Category Archives: Rexing Ball

Seasonal Specialties

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It’s that time again!

Did I scream a little in delight at seeing them in Costco? Yes I did. Did the woman who was looking at them curiously step away in low-key alarm? Yes she did. No matter. Kalette season is absolutely glorious, and those little cruciferous treats are a glowing light in the darkness.

It’s November. We live in Canada. I said that at Sunday dinner and my older son looked at me with a forced neutral expression. Facts? he said, but I wasn’t stating the obvious for no reason. I was commenting on the very low number of daylight hours right now – and it’s only going to get lower! – no matter where one is in the geographic time zone. Right now the sun sets at 4:02 pm, which means that the world is dusky around three and completely pitch black by five. Until I moved here I had never experienced precipitation in November as anything other than snow, the musical stylings of Guns and Roses notwithstanding. However, in addition to the super-early darkness, it’s been very drizzly and grey over the past couple of weeks. What I’m saying is that I’m leaning in to coziness and light.

As an aside, a few weeks ago my friend Cara (HI CARA) mentioned that Axl Rose is an anagram, after which I read Long Island Compromise, so it feels like the Baader Meinhof effect is in full force.

We are not much of a Soup Family; I make soup at most four to six times a year. I know! I know. But we just aren’t a family of soup lovers. However, I had a baguette left over from Big Salad Night, and so I whipped up some roasted butternut squash soup – using one of my many garden offerings – and topped it with crispy roasted lentils. It was so warming and cozy.

When the guys were looking for gift suggestions for me, I brought up a cookbook that I thought was interesting, to which they responded Why? You never use cookbooks. It’s true. I free-style almost everything, including that soup, and it generally turns out well. But cookbooks are so pretty to look at!

Speaking of recipes, some of you may have noticed that my Soul, Food recipe index is no longer functioning. Longtime readers will remember that I had a weekly recipe column on the YMC website from 2013-2017. Erica, the website owner, recently retired and I did not realize this would mean that the entire site would be shut down and four years’ worth of weekly recipes would be lost to the ether, forever. I am practicing non-attachment.

One of the most popular was a recipe I make only once annually, and that is my grandma’s gingersnaps. I baked up a batch this weekend, which felt wonderfully cozy and festive. If you too wish to have six or seven dozen gingersnaps at your disposal, cream together 1 cup each of soft butter and molasses, add 1 cup of brown sugar and 1 1/4 cup white sugar (yes, it is a lot of sugar, these are cookies, let’s all settle down). Add 2 eggs and 1 tablespoon of vanilla; once that is all blended together mix in 2 teaspoons of baking soda, 2 1/2 teaspoons of ground ginger, and 4 cups of flour. At this point I put the mixing bowl in the fridge for a couple of hours, and then when I’m ready to bake I roll the dough into one-inch balls, rolling each of the balls in white sugar to coat. Bake – ON PARCHMENT PAPER-LINED COOKIE SHEETS, DO NOT SKIP THIS STEP – at 375 degrees, or 350 convection. I like a really chewy cookie so I bake them for eight to ten minutes maximum, but if you want a typical snappy gingersnap, bake a few minutes longer.

I MAY have snapped at my husband and son for snapping up gingersnaps before I snapped a photo.

The coziest, most seasonal news of all is that as of yesterday, the tree is up! I love our insane mishmash of holiday ornaments and decorations. What we lack in artistic cohesiveness, we make up in pure nostalgia and happiness. In the next few weeks, the sun will be setting before 4:00, but the holiday glow is enough for me.

Weekly Reading

I Hope This Finds You Well. Last week I mentioned my strange run of books that dealt with premature death and its devastating aftermath, and said that I needed to read something light. When this popped up on my holds list, I thought perfect. It’s billed as a “wildly funny, heart-warming office comedy.” Sometimes I think there is something vastly wrong with me because books that are marketed as “laugh out loud” funny never are to me, whereas I was crying with laughter while reading Long Island Compromise. Anyway, I think it’s a huge disservice to bill this book as a comedy because it really isn’t – it deals with trauma, depression, alcohol abuse, drug abuse, domestic abuse, infidelity, child neglect – although there are very heart-warming moments. Jolene is a traumatized, socially awkward, anxious woman who discovers through a glitch in her computer that a) her office mates are all talking about her behind her back, and b) there are layoffs coming down the pipe and she might be one of them. So it’s kind of the socially anxious person’s nightmare. It’s office politics with grown-up mean girls. There are some great messages in here: the people in your life are important, everyone has things they are dealing with, opening your heart to people leads to better understanding and friendships. Also, you know I love championing female Canadian authors, particularly debut authors, and this author is from Calgary! The book takes place in Calgary, and there are all sorts of place references in which I was saying “I know where that is! I know where that is!” and the company is “Supershops” which seems to be a play on Superstore, also a place of which I am very familiar. I love that, even if I didn’t love this book.

Margo’s Got Money Troubles. Another book that was very different than I thought it would be – but in this case, it was in a brilliant way. The plot synopsis sounds like this is a zany raunchy comedy: at nineteen, Margo finds herself pregnant by her college professor, who wants nothing to do with the baby that she decides to keep. Her mother, an ex-Hooters waitress now in a relationship with a super-religious guy, is not supportive but her father, an ex-pro wrestler, is. He moves in at the same time Margo loses her job and realizes that she had no plan for childcare or income after the baby was born. What to do? Well, what she decides to do is to start an Only Fans account, taking advice from her dad on how to create a character and market herself. Sounds like a silly romp, right? But it’s one of the most thoughtful, fascinating, ultimately heart-warming book. It’s so witty and smart, and the writing on a line level is frankly brilliant. It IS very funny, but subtly so, and the author makes a really interesting stylistic choice: sometimes it is in the first person, sometimes in the third person, depending on Margo’s feelings about the subject at hand. When she goes into the third person, it’s when Margo wants to view her younger self with love and compassion, and it’s just so powerful. As a reader, it’s a very meta experience as the book explores character development in entertainment, making it feel like we are breaking the fourth wall in a way. I had an extra jolt of enjoyment because of the pro wrestling thing: as we all know, the males in the Boyhouse are all well-versed in that world, and I had some great discussions with my younger son, as he gave me more information on different wrestlers that were mentioned in the book, their characters and backstories. It really added to the experience. As a whole, it’s an intersection between the Madonna and the Whore, it’s a commentary on women’s autonomy over their own bodies, it highlights how society views young mothers and sex workers, and it asks the question as to what is a good life, and who is entitled to it? Every character is complex and nuanced. It’s a really brilliant book. Here is a quote that left me breathless: People are all so lonely. Even when they do horrible things, if often comes down to that, if only you take the time to understand them. It seemed like that should mean the world could be better, that people could help each other, like Jesus said. And yet that’s not what happens. That hardly ever seems to happen at all. Also this: I had always thought that love was supposed to come from other people, and somehow, I was failing to catch the crumbs of it, failing to eat them, and I went around belly empty and desperate. I didn’t know the love was supposed to come from within me, and that as long as I loved others, the strength and warmth of that love would fill me, make me strong. I mean. Does it get better than that?

Speaking of things that couldn’t be better, Rex allowed me to dress him up festively, only going through three stages of grief: depression, bargaining, and acceptance.

Happy last week of November, friends. I hope you have a week full of light and coziness. xo

Three For Thursday: Dinner, Dog, Domestic Duties

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Cozy Dinner Season Begins

Gardening season is wrapping up for the year, but the zucchinis and tomatoes are still going strong. You would think we would all be tired of those things, but I made a Buddha bowl last weekend and was astonished when my son said that the zucchini was a great addition.

I have filled my freezer both with bags of grated zucchini and roasted tomatoes. The garden has produced more tomatoes than anyone could possibly consume, and that is coming from someone who can consume a lot of tomatoes. I don’t want to can them, and so I roast them with olive oil and freeze them; pureed with pasta water and a little bit of goat or cashew cheese makes for a really incredible sauce. Roasted zucchini goes great with it!

I still have some cilantro, but I feel like its days are numbered. I love it sprinkled on top of stir-fry. Note that there is zucchini in there.

My second planting of kale, spinach, and lettuce has been prolific, but I think this might be the last big homegrown salad of the year. It will be strange to buy greens again.

For the record, there was no zucchini in that salad.

The Grocery Shopping Never Ends, Neither Does The Laundry

The garden has definitely had a huge impact on the amount of produce I need to buy every week, but even so, I am constantly astounded by the sheer volume of groceries I buy for our household of now-three.

I went to Costco on Tuesday, which wasn’t the best idea given I was having the kind of day that was just filled with constant tiny annoyances. Typically I launder all the sheets on Tuesdays, and I decided to throw in my duvet cover and pillow shams as well, which resulted in said duvet cover and my fitted sheet cannibalizing all the other linens. While they were, unbeknownst to me, becoming a tangled, soggy mess in the dryer, I blithely thought to launder the pillows as well, which kept unbalancing the washer load. When the washer was stuck in spin mode at the four-minute mark for over twenty minutes, I clued in that something was wrong. By the time I resolved these very minor, but annoying laundry crises, I was not in the best mental space to tackle Costco, but I did it anyway.

My thinking was that Tuesday was far enough ahead of the Thanksgiving weekend, and that it wouldn’t be too crazy, but I was wrong. I was wrong. It turns out every elderly, slow-moving, sample-eating, spatially-unaware person in the surrounding area ALSO thought Tuesday would be far enough ahead of Thanksgiving to be a good time to go to Costco.

Now, listen. One day, hopefully, I will be one of those elderly, slow-moving people in Costco, stocking up to host the whole family for a holiday meal. Hopefully we all will be! But as god is my witness, I will never stand in the middle of the aisle eating a dixie cup filled with a sample of ravioli or frozen mixed vegetables, I will never take two carts, trainlike, and block off the entire frozen fruit section, and I will never angle my cart sideways in the produce section and then leave said cart to check on my husband in baked goods, while clusters of people become stuck in the giant refrigerator, experiencing the Costco equivalent of road rage when they are just trying to get a goddamn bag of broccoli, Carol.

I was trying to be zen about it. I mean, it’s not like an extra ten minutes was going to kill me. All the same, I had to go into the Christmas section to calm myself down. I was incredibly soothed by the displays, and I considered buying myself a giant Snoopy-themed holiday gift basket, but decided that $39 was too much to spend on something filled with things I have no use for, like hot chocolate bombs and marshmallow cookies. Still, the mug was cute.

Since the closure of Hallmark stores several years ago, I have not been able to find really nice gift wrap for birthdays and such. I always wished that Costco would make a non-holiday version of their high-quality gift wrap, and people! They have! If I hadn’t been so annoyed by my fellow aged shoppers, I would never have soothed myself in the Christmas section, and I would have never found a three-pack of beautiful, double-sided paper. The universe works in strange ways.

Two Year Rexaversary

Two years ago today, we were given the most wonderful gift: Rex. I am grateful every day we were chosen to be his family.

Rex is the epitome of joy, and I feel like we could all take lessons from him. When I open his crate in the morning, he reacts with such excitement and happiness to see me, and that sets the tone for the day. Every single thing is exciting to him: walking, gardening, getting a treat, finding a stick, and sitting with me while I write, fold the laundry, or make dinner. He loves to go for car rides; it doesn’t matter where, as long as he’s with me. He is just pure cheer and joy, and we love that giant fuzzy goofball.

How lucky we are. How grateful I am. Happy Thanksgiving, friends. xo

Nature, Nurture, Nerd

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I am very accustomed to drawing a lot of attention on my daily walk, because I am accompanied by a living embodiment of a gigantic cartoon dog whose facial expression is exactly this for the duration:

Every day people pass me and actually laugh at him, in a good-natured, look at that silly dog kind of way. He’s a happy guy is something I hear many times a week. I am constantly being stopped and asked what breed he is, how much he weighs, what is his name, can they pet him.

So I’m used to attention and being stopped and spoken to, and therefore I thought nothing of it as a gentleman jogger approached me and started talking. He wanted to let me know that there was a vole on the path that didn’t seem to be moving. I was happy for this information so that I could be on guard. Last week on a walk Rex pounced into a garden full of daylilies and, startlingly, half-killed a small bird, leaving it flapping and bleeding on the sidewalk. It was, needless to say, very upsetting.

It reminded me of how Barkley, who looked exactly like a Gund stuffed animal, was actually a blood-thirsty killer. He once cornered and caught a squirrel and then tried to break its neck, he mangled a bird in our backyard that I THINK was already knocked out by hitting a window, but who knows, maybe Barkley was faster than I thought, and, unspeakably, ate an entire mouse, which I found out the hard way. Do not ask me what that hard way was, let us never speak of this again.

What I am saying is that I am no stranger to horror masked in furry adorableness.

I appreciated the public service announcement about the vole, not wanting another to deal with another harrowing Rex-versus-small-wildlife incident. Less appreciated was the way the man kept looking at my chest as if I was Marilyn Monroe reincarnated. I thanked him and went on my way.

It was so strange, every man who passed me kept glancing at my chest and then smiling at me. This would have been par for the course back in my youth; in those days, men had no compunction about ogling a young woman’s chest in a not-secret way, and also I was a lot more, shall we say, gifted back then. However, in the year of our lord 2024, I like to think that ogling isn’t the socially-sanctioned pastime it used to be, and also, the girls are not the glorious globes that they once were. Not to be too descriptive, but let’s think of semi-deflated water balloons, and you’ll probably have a good idea why I never go braless. Well, that and I can’t stand the feeling of being free and floppy.

On the way to the family reunion in August, we had stopped at my aunt’s house and I ended up visiting with one of my older cousins who I don’t see often at all. He told me that he had stopped using social media as his wife was worried about internet safety and stalking, to which I replied that I had reached a stage in life where I would be a little flattered to have a stalker. I was, of course, joking – NO ONE STALK ME PLEASE – but I thought of that as I walked with Rex, being the recipient of many chest-glances. I had this strange mix of what is with all these creepy perverts at 7:30 am and still got it, baby. As I have said many times before: life is a tapestry.

It wasn’t until I got back to my car and caught a glimpse at my reflection in the window when I remembered what tee I had pulled on that morning.

Well. That explained that.

It is widely believed that dogs react to the energy of the household and take on personality aspects of the owners, and I think that has been very true in my case with both Rex and Barkley. Those aspects do not, however, overpower their inherent nature, as evidenced by the fact that when opportunity strikes, they become killing machines disguised as fuzzy cutesters.

And for me, there is no overcoming my natural nerdy tendencies, particularly when it comes to announcing such tendencies to the world, and completely forgetting such announcements.

Weekly Reading

Speaking of (book) nerdy tendencies, I had a couple of interesting and thought-provoking reads this week. I have a lot to say, so buckle up!

Splinters: Another Kind of Love Story. About her best friend, the author of this memoir wrote: “It was that she felt, in certain ways, fatigued by our friendship. I was always in the midst of some dramatic transformation…I was always poised at the threshold of some major change, or reeling in its aftermath. She said ‘It gets exhausting.’” I feel like that summarizes my experience reading this book – which, I will hasten to add, is absolutely gorgeously written and completely compelling. But it is kind of exhausting and I feel like if I was this woman’s friend, I would feel similarly fatigued. The author is a sober alcoholic who essentially transfers her neediness and addictive behaviour to the care of her infant daughter. I mean, I feel for this child. I cannot imagine what her life is going to be like in the future. Anyway, the author separates from her husband, who, by the way, is a widower and still grieving his first wife and really, THIS IS A BAD IDEA. They were in couples therapy when they decided I know, let’s have a baby to fix this marriage, which, no no no no no. Surprise surprise, the marriage is in shambles, and the author rails against custody for him, not because he isn’t a caring father – he has a child from his first marriage who is mentioned only as a passing fact once – but because she doesn’t want her baby to be away from her. She doesn’t want her baby to have two homes. The description of her marriage reminds me of my theory that relationships between two creatives are usually doomed. I’m sure the blame goes both ways, there are two sides to every story and her ex does sound like a dreadful, angry man. But also? His first wife just died of cancer and he was writing a book about the experience while he was married to this author. SO MUCH TO UNPACK. Anyway, post-separation she very quickly becomes involved with a man who doesn’t believe in monogamy, but she can CHANGE HIM. Well, until he gives her chlamydia. Here is the PSA I will put into the world: girls, you will never change him. People are who they are, do not go into a relationship thinking well, I can fix that. It’s not fair to either party. This is such a chaotic memoir but who wants to read about a dull life? I couldn’t put this down, honestly, so well done, I guess? I applaud the author for her vulnerability and also her self-awareness. It takes a lot of bravery to paint such an unflattering portrait of oneself.

A History of Burning. CANADIAN AUTHOR ALERT! Wow, this is an absolutely incredible epic story of a family, spanning 1898 in India to 1992 in Canada. The family starts with a teenage boy living in poverty in India; he is promised a job and a better life, and ends up, unknowingly, getting on a rickety boat heading to what is now Kenya to build the railroad. He realizes the terrible things he needs to do just to survive and to find that better life, and he does them. He ends up in Uganda, where his family lives for seven decades before being ousted by Idi Amin’s rule. There they go to Canada, which ends up not to be the promised land for “their kind,” but they work to build that better life and community. It is devastatingly sad, heart-pumpingly terrifying, and incredibly touching story. It is so well done, so thoughtful, so perceptive, so eye-opening. There is a very interesting literary device: each chapter is told from the point of view of a different character, in the third person close, until about 2/3 of the way through the book, in which it switches to first person for one character only. This line near the end summarizes everything: “They left to keep their family whole, something their ancestors had understood. But this time, it was their choice…How sometimes, holding on required letting go.” Chills!

Speaking of letting go and nature versus nurture, this weekend I listened to a podcast about, of all things, Finding Nemo. It has been many, many years since I have seen that movie, but it was interesting to hear the discourse about parenting styles and anxious overparenting. I listened to this podcast just after I had been subjected to a very tiresome conversation about being a parent of adult children, and as I listened I couldn’t stop considering it. I think I have completely morphed, parenting-wise, into Crush the turtle. There was a Dory quote discussed a lot in the podcast: If nothing ever happens to him, then nothing will ever happen to him and here I am, quoting words of wisdom from a cartoon fish.

On that note, I hope you all have a wonderful week in which lovely things happen to all of you. xo

Six Wildly Random, Semi-Related Things

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Gnot Cool. I enjoy the podcast Decoder Ring, and this past week they had an episode about The History of Lawn Ornaments, and the first half of it was about garden gnomes. I am here for this content! Earlier, CCR (HI CCR) sent me this article about a group IN KELOWNA called the Gnome Restoration Society. At first I was charmed by this idea, then I read it closely and realized that the society TOOK a man’s gnomes, repainted them, and returned them. Doesn’t that feel a bit presumptuous? If I looked out my window one morning and my gnomes were gone, I would be absolutely furious, and/or depressed. Then to return them, all repainted? Keep your hands off Salvadore, Gnome Restoration Society!

What Could It Be? At least twice a day I think about an interview I heard months ago of a woman who is in an open marriage and wrote a book about it; it was one of the wildest, and kind of saddest, things I have ever heard. During the interview she spoke about her husband; she said there was one thing that she would NOT do, sexually speaking, that her husband wanted her to do, and so he enjoyed his part of the open marriage with someone who would do it. My question is, what could this possibly be? She had already talked about her enthusiasm for the following: three-ways and multiple partners at a time, pansexuality, oral, anal, BDSM, spanking, sex toys, dressing up, being tied up, tying her husband up, pornography, filming and being filmed. What else is there? The reason I think of this at least twice a day is that the product that she recommended for the listeners is a waterproof, wipeable dog blanket that is used to cover furniture to protect it from muddy paws, dog hair, and the like. She, however, does not have a dog. She uses it as her sex blanket. I mean. Okay? I guess there are a lot of fluids involved for her, maybe more than I generally think there are. Anyway, I guess I was influenced, not for a sex blanket, but for my actual dog, and not for furniture, but for my car. I found something that covers the back seat and keeps it clean because wow, Rex is pretty dirty after our walks, particularly now that he cools his paws in the creek and then walks on the dirty, sandy paths. But seriously. WHAT ELSE IS THERE?

Hitting The Floor. Listen, it’s not his fault. Rex has giant furry paws and he cannot help being so filthy. Well, it’s partly his fault, because when I’m gardening he rolls down the bank beside the garden, over and over, and that bank is not watered, so he ends up constantly covered in dead grass, which ends up all over the house. This is in addition to all the dirt and sand that gradually falls out of his paws during the day post-walking; well, I feel like I could hire someone to vacuum five times a day every day, and that might keep our floors clean. MIGHT. As it is we are all constantly grabbing the vacuum or broom in a vain attempt to keep from being ankle-deep in filth. We have a very clean and tidy, organized house with the exception of our floors. Our Roombas just are no match for this, we have to do it manually. Well, I remember when Barkley died and the floors were clean; I don’t want that trade-off, so I guess we will all just keep cleaning in the hopes that the floors wills stay clean for more than 30 minutes.

Attack of the Killer Squash. I have never grown a pumpkin before and the plant is literally taking over the garden. Every single day it’s extended its tendrils a little further, and has a few more flowers and tiny tiny pumpkins on its extensive greenery, and I know what I should do is trim it down, but I don’t want to. I want to see what happens. Also, I’m not Almanzo Wilder here, I am not going to start feeding a pumpkin milk so I can win the blue ribbon at the county fair; if I end up with dozens of tiny pumpkins, well, it will be perfect for the upcoming Decorative Gourd Season.

My zucchinis and butternut squash plants are massive as well; all of these were grown from seed and they seem to be in a battle with the pumpkin.

Monsters: A Fan’s Dilemma. It was serendipitous timing that this book came up on my library holds, because there has been a very upsetting revelation recently with regards to someone I deeply admire. If you know me at all, you can probably guess to whom I am referring, but please, I beg of you – I AM ACTUALLY BEGGING, FRIENDS – do not broach the subject with me. I do not want to discuss it, not now, and possibly not ever. But I did find this book extremely helpful for me to process my very complex, very private feelings, as it deals with separating art from artists. Can we separate the art from the artist? If we can, should we? It’s a very nuanced and thoughtful book, the thesis of which is that there is no one answer, and every individual person’s history will inform their reaction to such behaviour, which feels like an obvious conclusion, and yet it was one I appreciated. The author is a memoirist, and can’t seem to help herself – this nonfiction book took a memoir turn in the latter third. I wasn’t surprised to see that the examples of women who were “monstrous” were those who sacrificed their maternal and familial duties for their art, as she drew parallels with her own life, which, okay? In terms of the book, that seemed like a real choice, particularly since the examples of men were true examples of monstrous behaviour: rape, violence, pedophilia. Perhaps the author is making a statement on how men and women are viewed in general by society, and how judged women are for things like not paying enough attention to their children, and how venerated men are for being manly geniuses, who cares if they are violent, mean, and abusive – Picasso and Hemingway are two main examples. It is sad, of course, that Sylvia Plath neglected her children and then killed herself, but that does not seem to be even close to being on par with, say, the actions of Bill Cosby. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s the whole point. Anyway, this book was well worth the read, for me, and gave me a lot of things to think about.

It’s Belle. I had one of those magical Costco trips, wherein I entered the store to complete chaos: lineups snaking down the store, aisles crammed with people waiting for samples, an inability to get from one aisle to the other without cart road rage, until I finished shopping, at which point there were no lineups at all. I sailed over to the checkout and the fellow who was boxing up my groceries said, in the most genial way, “Hi! Who’s your favourite Disney character?” It reminded me of an interview I heard recently where a woman talked about her hatred for small talk and social niceties like asking how are you? This should, in the mind of the interviewee, be abolished. It is useless, she said, and she related a story about how she used to hang up on and threaten to break up with the man she eventually married, until he stopped asking her how she was. It struck me as terribly pretentious and also, we live in a society? Asking other people about themselves, even in the most banal of ways, shows that you are not a narcissistic asshole? However, I will concede that there is only one real answer when a stranger asks how are you, whereas there are many answers to what’s your favourite Disney character, so I think this guy might be on to something. After all, he would probably see thousands of people a day. I related this to my husband later, and he wondered if it was only Disney movies, or if the entire Disney universe is included – Star Wars, Marvel, Muppets – in which case I might have to amend my initial response to include Miss Piggy.

Take a Break! Run Away With Me For The Summer. It’s time for my Summer Blog Break! Take care of yourselves, friends, and I will see you in a couple of weeks. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The “Isn’t Nature Wonderful” Edition

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I have taught hundreds of yoga students over the years, and I don’t like to play favourites – as my dear friend Tara (HI TARA), who teaches kindergarten once said, they’re all my favourites. But if I am being completely honest, I will paraphrase George Orwell and say that some students are more favourite than others, and one of those was a woman in my senior’s class named Judy.

Judy was in her mid-eighties when she joined my class, and she became a most devoted student. I looked forward to seeing her every week because she embodied my entire Life Goals: she brimmed with positivity and light, she was always happy to be there, and when a new student would join she would go out of her way to talk to them and make them feel welcome. She would come to class with her lipstick on, wearing a cute little yoga outfit, and she’d always be a bit early to chat with me about her orchids, her garden, her life. I adored her, and more than that, I want to be her.

One day we were chatting: it was early April in Calgary, which can be nice sometimes, but often it is cold and snowy, and that is exactly what it was like that day. I mentioned to Judy the very hopeful news that I saw a rabbit that was brown; it had lost its winter coat, which meant that warmer weather was coming soon. “Oh,” she sighed with pure delight, “Isn’t nature wonderful?” Ever since that day, which was five years ago now, I have thought isn’t nature wonderful at least once a day, but now, in the spring, it’s more like a dozen times a day.

Every single morning when I’m out walking I notice something new; every morning the world is a little more green, the trees are a little more leafed out, and something new is blooming. Isn’t nature wonderful?

My whole life this week has been overtaken by a different type of nature: the yard is being landscaped. The end result will be so exciting: lush grass for Rex to roll in, big beautiful garden beds to be filled, and the colourful plants that will fill them. The journey to this result, however, is wild.

Within a day, our lawn was ripped up, giant piles of dirt taking its place. Every day there is immense progress, and I am very much looking forward to this journey’s end, a beautiful new yard. That’s a week or so away, though, and until then, I will just revel in the wonders of nature.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The “Isn’t Nature Wonderful” Edition

Ready For Veggies

When my husband retired, I received an enormous amount of unsolicited advice about this event; most people I talked to spoke in worried tones about what my husband was going to do all day. I find this amusing because since the beginning of February I feel like I’ve hardly seen him. He’s been working on this:

Isn’t it amazing? He built the whole thing by himself: measuring and cutting wood, shovelling gravel and dirt, rototilling the ground, and putting up the fencing to keep out the deer. We are going to be very busy this weekend with all the planting. Stay tuned for many, many updates on the harvest.

What Did I Do Again

There are lots of details in my day to day life that I think I will never forget, but I do. I bought this five-year garden journal to keep track of when I plant, how the plants grow, and when everything is ready to be harvested. It has grid pages for planning, and lots of room for details about the varietals of the plants. For example, some of the raspberries need to be completely cut down in the fall, some in the spring, and some only need old wood pruning. There is zero way I am going to keep all of this straight without a written record.

World, Meet Friedrich

While we were at the garden centre, my husband noticed a display of gnomes. I love all gnomes but I really want one to speak to me in order to bring it into the fold. He held his hand over each gnome until I nodded, and now I have Friedrich.

Garden Fashion

My husband gave me this tee for Valentine’s Day, thinking that it would be the perfect gardening attire, what with all the gnomes.

It’s Asparagus Season, Bitches

Asparagus used to grow wild on this property, years ago, when they used a different irrigation method. It’s too dry for that to happen now, so I am just enjoying the asparagus at the grocery store.

All the local gardeners have warned against growing Brussels sprouts, because they are magnets for pest infestation, so, like the asparagus, I am consoling myself by purchasing bags of them at Costco. Would you believe that I’ve never roasted Brussels sprouts before? I have always enjoyed eating roasted Brussels sprouts – and my friend Sammi (HI SAMMI) always cooks them in her air fryer and my god, they are amazing – but I’ve never actually made them myself. Why? I have no idea. But I did this month and drizzled them with a balsamic glaze, and they were delicious.

Outfit of the Month

I went to lunch with some girlfriends a few weeks ago, and it was a gorgeous day, perfect for just a light layer and some unlined tall boots. My boot collection is the reason I still love skinny jeans, despite them purportedly being very out of style. Also? I will be 49 in a couple of days, and I feel that my time for caring about what is in style is in the rearview mirror. Skinny jeans and tall boots for LIFE.

This long black sweater is from Lululemon, circa 2015. It’s a perfect sweater to wear out for lunch, but not really to wear around the house when anything practical is required, because the drapes and folds, while cute and fun, get in the way of everything. My friend Sammi, of air fryer Brussels sprouts fame, gave me that scarf for my birthday YEARS ago. In fact, I think Rex is the newest part of my outfit. Not that he was accessorizing me at lunch – there are many dog-friendly patio places around here, but the thought of taking my big galoompa to a restaurant is alarming – but he makes for a cute photo.

Speaking of cute photos, on our hike last Sunday I was trying to take photos of the flowers, when Rex snuck in front of me and sat down. I’m a flower! Take a picture of me! Well, who am I to say no?

Ah, nature. It really is wonderful. And so are you, dear friends. If you have any Favourites you’d like to share with me, I’d love to hear all about them. xo

Doctor Teeth and the Winter Mayhem

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We received a little blast of winter this past week: a couple of inches of snow, followed a few days later by some cold days, and by “cold,” I mean the low minus 20s. Friends, experiencing forty-eight years of Canadian prairie winters has prepared me for this moment. Never have I felt so hardy. I went to Costco the day after it snowed, and the parking lot was maybe a third full. The entire store was eerily quiet and when I went to check out, the cashier with the most gorgeous head of hair –the secret is Moroccan OIL oil, not the Moroccan oil shampoo, the OIL – told me in all earnestness that the day previous was beyond busy, as people prepared for The Big Storm. I blinked a couple of times, thinking about the two inches of snow and the temperature around zero. I felt not unlike Lieutenant Dan in the crowsnest of the Jenny, screaming “You call this a storm?”

My mother-in-law has, over the past six months, expressed amazed astonishment at my willingness to leave the house in even the slightest bit of inclement weather. I will take this at face value as a perceived compliment on my strength of spirit, even though I think it is completely unwarranted; she praised me for being brave for driving in These Conditions, These Conditions, again, being two inches of snow and slightly icy streets. In Calgary, if you didn’t go out when there was snow on the ground, you would never go out. Rex and I need our daily constitutional – I am not sure which of us need it more, to be honest – and so the streets shall be braved.

In addition to our daily walk, which is typically around six kilometres, give or take a little, Rex goes out a few times a day to do what we call Exploring. We have two acres of unfenced property, and let me tell you, the “unfenced” detail was cause for much concern on my part prior to and during the move. What if he chases an animal and get lost, what if he runs away, what if he goes onto the road and gets hit by a car. It turns out that all those worries, like most worries, were merely depleting my mental resources and were ultimately unfounded; dogs can be trained to obey property lines, even unfenced ones. There are dogs at all three of the nearest properties to us, and they all stay on their own properties, more or less, unless two or more dogs are out at the same time. In that case, all bets are off and a dog party will certainly ensue. I have looked out the window to see Rex in a cluster of dogs at the end of the grape rows, all happily wagging and sniffing. After a few minutes of this they all magically return to their own places.

Of all the things I should never have worried about, Rex running away would be top of the list. Rex likes to be within sight of me or, more preferably, within petting distance at any given moment in the day. In my recently Ask Me Anything, Engie (HI ENGIE) wondered what a day in the life of Rex was like, and, other than the Explorations, his day is my day. He gets up when I do, around 4:30, and hangs out with me while I practice yoga and exercise, he is in the kitchen when I’m cooking or in the office when I’m writing. If I’m folding laundry or reading he is directly at my feet. When I shower I will open the bathroom door to find him directly on the other side of it. He is my fuzzy shadow and I really love it.

That is why last Thursday was so strange, because he was at the vet all day getting a dental cleaning. No one followed me from room to room! No one lay down directly behind the rolling office chair, so I could stand up and sit down with complete impunity, with no worries that I would accidentally roll onto a fuzzy body part! I went into the pantry without anyone at my heels, hopefully looking at the container of freeze-dried liver!

Do not get me started about the ridiculousness of a professional dental cleaning for a two-year-old dog; despite the fact that for the past nine months I have brushed his teeth and given him a dental chew every single day without fail, he still had pretty massive tartar buildup. I think Barkley was eight or nine by the time we had to give him a cleaning, but here we are with Rex, age two.

It’s funny how seasons of life change. With the kids I went through years of toothbrushing instruction, semi-annual dental cleanings, and braces, my god, the braces. I spent so many years in the orthodontist office – or, in the case of the pandemic, the orthodontist parking lot – and I figured that once my children were grown, the only teeth I would need to think about would be my own. And now here I am, brushing my dog’s teeth with beef-flavoured toothpaste, checking his gums, and having earnest conversations with the vet about the dental genetics of different breeds. If you’re interested, poodles and terriers have, in the vet’s words, the Worst Teeth Of All. That was interesting to me, as my childhood dog, Spike, was a terripoo. I asked my mom if he had bad teeth, and she couldn’t remember. But then again, she said to me, we didn’t BRUSH dogs’ teeth back then. True enough.

Weekly Reading

Speaking of my mom, she happened to mention that it was minus 55 with windchill at her place, minus 42 ambient. It sure made our little blast of cold seem cute! But it was still a chilly weekend, so I lived La Vida Hygge, wrapping up well for our walks and spending the rest of the time puzzling, reading, and, obviously because this is my life, cooking. Some hits and misses in the book department this week; here we go:

More Myself. My son very thoughtfully bought this book for me for Christmas, knowing that I love a) Alicia Keys and b) memoir about women, specifically celebrity women. And I will say that Alicia Keys has had an incredible life; she is a talent beyond talent, a woman who has been writing, composing, and producing her own music since she was fourteen years old. Fourteen is also when she met Krucial, who was her first serious boyfriend. He was 24, and a father. I HAVE SOME QUESTIONS. In his (very slight) defense she told him she was 17 (still not cool, omg), so imagine his shock when, two years later they are LIVING TOGETHER and he discovers her real age. Which was sixteen. Good lord. The way she glosses over that detail in this book is really unsettling. Anyway, she is an incredibly talented woman who has also started a number of social justice campaigns as well as a charity that supplies antiviral medication to babies of women living with HIV, so that they do not contract the virus through breast milk. All great stuff, right? Well, let me tell you, despite the incredible wealth of material, this memoir is SO DAMN BORING. There is a part where she relates a conversation with Oprah, who tells her to keep her private life private, as her Stedman relationship going public is a huge regret for her. Alicia apparently takes this to heart because there is NO juice here. It reads like a matter-of-fact listing of her professional and personal accomplishments, completely devoid of any emotion or vulnerability. Even when discussing a nervous breakdown that led her to a transformative solo trip to Egypt, it was like “I was overtaxed and exhausted. I went to Egypt. It was a transformative experience.” As a memoir, it fails.

Games and Rituals. I really love everything this author has written, and this newest collection of short stories is no exception. This is my favourite genre: everyday, ordinary occurrences made extraordinary. This is Writing Goals right here! The sign of a really good short story is that it makes you think about all the backstory that isn’t there, the iceberg beneath the surface, so to speak. I loved it. There is one particular story about a woman and her elderly father that I will be thinking about for a long time.

Cat’s Eye. Recently Allison (HI ALLISON) mentioned her daughter reading her copy of Bluebeard’s Egg, and that set off a massive craving in me to read some Atwood. I wanted a novel, not short stories, and Cat’s Eye is perfectly suited to January: much of it takes place in the dreary, drab winters of Toronto. I have read this many times and every time I read it, it hits just a little bit differently. I find something new to identify with every single time I read this moving story about a woman who returns to Toronto, the city of her youth, and is confronted by all the myriad ghosts of her past. I have always found this book to be one of the most realistic when it comes to how young girls behave towards each other, the various cruelties that girls and women can inflict on each other, and the lifelong effects of the small and larger traumas experienced in youth. It’s about healing and understanding. It is a work of art, full stop.

Our winter blast seems to be waning and it looks to be a beautiful week ahead. I hope you are all staying warm and maybe also living La Vida Hygge where you are. xo

Cognitive Dissonance, Coney Island, Cows

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I have been having such a strange cognitive dissonance for this entire month. My brain knows it is November. The short amount of daylight indicates it is November. And yet my body seems to think that it is the end of September; perhaps, at best, the beginning of October.

I blame the weather. There is no snow, it is very mild, and there are still leaves on some of the trees. After a lifetime in Calgary, in which November is firmly a Winter Month, I’m finding it strange to still be in fall. I have to keep reminding myself of the date, and that December is THIS WEEK.

I did kick it into high gear last week, finishing my cards and making a few festive treats:

And of course, this happened:

I love our style of tree decorating, which is crazy and maximalist. Putting up the tree is a Whole Family Affair around here, and it’s always so fun to see all the ornaments that we have amassed over the years. It was especially fun this year, with finding places for decorations in the new house.

We add at least one new ornament to our tree each year and it usually says something about our lives. When the boys were little my parents would also give them ornaments that complemented their then-current obsessions, which means our tree features everything from tractors to Star Wars characters. It’s a fun trip down memory lane, is what I’m saying, and although it wouldn’t win any decor awards, I love it so much. When it comes to Christmas decorations, more is more, in my humble, festive opinion.

I was delighted to discover a Christmas store in Maui – sadly, I have no idea if it is still there, as it was on the main street in Lahaina. Anyway, I purchased an ornament for the whole family and one specifically for Rex.

Speaking of Big Silly, he was temporarily sporting a new look this week.

Poor puppy! I’ll spare you the details but he had a bit of an infection on the top of his paw, and although he was clearly in no pain and has his usual level of Big Energy, wearing a giant cone was an adjustment. He could not fit into his crate with his cone on, he constantly bumped into everything, and we are all realizing how often he affectionately smushes his face into our legs, as we now had a cone enthusiastically nudging our bodies dozens of times a day. Usually his frantically wagging tail is what accidentally knocks things over, now we have been constantly on guard for both ends.

It’s like living with the big guy at the party wearing a lampshade on his head, all the time. We took him for his one-week follow-up, and he bounded out of the car and enthusiastically jammed his cone against the window of the hair salon next to the vet, to the immense merriment of everyone inside. Then, he pulled enthusiastically to get in the actual vet, and if you’ve never had to corral an excited 97 pound dog in a small waiting room space who has noticed friends, there are dogs here, ahhhhh, never mind that those dogs are sick and scared and not at all interested in being greeted by him, well, you don’t know excitement. “Rex has arrived!” the cheerful receptionist said, speaking volumes. He jumped onto the scale, over and over, remembering how he got treats to be weighed, and we should all be so enthusiastic when faced with such an opportunity.

In an only somewhat futile attempt to keep his paws clean, I have been avoiding the dog park and the adjacent Golden Mile this week, instead walking him along Lakeshore Road and up through the urban landscape that is beside one of the main thoroughfares in the city.

Am I even living in a city? I don’t know anymore. There are cows down the street from the library, people. Do not get me wrong, I love that there are orchards and vineyards and livestock in the city limits, I do love it. It’s so pretty and peaceful, even if Rex does think that the myriad fields with cows and horses are full of friends to play with and bark at, which makes it quite a bit less peaceful.

Weekly Reading

Sure I’ll Join Your Cult. I had heard about this book on a podcast and it sounded quite funny. Well. Sometimes a person is a great oral storyteller but it does not translate to the written page. This is ostensibly a comedy memoir about the author’s mental health struggles, but it was so damn depressing I barely could read it.

The Dead Romantics. This book is a creative mix of love story, ghost story, and family story: a girl who grows up in a funeral home and who can see ghosts goes home for her father’s funeral, where she falls in love with…a ghost. It’s not my taste at all, and honestly, I thought it was too long, and it dragged for me, but I give it points for originality. 

Thankfully Rex’s paw healed by the time we put the tree up, and so the cone has been removed. Not that he seemed to mind it; whenever we’d say “You need to be a flower now!” he would sit at our feet and wait for us to put his cone on. However, a cone and a Christmas tree seemed like a recipe for Festive Disaster, thankfully averted. I did briefly get him into his Santa outfit, before he pawed the hat off his head and tried to eat it. I hope your week felt equally festive and included delicious, non-hat things to eat. xo