Category Archives: Uncategorized

Two Years Of Pandemic At The Disco; One Hundred and Four Weeks In

Posted on by

I have been reading Keep Moving by Maggie Smith, and it’s beautiful; I wish, though, that I had read it two years ago, at the beginning of the pandemic. It’s perfect for Pandemic Life; for any kind of Life that has encountered loss, really.

It was exactly two years ago yesterday that everything shut down, and thinking back on that time, it seems surreal. Did we all just…stay home? We did and what I remember most is that hopeless feeling that came from the schools shutting down, lining up to just get into the grocery store, and becoming completely intolerant of hearing predictions about what would come next, how long this would last, and all the other end-of-the-world prophecies.

It would be wrong and horrible to say that a pandemic that has killed almost six million people, that has caused financial and economic ruin to many, that has brought so much pain and suffering in so many different ways, that has divided us as a people seemingly irrevocably, and that has left us all with skyrocketing inflation and government debt is a good thing. It isn’t. But when I read the above passage, from The Choice by Edith Eger, something pinged.

…the things that interrupt our lives, that stop us in our tracks, can also be catalysts for the emerging self, tools that show us a new way to be, that endow us with new vision.

If that doesn’t describe Pandemic Life, I don’t know what does.

March 2020, I remember, was very cold and grey, and this month has also been very cold and grey. I personally do not feel cold and grey, at least not figuratively. Literally it’s pretty cold and also I need to colour my hair this week. But, you know, I feel fine. It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine could be the theme song to my life over the past two years.

We have all come so far and done so well at learning how to pivot and change and roll with the punches. There have been a lot of punches, that’s for sure. Life sure isn’t what I thought it would be, but you know what, I have been thinking that we never know what life is going to be like. We are always going to grow and change and pivot.

The other day, my Facebook memories showed me at my very last book fair, in 2017, and I thought, oh wow! The book fair, and my life as the Book Fair Lady and Chair of the School Council took up so much of my time and energy, and now that time is far in the rearview mirror. Speaking of the rearview mirror, pre-pandemic, I was teaching up to ten classes a week, and now I teach two. It’s hard to remember the frantic pace I moved at to teach that many classes and the kind of energy I had to exude at each one. Those days are also long gone, like my food blogging days, like the days I was at home with the little ones, like the days I worked on a trade floor, like my own youth, but that’s okay. Life is always changing, and sometimes we look back at our past selves and think who was that woman?

For example, I came across the most insane “featured outfits” on one of the fashion blogs I follow. I stared at it for a long while, wondering if it was a joke. Balloon jeans, shorts with kitten heels and knee-length argyle socks, the weirdest looking shoulder pads I have ever seen. But then I remembered that I owned, and wore, red palazzo pants in 1996-97, and denim overalls in the early to mid-nineties. Who was that woman? And why is her hair like that?

Nothing says “night on the town” like a nine-inch zipper and a bandanna-style top.

Anyway, two years! This past weekend we went to a restaurant to celebrate my parents’ 50th anniversary; six months ago I could hardly even fathom doing such a thing, but I am so happy we were able to do so. To be honest, I was worried that we would end up doing nothing for them, and that made me so very sad. For their 25th anniversary, I somehow organized a surprise party; this was pre-email, pre-internet, and so I think I mailed actual invitations, looking up their friends in the phone book. That party was a success but having since been to a couple of surprise parties that were NOT successes – the guests of honour being somewhat horrified about having a party sprung upon them completely unprepared, wearing sweatpants, or being very angry with the surprise party-organizer-who-happened-to-be-their-spouse-who-is-not-coincidentally-not-their-spouse-any-longer – I can tell you that surprises are not for everyone.

Maybe we as a general population are just not great with the unknown, or with anything that causes us to change course suddenly, or to think longingly of the past.

It just occurred to me: maybe the pandemic is like an awkward and unwanted surprise party, thrown by the spouse who you were completely incompatible with and everyone could see the split coming a mile away, not that the surprise party was the catalyst for the breakup, exactly, but it was just one of many symptoms of a larger problem. The party has gone on for much too long, and everyone, upon grabbing their jackets and leaving, will be changed on some fundamental level. Is this metaphor unravelling as I write it? I don’t know.

Oh wait! It’s like The Breakfast Club, complete with all the fat-shaming and slut-shaming and general shaming. We are thrown together in a punishing way and may think that we have been changed fundamentally when it’s over, but are we? At the beginning of the pandemic, I thought we would emerge stronger as a people, undivided, with more gratitude and compassion, and now I wonder if anyone will ever acknowledge Brian in the hallway. Will anyone learn from this?

Well. Two years of Pandemic At The Disco. One of the ladies in my Monday class had a throwaway comment about Covid being over, and another lady got pretty snippy and said that Covid is NOT over and I had to sweetly smooth things over, lest a brawl erupt in Strengthen and Tone Yoga. But I feel that they were both right, in a way. Covid is not over, but I feel like the fear and panic that we have been feeling for two years is subsiding substantially. In any case, the weekly count continues.

Just stay right here, ’cause these are the good old days.

Pandemic Reading

Keep Moving. As I alluded to, this book, which was written after the author’s divorce, is perfect for pandemic life. This would have been a perfect book to read, one page at a time, before daily yoga. However, I got it at the library, so I read it just like a regular book. I wish I had read it in spring 2020. I may get my own copy so I can savor it over yoga.

The Hundred Wells of Salaga. This book is based on the experiences of the author’s great-great grandmother in pre-colonial Ghana. It follows two women, one a princess who wants power in her father’s male-dominated court, one a woman kidnapped and sold into slavery. I was glad there were family trees and a cast of characters as it was quite complicated and tricky to follow at times. It’s an interesting look at internal slavery within Ghana.

Welcoming the Unwelcome. Would you believe this is the first Pema Chodron book I’ve read? I know! Talk about a great book for pandemic life. This was written in 2019 but is perfect for right now; the focus is on opening your heart and working on building community in an increasingly polarized world. The polarization of our world is something I have been thinking about a lot. How do we even come back from this as a society? How do we move forward from the us versus them mentality that, let’s face it, we all have. This book was clearly written to address the then-current US administration, but the lessons can be certainly applied to today’s world, as we start to heal as a people.

At least, I HOPE as we heal as a people.

Happy Two Year Pande-versary, my friends. Take care of yourselves, especially as it’s TIME CHANGE WEEK. Ugh! Give yourself a little extra grace this week. xo

Losing My Religion; One Hundred and Three Weeks In

Posted on by

A brief timeline of Covid-related happenings over the past six months, if you will indulge me:

Fall: After “Open for Summer” which had all restrictions dropped, massive Covid outbreaks, ICUs are full, masks once again mandated, and vaccines required to go to restaurants, fitness classes, and entertainment venues.

Mid-December: Gathering restrictions for (largely unvaccinated) children under 18 dropped entirely. Gathering restrictions for adults continue, but there is no differentiation between vaccinated and unvaccinated.

Christmas-New Year’s: The biggest Covid outbreak yet, demand for testing far exceeds supply, PCR tests become impossible to get except for health-care workers and hospital patients, rapid test supply completely runs out and people line up the block, Soviet-bread-line-style, at pharmacies for a chance to get one.

January: The people I know who have Covid exceed the people I know who don’t have Covid. Back to school is delayed, diploma exams cancelled, Fuck Lydia.

Mid-January: School reopens, and medical masks and rapid test kits are distributed to every student, with the understanding that they are all supposed to test themselves twice weekly. Parents are warned that school could go online “at any time.”

February 14: NO MORE MASK MANDATES FOR CHILDREN UNDER 18, INCLUDING IN SCHOOL SETTINGS. This occurred exactly one week after the last delivery of masks and test kits. My kids have reported that “no one” goes without a mask at their school of 2300, including themselves.

March 1: All restrictions dropped completely, it’s a free-for-all.

My friend Janet (HI JANET) asked if I would stop my week counting now that restrictions were dropped, and my response was no. This is not our first rodeo. Let’s see how this plays out, and in the meantime, we are coming up to the two year mark.

My older son is graduating in a few months, and it is also my parents’ 50th anniversary in a couple of weeks, so I had the need for a lot of photo frames, one of which was a kind of odd size. I had run into a photographer friend who assured me that all could be found at Michael’s, which is how I found myself at Michael’s, last Tuesday morning.

Here’s the thing: I deeply admire crafty people. I follow a few very beautiful crafty blogs, which are purely pleasure and contain nothing that I would be able to do. I have incredibly crafty friends who paint and cross-stitch and knit and crochet and even spin their own wool. My mother-in-law knits everything from dolls to slippers, often making up her own patterns. My mother crochets and sews; she made clothes for us when we were kids, as well as our Halloween costumes and my kids’ Halloween costumes, even when my older son decided he wanted to be an eagle one year, and a pattern for an eagle could not be found.

I, on the other hand, once ripped a gaping hole in my pants when I tried to sew a button on; I almost failed the sewing portion of junior high Home Ec, where I spent three years ripping seams out until my projects were filled with holes.

What I’m saying is that I feel very out of place in Michael’s. As soon as I step through their doors I feel immediately overwhelmed, and the chorus from Creep starts to go through my head. What the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here. As I stood near a display of Easter items – could I make my own wreath? No. – women dashed around me, grabbing fake flowers and pastel coloured eggs. I felt like an alien who had just been dropped onto the planet and was unsure of the customs or language of the people around me. Where. Are. Frames.

My legs eventually became ambulatory again, and I did find the frames, albeit not before getting distracted by a huge display of baking supplies. Ooooh, there are so many sprinkles. I got what I needed and then, because Costco was next door, I decided to just stop in there rather than rush over post-Superstore on grocery day, which is Wednesday.

And now I will say that I have been in a bubble for many months, as my routine is this: go to Superstore for opening at 8:00, after that head to Costco for opening at 9:00. It’s rushed but civilized, and it’s exhausting but fine.

Costco at 9:00 is very, very different from Costco at 11:13.

It was pandemonium! Pandemonium! There were people everywhere, including one woman who was clearly in a rush, as she kept sweeping past all of us patiently making our way down the aisles, bumping our carts aggressively and sighing as though the state of the union was dependent on her getting out of Costco quickly with her giant detergent and frozen fries. Plus, since the mask mandate was lifted, at least a third of the customers and staff were maskless, and I am just not used to seeing that many faces. Sample tables were open and there were people jammed around them, trying to get a piece of ham or a pickle. My usual quiet, gentle Costco experience was no longer. As I wheeled my cart towards the parking lot, silently admiring the fellow behind me whose cart held nothing whatever except two jugs of milk, the song in my head abruptly switched away from Creep.

That’s me in the aisle, that’s me in the parking lot, losing my religion.

I have not said anything for many months about people not returning their carts, probably because I have been there right at store opening, which is too early in the day to give people a chance to prove that they are terrible. But my god! People are terrible. As Gigi said (HI GIGI), people are VILE and have no conscience. I mean, look. The cart carrel is RIGHT THERE. It is TWO parking spots away. WHY.

Seriously, WHY. I know there are people out there who say ridiculous things like people are hired to collect the carts and those people need jobs, and to the people who say that I say, fuck you. I mean, people are also hired to clean public washrooms but we are not peeing all over the floor and throwing our toilet paper and paper towels everywhere just so those people can have job security. The people are hired to collect the carts FROM THE GODDAMN CARRELS AND LEAVING CARTS HERE THERE AND EVERYWHERE IS NOT HELPING THEM DO THEIR JOBS OR SOMEHOW INCREASING THEIR JOB SECURITY. IT IS JUST BEING A LAZY ASSHOLE.

Well. I am going back to my first-thing-in-the-morning bubble, because as we all know, we cannot control what other people do, we can only control our reactions, and as such, I will just go into my own personal rage corner, this blog. Also, when I see this kind of mayhem like I did this week, I rescue one of those poor abandoned carts that just want to go to their HOME, the carrel, to take into the store for my own use. Small steps lead to marathons, and small gestures can change the world. Even in the Costco parking lot.

Why doesn’t Costco retrofit their carts so that a coin is needed for their use? It would certainly solve the problem. Why am I not in charge of these things?

Pandemic Reading

Life and Other Near-Death Experiences. This was a light book about a heavy topic: cancer. I had recently read the sequel to this book, without knowing it was a sequel. Whoops! It would have made more sense to read it in the correct order. I liked this book fine, I didn’t love it, but it was fine.

My Monticello. I am mixed on this book, which is made up of short stories and a novella. I loved the short stories and thought they were so smart and moving. The novella was a great concept, but it just dragged for me; I could NOT get into it. I would say all in all that this was a very original and interesting book – lots of fascinating facts about Thomas Jefferson and his Black descendants – but the novella was a bit too dystopian for my personal taste.

This book is bananas. BANANAS. It is dark and juicy and hilarious and horrifying and terribly sad, all at the same time. The details are so good! Some are hilarious – “(the waitress) tells us the specials in such a way that we know put some responsibility as patrons in her section us to just go right ahead and fuck ourselves” – and some details made my eyes get wider and wider and my eyebrows started to disappear into my hairline. Whoa Nelly. Like, it’s CRAZY. Every single situation is crazy. That said, it was really good! I was compelled to keep reading even when I was supposed to be doing other things. I am looking forward to more from this author. What a debut!

Happy March, everyone! Next week is our two-year Pande-versary, who would have thought? Take care of yourselves. xo

Marital Mismatches and Superpowers; One Hundred and Two Weeks In

Posted on by

It feels like I was JUST saying that February is tomorrow, and here we are, MARCH is tomorrow! February flew by; part of it was that it felt like Life Was Hectic, with wrestling tournaments and a new school semester and a five-day weekend thrown in for good measure, but part of it was that we have had absolutely gorgeous, mild weather in a I Can’t Believe It’s February kind of way. This, however, came to an abrupt end this past week; I had to put on my snowpants, again, to go for a walk.

It’s weather like this that makes automatic car starters so popular around here, for people who don’t have garages. I mean, obviously. I am no expert on this subject, but I can only assume that if a person were to use an automatic car starter while their car was in a garage, they might drop dead of carbon monoxide poisoning on entering the garage, unless the garage door was open, but if it was, why would you need the automatic car starter? Why would you go into the garage, open the door, and then use an automatic car starter? Why wouldn’t you just start your car?

Anyway, automatic car starters. I don’t have one – I have a garage, and I use it – but I’m sure they are great for weather like we had this past week. As I was walking the other day, attired as above, I started to pass a truck parked on the street, and then that truck started lightly honking its horn. I thought maybe it was a neighbour, trying to get my attention, but then I wasn’t sure how anyone would know I was me, dressed as I was, with sunglasses to boot. Startled, I looked up, but no one was in the truck. Then the truck started, and I thought, oh, automatic car starter and kept on my way. Shortly after that, the same thing happened with ANOTHER vehicle. And then another one! Three times this happened to me in a sixty minute walk, a light honk and then the car starting just as I was passing it, with no one in the vehicle.

I actually started to wonder if I had suddenly developed the world’s weirdest and most useless superpower, the ability to start cars merely by passing them on the street. Imagine! It would have been nicer to suddenly develop the ability to fly, or control the weather, or even swing from buildings using webs shooting out of my own wrists, but I will admit I will take anything I can get in the superpower front.

As I was walking, I was listening to a podcast that was recorded in the summer, in Los Angeles, and one of the hosts mentioned that she hates showering, and showers only when she has to, which turns out to be every three to four days. Now, before I get further, I am going to say that if you are a person who is of similar mindset, I am not judging you: I assume we all know our own bodies and needs best, and this is a safe space, we are in the Trust Tree here. You do you.

Personally, I am a Daily Shower person, and I realize this is a great privilege of the Modern Age, but my Daily Shower is an Anchor in my day, and without it I feel like I would drift off into the Sea of Life. Even though I do not wash my hair every time I shower – that I do only about every 2-3 days – I feel refreshed and happy and like I hit the Reset Button Of Life every time I step out of the shower. It’s an important ritual in my day, and also, if you’ve ever seen me post-daily-workout, you would probably think a daily shower should not only be encouraged, but vital.

I get sweaty, is what I’m saying. I haven’t weighed myself since August 2020, and I don’t plan on weighing myself ever again, but sometimes I wonder how much water weight I lose in a workout. I’m a person who sweats a lot and I shall not sweat-shame myself, but honestly. I could wring out a tank top post-workout.

Back to the podcast. After the host mentioned her distaste for showers, the other host asked if her husband was still showering twice a day and that brings me to my whole point. Twice a day showers feels like a lot, but I have definitely done that in the summer, after a day spent outside gardening or hiking, covered in sunscreen and bug spray. But what I have a hard time reconciling in my head is what is their marriage like? You never know, of course, what goes on in someone’s marriage, but if my husband – who also showers daily – started showering every 3-4 days, I think it would end in divorce. I just couldn’t handle it. I recognize, again, privilege and that our bodies adjust to what we do to them, but still.

It’s the mismatch that gets me. It’s not like I think my husband and I should be clones of each other, because that would be weird and disturbing, and also I would not want to be married to my own clone, god, there can’t be TWO of us. But I also don’t think that Opposites Attract, or if they do Attract, they don’t Stay Attracted, if you know what I mean.

I have been thinking about this because we are coming up to our twentieth anniversary – twenty years! – in a few weeks. I find it interesting, there are so many behaviours that would never bother me if anyone else in the world did them, but if it was my husband, NO. NO SIR. The following would put an actual strain on my marriage, an I don’t think this is WORKING kind of strain: smoking, leaving dirty clothes on the floor instead of in the hamper, drug use, neglecting his health, and, importantly, less frequent showering than me. Fortunately, none of those things have come to pass, so we shall happily celebrate our China Anniversary later this month, minus the china.

Look at that sweet young thing! She had no idea that in twenty years, she’d be writing about marital shower habits.

Pandemic Reading

Notes From A Small Island. When I posted this on Instagram, a friend introduced me to the Bill Bryson Theory: the first one you read is hilarious, and then each subsequent title is progressively less funny. YES. I have enjoyed Bryson so much in previous books but this, meh. It follows him on a seven-week tour of Britain, his adopted country, and yes, this was published in 1995 so it is obviously dated and yes, Britain in the 80s and 90s was a grim and depressing place to be, but ugh. This book was so dull and disappointing. There were a couple of amusing anecdotes and some interesting facts, but whoever reviewed this at The Globe and Mail – “Doubled over belly shakes and seltzer through the nose funny” – was maybe drunk.

Black Is The Body. This was excellent! I love a good essay collection and this one was insightful and thoughtful. The first essay, about the author being randomly stabbed at a coffee shop, was startling; the rest of the book deals with race, home, marriage, and motherhood, all tying back to her body and what it means to be black in America. 

The Echo Chamber. This is a very clever satire and commentary about appearances, social media, and cancel culture. The Cleverley family is an absolutely ridiculous group of caricatures, but there’s a thoughtful and interesting pre-SM backstory. Also interesting to me is that it was published in 2021 and there are quite a few references to past mask-wearing, vaccinations, and how fun it is to go shopping again, now that the pandemic is over. Oh, sweetie. The epilogue I could have done without, but in general it was smart and amusing. As I say, it’s satire, so definitely not for everyone, as there are a few storylines that feel distasteful.

My Boyfriend Wrote A Book About Me. I am NOT the correct demographic for this book, that much is obvious. It is supposed to be a humorous book of essays about bad dates, relationships, and one-night stands, but I found it so terribly sad. The whole time, I kept thinking Oh, sweetie, no. No, don’t sleep with that guy. No. That’s not going to help your self-esteem. It’s been a long time since I was on the dating scene but hoo boy, this woman had literally the worst luck with men. As a preview, her ex wrote a book about her, referring to her as his “fat-assed girlfriend,” which should give you an idea about the general temperature of the book.

There has been a lot of terrible news this week, as we are all aware. I haven’t mentioned the incredible sadness and fear for the people living in Ukraine, for all my Ukrainian friends, but of course that has been on my mind this week. Lots of love to all of you, from my little corner of the world. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The I Choo-Choo-Choose Me Edition

Posted on by

I am obsessed with the song i by Kendrick Lamar. Do you know it? When he heard me playing it and singing along, my son told me that i is on The Greatest Hip Hop Album Of All Time, which I didn’t know, but which made me feel like this:

Or maybe this:

I would probably feel more hip if I didn’t hear the song on a Peloton ride, which, like all middle-aged suburban ladies who have joined the Peloton cult, is how I am exposed to all new music. Case in point: watching the Superbowl 2021 halftime show, I exclaimed “I know this song, I heard it on Peloton!” It was, of course, The Weeknd, which was top of the charts for much of 2020. This is what happens when you keep the radio tuned to 70s on 7, you miss out on the trends.

Note: the Superbowl 2022 halftime show was the best halftime show in the history of halftime shows, and I will DIE ON THIS HILL.

In any case, i is a great song, and I love myself goes through my head over and over on a regular basis.

It’s pithy but true: if we don’t show love to ourselves, how can we show up to the people around us or the world at large? We can’t.

Back in August 2020, I read the book Your Body Your Best Friend, and I am not exaggerating when I say that it was absolutely life-changing. I had picked it up on a whim at the library, and ended up buying a copy for myself, so I could reference it whenever I wanted.

I strongly believe that we need to be our own best friend, our own best cheerleader, and our own best supporter. We can’t show up as our best selves without loving ourselves, just as we are. One way to accomplish this is to do little things for ourselves, every day. We need to choose ourselves, and to choose things that make us happy and contented, and on that note:

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The I Choo-Choo-Choose Me Edition

Lube Up, Baby

I love the body lotions from Bath and Body Works, and a couple of times a year I go for the buy 3, get 3 deal. Every morning, right before my shower, I choose the scent I want for that day and set it out. It’s a pleasant tiny ritual that makes me happy every time. What a fun thing to choose every day! Warm Vanilla Sugar for a cozy day at home, Japanese Cherry Blossom for teaching, Saltwater Breeze for groceries?

It’s risky, but I have been choosing new scents in the store without being able to actually smell them, because of mask-wearing. One such new scent was the Fresh Cut Lilacs, and the first time I wore it, I smiled every time I caught a whiff of it, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. After a day of wearing it, I realized that it smells exactly like a Yardley body powder that I used to give my grandma for Christmas. Remember those? I am not saying that you want to smell like your own grandma, but I’m kind of saying you might want to smell like your own grandma. It’s very pleasing and happy-making.

Day By Day

This is my bedside table, and on it, among all the various items from my children and a clock radio dating from the early 90s, is a page-a-day calendar. I hadn’t had one since I worked in an office – probably it was a Far Side one – but I saw this while Christmas shopping and was immediately charmed. It’s put out by the New Yorker and every day has a short love story. I bought it thinking it was romantic love, and there is certainly that, but it’s much more: familial, friendship, unrequited. There are a lot more stories about breakups and death than you might think, but they are all very charming. I mean:

Another recent one was about noticing a person with the same groceries in her cart as the author, and wow, that resonated with me and my little life.

Line By Line

I am NOT a journal-keeper; I feel like this blog is journal enough. However, you may be surprised to know that I don’t share everything here. I know! Didn’t I just talk about my chin hair and my average tampon usage? Is nothing sacred? But it’s true, some things are private, even if I don’t mind talking endlessly about my moustache’s sudden youthful resurgence and what kind of bras I wear.

I don’t like the thought of writing in a traditional journal, but I decided to buy a five year, line-a-day journal and I love it. It’s so easy to summarize the day in one little line, and I don’t need to go into my feelings in depth or anything.

It’s kind of perfect for these times when I can’t remember when something happened. My great-grandma kept a journal that was literally just weather, what she had planted in her garden, and something small about her day; it sounds like not much, but I really like looking at it, and I want to have a similar record for my own use. Who knows, maybe I’ll have a great-granddaughter who will read it and think wow, boring, and yet scintillating.

Accessorize!

Back when I was 14 or 15, a guy said to me that I “wore more jewelry than Mr. T,” which was an exaggeration, but only a slight one.

I mean, he wasn’t wrong. I do love jewelry, it’s true; I enjoy the little ritual of choosing my jewelry each day when I get dressed. Some things are default; I always wear my rings, watch, and Pandora bracelets, but I like to choose different necklaces based on what I’m wearing, plus left-wrist bracelets and earrings.

A funny story about earrings: I generally wear little silver sleeper hoops, and I don’t take them out. Back before Christmas, I was over visiting with my sister-in-law, and I realized that one of them had fallen out. I couldn’t find it and honestly, I was a bit devastated. I have quite a few other pairs of silver hoop earrings, gifted to me over the years by my parents, and so I wasn’t devastated for long. I just got into the habit of choosing earrings each day, and it was pretty fun.

Then, just this past week, I was putting clothes in the dryer and lo, there was my earring! The thing is, I lost the earring before I got the new dryer. How did it get there? Was it in a sweater I hadn’t washed until now? That seems suspect, but I guess it could have happened. Anyway, the positive thing is I have my favourite pair of earrings. The negative thing is now I’m just…wearing them all the time and not choosing new ones daily. Wow, life is hard.

Put On A Happy Outfit

I already wrote about clothes this week, and how much I love getting dressed every day, but what I didn’t write about was how I also love putting on my workout clothes. Sure, I could wear just anything to work out in, but why? Why not something cute and fun? I set out my workout clothes every night before I go to bed, and it’s always fun choosing a cute tee to go with my tank and leggings.

This last one cracks me up; it was in my Christmas stocking this year, and I texted a photo of it to my similarly Austen-loving sister-in-law (HI JO). Whenever something crappy happens, our shorthand now is “Fuck Lydia.” When the diploma exams were cancelled, I got a text from her saying only “Fuck Lydia,” which I think sums up things nicely. You should try it! It’s surprisingly wide-reaching.

Slight digression, I was chatting with my friend Nicole (HI NICOLE) about this shirt, which led to a conversation about Which Austen Character Are You? We all want to be Elizabeth, but like Marie says in When Harry Met Sally, “Everybody thinks they have good taste and a sense of humour, but they can’t ALL have good taste.” Everyone wants to be Elizabeth Bennett, or Jo March, but not everyone can be Elizabeth Bennett or Jo March. (I’m an Amy, honestly). I admitted to Nicole that I think I’m actually Charlotte Lucas, not because my husband is a Mr. Collins – NO, he emphatically is not – but because I am a very practical person and I make life decisions for practical, rather than emotional, reasons. She admitted that she’s a Mary, and every time I think of that, I laugh. Literally, no one else in the world would admit to being a) Charlotte Lucas, and b) Mary Bennett. What a pair of Nicoles we are! Maybe we are just really self-aware. I don’t want to think of any alternative explanation.

These are all my favourite daily things this month, things I choo-choo-choose every day. What do you do to choo-choo-choose yourself? I hope it’s something lovely. xo

A Week of Winter Outfits; One Hundred and One Weeks In

Posted on by

When you were a kid, did you have paper dolls or Barbies or those Mattel Fashion Plates? I sure did and I loved them immoderately. I loved the idea of different clothes for different activities; I loved putting together the outfits and imagining what the doll would do in those outfits. Gardening! The opera! Or, in the case of my Princess Di paper dolls, dancing with John Travolta or heading to Balmoral for some kind of Scottish holiday! In my world, Princess Di was free of crushing sadness and eating disorders; her life was non-stop fun and excitement, and there was an outfit for every occasion.

What I’m saying is that I love clothes, then and now. I love my own clothes and I love other people’s clothes, too. I admire other people’s style, even when – maybe especially when – it is really different from mine. I love the thought of expressing oneself through one’s clothing, I love looking at new fashion trends, even when I have no intention of incorporating them into my own wardrobe – I’m looking at you, balloon leg jeans – and I absolutely LOVE accessories and how easy it is to add flair to an outfit.

To that end, I follow a number of fashion bloggers, from a woman in her 30s to a woman twice that and everything in between, and the blogs all have one thing in common: they are aspirational. I mean, one of them JUST posted about what to wear in St. Barth’s. Like, this isn’t information I NEED, but I like it. I love looking at the fashion blogs, with their gorgeous scenic backgrounds and their perfect clothes, but rarely do the outfits resonate with me in a I could wear that kind of way. Almost never do I see an outfit and think that it could fit into my life.

Also, I’m not going to St. Barth’s anytime soon, but if I do, I will know what to wear.

I am not a trendy woman in any way, nor do I believe in the Fashion Police, but I have one very strict rule that I follow when it comes to clothes, and that is that I should always feel good in my clothes. When I get dressed every morning, I want to feel happy, comfortable, and cute. If I don’t, something is wrong with my outfit. This is a very important distinction: something is wrong with my OUTFIT, something is NOT wrong with ME.

It is really important to me to get dressed in something that makes me feel good, every single day, no matter what the day has in store for me. That’s why I decided to write about all the outfits I wore last week, why I chose them, and my feelings associated with them. What else is there to write about in February? The snow? As a note, it’s winter here and currently very cold, but last week the temperatures are what I think of as mild winter temperatures – hovering around the zero mark, give or take a few degrees.

In the spirit of keeping it real, I have had photos taken at various places in my home, which is where I am most of the time, so no pretty backgrounds for me. Not interested in clothes? Skip forward to this week’s reading; I have a couple of great titles and one not-so-great title.

One Week Of Winter Outfits

Monday

This was Valentine’s Day, and it was also a teaching day, so I festively decided to wear my pink pants, which I bought in the 2016 Boxing Day sales; the tank and legwarmers are even older than that. The long-sleeved top is new, purchased online, and this was its debut. Regrets, I have them. The trouble with online shopping is that it’s so hard to tell what an item is going to look like. I expected this to be at least waist-length, but it barely covers my ribcage, not that I’m going to wear it without a tank underneath, but still. It’s short. It’s also really open in the back:

It turned out to be comfortable to teach in, but I would only wear this in a class with female students; I prefer a bit of coverage for the few older men that are in my Thursday class. So that I didn’t freeze for the rest of the day, I put on this tunic that I bought at Jacob many years ago, Jacob having gone out of business in 2015. I love this tunic, and I love these super-tall boots – they zip up the side so I get the funkiness of laces without the bother of laces.

Tuesday

I don’t normally have class on Tuesdays, but I was teaching a one-off for a friend, and so I put on this, which is one of my very favourite outfits. The sweater and legwarmers are so cozy, and I love the light grey long-sleeve top for extra coverage while teaching.

Plus, polka dots!

Wednesday

Wednesday is Grocery Day, and it was quite cold, so I layered up. I think I bought this sweater in about 2013 or 2014, and it’s still in great shape. The most sustainable fashion pieces are the ones that last forever, in my humble opinion.

The kitchen is my habitat for a good portion of the day, and a good portion of that portion sees me chopping vegetables. Please note that my hair matches my wall colour quite nicely; THAT is how you coordinate, people.

Thursday

I teach on Thursdays, so I slipped on this long cardigan to match the stripes in my tank top. I teach in a very chilly community centre, so I put on a long-sleeved tee and legwarmers. For fun I added my mala made for me by my friend Amy (HI AMY), although I’d never wear it to teach – the risk of getting smacked in the face is way too high.

All of these pieces are at least five to seven years old, but I think that the leggings and tee are much, much older. The tee is from Jacob and I’m sure I wore it in our annual family photo in the fall of 2010.

Friday

An outing! I had an outing that wasn’t a class OR groceries! I took the car for an oil change. You only live once, people.

This sweater and these jeans are fairly new. I love the cozy warmth and the fit of the sweater, and it’s so soft. I have it layered with a long-sleeve tee underneath, naturally.

Jeans! I have things to say. So, in the last six months or so, my body has changed. I am not going to tell you in what way it has changed, nor will I assign a value – positive or negative – to that change, but I am going to tell you that my jeans, purchased in 2014-15 no longer fit the way I wanted them to. I no longer felt cute or comfortable in them. I bought these jeans, and another pair, last Black Friday online, which sounds more bold than it really was, as I had tried on jeans from that store, Bootlegger, only a month prior. I am SO happy with them. They are a perfect fit, and they feel great.

I am not interested in judging changes to body shape, either my own or someone else’s. Body shapes change, and that is a neutral statement, it is not something we need to celebrate or condone. It just IS. And sometimes, that means new jeans.

This is my reading chair, where I spend a lot of my non-kitchen time. Please note cute and fuzzy companion, where he spends a lot of his time.

Saturday

I spent most of Saturday afternoon – surprise! – in the kitchen.

Very long time readers will recall my gig as a food writer over at YMC – all my recipes can be found here, if you’re interested – and at my time there, I amassed a number of very cute aprons, of which this was one. Also, shout-out to my Lee Valley apple corer/ peeler. I baked a pie for the boys, riffing on Jessica Seinfeld’s recipe for apple blackberry, and I am always grateful not to cripple up my hands peeling apples. Look at how silly it turned out!

Doesn’t it look like it’s winking and sticking it’s tongue out? Sassy thing.

Anyway, during my non-baking hours, I wore my other pair of new jeans, along with a black sweater over the stretchy grey top. Comfy and cute, and I actually had my hair down. The girl who cuts my hair chided me, saying that wearing it in a bun all the time causes breakage, and I promised her I would try to wear it down more often, which means, apparently, once a week.

Sunday

For me, Sunday is a day for long walks and cooking, and so jeans, a long warm tee (from Jacob again! RIP Jacob), and a nice thick black sweater from the Gap was just the ticket. These are the jeans I bought that ended up having too much stretch to them, and so I always wear a long shirt to cover up the inevitable sagging that occurs by early afternoon.

You can probably deduce for yourself that my general esthetic is a) lots of layers, b) cozy and comfortable pieces that I’ve had for many years, and c) black and grey. It works for my life, which may not include trips to St. Barth’s (YET), but is pretty cheery and pleasant nonetheless.

Pandemic Reading

The Art of Forgetting. Hmm. Well. I went in with decent expectations, as I’ve read a few books by this author – one last week! – and I have enjoyed them. However, this was…not good. I found the characters unlikeable and there was just so much about body weight, dieting, and “getting fat” talk. It was like Mean Girls, but grown up, and not funny. The author tried to tie together traumatic brain injury with empowering yourself, but most of the time I just found myself reading with a furrowed brow. Not great for my facial lines, save yourselves the trouble.

The Choice. Wow! This book! I cannot say enough about this incredibly inspiring memoir. The author is a Holocaust survivor, and she’s still alive today; she wrote this book at age 90. She was imprisoned at Auschwitz at age 16, and from there was marched to a number of work camps, and then subjected to the Death March and was found in a pile of bodies at the end of the war by American soldiers. She was an accomplished dancer and gymnast – she was cut from the Olympic team because she was Jewish – but when she was found after the war, she needed to learn how to walk again, she was so broken. Not only did she survive, but she thrived, immigrating to America with nothing, and building her way up to become a renowned psychologist, working with patients with traumatic stress disorders. This book is nothing short of incredible.

The Gift. This book was written after The Choice, and is more self-help than memoir. It is a wonderful book about seeing your darkest moments as your greatest teacher. It is inspiring and empowering.

How do you feel about fashion? Do you love getting dressed in the morning or is it a chore? I hope you enjoyed this little glimpse into my clothing life and, by extension, my home! xo

Valentines and Galentines; One Hundred Weeks In

Posted on by

Tomorrow is the big day, everyone! It’s Half-Price Heart-Shaped Chocolate Day! I think I might pop out for a box of Ferraro Roche to take to my Thursday class, as they put up with my very dumb “archaeologists discovered a mummy covered in nuts and chocolates, they think it was the first Pharaoh Roche” joke.

Happy Valentine’s Day! I teach my usual Monday afternoon Strengthen and Tone Yoga class today, and I have made up little love packages for my ladies:

And of course there have been heart-shaped cookies and cake, because that is how I roll.

The cake was visually very imperfect but absolutely delicious, which feels like a Beauty Is Found Within kind of metaphor.

I know some people loathe these so-called Made Up Hallmark Holidays, but any reason for cookies, cake, and – tomorrow – half-price chocolate is a good reason, in my books.

My feelings towards Valentine’s Day have shifted many times in my life; things have evolved a lot from my high school days when the success of the day was directly proportional to the number of Candy Grams received. These days I tend to lean more into the Friendship Aspect of Valentine’s; in other words, Galentines!

Oh, how I love and treasure my girlfriends, past and present. I’m not a woman with many male friends – I do have them, but they are, with few exceptions, the male half of Couple Friends, or a Spouse of a Girlfriend – but I cherish my girls.

My friend Marion (HI MARION) posted this the other day:

I can’t stop thinking about this. How interesting it is that we are all made up of little pieces of people who come into our lives; I do firmly believe that everyone is in my life for a reason, even if they are not a part of my life anymore. It’s a very No (wo)man is an island feeling. Not an hour in the day goes by when I don’t think of a friend, and it’s more than just things I do; day-to-day associations and household items will remind me fondly of the friend in question. Recipes, gifts, books; all of those remind me of people in my life. Songs, especially, remind me of particular people – pretty much everyone in my life has a song I associate with them. Even certain yoga poses will remind me of friends or students. It’s like The Word Association Game in my head, all day, every day, if you want to know what it’s like to be me.

We all have an effect on people, often unknowingly. If you’re reading this, you have most likely influenced my life in some way, and I guarantee there is a song that I associate with you.

I have been reading Agapi Stassinopoulos’ new Speaking With Spirit, and the theme last week was “It’s an offering, not a transaction.” The idea is that if we think of everything in our life – what we do and what others do for us – as an offering, rather than something to be “paid back,” we can discover gratitude for even the smallest things. For example, think of the incredible steps that bring us clean water every single day. We turn the tap and voila, clean water. Think of the scientists who came up with filtration systems, the engineers that created the infrastructure, the people who work in filtration and who built the infrastructure, and the plumber who hooked your house up to the existing infrastructure. IT IS AMAZING. Such a small thing, but if your water gets shut off for any period of time, you know how very important it is. Gratitude for water! And electricity! And heat! All things we generally take for granted but are a marvel of technology, engineering, and effort.

Now, I’m not saying we should go through every minute thinking about this – our hearts would probably explode from gratitude, or we would be paralyzed thinking of all the amazing things in every single part of our lives – but it is worth a moment of marvel. The technology and process that brings us paper! Books being printed en masse, thank you Johann Gutenberg or the guy you stole the idea from. Distribution of books! Education systems that have us all literate!

What I’m saying is that I am grateful for my life and I am grateful for the people in it, including you, dear reader.

Speaking of gratitude, I had my booster shot on Friday. My husband and I walked over to the Alberta Health Services centre – it was like a date, but lame – on his lunch hour, and, predictably, things were running super behind. When I got my first shot, through AHS, I had a warning to only join the lineup 10 minutes before my appointment, but then the line itself took two and a half hours to get through. Similarly, on Friday I had a message not to arrive until five minutes prior to my appointment, which was exactly what I did, and then ended up waiting 45 minutes. THERE HAS TO BE A BETTER WAY. WHY EVEN HAVE APPOINTMENTS. Any vaccination at the local pharmacy has been perfectly on time, why not with AHS?

Well, that’s a small grumble. I had – and still have – a sore arm, and I was tired and low-grade feverish Friday night, so I took a nighttime Advil, which I have taken before and will take again, but wow, did things go sideways. My younger son was out at a wrestling tournament, and I wanted to stay up to hear how it went, but ended up passing out on the couch. When he did get home – at nine o’clock, which tells you something about me – I woke up hearing him excitedly talk about the match that he won, 18-14. I stumbled off the couch like a drunk, and hugged my other, non-wrestling son, telling him how proud I was of him. “Um, Mom, I’m glad you’re proud and everything, but I think you’ve got the wrong guy.” Oops. I repeated the process on the actual wrestling son, then stumbled to my bed where I – according to my husband – tried to set my alarm for some unknown reason, before passing out again. The next day, after eleven hours of sleep, I realized that I had put on a fresh, regular shirt instead of my pajama top, along with my normal pajama bottoms, and that prior to my couch sleep I had consumed an entire bag of white chocolate peppermint popcorn, very kindly sent to me by the lovely Kari (HI KARI THANK YOU). THE ENTIRE BAG, YOU GUYS. It was not a single serving bag, not by a long shot. It was a wild Friday night.

Pandemic Reading

Home Body. I have been reading Rupi Kaur’s poetry prior to my morning yoga practice, and it is really beautiful. I mean, look at this:

And this:

I think this could be part of every woman’s collection; the latter half of the book is very uplifting. However, I feel I must warn the reader that the first part of the book is very dark and there is content about sexual abuse and racism that is very upsetting.

Standard Deviation. Have you ever known, just KNOWN, that you would love a book and so you put off reading it, you save it and save it and wait until you NEED to read it? That’s what I did with this book. I have loved the other two Heiny books I have read, and I have been saving this until the perfect time. I pulled the trigger last week and let me tell you, it did NOT disappoint. I absolutely love Heiny, she has become one of my favourite authors, writing one of my favourite genres, which is “ordinary life made extraordinary” and “slice of life.” Because, plot-wise, well, there isn’t one really. There is no way to summarize what happens in this book in a succinct way because it is just LIFE. And I am 100% here for it. It’s a book about marriage, about friendship, about parenting, about special needs. It’s just so good and I am planning on asking for all of her books for my birthday, because they are all rereads for sure. The only thing is that now I’ve read this book, there are no more to look forward to.

The Mother Tongue: English and How It Got That Way. Have you, like me, ever wondered about the origins of language, how it develops in terms of speech, spelling and grammar? Have you ever wondered about dialects? How is British English so different from North American English? How do Liverpudlians sound so different from Londoners? How do Texans sound so different from Brooklynites? How do our swears originate? After all, technically, getting fucked can be very nice. If you’ve wondered any of these things, this book is for you! Note: it was published in 1990 and so it is dated. It’s so interesting, though. I mean, imagine writing the first dictionary. IMAGINE.

Don’t Make Me Turn This Life Around. I enjoyed this book about a woman – exactly my age – who finds out she’s ten years cancer-free and feels…meh. It’s a great commentary on the dangers of toxic positivity, how your life can look perfect but still be hard, how all pain is valid, and how the people we love are with us always.

One hundred weeks. I can hardly believe it! When I first started my weekly count, I didn’t think I’d get into the double digits, let alone triple. Well, here we are. Some people have asked me when I will stop my weekly count, and I will stop when this is no longer considered a Pandemic, which is not this week. Stay safe, everyone! Are you going to buy half-price chocolates? If so, what kind? Tell me everything. xo

Fun In Your Forties; Ninety-Nine Weeks In

Posted on by

Ninety-nine! I’ve got ninety-nine problems, but Covid isn’t one, yet. Doesn’t it feel like a ticking time bomb, though? In the first four waves, I knew only a handful of people who had gotten sick; now it feels like I know only a handful of people who haven’t gotten sick, all of whom, needless to say as they are my friends, have been careful and cautious and following all the protocols. Fortunately, all of those that have been infected in this wave have recovered quickly and with no ill effects, unlike the people I knew in previous waves, who suffered immensely. On that note, I am scheduled to get my booster this week!

I was preparing for my walk the other day and thought I would check the temperature to see if it was a Legwarmer Day or a Snow Pants Day.

Frigid! You know, maybe the weather is just not that into you, or maybe the weather just wants to take things slow. There’s no reason for…what’s the opposite of slut-shaming?

For what it’s worth, I don’t even think minus 19 is worthy of a “frigid.” It’s Cold, to be sure, but it’s not Extremely Cold, particularly in February.

I was pleasantly surprised to find a hand-delivered card in my mailbox, from my former neighbours, with a note saying that they enjoyed having such congenial neighbours for so many years and that they were sorry they missed us before they left. Okeley-dokely! It still doesn’t explain WHEN they left and how I didn’t notice, but it was nice.

Am I a super-nosy neighbour? Probably. But how does someone move furniture without the neighbours knowing?

Our new neighbour told me that he is a Car Guy, and is building a whole new garage, with a lift and everything. I can’t help but think that this would have been incredible had it happened fifteen years or so ago, when the boys were little. They would have been glued to the fence, watching the construction and cars. You can’t buy that kind of entertainment. Well, I guess I’ll have to enjoy it on my own.

On a completely different note: it is a source of small annoyance to me that every hair on my body – including long white hairs in my eyebrows, which cannot be plucked without resulting in bald spots in said eyebrows – has gone or is going grey, with the exception of my upper lip. The latter seems to be having some kind of youthful resurgence; perhaps I’m unknowingly embracing my inner Magnum PI? In any case, I spend time each morning with tweezers and my Daylight Magnifying Mirror, which is something I do not recommend for the faint of heart.

It recalls to my mind the paragraph in Bridget Jones’ Diary, where she compares her grooming process to farming – “so much harvesting and crop-spraying…The whole performance is so highly tuned you only need to neglect it for a few days for the whole thing to go to seed.” Word, Bridget.

I was complaining about this to my friend Hannah not long ago (HI HANNAH), as even my magical chin hair has gone perfectly white. Immediately after complaining that only my upper lip is sprouting dark hair, the rest of me is grey, I noticed several very dark CHIN HAIRS sprouting from my face. NEVER COMPLAIN. The universe is listening.

You’re not happy being Magnum PI? How about becoming a Bearded Hipster, how do you like me now.

If ever I am in a coma or am otherwise unable to access my tweezers and magnifying mirror, I will end up like one of the members from ZZ Top or, possibly, Santa. Santa with a dark moustache.

Perimenopause! It’s an interesting time, to be sure. Years ago – literally, years – I bought a box of tampons at Costco, and I JUST finished them in December. I was a little unsure as to what to do, going forward.

Here’s the thing: I am very fortunate in that my periods, such as they are, while irregular, are very light. I know so many women who suffer from heavy periods with lots of pain, but so far – and this can change, I’m sure, Hi to My Hormones – that’s not me. Other than my breasts suddenly spilling out of my bra or tank top like a 1980s swimsuit model, and the Feeling of Extreme Resentment and/ or Sadness that pervades the day or two before the start of Ladies’ Holidays, I don’t have much trouble with my periods.

Note: I related this to my sister-in-law over wine last summer, and she looked at me and said “I hate you right now.” I’m sorry! (HI JO).

Anyway, my periods are so light that my tampon usage is maybe 2-4 tampons per period, thus making a Costco box last for years. I have no idea how many years I have left of tampon usage at all, so I bought a regular sized box from Superstore, and it was fifty cents less than the giant Costco box. I mean. The Scottish side of me immediately regretted the smaller box – economies of scale! – and yet, will I use up the Costco box? No one can say. All I’m going to say is that I will be annoyed with myself if I do have to purchase another box. I could have been a contender.

I can sometimes feel maudlin when I realize that I have done something, mothering-wise, for the last time. The boys wake up with their own alarms, meaning I don’t waltz into their rooms singing Good morning, good MORNING, it’s time to start your day, good morning, I LOOVVVVEEEE you, time to start your day anymore. I don’t – obviously, the oldest is almost a legal adult – read them stories or sing them songs or walk them places unless we happen to be going in the same direction. I don’t remember the last time I did any of those things, but as god is my witness, I am going to remember the last box of tampons I buy.

The landslide’ll bring you…down.

It’s been a busy week for Barkley; he had a vet appointment and a grooming appointment, on back-to-back days. The woman who grooms him, who is someone that I would describe as perfect for working with animals, with everything that entails, told me he seemed really tired, and that he just wanted to lie down while groomed. I mean, can you blame him. We humans get to be at least seated for grooming procedures, and in some cases – body sugaring! – supine. I have had three (THREE!) beauty appointments in the past month: haircut, pedicure, and body sugaring, and I can’t imagine having to stand up, on a table no less, to get said treatments.

Slight digression: before body sugaring, these items are set out for preparation of the honey pot, and it never fails to make me smile.

Self-love! It’s wonderful.

Anyway, the vet was perhaps a bit surprised to still see Barkley thriving, his cancers haven’t grown significantly in the past year, although he’s pretty deaf and quite blind and is arthritic, he’s still happy. When a dog gets to this age, every week we have with him is a gift to treasure, even while mopping up paw prints and picking up massive amounts of poop. Keep on keeping on, Barks!

I was walking him and an elderly lady crossed the street specifically to pet him, and somehow the conversation turned from how much we love dogs to the lady’s tale of getting Covid in early 2020. “I cured myself with the power of prayer and oil of oregano,” she said to me, followed by “I’ll keep your dog in my prayers.” Very sweet sentiments, although I couldn’t help but think that “curing yourself” could also be considered “recovering,” but I am not one to criticize methods of comfort for other people. Plus, I’ll take any and all extra prayers and positive thoughts for my old puppers.

Pandemic Reading

The Man Who Saw Everything. I have been reading and enjoying Deborah Levy’s memoirs, so when I saw this at the library I impulsively picked it up. Levy is a very talented and creative writer, and this book will really keep you on your toes. The narrator is the ultimate in Unreliable Narrator, to the point where I had to stop reading and go back, thinking wait, what, just a second here. This is the book equivalent of a fever dream and I honestly didn’t 100% know what was happening until the very last page.

Diary of a Provincial Lady. This is one of my all-time favourite books. I desperately needed a comfort read this week, so I picked this up. I have read it so many times, it is falling apart, and I never ever get tired of it. It is just so delightful on every level. Even though E.M. Delafield and I are living almost a century apart, I feel like she’s my soul sister. I FEEL this book so much. It’s so wonderful and witty and warm, and never fails to make me happy.

Calypso. Another day, another comfort read. This is my favourite of Sedaris’ collection; it is funny, but it is also quite introspective. It contains Stepping Out, which is my favourite of his essays, and which really resonates with me, what with my being under control of my smart watch.

Next week is going to be ONE HUNDRED weeks of pandemic life, I can hardly believe it. I mean, unless the pandemic suddenly ends, but that feels pretty unlikely. Take care and stay safe! xo