Category Archives: SEX

A Baffling Situation

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During our semi-recent trip to Southeast Asia, my husband and I were chatting with some members of our tour group when the topic of travelling with best friends came up. One lovely lady, Helene, gestured to the man beside her. Well, she said, Nick is my best friend. My husband and I exchanged glances, both of us thinking at the same time that we had had the wrong idea all along. Oh, my husband said finally. I thought you two were MARRIED. Helene looked at us strangely. We ARE married, she said. I married my best friend.

I thought that was very sweet, and I am always happy when other people are happy, but wow, I cannot relate at all. Do not get me wrong: I love my husband, we are very compatible, and I enjoy his company immensely. I think we have a beautiful, fun, fulfilling life together, but in no world do I consider him to be my best friend. In my mind, “husband” and “best friend” are two completely separate concepts. If you marry your best friend, then who do you talk about your spouse with? The snake is eating its tail!

For a few months now, I have been intermittently thinking about a situation my friend Swistle (HI SWISTLE) found herself in: she had planned a coffee date with a former colleague, and at the last minute that colleague texted to say that her husband was going to come along. I’ll just let you digest that for a moment. A former colleague casually mentioned that her husband, heretofore unknown to Swistle, was going to join the coffee date scheduled between the two women. Frankly, I would have fallen over like a tree hand-chopped by an old-timey lumberjack with the shock, even if it was one of my friends whose husbands I DO know and am friendly with. Even if said husband was said friend’s best friend, as with Nick and Helene, I would STILL be distressed at the idea. What world do we live in where a coffee date gets crashed by a husband?

Under no circumstances could I fathom just randomly bringing my own husband along to a coffee date with a girlfriend. Still less could I fathom my husband suggesting that he join us. This behaviour is baffling, to say the least. But then! It happened AGAIN. Swistle made another coffee date with this woman and, AGAIN, at the last minute the friend informed her that her husband was going to join them. Twice makes a pattern, in my mind. Once? It’s weird. Twice? Something strange and unsettling is afoot.

My immediate thought was that this man was one of those atrocious, overbearing bores who cannot bear that their wives have a social life outside of their own twosome. I was a bit nervous that perhaps that woman was being, if not abused, then certainly domineered. Then I thought that maybe he was one of those overly-social joes who insist on being the centre of attention and the life of the party, to the detriment of all his relationships. We all know the type; the fellow who thinks everyone benefits from knowing him, and who wants to be involved in everything, all the while irritating every person in his sphere.

Now, one might reasonably say but what about the woman in this scenario? Does she not have any agency and responsibility here? And indeed. I have a tendency, much to my husband and sons’ mild exasperation, to place the blame squarely in the testosterone column in most scenarios, like Miss Cornelia. Isn’t that just like a man? But I am an open-minded person, and so I do feel that some of the onus here is on the woman. Of course, if we are in the first situation, then it is possible she is an exhausted, beaten-down woman who is used to her borderline emotionally-abusive husband not allowing her to exist outside of his realm, and therefore she is deserving of great sympathy. But if it’s the second situation, she might still be exhausted and beaten-down, but in the way of the girlfriend of the guy who is wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a lampshade on his head at every party. Perhaps she’s powerless in the face of his extreme social extroversion, but my own sympathy would be a little stretched. In either case, I want her to rise up, rise up. There is also the scenario in which the couple are best friends, and the woman feels that lives are enriched by knowing her dreamboat husband, and in this case, I have no sympathy whatsoever.

But then a new situation arose in my mind, and in the minds of many of Swistle’s readers, and that is that they are swingers and are courting her. Key parties ahoy! This certainly makes things more interesting, albeit unsettling. I don’t have any swingers in my life – that I know of. Given my history of being completely clueless when someone has been romantically or sexually interested in me until things become SO CLEAR that there is no room for misinterpretation, it’s perfectly possible that I could be courted for swinging without having any idea. I don’t think that’s happening to me, but who can say, really. In any case, I do find the whole concept of swinging to be pretty wild. We all deserve to be happy, and I don’t want to yuck anyone’s yum, but also? I find it kind of distasteful in a fascinating way. I was talking with my son about polyamory and open marriages, and as he succinctly put it: One person is super happy with the whole thing, and the other person has dead eyes. I think that sums it up quite admirably.

Really. Who has the energy? I personally can only manage one dog at a time, let alone anything else. How would anyone get anything done? A long while ago I heard an interview of a woman who had written a book about her open marriage, and to be honest, it all sounded pretty grim and depressing, not to mention logistically complicated.

The truth is I think about this woman all the time. When the interviewer asked her for any product recommendations, this woman touted the benefits of a particular waterproof dog blanket designed to protect upholstery, which she used for her frequent, messy, and fluid-filled sexual encounters. I immediately ordered that exact dog blanket myself, not for my own frequent, messy, or fluid-filled sexual encounters, but for my monogamous dog relationship. It protects the back seat from a certain giant, grubby dog and his frequently messy and, on rainy days, fluid-filled paws. At least twice a day, when we are getting in the car to head to the walking path, the open marriage lady enters my consciousness, and I feel gratitude for her and her desire for clean upholstery.

Weekly Reading

I read three extremely different books this week!

Culpability. A family travelling in a minivan with self-driving capabilities hits and kills an elderly couple in a small car. Whose fault was it? Was it the driver? Or was it the fault of the self-driving vehicle? This was a propulsive read and an interesting story, but it fell really flat for me due to the overblown and on-the-nose writing style, as well as the extensive telling, rather than showing. I found the ending flat and all of the characters to be deeply unlikeable. There are a lot of interesting threads in here, with the basic idea that AI is ruining our world, but I found the execution to be deeply lacking.

Cherry Baby. The flap copy for this book did not at all prepare me for the very lovely story of a marriage torn apart by success, and then brought back together. In fact, the flap copy is quite misleading. Nonetheless! I was so invested in these characters and their story. As well as being a love story in all its iterations, it’s also a statement on going through life in a large body, particularly in this time of GLP-1s. I loved all the characters, I loved the sister chat threads, and I loved the different romances. What an enjoyable read! There is a giant dog named Stevie Nicks, and I am here for it.

Wide Sargasso Sea. When it comes to Jane Eyre, I have always been Team Attic Wife. I mean, who WOULDN’T descend into madness after being taken from the West Indies and made to live alone in an attic in rural England? So I have long wanted to read this book, which is a prequel of sorts, and explains the life of “Bertha,” the wife in the attic – and we discover her name is not Bertha at all. It’s Antoinette, and Rochester, that evil buffoon, randomly changes it. Isn’t that just like a man, to quote Miss Cordelia once more. Anyway, I’m glad I finally read this but be warned: it’s a very complicated and difficult novel to read, with changing points of view and a lot of unspoken nuance. I had to do some research regarding the post-emancipation era in the West Indies, and its colonial history, of which I didn’t know much.

It’s been a fun week, with birthdays and cake and time in the garden. I have another fun week ahead – more birthday celebrations and more cake will be involved! I hope you all have a lovely week. 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

Cold, Cold, Cold, Warmer, HOT

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Cold As Ice

We are in the midst of a cold snap around here, but I use that term very loosely. It’s more “cold” than COLD, or even Cold, but still, it’s the most winter we’ve had all year. I took the opportunity to look out my snow pants and heated mittens, and I’m winning all the style awards on our daily walks. It’s honestly a bit of overkill for these cold-but-not-COLD temperatures, and by the end of our walk I’m a little sweaty.

My creativity has taken a huge hit this week; I have been unable to write anything that I would want anyone to read. Someone suggested it’s the weather, but I think it’s directly related to the torrential volume of grim and terrifying news. I have broken my own rules for news and media consumption, and have succumbed more than once to doomscrolling, leading to higher than normal screen time and a feeling of complete emotional depletion. But we are in a fresh new week, the perfect time for a fresh new start; I am re-implementing my boundaries and refreshing my Nolite te Bastardes Carborundorum attitude.

Cold Hearted Snake

We are also in a fresh new lunar year, and I recently learned about Ben Ming Nian, which is when it is the year of your own Chinese zodiac sign. I would have thought that this would be a very lucky thing, but it turns out it is not; the superstition is that people in their zodiac year are offending the God of Age, Tai Sui, and will therefore have a year of challenges and bad luck. My husband is a Snake, and so I guess he will have to watch out – although, according to the Chinese zodiac, the Snake is the second-luckiest sign, and so it might all just work out evenly.

As an aside, the first-luckiest sign is that of the Dragon, and apparently there is a mini baby boom in China during that zodiac year. It reminded me of when I was in prenatal class and I learned that there was a mini baby boom every November due to Valentines-related sexytimes, and, in Calgary specifically, one in late March/ early April. The latter correlated to wild Calgary Stampede-related sex which – and I’m sorry, because I know my mom and possibly Aunty C are reading this – was the case for my firstborn. My second born was in September, which, well, you can do the math. Let’s just call it a visit from Santa. Interestingly enough, the divorce rate also spiked after Stampede, for different, but related, reasons.

But back to the subject at hand. After learning about Ben Ming Nian, I looked up the Year of the Rabbit, which is my sign. The last one was 2023, which was indeed a year of great challenge for me! The others were 2011, 1999, and 1987, and I definitely remember challenges in all those years. Of course, I’m also a person who related completely to a story about an ill woman who got magically better after taking placebos, even AFTER she was told they were placebos. The placebo effect is my entire personality some days.

Recently Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked how do you feel about astrology and horoscopes? I have never really connected with the Chinese zodiac, and I think horoscopes, as seen in the newspapers or women’s weekly magazines, are silly and irrelevant, but I have always strongly believed in astrological signs and the zodiac. I would have been great in the 70s dating scene. As soon as I know someone’s birthday I feel like I know all about them. Oh, I’ll say sagely, You’re a Pisces. Oh, that makes so much sense. I’m not saying I wouldn’t have married my husband if his sign was incompatible with mine, but I’m not NOT saying that, either. More likely we would have never dated, had he not been a compatible sign, because yes, I am that person. Listen, a Taurus wants what a Taurus wants, and I am not going to waste my time with someone who does not appreciate my bull-like personality and love of luxury.

This Leaves Me Cold

Speaking of sexy compatibility, I was so excited to see that Bad on Paper released their annual Obscure Erotica episode in honour of Valentines’ Day. Some of you may remember that this podcast introduced me to the wild world of weird erotica, featuring everything from Clippy, of Microsoft Office fame, to the ghost of Abraham Lincoln. I personally have read about sex with Santa Claus, balloon animals, and a sentient door. So I was interested to hear what had been chosen on the podcast, and I will tell you right now: no. NO. No no no, things have officially gone too far in the obscure erotica world.

One of the featured books was called The Devilled Egg Made Me Do It, which, predictably, explored sex with a giant sentient egg. This egg, named Damien – he’s devilled, after all – has horns, chive-like body hair, and a tail that is actually anal beads. Just the words “anal” and “beads” together make me immediately and inadvertently Kegel. To say that I was disturbed even listening to this discussion would be a vast understatement. I was amused that the protagonist’s name was Shelly, but not amused enough to read this book.

The other host, though. I feel disappointed in her beyond all imagining. The book she chose was called Garden Gnome Sex Party and I need not say more. IS NOTHING SACRED? There were hats involved, that’s all I’m going to say. This was obviously upsetting to a gnome aficionado like myself, although it did remind me of a very funny Gravity Falls episode, in which everyone thinks Mabel’s boyfriend is a vampire, and it turns out he is just a tall pile of gnomes with a costume over top.

Since these writers utilize pseudonyms, they could be amongst us right now. I’m just going to say it: if I hear anything, ANYTHING, about my beloved Salvadore and friends being written about in an untoward way, there will be hell to pay.

Warming My Heart

Let’s shift gears from (very weird) Valentines to Galentines! The squad came over, plus a few new ladies, and it was so much fun. I am so grateful to be around such a fabulous group of women.

Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH) has been encouraging everyone to find joy in gratitude this month (FIG!) but honestly, I need no encouragement. I’m HERE for the gratitude fest, is what I’m saying, and right now I am so very grateful that I have this wonderful group of friends. I’ve lived here for just over a year and a half now, and I will never not feel incredibly lucky that I have the Golden Gals Squad surrounding me. I’m also grateful for Canadian rose from my favourite Vineland Estates, and for chocolate.

I’m also grateful for cold and wintry Saturday afternoons and that Engie’s Cool Blogger’s Book Club (HI ENGIE) chose The Blue Castle, by one of my favourite childhood authors.

Weekly Reading

What else have I been reading, other than The Blue Castle? Well, I am proud to say that I DNFed a book I was not enjoying: Stanley Tucci’s Taste, which is a memoir through food. There was just too much meat and seafood descriptions, so I abandoned ship. Fortunately I had some good books this week:

The Husbands. This was such a fun and original book; it’s the story of a woman who comes home after a night with friends to discover that not only is she married, but she has been for years. After her husband goes up to the attic to fetch something, a different husband comes down. And so it goes, every time a husband goes to the attic a new one is in her life, and her life itself is new. It was an absolute delight to read this; I’m not usually one to enjoy magic or alternate universes, but this one was so fun and the ending was perfection. Big thanks to Suzanne and Lisa (HI SUZANNE HI LISA) who assured non-magic-loving me that I would love this, despite the premise. I did!

Summer Fridays. I was 24 in 1999, which is the same as our protagonist in this book – don’t you love when that happens? This lovely, fun, nostalgic book takes place in a hot New York City summer, and there are so many city-related details. A friendship is started between a young woman and her fiance’s (very close) colleague’s boyfriend (did you get that? I had to think for a minute). That friendship turns to something else, but this is not just a straightforward love story because, well, she’s engaged. I really enjoyed this book, it was a perfect read for this little cold snap we are having. It’s light, full of fun nostalgic details (“you’ve got mail!”) and startlingly sensitive for a book that’s essentially about infidelity. Thanks AGAIN to Lisa for the recommendation, is this the Lisa Show, maybe it is! (HI LISA)

No One Can Pronounce My Name. I expected to enjoy this book about the immigrant experience, queerness, friendship, and finding your people in the unlikeliest of places, but I did not. I should have DNFed! You win some, you lose some.

On our walk on Saturday, Rex and I came across a couple of mating raccoons. It was extremely disturbing, to say the least, as Rex barked and barked at what he must have assumed was a two-headed animal, while the male raccoon made eye contact with me as he humped away. I guess love is in the air in the animal kingdom too. I hope you have a week filled with chocolates, hearts, rose, and no wild animal sex shows. Unless you like that, in which case, who am I to judge? 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

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

Feel The Heat

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It’s Getting Hot In Herrre

We are having day after day of hot, sunny weather, and I am here for it; this is what I have always dreamed of experiencing in the summer. I love it.

When it comes to outdoor activity, it is a little toasty, and so morning routines around here have been altered and shifted slightly to accommodate; for example, I am walking Rex extra early, in the shady greenway by the creek, so that he doesn’t get heatstroke, burn his paws, or, less traumatically but very annoyingly, lie down in the shade refusing to move for five minutes at a time while people pass me, calling out encouragingly “you can do it, buddy!” This slightly earlier new routine makes me feel very At One With The Universe, like I am Living In The Rhythm Of Nature. My younger son, who is on the grounds crew at a golf course, has to get up at 3:20 am to get to work before 4:30, and so he probably feels less blissful about these new natural rhythms.

We all know how Rex feels about being wet, so it really says something that he has been cooling off his paws in the creek.

Sign, Sign, Everywhere A Sign

This will surprise exactly no one, but I strongly believe in signs from the universe, and I had one this week on one of my very early morning walks. I saw not one but two hummingbirds, which I associate with my grandma, hummingbirds being her favourite of all the avian beings. I also associate them with myself when I have had too much coffee and very little sleep, a la Apu from The Simpsons. Nonetheless, seeing the hummingbirds made me think I was being visited by my grandma who, I should hasten to mention, did not believe in reincarnation and would probably be horrified at me thinking hi Grandma at the sweet little birdies.

Although I see literally many hundreds of birds a day, I rarely see hummingbirds, and to see two of them felt very special. It also felt bizarre because I saw them when I was mulling over the concept of infidelity, which was the theme of the two books I read this week; if there was one thing that my grandma hated more than anything, it was infidelity. This is not to say the rest of us are over here championing stepping out on our spouses or whatnot, but I have never encountered anyone in my entire life who has felt so strongly about it as Grandma did, and believe me, she could hold a grudge about it like nobody’s business.

And in the context of the books I read this week, I thought, you know, Grandma was on to something. Both books featured infidelity prominently, and both books ended tragically. One of the books in particular – Loving Frank – felt like a cautionary tale about married people having affairs, specifically married women having affairs in the early 1900s. This historical fiction tale resulted in the woman leaving not only her children and husband but the continent entirely, her reputation in tatters, only to have things end in a startlingly horrifying way.

Something that I find truly fascinating is what happens next when it comes to infidelity. What happens when the passionate fire fizzles away? Was the fiery wreckage that was the previous life worth it? Sometimes it seems to be, sometimes it seems that the adulterers find their soul mates and live happily ever after, the end. But more frequently, it seems like the affair was not worth the homewrecking, as Grandma would say, and often it seems that the forbidden nature of the affair was the exciting and enticing part, and once the pair are settled into their new life, they find that it’s not all they thought it would be. It’s a little bit like the man I heard interviewed this past week, about losing a significant amount of weight with the help of Ozempic; he conceded that he was the same person, with the same unhappiness and insecurities, but in a smaller body. It’s like that, but with extramarital sex.

And then there’s a third option, which is a secret affair that is never revealed, which is the most interesting to me as I am a very nosy person who is endlessly fascinated by such things. There is a scene in the Bridges of Madison County (a snore of a book, don’t bother, friends, but the movie is okay) where Francesca sees Robert and puts her hand on the car door handle, but ultimately decides to stay, because she KNOWS. She knows what will happen if she leaves, and she knows it will never be like that magical weekend again. This is also the theme of What Is Remembered by Alice Munro; it is the very most moving story of one afternoon in a woman’s life, and what comes out of it, that I have ever read.

Anyway, as I was walking along I was pondering all of these things, including how one of the most famous pair of adulterers seem to be now the happiest they’ve ever been: Camilla Parker-Bowles and KCIII. As I thought this, the hummingbirds zipped by my face, and I am sure it was my grandma, judging me. Girlie, why are you thinking about that homewrecker? I could hear her voice and see her shaking her finger at me accusingly, as like the hummingbirds flapped their tiny wings. Maybe I’m just projecting, though.

Cue The Barry White Albums

Speaking of birds, my nest was completely empty this weekend as my sons went on a brotherly road trip together, along with a friend. It doesn’t seem all that long ago that I was worried about them driving two kilometres to the mall solo, and now here they are, motoring around highways and mountain passes, and I don’t think twice about it. Sunrise, sunset, the landslide’ll bring you down.

It’s not like I actually see my kids all that much, other than at dinnertime, as they are busy with their own lives. They also don’t cramp my style in any way; one of the great joys of adult children is that they do their own thing, and I do mine, and we just enjoy each other when we see each other. Still, it was strange to not see them all weekend, and I will say that the one dinner I prepared – we went out one night and to a barbeque on the other – I was confused as to food proportions. How much dinner do two people need? My husband looked at the gargantuan salad I had made with slight despair; it was big even for me, and I feel like I have endless appetite for giant salads. I suppose I’ll get used to it in time.

Weekly Reading

I had a DNF this week, which was a book called Happy And You Know It. I picked it up because I liked the author’s recent book, One Star Romance, but I just felt like I could not get into a book about wealthy New York moms behaving badly at a baby music class. You know what, I read and enjoyed The Nanny Diaries, and that was good enough for me in that genre.

Loving Frank. As mentioned above, I enjoyed mulling over the nature of marriages and affairs, quelle scandal, while reading this, although I did find the book dragged for me a lot. I don’t love historical fiction generally, so that’s on me. I picked this up because of my lovely friend Birchy (HI BIRCHY), who mentioned it and has been busy touring FLW-designed houses all over the Midwest. I hardly even knew who FLW was prior to this, and so I feel like I am being enlightened and educated by my wonderful bloggy friends. I feel like the subtitle of this book could be Frank Lloyd Wright: great architect, kind of a dick.

Leaving. This book is incredible! INCREDIBLE. It was the most moving, beautifully written story about a second chance at love, of infidelity and the aftermath, of complicated families and love. It absolutely blew me away with its gorgeousness and heart-wrenching descriptions of choices and decisions. It’s very much a character book, as opposed to a plot book, so do NOT come at me! While I was reading this I didn’t want to do anything else, and while I wasn’t reading it I was thinking about it. Just WOW.

I hope you are all enjoying the summer in all its glory! The garden is so productive right now, and it looks like I’m going to have approximately one million tomatoes and a whole lot of zucchini. The boys are coming home tonight, so I think I’ll turn some of my already-myriad zucchini into chocolate loaves, and maybe add it to yet another gargantuan salad. I hope you are enjoying the bounty of the season. 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