The Dying of the Light

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Hello Darkness My Old Friend

In grad school I was friends with a guy who always, after summer solstice, would remark that it was now all downhill from here until December, light-wise. It’s darker every day! he would say cheerfully, which I have thought of, with amusement, every single year since then. Probably people who get up at more socially-acceptable hours wouldn’t notice, but I get up at 4:00 am, and three weeks ago the sky was lightening up at that hour. Now, it’s completely dark until nearly 5:00. It’s the slow downhill trajectory of daylight.

Slow Bike To Nowhere

Speaking of downhill trajectories, I have noticed another one. Saturday marked the five year anniversary of the outcome of that time I mused that a Peloton seemed like a good idea, except we have no room, and it’s expensive. My husband, dealing with Pandemic Nicole, was like hold my beer.

Don’t worry, I’m not going to bore us all with my workout details, but I do want to note that the main metric for Peloton is “output,” which is a combination of speed and resistance, and is a completely objective number. I seem to have peaked, output-wise, in 2022 and, no matter how hard I try, I can never get anywhere close to those numbers. I truly enjoy my Peloton and use it almost daily, exerting myself to my absolute maximum, and yet no matter what I do, no matter how hard I work and how sweaty and breathless I get, my output is getting lower over time.

A Younger Me would have found this devastating, and even Current Me is slightly disheartened by my lack of progress, if we are measuring progress by a number generated on a bike that goes nowhere. Which, well, we shouldn’t. I am happy with my level of functional fitness generally: I can zip briskly up and down stairs and hills without getting out of breath or experiencing knee or hip pain, I can lift and carry moderately heavy things, I spend hours a week in the garden, bending and squatting and digging and twisting with zero issues. My VO2 max is in the 40s and my resting heart rate is in the 50s, and it is all of these things that are of significance. And yet.

It feels similar to my various creams and lotions and serums. None of them are actually making me look younger, but they make me feel better. I have an aging body – thankfully! The alternative is becoming compost, and I’m not ready for that yet! – and so I think it’s unreasonable to expect that it would perform in the same way that it did before I was deep in late perimenopause. Nothing can stop the forward march of time, after all. But that downward trajectory! It’s hard on the ego.

I think the universe is reminding me to practice non-attachment. I love the feeling of sweatiness and exhilaration from a workout, and so who cares what a number on a stationary bike says, no matter how fancy that bike is. The point is to keep showing up and to enjoy the journey, because the end result is the same: tree nourishment.

Fly High Free Bird

The other day I was Mrs Elton-ing in the berry patch when I heard a strange noise. On further investigation, I saw that there was a small bird caught in the netting on our strawberries. I have no idea, logistically, how that could have happened, and as I tried to figure out where the bird got in, with the hopes that if I found an opening it could go back out that way, the bird became more and more agitated. The more I tried to help the worse it got, to the point where its little head and a wing were now firmly stuck in the netting.

I could not have another dead bird on my hands, I just couldn’t. I ran to the house for backup, and moments later my husband came down to the garden armed with work gloves, scissors, and a general air of grim determination. Probably he was thinking that he could not deal with ME having another dead bird on our hands.

The bird kept flapping frantically until my husband picked it up and held it, at which point it immediately went still and calm, but for a darting eye. Either the bird was a high-level Zen practitioner who embodied surrender and acceptance and was not going to Struggle Against The Flow, or it had some kind of natural trauma response, in the Playing Dead method. I say yes to this experience, the bird might have said to me telepathically, in the spirit of Radical Acceptance, had I known to listen.

It took several tense minutes of net snipping while I stood around uselessly wringing my own gloved hands, but the moment the little bird was freed and flew away unharmed was one of the single greatest moments of this entire year and made me fall in love with my husband all over again. Unfortunately, that moment was somewhat ruined when not two minutes later, my mother-in-law walked over to the garden to let me know that earlier that morning, she had found a dead bird by the shed, and had disposed of it before Rex was able to get to it.

Weekly Reading

So Late In The Day. I loved this triptych of stories about relationships: a man jilted at the altar, a woman at a writing retreat encountering a bitter stranger, a married woman looking for an affair who ends up in a bad way. This author is so brilliant at evoking so much emotion and detail with such an economic use of words. I have loved all the books I’ve read of hers, but this might be my favourite.

How To Read A Book. Something I have thought about since watching The Shawshank Redemption, lo these many decades ago, is what happens to people after they are released from prison? How do they find work, how do they find a place to live, how do they live among society again after being conditioned to prison routines? This very difficult topic is the subject of this very warm-hearted and sweet book: Violet is released early from prison for good behaviour, and adapts to life on the “outside,” even though her family will have nothing to do with her. This is a 3-way POV novel that includes the woman who runs the prison Book Club, and the man who was widowed because of Violet’s drunk driving that landed her in prison in the first place. There were some little twists but it’s pretty clear how things will turn out in the end. I didn’t love this but it was a cute and ultimately satisfying read.

Orbital. One of my best memories of the kids’ elementary school days was a particular Music Monday in May 2013, when the children gathered on the hill behind the school to perform Is Somebody Singing, the song made famous by (Canadian!) Commander Chris Hadfield on the International Space Station. That was a magical time, when Cmdr Hadfield posted photos and videos from space to Twitter. Remember when Twitter wasn’t a cesspool of brutality and horror? My friend Florence (HI FLORENCE) and I sat together to watch the children, and we teared up together at the words There goes home. To this day I still tear up, thinking of that day, all the children singing the same song at the same time all across Canada. So sing your song, I’m listening…I can hear your voices bouncing off the moon. Anyway, even with all that emotion, I would have NEVER picked up this book had it not been for my friend Laura (HI LAURA), who pushed past my Is it about space? No thanks., and assured me I would like it. I did! It really reminded me of 2013, in the best way possible. If you’re a person who likes a thick plot, this isn’t that – there is no plot at all, just beautiful prose about our world.

One of the last lines in Desiderata is With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world, and I think about that nearly every day. It is a beautiful world, despite, you know, everything, and I hope that you all have a beautiful week. xo

Woes and Wins

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In the past two months, four podcasts that I follow have recorded their final episodes ever. Four! Two of those were the kind of podcasts that I would actively look forward to and would download and listen to as soon as I could, and those two are as different as can be: Dear Prudence, an advice column show that featured some really unhinged questions, and Cookbook Club, which can only be described as the Schweddy Balls SNL sketch, but with cookbooks and food topics. And now they are OVER and I am low-level bereft.

The other two podcasts – Fat Mascara and A Thing or Two – were recent finds for me. Oh yay, these podcasts are so fun, they are exactly what I was looking for, I thought, mere weeks before they announced that they were shutting down their chatty operations. I am sure if I wanted to I could go back and listen to a decade’s worth of a back catalogue, but I don’t want to. I would rather sulk, I guess.

Not quite as distressing but almost, one of my longest-loved podcasts, Forever 35, switched co-hosts a year ago, and I have tried, lord, how I have tried to embrace the new woman with open arms, but friends, I cannot. The whole energy and focus of the podcast has changed in a way that I don’t enjoy, and I find the new host grating. Stop complaining about your dog and spend some time with him is a thing I said out loud, while walking my own dog, to the podcast host who cannot hear me.

While sulking, I listened to a music podcast that talked about – of all things – General Hospital. I have not, in the entirety of my life, watched a single daytime soap episode, much less the longest-running one of all time, but I did know about the supercouple Luke and Laura, thanks to my endless perusing of my grandma’s stack of Star magazines in the eighties (“the paper“). What I did not know, and what was alluded to in the podcast, was the scandalous way they met, and so of course I immediately looked it up, and was startled to discover that they met when Luke RAPED Laura. Their wedding remains to this day the most-watched daytime television episode, with over thirty million viewers, including Princess Diana, and it guest starred Elizabeth Taylor. This celebrated soap opera couple started with a RAPE? It’s true the 70s and 80s were a different time and yet this rape of an 18-year-old woman by a 33-year-old man doesn’t really feel like the start of an epic romance that one might wish for.

As a brief aside, I have previously discussed the Peloton hashtag #therapistsofpeloton, which never fails to amuse me, but the other day I was riding with a person whose leaderboard name was none other than Therapistrides. I went back to search it to see if I had been hallucinating, so early in the morning, and found not only that person but also Therapistdad, which felt infinitely worse. Are these people just totally lacking in SNL Jeopardy awareness? Or are they, like my son suggested, not therapists but actual rapists who have found community through spin bike exercise? And you’re SHAMING them, Mom, he said.

Back to General Hospital: the podcast also mentioned a plotline in which an evil scientist was building a machine which would freeze the world and plunge its inhabitants into an Ice Age, which made me think a) is that evil scientist actually Dr. Doofenschmirtz, and b) where can I find recaps of every plotline on General Hospital? The latter was easy, but overwhelming; a quick search revealed thousands of such websites, Reddits, and blog posts.

I feel judged that DuoLingo thought I needed to know this phrase, although given this unhinged post, it’s not wrong.

In other news, I hit a blip in my 100-Day Project. When I decided I was going to play the piano daily for 100 straight days, I did not have any travel planned; but because our semi-last minute road trip to visit my parents, I missed four days. I gave myself grace for this: obviously pianos are not portable, and I just thought I’d add on the four days at the end. But then! Then two Fridays ago I was busy all day and I simply forgot, and this forgetting made me feel completely derailed. I have, as I see it, three options: a) add another day to the end and just get on with my life, b) start over from Day One, or c) lie down on the Train Tracks of Shame and allow myself to be run over by the Steam Engine of Failure. I am going to go with a), mostly because we have so many travel plans coming up that I am not actually going to be home for 100 consecutive days over the next year and a half.

I am home for the remainder of the summer, however, which is wonderful because it means I can enjoy my garden every single day.

I have been able to harvest a lot of spinach for my smoothies, but I seem to be able to only get one cutting before it starts to bolt, which means I’ve reseeded several times. I think we are entering in the “too hot for greens” season, unfortunately, but on the upside, this is great for my jungle-like tomato plants and for the peppers. Also on the downside:

Not a single chive sprouted! What the what. Well, they can’t all be wins.

Weekly Reading

Woes and wins continue with reading! Well, “woe” might be a bit much for this first read, more like “not a win.”

Deep Cuts. First off I will say that I finished this book on a Sunday night, and when I went to write a review of it for my records, I couldn’t remember how it ended. Less than ten hours had passed and I couldn’t have told you the ending. So. There’s that. This book takes place in the early 2000s and deals with the indie music scene, and when I say “deals with” I mean “we are deep in the details of songwriting, music writing, becoming a music critic, recording, and performing.” DEEP. At its heart is a story of romance and of friendship, of support and betrayal, and of being heard. It got a bit in the weeds for me, although I did like the dissection of songs and lyrics. The author is from Hope, BC, which was very exciting for this BC writer!

Show Don’t Tell. I have enjoyed Sittenfeld’s earlier works, most notably her novel Romantic comedy and her short story collection You Think It, I’ll Say It, and so my expectations for this new collection of short stories were high. I was not disappointed! This exceeded all my hopes; this could not be more Nicole-coded if it tried! Short stories about women’s lives, the ordinary made extraordinary, slice-of-life tales. It was an absolutely perfect book for me, no notes! I loved every word of every story but particularly this line: “Other people have unhappiness inside them, and they want to get rid of it, and it comes out as meanness.” Brilliant.

One Day, Everyone Will Have Always Been Against This. This is a very emotionally draining and moving book by a renowned Egyptian-Canadian journalist and author, about Western involvement in the Middle East generally, and in Gaza in particular. It questions the West’s ability to effectively dehumanize and dissociate from frank horrors, but, apart from asking for a ceasefire, offers no answers. And maybe that’s the point. This is an important read to be sure.

A funny thing I’ve noticed, living in Retirementland, that every weekend is a long weekend/ no weekend is a long weekend/ what is a weekend. The same could be said for mid-week holidays, like when Canada Day falls on a Tuesday. It nearly went completely unnoticed by me, which felt unacceptable given the state of things these days. I celebrated by ditching my black wardrobe for red and white:

And although I don’t typically imbibe on a weekday, what better way to mark the holiday than with a local (VERY LOCAL) rose?

Red plus white equals rose; Canada Day Rose should be a thing, and I’m making it so. Elbows up, nolite te bastardes carborundorum, etcetera. I hope you all have a beautiful week, with more wins than woes. xo

Thank You For Being A Friend: Nourishing Relationships

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Yesterday I went to the first baby shower I’ve been to in well over a decade. I have known the father-to-be since he was a young teen, and in my mind he’s still that age, even though intellectually I know that a) he is older than my own sons, who are grown adults, and b) he is married, employed, a university graduate, and, as mentioned, a father-to-be. Time makes you bolder, even children get older, I’m getting older too…

The grandma-to-be, Sammi, is a very, very dear friend of mine (HI SAMMI) and I feel like the arrival of this baby is the start of a new era. Our first grandbaby! It’s the same way I felt when my friend Tara (HI TARA) had her first baby, back in 2003: communally, she was OUR first baby. It’s a beautiful feeling, seeing these chosen sisters of mine have babies who I have always loved, and now those babies are starting to have babies of their own. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

It’s been studied extensively, but I think it’s also kind of obvious, that having healthy and loving relationships has a statistically significant, positive effect on our health and our ability to live long, happy, healthy lives. It is so important to surround ourselves with good people who nourish and nurture us. I place enormous importance on my relationships not only with my husband and kids, but with my incredible friends who I consider my chosen family. We are family, I got all my sisters with me.

Have you ever been ghosted? I have, and fairly recently. I will say that it was more surprising than hurtful, and for a while I was in denial that it had happened. I cannot be in denial anymore; it has been over nine months and I have received nary an answer to my texts, no 50th birthday message, and not even a lousy social media like. Not even a Facebook thumbs-up. It’s quite odd and bewildering. When I lived in Calgary, I saw this person at least weekly, and we talked or texted almost every day. I felt that I was a Person of Value and Importance in her life, but it seems that I was only a Person of Value and Importance by convenience, or situationally.

The truth is that I don’t really begrudge it, this ghosting. I strongly believe that we all need to have positive, non-toxic relationships in our lives; sometimes people change over time, and so do their friendship needs. Perhaps on moving away I could no longer be the friend I was – one who was valued for physical proximity – and so that ultimately changed our friendship in a way that became unhealthy, or maybe even toxic to my former friend. I don’t think of myself as a toxic person, but there are two sides to every story, and maybe her story is something different.

From Donna Ashworth’s Wild Hope

I have long believed in the adage that people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime, and to that I would like to add the message from this poem by Donna Ashworth. Everyone brings a joy, a love, or a lesson, which sometimes means that people teach you what you don’t want to be, what you don’t want in life, what you don’t want to do. We can, and should, take the lessons offered from those people, but we don’t need to have those people in our lives or, if they are unavoidably in our lives, we need to set boundaries around them.

Do you ever think how incredible it is, this world of ours, where our lives are shaped by the people we encounter? I’m not talking about the people whose lessons are toxic ones, but the people who perform small kindnesses, who show us things that they love, who do something that affects us so much that our lives will never be the same? Sometimes these people have no idea the effect they have had on us. For example, I’m sure my grade six friend Kristi has no idea that having dinner at her house sparked a lifelong love of Caesar salad, a thing I didn’t even know existed before that evening. I’m positive my husband’s friend’s ex-wife Christine has no clue that she introduced me to the wonder that is guacamole. So many people have taught me what I want to be merely by being in their presence. A yoga friend, Sarah, once said clearly and firmly, I don’t want to talk about people behind their backs when a group conversation got gossipy, teaching me something about principles and gracefully standing up for them. A young yoga acquaintance, Laura, related that she had allowed an elderly, confused lady to hold her baby in Starbucks, letting her believe that her baby was that woman’s grandchild, until the woman’s helper led her away. What a lesson in compassion and generosity.

Catherine Newman has never met me, but her writing saved me in the early days of motherhood and inspired me to start this very blog, which has led me to this whole beautiful community. Our lives are a mosaic of the influences of others, and it’s up to us to choose which colours we let shine through. We can choose to surround ourselves with people who nourish us in every possible way, and I’m glad you’re all here, nourishing me, whether or not you know it.

Weekly Reading

Probably Nothing. This was a cute book about a woman who is about to ghost the guy that she’s been casually sleeping with…only to find out that he has suddenly died of a wasp sting. His eccentric family is under the impression that they were in a Very Serious Relationship, and immediately takes her in. As she becomes enmeshed in their vibrant craziness, antics ensue! A quick and easy read, with a nice message about chosen family, thematically enough.

33 Place Brugman. This is what I would call a Very Informative Novel, in that it details the lives of people living in an apartment building in Brussels in 1939. Belgium was occupied by the Nazis from 1940-44, and this book shows the everyday business of people who are living this reality, as well as the Jewish people in the apartment who fled prior to the occupation. Nothing is quite as it seems, and the book shows how people can change and adapt to a violent and hungry daily regime. This is not an easy read; there are multiple characters – fortunately there is a cast of characters in the front of the book – and the reader must pay attention constantly or miss a crucial detail. Even with constant vigilance, I felt like I was missing details, only to find out that the events in question were being alluded to and would be fleshed out later in the book, which made the story a bit confusing and tricky to follow. Neither did I find this to be a particularly enjoyable read, from the subject matter to the very convoluted and time-jumping writing style. However, it was a good book to read in that there was a lot that, sadly and alarmingly, resonates in today’s world: people being rounded up, people disappearing, and anti-Semitism.

Today marks three years since we lost Barkley, which is a sad anniversary to be sure. I was so traumatized by his decline and death that I refused to consider the possibility of having another dog in our home. All I will say is that sometimes – most of the time – the universe sends you what you need.

I hope you have enjoyed my Nourishment Series! Next week I’ll be back to regular programming, in case anyone wants to hear about my adventures in Costco, gardening, and all the other exciting things that make up my days. Have a good week, friends, and remember that the universe will send you what you need. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Nourishing Edition

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How has June been treating you, friends? I hope you have all been enjoying my Nourishment series; I have certainly enjoyed putting it together. There will be a final post on Monday to wrap it up, and in the meantime, I want to tell you about my Favourite Things this month. They are all things that are nourishing for my physical and mental states, if we use the term fairly loosely. You know me, I like a theme.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Nourishing Edition

Strawberry Fields Forever

This is the second year for our strawberry plants, and they have been prolific! Almost every day I have a harvest of these sweet sweet berries. We have to net the plants to keep the birds from feasting, and when I’m crouched down underneath the netting, picking them, I’m reminded of Mrs Elton at the berrying party in Emma.

And check out this very funky specimen:

It was delicious, although I do feel like I snacked on Patrick from Spongebob.

The raspberries have also been showing up and showing out; we have several different varieties, so hopefully we will have berries from June to September.

Did you hear that? It’s ominous music playing.

AND SO IT BEGINS. Zucchini season is now, alarmingly, in full swing. I have already harvested eight zucchini, including an absolute monster that quadrupled in size from last Wednesday, before our road trip, to the following Monday. My husband and son are giving me the side-eye, after last year’s zucapocalypse.

Postcard from the incomparable Michelle (HI MICHELLE) for scale.

Like A Good Neighbour, Amanda Is There

The emotional and psychological issues I have around my hair could keep a therapist busy for decades, and probably buy the aforementioned therapist a vacation home on Maui, but such issues are not available for public consumption. I will merely say that fifteen years ago or so, my hair stylist put down her comb and scissors in exasperation, and said to me Nicole, will you STOP saying that. There is nothing WRONG with your hair. It’s just REGULAR hair. Stop telling me how weird and terrible it is. IT IS JUST NORMAL HAIR.

So. I have issues around my hair. I dislike having my hair cut not because I’m Samson or Rapunzel or anything, but because I fear negative commentary about it, although with few exceptions that is not something that happens. It takes me a while to build trust with a new stylist, so you can imagine the tizzy I was in when I moved here. And listen: my hair is not complicated to cut. It does not require precise styling. I know this and yet, I still feel stressed and worried whenever I go to get my hair cut.

My neighbour Amanda cuts hair out of her home, and it took me nearly a year of living a three-minute walk from her house before I got the courage to ask her to cut mine. She’s a busy mom with a full-time job, but she told me cheerfully that she cuts hair for friends and family! and I took MONTHS to contact her. Are we friends? Is this overstepping? If I ask her will she think I’m weird and presumptuous? Finally, after my husband told me to just call her already, and if she didn’t want to do it she could say no, I contacted her.

Friends, she is the sweetest woman around and she immediately set me at ease as I talked a mile a minute about my hair worries. She has been cutting my hair for almost a year now, the latest time being just a couple of weeks ago, when I had delayed getting it cut for a few months. The ends were, to say the least, not great, Bob.

Amanda told me gravely we would have to take off some length. She asked if I was okay, and then she asked again. She explained very carefully what would happen, what her plans were for future cuts, and then she proceeded to give me the best haircut of my entire life.

I might be getting over my hair issues! I love you, Amanda! (HI AMANDA, if you’re reading this)

Power Pants

I am about to relate an anecdote, but before I do, I want to note that the following occurred years ago, in 2011 or 2012, when it was considered not only appropriate but complimentary to comment on other people’s bodies, particularly when the other person’s body appeared smaller. I know, I know, we would never ever think this was okay to say these days, but I am setting the scene for you.

Picture it: it’s 2011 or 2012. I’m standing with the Circle Moms, so named because we all stood in a circle and chatted in the schoolyard when our kids sledded or built snow forts or played on the playground after school. As we were talking, a woman came up to a friend of mine in the circle, and asked her in a congratulatory, complimentary tone if she had lost weight. Nope! my friend said happily. I just bought bigger pants.

Several months ago, when I did a big purge of my ill-fitting wardrobe – mostly pants, but also a not insignificant number of little black dresses – Michelle (HI MICHELLE) congratulated me. It’s so empowering to have clothes that fit! she said, and she was right. It IS empowering! It IS a big deal to go into my closet and know I can wear all the things in it.

Here we are, in a new season – not just of life, but an actual season – and it’s really time to bust out all the crops and capris. I needed new pants. I needed bigger pants. And so I went to Mark’s, because it seems like this is where I get all my pants lately, and I bought three pair of very lightweight capris, and two denim ones. Friends, they are comfortable, I feel cute, and I AM EMPOWERED! Behold a few of my powerful pants!

It’s so simple. Putting on pants without shimmying or struggling, and just…doing them up? It’s the best. Our bodies change throughout our lives, shouldn’t our pants? Why try to squeeze into pants that are uncomfortable and most likely unflattering in their discomfort? JUST BUY BIGGER PANTS. Fitting my body should be the very least we ask for from pants, right after making me not be naked, and yet. And yet it’s revolutionary.

Stop Bugging Me

We had quite a bit of rain, which was desperately needed – I do not want to go through another August like the one in 2023! – and the rain was followed by sunshine and lovely warm temperatures. Glorious! And also? Perfect mosquito weather.

Something you may or may not know about me is that I am a person you want to invite to your parties, not just because I would talk to a chair if it looked marginally friendly, but also because I am a Mosquito Magnet. I am ABSOLUTELY IRRESISTABLE to the female mosquito population. They cannot get enough of my sexy, juicy flesh. And another neat thing to know about me is that I have the kind of allergic reaction to mosquito bites that makes people say Oh GOD, what HAPPENED to you? What on another person might be a slight annoyance is, to me, torture. Mosquito bites swell to enormous, hard, red lumps, and then turn into bruises, and that is not a look I like to embrace. Some topical ointments soothe somewhat, others give me a secondary reaction, it’s a wheel of fortune.

I want to be the type of person who just smooths on a little Skin So Soft, or spritzes on a homemade essential oil mixture, and then calls it a day, but I am not. I am just so sexy and irresistible to those rental houses for souls of the cruel, that I need The Big Guns.

Do I want to be spraying chemicals all over my body? No, I do not. But faced with the choice between that and having gigantic swollen itchy lumps all over my body, between that and praying for the sweet release of the bruising that follows, even though I look like I’ve fallen off a cruise ship, pinballing down, hitting a lot of railings on the way, well, I’ll take the Fresh Scent Deet every time. I leave it on the outside steps to spray on just before my walk, then I strut through the greenway like John Travolta with a paint can, while everyone around me is losing their minds and slapping the air and their own bodies.

Come Back With A Warrant(y)

The most-used small appliance in my kitchen is the Vitamix; it gets used by various people three to four times a day at minimum. So it really was no surprise when, several months ago, it finally gave up. It’s too much! the Vitamix would have said, were it sentient. Stop with the continuous smoothies already! The container blades seized up, started to smoke, and died.

This was an absolute crisis. The motor still worked perfectly, so we ordered a new container for it, making the huge and predictable mistake of purchasing a quick-to-arrive, much-less-expensive knock-off that was compatible with our motor. In what can only be described as You Get What You Pay For, the container worked perfectly for two weeks, and then developed a tiny leak. It still worked, but it would leave a teaspoon or so of smoothie on the motor. Over the course of a few months, that teaspoon increased to a few tablespoons, and every time I wiped up the resulting mess I could only think that this was not great, Bob.

The problem was that our model is no longer available, and so my husband called Vitamix to ask what he could purchase as a replacement, which is when we discovered that we have a seven-year warranty on all parts, expiring in August. Vitamix sent us a brand-new container, free of charge, and we are all happily consuming smoothies without having to clean up a little puddle afterwards.

Outfit of the Month

As I mentioned above, I was running low on little black dresses after The Great Closet Purge of 2024. The purge happened in November which, as my husband pointed out, was perfect timing for Black Friday. How or why Black Friday became a thing in Canada, I do not know, but I was grateful that Ricki’s – a proudly Canadian company – had such a sale. I picked up three dresses for $120, and I love them all.

I wore one a few weeks ago for a friend’s 60th birthday party, paired them with Skecher sandals, and posed with the best black-and-white accessory I have.

I hope you are all enjoying our first official week of summer! I’d love to hear about all your Favourites this month. Tell me everything. xo

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream: Sleepytime Nourishment

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Is there anything worse than sleep deprivation? I guess there are a lot worse things, but without delving into the Very Bad Things In The World, I would say that sleep deprivation is up there, Steve.

The thing about sleep is that it is so important for overall health: lack of sleep can be tied to a number of medical issues, memory issues, mental health issues, and issues with judgement and motor skills. The other thing about sleep is that knowing all of those effects that can be brought on by poor sleep can actually lead to stress about poor sleep and then poor sleep itself. Who among us hasn’t looked at the clock and panicked, calculating how much sleep we would get if we fell asleep right now, oh, dammit, now it’s a minute less, omg, I am never getting to sleep, I am going to be so exhausted, okay, fall asleep now, now, NOW?

We’ve all been there. When my children were small I was basically a zombie. I do not remember 2004-2007, let’s just put it that way. When my younger son was a colicky newborn, and I had two babies under eighteen months, my friend Tara (HI TARA) said to me Forget drunk drivers, new mothers are the scariest drivers on the roads. She’s not wrong, with all the crying and stress of motherhood, on top of the whole no-sleep thing, new mothers can be a menace behind the wheel at any hour of the day.

Other than external forces like small children and significant work stress, my sleep has always been fairly decent. Perimenopause definitely has caused some issues, although I will say that I have been sleeping so much better lately, and I credit the consumption of branched-chain amino acids for this development. Am I becoming a BCAA Evangelist, as well as a Sleep Evangelist? Kind of? I feel like I’m giving off MLM vibes and my dear readers will start worrying that I’m going to message them in a Hey babe, I wanted to talk to you about this great opportunity…but I swear I’m not getting any kind of kickback from Big Amino Acids. Or any sized amino acid company. Nor am I, needless to say, any kind of medical professional, what works for me may not work for you, etcetera.

Because I think sleep needs to be a priority in my life, I have no compunctions about using what I refer to as Sleep Helpers, such as sleeping pills, nighttime Advil, or melatonin, as necessary. I also have a fairly structured bedtime routine and very strict rules about what happens in my bed: sleep or sex, and that’s it. I don’t read in bed, I don’t have my phone in the bedroom, and I definitely don’t leave my bed if I wake up at night, other than to use the bathroom. If I wake up with a hot flash, I’ll starfish myself on top of the covers and visualize the heat leaving my body in waves, like a cartoon drawing. If I wake up and find I can’t go back to sleep, I will tell myself soothingly that even if I’m not sleeping, my body is at rest, and I will count my inhales and exhales until I lull myself into a bored stupor and fall asleep.

I also start my bedtime routine well in advance of when I actually go to bed, which is generally about 8:30 pm. I have a naturally early wake time – 4:00 am – and so I go to bed early as well. I need about seven and a half hours of sleep to function well, and I get a bit more on the weekend.

What do you do to get ready for bed? If it’s summer, and I’ve been barefoot and covered in sunscreen, I will have a quick shower. I always shower in the morning, but sometimes a second one is necessary. Aside from those summer days, my first step is to put on my jammies. I know that I could just put on something old and comfortable, but I like matching pajama sets, I like them to be pretty, and I like them to be seasonal.

Am I feeling flowery?
Or crabby? I guess it depends on my sleep.

After that, I brush my hair out, wash my face, and apply eye and face cream. I also put on foot cream and then socks on over top, so I don’t leave lotion footprints all over the house. I have enough to do with paw prints, I don’t need to add to the problem. I then floss and brush my teeth, and go downstairs to hang out with my husband. I often read while he watches sports on TV, and sometimes we watch a show together. By 8:30, I can barely keep my eyes open, and so I make my way to where the magic happens.

BOW CHICKA WOW WOW, or zzzzz.

How do we feel about making our beds? I always make mine, including decorative pillows, and not just because it’s a sixty-second way to having a more pulled-together bedroom. I cannot stand getting into an unmade bed at night. I like to slide between clean, neat sheets; it’s better for my dreamtime.

Speaking of which! Friends, I have to tell you about the dream I had a few weeks ago, and YES I KNOW that there are few things less interesting than hearing about other people’s dreams, but bear with me. The dream involved Barkley, who was here with us. He and Rex were just hanging out together; Barkley was be the Cleanup Crew when food dropped on the floor, while Rex lay in a tangle at my feet. Barkley in my dream was the dog that he was for most of his life: not sick, not blind, not deaf, not demented, just fuzzy and friendly, piggy and affectionate. His coat was fluffy and brown, and he did not have the lump that he had in his later years, that prompted my son’s friend to affectionately call him Old Lumpy, and that prompted complete strangers to meanly and rudely comment on his appearance. He was just the Barkley that I knew and loved for fourteen years.

I woke up so happy, remembering him in that way. I often remember how it was at the end, with him unable to go up and down stairs, with me in tears every day when I walked him while strangers asked me what’s wrong with your dog, with him walking underneath the coats hanging up and getting lost. But now I remembered how he was for most of his life, and I was so happy. It wasn’t until later, when I was writing in my one-line-a-day journal, that I realized that it was his birthday. Isn’t that wild? I like to think he was visiting me, and his fluffy little soul was happily bounding around somewhere.

Weekly Reading

The Three Lives of Cate Kay. This is a very buzzy book, and what I liked best about it was the writing style. It reads like watching a biography on TV, with a variety of people from the Cate Kay’s – a pseudonym for a writer of a blockbuster trilogy-turned-movies – life and history. I really enjoyed the different voices and such a fresh writing style, even if I did find myself confused a few times with a bit of a complicated love storyline. I liked the general message that you can’t run from your past, it makes you who you are, and I loved the line “The trick of life, as I see it now, is to make what’s around you beautiful. It’ll grow from there.” What a great line! A very fun, entertaining read.

Sky Daddy. We all know that I have read and enjoyed some really bizarre things, like Bear, the 1976 Governor General Award-winning book about a woman who has a sexual relationship with a bear. Not a big hairy gay man, an actual bear. I have also read books that involve sexual relationships with sentient doors, balloon animals, and Santa Claus, and so when Birchy (HI BIRCHY) mentioned this book about a woman sexually obsessed with planes, I was all in. But what was different about Sky Daddy, the plot of which involves a woman whose greatest hope is that a plane will “marry her” and in a fit of passion, crash so that they will be entwined together for eternity, is that this book is a literary gem. It is honestly one of the best books I have read in a really long time. On a line level, it is absolutely incredible, on a plot level it is absolutely incredible. It is so witty and clever and creative – every single word is chosen perfectly – and I wish I could go back in time so I could read it again for the first time. It’s weird, it’s wonderful, I loved it.

Speaking of exhaustion, I’m back from my road trip! It is a ten-hour drive each way, and by 8pm last night I was pretty much done. We had perfect driving conditions on the way there, but the way back it rained hard for over half of the drive.

On our way we stopped to embrace our anti-TLC and chase waterfalls.

Shortly after that photo was taken, we were on the Icefields Parkway, just past Bow Lake, when an EMS sped by us. Later we found out that there was a rockslide in that area that led to two fatalities, including a yoga student of teacher friends of mine. What a sad tragedy.

It’s going to be a busy week for me, catching up. How are you doing, friends? It feels like an evergreen statement to say the news is bleak but here we are. I hope you are all well and nourishing yourselves in these very despairing times. xo

Then Sings My Soul: Nourishing Through Nature

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It is not yet officially summer, and yet it is summer!

I have this very strange scarcity mindset when it comes to beautiful summer days, the cause of which I can pinpoint exactly: living 95% of my life in Calgary. Listen, when a beautiful day presents itself in Calgary, you had better drop everything and enjoy every second of that beautiful day, because you don’t know when the next one will happen. There is every likelihood that the temperatures will drop, or the wind will pick up, or there will be a violent thunderstorm that will flatten every single plant in your garden and possibly tear the shingles off your roof.

I need to get over this mindset because here, when it’s summer, it’s summer. And I love it, I am spending every moment that I can outside even while reminding myself that there is always tomorrow.

There isn’t always tomorrow for everyone, sadly. We had a perennial die and we replaced it with a clump of happy looking pink annuals, and then realized WHY that perennial died, which had nothing to do with the neighbour’s dog surreptitiously urinating on it. Or, that wasn’t the only reason. The main reason is that the small corner where the plant resided is just out of reach of our irrigation system, and so the poor thing just died of a lack of water. To ensure our little clump of flowers will not follow the same path of demise, we have been keeping my little watering can filled and close by for ease of use.

I got back from my walk the other day and went to give those happy little flowers a drink. I paused, upon seeing what I initially thought was a large piece of bark floating in the watering can. On closer inspection, this turned out to be a drowned bird.

I set down the watering can and backed away, repeating my husband’s name in a stunned manner and with increasing urgency, followed by there’s a, there’s a, there’s a over and over. I would like to be a Strong Invincible Woman in the face of a bird corpse, but alas. The fate of that little bird’s physical being was decided by my husband, and hopefully one of the many coyotes zipping around here had a little snack. Poor birdie. I hope its little soul is flying around happily, maybe inhabiting the body of a hawk or eagle, just for a different experience.

I was talking to my friend Sandi (HI SANDI) recently about insects, and whether or not they possess souls. We both agreed: why not? Why not, indeed? Everyone can agree that animals have souls: anyone who has ever had a pet in their life, or even watched a nature show on television, can see this. If we believe that, why can’t we believe that insects also have souls? Rather, I should say, ALL insects, because some, like butterflies are often considered vehicles for the soul. They are widely viewed as beautiful symbols of spirits flitting around in nature. It follows, then, if butterflies have souls, why wouldn’t all insects?

Opinions about insect souls can really say a lot about a person’s view of the world. It’s like the insect version of Denis Leary’s old bit about wanting to save the animals, but only the cute animals. One might think, okay, butterflies have souls, not spiders or earthworms, but why? Where do we arbitrarily draw the line? It makes more sense if everything does, perhaps spiders especially – have we not all read Charlotte’s Web? Those heroic arachnids spin webs to save us all from pests, and Wilbur from being eaten. Spiders have a job to do, people! Let’s give them some love!

“This sheep can go fuck itself,” I appear to be saying. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say “I will pet this sheep but I will not enjoy it.”

I think every living thing, including plants and trees, including earthworms, yes, even including mosquitoes, have a soul. Possibly the soul of a person who lived a life of great cruelty might be destined to be housed in the body of a mosquito for centuries, who can say? None of us are The Divine, least of all me, and so I’m not here to judge. Maybe slapping that mosquito that lands on our bodies will release the soul to…another mosquito? The universe is full of mysteries.

Well. What started as a post about what I love to do to nourish my soul – working in the garden and enjoying the glory of nature – took quite a turn.

When I started to write down the things I do to nourish my soul, I was heartened to see that every single thing overlapped with the things I do to nourish my body and my brain: gardening, walking, yoga, playing music, reading. The number one thing that feeds my soul, and always has, is being outside.

The garden, of course, brings me so much joy; seeing perennial plants and tree leaves emerge in spring, the planting and then harvesting of vegetables and berries, the beauty of the flowers. Walking, whether it’s through nature-rich paths or on city sidewalks, and yoga are moving meditations for me – and regular, seated meditation is also a daily practice for me that is nourishing to my whole self. The beauty of music, the beauty of a book, the beauty of poetry – all of it is good for my soul. And as a bonus, at this time of year I can relax on my glider chair on the deck with a book and a beverage, and it feels so restorative.

While I was walking last week, a bald eagle soared right over Rex and I, and I just stood there watching him. Maybe one day my Watering Can Bird will inhabit such a glorious creature, or maybe a butterfly. Wherever it ends up, I hope it’s happy.

Weekly Reading

I had a DNF this week; it was More or Less Maddy, by Lisa Genova. I have to accept that I have not enjoyed anything she’s written besides Still Alice. I have to accept that this author is not for me. I made it through the first chapter, and then skipped around to see if there was any sign it would get better. It did not appear to. After all the Coco Mellors recently, I just could NOT deal with another book about drug use, mental health, and suicidal ideation. Moving on to what I did finish:

Heartwood. I enjoyed this very propulsive read about a woman who, after the stress of being a nurse in the pandemic, decides to hike the Appalachian Trail. She goes missing somewhere in Maine, and the search begins. It didn’t go at all like I expected it to, and I liked that! It was a great ending, and the story told from different points of view made for a compelling read. I learned that the idea of the book came from a true incident that ended sadly, which made the book even more interesting to me. Thanks to Lisa (HI LISA) for the recommendation!

Lives of Girls and Women. Yes, I had four library books sitting on my coffee table, but I needed – NEEDED – to reread the book that made me a Munro fan, 31 years ago. The heroine of this coming of age story – Del Jordan – is so resonant and relatable to me and always has been, even though I did not come of age in 1940s rural Ontario. My husband looked at the book and said how many times have you read that? I don’t know, but enough for the book to start falling apart.

The Simple Art of Killing a Woman. This book was intense. Intense and upsetting but very compelling, the story follows a young lawyer who accepts an assignment in an Amazonian border town, to escape her aggressive and potentially violent boyfriend. While there she learns about the epidemic of femicide, which is rampant in Brazil but particularly in this area. Some of it reads like a fever dream, the parts where the lawyer partakes in ritual ayahuasca use. It was a well done but very upsetting book.

Every morning I am up before the sun, and every morning I think of the Mary Oliver poem that wonders why people ask to see God’s identity papers, when seeing the sky break into morning is enough. At this time of year, the mountains across the lake are glowing pink as I roll out my yoga mat, and it is such food for the soul.

Speaking of poetry, look what I got!

My dear friend Maya (HI MAYA) has not one, not two, but THREE poems published in this very moving anthology. I highly recommend it. It is only available on Amazon at the moment, but when the choice comes to shop more ethically OR support my friend, I am going to choose the latter every time.

I am going on a long-in-distance, short-in-length road trip this week, so I will catch up with you on the flip side! I would love it if you told me what you’re doing to fill your cup and nourish your souls. xo

Glorious Food and Joyful Movement: Nourishing the Body

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I have never run a marathon, and it is unlikely in the extreme that I ever will, but in spite of – or maybe because of – this, I was absolutely fascinated by a podcast interview of a Belgian woman who, at age 55, ran a marathon every day in 2024. Every day. And 2024, you may recall, was a leap year, meaning she ran 366 consecutive marathons.

I laughed as the host kept asking multiple questions that can be summed up in a single word: how? And this woman, in her stoic Belgian accent, said that yes, it was difficult. Yes, she had pains and aches and exhaustion, which she would take treatment and painkillers and naps. Yes, she ate a lot of pasta and protein pancakes. Yes, she ran in the rain for the majority of the winter and spring seasons. Then, she casually mentioned that her immune system was compromised from all the running, which led to contracting Covid in August. It took a long time to get over it, she said matter-of-factly, Because of all the running.

I mean, yes? I was completely stunned by this revelation and listened to the host ask multiple questions about that. Oh, I ran more slowly, she said. More like four hours and twenty, or twenty-five minutes. This bout with Covid brought her daily average run time from sub-four hours to 4:05, which made me wonder if she and I were even the same species.

Well, in a way I get it. I do. I am obsessed with keeping my own various streaks on DuoLingo and Peloton, and I am not trying to set a world record, here. I get the idea of pushing through just to accomplish something important. I do. Running a daily marathon while sick with and recovering from a respiratory illness isn’t something I personally would choose to do, but I’m not in her shoes, the shoes that she had to replace twice a month from wear. And yet I can’t help but think her poor body. I can’t help but think that her body was giving her signs that said maybe we should take a break?, signs which would be mostly obscured by her ultimate goal.

I wanted to talk about nourishing our bodies this week, through movement and through what we all think of when we think of the word nourishment, food. Food, glorious food! Interestingly enough, that same podcast several weeks prior discussed the role of nutrition in perimenopausal fatigue, the interviewee was adamant in her belief that women just do not eat enough to support their energy needs.

I found that fascinating. I also find it fascinating, and not in a happy way, that women are all universally scarred from the societal pressures and images of beauty that we are constantly exposed to, from the cradle to the grave. Who among us has not felt, if not downright self-loathing, then at least dissatisfaction with our bodies and appearances? I am sure there are some women out there who have always simply eaten whenever hungry, whatever food they felt like eating, and don’t think for another moment about it, but I have yet to meet one. I have yet to meet a woman who has not at some point assigned moral value to food items, and thought I’m being bad while eating one, or has referred to a treat as a guilty pleasure, as if eating a cupcake was a moral failing and a plate of nachos was on par with an actual sin.

I have yet to meet a woman who has not felt some kind of guilt or shame about her body, and if you are reading this and you think wait, I haven’t, I have always felt great about myself, then I am happy you’re here and happy to know you exist.

It just makes me sad. It makes me sad so many women view movement as some kind of punishment, and food as some kind of virtue signaling. Because we need nourishment! It reminds me of the scene in the book Bridget Jones’ Diary where she talks about calories to her gay best friend, who asks but how many calories do you need to survive? Bridget is completely taken aback, having dissociated actual physical needs from calorie counts.

We need to treat ourselves tenderly and with love, and withholding food and feeling shame or guilt while feeding ourselves is not that.

After many decades of doing complicated food math in my head, of feeling guilt and shame and embarrassment, of refusing and restricting and saying no thank you when I wanted to say yes please, and could you give me a piece with extra frosting, I am done. I’m done with all that, which is a simple statement to make and much more complicated to get there.

I love this rental house for my soul, this body of mine, and I want to give it all the tenderness and nourishment it needs. I want my food to check off at least two, and preferably three, out of the following three boxes: filling, energizing, and joyful. There are a lot of vegetables and fruit in my world, lots of green smoothies and lots of chickpeas and lentils, and there is also cake. There are sometimes chips and guacamole, and homemade crusty bread, still warm, dripping with butter or Boursin. Weekly, there is popcorn, and also wine or cocktails. And always, always there is coffee, because where would I be without that nectar of the gods?

I wouldn’t be in motion, that’s where I would be. How do we feel about movement practices these days? My personal practices have changed a lot over the years, to become more tender and nourishing. I no longer run, but instead walk a marathon distance over the course of a week, with my fuzzy companion. It’s slow, but I get to take in all the views. I haven’t practiced the Ashtanga second series for six years; instead I have focused on the primary series with some modifications.

2014: I don’t do this pose anymore, but this is my yard now!
2025: How do people take action shots while exercising? This is as good as it gets around here.

I get excited every morning to choose a Peloton ride, which I do based almost entirely on the playlist – disco and 80s music are immediately bookmarked – and how much I like the teacher. I will say I am much less excited to do my strength training, and treat it less like a joyful movement and more like a dreary, tedious prescription. I guess the results – non-crumbling bones, more muscle mass, fewer menopause symptoms – are the joyful part of that movement practice.

Food and exercise are two of the most fraught topics around, and they certainly have been for me in the past, but these days I’m very peaceful about them. I want eating and moving to be joyful things, and they are for me; I think that joy is nourishing, and a nourished body helps with the mind and with the soul – the latter of which will be next week’s topic!

Weekly Reading

After last week’s amazing reads, this week was Just Fine.

Cleopatra and Frankenstein. You may remember I recently read Coco Mellors’ book Blue Sisters and disliked it, so you may wonder why I would pick up her debut. The reason is that I think she is a talented writer, and it was the subject – addiction – that put me off of that book, so I wanted to give her debut a try. And as a warning, there is a lot of drug and alcohol use in this book as well (Coco, are you okay?) but it is not as graphic, so it didn’t bother me in the same way. But. You know that feeling when you finish a book and think “wait, what did I just read?” That was this – in a good way, yes, but what did I just read? I will try to describe it: the story follows a very mismatched pair, Cleo and Frank, through their meeting on New Year’s Eve and subsequent marriage. They are not compatible, they have a twenty-year age gap, and they are surrounded by a cast of characters that can best, and most optimistically, described as offbeat. I found myself quite invested in the fate of all of these weird characters, and the book itself is a bit weird, but I liked it. There’s a lot about mental health and trauma, and about healing from both of those things.

Julie Chan Is Dead. This is a very buzzy book, but I’m mixed on it. On one hand, hooray for a Canadian woman author making such a splashy debut! On the other, I think I’m too old to read a satire about influencer culture. I have to admit that it took some doing for me to get past the premise of this book, which is that twin girls are separated at age four when their parents are killed in a car accident; one is left with her mean and stingy aunt, the other is raised by a very wealthy and possibly racist couple. It took me a while to get past that detail. Why wouldn’t the girls be adopted together? If there were family members to care for one, why did they separate them? Why did they have to go no-contact between the girls? This makes no sense. I had to really move past that detail just to get into the book, which is a propulsive read to be sure. It is satire, and as such it’s pretty over-the-top, but it is cleverly done and contains some very sharp observations about influencer culture. It was entertaining, even if I was not the correct demographic to really enjoy this.

Big Girl. I don’t know how this ended up on my holds; I must have seen it recommended somewhere. However, it was a slog for me. A very, very depressing slog of a book about an eight-year-old girl, growing into womanhood, navigating the world in a very large body. It was inadvertently on topic for this week, what with the themes of body issues, weight, self-loathing, and intergenerational body trauma.

I hope you all have a delicious week, filled with lots of joy and yummy things. xo