over? Do I have no new ideas for anything and is it all for nothing? Nothing, I say???

What can I say, we are in a global pandemic. Dark moments, even about silly blog features, happen. Originally I started Favourite Things with items that I had recently purchased, and now I just like to celebrate the things I like. Apparently, some of these things deserve celebration OVER AND OVER AGAIN. Celebrate the good things! Right? There are no RULES to Favourite Things other than being things that I love that month. There’s no LAW I can’t write about bum warmers over and over. THERE IS NO LAW.

Anyway. This month it is all the things that make me feel hygge. If you can’t feel hygge in January, when can you? Well, if you live in Calgary, there are plenty of opportunities, but I digress.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Hygge-Chaka Hygge-Hygge-Chaka Edition

All The Sweaters, All The Time

I follow a number of fashion blogs, several of which are in California, one in Texas, and one in Florida. The latter blogger once mentioned that she had two sweaters for cooler temperatures, and when I read that, I stared into the distance for a while. Two! I can’t even imagine a world in which I didn’t have a sweater on for nine months of the year. Nine months AT MINIMUM. I have an enormous collection of sweaters: some are light, for mildly cold days, and some could be considered a cold-weather jacket for warmer climates.

Bonus: fuzzy slippers and fuzzy dog, both hygge.

I wear a lot of long cardigans, especially on teaching days when I need to strip down to only two layers (yoga tank and long sleeve tee) for class, without ruining my hair. If I’m not teaching, I wear pullover sweaters with layers underneath. Always, always layers. I can’t think of a single instance wherein I would have a sweater on without at least a tee or tank underneath.

Warm Up That Booty

I have mentioned bum warmers so many times, but they deserve a mention for their place in the hygge lifestyle. A local woman makes these out of thrifted sweaters, and they are just so cute and snuggly.

I have three that I alternate between, but this one is my current favourite as it’s a little bit longer. The other two have matching mittens, but this one goes nicely with my battery-powered heated mittens.

She’s Got Legs, She Knows How To Warm Them

Bums aren’t the only thing that need warming! I wear legging-style yoga pants most days, and those thin pants are just not enough for warmth. On teaching days I wear fitted, stirrup-style legwarmers to keep me warm in that cold, cold community centre; the floor is linoleum over concrete, and it is VERY cold, even in the spring and fall.

Years ago my mother-in-law knitted me several pairs of legwarmers, and they are incredibly thick and cozy. I wear them for walks on days that are cold, but not cold enough for snow pants.

They are too heavy to wear indoors or while teaching but perfect for walking. Options! It’s good to have them.

Sock It To Me

On non-teaching-but-still-wearing-yoga-pants days, I like to wear super-long socks as an extra layer. I have a number of pairs, mostly in black or charcoal.

It takes me a significant amount of time to get dressed in the morning.

It’s Tea Time, Bitches.

One of the interesting things, reading about hygge culture, is that Denmark is a huge consumer of coffee. Me too, Denmark, me too.

The very first thing I do every morning, before I drink two glasses of water, before I wash my face and brush my teeth, before ANYTHING at all, is start the coffee pot. I drink essentially a pot of black coffee every morning and I am not ashamed to admit it. The coffee is not strong, I just like a lot of it. Don’t worry: I drink a ton of water every day too, about 4 litres a day, so I am pretty hydrated and also, yes, I do have to use the bathroom a lot. Sometimes I’ll meet someone who doesn’t drink coffee and never has, and I will be in awe, wondering what that’s like.

Anyway, I have developed a Tea Ritual in the afternoon. When you drink an entire pot of coffee before 8:30 in the morning, you probably don’t need more caffeine in your life. I mean, you do you, but I don’t need more caffeine in my life. However, I like a nice warm drink in the afternoon as sort of a break in my (not-so-busy) schedule. It’s a little treat to look forward to, choosing an herbal tea from my massive stockpile and sipping.

Remember this mug? Leanne sent it to me (HI LEANNE) in the Secret Santa Mug Swap, and it is absolutely perfect for an afternoon cuppa. It’s the perfect size and shape, and it makes me feel cozy and hygge just looking at it, let alone drinking from it.

Girl Put Your Apron On, Tell Me Your Favourite Song

You know what is super hygge? Baking delicious things!

I kind of combined two recipes, and made some changes to end up with this pumpkin swirl loaf, which turned out to be super delicious. The boys asked me if I EVER follow a recipe exactly and I had to really think about it. Pie crust! I never deviate from a pie crust recipe because, let’s face it, pie crust is a bitch to make.

Here’s a Happy Homemaker Hint for you: when rolling out pie crust, roll it between two pieces of wax paper. Take off the top one, and just flip it over onto the pie pan, and peel off the bottom layer. It’s so much easier, although it can still stick and make you swear.

Anyone who knows me knows I despise pie, particularly apple – it’s a grievous waste of good apples! – but I lovingly make them for my family. Well, lovingly and swearingly; as you can see, I had to do some crust patching. Ah well, the whole thing lasted less than 24 hours, so I guess no one cares about esthetics.

Those are my favourite things for this chilly month of January; things that make me feel all the hygge. What are your favourite things? xo

Challenging?; Ninety-Seven Weeks In

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Recently I’ve seen a lot of “ten year challenge” posts on social media, which is one of those strange phenomena of our time. A challenge, in my mind, is to be ninety-seven weeks into a global pandemic and to still get out of bed every morning, putting one foot in front of the other and keeping hope and optimism in day to day life. A challenge is to parent effectively when there are constant disappointments and changes that are out of anyone’s personal control; a challenge is to keep making dinner, day in and day out, with no end in sight and nothing exciting to anticipate. What about the “ten year challenge” is a challenge, exactly? Is the challenge in finding photos that are a decade apart? Or does the challenge actually lie in the posting of photos that are a decade apart, forcing us all to face the changes that ten years have brought and the vast improvements in our ability to take photos with good lighting and posing? I feel like it’s the latter.

I vaguely recalled, pre-pandemic, that one of those challenges had occurred recently, and upon searching my online diary/ blog, I found it in December of 2019, presumably to end off the decade. December 2019 was not all that recent, of course, but what a time that was to be alive. I hosted a Christmas coffee with a dozen women in my house in that month, and we all stood close to each other and ate things.

Anyway, I do not know exactly what is the point of a “ten year challenge” other than to show the vast changes time has wrought on our faces and bodies. I am not saying these changes are bad – every day is a gift, every passing year is a cause for celebration – but they certainly exist. Not only do changes exist, but they SHOULD exist. Do we really want the same hairstyle we had ten years ago? Do we really want to go through life with our faces exactly the same, waxen-like?

I posit that the answer is no.

I had a huge argument with my dad a couple of months ago. We both got pretty heated and it was all on the topic of do I look old. It started when I mentioned a man who I haven’t seen in twenty years and who is my age or a little older; my dad said that he looked the same as he always did, but “old.” I said that the same could be said about me, at which point my dad got extremely indignant. I didn’t look old! I look great! Not old! Great! What was I talking about!

Dads and their daughters, am I right?

I tried to say that the two were not mutually exclusive and, while I do think I look “great,” I do not look like a young woman. We went back and forth for several minutes, this pointless argument ending with me ungraciously conceding, saying that fine, I still look like I’m in my twenties, DAD, and with both of us annoyed with each other.

I came across a great post that exactly describes why I dislike filtered photos; I understand the temptation, I do, but I think that a) on a personal level, I occasionally see people in person, and I don’t want to look different from my social media profiles, and b) on a societal level, I want to see and celebrate women my age who look our age. Society wants older women to be invisible, and filtering makes older women invisible. Fuck the patriarchy!

Also, sometimes those filters actually smooth out features, so that a woman – it’s always a woman – looks like she is missing a nose. I like to be a person with a visible nose.

This reminds me of something that happened several months ago. First, the backstory. Back when Facebook was in its infancy, I reconnected with pretty much everyone in my high school graduation class, including a woman I shall call X. I am still friends with pretty much everyone in my high school graduation class, by the way. I have lots of great feelings and memories about that time of life and I have much enjoyed seeing my compatriots grow and change as I myself have grown and changed.

Back in my high school days, I was a friendly acquaintance with X, rather than a true friend, and it was nice seeing her Facebook updates and getting to know her. Then, one day, she unfriended me. I don’t know why, but you know what, I’m not for everyone. Who knows. As we were never true friends, it didn’t bother me much.

Fast-forward many years, to last spring, and I received a friend request from X. Life changes, people go through rough patches, you never know what’s going on, and so I accepted. The very first post from her that I saw was a before-and-after photo: she had gotten some kind of injection or treatment that made her look like a walking Instagram filter. It was truly amazing; the bags under her eyes, the lines around her mouth – completely gone. She had commented that she had never before posted an unfiltered photo of herself, but now she was doing just that.

She looked really incredible, but something about that nagged me. Do we only post unfiltered photos if we look like we’ve filtered our faces? And yet, SHE LOOKED INCREDIBLE. Imagine walking around, with your face looking like it’s been softened with an Instagram filter! And while I am generally happy with my looks, I kept kind of thinking about it. This “thinking” increased when a friend of my sister-in-law told me, casually, as we were sitting on the beach last summer, about the Botox injections she received in the dental office she worked at. Not only did she tell me about her own treatment, which she received at a highly reduced rate, but she had unsolicited advice for me: I too could benefit from Botox. She went on to say that she wasn’t sure HOW many injections I would need to get rid of my forehead lines, but it would be a lot, and if I DID decide to get an indeterminate-but-absolutely-large-number of Botox injections, I would look amazing. Thanks? I don’t even think this was a passive-aggressive statement, I think it was aggressive-aggressive. Are my forehead lines that terrible that someone who I barely know would comment on them and give me advice about what to do about them? I wondered.

Anyway, I thought and thought and then, for research purposes, I went to look at X’s page, to see where she got the treatments done, and what kind of treatments they were, and it was then that I discovered she unfriended me, again. Well! I took it as a sign. People come in and out of your life for a reason, and I think that X’s reason was to remind me to be happy and contented with my face, as it is. Forehead lines and all.

After all, look at Betty White! What a beauty she was in her old age.

I saw that magazine at Superstore and, although I really do understand publication schedules and logistics, it was still very startling.

For what it’s worth, I’ll play along with the ten year challenge. No filters! Just me in 2012:

And now in 2022:

You know what, I’m happy with my face. I am happy with the changes, and I am also grateful – ETERNAL GRATITUDE – for home hair colour kits and moisturizer.

Pandemic Reading

The Way We Weren’t. Someone recommended this to me, and the woman I THOUGHT recommended it says she didn’t. So, I don’t know. Someone did, who was it? Anyway, this is quite a touching story about marriage, compromise, loss, and a very unlikely friendship between a crusty old man and a forty-something woman, both coping with loss and sadness. I didn’t love this but I did like it. Trigger warning: pregnancy loss is a major theme. 

Girlhood. I’m going to be honest: I almost didn’t make it through the prologue. The prologue very lyrically and beautifully outlines the author’s life: a happy childhood that ends with precocious development that leads to multiple unwanted sexual encounters and sexual assault, leaving school at 16, becoming a meth and then heroin addict, her years as a sex worker, and finally sobriety and becoming an award winning author and professor. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I had the emotional strength to read it. I’m glad I did, I guess, but I’ll tell you, it was rough going. It’s part memoir, part scholarly deep dive into what it means to be a woman, and the various ways the patriarchy destroys womanhood and our ability to love and care for ourselves. It’s compelling and powerful and very, very grim. It ends hopeful but is crushing to read. Take care if you read this.

Will. “Will Smith don’t gotta cuss on his taps to sell records. Well I do. So fuck him, and fuck you too.” (There’s a little Slim Shady in all of us, people). I got a little jiggy with it and picked this up. I liked the parts about the early days of rap and hip hop in the 80s; that was a musically formative time in my life. I still know all the lyrics to Parents Just Don’t Understand (okay, here’s the situation: my parents went away on a weeks’ vacation). It was interesting to read about DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, and also how he made so much money from those years and blew it ALL by the time he was 20. It’s an interesting psychological phenomenon to see a person suddenly strike it rich and then spend it all; it’s a fact that sudden wealth is mean-reverting and that lottery winners are broke after only a few years. Smith spent all his money on cars, motorcycles, and houses, and he also didn’t pay his taxes, so he was completely broke and owing the IRS a ton of money, just before he got cast on the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Quincy Jones basically saved his life. Fun fact: the ghost writer also wrote The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, and once you know that, you can’t unknow it. The voice comes out. I liked this just fine, didn’t love it, didn’t hate it, it was okay though. Oh, and the reason “Will Smith don’t gotta cuss on his raps?” His grandma overheard him swearing and shamed him for it, saying that intelligent people don’t need to use that language. So, out of respect for his grandma, he kept his raps squeaky-clean. Awww. Grandmas!

The Cost of Living. This is the second of Levy’s memoirs, and it deals mainly with her divorce, living as a single mom, and finding space to write. I really liked it and am looking forward to reading the third. Check out the back of the book:

It’s the last full week of January! Time flies even when it’s January, I guess. How do you feel about filters, fillers, and injections? What about photo challenges? Tell me everything. xo

Goals, Goals, Goals; Ninety-Six Weeks In

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If you’re not singing that title a la Motley Crue, then I don’t know what to say. If you are, sorry/ not sorry for the earworm.

As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t set particular goals or resolutions or words-of-the-year in January, but I do like to look at my collective year-round goals during this month. What can I say, I like the Fresh Start feeling of the New Year, even if it is January 17, and New Year’s already feels like it was several months ago. Time has no meaning.

You know, I’m not even sure that I can classify most of these as goals. They are just things I aim to do every day. Well, I guess technically that is the definition of a goal, but it doesn’t feel like I need to strive to do these things; at this point, they are just habits, habits that I write down in my agenda every week as a to-do list.

Honestly, I think that is the key to any goal: make it a habit and write it down so that you can cross it off, either mentally or physically. What is it about a list that I love? I have no idea, but it’s motivational.

Before we get into that, I have to tell you something that brings me joy and happiness every single day, and that is the increasing amount of daylight. I first noticed a couple of weeks ago that it wasn’t dark at 4:30 pm, and then I started watching for the sunset. Now it happens around 5, and the sky is dusky and navy blue for a few minutes after that, and it’s really lovely.

More daylight! I also realize that since giving up the news, I have more TIME in the day. I didn’t think I spent much time reading the news, but apparently doomscrolling and obsessively checking Covid numbers and updates took up more time than I thought, which gives me time to do other things, like work on my goals/ habits.

So, goals! I’m going to call these all goals, for lack of a better word. These are the Quantifiable Goals, as opposed to my Hippy-Dippy Goals; Yoda-like, there is a do-or-do-not-do feel to them.

Food Is Delicious, Can I Have Some More Please

One goal that I started to work on a few months ago is to add new recipes to my roster. Longtime readers will remember my Eating A Rainbow meal plan that I literally never deviate from. Like, never. During the Christmas holidays, we had Greek salad on a Thursday instead of a Friday and my kids both told me that they were confused all of Friday as they thought it was Saturday. We’re having Greek salad and it’s NOT Friday, what’s happening, all is chaos and turmoil.

You’ll be happy to know that I am still not deviating from my meal plan, but I am adding to it: Pasta Night is still Monday, but occasionally I’ll try a new sauce, Stir Fry Night is still Tuesday, but I might try a different kind of stir-fry. I know! Saturdays, I might try an entirely new thing. I know. How wild can I be?

My general goal is to try two new recipes a month, whether that be for a meal or dessert or baked goods. So far, I’ve nailed it for December and January, so I hope to keep that up. I have so many cookbooks and I don’t use them frequently; I am more of a free-styler when it comes to cooking. I am a recipe developer’s nightmare as I use them as a vague jumping-off point, but still! I’m trying new things! I received this book for Christmas:

Did I follow the recipes to a tee? No, I did not. But so far, the recipes that I free-styled from it are GREAT – Manchurian sauce for stir-fry night and “nacho seasoning,” which I used on one of my usual black-bean recipes – and will be in the regular rotation.

Joyful Movement

Whenever I think of Joyful Movement I think of this:

Mmm. The Land of Chocolate.

The truth is that I really love cardio workouts and getting sweaty and red-faced.

Because I do love this kind of workout, I usually do something sweaty six days a week. The key for me is to do things that I love: Peloton biking and running are the main activities, but I am on a running hiatus right now. I will not run outside when it’s slippery, snowy, icy, and/ or below zero, so typically I use the treadmill at my fitness club for the winter months. My fitness club is still open and requires all members to be fully vaccinated to use the facility, but even so I don’t feel great breathing heavily, maskless, while others around me are doing the same. Instead I’m getting cozy with my elliptical trainer, which is fairly boring, but I find a good playlist helps a lot with my motivation.

I classify these things as Joyful Movement because I truly enjoy them; if ever I feel like I have to do something, rather than I want to do something, I take it as a sign to stop.

A small note here: a year ago I started strength training, and it is NOT a Joyful Movement, in fact, I kind of hate it, BUT I keep up with it because I feel it’s important for injury and osteoporosis prevention. I also keep all strength workouts to ten minutes or so, and really, I can do anything for ten minutes. Right? Right. Occasionally one of my sons will observe me doing my workout, with a massively bitchy look on my face, and say “Go Mom! You’re totally not going to get The Osteo!” which makes me smile and motivates me to keep going.

Go Outside And Play

I make a point to go for a walk every day, every single day, even when it’s minus 30. I think the fresh air is so important and even the coldest walks boost my mood, albeit because I feel hardy and accomplished when I go out in such weather. If I’m walking by myself, I listen to podcasts, which are also Joyful Things.

Keep The Streak, But Don’t Be Weird About It

Speaking of walks, in March 2020 I decided I would get my daily step goals, as dictated to me by my Garmin watch, and keep that streak going. People, I kept that streak for 504 days, FIVE HUNDRED AND FOUR. I finally broke the streak because I was quite ill with inadvertent iron poisoning, the story/ cautionary tale of which I will save for another time.

I felt sad about breaking my streak, even though I couldn’t be far from a bathroom, let alone go on a 5km walk. But honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking. Did I think I would keep my streak FOREVER? Would I keep going until I had one foot in the grave? I had to shake it off and let it go, thinking I can start a NEW streak, won’t that be fun or something, and now I’m on a 147 day streak. Will I exceed my previous streak? Who knows? Who cares! The point is, sometimes you have to let things go.

On December 28, 2020 I started a Peloton activity streak, which means I am on day 385; 385 little blue dots! If you know, you know. I think this is something that sounds more impressive than it is: for example, when I was on vacation I kept my streak by doing 5 minute stretches or meditations. Hey, logging an activity is logging an activity, and although I meditate every day by myself, sometimes I like a guided meditation, especially when it will earn me a blue dot.

Put That OM In The OMG

While we are on the topic of meditation, this is something I do, along with my yoga practice, every single day. Most days my practice takes around 45-55 minutes, but some days I recognize that I need less. On those days, I may do only standing postures and then sit in meditation for 20 minutes, or I may do a restorative practice, or I merely sit in meditation. I think there is an idea out there that if you roll out your mat, you have to “make it count” and do a certain number of postures for a certain amount of time, and I am here to say THAT IS NOT CORRECT. Some days a five-minute meditation may be all you need, some days you may take child’s resting pose for 20 minutes, and some days you might spend an hour on your practice. And when I say “you,” I mean “me.”

Tickling The Ivories

A year or so ago, I was talking to my son, who is a drummer, about my piano playing. I was finding it hard to learn anything new, my fingers just weren’t what they used to be. Yeah Mom, maybe if you actually practiced more, it would be easier, he said, and he’s right. I vowed to play at least three songs a day, every weekday.

It’s incredible what actual practice will do for you. My fingers remember all my old exam material, I can play without music in front of me, and best of all, I’m really enjoying finding new music to play. Some days I’m pressed for time and play three one-page songs; other days, I go through all four verses of Piano Man.

Pandemic Reading

In 2021, I read 156 books! I do not have a goal number for 2022, but I try to pick up a book instead of my phone when I am bored or have a few minutes to spare. More books, no doomscrolling, we shall see how long this lasts but so far so good.

I Heart Hawaii. I discovered, AFTER reading this, that this book is number eight of eight in a series. Eight! Well, I did not need to read any previous books about the foibles of a British girl in New York City to follow the plot of this one. It was just silly and fun and fluffy, and I recommend it if you just want some mind candy. It’s nice to read about Hawaii in January, I think.

A Carnival of Snackery. Oh, I love David Sedaris! Although I don’t enjoy his fiction, his personal essays are pure gold. If you are like me, you’ll LOVE this book. It’s comprised of his diaries and it’s just so good. At times I laughed so hard my husband came upstairs, alarmed, thinking I was having some kind of breakdown. Even Barkley, who is deaf, would pick up his head and stare at me as I cry-laughed, unable to breathe. It’s not all hilarity though; much is sad and thoughtful and tragic. Since it’s diary entries, there are many current events: the Iraq War, elections, school shootings, police violence, racism, and violence towards and changing attitudes about homosexuality. It ends, of course, with the pandemic. Throughout are observations about his various relationships, and particularly poignant is his fraught relationship with his father, who suffers ill health and is actually diagnosed with – but recovers from, at age 97 – Covid.

Devotions. I started reading this, poem by poem, in March 2020. I would start my day with one poem. After a while, I added other poetry to the mix and then would read one or two poems a week. I had been holding off on reading the last few poems for a couple of months, just going back and rereading favourites, because I didn’t want to finish this. In the words of Grace in Alias Grace when she is asked why she’s not eating the apple given her, Then it would be gone. Finally, I did read the last poem. Mary Oliver’s poetry resonates with me so deeply; her love of nature, her uplifting messages. I just might start again from the beginning.

Goals, goals, goals. That’s all of mine – any of yours you want to share? xo