Category Archives: Romance

Acts of Service

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While decorating the tree and the interior of the house is firmly a whole-family affair, putting up the outdoor lights and decorations are solely in my husband’s jurisdiction, with some help from one or both of our sons. He was finishing setting them up a few weeks ago, and when I looked out the kitchen window I saw him hanging a large red ball on our heart tree, a miniature tree whose branches grow in a downward swoop. I knew immediately what he was doing and I ran outside, with Rex at my heels. Is that a Charlie Brown Christmas tree? I squealed, and he said that it was.

In my recent Ask Me Anything (still open!), Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked: How did you know your husband was The One? At this point in time, my husband has been a part of my life for longer than he hasn’t. We were friends for almost two years before we started dating, and by “dating,” I mean “having sex,” since we had spent much time in each other’s company on platonic dates prior to that. How did you go from friends to more than friends? someone asked me, when I related my husband’s apparent 20 month seduction plan. Um, we were supposed to go see The Full Monty but ended up having sex? I guess I saw A Full Monty, if not The Full Monty.

Anyway, by that time, I knew that he was everything I wanted in a man: he was, and is, very smart, logical, and handy, fun to be around and to do things with but also responsible and serious, and, not incidentally, incredibly attractive. I would say that all of those attributes – especially his attractiveness – have only increased with age and time. In addition to that, when it comes to love languages we share the same one, which makes marriage and life a lot easier, and that is Acts of Service.

My husband does many things every day just to make me happy. Sometimes these are big things, like building an entire garden complete with garden boxes from scratch, but sometimes they are smaller things, like taking my car out just to fill it with gas. And sometimes it is putting up Christmas lights and creating a Charlie Brown tree that I can see from my kitchen window.

For the past fifteen years or more, my husband has set the timer for our Christmas lights so that they not only come on in the late afternoon, but also at 4:30 in the morning, so I can look at them when I have my coffee and practice yoga. It’s those kinds of little things that make a happy marriage, I think.

Marriage is an interesting thing; if you’re lucky, it goes on a long time and you can grow and change together while still maintaining the core of who you are as an individual. And it goes through so many stages over the years and decades: there are choppy waters and smooth sailing, there are times when you can’t keep your hands off each other and times when you’re so exhausted by babies and toddlers that you can’t abide more touching. There are times when life is so busy and so stressful that you feel like semi-amiable roommates who fuck once in a while. But then there’s a time when you just feel so fortunate to have found one another, and hopefully that time lasts for most, if not all, of the marriage.

No matter what endeavor I come up with, my husband is supportive. I have only to mention that I want to go somewhere or do something, and by the time I turn around he’s knee-deep in research about how to make it happen. Although, I will say he is less than enthusiastic about my recent world war obsession. How long will this go on? he asked in a tone that can only be described as “despairing,” when I mentioned Blitzkrieg. You’re only on Blitzkrieg? The war has barely started! You’ve been talking about this for weeks! I didn’t have the heart to tell him it’s an ongoing series and they drop new episodes all the time. My son suggested that this was going to be our new reality, and I will be talking about war for the rest of our lives. God, I hope not. I miss the person I used to be back in November, listening to podcasts about skin care, before I became a Military Strategist. At this time of year I should be listening to podcasts about holiday fashion and parties, or the best books of 2025, and instead I just downloaded four hours’ worth of episodes about the assassination of Franz Ferdinand.

Weekly Reading

I had a great week of reading, but I have to mention that I had a DNF this week. It’s been my goal to DNF more when a book is not hitting, so I can spend time with books I love, rather than…not. The book in question was The Egg and I; it had potential but there were three racist slurs within the first two chapters of this supposedly humourous book, and that was just three too many. I know it’s “of its time” but no thanks.

The Road To Tender Hearts. In the Acknowledgements section, the author says of the house she lived in from 2020-2021, “that rental house gave us two gas leaks, two basement floods, a gang of rats who nested in our car and caused $1400 in damage (not covered by insurance because the car “didn’t explode” FU GEICO), black mold on the walls, lead in the water, three trees that the arborist said were going to fall on the house after he came to cut down one, poison ivy that blanketed the yard, a neighbor who stabbed her sister on the day we moved in, and a teenager who crashed his car driving too fast and died at the base of our driveway. When we moved out, I sent the new tenant a message to make sure she filtered her water, and she wrote back: “Did you ever have any paranormal experiences in this house?” “No,” I wrote back. “But that could explain some things.””
Now, if this paragraph made you laugh a horrified coughing laugh like it did for me, then you must read this book immediately. Because while she doesn’t write about a house that’s actively trying to kill her, she does say she wanted to write a book about every single terrible and traumatic thing she could think about…but funny. And did she ever. This book is the weirdest heart-warming delight of a book about all the journeys to death one can have, and I loved it with all of my (tender) heart. 

Wreck. The poem that starts “Your children are not your children” by Kahlil Gibran came to mind a lot while I was reading this book. “You may give them your love, but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts.” On the surface this – much anticipated for me, I love Catherine Newman! – book is about a woman grappling with a strange autoimmune diagnosis and her own mortality, while also coming to terms with a fatal accident in her town that is only tangentially connected to her and her family. But to me it was about loving and accepting people even when their lives and choices are different from your own, and what it is like to be a mother of adult children. I will say that my favourite parts of this book were the scenes with the local Buy Nothing group. Did that ever take me back to my Calgary days! “To gift: leftover pizza from my kid’s birthday party. To gift: coconut milk, expired six months ago. To gift: a variety of Sephora samples.” (That last one was me). Thanks again to my friend Lisa (HI LISA) for sending me a SIGNED and personalized copy of this book!

Because of Winn-Dixie. Oddly enough, this book is referenced extensively in Save The Cat! Writes a Novel, and so I decided to pick it up. It’s about a girl who adopts a big dog who subsequently won’t let her out of his sight and also makes her life immeasurably better. Relatable! It’s a very sweet story about letting people into your life, not judging people for their past but for their present actions, and that everyone has sadness within. I wondered why I hadn’t ever read this lovely little book as a child and then realized I was twenty-five when it was published.

This is by no means a flex because none of us have control over the weather, but we have been having such a mild December, with drizzly rain and, other than one short-lived day, no snow. Looking at photos of my friends from Alberta, Ontario, Saskatchewan and the Midwestern US, I feel like I’m on an entirely different planet. Although this is my third December living here, I am still not used to rain in December. Maybe I never will get used to it! In any case, every day we are edging closer to the least amount of daylight – just over eight hours now, sunset at 3:56, sunrise at 7:47 – which makes the outdoor lights even more of a gift. Have a beautiful week, friends. xo

Together Again

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The Boys Are Back In Town

My husband and son have returned from their hiking trip in Scotland! They hiked the West Highland Way, which worked out to be 154 kilometres over eight days, and they enjoyed Edinburgh as well. It was quite the adventure, and it’s great to have them home.

After two weeks of eating out, they were pretty excited for some, as my husband put it, home cooking. For some reason that phrase feels like a weird sexual euphemism, I blame Paul Newman. In any case, both of them requested a Big Fun Salad, and I was only too happy to comply.

Salad Days

They had great timing, as it turned out, because I just cut what was the last of the kale and spinach. I have pulled the plants and will be reseeding in a few weeks, when the bulk of the hot weather has subsided for the year, and hopefully I will have a nice fall harvest.

I guess it will be farm market kale and spinach for me until mid-September, but in the meantime, I am not short of tomatoes or zucchini.

Zen and the Art of Gardening and Piano Playing

These vegetables don’t grow themselves, people. Well, the zucchinis kind of do. But the garden itself takes a lot of work and I spend at least an hour a day tending to it, the perennials, and my flower pots. I always leave my phone in the house and just concentrate on the plants, and it is a very zen practice. There is something so meditative about weeding, which, along with laundry, is one of the most Sisyphean tasks ever. Other Sisyphean garden tasks include picking tomatoes and zucchini, but those tasks at least result in yumminess.

I read The Connection Cure this week – more about that in the Weekly Reading section – and it sparked a lot of thinking about the things we do for our mental and physical health. Gardening is one of them for me, but I don’t know if I would say that I am always in the moment while doing it. More likely, while I weed or deadhead or harvest, my mind is wandering about what the hell am I going to do with all these tomatoes, do I have time to roast them later to freeze, and how long will it take to grate up all these zucchinis, and also what am I going to write about this week, and would anyone be interested in a deep dive on The Duchess, and how sexy was Ralph Fiennes, and I wonder if The English Patient is on Netflix and would it be weird to just fast-forward to all the sexy scenes, and how Lady Chatterley’s Lover was basically soft-core porn, and also they changed the ending, and oh my god, look at that butterfly!

Similar things happen in my brain when I’m walking or cooking or doing anything household-task-related, but almost never while I’m exercising or practicing yoga. The one time I can guarantee that I will 100% be in the moment is when I’m playing piano. I have seen people carry on conversations while playing, but I absolutely cannot. I don’t even think about the next note, I am only ever thinking about the note I am playing the second that I am playing it, which makes it, for me, the most Zen practice of them all. I mean, if I so much as thought of Ralph Fiennes I would lose my place in the music, let alone any idle thoughts about my husband pretending to be a gamekeeper on a large English estate, asking me if I would like coarser treatment.

Freshen Your Drink, Governor?

As I mentioned last week, I have taken the opportunity of alone time to watch several British period dramas, and they have not disappointed. Despite my general dislike of book-to-screen adaptations, I rewatched Sense and Sensibility, which, along with Emma and Pride and Prejudice, cycles in and out of being my Number One Jane Austen Favourite Book. I also watched the aforementioned Lady Chatterley’s Lover, which contains not only full frontal nudity but also such graphic sex scenes that I did wonder how they could possibly be filmed without actual penetration, or at least a massive boner on the part of the gamekeeper. I score pretty much zero on the Kinsey scale, and yet I never want to see full frontal male nudity on the big screen, even when the screen is just my TV. As Elaine Benes said, The female body is a work of art. The male body is utilitarian. It’s for getting around, like a Jeep.

Nudity or not, the movie was completely engrossing, as was The Duchess – so good! – and The Other Boleyn Girl, which, along with a rewatch of the first three episodes of Downton Abbey, completed my British Period Drama Fortnight.

There is a growing movement among streaming services to cater to what is called second-screening, which is the phenomenon of watching TV while being on a phone. Streaming services are creating shows that are meant to be watched while distracted, and so there will be a lot of repeated dialogue and summarization of events.

I put the blame entirely on the glorification of multitasking, which I consider to be an incredibly harmful and focus-fracturing concept. Just like I cannot talk and play piano simultaneously, no one, but no one, can actually put mental energy into two things at the same time. It’s just not possible! Sure, we are all listening to podcasts while folding laundry, but I would submit that folding laundry requires very little mental energy. The idea that we can scroll on our phones while watching a movie and absorb any information at all is ridiculous. Bring back single-tasking! Let’s just focus on doing one thing at a time! Including watching TV!

I’m Your Biggest Fan, This Is Stan

Something that almost always absorbs all my attention is a good book; I love that feeling of just sinking into a delicious state of reading. If you follow me on Instagram you know that I post all of my book reviews over there, and I have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, I want to be honest in all my reviews, but on the other hand, I don’t want to be mean or negative if I don’t enjoy a book. It’s a tricky balance, but on the flip side, I want everyone to know when I truly love a book, and if you remember from last week, I posted a glowing review about Standard Deviation by one of my favourite authors, Katherine Heiny.

I casually logged into Instagram to see that I had a new follower, and friends, I cannot be calm or casual about this: KATHERINE HEINY HAD FOLLOWED ME. Not only that, but she sent me a direct message saying that she was “flattered to be anyone’s writing goals, but you are very funny already.” OH MY GOD PEOPLE.

I might have passed out for a moment. Katherine Heiny! Sent me a message! I have all of her books on my Favourites Shelf! I am as starstruck as a person could be! Katherine Heiny, who I adore and whose writing is over-the-top incredible!

NO I CANNOT CHILL.

And speaking of books…

Weekly Reading

The Connection Cure. I heard this author interviewed on the Ologies podcast, and I found her so fascinating that I knew I would have to read her book. Social prescriptions are growing around the world, and address environmental factors in wellness; instead of asking “what is the matter with you,”’ the question is “what matters to you.” There is a growing body of empirical evidence that links positive health outcomes with movement, time in nature, artistic endeavours, acts of service, and a feeling of belonging. It is all very common sense, but still it was shocking to me to read about the loneliness epidemic, how it has increased since 2020, and the debilitating impacts it can have on health. An important note is that social prescriptions – finding a community, helping a person discover a feeling of belonging, or joy through art, along with movement practices and time in nature – are to be used in conjunction with modern medicines and therapies. Overall an interesting read.

How To Be Married. Jo Piazza is a pretty buzzy author these days, but this book – part memoir, part non-fiction dive into how marriage is viewed in other countries and cultures – came out in 2017, before the buzz. It’s been a while since I myself was a newlywed – in fact, I don’t really remember what our first year of marriage was like – but I found this to be an entertaining and touching read. The tagline mentions her “really hard” first year of marriage, and my thoughts ran to infidelity, dark secrets, and disagreements about loading the dishwasher, but the reality was much sadder. Four months after she was married, the author learned that she had the genetic mutation for muscular dystrophy, which had left her own father extremely disabled and her mother – his caretaker – to have a nervous breakdown from the stress and resentment that comes from being a caretaker. She also lost her job right after they signed a mortgage on a house in San Francisco, a notoriously expensive city. I found the book very interesting and the peek into other cultures to be fascinating. Apparently I am like a Frenchwoman, I learned, as I would never in a million years use the toilet with the door open. Some things, as the Frenchwomen said, should be private.

The God of Small Things. My friend Maya (HI MAYA) had mentioned this book and I was surprised that I hadn’t already read it, as it was published in 1997. It is a heartbreaking, beautifully written book about a family in Kerlala, a terrible tragedy, and the shocking aftermath. It concerns caste, family ties, and dark secrets, and it is so moving and absolutely compelling. The story jumps timelines which might be confusing to some, but I found I was completely immersed, and so I was able to absorb it in stride.

I’ve wanted to see Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat for thirty years, and on Friday I finally did! We were in the front row, which meant two of my girlfriends ended up receiving leis from one of the cast members – cue getting lei’d jokes – and it was a really great night out. As a child, the story of Joseph was one that was incredibly wild and disturbing to me – parental favouritism, selling one’s sibling to slavery, tricking another sibling into thinking he was going to be imprisoned or killed – but the musical itself is a hoot. I hope your week is filled with delight and music, and doing only one thing at a time. xo

Five For Friday: The Good, Bad, and Unspeakable Edition

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ONE. One of the greatest pleasures in the world is good food, and Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH) asked what was the single best meal you had in 2024? I mean, I went to Italy for three weeks. I had so many good meals! Plus, my garden was so prolific this year that I was able to eat so well, and so fresh, for months. But if I had to choose one meal, just one, it would be the pappa di pomodoro in Sienna.

A close runner-up would be this bruschetta in Rome, complete with Aperol spritz:

Not pictured but always remembered are the myriad bowls of delectable pasta with tomato-based sauces and with pesto, the baskets of bread with balsamic vinegar and oil, and one particular cup of orange non-dairy gelato from a place in Rome, just down from our hotel. The gelato had tiny pieces of candied orange scattered through it and I may be thinking about it until I shuffle off this mortal coil.

TWO. It was during our trip to Italy that my husband and I decided we needed more intentional connection. Do not worry, this is not going to be a discussion about intercoursing, although of course that is a good thing to keep the home fires burning, as it were. I think that marriages, and relationships more generally, go through many iterations over time, particularly if there are children involved. When the kids were very small it felt like my husband and I were amiable zookeepers, just trying to figure things out to keep the zoo inhabitants thriving. Then those inhabitants got older and busier and my husband’s work ramped up and life just became demanding. Now, of course, all those things have changed; one might think that because my husband is retired, we are together all the time, but that’s not the case. The two of us often have parallel days, with the exception of dinner, which we eat together every night with whichever of our children is around, and at which we have never allowed screens or devices. Unless, of course, if there is an “important” football game during the dinner hour, and then it’s screened quietly in the background in the room adjacent to the dining room.

In Italy we decided it would be good for us to have a devoted time together, just the two of us, no phones or books or television, and so we decided to have a weekly cocktail hour. Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked how did you come up with the idea, and how do you implement it? As with everything in my life, it’s scheduled – usually on Fridays, late in the afternoon. My husband makes us cocktails or pours wine, and we turn everything off, and talk. It’s a fun treat that I look forward to, and I think it’s good for the old marriage vows.

THREE. It’s not all sunshine and cocktails around here, though. We disagree on a few things and probably always will. Elisabeth (HI AGAIN ELISABETH) asked what topic are you most likely to disagree about? We disagree about cilantro, the definition of the patriarchy, cake frosting, and whether or not Rex should have a treat just for coming inside after a romp around the yard. I’ll leave you to decipher who is on which side here. But the topic that we disagree on the most, and that I have waved the white flag about because one can only fight so long, is how to hang up towels.

My husband hangs up all manner of towels – bath, hand, tea – folded neatly down the middle. I think that folding in thirds, with the outside edges hidden, is far superior from an esthetic standpoint, and also from a use-of-space standpoint, particularly with regards to bath towels. Friends, you cannot change a leopard’s spots, and I know when to fold them, literally, in this case. I listened to a podcast in which a man said that he gave up fighting his husband about leaving his dirty underwear on the floor, and just picks it up, and now it’s marital bliss, and I thought oh god, at least I’m not living with a grown man who is incapable of using a goddamn laundry hamper. If this long-suffering dirty underwear-retrieving fellow could survive such atrocities, I could survive incompatible towel folding methodology! Do you want to have towels folded in thirds, or do you want to be married? I asked myself, and so now I spend upwards of forty-five seconds a day refolding his neatly folded towels.

FOUR. This is not, however, the silliest thing we’ve ever argued about, which was another question from Suzanne (HI AGAIN SUZANNE). That distinction goes to a fight we had in 1999 regarding a Sex and the City episode, and although the particulars have been lost to the annals of time, I still remember the episode, and the key line “Your girl is lovely, Hubble,” said to Mr Big by Carrie. She talked about being a wild horse, running free, and it was this that sparked the argument that led to door slamming in our tiny apartment. Again, I don’t recall the specifics of this incendiary topic, but I remember the emotion behind it.

FIVE. I opened up the Ask Me Anything form to see that there was a new question! And it was from Kyria! (HI KYRIA) I excitedly scrolled down to see the following: Tell us a poop story.

Me:

Kyria! No! Everyone knows how I feel about the worst emoji ever invented! No no no!

But I don’t like to disappoint, and I did say ask me anything, not ask me anything that is unrelated to bowel movements. So I will say that I am thrilled that dietary fibre is finally having a moment. I feel like I have long been a Fibre Evangelist; I don’t like to track my food consumption – that way lies madness – but I am sure that I far exceed the recommended intake, mostly via fruits and vegetables, but also with beans and legumes. I mean, when I was a kid my favourite cereal was Raisin Bran, which requires no further comment on my part.

Years ago in my yoga teacher training, the woman who was leading the sessions about chakras spoke passionately about the muladhara, which is the root chakra. Her words have been burned on my brain lo these many years: she said, on the topic of having a bowel movement, that it was the happiest time of the day. At the time I thought that was an unhinged response to using the toilet, but on further reflection I cannot say that she’s wrong. Anyone who has ever suffered in that department knows what a literal bummer it is.

But in addition to improving that happiest time of the day, fibre is so important for our health. It’s vitally helpful for aging generally but for women in perimenopause and menopause specifically. There have been numerous empirical studies that show the multiple benefits of fibre for women in controlling perimenopause symptoms, which is wildly exciting to me. Bring it on, I say as I spread the word, stepping onto my bran-shaped soap box, raising my fist in the air, my fist full of chickpeas and kale.

Do you have a question for me? Let me know and I’ll do my best to answer it. Please, though, no more questions on poop. I think I’ve exhausted the subject. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Leap Year Edition

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Happy Leap Year, everyone!

Our last Leap Year was in 2020, and thinking about it now, how strange that time was, having an extra day just ahead of being locked down and going through a global pandemic. When I look at my blog from February 2020, it is all very cheerful and clearly I had no idea what was about to occur. I also, it seems, did not mark the leap day in any way at all.

Well, I shall not make that mistake this year! I have had a really lovely month filled with good things, so why not extend it a day?

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Leap Year Edition

The E is for Environment

One of my favourite podcasts, Alison Rosen Is Your New Best Friend, has a new segment called Podcast Pals Product Picks, and as you can imagine, I am here for this kind of content. One of the guests talked about E Cloths, which to my mind means ELECTRONIC cloths, but the E in this case stands for Environment. Anyway, they are special microfibre cloths that use only water for cleaning, and by the time the podcast guest finished talking about the streak-free shines on all of his glass and stainless surfaces, I was scrambling to order them. Here, take my money. We have a lot of windows in this house, not to mention mirrors and my shiny lacquered Yamaha piano, and I am never able to get them really clean. I will THINK they are clean, and then the sunlight will come in a certain way, and I will feel the kind of despair that accompanies what one thinks is a job well done, but was actually wasted time and effort.

NO MORE!

Listen, I do not know what magic is involved here, but all I can say is that they really work. Apparently these cloths are somehow antibacterial and antimicrobial and require no extra cleaning supplies, but that is a bridge too far for me. I may use hippie cleaning products, but I still want to use cleaning products. I’m happy to shine my glass and stainless appliances with just water and E Cloths, but I’m not relying on them to, you know, wipe up food-related messes or clean the bathroom.

The Big Ass’k

I have been on a lifelong quest to be less dissatisfied with my hair, and I honestly don’t think I will ever actually love my hair. I have issues, is what I’m saying, for many reasons which I will not go into here so as to not bore and depress us all. Nora Ephron once said that not worrying about your hair anymore is the secret upside to being dead, and when I read that, I finally felt very seen in a way I never had before.

My lifelong quest means that I am always on the lookout for new hair products. I bought this Cake volumizing product on a whim, and also because it was called The Big Ass’k, and honestly, I feel that the name called to me. My anaconda don’t want none unless…

Anyway. I like this product a lot, it’s really great for non-shampoo days to add volume, and it smells fantastic.

Look at that shiny clean mirror!

Actual Cake

I think I bought Julie van Rosendaal’s cake cookbook back in January 2023, with the eventual resolution to make every recipe in the book. My younger son sternly reminded me of this resolution a couple of weeks ago, chastising me for falling down on my goals. To that end, I tried a recipe that I have been wanting to try since obtaining the book: the Jos Louis cake. I have never had a Jos Louis in my life, and neither had anyone in my family, so we could not compare this to the original. Mine was not as pretty as Julie’s, but wow, was it a delicious cake. It might be the best cake I’ve tried from that cookbook to date.

Now, I want to note that this is not a simple recipe. There are many steps and it takes a while to get assembled. Also, I have no idea how one would cover the cake in ganache without it spilling all over the sides of the platter, but no matter. As they say in Beauty and the Beast, true beauty is found within.

Let My Lust Open The Door

I have a new favourite podcast called Bad On Paper; the two lovely young hosts are authors who talk about their writing processes, as well as about books and life in general. This checks every box for me! For Valentine’s Day they had an episode about – wait for it – obscure erotica. One of the hosts talked about a book concerning a pansexual Abraham Lincoln who – again, wait for it – has a penis fight with the Emperor of Japan to see who will – wait for it – colonize the moon. I could not be less interested in such a storyline BUT the other author brought up a book called Unhinged: An Erotic Door Romance.

The host said, “If you’re wondering ‘Is this a book about a woman who fucks her door?’ well, you’d be right!” and at that moment, I knew I had to read it. After all, let’s never forget I read the Governor General Award-winning book Bear about a woman entering into a sexual relationship with a bear – and not, as my son asked, a big hairy gay guy, an actual bear. Upshot of that, for those of you who don’t remember, bears give great oral but are maybe not so good with intercourse. Or, as I like to say now, intercoursing. Anyhoo, back to the door. This little piece of door-related erotica was well worth the $1.30 on Kindle plus the 45 minutes it took to read. I mean, not to spoil anything, but this is no ordinary door. It was made from wood from a tree that – wait for it – Zeus, Greek god, fucked. You read that right! Zeus Harvey Weinsteined an oak tree and bam, we have a sentient – and, apparently sexy – door. More spoilers! The door can sometimes take on a human form! Sexiness ensues!

But wait, there’s more!

The host of the podcast mentioned that Squeak, erotica having to do with balloon animals, was her second choice in books, and, hilariously high off of the image of a doorknob wearing a condom, I bought it on Kindle for another $1.30. Sadly, this one was disappointing. I mean, it wasn’t really entertaining to read, it was just mostly confusing. There’s a three-way? And two of them are partially balloon animals? But they maybe also turned the woman into a balloon animal by having sex with her? But I’m not sure? In a different kind of universe? I really don’t know, but it only took me about 25 minutes to read so it wasn’t a huge investment or anything. Funny thing to note: the author is clearly using a pseudonym, but there is a real photo of her and a description that she lives with her husband, seven cats, and two dogs in North Carolina and you know what, I like this level of author detail. I also appreciate her level of creativity because doors and balloon animals are not items that I have ever thought of in a sexual way before, but now I’m looking at my doors for a little too long. They seem to be getting uncomfortable.

Girl, Put Your Snowshoes On

Let me tell you, the best thing about having a retired, active husband – other than afternoon delight wherein I pretend he is a door – is the willingness to do fun things any day of the week, and the best thing about having my specific retired, active husband is that he likes to buy accessories for us to do such things. In the fall he bought us snowshoes, which I frankly thought would be a waste of money. After all, we had just bought cross-country skis. This is probably why the snowfall has been so low this year, I’m sorry, everyone. Anyway, after kind of a hectic month of not doing anything winter sport related, we decided to give the snowshoes a whirl last week, and let me tell you, I am obsessed.

It’s hiking in the mountains, but with snow!

If it wasn’t a 45 minute drive to get to snow, I would snowshoe every single day, this is how much I love it.

Outfit of the Month

I had a real Ladies Who Lunch experience with my girlfriends a few weeks ago; we went for a nice lunch downtown and then poked around in various expensive boutiques in the area. When we walked into one store called, appropriately enough, The Little Boutique, I had no intention on purchasing anything. I was just along for the ride; the clothes all seemed pretty expensive and nothing seemed to call out to me. That is, of course, until I saw a soft, drapey black sweater on the sale rack.

One might argue that I needed another drapey black sweater like I needed another leg, but I felt the material and it was so incredibly soft. It was also originally priced at $509.

I mean, who would pay that? Not me, but it was marked down to $119, which is still a lot for a sweater I did not need. But then it was 25% off of that price, and you know what, I am not made of stone. $85 for a sweater that was originally $509? Who could say no to that? NOT ME.

Something has been happening to my body lately that is just out of my control. I am in great shape, I am strong and flexible and healthy, and I am also losing my waistline. It is just…disappearing. Where is it going? I don’t know. I am developing the menopausal woman’s waistline, which is to say no waistline at all. My torso is turning into a rectangle; this is a fact, and it’s one that I have come to accept, and so having a long, drapey sweater that skims that rectangle? Yes. I’ll take it.

I debuted The Expensive Sweater at my Galentine’s party, paired with my old faithful Lululemon City Sleek pants, which have been on the Favourite Things many times already; they are actual pants that feel like yoga pants. What could be better? Other than getting an expensive sweater for 16% of the original price, of course.

I hope you all had a wonderful February full of lovely things – if you’d like to tell me about them, I’m all ears. xo

That’s The Way I’ve Always Heard It Should Be

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Many years ago I was in the playground with a friend and our children; she had an older daughter who at the time was in first grade, and so was not at the playground but instead in school. My friend said something to me that has stayed with me for years. Her daughter, she said, “…has a whole life now that I don’t know about, there are so many hours a day I don’t know what she’s doing or who her friends are. It’s just a whole life separate to me.” At the time, my children were 3 and 4 and it would be difficult to overestimate how deeply those words affected me. My life and my children’s lives were so intensely intertwined: they were in preschool three afternoons a week, it was true, but I knew every child that they knew, I knew those children’s mothers and where they lived, if they had a playdate I went with them, every single moment of every day I knew where they were and at least approximately what they were doing.

Life continues on its trajectory and here we are. It was university Reading Week, and my older son came home for it which was, of course, delightful. Fifteen years after that playground conversation, and my son has a life that I only vaguely know about. He makes his own appointments and does things that I have no idea he’s doing, like snowboarding and rock climbing, I only have a very cursory idea about his schedule and classes, I don’t know any of his friends, and I have seen where he lives only once, for three minutes, while he moved in. His entire life is completely separate from me.

Well, that’s the goal, isn’t it? Fly, little birdie.

A few years after the playground conversation, I was speaking with the grandmother of one of my son’s friends. She was a lively and vibrant woman who took care of her grandchildren while their parents worked. I was telling her that I was nervous to leave the kids with my parents for three nights while my husband and I went away for his birthday. I’d never left them for so long before, and I felt anxious and guilty.

She patted my arm and said it was good to do these things, after all, she said, time goes fast and one day I’d be looking across the table and it would just be my husband. She told me that she remembered exactly when that happened, she said Oh, it’s you. Hello.

That isn’t quite the case here yet, but I can see it in the distance.

Marriages and long-term partnerships are so interesting and, snowflake-like, no two are the same. I was thinking a lot about that this week while reading Carly Simon’s memoir. Now listen, I have always been a fan of James Taylor, but I think that after reading this that I kind of hate James Taylor? He sounds like an absolute nightmare to be married to; I mean, to be fair, he was an addict, addiction is a disease, but also he was one of those guys who really wants a mommy in his wife – he is Sweet Baby James, after all – and who seems to have deeply resented the time and energy Carly spent on their children, particularly their very young son who was very ill with a kidney deformity. That’s probably all I need to say to paint the picture, but of course, he was also having affairs six ways to Sunday, and whenever Carly would confront him with this, he’d say “It has nothing to do with you.” OH REALLY, JAMES TAYLOR. I mean, he had to get tested for chlamydia a number of times during their marriage, so it kind of does have something to do with her? What was incredible to me was that Carly took to heart something her father said, which was that the true meaning of being rich was being able to give, and not being concerned about receiving. If that is the case, then Carly Simon was incredibly rich in her marriage, and even in 2015, decades after it ended, she still writes about him with love.

Getting back to James Taylor and his many venereal diseases, I was really puzzled by something: how was it working? And by “it” I mean his penis. I am no expert here, but he was whacked out on heroin much of the time, and so how was he having sex with all these women? I assumed that there would be performance issues associated with so much drug use, but here he was, contracting the clap left and right.

I am loathe to imagine this, honestly. James Taylor and his skeevy 70s moustache and greasy hair is not someone I want to picture intercoursing, as Detective Mettavoy once said in NYPD Blue and I have been waiting all these years to repeat. But I guess I am loathe to imagine anyone in a sexytimes situation; recently Stephany (HI STEPHANY) commented that no one talks about long-term partnered sex, and it’s true, no one does. I’m not going to delve into my own details about intercoursing here, mostly because my mom and several members of my extended family read this blog and I would like to have our future interactions not shadowed by extreme awkwardness. But I would like to circle back to my initial thought about marriage after the kids are grown and out of the house; this is the time to shine, in that department. Hello, it’s you.

Weekly Reading

Boys In The Trees. As mentioned above, this is a VERY juicy memoir written by Carly herself, and it is beautiful and lyrical, as could be expected from such an esteemed poet and songwriter. I knew going in that she had a stutter as a child, and her mom encouraged her to sing instead, which helped immensely, but what I didn’t know is she developed a stutter after being sexually exploited as a small child by the teenage son of a family friend. This exploitation went on for years and probably explains a lot about her later life. Also something that explains a lot: she was third born after two sisters, and she was “supposed” to be a boy named Carl, disappointed, her parents added a “y.” Do not even get me started on how enraged I am at the idea of “trying for a boy/ girl,” I have to actually do some ujjayi breathing just at the thought. Anyway, her parents did have their longed-for (RAGE RAGE RAGE) son after Carly, but they didn’t want him to GROW UP GAY in a house full of females (MORE RAGE) so they hired a male companion to teach him manly things. Where was her father, you may ask? He was busy. You see, Carly grew up in incredible wealth and privilege – her father is the Simon of Simon and Schuster! She grew up in New York and summered in Connecticut, spending a few weeks a year in Martha’s Vineyard, where, as a child, she met a young James Taylor WHO WAS ALSO GROWING UP WITH IMMENSE WEALTH AND PRIVILEGE. Honestly, I had no idea. Anyway, this male companion ends up a) fucking her mother to the point that she had an adjoining room with him while her father was just on another floor of the house, and b) spying on Carly and her sisters as they use the bathroom. So perhaps all of this explains Carly’s mellow attitude towards her nightmare of a husband, later on. There are many juicy details about the many sexy notches in her belt later in life, notably Warren Beatty, who really knew what was what in the bedroom, and Mick Jagger, with whom she had EXPLOSIVE chemistry, and who also sang backup on You’re So Vain. Who knew? Here’s what she had to say about that song:

Aha! So it’s more of a compilation of vain men. God, I love that song. Long-time readers will recall that this is my go-to karaoke song.

Hagitude: Reimagining The Second Half of Life. Speaking of birdies flying and the nest becoming empty, my friend Laura (HI LAURA) said the other day that she felt like when she became a mother, something shattered in her creativity, and now, as her daughter is away at college, she is at a stage where she is picking up those shards and putting them back together, rediscovering her creativity. I thought of that image a lot, reading this book. This is an interesting time of life for a woman. “…what we should be doing during menopause is gently and consciously letting go of one period of our lives, and slowly and mindfully easing the progression into another.” So says the author of Hagitude, an uplifting book drawing on European mythology about the elder period of a woman’s life, the vitality and meaning that can come from becoming a crone, a hag, a wise old woman. This is a dense book full of imagery and reclamation.

Here we are in the last week of February! Time just keeps its forward march, and here Friday is actually March. I’m hoping for a lamblike start to the month for you all, in every way. xo

People Who Watch People

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The world is such an interesting place, isn’t it? It’s wild that a person can go from this:

To this, in only a matter of hours.

It has been very grey and foggy this week, but it’s so mild and windless that I don’t mind it at all. Our snow is basically all gone, except for piles in parking lots and along the walking paths where it had been shovelled. Those piles are a source of great joy to Rex, who likes to roll and slide down them, and then starts to eat them. His penchant for eating snow is pretty cute, and so I’m trying not to be horrified when he shoves his face into filthy parking lot snow. I mean, he is a dog, so I am assuming his digestive system can handle it.

After what felt like a long run of books that ran the gamut between Good and OMG Boring, last Friday I read a really fabulous collection of short stories, entitled Today A Woman Went Mad At The Supermarket, and if that title does not pique your interest, then you are living a very different life from me.

Hilma Wolizer has been around and writing for decades – most of these stories were written in the 1970s, one as early as the 1966 – and so I am puzzled as to why I haven’t heard of her before this. All the stories are interconnected and deal with my favourite genre: ordinary, everyday things written in an extraordinary way. The last story has to do with the pandemic, written in 2020, and I mention it as a warning for anyone who is not in a mental space to read about the early days of Covid, specifically how it affected elderly people living in New York City.

The foreword of this book is written by Elizabeth Strout who, as you know, is one of my favourites and who also really writes the Slice Of Life books that I adore. In the foreword are two quotes from Wolitzer, which resonated with me so much and made me want to call her up and scream ME TOO into the phone.

Everyone’s face was fascinating to me, and I would wonder what their lives were like.

I don’t believe there’s such a thing as ordinary life. I think all life is extraordinary.

I cannot even begin to explain how seen I felt after I read that; I felt a deep kinship with this 90 year old writer.

On our trip to Mexico, I spent a lot of time by myself at the pool; I am the early bird of our group, so I would lounge around waiting for my husband and our friends to arrive, reading and soaking up the surroundings. I tend to chat with anyone within ten feet of me, but on this trip people were mostly swimming by me, or in large groups, and so instead of chatting, I’d just imagine what their lives were like. How long had that couple been married? What was it like to look exactly like the guy who talks about the O Face in the movie Office Space? What does the man swimming early-morning pool lengths do for a living? Where did that woman get that fabulous hat?

One afternoon I was reading while my husband and our friend were floating around in the pool, drinks in hand. They noticed a couple who was in the pool beside them; this couple was involved in what can only be described as An Extensive Makeout Session. The guys couldn’t believe I didn’t notice the couple, because, as I mentioned before, I am always people-watching, and so they were shocked I missed the estan caliente teenage-like making out and, if you will pardon the extremely crude expression, but nothing else comes close to describing this accurately, dry-humping that was happening in the pool right in front of me. How did you not see it? our friend asked, puzzled at my obliviousness. The guy got out right in front of you and he had a massive boner, how could you miss that? my husband told me, with his usual delicacy of manner.

How indeed?

Nevertheless, it wasn’t long before I started seeing this couple everywhere, though, and always in a similar state of semi-clothed in flagrante: in the lobby bar, standing next to the pool, in a single pool lounge next to the pool. From what I could see the man was probably in his fifties, and the woman a couple of decades younger. Their level of passion was truly inspirational, although if continued to completion, I would assume that there would be a lot of chafing and possible cystitis involved in this holiday.

I did, of course, wonder what their story was. I concluded that if they were married, it wasn’t to each other, and before long I had an entire Harlequin-like romance written in my head about them.

Speaking of marriage, my husband and I were wandering through the resort one night; our friends had gone back to their room, and we were enjoying the full moon and the music that was coming from a wedding reception being held nearby. One of the songs was Baby Got Back, which I love, but which also seems like a strange choice for a wedding reception. In any case, there we were, getting our groove on, when my husband was swarmed by a group of young women in an advanced state of inebriation. Josh! Josh! they squealed, to our bemusement.

It turns out that these lovely young women had mistaken my husband for an actor named Josh Duhamel, who I had never heard of before, but who has the distinction of being from Minot, North Dakota, which is not far at all from where I was born, in Saskatchewan. These girls were slightly disappointed that my husband was not the star of a Transformers movie, but were extremely sweet and cheerful. We saw you by the pool today! they said, then turning to me. We just thought he had gotten remarried! Well, that was cute, but there are two things that I found out later: Josh Duhamel used to be married to Fergie, of Black Eyed Peas fame, and is now married to a former Miss World America.

I do not have low self-esteem or lack for confidence, but I admit I did feel a bit strange at this exchange. The tables, they had turned. My people-watching had ricocheted back to me; me, with my giant sunhat and streaks of mineral sunscreen on my legs and bikini, with my slightly-bloated margarita tummy and fuzzy, out of control beach hair. Did these women really think that Josh Duhamel, one-time star on All My Children, left Miss World America for ME? Were they making up their own mental stories about people around the pool generally, and me specifically? I cannot imagine such stories would cast me in a very flattering light. Listen, I would like to believe that we live in a world in which women of all ages, visages, and bodies are embraced equally by ex-soap stars, but let’s be realistic. The most likely answer is that these women’s vision was blurred by unlimited day-drinking; in fact, I think that is probably my best-case scenario. Maybe they thought you WERE Miss World America, my husband ventured, to which I answered with a look only. He shrugged sheepishly. When a couple has been married for a few decades, sometimes non-verbal communication is the best kind of communication.

Five For Friday: The Your Questions, Answered Edition

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I love how we all have Very Strong Feelings about desserts, and, to a lesser extent, potato chip flavours. I am here for the debate! Next up we will be discussing the use of top sheets.

Just kidding! We won’t. I am not wading into that discussion! For the record, I am Team Top Sheet, and it was only in the last few years that I realized that this isn’t the case for every other person, so consider me Sheet Sheltered. If you are not of Team Top Sheet: live your life! Do you! Be free! It is very unlikely we will be sharing a bed, so I am one hundred percent supportive of all your linen and bedding decisions.

Well, here we are in March, and I have not answered all the questions from my Ask Me Anything that I posted in December. Let’s remedy that, shall we?

  • Ernie (HI ERNIE) asked: Have you ever been to Chicago? Or what places in the US have you been to, and where in the US would you like to go, or re-visit? I have been to Chicago! It was for a work-related conference back in the fall of 2000, and I did not get to see as much as I would have liked of the city. I did, however, ride the train from the airport to downtown, which was an adventure. I was travelling with two work colleagues from the Houston office, and one of them, Warren, had lived in Chicago for several years. Warren, like me, was a quantitative analyst, and he was perhaps not great at deciphering social cues, but he was very enthusiastic about his time spent in Chicago. Warren gave me a rundown of every Chicago mayor over the past century, talking at length about both Mayor Daleys and all the changes they made to the Windy City. Honestly, I remember none of it, but I did drink a lot of sangrias at the tapas bar at which he regaled me with the stories. I had never been to a tapas bar before, and when he suggested it, I thought he was asking if I wanted to go to a TOPLESS bar, and when my mistake was revealed, hilarity ensued. Ah, I think of that time fondly, if a little fuzzily. I have been to many other places in the US: New York, Florida, Texas, Hawaii, California, Oregon, Washington, North Dakota, Montana, Utah, Nevada, and – for an unexpected eight-hour flight stopover – Minnesota. I’m not sure if I should count that because I did not leave the airport, although I did consider taking a shuttle to go see the Mall of America. I have enjoyed all those places; no one beats the Americans for pure friendliness, in my mind. I would definitely like to explore more of the country.

This is, clearly, not Chicago. But it is Maui, which is in the US!

  • Kyria (HI KYRIA) asked: What was the most interesting thing to happen to you when traveling and why? There are so many incredible places in the world; I want to explore so much of it. I have been very lucky indeed to be able to see many countries and have many adventures, but I think the most interesting place I’ve been to is Egypt. I really loved my time there, back in February 2000, and of all the adventures I had – riding donkeys and camels, being on the overnight train from Luxor to Aswan when so-called undercover police burst in, wearing long white robes and carrying machine guns, and wandering through ancient ruins – I think the most interesting one was climbing Mount Sinai in at 2:30 in the morning, to be at the summit when the sun rose. I was brought up in a very church-going house, and to be at the top of Mount Sinai, looking down at a monastery in Egypt, was a really incredible experience. It was also a very cold experience; it took me three full days to warm up. Now, that is more of an interesting thing I DID, rather than something that happened to me, but I think it counts.
  • San (HI SAN) and Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH) asked: What is one thing you like best about yourself/ which of your personality traits is your favourite? This is such a sweet question! I am at the point in my life where I like most things about myself; the things that I haven’t, I have changed where I could and accepted where I couldn’t. I’m like a living Serenity Prayer. The thing I probably like the best about myself, and I have been this way for as long as I can remember, is my willingness to talk to anyone at any time. I have no compunctions about going to a party alone where I don’t know anyone, I have no problems walking up to a group of people and joining the conversation. I have, unsurprisingly, met a lot of friends that way. It never occurs to me to worry about being rejected; if someone doesn’t like me, no big deal. I mean, I’m not for everyone. But I am endlessly fascinated by other people and their stories; I want to know everything! Like Harry Burns, I want to know the story of your life. Sometimes this backfires and I end up, for example, distracting the Uber driver so that he misses the turnoff, but for the most part, I feel very enriched by the wild tapestry that is the world we live in.

HELLO DO YOU WANT TO BE FRIENDS

  • Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) and Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH) both asked: How did you meet your husband? The short answer is that we met at university; I was a fourth-year honours student, and he was just starting in the master’s program. One fact that you may or may not know about me and my husband is that there is a ten year age gap between us (once, when I was about 25, we were at a party and a woman, upon hearing the age gap mentioned, asked who was older. I have never forgotten that! If we learn nothing else, let’s not ever imply that a 25 year old woman might be 40.). Anyway, I was preparing to go to grad school, and he had spent years already working and travelling, before deciding to go back to university to get his master’s. We were friends for almost two years before we started dating (“dating;” I think you get my meaning). My husband is a pretty young-at-heart guy, and so for the most part the age gap is a non-issue, but not always. Sometimes, I do think about it, particularly as he edges closer to 60. He’s been my Shmoopy for twenty-five years, and I hope that will be the case for at least that much longer.
  • Stephany (HI STEPHANY) asked: If you could relive any year of your life, which year would you choose? The short answer is: none of them. This is not to say I haven’t had a wonderful life, because I have. I have had many fantastic years of my life which I look back on with love and fondness. But I don’t think I would ever relive them even if I could. The closest thing would be our family trip to Disney World and Universal Studios in November 2016. The only thing I think of, when I think of that trip, is happiness. I think of the joy, the sunshine, the fun. We have taken many fabulous trips as a family, but that one stands out in my mind. I would not, however, relive that year. 2016 was a wrenching, exhausting, and exhilarating year. That year my father-in-law died; in fact it was only a few weeks before we left for our trip. Watching his demise was very sad and not something I want to talk about, but it shows that wonderful times can follow wrenching times, and vice versa. It was also, needless to say, a terribly divisive and wretched year politically, but it was also the year I took my yoga teacher training, which was incredible. I would not relive that year, but those five days in Orlando were the healing and happy family time we all needed. The boys were the absolute perfect age for it – eleven and twelve – and we had been to Disney before, so we were prepared for the sensory explosion and crowds and magical feelings that I don’t think is possible to imagine otherwise.

Do you have a question for me? Feel free to post it in my Ask Me Anything! In the meantime, I would love to hear your answers to any and all of these questions. Happy Friday, everyone! I hope it’s lovely. xo