Category Archives: Uncategorized

Unmoored

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The boys have been visiting my parents this week, and I don’t mind telling you that I have spent this week feeling greatly unmoored, particularly yesterday. I had no classes to teach yesterday and it was a moon day, which meant no early morning yoga either. I spent a few hours just wandering around the house, drinking coffee and looking at social media, until I decided that I should probably go to spin class, if for no other reason then to get out of the house at a specific time.

From all accounts, the boys have been having an Epic Week, which is to be expected when visiting indulgent grandparents who live on a lake with access to every kind of fun thing you can imagine. During last night’s phone call, they informed my husband that yesterday they a) went mini-golfing, b) went to the Aquasplash, c) had ice cream at the local parlor, and d) went for dinner at a restaurant specializing in chicken wings. If there could be anything better for young teen boys, I do not know what it could be.

After class today I am heading up there myself, and am crossing my fingers that the extreme thunderstorms will hold off for a few hours after I get there, so I can also have some fun in the sun. It’s been beautiful and hot here, the garden is in full bloom with riotous colours, life is good.

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I recently read one of the best books I have EVER read, and that is really saying something. It’s called The Women In The Castle, and a student had recommended it to me a month or so ago. The description seemed pretty meh, to be honest, and I had just finished a bunch of very depressing reads. For those interested in depressing reads: Nearly Normal, which deals with the most dysfunctional childhood you can imagine, living off the grid for years with her clinically insane grandfather, then squatting in abandoned places with her mother while her mother has sex with near-strangers right beside her, and as much drug use as you might expect for such a story, in the 1970s. After that was Educated, another crazy dysfunctional childhood with an absolutely nutjob set of parents. Both of these books are testaments to human resiliency but honest to god, they are also so sad. Finally, I read Diana: Her Story and I have much to say about that, but will save it for later. Shortly thereafter, I got around to reading Lilac Girls, which my mother had lent me and which deals with Nazi experimentation on Polish women in a concentration camp, which pretty much finished me off, mentally. I considered reading the Sweet Valley High box set I had found as a countermeasure, but I had a few library books come in.

So I had mentioned in a class that I had read these depressing books and needed a pick-me-up, and a student came up to me after class and recommended The Women In The Castle. I dutifully put it on my library hold list, but it a) deals with Nazi Germany, and b) I wasn’t sure that it sounded like an uplifting, life-affirming book. When it came into the library I reluctantly started it, and then found I couldn’t put it down. What a wonderful, incredible, thought-provoking book. Believe me when I say you will not regret reading this, even if you are not a fan of historical fiction.

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Speaking of historical fiction, I was thinking about the movie Forrest Gump yesterday. It’s been 24 years since that movie came out; I loved it then and I still love it now. The other day I came across this question: what’s your favourite little moment in a big movie? We all know I’ll have what she’s having, but what about Don’t fuck with Mr. Zero and Someone is staring at you in Personal Growth? Those are perfect moments in a perfect movie. Actually, When Harry Met Sally is full of perfect moments. However, if I have to choose one small scene in a big movie, I would have to go with this one in Forrest Gump: when Forrest finds himself listening to a Black Panther talk about the war in Vietnam, and he is watching Jenny’s boyfriend yelling at Jenny from across the room. The douchebag smacks her and Forrest goes mental, all the while Hey Joe is playing to a crescendo. That, in my opinion, is a scene of perfection.

There’s another small moment prior to that, when Jenny introduces her gross boyfriend to Forrest, who is all dressed up and decorated in his uniform. The boyfriend says “Who’s the baby-killer?” and it occurred to me yesterday, that guy would fit in perfectly on twitter.

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Just now, I looked at twitter. There was a recipe, and I am not joking here, for Red Velvet Corn Dogs. I thought for certain that it must be a mistake, or maybe one of those cutesy recipes in which a cupcake is shaped like a corn dog but no. No. The recipe calls for, among other things, red velvet cake mix and a 10-count package of hot dogs, so the apocalypse is officially on us. Also, 2 quarts of canola oil, for frying. “Enjoy with your favourite dipping sauce!” is the note that the recipe cheerfully ends on. Enjoy. With your favourite dipping sauce.

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A few weeks ago, I was in the baking section of my beloved local Co-Op when I saw this:

Whoops! I know that, come fall, everything will be pumpkin spice this and pumpkin spice that, but this is a bridge too far, in my mind. Perhaps the Red Velvet Corn Dog people might find this useful and inspiring. Mark my words, we shall soon see Pumpkin Spice Refried Bean Pie, if this is any indication.

Hopes and Dreams, Flushed.

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In this day and age of click-bait, article headlines can be very misleading. Ten fashion mistakes that are aging! Six tips to make life better – you won’t believe number three! This woman switched lemon water for coffee and you won’t believe what happened (murder). 

It’s refreshing, then to come across an article that is perfectly summarized by the headline such as this one on the CBC website:

There are just so many things to say. One small detail though: it may be summer, and the rest of the country might be sweltering in a heat wave, but this earlier this week I had to turn on the furnace, so being naked in that weather seems like a poor choice. Well, that and possible theft of a Canada Post vehicle.

In any case, perhaps Canada Post vehicles are equipped with seat warmers. That is one image that I do not want to dwell on, so let’s move on.

The weather has turned now – just in time for Stampede, and if I may, let me direct you to my archived posts about dressing for the event, plus a shot of my rarely worn cowboy boots – and so yesterday we went to the local amusement park. It is our tradition to go on the first day of summer vacation, but that week was so weirdly set up, and also the weather was, shall we say, poor. For Canada Day weekend we were at my parents’ place at the lake – another tradition – and it was lovely, lots of fun, but the weather kiboshed some of our plans. We put the paddleboards in for the 2018 inaugural paddle, and had been in only twenty minutes before the rain – followed by hail – started.

Anyway, yesterday was a perfect day for the amusement park, and my friend (HI TARYN) came along with us which was a nice bonus for me. She captured my feelings about bumper cars perfectly in this shot:

GAME ON, you little fuckers.

Here I am, trash talking my own son.

My friend and I spent some time discussing something I’ve thought of often: how insane will the employees be by the end of the summer, saying the exact same thing every few minutes, only to be completely disregarded by patrons of the park? I have wondered this about Disney and Universal employees before as well – how many times a day can a person say “No running in the ride area” before they completely lose their reason? I mean, I say “watch your knees” about a hundred times a week, but it seems different somehow.

I was wondering about the bumper cars employees in particular, because no matter what they say, the rules are always completely disregarded. First, there is a great deal of signage all over the ride and lineup that states that no child under a certain height will be allowed to ride under any circumstances. The bumper cars have no seatbelts, and I imagine a small child could literally be tossed out of the car with a particularly boisterous bump. And yet. And yet every single time there is a parent with a tiny child who looks COMPLETELY SURPRISED and taken aback when the employee tells them the child cannot ride.

Second, the rule is that all cars need to drive in a clockwise fashion, in order to eliminate head-on collisions and, presumably, lawsuits. Every single time there is at least one park patron going in the wrong direction, ostensibly to cause head-on collisions. Every single time. Once, last year, the employee actually STOPPED the ride and refused to start it again until the appropriate direction was taken. Clearly the breaking point was reached for that fellow, like Michael Douglas in Falling Down.

Perhaps the signage in the ladies’ washroom was meant for the employees of the park:

You cannot flush hopes and dreams, people. Even if you find yourself in a terrible summer job where no one listens to you. The key, I think, is probably to just stop caring.

Oh, summer jobs. I was talking with some friends about the worst summer jobs we ever had and mine, hands down, was the summer that I was a beer sample girl. If you want to be harassed for your entire shift, ad infinitum, this is the job for you! I finally quit when the company got a Busch beer contract and I was required to wear a bathing suit to work. I mean, I got hassled enough wearing clothes; I could not feature what would happen if I was standing there, in a chilly room, wearing nothing but a swimsuit and heels. Even Miss America doesn’t do that anymore.

Letters From The Edge

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*cue Alice Cooper music*

What a weird week it has been; not really in a bad way, but in a what day is it again kind of way. In addition to the very weird half-day/ no school/ last day schedule, I had ten yoga classes to teach, and I spent much of the week reminding myself of the day. I swear I thought it was Wednesday twice and Friday three times, and now it IS Friday, so whee! School’s out for summer! As I write this it is 6:30 am and I have a cardio workout on the books and a class to teach but you can bet that when those things are finished there will be alcoholic drinks involved. Many alcoholic drinks. 

The weirdest part of the week was Wednesday, which was a PD day. Wednesday, the day before the last day of school. Doesn’t that strike anyone else as very weird? Why not just finish on the Wednesday, you might be asking, as I was. Well, it is in the past now, and let’s just keep moving.

Four years ago, my parents moved out of the city permanently, and they gave me a number of boxes that they had been keeping in storage for me, ever since I moved out of the house in 1998. I went through a couple of them and found some weird knitted childhood dolls, my old Care Bear (Cheer Bear!), a framed picture of young Elvis, some scrapbooks of the Royal Family, and, best of all, a letter from the Corey Hart Fan Club. Mostly, though, they were filled with junk that I recycled or trashed or – in the case of the weird knitted dolls – gave to my niece. I swear she liked them!

COME PLAY WITH THE BABY.

I did keep my Cheer Bear, for nostalgia’s sake.

*screams like a 1964 Beatles’ fan*

What I’m trying to say is that THESE were the childhood treasures I kept, which says something, I think. Something not great about my childhood treasures.

Anyway, once I had gone through two of those boxes – in 2014 – I got a little tired. I think maybe I was running a book fair, and it was almost Christmas, and so I thought I would deal with the other boxes later. I put them in my garage and promptly forgot about them. Well, I didn’t really forget about them, but years went by and they just became part of the garage landscape. I figured that they contained just more of the same, how shall l say this, unimportant things that were destined for the landfill. Sure, it was fun to imagine my husband’s reaction if I hung the Elvis picture above our marital bed, and sure, it was fun to read a mimeographed letter from Corey Hart about the Everything In My Heart video, but really. So years went by and I averted my gaze when I looked at the boxes. There just never seemed to be a good time to go through them, and also my husband mentioned that he hoped a mouse didn’t make its way in to live out its final moments; so on top of lazily not wanting to go through a box, I was concerned I would find a mouse corpse and subsequently would never stop screaming, until I myself followed in the mouse’s tiny footsteps.

This past weekend things came to a head. We need more garage space. My husband bought a lawnmower specifically for the boys; his lawnmower is a top-of-the-line, gigantic, self-propelled one that is absolutely impossible for anyone other than his muscle-bound self to use. Think about this: we have boys who are fourteen and almost thirteen, and my HUSBAND is mowing the lawn. This, I think you’ll agree, is tragic. Things are changing this summer, with the purchase of a much-smaller and not-self-propelled mower. We are now sauntering down Easy Street, people!

I say “we” but in reality, the number of times I’ve mowed a lawn can be counted on one hand.

In any case, with two lawn mowers, and space at a premium, I decided to finally go through the boxes in the garage. And let me tell you, it was amazing. They were chock-full of treasures: my childhood sticker album, with many scratch-and-sniffs, every Girl Guide badge I had earned, more Princess Diana scrapbooks, a box set of Sweet Valley High – expect some book reviews in the near future, what DID happen when Elizabeth broke the rules and rode on a motorcycle? Stay tuned – and this, from my candy-striping days:

More importantly, though, the boxes had stacks and stacks of letters. Apparently I had kept every letter ever written to me, and so I have letters from my grandma dating from 1984 to the late nineties, from camp friends, from pen pals, from far-flung cousins. And let me tell you, they are a hoot! Except for the ones from Grandma, almost every single letter is about a) the classes we liked, or, alternately, hated, b) boys we liked, or, alternately, broke up with, c) extra-curricular activities and the awards we gained from them. Sure, there was the occasional tidbit about things going on in the world, like activities pursued during summer/ Christmas holidays, or when my cousin/ pen pal from California wrote about an earthquake, but mainly it was “Are you still going out with X? Y and I broke up.” The letters were all written on stationary, usually embellished with teddy bears or hearts. It reminded me that Grandma gave me stationary for Christmas every year. Is that a hint, Grandma? If it was I guess I took it to heart, given all the letters.

There were also a number of notes from junior high friends, written surreptitiously during class time, exclusively written on foolscap. The theme of the letters was also largely boys, but also about how boring the class was and how mean our parents were.

It made me think a lot about how times have changed – I mean, letters? Who writes letters anymore? Now we just email, text, and – for us long-winded people – blog. It’s kind of sad; it was a little slice of my life, one that I had kind of forgotten about. I used to tie up the phone for hours, and spend time writing letters, and these days teenagers just text each other and like Instagram photos. Well, turn, turn, turn, and all that. I don’t want to be one of those In My Day people, but having those letters to read over has been really wonderful.

In any event, here we are at the long weekend, I hope you all enjoy it very much! xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things – June Edition

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Happy Summer Solstice! Can you even believe it? I only just got used to it being May, and now here we are, the longest day of the year. I know I’ve mentioned this, but it is June, JUNE PEOPLE, and I am not at all feeling overwhelmed or stressed out. I have no end-of-the-year commitments to attend, I am not doing anything at a frantic pace, and even the last two weeks of school, which are mostly half days or no school at all, are giving me a feeling of relaxation, rather than stress. It is a miracle. Yesterday was one of those half days and I had a house full of starving boys all afternoon, and I am going to tell you that I love, love, love this age. I love my kids’ friends who all feel at home here, and who are thrilled every minute with homemade waffles and muffins, and who roam our basement and jump on our trampoline and talk about ridiculous video games I don’t understand, with gratitude for food. These are the best waffles ever! So easy to please. I think of what *I* was like at that age and I shudder. Thank god for these happy boys and their fantastic friends.

Every day I look at my garden and marvel at everything – there are buds on the roses! – and every morning I get into the car at 4:50 and I notice how bright the sky is. When I finish my yoga practice, I have to put on sunglasses to drive home, and every night I fall asleep way before the sun even thinks of setting. June! It’s a really great month! Funny how when we get so wrapped up in the craziness of life, we can forget that.

So two weeks (or “weeks”) left of school, six weeks left of my no-shopping challenge (whomp whomp). SIX MORE WEEKS YOU GUYS. I kind of cannot believe I’ve made it this far and I think I might just make it after all, not unlike Mary Tyler Moore, if Mary Tyler Moore decided to do something as stupid as a one-year no-shopping challenge. Yes, right now it feels like the most ridiculous thing but I can’t give up now, even though I want a new bikini and summer pajamas in the most desperate way. Six more weeks.

Anyway, back to the Joys of June. It is time for…

Nicole’s Favourite Things – The June Edition

Siberian Irises

Look at these babies! This is one of the few things in my garden that I didn’t plant. The original owner was apparently quite the gardener, and this beautiful plant just thrives in its sunny spot by the downspout. It spreads in a funny way – little clumps of Siberian iris come up in unexpected places, like behind the garage. They bloom every June. I also have a lovely memory of my boys, when little, playing with the seed pods, which dry out and become rattly, late in the fall.

Strawberries

Strawberry season is upon us! I admit I buy out-of-season strawberries frequently, but this time of year they are truly Nature’s Candy. Fruit is Nature’s Candy! I’ll say to my kids in a Marge Simpson voice, which I’m sure they love. We eat a lot of fruit in this house, but it really ramps up during strawberry season. We can easily eat six pounds of strawberries in less than a week, in addition to all the other fruit we eat, and did I mention I’m practically living at the grocery store now? I am. But oh, they are so good just by themselves, or on waffles, or dipped in chocolate for Sunday night desserts.

Did you know that if you wash strawberries in a sinkful of cold water with lemon juice, they will last longer and be even more delicious? It’s true. I usually squirt a bit of lemon on the berries and then spray them down with cold water; sliced, they keep in an airtight container for up to five days. Of course, they don’t really last five days in this house, but I’ve been doing this for years; I also think the lemon also helps clean off some of the farming ickiness.

My Pillow Dot Com

I wanted to mention this in my last post but a) technically it was something I heard about on the radio, not through the internet, and b) I forgot. Last summer I found my neck and shoulder would be in pain every single morning; I’d be fine throughout the day but sleeping was causing me agony. SLEEPING should not cause a person physical agony, but here I was, getting up in the morning to rub A535 on my neck like an old man. I would wake up in the middle of the night and wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep because of the pain. Well. I had been hearing about My Pillow on the radio for the longest time, and I guess their method of long, repetitive advertising worked (“Betty Jo Kaiser here, and I just had ANOTHER great sleep all because of MY PILLOW.”). I went online and ordered the two-for-one deal, and…I waited. And waited. And waited. And finally the pillows showed up, after calling to complain and receiving a very big discount, and I have to tell you, it was worth the wait.

The pillows themselves are filled with, apparently, pieces of foam, and they arrived all bundled up in a tiny roll. What is this. I’m not kidding, the pillow was the size of one of those giant ballpark hotdogs. I was a little bemused when they arrived, until I, as per directions, put them in the dryer. They fluffed out and LET ME TELL YOU THEY ARE AMAZING. No more neck or shoulder pain, and I feel like I could be on one of those commercials. Nicole MacPherson here, and I woke up refreshed and ready to start my day because I had another great sleep on MY PILLOW. I can never go back to a regular pillow again. It’s even fun to order them, the company sends you a pillow based on your size and sleeping preference (I am a side-sleeper).

What does this have to do with June? Well, technically nothing, except that I’ve had the pillow for exactly six months now, so I can report with accuracy that yes, it really has improved my life. Let me tell you, if you are working as a yoga teacher, you really do not want a non-functional shoulder.

Solo

I was so upset to hear that Solo bombed at the box office. It is, in my humble opinion, the best Star Wars movie ever made. I really loved the character development, I loved the story, and I loved the intimacy of the plot – one of the things I don’t love about Star Wars is the pinging around the galaxy, from one planet to another. I find that confusing and uninteresting, and I’m constantly whispering to my kids where are they, who’s that guy, which I’m sure they enjoy greatly. I loved all the characters, and the richness of the development. Han Solo has always been one of my favourite characters, and I loved the peek into his early years. Now, to find a Han Solo costume for my husband to wear for my personal benefit next year’s Halloween festivities.

Wild Crocus

My friend Amy has an Etsy shop, called Wild Crocus. I think I’ve mentioned this before – she makes malas and bracelets, and I purchased one for my sister-in-law last Christmas. She is so talented and makes many beautiful, one-of-a-kind items. Well, she has a Goddess Collection of malas, and when I saw the “Star” one I knew. I knew the way you know about a good melon*. I kept looking at it and admiring it and reading the description…and one thing led to another and now it’s mine, all mine.

“Fire Agate lights the fire within, energizing and encouraging one to blossom and shine into their brightest self.” I mean, come ON. This was made for me!

There are even rose-shaped silver beads involved. Roses! I love it so much, and I encourage you all to check out her beautiful Etsy shop. Who knows, you may just find a piece that speaks to you as this did for me.

Shine on, people, blossom into your best selves. Enjoy this, the longest day of the year; look around you at all the beauty still to be had in this world. xo

 

* random reference from my favourite movie ever, big prize to whoever guesses it**

** the prize is not physical, it is the glory of guessing correctly

I tried some things I read about on the Internet…

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…and they really worked!

Avocado Secrets

We all know the deal: you buy a green, hard avocado, and it sits on your countertop for days, being too hard and green to use. Then, suddenly, it’s ready to use and bam! Before you know it it’s overripe, brown, and gross. People, it doesn’t have to be that way.

Rapidly Ripening Avocados

Let’s say you have people coming over for dinner Saturday night; grocery day is Wednesday and you obtain four beautiful, green avocados. Will they or won’t they be ready for guacamole on Saturday? Chances are, they won’t. Generally, an avocado takes about a week to ripen on your countertop UNLESS you try this sweet little trick: putting the avocado in a brown paper bag and folding it shut. I tried this and it took about three days from a perfectly unripe avocado to become perfectly ripe. I read that putting a banana in the bag hastens the process but I did not see any significant difference in ripening time, and yes, I did use a control group. What? I’m an analytic at heart. I did notice that the BANANA became rapidly brown and mushy, so I guess if you really want to make banana bread and need overripe bananas, this trick is for you. Otherwise, just let the avocados be by themselves.

Stop! In the name of guacamole.

Now let’s say you – and by you, I mean me – are constantly tempted by the giant bags of avocados on sale at Costco. The only problem is that they are all the same level of ripeness and even though I would LIKE to eat seven avocados at the same time, it’s probably not a great idea. So, prolong the ripening process by putting some in the fridge. It will add nearly a week to the avocado’s life span. Relatedly, if your avocados ripen before you have a chance to eat them, you can buy yourself a couple of days by putting the ripe – or nearly ripe – avocado in the fridge. Never again be foiled by the avocado’s self-centred timelines!

But I Want Guacamole RIGHT NOW

If you just can’t wait another minute, let alone several damn days before eating guacamole, try frozen avocado. I know, I know, it seems sacrilegious, but in a pinch it’s a pretty amazing product. I skeptically bought some PC brand, thinking at least I’d get my PC Points from it even if it was terrible, but I will tell you that it is VERY HARD to tell that the guacamole was not made from fresh avocado. Now, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend using it for a wrap or anything, because the texture is pretty soft once the avocado thaws, but it makes a great guacamole. It would probably make a good avocado toast, if you’re the kind of person who enjoys that.

Bread Boxes – Not Just For Your Grandma Anymore

I’m trying very hard to cut down on plastic use around the house. I bake at least one, if not two, snack loaves a week, and I used to wrap them in plastic to keep them fresh. I hated doing it but couldn’t see an alternative – until I thought about using an old-fashioned bread box. I bought one off Amazon that is red enamel, and has little breathing holes in the back. It was called a “bread and pastry box” but I’m sure any kind of bread box would fit the purpose. I’ve had it for months now, and it keeps everything – loaves, muffins, cookies – fresh. Not too dry, not too moist (sorry), just right. It’s the Goldilocks of containers!

Aluminum Foil Hats (for your veggies)

I read that aluminum foil somehow keeps vegetables fresh, more than plastic wrap, and after trying it for myself I can attest to it: wrapping a head lettuce in aluminum foil keeps it from going brown! Within reason, of course. I don’t think any lettuce would keep for more than a few weeks; aluminum foil is not MAGIC, after all. I’ve also tried it with Romaine, cabbage, and cucumbers, all with good results.

This Is The Last Straw

My older son likes to have smoothies for breakfast a few times a week, and he does NOT like to drink them straight from the glass; he prefers a straw. But even three straws a week add up, and before long I found myself feeling guilty that perhaps his straw habit is leading to tortoises with straws stuck up their nose, or some other atrocity I cannot look at, but that someone posts on Facebook at least weekly. So last year I bought a pack of stainless steel straws; I ordered mine from Amazon, because I’m a lazy shopper and I like Amazon Prime, but I’m sure you can get them in any kitchen supply store now. I was a bit concerned about the cleanliness aspect, but it turns out they are quite easy to keep clean. My son rinses his straw in hot water right after use, which eliminates any seeds or gunk getting stuck in it, but the straws I bought came with little cleaners, in case of seed/ gunk emergency.

Bag Lady

I’m sure I’ll never eliminate plastic usage, but I am really trying to minimize it, and to recycle what I do use. One thing I noticed was that I always threw out plastic produce bags from the grocery store. I couldn’t see any way to recycling or reusing such a useless little bag, and yet I didn’t want to pile eight separate peppers and three pounds of apples willy-nilly, pell-mell at the checkout. I wanted them BAGGED. So I bought reusable produce bags (again, from Amazon, I know, I have a problem) and I love them. The ones I bought are GIANT, and can fit at least six or seven peppers each. I bought a big pack of giant bags for about $23, and they are all washable. The key is to keep them inside my reusable grocery bags, so I don’t forget them!

Dirty Hair, Don’t Care

Well, I do care. My hair is quite fine, and I have a tendency to oiliness, and so I have always, since I was about 12, washed my hair daily. As I’ve aged, my hair has become drier and drier and more brittle with each passing year. A few years ago I started not washing my hair on Sundays, instead just putting it into a bun. About a year ago I realized that my best hair days were always Mondays. Coincidence? So I have started to wash my hair four times a week, instead, using Saturday as a day to give my hair a deep conditioning mask. My hair therapist mentioned, a while back, that my hair was really holding its colour well, better than she’d seen it in our long life together. I admitted my dirty little secret.

I know people have been doing this forever, and I know some people swear by no shampoo and all sorts of dry shampoo and the like. I don’t think I could ever really get behind that, but I am enjoying my every-other-day hair washing. After all, I teach a lot of yoga and have my hair in a bun anyway, and I swear my hair has gotten used to it. It doesn’t even (to me) seem dirty anymore. Plus, my showers on the days I don’t wash my hair are only about five minutes long, which is nice when I’m in a rush.

That’s all my little Internet tricks for the day! Let me know if you try one, and how it goes. xo

1998 was twenty years ago

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Yesterday I heard Total Eclipse of the Heart twice: once on the way home from yoga, and once during dinnertime. It reminded me of one of the greatest movie scenes ever; the wedding dance from Old School. I cannot hear that song without mentally substituting the lyrics. I also heard 1999 twice yesterday, but that did not fill me with the same level of joy. Here’s my controversial confession: I do not really enjoy the music of Prince. I don’t NOT enjoy it; I certainly would sing along if When Doves Cry came on the radio, but I do not seek it out.

Another controversial confession: I really, really dislike the music of Tom Petty. And for my money, Beast of Burden is not only the best Rolling Stones song ever written, but I don’t even think there is a close second.

Well, I did not set out today to write about the music of late performers and defunct bands; moving on.

The main music – and I use that word very loosely – I have been treated to lately is that of screaming magpies. Magpies have, evidently, made a nest nearby and every single time I leave my house they are swooping around me, screaming loudly. Barkley seems to be equally targeted, never mind that in a million years he could not reach a nest that is ostensibly thirty feet off the ground. A part of me thinks aw, they are just trying to protect their babies, but after several days of low-flying aggressive magpie action, my thoughts turn to goddammit, no one WANTS your horrible babies, go away. I saw a pair of magpies aggressively chasing away squirrels, though, so there is an upside to this. At least the magpies, as irritating as they may be, are not in the market to eat my bulbs or dig up my flowers.

By the way, my tulips never did bloom, not a single one. They all just lay there in their weirdly flattened foliage, sadly sinking back into the earth from whence they came.

This morning I learned that Sex and the City debuted twenty years ago this year, TWENTY YEARS, PEOPLE. Remember when women would identify with the main characters, as in “You’re such a Charlotte.” Well. Time passages and and all that. A Sex and the City episode was the catalyst for the worst fight my husband and I ever had in our entire relationship, to this day I cannot think about “Your girl is lovely, Hubble,” without thinking of my fury in our tiny apartment on the 30th floor, without being able to even slam a door. At the time it was intense, but now, nearly twenty years later, it seems very lame, that we had a fight about Carrie and Mr. Big.

Nowadays, the only source of marital tension is my One Year Shopping Challenge, which my husband hates with a passion. Just go buy yourself some damn clothes! he has said on numerous occasions. A few weeks ago I was having coffee with a friend (HI TWYLA) and she complimented me on my raincoat, a plaid Lululemon that I bought when the kids were in preschool. Thanks, it’s really old, I said and she shook her head. Are we still doing that, then? The no-buying thing? she asked with sympathy. Yes we are. Less than eight weeks to go and my god, I simultaneously cannot believe I have done it and also I cannot wait for it to be done.

One thing about this challenge is that I have been able to identify some true needs in my wardrobe. Well, “needs” might be a strong word; as my mom always says, I’m not sure the word NEED comes into play here. Wants, then. For starters, on my trip to Mexico I noted that several of my trusty old bikinis no longer fit properly, as in, if I dive too quickly into the water there is going to be an accidental skinny dipping situation. I do still have a couple that can get me through until August 1, so things aren’t really desperate. Still. A new bikini or two would be nice.

I’m also noting that a few of my yoga clothes, while still in good shape, are beginning to look pretty faded and worn, which isn’t too surprising since most of my pieces are over five years old and have withstood a lot of wear and laundering. Some of my tanks and pants are a decade old, some even older. So really, I think I can probably treat myself to a few new pieces. I do find myself in yoga clothes daily, often two different outfits a day, one for practicing in and one for teaching.

Other than that, I’m not too tempted to shop these days, since I do not enjoy the current styles. I already wore them, back in the 90s. Overalls, high waisted pants, crop tops, bodysuits, and ONE PIECE JUMPSUITS. Think about using a public washroom while wearing a jumpsuit, just think about it for a moment. I’ve done all of those styles, and I’m not interested in doing them again, particularly the jumpsuits. Well, and the rest of them. I shall leave the youth styles to the youth and continue to live in my yoga clothes topped with flowy sweaters, like the future Golden Girl that I am. All I need are brightly coloured necklace-and-earring sets and some florals and I’ll be ready to go.

Speaking of colours, I seem to be so desperate to end this shopping challenge that when my husband pointed out some bright orange Lululemon crops to me, I actually thought those look nice. I have never worn such a colour in my entire life and I most likely never will, due to my fear that it would match my hair too closely, but it is illustrative of my desperation.

Also? Speaking of Golden Girls…remember slips? Do women still wear slips? I remember being made to wear slips, particularly to church, back in my childhood. Slips, as I remember, were a guard against a) clinging dresses, b) anything even marginally transparent, and c) immodesty in general. It seems to me that they would be very outmoded now, but I’m curious – does anyone still wear them, or did they go the way of the housedress? When I think of slips, I think of my beloved late grandma, who would also encourage wearing a pin or brooch at one’s neckline to ensure that one was not showing too much of the chest region. I wonder what she would think of my work wear.

A Decade of Fuzziness

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Yesterday we celebrated Barkley’s tenth birthday – a whole decade of extreme fuzziness.

To celebrate, he received freeze-dried chicken, a long walk at the off-leash, and even more attention than usual. He is not allowed on the furniture, but he has figured out that he will never get scolded if he slyly puts his front paws on people who are sitting on the furniture, in order to obtain extra attention. People who are not me, I should clarify, because he knows that I won’t allow it. Everyone else who sits down in my living room must be prepared to get attacked by fuzzy cuteness.

I know there is a lot of disparagement out there for people who talk about pets in a certain cloying way, but Barkley is indeed our “fuzzy baby” and we treat him as such. Dogs are such amazing animals; so smart and wonderful and – in the words of Agnes Gru – so fluffy I could die. Well, Barkley is, anyway. Wouldn’t it be nice to live like a dog? Wouldn’t it be nice to be excited about everything – food, leaving the house, coming back to the house, seeing people you know? OMG breakfast, I LOVE breakfast, OMG we are going to take the boys to school I LOVE taking the boys to school, OMG we are going for a walk I LOVE going for a walk, OMG you’re home I LOVE YOU. 

We should be more like dogs, is what I’m saying. Except for the unfortunate characteristic of staring a person straight in the eye while defecating.

Yesterday I read “This Messy Magnificent Life” in one delicious sitting. My favourite part is when the author discusses “the way you spend your days is the way you spend your life.”

“It all comes down to one breath and then another, one step and then the next. And when you get to the end of your life…All that will matter is whether you flowered here in earth school.”

Earth school! I’m going to use that as often as possible. What did you do today in earth school? Well, I taught a class and baked muffins and emptied the filter on my Roomba.

Of course, if the way I spend my days is the way I spend my life, then much of my life is, as you know, defined by shopping for groceries. On Monday I was at Costco and for the first time ever, there was no spinach available. My husband suggested that it was due to the holiday in the US, but all I know is that I stood in the refrigerated section, stocked up on strawberries and asparagus and mushrooms, staring blankly into space. There’s no spinach. 

Luckily I had enough spinach to get me through until yesterday, when I planned to go to Superstore. Superstore, happily, did not have a shortage of spinach. Superstore also has coin-operated shopping carts which makes the parking lot much more zen than that at Costco.

Stray carts as far as the eye can see, people, as far as the eye can see. If you look closely, you can see two Costco cart collecting employees in their neon-green vests, probably saying to each other “WTAF PEOPLE, the cart corral is RIGHT THERE. Okay, where do we start?” with an air of exhausted resignation.

Do I complain about this too much? Probably. In This Messy Magnificent Life, the author compares complaining about things that have already happened to eating rat poison and waiting for the rat to die. Complaining IS lame, and I’m going to try to do it less. But won’t someone think of the cart collectors?

Anyway. NOT GOING TO COMPLAIN NOT GOING TO COMPLAIN.

You guys, tomorrow is JUNE. JUNE IS TOMORROW. I have barely registered that it is May and now it is JUNE TOMORROW. It’s funny, when the kids were younger, June was such a gong show of activities and busyness and crazytown, and now…nothing. I am literally not feeling stressed or pressed for time or anything this June which is a novel feeling. Of course, things could change at any time. I do have a few orthodontist appointments for the boys on my schedule and if one goes the way I think it’s going to, that will mean that another set of braces is imminent. But for now I will enjoy my fairly relaxed schedule and I will NOT COMPLAIN. Well, I’ll try not to. xo