Category Archives: Pro-Aging

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

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

Boyhouse Year In Review 2021

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Is it just me or was this year actually a decade?

Well! I think at this time last year we thought the Pandemic At The Disco would be in the rearview mirror, and yet it is not. Currently we are going through our FIFTH wave, which is extremely disheartening and, at this point, makes me feel like this is forever. Intellectually I know that’s not the case; everything passes with time and this will too. (WHEN?)

We are ending the year on a low; yesterday it was announced that the winter break would be “extended” and the January diploma exams, of which my older son was due to write three, have been cancelled. It is very discouraging. Going through this post I realized that there were many low moments, but I do feel like there was a lot of joy and laughter this year as well. I think living through a global pandemic has forced me to re-examine my life and to make new kinds of choices about it. There have been ups and downs and in-betweens, and, on that note, let’s examine the year in the Boyhouse.

Boyhouse Year In Review 2021

January

I set some goals and expressed my gratitude, I cleaned my oven and reused canning lids, after six weeks of at-home learning the kids went back to school and my son immediately broke his glasses in gym class, and I talked about being judgmental and how I don’t want to be that way, but we are only human. I also shared my hot tip on how to grow your hair out – just stop cutting it.

I kind of forgot how grim things were last January, with everything closed down for the second wave. Wait, was it the second? Yes, second. Still, look at that photo! Lots of beauty still to be found.

February

I continued to embrace the concept of friluftsliv with my fabulous wardrobe choices, I decided to change my mindset towards overstocking the pantry and also my period, it was really, really cold and it was also Family Day, which was great since I hadn’t spent every SINGLE waking hour with my family for eleven months, and I was really sad and couldn’t figure out if it was hormones or, you know, life in a pandemic. I also expressed my love for hearts and chocolate.

I must have cleaned my fridge right before that photo – it’s so shiny!

March

My son was almost done with his braces and to celebrate, I made him be my pack horse at the liquor store, in the spirit of Trying New Things I had body sugaring done and it was life-changing, I reflected on one year of Pandemic Living, I compared Costco 2021 to Costco 2020, and we had A Very Eventful Week which started with me thinking I had a blood clot to my son threatening to burn his orthodontic elastics, and, failing that, his masks. To add to the excitement, I talked about my favourite cleaning items, please don’t everyone click on that at once, you might break the internet.

April

Wow, a lot of things went wrong and so I was as cross as two sticks, my tenacious chin hair turned white and I had lots of awkward interactions at the library, we were in another mini-lockdown and so I talked about my Coping Mechanisms, I talked about being Pro-Aging, as opposed to Anti-Aging, which is a ridiculous concept, and I got vaccinated the day after my birthday! I also talked about my favourite skin-care products FOR PRO-AGING.

Gosh, remember how hopeful we all felt back then? Like the Pandemic was no longer going to be At The Disco. Good times.

May

After talking about Pro-Aging, I was asked if I wanted the senior’s discount at Shoppers, and then the lady didn’t even give me the discount, I had a really big downward spiral and then started to climb back up, then I had lots of ups and downs, including lineups at Costco (down) and flower purchases (up), it snowed and the kids were slated to go back to in-person school, Barkley turned 13, and I discussed all my favourite little helpers!

June

I was inspired to Embrace the Season – inspired by a woman who, sadly, has just recently passed after a long and difficult illness. Her words will remain with me forever, and she will be much missed. Rest in peace, Melanie.

Less sadly, I talked about clothing trends and how depressing the mall is these days, after a couple of weeks being in school the boys were on exam break, our provincial government continued to be stupid and dropped every single Covid protocol which, spoiler alert, was not a good idea, and I did a lot of gardening.

July

We visited my parents and I swam in the lake, the province may have dropped their mask mandate, but I kept my own, I talked about aging and my aging face, and I bought new bras and shared my favourite life-changing items.

August

We went on vacation and unsurprisingly given the complete lack of Covid restrictions, there were tons of outbreaks, I read a lot, I was grateful to Spotify, my aunt sent me Royal Family memorabilia, I almost lost my mind not being able to find my clothes, I did an “Ask Me Anything” post, I recycled all the old boxes my husband had hoarded out of the storage room, I got very Landslide-y, and recalled all the stupid things I used to worry about, and I loved my garden.

September

Thank you, Universe, the kids went back to school, we got our ducts cleaned and found a sheep, and my husband and I went to Lake Louise, I recapped eighteen months of Pandemic Life, my son turned 16 and I did a deep dive into Jane Eyre, I talked about clothing trends and bought new jeans, and I shared all my handbags with you.

October

I was feeling very low, I talked about gourds and Gords, I was – as always – grateful for modern technology as I have zero sense of direction, my cute little mini-gourds were being eaten by something in the neighbourhood, and I shared my favourite things about Spooky Season and discovered a gruesome scene.

November

I shifted my festivities focus from Spooky Season to Tiny Secret Festive Season, I was living la vida hygge, I had one-on-one time with my younger son and WE ATE TAKEOUT FOOD, I learned about thirst traps, I got full-on festive, and I talked about the reasons I love November.

Usually by this time in the annual recap, I think well, this just happened! but it feels like November was a year ago already. Time has no meaning.

December

I received the most thoughtful Secret Santa gift and my son came down with a cold, I completely lost track of the days, I had not one, but two Christmas miracles, I went to Banff with my husband, and I shared my favourite things about December.

As we wrap up the (very strange and weirdly long) year, I wish you all the best in 2022. WHO KNOWS WHAT 2022 WILL BRING. I think we can all agree that no one can predict anything anymore, but I hope you are all safe and healthy, and am wishing you much joy, peace, and happiness. Thank you, always, for reading my little blog. xo

The Case of the Missing Gourds; Eighty-Four Weeks In

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I don’t want to alarm anybody, but something is eating my decorative gourds.

I started out with eight white mini-pumpkins, and I am down to two. My husband suggested someone was STEALING them, but I think that is unnecessarily suspicious of people in my neighbourhood, and also, if our home is going to be the the victim of theft, I don’t think it is the mini-pumpkins that are going to be targeted.

No, something is eating them, and the proof was staring us into the face when we noticed two large bites taken out of the decorative red gourd. At first I was willing to believe that a murder of crows was carrying off the mini-pumpkins, but the nature of the bite marks on the red gourd do not suggest a bird. Perhaps it is one of the many wild rabbits in the neighbourhood. I was prepared to cast the blame on my usual nemeses, the squirrels, but people, this is no squirrel.

I sprinkled cayenne on the gourds to deter predators, but on the upside, if this carnage continues, I will not have to worry about composting anything come November 1.

It has been an interesting week, and not just because of the disappearing gourds. We had a municipal election, which I voted for in the advance polls and as such kept forgetting that the election was not over. Why are there still signs around? Oh yeah. I knew the platforms of the frontrunners – enough to make an informed choice – but I have not been paying attention to the news at all as a self-care measure, and so I was very surprised to see 27 mayoral candidates. TWENTY-SEVEN. Who are these people and where did they all come from?

I was driving to the Superstore, which is ten minutes from my house, and noticed a big sign for one of the mayoral candidates that I never had heard of before. This gentleman’s tagline was “Calgary’s Cheapest Mayor” which, what. Who is doing your PR, sir?

Actually, whoever is doing the PR must have known that someone like me would immediately look up this gentleman’s platform because CHEAPEST MAYOR WHAT. I spent far too much time thinking that maybe he’s a guy who gives holiday cards saying that in lieu of gifts, a donation has been made to the Human Fund, or when splitting the cheque at dinner he pays exactly the amount for his entree, without tax or tip, or doesn’t offer to pay for part of the appetizer even though he ate half of it. Maybe all of those things are true, but they were not on his platform. It should be obvious but he was running on a platform of low expenditures and taxes, but what I did not know was that this person refused to door knock or go to any in-person interviews or meetings at all due to the pandemic. Maybe he didn’t want to spend money on gas? He did not win, nor did he even come into the top 20, but I shall give a little nod to his determination.

Speaking of Superstore, this week I earned an unprecedented 40,400 PC Points, and for those of you who are not in Canada or who do not shop at Superstore (who hurt you?) there is an app that tracks all your purchases, Big Brother-like, and then offers you points for things you regularly buy, which can be exchanged for store credit. For example, this week my offers include 200 points for every $1 spent on grapes and 1000 points for every $5 spent on the brand of yogurt I buy, among others. You get the idea. Anyone who spends a few months examining the patterns of the offers can figure out the basic algorithm, which is what I have done, and I shop accordingly to maximize my points and why are you looking at me like that. Anyway, I have been holding out on buying a few cosmetic items – Neutrogena products, mostly, but also hair colour – because I knew the points offers would be soon and THIS WAS THE WEEK.

My husband is of the belief that if I ever won the lottery, I would be more excited to receive the funds in PC Points than in actual cash, which is untrue, but also not totally untrue, if you know what I mean.

Speaking of my husband, it was his birthday this week, and you know what that means! Cake!

Since the rule in this house is that birthdays are celebrated for at least a week in some way, I also baked a pie on the weekend, and that, along with cooking some giant meals, meant a lot of time in the kitchen. Yesterday alone I washed dishes SEVEN TIMES. I am thinking that next weekend, I might heat up some frozen pizzas, set out some pre-made salads and Halloween candy, and call it a day.

Pandemic Reading

In The Country of Others. I have always been interested in Morocco, and this book gives incredible depth and detail to that country post-World War II, leading up to the revolt against French colonialism. It follows a war bride Frenchwoman who marries a Moroccan man and goes to live in a desolate farm in that country. It was well done and contained many layers, but I found the writing to be somewhat…disjointed, maybe? I can’t think of the right description. It almost felt like a series of vignettes linked together, and it did feel like it was a translation and that English is not the first language of the author, which it is not. The themes are very dark and disturbing – triggers include domestic abuse – and it is very nuanced as well. So much symbolism, for those of you who like that. I liked it, but did not love it, and I’ll be thinking about it for a while.

What Fresh Hell Is This? Oh, you guys. This book is really incredible: so empowering and liberating. From managing perimenopause in a patriarchal society that diminishes aging women to examining your own life and lighting a match to what doesn’t serve you, to realizing that menopause is not a disease or a defect, but a normal part of life – albeit one with effects that can be mildly bothersome to downright dreadful – this book is enlightening. It also is inclusive of people who experience menopause and do not identify as women or were not female at birth, which I am sorry to say, is a point of view I had not considered. It gives great advice about managing effects of menopause in a way that is in no way patronizing, and includes topics that can be very sensitive, like the feeling of becoming invisible or losing our looks or femininity. I especially liked how the author talked about the importance of social support and referenced the Golden Girls episode when Blanche realized she was going through The Change. There were a few things that did not feel relevant for my life, like the idea of opening up my monogamous relationship to explore my sexuality, for example, but the entire attitude shift that is celebrated in this book was really great. Thanks to my friend Cherie (HI CHERIE) for the recommendation!

On that note, I hope you have an empowered and liberated week, this last week of October! May the Halloween candy last until Sunday. xo

Face Facts; Seventy Weeks In

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I was hiking with the boys and, as I always do, I greeted a pair of women we passed on the path. We exchanged some pleasantries about the day and the steepness of the hike – we hiked Prairie Mountain, it is straight up and straight down, with zero gentle switchbacks – and then we carried on our way. I heard the women speaking rapidly in French behind us, like they were discussing something, and, later when we were taking a break, they went to pass us. They paused for a moment, and then one of the women approached me and said, “This is a very strange question, maybe, but are you an economist?”

I said yes, and then we looked at each other for a moment. It took a beat but then I recognized her from my time at the Economics Society, back in the Nineties; she was a prominent member at that time, and I was still a grad student. It had been twenty-five years since we had seen each other, and I expressed my astonishment not only that we should run into each other on a hiking trail on a random Monday morning in July, but also that she recognized me after all this time. She said, “Well, of course I did, you look exactly the same!”

I used to think this kind of statement, while very kind, generous, and well-meaning, is an objectively wrong one, but I think I am at a point in my life where I understand it. Objectively, I do not look exactly the same as I did in 1996, nor does anyone else. Twenty-five years of living changes a person physically, obviously. However, the essence of a person can be unchanged over that time period; after all, I recognized this woman immediately as well, and she would have been younger than I am now when I last saw her. It’s not unlike when you see a childhood group photo and you can instantly recognize your friends; no one looks the same as they did when they were a child, but their essence is still there.

My mother-in-law once said to me that she never really sees me as aging; to her, I just look like the same Nicole she’s always known, and I understand what that means. I see my friends and loved ones in the same way; maybe there are a few more lines or changes, but essentially, I just see the same people I know and love. It’s more than just physical, even if the last time I saw a person was in high school, I can still immediately see the person I knew then, shining through now. I never think Jesus, maybe some eye cream? I just think Yay, there’s my beautiful friend. All of which goes to show that we never really see ourselves as others see us, we are our own worst critics, and if we could treat ourselves the way we treat our friends, the world would be an infinitely better place.

Speaking of which. Lately I have had a disproportionately large number of friends and acquaintances on social media show their before and after photos, the before and after referring to Botox and dermal fillers. I am going to tell you this: they all, without exception, look fantastic. It’s quite incredible; they look like the same people, but smoother and fresher. They don’t look weird or fake in any way, they look like they have applied an Instagram filter, but in real life.

I try not to compare myself to others, but I found myself comparing my own face – which is, in repose, bitchy-looking at best, haggard and Crypt Keeper-like at worst – to their smooth and fresh faces. I am generally a confident person with healthy self-esteem, but I was kind of feeling bad about myself. This feeling was not unlike the one I get when I look at Instagram photos of women my age, but don’t realize that they are filtered, and I end up wondering how I got to looking like the Crypt Keeper when everyone else looks young and lovely.

It’s hard to explain the opposing forces in my brain. I am, as you all know, Pro-Aging, but I am also not made of stone, people. I took some time to do a little research and I discovered that my old dermatologist – who I went to for acne issues, hello Circle of Life – performs these sorts of procedures. I kept reading and realized that one of the contraindications to getting Botox and dermal fillers is skin that scars easily and, since I still have tiny little scars all over my legs from varicose vein stripping over a decade ago – complete with dots from where the stitches went in – I closed my browser and closed my mind to it.

It’s for the best, really. Isn’t it funny how these things work? Some of the most beautiful women I have ever met are the septuagenarian and octogenarian ladies in my seniors’ yoga class; they truly have the faces they deserve, as the saying goes, with their inner beauty shining through. And although I’d love to look more rested – my eyebags are sometimes steamer trunks – and less crinkly, well, this is the face I have and, ultimately, the face I deserve. I raise my eyebrows a lot, I smile a lot, I make that “Kermit the Frog scrunch face” a lot, and my face reflects that. I’m going to be at peace with it and also, keep up with the retinol creams. Jesus, maybe some eye cream?

Outfit of the Week

This is probably my very favourite summer outfit of all time. I feel so cute in it, it makes me want to twirl around like a ballerina, or like my seven-year-old niece. I COULD do that without fear of traumatizing anyone, as it is a skort, albeit kind of a short one. I paired it with a yoga tank because even though I now have comfortable bras, I still like a shelf-bra tank on hot days. Sandals are Skechers, naturally.

It’s not every day my accessories match my outfit this perfectly! That bracelet was made by my friend Amy (HI AMY)!

Pandemic Reading

A Thousand Ships. In my very first semester at university, I took an introduction to classical studies, and our required reading was The Iliad, The Odyssey, and a few other Greek plays. It is very telling that I have never read them since, and, in fact, I couldn’t remember anything about them. I think I blocked them out. I have extremely low interest in men’s stories: I could not care less about mighty warriors and their conquests, and I definitely don’t want to read about all the capturing, enslaving, and raping said conquests. However, I was intrigued by this book which explores the Trojan war through the eyes of the women. I did not love this book, but I did like the different point of view, and I did like to see women portrayed as something other than crazy, long-suffering, and vain.

When No One Is Watching. This book is marketed as a psychological thriller, but it doesn’t really read as one – at least for the first two-thirds of the book. It is more of an educational exploration of the practice of redlining and the dark, sad side of gentrification, with thrilling dramatic license. I liked this a lot as it is very mind-opening, and the end is thrilling and satisfying, but it’s not what I consider to be a typical thriller. Still, very much worth the read.

A Burning. Oh, this was so so good. I picked this up on the advice of Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) and it did not disappoint. It follows the story of a woman who is accused of aiding and abetting a terrorist act in India, through the points of view of three very different people, all of whom are trying to rise up in the world. It is an absolutely chilling portrait of what people will do to make their way up the ladder, so to speak. I love books that have a realistic description of different places and cultures, and this book describes India – its economics, culture, cities and villages – so well.

I hope you are all enjoying the summer; we are doing our best to make it A Summer, after the disappointments of last year. Have fun, be kind – especially to yourself. xo

The Opposite of Trendy; Sixty-Five Weeks In

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This will be obvious for anyone who knows me or has read this blog for any amount of time, but I really love clothes and fashion. When I was a kid, I loved paper dolls so much; I loved all the different outfits slated for different activities, I loved dressing up their flat little bodies, folding the tabs over their shoulders carefully as I took my paper dolls to a fancy gala or the tennis courts.

Fun fact: I had not one but TWO Princess Diana paper doll books, one for cutting out and one for saving, and I still have them. As I recall, it was a bitch cutting out the wedding dress, all those tiny little frills.

Anyway, I love clothes but I do not consider myself to be a trendy person; when I was younger I would incorporate trends into my outfits but one of the great things about being middle-aged is that a) I don’t really care about trends anymore, I just want to wear what flatters my own 46-year-old body, and b) current trends are not aimed at me anyway.

Back in 2012, I railed against the movement from dark-wash boot-cut jeans to skinny jeans, but I eventually capitulated to the trend and I never went back. I love the esthetic of skinny jeans with a long, drapey sweater and tall boots. It is perfect for my perimenopausal body, perfect for living in a climate in which tall boots and long sweaters are appropriate at least nine months out of the year, and I cannot see trading in my skinnies anytime soon. The great news is no one expects me to because hey, you completely disappear to the public eye when you turn forty! Yay for the invisibility of aging women! No one cares what we wear because we might as well not exist after our fertility declines!

Just kidding.

Anyway, I don’t follow the trends but I do like to know what’s in style, because I am a style anthropologist – “This is so 1992!” – and so I have not YET unsubscribed from a certain Young People’s Clothing Store emails; the mystery about how I was suddenly on that email list has yet to be solved, but here we are. The other day I got an email about these hot new jeans for summer, and, friends, what do we think of them:

To me, they scream My Mom Wore Those In The Late Eighties. Do NOT get me wrong, people. If you are wearing these jeans, I am sure you look adorable. There is no judgement here. I save my judgmental thoughts for people who don’t return their shopping carts or who wear their mask under their nose. I think pants with tie waists can look really cute, but they are not for me, particularly the denim variety. Last summer I optimistically purchased a pair of very-casual yoga-style pants that have a high tie-waist and they flatter me not at all; regrets, I have them. I think I need to add them to the donation pile. The biggest problem, for me, is that such styles – along with wide-leg pants – require either a crop top or the tucking in of shirts, neither of which I am interested in wearing or doing. See also: perimenopausal body. My interest in personally wearing trendy clothing began fading a few years ago with the reappearance of crop tops, waned further with wide-leg pants, and now has thudded to a halt with these jeans.

I was thinking about how far removed I am from being trendy the other day, when I was in the mall. You read that right: I was in the mall. I initially thought the last time I was in the mall was November, when Christmas shopping, but then I realized that no, I had briefly been there in April to buy my mom a birthday present. At that time, though, we were heading into our third (fourth?) lockdown, and my “shopping” consisted of me parking to the closest exit and speed walking to and from the one store I wanted to visit.

The mall, though. It’s pretty depressing. So many stores are shuttered and so many more seem to be struggling. The children’s play park is covered with tarps and encircled by “do not cross” tape. I haven’t been shopping in so long I probably would have “helped” all the struggling stores if I had more time, but alas. I was there for Father’s Day gifts – that is NEXT weekend! Already! – and I had to stay focused on the task. Still, I noticed Skechers has some pretty cute sandals and Mary Janes; do I need another pair of sandals and Mary Janes? No, I do not. And yet the heart wants what it wants, perhaps I will gather the strength to go again soon.

Other than the depressing-ness, I noticed all the window displays of the trendy stores: so many booty shorts, so much tie-dye. I feel like the Kathy Bates character in Fried Green Tomatoes: I’m too young to be old and too old to be young. Ah, youth. I see girls wearing these things and I think they are adorable; I also imagine they think they look terrible in many ways, because our society teaches us to loathe ourselves practically from birth. I want to grab them all by the shoulders and tell them that they are so very beautiful, and that one day, they will be in their middle age and see the tie-dyed shirts and booty shorts of their youth return, and they will wish they knew just how beautiful they were.

Outfit of the Week

Speaking of clothing! I mentioned during last week’s heat wave that this week would feature cool-weather rainwear, and people, I do not disappoint.

This was my Going To The Mall outfit! I coveted Hunter boots for years and years, but I could never justify a pair since I HAD a solid pair of rain boots. Well, a couple years ago those rain boots – that I bought when the boys were in the double stroller – developed a big crack and no longer served as waterproof footwear, and at the same time these boots were on sale, and kismet. That tweedish coat is lined and only semi-waterproof, so good for Going To The Mall, but not great for Walking In The Rain, and it dates from 2014. Fun fact: I have coordinated the detailing of my mask with my lavender yoga pants. I won’t be sad to see the end of the pandemic, but mask-outfit coordinating is still really fun.

Pandemic Reading

The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle. Ernie (HI ERNIE) mentioned that she was reading this for book club, so I put it on hold; it came in quickly and then I…put off reading it, renewing it until I could renew no more. Fun fact: for a while it was in the same pile with The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. I was reticent to read it because a) it’s a murder mystery, a genre I do not generally like, b) it’s also kind of sci-fi, c) it’s written by a man, and d) Allison, (HI ALLISON) who DID like it, thought I wouldn’t, and she’s generally right. Well, I didn’t really like it but I didn’t hate it, it’s very cleverly written, although it felt too long and drawn out for me. I kept thinking this book has GOT to be over soon, why are there still 150 pages left to read, wait, ANOTHER new character, what is happening. Also it felt like it was written in the hopes someone would pick up the film rights which, did they? Is this a movie? I could see this being a successful movie. Not for me but if you like murder mysteries and sci-fi, you’d probably like it.

Murder On My Mind: A Memoir of Menopause. The title ALONE made me want to read this. Reading this is like having a conversation with a very good friend or a sister who is not afraid to talk about the gritty and somewhat gory details of menopause. I am all for normalizing these conversations, despite what society in general and clothing manufacturers in particular think, we do not disappear with age and declining fertility. I think we should have a Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret-style revival, but with menopause instead of first periods and bras. Fun fact: the author lives in Calgary!

Lucky. If you’re looking for a light and satisfying summer read, look no further! A grifter pulls off a heist, and also has a winning lottery ticket in her pocket. But she can’t cash it without turning herself in. What to do? 

Have a beautiful week, everyone! Here, the kids are going into final exams and everything feels very June-ish, which is not unexpected, as it is the middle of June. xo

Dented Self-Esteem; Fifty-Nine Weeks In

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That’s A Dent To The Self-Esteem

I was asked if I wanted the seniors’ discount last week at Shoppers, so perhaps my skin-care routine isn’t working the way I had hoped.

The worst part is that I didn’t even get the discount. After the woman said “Are we doing the seniors’ discount today?” in the pleasantest voice, unaware of my dented self-esteem, I hesitated and said “Um, sure,” at which point she looked at me suspiciously and told me, sternly that I needed to be 55 plus. The only thing that would have been more awkward about this exchange is if she asked for proof of ID, and I would have been exposed as a liar for a discount that I never asked for in the first place, while a lineup of people idled behind me. I mean, it’s only ten percent, what price my dignity here? How badly do I want that extra $4.50?

Why did you ASK then? I did NOT say, but thought, because kindness is important even when a person is implying that you are nine years older than you actually are, and working in customer service is difficult at the best of times, and we have been in a global pandemic for fifty-nine weeks. I admitted that no, I was not 55, and then the woman proceeded to ask three times if I wanted a bag, which I did not, and I took my Advil and my nail polish remover and left the premises, only a little bit shattered.

Two things: I worked as a waitress for years while in university, and I never ONCE asked if a person required the seniors’ discount. I applied it only when asked, or if someone was obviously an octogenarian, or if they were regular customers who always asked for the discount. Believe me, with a last name like MacPherson, I will ASK for my ten percent off at Shopper’s the second I am eligible. The other thing is that I was at the garden centre a few weeks ago and I overheard the cashier asking the couple buying fertilizer for proof of age in order to get the discount. These people were 80 if they were a day. Apparently the garden centre has problems with people claiming the seniors’ discount who aren’t actually seniors, which, well. I love a good discount so I am not going to criticize, but it was odd to see this elderly couple dig for their driver’s licenses, and my paranoia about being asked for proof of age is based on real-life experiences.

Not In Our Lifetime, Clifford

My husband has a new toy:

He’s wanted an espresso machine for years, and after working from home for so long, and the Starbucks down the street closing, AND a highly-rated model going on sale at Costco online, he finally purchased one. He’s really missed his afternoon Americano and his latte and what have you, and meanwhile I am happy because I can drink my morning pot of coffee in peace, without someone trying to pour a cup at 8:00 am and finding there are only two ounces left in the pot, leading to the question did you drink all the coffee? Of course I drank all the coffee, by 8:00 am I’ve been up for hours, I am a quantity-over-quality girl when it comes to my pot of not-strong black Kirkland Signature. Anyway, he loves his new toy, I love my copious amounts of weak coffee, we have marital harmony, all is good.

Sometimes when we get an item like this in our house, I think of a conversation between my grandparents, years ago. My grandma had bought a bread machine, and my grandpa wondered if the machine would pay for itself in cost savings, by making bread at home instead of buying it. My grandma replied Not in our lifetime, Clifford, which should be embroidered on a pillow somewhere. Not in our lifetime, Clifford pops into my head when I think of the vegetables I am hopefully going to harvest from my new, not-cheap raised beds. Will they pay for themselves? Not in our lifetime, Clifford. Will the espresso machine pay for itself in homemade Americanos instead of Starbucks runs? Well, Starbucks is pretty expensive, so MAYBE in our lifetime, Clifford. But probably not.

Bananas for Bananas

The only complaint I have about the espresso machine is that it takes up space on the countertop that used to be where I kept the bananas. This might seem insignificant to most of you, and from Sunday through Tuesday it’s not a huge problem, but on grocery day and beyond things get a little crowded.

What can I say, we go through a lot of bananas in this house. I’d say we average 25 a week, depending on the season and what other kind of fruit is in the house. Twenty would be the absolute minimum, although we have gone as high as 35. Anyway, after reading Suzanne’s blog about bananas (HI SUZANNE) I had a craving for banana “nice cream.” Usually I blend together frozen bananas with cocoa powder and almond milk, and top it all off with homemade magic shell, but I was jonesing for a little chocolate-peanut butter action.

People. I blended together frozen bananas with peanut butter and almond milk, then stirred in mini Reece Pieces, and swirled the whole thing with homemade chocolate sauce and it was like a choir of angels burst into my kitchen and started singing.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Go Back Into The Water

I got my period for the first time in a very long time; it had been so long since I’ve had a Ladies’ Holiday that I was actually wondering if that was it, if I was entering the Change of Life. My period tracker on my Garmin app kept cheerfully reminding me that it was almost that time, and to make sure I log my symptoms, and I kept having to adjust the calendar, until I wondered if the app was going to blow up and uninstall itself.

The weird thing is that I had absolutely zero warning; I was as taken aback by its sudden appearance as a young teenager who wears white pants to school and doesn’t carry supplies in her backpack. In the days prior I didn’t feel like stabbing anyone for not putting the empty toilet paper roll in the recycling, even though it’s RIGHT THERE, I didn’t have breasts swelling out past my tank tops and bras, I didn’t have to surreptitiously use my sons’ acne medication, I wasn’t even a little bit emotional. I mean, I heard Landslide on the radio and I did NOT burst into tears. Am I a robot now? You might think the moderate craving for peanut butter and chocolate could be correlated with the upcoming Ladies’ Holidays, but I make a big Sunday dinner with dessert every week, and every week that dessert is just what I feel like having, and so I think any correlation would be coincidental. Anyway, I was startled to wake up to Aunt Flo knocking at my door with her suitcase in tow.

The excitement I felt at the possibility of entering my Next Stage of Womanhood probably goes against my feelings about being asked about the seniors’ discount, but emotions are complex, and here we are.

Outfit of the Week

The snow has melted – for now – and I was able to get a bit of gardening and yard work in this week. This week’s outfit features a t-shirt I bought in Maui for FIVE AMERICAN DOLLARS back in 2016, or possibly 2015.

You cannot expect a lot for five dollars, but this top has served me well. The only thing is that it’s quite short, and so I always wear a tank top underneath as this is not 1993 and I am no longer a person who wears crop tops, no matter how fashionable they may be right now. The tank top and jeans have made appearances on OOTW before; and those shoes are my designated garden shoes because they have a flower design on them. Dress for the job you want, people, and the job I want is to work in my back yard.

Pandemic Reading

Small Game Hunting at the Local Coward Gun Club. This was highly recommended to me by a friend (HI TARYN) and the writing really is excellent; the characters are complex and intertwined. It is also literally the saddest book I have ever read in my entire life, and I’ve read some doozies. Like, this blows Of Mice and Men completely out of the water, in terms of sadness, and that is my measuring stick. HOO BOY. It is as bleak, dismal, depressing, dark, and gritty as February in Newfoundland, which is where this book takes place.

Brave New World. Ugh. My older son is studying this in English and so I pulled out my own copy to reread and discuss with him. I last read it when I was a teen and now remember why I haven’t read it since. I know, I know, it’s an important book, but to me it’s a total snore. Me: I don’t like this book. My husband: why, was it written by a man? Why yes. I remember when I first read this, back in the 90s, I was puzzled as to why they refer to women as being “pneumatic.” I looked it up in the dictionary and it didn’t make sense. People, I was 46 years old before I discovered, as my son says, that they are referring to her breasts. And ass. Of course they are. Male writers, am I right? I know, I know, it was incredible for its time, satire, the dangers of population control and consumerism, etcetera, but ugh all the same. Oh! The only other thing I remembered from this book – other than the puzzling pneumatic statements – is the saying “Spending instead of mending” which isn’t even correct. It’s “ENDING instead of spending,” which, my way makes more sense.

The Mothers. Now THIS is a book! This was an excellent read about friends, secrets, and the different definitions of mothering. It was so good; I liked Bennett’s The Vanishing Half but I think this was even better. I highly recommend it.

Happy May, everyone! May your week be filled with sunshine. xo