Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Entering My Tankini Era Edition

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About four months ago I was purposefully striding down the hall with my arms full, heading for the donation bags I had set up in the laundry room. My older son was home at the time and observed my unusually stern expression. Whatcha doing, Mom? he asked and when I informed him that I was DONATING all these BIKINIS that don’t SUIT me anymore, his face became a study of concern and compassion. Oh, he said, oh MOM. Are you okay?

Well, I was okay and I am okay and the wonderful thing about having an emotional breakdown over one’s wardrobe and donating over a third of it in November is that, as my husband pointed out in an uncharacteristically Pollyanna-ish way, Black Friday and Boxing Day are both right around the corner.

Technically speaking, all the bikinis do still fit me. I could wear them, I could. I strongly believe that anyone who wants to wear a bikini should wear a bikini, but the thing is, I don’t anymore. I just don’t feel comfortable in them, and I don’t want to expose my softened and expanded midriff. I kept all the bikini bottoms except two tiny scraps of material which historically toed the line between swimwear one can swim in and exposure hazards; both items have not only edged over that line, they have gone off the high dive and are now at the bottom of the proverbial pool. I prefer not to exit the water showing everyone in my vicinity the sugaring job on the old honeypot, and so those bottoms went into the donation bags, along with about ten little tops.

My go-to store for swimwear is La Vie En Rose, and they were indeed having both Black Friday and Boxing Day clear outs, and I ended up buying six tankini tops, a couple of very high-waisted bottoms to replace the Danger Zone ones, and three coverups, all for less than $160. Can you believe it? Huge bonus, La Vie En Rose is a Canadian company, which is something I consider very seriously these days, the aggressive international political situation being what it is.

Speaking of which, I returned very late Tuesday night from a week in Mexico, for which I was motivated to acquire the aforementioned swimwear. I feel a kinship with the Mexican people and all things Mexican for reasons which I am sure you can discern. Of course it was a wonderful trip, and I enjoyed myself immensely, but something in the air felt very tense and awkward. I wasn’t poolside chatting with many strangers, let’s put it that way.

Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to my unwritten but intense anxiety about my country being annexed and what would happen should that occur. You came here for Favourite Things, and Favourite Things you shall have.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Entering My Tankini Era Edition

Colour Me Beautiful

As everyone knows, my go-to colour, in swimwear and everything else, is black. To that end I did purchase mainly black tankini tops in different styles, but I did bravely branch out at the sight of two handkerchief tops for $10 each, one in green and one in a green and blue pattern. I’m not about to start dressing in jewel tones, or patterns for that matter, but I did feel very pretty in these two items.

Black is still my favourite, though.

It occurs to me that you might be wondering why not a one-piece? and my answer to that is simply no. One-pieces never fit me well and I find them extremely uncomfortable, in a wedgie/ camel toe way, not to mention the washroom problem, similar to that posed by the wearing of a jumpsuit. How does one use the washroom in a one-piece without the one-piece touching the disgusting floor beside the toilet? It’s untenable!

Caribbean Queen

A good swimsuit is key for me, as I do like to swim in the ocean. I like pools too, but the ocean! The Caribbean is absolutely perfect for swimming; it’s warm and gentle and perfect.

But You Can Leave Your Hat On

I love the heat but I don’t love being in the sun; I am very careful about my skin, particularly on my face. I took two big floppy hats with me; they both are easy to reshape after being folded up or crushed into a beach bag.

They both feature chin straps, which come in handy if that ocean breeze means business.

Black Hole Sun

I use sunscreen – Neutrogena 60 Dry Touch – even in the dead of winter, and so you can imagine how careful I am about application while in the tropics. Since we are Carryon Only people, I need to be smart about packing liquids. Stick sunscreen is an incredible invention, and I have two that I’d like to mention here.

Shiseido is absolutely great; it goes on so clear that I only applied it in front of a mirror to ensure I didn’t miss any spots. The downside is that it’s very expensive for this teeny tiny stick, and it feels like way more plastic than I like for the amount of sunscreen that I got.

My sweet friend Joy (HI JOY) works in this great little environmentally responsible store, and I saw this when I went to visit her. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say this is the best sunscreen I have ever used, in terms of efficacy and scent. It is mineral but it doesn’t leave much of a white cast once it’s rubbed in, which is really remarkable. The container is plastic-free as well, so I feel like this is a little-known winning product.

Winner, Winner, Avocado Dinner

One of the many activities offered by the resort is a guacamole-making class. Although we both have made guacamole many, many times, my friend Jen and I thought it would be fun to join (HI JEN). At the end of the class, we were all given chips and asked to present our guacamole in an artistic way, and after the judging we would be able to eat it. Here’s what my plate looked like:

Who knew that my humble offering would be the winner of the Great Guacamole Contest? Certainly not me, but it was.

I think I won for two reasons, neither of them to do with actual guacamole. First, I was the only person attempting to speak Spanish. Second, Jen and I were the only people who weren’t obnoxiously yelling during the lesson, and then complaining about having to wait ninety seconds to eat their guacamole, or just eating their guacamole after saying that they weren’t going to wait for anyone or anything. Nevertheless! It doesn’t matter what the metrics were, I WAS THE WINNER!

After the class Jen and I enjoyed our guac, and washed it down with our favourite mango margaritas.

Outfit of the Month

As I have mentioned before, a huge percentage of my Little Black Dresses were victim to the Great Closet Purge of 2024. Happily, I found some cute ones in the November/ December sales, and this one is my favourite:

It feels very sexy and swishy and, crucially, it isn’t tight in the waist. It came from Ricki’s, another Canadian company, and I paired it with my extremely comfortable, extremely cute Skecher sandals.

I am the early bird of the group, and every morning I got up in the dark to find us all poolside lounges and to watch the sunrise. Most days looked like this:

But on our final morning, the sunrise was so startlingly beautiful that I almost couldn’t stand it.

I hurried down to the beach to watch the colours reflect off the water.

It was like Mexico was saying goodbye to me. How grateful I was to be able to experience that.

Speaking of gratitude, my sweet friend Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH) asked me to write a guest post on just that topic; I would love it so much if you checked it out. It would be my Favourite! I hope you were also able to find a lot of Favourites in this month; I know it’s been hard lately. I hope you are all well. What did I miss when I was gone? Tell me everything about your lives. xo

Reseating The Theatre

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I listen to a lot of podcasts; if those podcasts were audiobooks I’d probably be able to increase my Yearly Books Read by at least 100. Alas, they are not! I walk a lot and also do a lot of boring household things, like laundry and chopping vegetables, and podcasts entertain me while I do that. One of my favourites is Were You Raised By Wolves, and a couple of years ago it introduced me to the concept of Reseating The Theatre.

The idea is this: your life is a theatre, and everyone in your life is somewhere in the theatre and its vicinity. You are the star, and you are on stage. Perhaps there are one or two other people onstage with you, but perhaps not. There are a few people who are backstage, and then there are a few people in the front row; those people are the most important in your life. There are people in the orchestra and people in the mezzanine. Some people are in the balconies, and maybe there are a few balcony tiers. Some people are wandering around in the lobby and still others are not allowed in the theatre at all.

The brilliance to this is that not everyone gets full access to the show that is your life; of course they don’t, imagine how exhausting that would be. But the theatre metaphor is perfect because it allows me to prioritize my time and energy; the people in the front rows and backstage are my ride-or-dies, and I give those relationships a lot. I get a lot out of them too. People in the mezzanine and balconies are welcomed and even cherished in my life, but they get less personal attention, and some people are more like friendly acquaintances who I’d happily chat with, but who I wouldn’t be necessarily hanging out with.

I like to think that everyone has a theatre, and just like they have a seat in my theatre, I am seated in theirs. An important thing to note in this metaphor is that circumstances can change and people can be reseated.

I truly believe in the old saying about friends coming in to your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. How this relates to the theatre is that seasons change, and people can move from the balcony to the orchestra, or from the front row to backstage, or from the mezzanine to the lobby, depending on the circumstances. If I realize that I have been reseated in someone’s theatre, and not in a growing in importance kind of way, then I can feel free to move them back in mine, and not feel obligated to expend more energy.

It’s so important to meet people where they are in life, but also to put them where they need to be.

Recently Elisabeth asked (HI ELISABETH) what personality trait do you absolutely require in a friend? This question, frankly, stumped me, probably because I have a very wide and flexible definition of the word friend. The people backstage are obviously my closest friends and confidantes, but I also consider the people on the third tier balcony to be friends, just in a less intense way. There are friends that I do fun activities with, friends I feel comfortable travelling with, friends that I read with and talk with about books, friends that just sit and talk and listen as I pour my heart out. Some friends check all those boxes, some check just one. There’s room for everyone in the theatre, is what I’m saying, but obviously not everyone can be everything.

I have a few lifelong friends (HI TARA, HI ELISE), women who have known me since my very awkward early teens, and even earlier, and who have loved me this whole time. That’s really saying something! I mean, I went through a period of obsession with Jim Morrison, who had been dead for decades by that time. Also, ew. On the flip side, I have some friends who I have known only a short time, but they have quickly moved from mezzanine to the front rows; these are women I love to spend precious time with. Some previously close friends have slowly lost touch with me over the past couple of years, and so I have sadly moved them back in my theatre. Very, very occasionally, I will find myself no longer with anything in common with a person, or at a place in which I find myself to be in constant disagreement with every decision that person makes, when that person is just too toxic and too difficult. That situation requires a move to the lobby, or maybe even outside the theatre.

I am very grateful for the friends who do not let distance stand in the way of our relationships. I can think of at least four friends who live far away but who I consider to have front row seats. One of my dearest friends, Hannah (HI HANNAH) could not live farther away from me without leaving the country or falling into the ocean, and yet we chat several times a week. My friend Nicole (HI NICOLE) has never failed to keep our monthly friend date since we started them in January 2018; since I moved we call each other every month. Allison (HI ALLISON) lives in Ottawa but when I saw her last spring for the first time since 2014, it was like no time had passed. And Jen (HI JEN) will be sipping poolside margaritas with me next week; she is a sister to me, except that we never fight.

All of these friends are so different, but the common thread is that they always have time for me, they always are supportive and loving, and I always know where I stand with them. They always make me feel uplifted and fill me with positive energy.

Speaking of being uplifted and filled with positive energy, I hope you all had wonderful Galentine’s and Valentine’s Days! Galentine’s for me was such a special day: the morning with The Squad, an afternoon writing date with Laura (HI LAURA), and an evening at the theatre with my relatively new, but already very dear, friend Sandi (HI SANDI). Look at this incredible spread of goodies! It just doesn’t get any better than that.

My dear friend Sammi (HI SAMMI) made this cake. You know how I feel about cake!

I did make my own cake for my Valentine and Valentine-adjacent sons, and also for myself, because we all need more heart-shaped cakes in our lives.

Weekly Reading

It was a reread week around here!

The Husband’s Secret. This was the first of Moriarty’s books I had read, back in 2017. It got me hooked on her style – twists and turns and very complicated characters. I loved it in 2017 and I loved it now, this story of secrets and choices and how they affect our lives. It’s such an interesting thing to think about: if you made a different life choice, where would you be right now? Who would be around you? It’s fascinating and so well written; it’s an unputdownable read.

The Burgess Boys. This was historically my least-favourite Strout – the bar is high, though! – but I thought I would reread it, after Bob Burgess featured so heavily in the new, and much-loved-by-me, Tell Me Everything. I liked it so much more on the reread, although it would still rank last in all the Strouts. It is a very bleak and grim story, and all the characters are either absolutely abhorrent or really pathetic. But I did find it to be a good reread and things resonated with me differently this time around, particularly the character of Helen, who is mourning her empty nest. (hashtag: landslide, relatable). I think that the story line, which centres around what appears to be a hate crime but might just be a crime of stupidity, is absolutely relevant today, with its theme of xenophobia and distrust of immigrants and different cultures.

It snowed this weekend! We have had so little snow this year that it is remarkable and exciting when it happens. It snowed just in time for me to leave it! I am off on a little adventure that will feature sunshine, beaches, and a whole lot of mango margaritas. I’ll see you all on the other side; take care of yourselves. xo

Cold, Cold, Cold, Warmer, HOT

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Cold As Ice

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

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

Cold Hearted Snake

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

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

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

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

This Leaves Me Cold

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

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

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

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

Warming My Heart

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

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

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

Weekly Reading

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

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

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

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

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

There’s Too Much Confusion, I Can’t Get No Relief

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They’re Both White Guys

This is a strange confession to make, but I constantly get Keanu Reeves and Johnny Depp mixed up in my mind. Before you say anything, I know. I know! They are essentially opposites: one is famously kind, generous, and charitable, and one is absolutely not. One lost his longtime girlfriend in a car accident following the stillbirth of their daughter, the other is a domestic abuser. The only reason I can think of that they get mixed up in my head is that I watched them both on the big screen in my youth, formative movies like Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure and Edward Scissorhands. They seem to be forever melded in my mind, which is terribly unfair to poor Keanu.

1984, Plus One

Engie (HI ENGIE) asked me what was the worst year of my life and although I don’t really like to relive or dwell on the past, particularly painful things, I will say without a doubt it was the year I was in fifth grade, 1985. It was, generally speaking, an upward trajectory after that. I’m not drawing any parallels here, but it’s interesting to note that Keanu came onto the scene in 1986, which was also the year of my favourite action movie of all time, Top Gun. Are these things related? Maybe!

The truth is that I think fifth grade is universally rough for girls, and it was terrible for me, and not just because I had an ugly home perm. (Engie also asked if I could erase one thing from my memory, what would it be, and that home perm might be up there, Steve.) But fifth grade. It was a time of friendship problems; I remember reading Cat’s Eye many years later and gasping because I felt so seen. Ten year old girls are absolutely vicious. Also, at that time I was wearing a bra and was the tallest girl and second tallest person in class, which might not seem like a big deal but it sure was. In the eighties, boys could run around, unchecked, snapping bra straps and making mean and bullying comments about girls and their anatomy, and that, in addition to the frenemies with whom I’d be best friends one day and then shunned the next, over and over, made that year miserable.

My cousin had a book called Girltalk, and I read it the summer after fifth grade. There was a section on friendship and to this day I remember this life-changing sentence: you don’t like everybody, so why should everybody like you? It was revolutionary and I still think about it all the time. Generally speaking I like most people, but it’s a good reminder that we are not going to be for everyone. I’m not saying my life completely improved because of that book, but it sure helped a lot.

Is This Really A Good Idea?

Speaking of the eighties, it looks like Netflix is rebooting Little House on the Prairie, and I have a lot to say about this. I know that I am a terribly pedantic person when it comes to adapting books to screen; I almost never think it is a good idea. The answer is almost always a teeth-gritting NO when I’m asked if I’ve seen the movie/ series/ show that was based on a book, particularly a beloved book. There are a few exceptions, of course, but generally speaking, I loathe the trend that everything must be adapted to be watched. Then again, should I ever be lucky enough to have my novel published and someone wanted to adapt it to the screen, I would sell out without a second thought. What can I say, I contain multitudes.

If you were a young girl in the late seventies and early eighties, it’s likely you watched the Little House on the Prairie series, and possibly you also read the books. I did both and it was an early lesson in the very loose way the words “based on” can be used. The television series was really a vehicle for Michael Landon to walk around as a shirtless hero; it was not at all like the books, except for the names of the characters. Or, I should say, SOME of the characters. There was a lot of artistic license taken here, for example, nowhere in the books was there a young girl named Sylvia who becomes pregnant after being raped by a weirdo blacksmith with a clown mask on, only to be saved from eternal shame of having a baby out of wedlock by falling off a ladder and dying.

I did love the books, because they were about a girl and her life, and if there is anything I want to read about in this world it is a girl and her life. I will not waste my one wild and precious life reading boring, male-centric stories. I just won’t! You can’t make me! But being charmed as a young girl reading about another young girl in a different place and time making “houses” beneath large maple trees is one thing. The grim fact is that Charles Ingalls deeply believed in manifest destiny and to that end dragged his family around the country, plunging them into hunger and poverty again and again, because he believed in his divine right as a white man to just displace anyone who happened to be living in the space he wanted to live in. Is this the message we need in 2025? I’m going to go ahead and say no.

I Have No Answer To This Question

Speaking of moving around, Elisabeth asked (HI ELISABETH) if you could live in one place outside of Canada for one year, where would you choose to live? Only three months ago I would have enthusiastically answered Maui, which is truly a paradisical place. But now I’m not sure the US is the best place for a Canadian. My husband and I have been planning a spring hiking trip to the Canyonlands, but sadly we have decided to cancel it. I don’t want our tourism dollars going to a government that shows outright hostility towards my country and dismissal about our national sovereignty. It also seems like a bad idea to have my physical body there. The long and the short of it is that I don’t know how I would answer Elisabeth’s question. I don’t have a backup answer to this hypothetical question, I guess another tropical island paradise that I have yet to visit. Or, Maui in (hopefully) four years.

Yoga Club Update

I just had to do some deep breathing after typing the above, which reminded me: how are we doing with Yoga Club? I hope everyone is making time to do one or more postures per day, and if that hasn’t happened, I hope that everyone is practicing loving-kindness towards themselves. There is a new three minute video on my humble little YouTube channel, demonstrating cat-cow in my kitchen; as an added bonus, Rex is featured! In all seriousness, cat-cow is a fantastic movement for spinal mobility, and I hope you give it a try.

Weekly Reading

Flowers in the Attic. Hands up if you also read this at age 12, or some other inappropriate age, hiding it from your mother! Did we all slip it in between the covers of our Trapper Keepers? This was such a wild reread. It has it all: incest, Oedipal complex, daddy issues, stepdaddy issues, child neglect, child abuse, child death, locking your own children in an attic in order to inherit millions of dollars from your weirdly religious father who disowns you for marrying your half-uncle. Honestly, it’s kind of hard to argue with the “maybe don’t marry/ fuck your relatives” part of the book. Not only does it have the most bizarre and over-the-top plot, it also is terribly written. I don’t know what’s worse, the over-explanation of every single detail, the excessively over-written descriptions of every scene, or the dialogue. The dialogue! It’s honestly the worst. I guess the key demographic – Gen X preteens – benefited from the multitude of explanatory details, being preteens, but wow, is this bad. It’s so bad it’s kind of good? I was entertained, if disturbed all over again. I mean, there is a kind-of-sibling-rape, there is the poisoning of children via arsenic powdered doughnuts, and there is the terrifying scene where the grandmother drugs her granddaughter and then pours tar all over her hair. Just writing that out makes me feel like I was in a fever dream while I read it.

Here One Moment. If you knew exactly when and how you were going to die, would you live your life differently? How much of life is pre-determined, and to what extent are we in charge of our own destinies? Those are just some of the questions raised by this novel about the travellers on a very delayed flight from Tasmania to Sydney; an old lady in an apparent fugue state suddenly stands up and goes through the entire flight cabin, telling each person how she expects them to die and at what age. Soon after, people do start to die in exactly that way. This was a really thought-provoking book for me, although I will honestly say that the backstory of the apparently clairvoyant old lady was pretty tedious, and it takes up about half the book. It all ties together very cleverly in classic Moriarty fashion; all in all I enjoyed it, with that one caveat. For those of us math-and-statistics nerds, there is a lot of really interesting discussion on probability, including a paragraph about the birthday paradox. I remember being in a lecture hall with two hundred other students, while my statistics professor had everyone stand up when their birthday was called, and sure enough, someone in that room shared my birthday. There is a very high probability that two people will have the same birthday when there are seventy-five people in a room, which I think is a very cool fact. Anyway, this is well worth the read, despite the boring backstory.

Well, will you look at that. I started this post thinking I have nothing to write about this week and here we are, 1700 words later. And it all started with Keanu Reeves! Thanks for reading, friends, and keep on practicing that loving-kindness! xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Jan Stan Edition

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I asked my son if people still used the word “stan,” and he said what do you mean, like the Stan countries? When I explained that no, I wasn’t talking about the Central and South Asian, mainly former Soviet countries, I was talking about describing how I feel about things I like, he tilted his head. I don’t think people your age say it, probably. Excuse me? I was listening to Stan before you were BORN. I am TAKING BACK the Stan.

I know January has been a rough, grim, and frankly terrifying month, on the international front particularly, but you know me:

And to that end, there are many things I found I could Stan in the month of Jan. I would like to go on record to say that January sunsets are truly things of beauty, and even though we still haven’t made it to 5:00 yet – tonight’s sunset is at 4:48 – there is more and more daylight and clear skies every day.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Jan Stan Edition

If I Could Turn Back Time

Where have the Cerave products been all my life? I know where they have been, inexpensively hanging out in the drugstore, so I suppose the real question is WHY haven’t I used them before now? A few months ago my skin was feeling so tight and dry with the change in seasons, and I bought this moisturizer for my first morning ablutions:

It’s revolutionary! I put it on first thing in the morning after washing my face; it’s much thicker than what I would usually use on my face, but it absorbs by the time I’ve brushed my teeth. In the summer I prefer a much higher SPF but I think 30 is perfectly fine for a) winter, b) walking in partial darkness, and c) the cloudiness that is typical of winters here.

I also purchased this product, allegedly a “serum,” but which seems more like a lotion:

I put it on before my Neutrogena retinol night cream, which leads to a LOT of tingling, but I think it actually does make my skin brighter and softer and maybe – MAYBE – even lessens the look of wrinkles. Does it turn back time? Absolutely not, but I think that’s just too tall an order for any kind of topical treatment, particularly one for less than $20 at the drugstore.

Bundt and Hustle

As I have mentioned before, I have been diligently working my way through my friend Julie’s cake cookbook (HI JULIE) since I bought it in 2022. I ran into a roadblock, though, because a number of recipes call for a Bundt pan, which I did not have until this Christmas, when my son gifted me one. This was along with a copy of Commonwealth, which I mention only because it otherwise sounds like he gave himself a Christmas gift under the guise of generosity. Also, I wanted both of those things. In any case, I made Julie’s Family’s Chocolate Cake, and instead of the ganache called for, topped it with a cream cheese frosting in order to use up the last of the four pack of Costco cream cheese I had purchased for a friend’s birthday carrot cake.

I foresee many Bundt cakes in our future. I have the pan, nothing can stop me now!

Snow Much Fun

It’s so strange to me to live in a place where in January there is next to no snow on the ground. Yes, it has snowed. But each snowfall was accompanied by a melt within a day or two. Someone recently informed me that one year it snowed here in December and that snow was still on the ground at the end of January, and my response was one of befuddlement. This was not as winterly impressive as that person thought. I’m from Calgary? Sometimes the snow from October lasts until May? But in any case there is no snow here in the valley, and so my husband and I have been occasionally driving up into the mountains to do some snowshoeing.

I love snowshoeing so much. What a great way to experience the winter. It’s fantastic exercise that takes in the beauty of nature, and it also makes me feel Wholesomely Canadian.

There is also no falling, and after I bruised my tailbone last year cross-country skiing, I am a big fan of staying upright in wintry conditions.

I Understand You Completely

I don’t know what is going on lately, but there seems to be an explosion of Pride and Prejudice merch available, and I am here for it. Before Christmas I was shopping at Indigo and although I most certainly did not need to buy myself anything, let alone another mug, I could not help myself.

Not to get all snobby and pedantic, but this delights me on so many levels. A regular, non-Jane-Austen-stan might think oh yes, there IS no enjoyment like reading and yes, we all feel that way. But it’s much funnier on a deeper level. The quote actually belongs to Miss Caroline Bingley, who is ostentatiously picking up a tome of a book in order to impress Mr Darcy. After flipping a few pages she abandons the book for other, more enjoyable pursuits. It’s a deep cut, and it makes me absolutely delighted every time I use it.

While purchasing new clothes, I came across a whole lot of Pride and Prejudice-themed items, and I immediately added to cart this sweatshirt, purchased two sizes larger than normal in order to be as cozy and comfy as possible.

I had to explain the significance of Most Ardently to my husband and son, who looked at me like Shrek and Donkey when they first hear the song Duloc Is A Happy Place. They much preferred my tee that the three of them bought me several Christmases ago:

Poor maligned Lydia. She’s only trying to exercise the only economic power women had back then. Also, we were all fifteen once, and I’m sure if I lived in that era my head would also have been turned by a red coat, even if I am a Charlotte Lucas at heart.

Paint It Black

Have I mentioned lately how much I love my girlfriends here? I adore The Golden Gals Squad; they are always up for something fun, and to that end my friend Sandi (HI SANDI) booked us in for a paint night at a local restaurant.

Credit for the above goes to my friend Sara (HI SARA), and honestly, she saw me. I was objectively the worst painter in the group by a long shot. I was there for the vibes and the hysterical laughing.

My husband, of Supportive King fame, said wow, it’s so much better than I thought it would be! I mean, me too? But the bar was pretty low. Also I’m not sure what he thought it would look like, but probably he assumed it would be tear-stained. Frankly, it looked nothing at all like the demonstration piece – for one thing, there is supposed to be a stag involved but I know my where my artistic limitations lie – but it wasn’t like I was planning on displaying this anywhere in my home anyway. I’m not Botticelli, people! This isn’t the Birth of Venus! It’s just a bunch of apparently dancing trees in a winterscape. Happy little trees! Let’s have a moment of silence for Bob Ross.

Outfit of the Month

This month’s outfit has a nice mix of old, new, and medium pieces. The polka dot tank and long-sleeve tee date from around 2017, the jeans are new, obviously, and nicely stretchy, and the cozy long sweater was purchased sometime during the pandemic. I don’t know when, as all those years blur together and what is time anyway, but I do like the sweater. It’s a perfect layer for an occasionally hot-flashy woman like myself in the dead of January, because it’s easy to slip off.

A few years ago I saw a meme about Decorative Gord Season, the Canadian version, which included a photo of the Barenaked Ladies’ Gordon album, Gordie Howe, Gord Downey, and, of course, Gordon Lightfoot. These days around 4:48 pm I start humming Sundown, which is an honourary favourite thing this month.

I know there is a lot to be glum about right now, and I personally have to completely skip over the news and even the headlines, lest I spiral into complete and utter despair. But I hope you can find a lot of beautiful things in your own little world, and I hope you found some this January. xo

Those Days Are Gone Forever

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Typically I am a person who likes to finish jobs in a reasonable amount of time, the exception to this rule being putting photos into albums. I have photos from January 2024 and on that I have printed, but that are still awaiting their placement into the albums that have been purchased for the purpose. It is a weirdly overwhelming job.

Other than that, I generally finish tasks fairly quickly, which is why it is notable that as of this week I completed something that has taken me since November to get through, and that is a closet purge.

I feel like I just did this; late last spring I threw all of my jeans into a big pile, and replaced them all with styles that boasted infinite fit and promised no more muffin top. I wasn’t happy having to do that, buying all new jeans, but I felt it was a worthwhile investment to have pants that fit and were comfortable.

It turns out that the jeans were just the thin edge of the wedge, so to speak.

I have a strict rule about my clothes, and that is that I want to feel beautiful – or at least cute – in every single item. You might think that is a tall order for workout wear and gardening clothes, but I stand by it. If I don’t feel cute, I stridently tell myself that it is the fault of the clothes, and that those non-ego-boosting items have no place in my closet, which should be a safe space of love.

This is great in theory, but in practice there is a big problem, and that is that it turns out I am very emotionally attached to a number of items, specifically my collection of little black dresses.

I went through the five stages of mourning for all of these items, as I tried them all on with increasing distress. At first I denied it was happening, even while I struggled to pull them over my newly-strong-and-juicy booty and to zip over my newly-disappeared waist and softened tummy. Then I was angry, I was angry about all those beautiful clothes that no longer fit, on which I had spent a significant amount of money over the years. One might rationally say that I most certainly got my money’s worth out of dresses and sweaters that were not even bought in the last decade, but rational thinking has no place here.

This led to bargaining, which is the most shameful part of the story. I wondered what I would have to do to be able to zip up that adorable sheath dress. I ignored my inner voice that was reminding me that bodies change over time and it is a perfectly natural and beautiful part of life. I looked at myself in the mirror unhappily and thought about shapewear and giving up wine. Giving up wine! This is what crossed my mind, friends. It was a dark moment.

This led to depression. Intellectually I know that it is unreasonable and probably not even desirable to hang onto clothes for decades, but I was really sad that my cute dress I bought at Jacob in 2009 no longer fit. It saw me through so many occasions! I was sad the black and white polka dot dress I wore for my son’s grade nine graduation no longer flattered my shape and I was devastated that the dress I bought for my husband’s company Christmas party in 2017 was unzippable. I remembered how beautiful I felt in all those items, and it was the opposite of how I felt now, and it felt very, very sad.

Then I felt sad for being sad. I mean, shouldn’t I be beyond this by now? I’m almost fifty! I told myself I was being ridiculous and that I had no right to be sad; I should be celebrating my body for what it is and what it can do, not judging myself on whether or not I could feasibly wear a fifteen year old dress without the seams exploding. And then I would look at the stuffed-full bags heading for the donation centre and feel sad all over again, after which I would be angry about being sad, and suddenly I’d be experiencing the first four stages of grief once more, the snake is eating its tail.

In a way, it reminded me of a day many years ago, when I found myself pushing a double stroller through the mall. I walked past my then-favourite store, the long-defunct aforementioned Jacob, from which I had purchased the majority of my clothes for many years, mostly office wear and the like. But that day, when I walked past the store and saw the gorgeous slim pants and blazers and skirts, I realized that that store was no longer appropriate for my life. I looked down at my two babies in the stroller, at the gigantic diaper bag stowed in the back, and at my jeans and casual sweater and low-heeled boots, and I had a Saint Paul on the road to Damascus-style realization. I realized that I would never again find myself in those kind of clothes with that kind of life, and I burst into tears. I would never trade my children for anything, I would never make a different decision with regards to my career path, and yet with the one-two arrival of my children I had never actually said goodbye to my old life. I had never allowed myself to mourn that former self and her daily clothing choices and so there I was, crying in the mall.

Those days are gone forever, I should just let them go.

Well, there were a lot of hormonal new moms in the mall, likely no one would have noticed one more, and in any case no one did. Back then I was awash in postpartum hormones, these days I am bouncing around in perimenopause; it feels like two sides of the same coin. A new era is upon me, and in a radical act of acceptance, I bought new clothes.

The majority of this existential clothing crisis occurred in November, which was fortuitous; my husband pointed out in the most positive way, this is the best time for this to happen, because Black Friday is just around the corner! We stan a supportive king, as Heather McMahon says. Just to provide a little balanced insight into my marriage, though, that supportive king also said For god’s sake Nicole, if you keep this up you’re going to turn into C. This is in reference to our crackpot former neighbour who would mutter non sequiturs about weeds and other people’s pets while garbed in much faded neon outerwear from 1985, as well as her merch from the Calgary Olympics. Everyone in the neighbourhood avoided conversation with her because it was always completely unhinged, and also it was hard to not look at her wildly swinging braless breasts underneath her Blues Fest 1991 tees.

But he was right, honestly, because it’s a slippery slope from thinking a nine-year-old item is practically brand new to wandering around the neighbourhood frightening people with your weird monologues about street sweeping. Plus, new clothes are fun, particularly new clothes that don’t make a person feel constricted or unattractive or that destroy one’s self-esteem. Embrace the season! And this is my season of comfortable pants and dresses without tight waists.

In a radical act of self-acceptance, and also a full-on copy of Marie Kondo, I said goodbye to my clothes and dresses. I thanked them for their service, as I piled them in garbage bags. I told them that I hoped that they would make someone else happy, that they would find themselves at a special occasion someday, and that they would make their new owners feel beautiful and special.

And in a radical act of honesty I will tell you that during those same Black Friday sales, I also purchased some shapewear.

Weekly Reading

The Divorce. There are two sides to every story, and this book – translated from Swedish – explores the lives of two people getting divorced after 32 years. What seems like a sudden and snap decision is actually a long time coming, and it was both interesting and terribly sad to see the nuances of something that happens every day. It reminded me not to judge, because we never know what goes on in someone else’s marriage. Fun fact: the translator has the same name as one of my great-grandmas! Thanks to Pearl (HI PEARL) for the recommendation!

This Time Next Year. This was a very fun rom-com about two people born three minutes apart on New Year’s Day 1990. The first born wins the prize for “First Nineties Baby,” and the second, Minnie (HER NAME IS MINNIE COOPER) feels her life has been jinxed forever. She does have some truly bad luck on New Year’s Eve, and the two live parallel lives without knowing it…until their joint thirtieth birthday, when they finally meet. Capers ensue! It’s really delightful but also interesting because – let’s do the math – their thirtieth birthday is January 1, 2020. Much of the book takes place in 2020 but because it was published pre-March, there is no pandemic. It actually made the book more delightful, a sliding doors, if you will, but without the soul-crushing reality of 2020. Thanks so much to Ariana (HI ARIANA) for introducing me to this lovely author’s works!

I hope you all have a lovely last week of January! Rex and I have been enjoying the Canada geese – from a distance – and he enjoyed barking at a coyote until it ran into the partially-frozen creek. We later saw a dead coyote on the side of the road and boy, do I hope it wasn’t the same one and that Rex was inadvertently responsible for its demise. But look at that face. xo

You Can Find Me…

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In Da Club

I am thrilled at the response to my yoga post! Don’t you just love the thought that we are all in our own separate lives, but yet together? I like to imagine you all just adding touches of loving-kindness and asana throughout your day. I think we could have a monthly check-in, with perhaps a mantra or featured pose (asana to do in your kitchen while you wait for the oven to heat up!) or a very short video. In early days of the pandemic, I created a series of gentle yoga videos specifically for my students as a stop-gap measure as we all tried to figure out the zoom life; the quality is pretty bad, and it was never meant for a wider audience, but perhaps someone will find them useful. At the very least, you can see what parts of my Calgary house looked like. Full disclosure: I have not rewatched these as they are a bit triggering, as it were, remembering the circumstances that led me to making yoga videos in whatever space in my house was unoccupied for whatever time I could manage.

If You Get Caught Between The Moon and The Walking Path

The Okanagan valley where I live is famously overcast in winter; this helps keep the temperatures mild and windless, and to me, that is a pretty sweet tradeoff. It does get gloomy though, and often it’s too cloudy to see the astronomical wonders in the sky. Over the last week, though, the clouds have been lifting, right in time to view the Wolf Moon.

On my early morning walk with Rex, I felt like I was inhabiting a Mary Oliver poem as the Wolf Moon fell on my right and the sun rose on my left.

The sun sets close to 4:30 now, which is a solid half hour later than a month ago. I’ve been known to suddenly scream at everyone in the house to look outside, oh my god, look outside, so I am one step closer to my Life Goal of Becoming Judy.

And look at this sunrise! I truly AM living in a Mary Oliver poem. No joke, Canada geese have been flying around me on every walk. WILD GEESE. I cannot make this up.

Please Please Wait A Minute Mr Postman

When we went to Italy, Rex went on his own little vacation to the pet resort. It seems like it was a three week bender. He came back with an eye infection, an ear infection, lice, and an extra two and a half kilograms. His collar was partially shredded and his license tag was missing. Wasn’t that a party…look at the mess I’m in! We should all have such a good time.

It was great timing, though, because I had been meaning to get him a nicer collar, and so I ordered one from Etsy as a Christmas gift, not that he knows what Christmas is or, more accurately, every day is Christmas for him. The Etsy shop MAILED it, even though the postal strike was already on, and so it was stuck in the US lo these many weeks. It finally arrived this week and I think he looks pretty sharp.

December felt very strange with zero holiday cards in the mail; I was a little blue about it but my husband assured me that I would be very excited when the mail started moving again. He was right; who knew holiday cards in January would be exactly what I needed? The mail is exciting again!

Also exciting was my package from Allison, who was my Secret SANta (HI ALLISON)! Allison and I have been friends for about fifteen years, and boy, does she know what I like. Look at this box of treasures!

Every single thing was a complete delight! Fuzzy socks and lotion, chocolates and candies, a bookmark and a gnome!

A gnome cross-stitch card? Omg! Thanks Allison!

Weekly Reading

The Body. A few years ago my friend Leanne (HI LEANNE) introduced me to the Bill Bryson Theory of Diminishing Returns that states that the first Bill Bryson book that you read – any of his vast collection – will be completely and utterly fascinating, and will cause you to excitedly read more and more. The next book – no matter which book – will be slightly less fascinating, and subsequent books will decrease in delight as you go along. I found this to be very true, abandoning the author altogether after Notes From A Small Island. But I saw The Body displayed at my local library; it was the very first Bill Bryson book I read, in 2021, and I wondered if it would be subject to the law of diminishing returns or if it would be as fascinating as when I first read it. Friends, it was the latter. It’s an absolutely incredible study of the human body and its functions and foibles. Now, I will say if you are squeamish at all, or if you even slightly veer to hypochondria or germaphobia, then you should probably give it a pass. I fortunately remembered the horror that was the breast cancer section and the description of the first mastectomies, and so I quickly skipped over that section this time around. Sadly, I did NOT remember the lobotomy section and read it again, which led to the same nightmares I had the first time around. Still, an excellent read, even if I did re-learn that “vagina” comes from the Latin word for scabbard, which, really? Can we have NOTHING for ourselves? It’s bad enough that until very recently clinical trials excluded women on the basis of their pesky old Aunt Flo, which led to inefficacies and sometimes toxic overdoses of prescription drugs for the female body, it’s bad enough that women are constantly misdiagnosed for heart attacks as we present differently from men, it’s bad enough that menopause is only recently being studied and that for hundreds of years women died en masse during childbirth not because of the birthing itself but because of puerperal fever brought on by MALE doctors NOT WASHING THEIR GODDAMN HANDS. We can’t even have that most female of body parts named in a way that isn’t in reference to the man and his MIGHTY SWORD? God, I could flip over a table and scream into the void. TAKE BACK THE VAGINA, LADIES! But back to the book. Modern medicine and everything we know about the body can be attributed to a) dogged, tireless, and often personally hazardous work by scientists, researchers, virologists, and other medical professionals, b) wild accidents, and c) absolutely atrocious and inhumane experimentation on people by Germany and Japan during World War II. A fascinating, if sobering, read. Also? Wash your hands! It’s the single most powerful way to stop disease, not just childbed fever, but almost all disease, including those considered airborne. The description of how a cold virus ends up everywhere is pretty disgusting and I am NOT going to think about it for one minute longer. Pardon me while I go wash my hands.

Don’t Forget To Write. When I was mired in emotional instability brought on by the beautiful but haunting Moon Road, my friend Hannah (HI HANNAH) suggested this as an antidote. It’s just fun; a story about a young woman in 1960 who gets caught making out with the rabbi’s son and gets sent to live with her great-aunt for the summer. This great-aunt just happens to be a matchmaker, and capers ensue! Sassy comebacks abound! There was a surprise ending that really was a surprise – I usually can see these things coming but I did not. Is it believable? Absolutely not! But it’s a perfect diversion from life.

Home Stretch. The day before a wedding, in small town Ireland, there is a terrible accident that kills three people – including the bride and groom – and seriously injures another. Two others are able to walk away, one of them being the driver, whose life in this small town is now ruined. This book is a perfect example of how to write compelling character-driven prose. Secrets abound and while some can be guessed at, the reader is compelled to keep going; it’s an un-put-down-able book that spans 1987 to 2019, from Ireland to England to New York City and back again. It’s a great story of choices, secret lives, and redemption. Thanks to Lisa (HI LISA) for this recommendation!

I hope you all have a beautiful week filled with fun mail, pretty skies, and, of course, yoga moments! xo