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The Very Next Day, You Gave It Away

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In a very uncharacteristic move, last week I angrily unfollowed a Facebook account after a highly unsatisfactory and, for me, infuriating exchange. It is my general policy to not comment on anything I disagree with; rather, I merely scroll past or mute. It takes a lot for me to become upset enough to unfollow a page. This is not to say I have never done so – I certainly have – but it’s a rare occurrence.

Also last week I learned that some people have very strong negative feelings toward LED Christmas lights (HI SWISTLE, HI ENGIE). I do not share those feelings, and I don’t not share those feelings. I’m neutral on the topic, I suppose, although all of our lights are LED, so that would lead a person to believe that I am highly in favour. I just like lights, and as long as my husband, who is the purchaser of all things light-related, has our display up before December, I am happy.

But I think it’s important to able to have feelings about holiday-related things, or anything, really, and I acknowledge and support my friends in such discussions. If a person doesn’t like LED lights, then they should be able to have non-LED lights and enjoy them, I say, my eclectically vibrant lawn display notwithstanding. I support my non-LED friends in their endeavours, even if I only realized that this was an issue six days ago. I don’t share those same feelings, but I am HERE for you, friends.

I’ll tell you what I do have feelings about, and that is the song Last Christmas. I love that song. I love it in all its iterations, even the really weird ones that involve harmonicas and steel drums. I have an entire playlist dedicated to the original version and all its many covers. I love it unapologetically, and I am not ashamed to say I get hurt feelings every year, every single year, when the inevitable post about Whamaggedon, which involves gleefully AVOIDING any exposure to Last Christmas, comes to pass.

Listen. We all like what we like, we as a human race are not homogenous and we can enjoy different genres of music. I get it. I get it that what is a joyfully festive bop to me, what makes me sing and dance and feel like the Grinch after his heart grew three times and broke the little measurement box, is a song that is disliked by others. That’s fine! We like what we like. But what I’m saying is that just because I think that Paul McCartney’s Wonderful Christmastime is the worst holiday song ever written, that doesn’t mean I’m going to make up a game about it and post it all over the internet. Yes, the opening bars make my shoulders go up to my ears with tension and I wish I could rip off my own ears when I hear them, but I am not actively making fun of people who like it.

This leads to, of course, my angry unfollow. I know better, of course, than to engage in any kind of polarizing discourse on Facebook, but I found myself typing like Kermit the Frog, wondering if people hate joy and professing my love for Last Christmas. And the response to me, of course, was to lighten up, it’s just a fun little game.

And I should. I should lighten up. It is just a fun little game, it’s not a personal slight on my character, even if it does make me feel strangely bad about myself, like I’m some kind of Philistine kicking up her heels singing in the grocery store aisles. I know, I really do, that it is not rational, and has literally nothing to do with me; the people playing this game are not out to inflict pain on my emotional state. And yet. Feelings are feelings: some people feel strongly about lights, some people feel strongly about artificial Christmas trees, some people feel strongly about matching festive pajama sets, and I feel strongly about Last Christmas.

In my recent Ask Me Anything (I’m still accepting questions!) Suzanne asked: Outside of Grocery Carts Should Be Returned to Their Corrals, are there any hills you would die on? (HI SUZANNE, thank you for seeing me). There are a few, but one of them is that you shouldn’t yuck someone’s yum, including holiday music. To be honest, this is something I practice daily, and I struggle with sometimes, because I live in a house with people I love who eat meat.

Relatedly, Bijoux asked (HI BIJOUX): Is there any meat you miss? and the very simple answer to that is no. I absolutely don’t, and in fact, the more years that go by, the weirder and more repellent I find the whole concept. However, the men I love all love meat, and so I remind myself every day not to yuck their yums. It’s hard, and I don’t always succeed, particularly at this time of year when photos of turkeys in various stages of cooking abound, but I try.

Everyone is walking their own path, and I would explode with incandescent rage if anyone told me what and how to eat, and so I support them in their dietary choices, even if I disagree with them. And the fact of the matter is that every single one of us living on this planet impacts said planet in some way. I don’t eat our furry, feathered, finned friends, but I do eat grains and fruits and vegetables, and all those crops crowd out animal habitats and thus indirectly impact those innocent beings.

Of course, we all have value and bring positive impacts to the world, every last one of us, but the truth is that just existing negatively affects our environment, and, therefore, its animal inhabitants. No matter how environmentally conscious we may be, collectively we are damaging our Mother Earth. This is just a grim fact, and there is literally no solution except not to exist or, as in the movie I saw in the Sphere in Las Vegas, to be shipped off the planet via spaceship to a whole new planet which is just waiting for humans to fuck it up.

Let’s not do this. We are all just doing our best, hopefully, and my best includes not eating meat, but by no means does that make me, or any other plant-based person, morally superior.

But sometimes it’s hard to remember not to yuck someone’s yum. Did I mention turkey photos?

This brings me to another hill I will die on and that is that there are many sides to any story, and that people contain multitudes. I am always unpleasantly surprised to discover that a person whom I esteem as intelligent and broad-minded can only see people and situations in black and white and cannot see any other point of view other than the one they’ve entrenched themselves in. They cannot see why people might make decisions a certain way, or why people are the way they are.

Which brings me back to Last Christmas. Perhaps I am being close-minded about those people boasting about going all the way until the 24th without once listening to the happiest song on my holiday playlist. If I, a strident Bring Back Your Cart person can recognize that there are extreme extenuating circumstances in which that is occasionally not possible, surely I can cultivate a feeling of compassion and understanding for these people. Perhaps they had a romantic encounter one Christmas, and the next day that encounter was over, forever. Perhaps that romantic encounter was of enormous importance to them and yet, the following year, the other party failed entirely to even recognize them, indicating that the encounter was of minimal importance. Perhaps their heart had been, devastatingly, broken, and the only way they have found to heal this heartbreak was to search for community, for someone special, for someone else who shared such experiences. Perhaps this community all must avoid anything, but particularly a musical masterpiece, that reminds them of this incredibly painful period of their lives. Perhaps that is what Whamaggedon is all about, perhaps it is a community of people who do not want to be reminded of their hearts being given away, they are, we might say, once bitten and twice shy, and must keep themselves from such remembrances that are sparked via festive music.

Or perhaps they really are taking aim at me personally. Who can say.

Weekly Reading

The Girls From Corona Del Mar. You know the kind of book that you just sink into and then feel incredibly resentful about having to do anything that is NOT reading the book? That’s what this book was to me. What an incredible story of lifelong friends and their journeys. One of my least-favourite things in reading is when an author wants to highlight a social or political issue and is completely heavy-handed with it – but this book is the opposite of that. It showcases so many social and political issues in a way that is incredibly thoughtful and haunting. This book shows that we can’t ever really know a person totally, even with the deepest friendship, and that everyone is on their own journey. Now, for the funny part: one of the character’s mothers collects gnomes, so many gnomes, and is eventually beaten almost to death with one. I hope this doesn’t happen to me. This leads me into lots of content warnings for violence, death, death of a DOG, suicidal ideation, ideation about so-called mercy killing, the ethics around pregnancy, medical incompetence, child neglect, abuse, massive drug use, and the aforementioned gnome beating. That’s a lot of content warnings and normally that would make me steer clear, but not with this book. Despite all that, it’s such a beautiful and compelling read about friends, family, love, and moving through life as a terribly damaged person.

Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake. I am kind of neutral about Anna Quindlen’s fiction; I neither love it nor dislike it. Someone (who was it? was it you?) told me about this memoir, which is in the form of essays, something I genuinely enjoy. And there are many lovely, thoughtful essays in here about aging and mothering adult children, and life in general. Some of it was kind of dated (there is a whole section on politics that made me kind of sad and also like “just wait, Anna”) and she refers to “our generation” a lot, and “our generation” refers to baby boomers. I mean, she’s exactly my mom’s age, but I still think there was a lot that is resonant for women my age. It was interesting as her generation WAS the generation of women who were encouraged to Have It All, and it was fascinating to read about her experiences with Having It All. It’s really a memoir of life after fifty, and while some of it was truly wonderful to read – she has SUCH a talent with words – I’m still kind of neutral. I do love the title, though.

We are coming into the Holiday Home Stretch, friends! I hope things aren’t too stressful where you are. I have some work to finish this week and then I’m hoping to relax by the tree with some good books and yummy things. That sounds pretty good right about now. How about you? Tell me everything. xo

Five For Friday: The 2024 Five Star Edition

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Five Star Books. I suffer terribly from both recency bias and an inability to remember when, exactly, events occur, and between those two things and the volume of books I read every year, I rarely can answer what were your favourite reads this year without referring to a detailed spreadsheet. For example, before I wrote this I would have said the absolute BEST books I read this year were Long Island Compromise and Margo’s Got Money Troubles, both of which I read in November, and the soon-to-be-reviewed The Girls From Corona Del Mar, which I read this week. But I had so many other five-star reads this year: Tom Lake, Games and Rituals, The Rachel Incident, Commonwealth, My Last Innocent Year, The Whispers, Happiness Falls, Sandwich, The Menopause Manifesto, Peacocks of Instagram, Leaving, Come and Get It, Summer Romance, A History of Burning. I realize that it’s only December 13 (hey, it’s Friday the 13th!) and there could still be some five-stars coming my way, but last year I wrote a similar post on December 8 and then only had one: How To Love The World: Poems of Gratitude and Hope. It gets a mention here because I missed out on it last year.

Five Star Re-Reads. I love re-reading old favourites, some of which have been read many times before. Sometimes I pick up these books because I don’t have any library books on the docket, sometimes I pick them up because I just read a string of bad library books and need a literary palate cleanser, and sometimes I just want the comfort of knowing I’m reading something that is going to be great. My five-star re-reads this year were Cat’s Eye, The Friend, Open Secrets, Early Morning Riser, Diary of a Provincial Lady, Amy and Isabelle, and Too Much Happiness.

Five Star Music. It is so exciting when Spotify Wrapped comes out; I love to see what I’ve listened to over the year, and to hear what other people have been musically obsessed with. My top artist has been the same for a few years: Aretha Franklin. I am, apparently, in the top 0.1% of listeners who also think that Aretha is the Queen. I wasn’t surprised to see that, and I wasn’t surprised that Whitney Houston was in the number two spot – also a queen, but with a lower-case q and with sadness about the disease of addiction – and that Alicia Keys and TLC were in the number three and four spots. Queens, all of them. I was, however, a bit surprised by my number five.

One of these things is not like the others! Well, I guess he was the King, and that goes with my musical royalty theme.

As for the top songs, well, my list was a surprise.

I would like to note that Dog and Butterfly moved from number one in 2023, and that I am in the top 0.01% of global listeners when it came to Linda Ronstadt’s Ooh Baby Baby. Either no one else plays that song, or I play it a lot, or both.

Five Star Podcasts. I subscribe to many, many podcasts, and I enjoy them all for different reasons. However, I would like to talk about the ones that I get extremely excited about, and desperately want to listen to immediately when new episodes air. The first is Were You Raised By Wolves, an etiquette podcast that brings nothing but delight and joy to my day. You may think that modern etiquette is a pretty dull theme for a podcast, and you would be in concert with my husband and sons, who think that my listening habits border on the insane. But it’s honestly so much fun, and the hosts have wonderful chemistry. I always learn something new and interesting, like it’s bad etiquette to pass the salt without the pepper. Who knew?

The second is Bad On Paper, a podcast about reading and writing. The hosts are in their thirties, and also have wildly different reading tastes from me. This was made evident when, on the rabid recommendation of one of the hosts, I read The Idea Of You, which was possibly one of the worst books I have ever consumed. But I do love listening to them. They do episodes on Obscure Erotica around Valentine’s Day, which is how I ended up reading Unhinged and Squeak, two absolutely insane books, one about a woman having sex with a sentient door, and the other involving balloon animals. They just released a Holiday Obscure Erotica episode, and I’m not saying I’m going to read Santa Claus Is Going To Town On Me. But I’m not NOT saying that, either.

I also love listening to The Girls Next Door, which I think I heard about from Stephany (HI STEPHANY). Truthfully, I tried to listen to them about a year ago and I turned them off in irritation. I just could not! I think that Stephany eventually wore me down with her enthusiasm. On her recommendation, I downloaded a very specific episode which I cannot for the life of me remember, earlier this year, and I was hooked from that moment on. It’s just a lovely little podcast full of friendship and fun; they just released an “80s Kid Christmas” episode and as someone born in 1975, I was here for that kind of nostalgia.

Do you like food? Do you like cooking? Do you like the general demeanor and energy level of the SNL skit Shweddy Balls? Then you’ll love Cookbook Club, where they soothingly discuss recipes they make from a specific cookbook, a different one every episode, alternated with cooking topics. If you ever want to hear a debate about whether white sprinkles belong in rainbow sprinkles, and if not, how to make your own custom rainbow sprinkle mix, then this is the podcast for you!

I prefer to listen to smaller, independent podcasts, but I need to tell you about a big exception: Heather McMahon’s Absolutely Not podcast. I have had to stop walking to bend over, put my hands on my knees, and make donkey-like wheezing sounds from laughing so much while Rex looks at me with concern. Possibly I shouldn’t listen to her on our walks.

Five Star Travel. If 2023 was the year of upheaval and change, 2024 has been the year for travel. In January we went to Mexico, in March to Las Vegas. In April and May we were in Ontario and Quebec, only to come home, turn around, and road trip to see my parents in Alberta. In August I went on a road trip with my parents from their place to southeast Saskatchewan for a family reunion, while my husband and older son were on their own road trip to Tuktoyaktuk, and we went for another road trip to Alberta in October for my dad’s 75th birthday. After that, we spent three weeks in Italy! All of our trips were wonderful in different ways, and I swear it’s not recency bias, but Italy was a very special trip of a lifetime.

The world is so big and interesting, there are so many places to go, there are so many books to read and things to listen to. I love hearing what other people also love, whether it be books or music or podcasts or travel. So let me know, my five-star friends, what you’ve loved this year. Tell me everything. xo

Noelle, The Non-Blooming Christmas Cactus

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In September of 2022, my husband and I were at a farewell party for friends who were moving out of the country. As we were leaving, I was, as I am wont to be, getting emotional, and my friend asked if I would take custody of her Christmas cactus, as she couldn’t really take it with her. Of course, I said, tears in my eyes. Of course I will.

Now, I’m unsure if Denise (HI DENISE) was just trying to get me out of the house before I burst into sobs, but I like to think that she gifted me her Christmas cactus knowing it would be going to a good home. I am a verified Plant Lady, after all. This Christmas cactus was, she told me, seventeen years old, which was the exact age of my younger son, giving this custody arrangement even more gravitas. I clutched both Denise and the cactus to my chest and went home.

I named the plant Noelle, I repotted her in a new, larger pot with good drainage, I bought a special fertilizer, I talked to her and put her in the right kind of light exposure, and I started to refer to her as “your sister” to the boys. I love all my plants but Noelle has a very special place in my heart.

Noelle is now nineteen.

A few weeks ago I was looking at Instagram and several of my friends posted photos of their Christmas cacti in full bloom. Now. Let’s all remember that Comparison Is The Thief Of Joy, and that we shouldn’t compare our insides to someone else’s outsides, Instagram is life’s highlight reel, but I realized that in the twenty-six months of Life With Noelle, she hadn’t bloomed once. In fact, she has barely grown.

I thought about this for a while, and then ventured to tell my husband that I think maybe Noelle has reached a certain age, and that her blooming days are over. He replied that I could just put Noelle in the compost and get a new plant.

Well.

Even after almost 23 years of marriage, my husband was surprised, actually surprised, at the ferocity of my reaction. How dare. I could not believe that he would suggest I THROW OUT my beloved aged Christmas cactus, just because her blooming days are behind her? Would we, I said, my voice rising and breaking, would we do that to a PERSON? Just because they don’t bloom anymore?

My husband and son looked at me wordlessly, as I projected onto a Christmas cactus, then went back to eating dinner.

I have been identifying a little bit too strongly with Noelle lately, for reasons that are boring and stupid. To that end I pulled a book off my shelf for inspirational reading before my yoga practice.

This is a reread for me, and something struck me as I read through the pages. It was like I was viewing something at a distance, something that had been deeply meaningful to me at one point but was no longer so. It was like listening to Wish You Were Here or Landslide: at one point in my life I wouldn’t be able to make it those songs without choked sobbing, but now I can listen to them and appreciate them as just musically beautiful.

Curious, I went to look up when, exactly, I had read All Along You Were Blooming, and I finished it in April 2023 which was, as some of you may know, an absolute low point emotionally and mentally. Every single thing in my life was in upheaval: we had just sold our house and we were preparing to move to a different province, one son was graduating high school and the other was getting ready to leave for university, my husband was retiring, I was giving up all my yoga classes, MY ENTIRE HOUSE WAS A DISASTER OF HALF-PACKED BOXES. No wonder all of this spoke to me like an emotionally misunderstood fourteen-year-old girl hearing Pink Floyd for the first time.

Life is a journey, as I say almost daily, and meanwhile, while I currently feel like my blooming days may be behind me, I know that one day I will look back at this moment in time and want to slap my own face. To that end, I have reinstated my long-neglected Mirror Meditations, which I encourage all of us to do. Look on your face like it’s someone you love deeply! SOFTEN YOUR EYES, GODDAMMIT.

On theme this week I read a memoir, the thesis of which is you may be in your late forties, but you can still go to Paris and get fucked six ways from Sunday, which, you know, isn’t exactly relevant to my life or interests, but I guess it’s nice to know the option is there?

Weekly Reading

Prior to going to Italy, I put all my library holds on pause, and now the chickens have come home to roost. I started the week like this:

And now it’s this:

It’s been one step forward, two steps back LITERALLY as every time I return a book two or more are waiting for me.

The Christmas Orphan’s Club. ‘Tis the season to read Christmas books! This one is about four friends who celebrate Christmas together in New York City each year, and are coming to terms with one of them leaving for LA. I am about twenty years too old for the target demographic here and I could not relate less to the characters, honestly. But the book has a nice message about chosen family, the importance or not of a date on a calendar, and growing up. It’s a real moment in time – when friends are the most important thing in the world, and when those friends start building a life of their own – and that might be just your jam to read this holiday season. I mean, it’s not mine, but maybe it’s yours.

I’m Mostly Here To Enjoy Myself. I am the exact same age as the author of this memoir, but – other than our shared obsession with Laura Ingalls Wilder – our lives could not be more different. In theory this is fascinating to me, but in practice – i.e., in this book – it is less so. The premise of this book is that at age 46, the author spends August 2021 in Paris, a city she has spent many Augusts in. The difference this time is that she has just spent sixteen months alone in her 450 square foot NYC apartment, and is absolutely starved for contact. The lady is Down To Fuck. She is also down to be the recipient of Grazing The Watercress, as they say in French. This is how the book is sold, honestly, that not only is she getting laid and pleasured on her command, but she is also incredibly desirable at age 46. So. There’s lots that could be said about this sales pitch but there’s much more to it: a) the book contains a lot more than that as there is a good discussion about aging, b) the author has a really nice Parisian female friendship group, and you know I’m a gal’s gal, c) there are wonderful food descriptions, and d) the hookup app she uses is called Fruitz, which is amusing to me. I will say the most interesting thing about this book is the timeline: reading about that time in the pandemic brought back memories, not at all good ones. It felt weird thinking about that crazy time, and it was strange reading about someone getting her freak on when I was stressing about the kids going to school, would it be virtual school, etc. Well, the world is a wild tapestry. 

Dear Fang, With Love. I admit I knew next to nothing about Lithuania; prior to this week I could not have pointed it out on a map. My son, however, told me that it was part of the Soviet Stack, along with Estonia and Latvia; it’s north of Poland and east of Finland. I also did not know how it was affected by World War II and the Holocaust, and this book explores that country’s history from the viewpoint of a father and his teenage daughter who are visiting it after the girl has a psychotic break. This is a strange but compelling book about mental illness, heredity, parental relationships, and youthful love.

A fantastic quote, and one that actually did resonate for me from I’m Mostly Here To Enjoy Myself, is “I have found that you can either talk about yourself, or you can write about yourself, but doing both is a bit much.” Relatable. Basically everyone I know is aware of this blog and most read it (HI EVERYONE) which means that I am very, very aware of the possibility of repeating myself when I am out and about. However, it occurred to me that I have some new readers (HI NEW READERS, thanks for being here!) and to that end I am doing an Ask Me Anything. Longtime readers may be thinking to themselves Good lord no, no, no, I already know too much and I can respect that! But if anyone – new or longtime or anything in between – has a question for me, now is your chance! Just click the link! Have a beautiful week, friends. xo

One Day In Your Life…

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Aficionados of obscure Canadian bands from 1988 will certainly be singing along to that title: …shouldn’t be a problem. One day in your life, shouldn’t cause you pain. Because it’s one day that you might never be around here, and I’ll never ever see you again.

Well. That got a little dark for a minute.

My favourite day of the week is Friday, or, as I like to say to my sons’ extreme consternation, Fri-YAY. My older son says Mom in that certain way that our offspring have to say that we are unbelievably lame creatures, us mothers, whereas my younger son merely closes his eyes to indicate the psychic pain I cause him for using a term like Fri-YAY.

But it is a Fri-YAY to me, I save special treats for that day and I minimize jobs and chores, and here’s how last Friday, the final Friday of November 2024, went down.

3:56 am. I wake up and think about things until the clock strikes four, and then I get out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, where I start that pot of ambition. I drink two glasses of water, perform my morning ablutions, and get dressed in the clothes I have set out in the main floor bathroom the night before. I turn on the Christmas tree and get Rex out of his crate, which is a true highlight of my day, since he behaves as if it’s been years since we’ve seen each other. He’s like the Mary Oliver poem about starting the day in happiness come to life.

Friday is a great day in Rex’s life, because it’s Garbage Day. I grab my flashlight and coat and we go to the shed where the bin is locked up away from bears. As I drag it up to the road, he runs back and forth excitedly. After that, we go inside where I fill his food and water bowls, fill my own coffee cup, and start my laptop. This is my designated blog reading time, so if you’ve ever had an incoherent comment from me, probably the coffee hasn’t kicked in yet.

5:21 am. Yoga time! I read a poem first and then meditate on it while I practice.

This is followed by a Peloton ride.

7:15 am. The sun will be coming up in 15 minutes, which is perfect timing as I don’t like walking in the dark. I rehydrate and change my clothes, put on mascara and tinted lip balm, and we are ready to go! For a change I decide to hike up Knox Mountain. There’s no snow at our house but there is a bit on the mountain, and that adds many, many minutes to our walk, as Rex eats, rolls in, and frolics through the scant snow.

9:31 am. We finally get home and I am ready for breakfast. I make a smoothie, tidy up the kitchen, and decide that I cannot abide the state of the floors – side eyeing Rex – and so I give the main floor a quick vacuum and wash.

10:20 am. I shower and scrub out my shower – I do this while my hair mask is absorbing, hot housekeeping tip – and then moisturize, apply makeup, and get dressed. I practice my Spanish to let my hair dry a little before taking the blow dryer to it. I’m on a 1006 day streak!

11:43 am. I don’t usually write on Fridays, but I’m on a self-imposed deadline to finish my second draft before January, which is when my Revise and Edit course begins. I set my mental timer for twenty minutes, and after that I treat myself to reading a couple more blogs.

As Laura and Suzanne know, once the glasses are on, it’s Business Time. (HI LAURA HI SUZANNE). Does anyone remember the Flight of the Conchordes? When you get down to just your socks, it’s Business Time. Anyway, it’s not THAT kind of business.

12:21 pm. Lunchtime! Yesterday I had made a vanilla ice cream mixture and so I put that in the ice cream maker to churn while I eat lunch. I add chopped up Oreos and consider myself a contender for Mom of the Year. I read a chapter of my current book, which is Real Americans.

1:30 pm. I have a pedicure appointment at 2, but I need to stop at the library first. I do this and later discover after I left another of my holds came in. I had put all my holds on pause when we went to Italy, and I currently have eight library books at home, plus three at the library, plus TWO MORE in transit. Oops. I have a lovely pedicure, and come home to see my husband and son in the yard putting up the outdoor Christmas decorations. Rex is out with them too and he’s pretty excited to see me. He comes inside with me where I brush my teeth, call my mother, and then come back out to be a consultant for the decorations. Should the walrus and the penguin be together? Where does the llama go? Should the snowman go under the overhead vines as a welcoming committee?

3:59 pm. This is it. This is the day where the sun sets before 4:00. I’m mainlining Vitamin D at this point. We go back inside and have Cocktail Hour: first, a chilled shot of Limoncello to sip, reminding us of Italy, and then a glass of Chianti.

5:00 pm. A knock on the door, and it’s a delivery from UPS. My dear, sweet friend Elise has sent me a package and it’s absolutely incredible. Does she know me or what?

5:30 pm. It’s time to make dinner, and it’s my favourite, the one I could eat on repeat indefinitely: Greek salad with hummus and pita. What better day to have my favourite dinner? Since I (always) make dinner, the guys clean up the kitchen.

7:00 pm. While they are cleaning up, I change into my pajamas and do my dental and skincare routines. Then the three of us watch an episode of NYPD Blue. It is a ROUGH one. If you know, you know. After that we are all kind of silent, and I read a few more chapters of my book while my husband watches hockey and my son disappears.

8:47 pm. Bedtime! I’m calling it a day. A Fri-YAY.

Weekly Reading

To The Women. I have been reading these poems in the morning before yoga and let me tell you, this uplifting collection could not be better timed! has words of wisdom about body image, aging, and loving yourself more and more as time goes on. For those of us side-eyeing our wardrobe as it relates to our newfound perimenopausal tummy, this is a really inspirational look at aging.

The God of the Woods. About halfway through this mystery-thriller about a young girl who goes missing from summer camp is this quote: “She read Walden out of sheer boredome and found herself annoyed by Thoreau: his self-regard, his tone of superiority, the way he doled out advice so obvious as to be insulting. Here was a rich person playing, thought Louise. There were poor people far more resourceful and self-sufficient than he was; they just had the grace and self-awareness not to brag about it.” HELLO. Seldom have I felt so seen. I don’t think I’ve ever had my feelings about Thoreau encapsulated so well, so that boosted the book for me right there. But more interestingly, that paragraph basically sums up the whole book. It’s a foreshadowing and a thematic statement all in one and I AM HERE FOR IT. I love when authors leave little hints like that. Anyway, this is not my usual genre, but I picked it up because it’s so buzzy right now. And even though I don’t love mystery-thrillers, I really liked this, I found it a nice twisty entertaining read that kept me guessing until the end. Damn if I don’t feel bonded with Liz Moore right now, too. Living deliberately my ass.

Real Americans. This was an interesting reading experience, a book about three generations of Chinese-Americans that deals with wealth, class, assimilation, fitting into society, and, wildly, the ethics of genetic modification. It’s also about family and making the best choices given the circumstances. I really loved the first third of the book and then I liked it a bit less as it went on. As literature, it’s quite a remarkable accomplishment, spanning decades and generations and weaving historical events into everyday life. There are some interesting questions raised: what role does fate play in our lives, what does it mean to be part of a family, is wealth incompatible with living an ethical life? It’s a thought-provoking and very well written book.

Congrats to all my friends who participated in NaBloPoMo! I saw quite a few “day in the life” posts and was inspired to do my own – waiting until December, of course! I’m always a bit reticent to do these posts – is anyone really interested in the minutia of my life? – and then I realize that I myself am fascinated by them, so why not. Next up: an AMA! Happy December, friends. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Travelling Light Edition

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It’s been three weeks since we got home from Italy, and the whole trip feels like a dream.

We had a little extra time in Monterosso al Mare, a tiny town in Cinque Terre, before our boat left to take us back to Manarola, so we and our guide wandered around, poking into little shops. I was specifically looking for Christmas ornaments, but I stopped when I saw a display of gnomes or, as they are called in Italy, gnomi. The gnomes were embroidered with thing like I Love My Cat and Best Grandma, all in Italian. As I started to turn away, one caught my eye:

FRIENDS. I hysterically showed my husband, who assumed that it was part of a display with names from Abby to Zachary, but NO. This was the only named gnome in the entire display and, possibly, in the entire town. I don’t know how or why but it is not for me to question fate.

We didn’t bring home many souvenirs; along with the Nicole Gnome (Gnicole Gnome?) we bought a few gifts for the boys and a couple of tiny Christmas ornaments. We were very limited on space as we had decided to continue our Carryon Only tradition, which was a definite choice for three weeks away. By nature I am not much of a light traveller, but I have become one. In fact, I viewed the whole trip as a challenge, and in the end it felt like my very limited selection of clothing was actually kind of freeing.

I wore a fleece dress on the plane and packed two t-shirt-style dresses, along with a pair of jeans and pants, four tops – two short-sleeved, two long – and a sweater. I wore boots on the plane and packed a pair of shoes, and that, along with socks, compression stockings, and underwear, made up the entirety of my wardrobe for three weeks.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Pack Light Edition

Backpack, Backpack

Once we were in Italy, we traveled almost exclusively by train or on foot, and to that end we didn’t want to be dragging around wheeled suitcases on cobblestone streets. We splurged on carryon sized backpacks that had extra safety precautions in place, like interlocking zippers and clips, to foil any would-be pickpocketers. This turned out to be a brilliant idea. In addition to cobblestones, there were so many uneven paved surfaces, stairs, and – in the case of Siena’s train station – series of escalators, and having backpacks made travel so easy. They were pretty heavy and not super comfortable, and I think the most we walked with them without a break was about two kilometres, so they wouldn’t be ideal for a major backpacking trip. However, they were perfect for our purposes, although they were smaller than regular carryon suitcases, meaning that I had to be extra efficient with packing. I also took a medium-sized crossbody bag to use as a purse.

Cubism

I have been a fan of packing cubes for a couple of years now, but Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH) introduced me to the concept of compression packing cubes, and wow, did they ever make a difference. I was able to squeeze all of this into my backpack; it was not effortless, but I did it!

The Laundry Never Ends, Even In Italy

There is just no way to pack enough socks and panties to last for a three week trip. Well, there is, but not in a way that is conducive to using only carryon luggage. These detergent strips work pretty well for bathroom-sink-laundry; it’s easy to just tear off a small piece, and it dissolves quickly. I personally prefer a more scented detergent, but this got the job done.

Face It

Typically when it comes to makeup I am an Ilia Super Serum Skin Tint gal, but that product does not travel well. The bottle always seems to leak, and the last thing I wanted was a bunch of Bom Bom coloured serum all over my liquids bag. Yes, the colour I use is called Bom Bom, what of it?

Anyway, since I was limited on liquids, and I wanted to bring little containers of my favourite Prose hair products, I needed to be efficient. I was looking for something that would be a primer, sunscreen, moisturizer, and makeup all in one, which is a pretty tall order. To that end, I headed to Shopper’s and was immediately accosted by a gorgeous Estee Lauder representative named Olga who bossed me into trying their Futurist Hydra Rescue.

Let me tell you, friends, Olga knew what she was doing. This stuff is incredible; it’s moisturizing, has great coverage, lasts all day, and has an SPF 45. She took one look at me and assessed my colour, and when I poked at another tube on the display, she said No! This is perfect shade for you. And you know what, she was right.

This product is even more expensive than Ilia, which I think is plenty pricey, but it really goes a long way volumetrically. Olga showed me how little I needed – A drop! You need only a drop! More than that, you look like clown. – and again, she was right. Most of my trip was spent outside in the sunshine, and my skin stayed dewy and protected, with JUST A DROP.

Totes Cute

When I was sixteen, I was in Rome on a school trip, and let me tell you, it was a blast. My friend Danna (HI DANNA) and I were the recipients of a LOT of male attention, being cute sixteen-year-old girls and all. Truthfully more attention was focused on Danna, with her beautiful Nordic features and waist-length blonde hair, but everywhere we were, we heard “Ciao, bella!” It became our catchphrase.

I saw tourists walking around with tote bags all over Italy, emblazoned with pictures of landmarks and, yes, of David and his penis. I think it’s kind of tacky to use a Rome tote bag while in Rome, but I knew I would want this for my daily life when I got home. It folded up well so I could semi-easily squeeze it into my very packed luggage. Did I really need another tote bag? No! But it’s really sturdy and it has a zipper on top, which feels handy. It’s the perfect size for library hauls, but most of all, I like walking around announcing Ciao Bella to the world.

Spritz and Soup

Here’s the most obvious statement one could possibly make: the food in Italy is divine. Everything is absolutely delicious and, strangely, reasonably priced. I partook in so many amazing meals, and most of them consisted of pasta and wine.

One thing I hadn’t tried prior to our trip was an Aperol spritz, which is possibly the most deliciously refreshing beverage one could consume. And consume them I did!

My husband bought Aperol and prosecco so we can make these at home. Now, will they taste as good as the ones in Italy? It’s doubtful. But I am a Determined Woman and I will Give It A Try.

A non-pasta comestible I became obsessed with was pappa di pomodoro, a Tuscan soup made with tomato and – wait for it – stale bread. Does it sound weird? Yes. Is it incredibly delicious and do I wish I could be transported back to Tuscany to eat it? Also yes! I did attempt to make this at home, but it was like the time I tried rice milk ice cream: sadness in food form. My husband suggested I drink half a bottle of Chianti and then try my homemade pappa di pomodoro in order to accurately compare the two, but no. I’m just going to hold the savoury soupy memory of it in my heart.

Outfit of the Month

You know I wasn’t going to leave you hanging after telling you what I packed for the trip! I got so much wear out of this black tee dress THAT HAS POCKETS, and as a bonus I wore it with my full-length compression hose on days where we’d be standing a lot. After years of having only thick beige compression hose, I finally sprung for a couple of pair of black ones which just look like regular tights. Those boots are Sorels; they are unlined rain boots and they really go with so many different outfits.

I brought along my favourite blanket scarf, and of all the things I packed, this was the item that was used the least. We had really warm temperatures everywhere except Venice, and we were given blankets on the plane, so I didn’t really need it. Still, it looks cute with the dress.

November has just flown by, what with the trip, and catching up from the trip, and having a semi-breakdown about the postal strike, but here we are in the holiday season! What are your favourite things right now? Tell me everything. xo

Seasonal Specialties

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It’s that time again!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weekly Reading

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

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

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

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

Five For Friday: The Costume Change Edition

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Typically, I go through what the Edies would call four Costume Changes a day, which might seem excessive, but I don’t see any way around this. But this week, on Wednesday, I had FIVE Costume Changes, which felt like a perfect topic for today. However, my main motivation for this post was something that I will probably talk about at more length later, and that is that as much as I love clothes, as much as I love Costume Changes, I and my perimenopausal body have been experiencing a bit of a wardrobe crisis of late. As you know, I am a firm proponent of feeling good in my clothes at all times: if I don’t feel beautiful, or at least really cute, then the clothes are wrong. This has been a bit harder to swallow lately, so I decided to record my Wednesday Costume Changes to rediscover my love of clothes.

  • Costume Change #1: The Workout Outfit. The first outfit of the day is for my yoga practice, followed by a Peloton spin class and strength workout. It consists of a yoga tank and crops, plus a tee since it’s chilly in the mornings. Since the house is asleep at this time, I had to rely on the one full-length mirror in the house, the one beside the guys’ squat rack. I don’t know how to move the bar, which hits at face height when I’m standing, so hence the awkward posture. Also I don’t know how to take a good mirror selfie, which explains the maniacal facial expression.

Listen, I’m a sweaty gal. When I work out I am dripping, and my clothes could actually be wrung out, which leads us to…

  • Costume Change #2: The Dog Walking Outfit. Obviously I can’t leave the house in wet clothes, because a) it’s gross, b) it’s cold, and c) I have some semblance of dignity and self-worth. It’s also chilly in the mornings, so in addition to a fresh yoga tank and pants, I have on a sweatshirt, leg warmers, a bum warmer, winter jacket, toque, and mittens. I also have brand new Timberland boots that are so comfy and warm. As a note, my older son said admiringly, You got Tims! and I, Canadian cool girl that I am, wondered why he was talking about Tim Hortons. TIMBERLANDS. They are cool, you guys, university student approved. I’m not a regular mom. I’m a cool mom!
  • Costume Change #3: The Regular Life Outfit. On Wednesday I wanted to accomplish exactly two things: a Superstore grocery shop, and 1500 words on my novel’s second draft. I got both of those things done in this sweater and jean combination. These (non-Timberland) boots and puffer jacket are perfect for Kelowna November: the temperatures are just north of zero, and this outerwear is warm but not overly so.

Anyone who knows me will be alarmed to see that single banana on the countertop behind me. I know! That’s why I was heading to Superstore! Not to worry, this is what it looks like now:

  • Costume Change #4: Girl’s Night OUT! Listen, it’s pretty rare and remarkable for me to go out on a Wednesday night, but the Squad and I were going for dinner and to see the community theatre production of The Golden Girls – The Laughs Continue. We all know how I feel about the Golden Girls! Not one of us realized until we were actually there that it was a drag show. Wait a minute…I think that’s a man was the thought that went through my mind after the show started. Wait a minute…I think they’re all men! Again, not a regular mom. A cool mom. I don’t like to judge based on appearances, but if I did, I would say that at least 80% of the audience also didn’t realize it was a drag show. Well, lots of laughs had by the Squad, and it was a great excuse to wear a dress and heeled boots.
  • Costume Change #5: Stop! Pajama Time. I always wear a coordinated pair of pajamas, and it’s the holiday season, which calls for festive jammies. My husband gave me these for Christmas last year along with matching socks.

Speaking of perimenopause, my feet don’t get cold anymore like they used to, but I like to apply foot cream at night, and wearing socks helps to absorb it. Also, I don’t like leaving lotion footprints, nor slipping on the floor, so the socks stay on until I’m actually in bed.

I hope you all have a fabulous, fashionable weekend! xo