It’s Puzzling

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Happy Almost-Galentines Day to all my gals! And, I guess, a Happy Honorary Almost-Galentines Day to any guys who may be reading this. Are there any guys reading this? I have no idea, honestly.

It is tradition for me to bake heart-shaped items at this time of year; I will make cookies later in the week. I bake so much; along with cooking dinner, I feel like I spend a lot of time in the kitchen every day. I once tried to track my time for a week and before the first morning was over, I was so depressed I abandoned the whole thing. So much time in the kitchen.

I have been contemplating the idea of hobbies this week, thanks to an episode of my friend Stephany’s podcast, The Friendship Paradox (HI STEPHANY). The episode, talking about a variety of hobbies, had me down a semantic wormhole: if a hobby is something pleasurable to do in one’s free time, then is my whole life a hobby? If everything I do is a hobby, then is nothing a hobby?

I don’t consider baking a hobby, although I do enjoy it. Yoga and exercise might be considered hobbies, but to me they are daily life-affirming activities that are vital to my mental and emotional health, as well as to keep my physical body from crumbling and immobilizing. Are my daily walks a hobby? I do not consider them to be optional for myself or, more importantly, for Rex.

I just had A Moment, thinking of what life would be like if Rex DIDN’T get his 6 km of walking a day, lord have mercy.

Reading and writing, similarly, do not feel optional to me but I’m not making any money on either of them, so I suppose they would be considered hobbies as well.

One thing that absolutely is a hobby, and something I only do in the winter, is putting together a jigsaw puzzle. This is something my husband and I do together, except that he is very bossy and often takes over completely, which suits me if it’s a hard puzzle. I tend to like the puzzles that have a lot of little vignettes on them, which are easier to put together. We are working on one now that my older son gave me for Christmas, and friends, it is incredibly difficult.

My son knows I like easier puzzles but he also knows my deep love for QEII, so he gifted this to me. I told my husband to back off, in terms of her face and dress, and so he’s been working the boring rest of it. I did allow him to put together the scepter though.

But you guys, it is so hard! The purple cape is all slightly different shades of dark purple, and what makes it even harder is this:

Puzzle-loving friends will notice that all the pieces are the same general shape. It turns out that I look for shape a lot more than I look for colour; for a while I thought I’d have to get my husband to put the cape together, but I persisted, and finally finished it yesterday.

Weekly Reading

I have SO MUCH to say about the books I finished this week. Hold onto your reading hats!

Paperback Crush: The Totally Radical History of ’80s and ’90s Teen Fiction. Did you ever wonder if you were a Jessica or an Elizabeth? Or, god forbid, an Enid? Did you think that you would drive your blond, size-6, All-American self to school in your red Fiat Spider and date the star of the basketball team while editing the school newspaper? Did you think you’d sneak around on your boyfriend’s motorcycle, get into an accident, and switch personalities with your identical twin sister? If so, then 25% of this book is for you! In 1985 I asked for – and still have – a Sweet Valley High box set for Christmas and boy, did I love those books. I wish this whole book was a SVH recap but alas, it is not. It reads like a really long blog post, which is to say it’s a casual and easy read.

I don’t mind a blog post-like read for a topic like this; and speaking of such, I would like to take this opportunity to link to a series of Judy Blume recaps – Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, and Deenie – I wrote when I had a blog with my dear friends Hannah and Allison (HI HANNAH HI ALLISON), lo these nine years ago. Judy Blume is featured in Paperback Crush, but not a whole lot, since most of her books were written in the 70s.

Also featured in this book: the VC Andrews series. Who among us didn’t read Flowers In The Attic, horrifying ourselves with incredible tales of abuse and incest and poisoned doughnuts? What a ride those books were. I think I was probably about 11 when I read those books which, whoa. Imagine that happening these days.

Getting back to Paperback Crush: I enjoyed about half of it. I liked the nostalgia of those paperback romances geared towards tweens, written in the early 80s. I used to troll the racks at the library for them, and I remember a friend wasn’t allowed to read them because they weren’t “good books.” I thought then and I still think now that any books that kids will read are good books, and why specifically does society have a need to make girls and women feel shitty for liking things they like? Oh right, patriarchy. Anyway, as I said I only liked about half of this book because the other half was a deep dive into books I was too old to read, like the Babysitters Club and Goosebumps, basically anything written after 1987. Despite the very casual writing style – again, no shade, just facts – I enjoyed the nostalgia of this and recognized MANY covers (remember the Cheerleader series?). I am actually considering digging out my Sweet Valley collection and reading about Jessica’s tryst with a college age boy (THERE’S BEER AT THE PARTY).

Strange Sally Diamond. Within the first paragraph, I assumed that Sally Diamond was a woman with autism: she pretends she is deaf so as to not speak to people, she has no friends and lives in isolation with her father, she has trouble finding nuance and reading social cues, she pulls her hair and screams when she is upset. She is excellent when it comes to following directions, which is how she obtains sudden notoriety: her father had always jokingly said that when he died, he should just be put out with the trash, and that is exactly what Sally does. The resulting media storm brings to light her upsetting early life, and we as the reader discover that her antisocial personality was in fact the result of a horrific trauma in her early years, in addition to a lifetime of being somewhat of a psychological experiment at the hands of her father. This absolutely horrifying, sickening trauma is the subject of a secondary point of view, and we see dual lives and timelines.

As an aside, this made me think of Gabor Mate and his book about neurodivergence and traumatic or otherwise adverse childhood experiences. It brings up an interesting and unsettling idea regarding causation of neurodivergent-appearing behaviours, and I don’t know how I feel about that. If we follow the idea that early childhood experiences can imprint for a lifetime, well, that can both explain things and also put a heavy weight on parental responsibilities. Anyway. LET’S MOVE ON.

Two things can be true at the same time: first, I could not read this book fast enough. It has been a long time since I was this invested in a plot, even given the extremely disturbing subject matter. The second thing is that I found the writing style to be very clunky and lacking in nuance and subtlety, particularly the dialogue, particularly in the secondary point of view. This book really suffers from a “tell” instead of a “show” which I don’t like. However, as I said to my friend Nicole (HI NICOLE), if the book was better written, I would have had insane nightmares due to the terrifying backstory. As it was, well, it was just a book – I never forgot it was a story, I never got completely immersed – and so I slept just fine. The plot really moved, and it was a compelling read, despite the writing.

I noticed this beaver dam in progress on my walk the other day – I guess some other creatures are busy with their non-hobbies too. I hope you all have a lovely, heart-filled week of love and light and chocolate! xo

Dinner Every Damn Day

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I have mentioned at length how much I cook; until we went to Mexico, I had cooked dinner every single night from October through January. We rarely eat out, and although everyone in the house CAN cook, and when it comes to other meals they DO cook, but I am the only one who makes dinners. There are reasons for this, I’m sure, but I can’t think of what those reasons are right now.

It’s not the cooking per se that is exhausting, it’s the planning and the ingredient list-making and the grocery shopping, am I right? I am a person who makes a meal plan for the week and then sticks to that meal plan; I have done this for many, many years as the thought of deciding what to make for dinner at five o’clock fills me with dread and anxiety. I’m just not a Go With The Flow, What Do We Feel Like Eating sort of person. I need A Plan.

I have talked about my Weekly Meal Plan before, but it’s changed a little since we have moved. For one thing, I have had a bit more time during the day, and I don’t have to think about how to incorporate things into school lunches. I’ve gotten a bit more experimental in general, although I think I could get a little more lively. Birchy (HI BIRCHY) had mentioned that she has a goal of ten new recipes for 2024, and while I don’t have that exact goal, I am trying to add new things to my arsenal of tried-and-true regulars. I will take any and all suggestions you may have!

I’m not unique, I don’t think. It feels like collectively we are all constantly fatigued when it comes to meal planning and the actual creation of those meals. I thought I’d share with you what I made for dinner last week, and approximately how long it took to make those meals. I don’t include cleanup time – one or two of the guys always clean up after dinner, but I am also a clean-as-you-go person who cannot abide having piles of bowls and pans while I cook, so I do wash dishes frequently throughout the day. I also wanted to distinguish between active cooking time and passive cooking time; I don’t really count the latter because I can read or do something else while vegetables are roasting. Also, I don’t know what your tastes are – personally, I roast vegetables until they are charred and crispy, but I stir-fry them just so that they are only slightly cooked. I’m an enigma when it comes to vegetables, what can I say, but the point is, we all like things done in different ways, so this is just a general peek into my methodology. At the same time, it is a source of irritation for me when a recipe says that it takes only twenty minutes, but those twenty minutes don’t include vegetable chopping, sauce making, or other vital processes to the meal. I guess I could have left the preparation time out altogether and saved us all this long and boring explanation.

For those of you who are new (HI NEW FRIENDS!) I eat plant-based – vegan mostly, with some small amounts of dairy – and the guys eat meat. I don’t make separate meals and I never have; instead, I make a plant-based meal and then sometimes cook meat to be served on the side. Sometimes the meal is completely plant-based, and on one day – Sunday – I make a meal that is meat-based, and I eat only the side dishes. Sundays are also Dessert Days; I think they deserve a special sweet treat.

Monday

We arrived home from Mexico last Sunday night, to a clean house and an empty refrigerator, which called for a big grocery trip. Wednesday is usually Grocery Day around here, stemming from a habit I created back when I taught classes every morning but Wednesday, but obviously I had to make an exception this week, unless we wanted to eat nothing but peanut butter for two days. Grocery Day is a great day to make a variation of Suzanne’s Fall Salad (HI SUZANNE), which I have made many times, somehow differently each time. This time I roasted chickpeas and sweet potatoes, added crispy quinoa, candied pecans, dried blueberries, and chevre crumbles, with a maple dijon dressing. While the quinoa was cooking, I peeled and chopped the sweet potatoes, tossed them and the chickpeas in olive oil and sprinkled them with salt and pepper, which took about 15 minutes. It took another 5 minutes to make the dressing and another 5 to spread out the quinoa on a baking sheet to crisp in the oven; candied pecans take about 15 minutes, and then it takes another 5 to put it all together. That’s 45 minutes JUST for the salad, not including roasting time and also the hours that I leave the rinsed and drained chickpeas on a tea towel to dry out before roasting them; this is an easy trick to get nice crunchy chickpeas. In other words, this is a good meal to make if you have some time and are home for a few hours, otherwise, maybe not. I also put some chicken thighs in the air fryer for the guys and sliced up a baguette, both of which took maybe 5 minutes total. Total active time: let’s call it 50 minutes. Add in roasting time for the chickpeas, quinoa, and sweet potatoes, which is another 50-60 minutes total.

Tuesday

Tuesday night is typically stir-fry night, mostly because I always like to use up all the veggies before Grocery Day. Even though I’d already bought groceries, I still felt like having a stir-fry; I made a teriyaki sauce based on a recipe from Vegan Richa‘s Everyday Vegan cookbook, and served it with basmati rice and pan-fried tofu, adding cashews on top. The veggies took about 15 minutes to chop, the rice takes a few minutes to rinse before cooking, and the sauce itself requires cooking to thicken and takes close to 25 minutes to make. The veggies and tofu do need active hands, and they take about 15 minutes, which I do while the rice cooks. Total active time: 55-60 minutes. Again, a good meal to make if you have a bit of time.

Wednesday

Pasta night! The thing I love about pasta night is the sauce, and to maximize my sauce consumption I roast a cauliflower to eat along with the pasta. This was an easy meal because I had sauce in the freezer from a batch I had made a few weeks back. I also had some meatballs in the freezer for the guys, which I just bake in the oven. It takes about 10 minutes for me to chop up a cauliflower, and probably about 5 minutes total to toss the pieces in olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and put it in the oven alongside the meatballs. I’m going to say that heating up the sauce and boiling the water for pasta takes maybe another 5 minutes, and so total active time for this meal – thanks to Past Nicole, who put things in the freezer – is only about 20 minutes, plus cauliflower roasting time.

Thursday

This is by far the easiest and fastest weeknight meal in my arsenal: tortilla wraps. I cut up veggies and avocado, I put a couple of chicken breasts in the air fryer for the guys to slice up and add to their wraps, and I put out shredded cheese and salsa for those who wanted it. The total active time for this is maybe 10 minutes. It’s perfect for a Thursday night when it feels like the week has been busy and tiring and is it Friday yet? No? Okay, tortilla wraps it shall be.

Friday

My favourite night of the week! I could eat this meal every single day for the rest of my life, happily. Greek salad with hummus and pita, and, of course, Friday night wine. I also put some chicken in the air fryer, and for those of you who are wondering, I have a double air fryer in which one side is reserved for meat only, and the other side for vegetables. I get a lot of use out of it; it is an easy way to cook meat without having to actively cook meat. In any case, this week I made hummus, which takes probably 15 minutes, most of which are me gathering the ingredients before putting everything in the food processor. The salad itself takes 10 minutes, between chopping the veggies and making the dressing. Usually I buy mini pitas, but they didn’t have them this week, so I sliced up regular-sized ones, which took a few minutes. Total active time: 30 minutes.

Saturday

What can I say, I was missing guacamole, and I had bought a bag of avocados on Monday that ripened perfectly for this week – two were ripe on Thursday, and four on Saturday. I consider that a sign from the universe. I roasted sweet potatoes and red peppers, sauteed black beans with some cumin, coriander, chili powder, and lime, and then whipped up a batch of guacamole. It makes a perfect burrito! Total active time is about 35 minutes: 10 minutes for the guac (not including sampling it with chips), 10 minutes to chop the vegetables, and 15 minutes to rinse and drain the beans, and then sauté them. Somewhat fun story: we call these enchiladas in our house even though they are not enchiladas. Years ago I had made them into actual enchiladas, with cheese and sauce, for a friend who was going through cancer treatment at the time, and I made them for our family without the cheese and sauce, and without baking them. Still we call them enchiladas.

Sunday

This is the only day that I make a meat-centric meal, which this week was a roast pork with gravy, the active time of which is about 20 minutes. I also make an amazing roasted broccoli dish, which I long ago adapted from a recipe on The Kitchn website, a Caesar salad, and crispy roasted potatoes. Chopping time for the lettuce and veggies is about 20 minutes total; the dressings for the broccoli and salad take another 20 minutes, plus 5 minutes for toasted breadcrumbs. Assembling all of the dishes is another 5 minutes, which is a total of 70 minutes of active time, plus a lot of waiting-for-everything-to-cook time.

But wait! There’s more!

I came across this sweet little product around Christmastime but never used it until last weekend. Friends, let me tell you about strawberry daiquiri pie, a dessert that actually does take only ten minutes to make, albeit it needs a couple of hours to set. I make a graham cracker crust with coconut oil – just stir 1/4 cup melted coconut oil into 1 1/4 cups graham crumbs and squish the mixture into a pie pan – and then I whirred 3 cups thawed frozen strawberries and a can of this sweetened condensed coconut milk in my food processor, poured it into the crust, froze it for a couple of hours, and added a quick chocolate sauce for serving. YES.

Two things have become obvious here: a) I really like roasted vegetables, and b) I don’t mind cooking meat too much as long as I can use virtually hands-off processes. I know a lot of vegan friends won’t allow meat into their homes, but I’m pretty easygoing about the whole thing. We are all on our own journeys, people, and the guys in my house, well, their journeys include meat. I do have separate pans and serving utensils for meats, though, I can only be so easy-breezy.

I guess one more thing is obvious, and that is that I love dessert. It’s February, after all, and pink desserts are de rigeur. I hope you are having a delicious day! xo

People Who Watch People

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The world is such an interesting place, isn’t it? It’s wild that a person can go from this:

To this, in only a matter of hours.

It has been very grey and foggy this week, but it’s so mild and windless that I don’t mind it at all. Our snow is basically all gone, except for piles in parking lots and along the walking paths where it had been shovelled. Those piles are a source of great joy to Rex, who likes to roll and slide down them, and then starts to eat them. His penchant for eating snow is pretty cute, and so I’m trying not to be horrified when he shoves his face into filthy parking lot snow. I mean, he is a dog, so I am assuming his digestive system can handle it.

After what felt like a long run of books that ran the gamut between Good and OMG Boring, last Friday I read a really fabulous collection of short stories, entitled Today A Woman Went Mad At The Supermarket, and if that title does not pique your interest, then you are living a very different life from me.

Hilma Wolizer has been around and writing for decades – most of these stories were written in the 1970s, one as early as the 1966 – and so I am puzzled as to why I haven’t heard of her before this. All the stories are interconnected and deal with my favourite genre: ordinary, everyday things written in an extraordinary way. The last story has to do with the pandemic, written in 2020, and I mention it as a warning for anyone who is not in a mental space to read about the early days of Covid, specifically how it affected elderly people living in New York City.

The foreword of this book is written by Elizabeth Strout who, as you know, is one of my favourites and who also really writes the Slice Of Life books that I adore. In the foreword are two quotes from Wolitzer, which resonated with me so much and made me want to call her up and scream ME TOO into the phone.

Everyone’s face was fascinating to me, and I would wonder what their lives were like.

I don’t believe there’s such a thing as ordinary life. I think all life is extraordinary.

I cannot even begin to explain how seen I felt after I read that; I felt a deep kinship with this 90 year old writer.

On our trip to Mexico, I spent a lot of time by myself at the pool; I am the early bird of our group, so I would lounge around waiting for my husband and our friends to arrive, reading and soaking up the surroundings. I tend to chat with anyone within ten feet of me, but on this trip people were mostly swimming by me, or in large groups, and so instead of chatting, I’d just imagine what their lives were like. How long had that couple been married? What was it like to look exactly like the guy who talks about the O Face in the movie Office Space? What does the man swimming early-morning pool lengths do for a living? Where did that woman get that fabulous hat?

One afternoon I was reading while my husband and our friend were floating around in the pool, drinks in hand. They noticed a couple who was in the pool beside them; this couple was involved in what can only be described as An Extensive Makeout Session. The guys couldn’t believe I didn’t notice the couple, because, as I mentioned before, I am always people-watching, and so they were shocked I missed the estan caliente teenage-like making out and, if you will pardon the extremely crude expression, but nothing else comes close to describing this accurately, dry-humping that was happening in the pool right in front of me. How did you not see it? our friend asked, puzzled at my obliviousness. The guy got out right in front of you and he had a massive boner, how could you miss that? my husband told me, with his usual delicacy of manner.

How indeed?

Nevertheless, it wasn’t long before I started seeing this couple everywhere, though, and always in a similar state of semi-clothed in flagrante: in the lobby bar, standing next to the pool, in a single pool lounge next to the pool. From what I could see the man was probably in his fifties, and the woman a couple of decades younger. Their level of passion was truly inspirational, although if continued to completion, I would assume that there would be a lot of chafing and possible cystitis involved in this holiday.

I did, of course, wonder what their story was. I concluded that if they were married, it wasn’t to each other, and before long I had an entire Harlequin-like romance written in my head about them.

Speaking of marriage, my husband and I were wandering through the resort one night; our friends had gone back to their room, and we were enjoying the full moon and the music that was coming from a wedding reception being held nearby. One of the songs was Baby Got Back, which I love, but which also seems like a strange choice for a wedding reception. In any case, there we were, getting our groove on, when my husband was swarmed by a group of young women in an advanced state of inebriation. Josh! Josh! they squealed, to our bemusement.

It turns out that these lovely young women had mistaken my husband for an actor named Josh Duhamel, who I had never heard of before, but who has the distinction of being from Minot, North Dakota, which is not far at all from where I was born, in Saskatchewan. These girls were slightly disappointed that my husband was not the star of a Transformers movie, but were extremely sweet and cheerful. We saw you by the pool today! they said, then turning to me. We just thought he had gotten remarried! Well, that was cute, but there are two things that I found out later: Josh Duhamel used to be married to Fergie, of Black Eyed Peas fame, and is now married to a former Miss World America.

I do not have low self-esteem or lack for confidence, but I admit I did feel a bit strange at this exchange. The tables, they had turned. My people-watching had ricocheted back to me; me, with my giant sunhat and streaks of mineral sunscreen on my legs and bikini, with my slightly-bloated margarita tummy and fuzzy, out of control beach hair. Did these women really think that Josh Duhamel, one-time star on All My Children, left Miss World America for ME? Were they making up their own mental stories about people around the pool generally, and me specifically? I cannot imagine such stories would cast me in a very flattering light. Listen, I would like to believe that we live in a world in which women of all ages, visages, and bodies are embraced equally by ex-soap stars, but let’s be realistic. The most likely answer is that these women’s vision was blurred by unlimited day-drinking; in fact, I think that is probably my best-case scenario. Maybe they thought you WERE Miss World America, my husband ventured, to which I answered with a look only. He shrugged sheepishly. When a couple has been married for a few decades, sometimes non-verbal communication is the best kind of communication.

January 2023 Vacation Books, and Bookends

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In case it hasn’t been made clear yet, one of the great pleasures of my life is reading. I’m not even sure I would call it a pleasure, now that I think about it; it’s more of just an incredibly important part of my day. It’s the first R in REM Y REM, and you know that’s my recipe for living a balanced and healthy life. So allow me to rewind to my first sentence: one of the great pleasures of my life is reading on vacation. Is there anything more luxurious than devouring a good book beside some sort of cooling body of water? With an icy drink in hand and the sunshine making that icy drink all covered in condensation? I think not.

I read a lot in the past couple of weeks; there were a couple of hits but a lot of misses and mehs. That’s how it goes, sometimes, I suppose. Not all books are going to knock it out of the park, so to speak.

Dress Your Family In Corduroy And Denim. I like reading Sedaris in January, and I thought I’d revisit this book of essays that I first read years ago. I have to say that ever since reading Happy Go Lucky, I have been unable to find humour in his essays about his childhood and youth, given that I now know his mother was an alcoholic and his father was terribly abusive. It’s hard to read about his sister Tiffany, knowing she was sexually abused and later died by suicide. However, the stories about his adulthood, and more specifically, his life with Hugh still bring me laughter and joy – my husband asked what I was laughing about, reading Nuit of the Living Dead.

French Braid. What to say, what to say. Well, first, this is a very quick and easy read, and it’s entertaining enough. It follows a family from 1959 to 2020, and that family is not dysfunctional, exactly? But it’s not a close family. It reads like a series of vignettes about a family that is not close at all, with a mother who sort of seems like she never wanted to be a mother. For such a lightly-written book the subject matter is kind of heavy. There are three siblings who were not particularly close as children and the book details how they become much less close, not for any particular reason, and how all the cousins don’t know each other and you know what? It was weird to read this. If you know, you know.

The Department of Rare Books and Special Collections. I’m trying to read outside my usual genres, which is why I picked up this cozy mystery about a – as the title implies – rare book in a special library collection that SUDDENLY GOES MISSING, right before the gala for library donors who want to see said rare book. The curator of the collection is suddenly incapacitated by a stroke, leaving his replacement to scramble to find it and you know what, this book was so boring I almost slipped into a coma writing this synopsis. Content warning for discussion of mental health, suicide, and also extremely unlikeable, flat characters.

Happy Place. Woof, you know you’re approaching a certain age when you identify strongly with the stodgy parents rather than the heroine. Anyhoo. This was a good book for the plane because it requires very little thinking: a story about a group of friends and a couple who is broken up, but pretending they are still together. It’s a cute light story about friends, love, and finding yourself. I didn’t love it but it’s a good light read.

Love Marriage. By the author of Brick Lane, which I loved, this is a pretty epic story about a woman and her family, her fiancé, and her job as a medical resident. Things start to fall apart in every area of her life, and there were some surprising reveals. I really enjoyed this.

The Man of My Dreams. This book follows a woman throughout her youth and into her 20s, detailing all her relationships including that with an emotionally abusive father, her loving family, friends, and boyfriends. The main character is so unlikeable that, even though there was a redemptive arc, I found I could t like the book. I loathed the main character so much it wrecked the story for me.

Quietly Hostile. I genuinely enjoy Irby’s style and humour and I enjoyed hearing her on a podcast talking about enjoying things that are often scoffed at. You know what that’s all about: you mention that you like a movie or book or TV show and someone says “Really? You LIKED that?” We like what we like, and I like that Irby stands up for what she likes. And I would say the essays in here that I liked, I really liked. Like, laughing hysterically liked; the QVC essay had me cry-laughing. I also loved the essay on rewriting Sex and the City; I did not know Irby is a writer on the reboot. Now, I only have watched part of the first episode, because I wanted to see the Death By Peloton part, but I was not at all impressed, and I haven’t felt moved to waste any more time watching it. However, that’s a little sidebar to say that while I haven’t watched the reboot, I have watched Sex and the City the OG in its entirety, and this essay was SO good. But in general in this book there was way too much talk of vomit, diarrhea, and urine for my liking and yes I know, I know that’s her signature style, so yes, that’s on me. One essay was honestly unbearably sad, and a few were great. A few just didn’t land for me, your mileage may vary.

On Our Best Behaviour: The Seven Deadly Sins and the Price Women Pay To Be Good. This was a pretty fascinating look at the societal and cultural pressures that women face, organized into the Seven Deadly Sins: the pressure to be always DOING something and to be productive (sloth), the idea that there is limited room at the table and that women should shut down other women (envy), the stigma against acknowledging our incredible abilities (pride), general body image and the idealizing of smaller bodies at any cost (gluttony), pay gaps and unpaid labour (greed), slut-shaming (lust), and the pressure to not be angry, to be nice, to please people (anger). There is also a chapter on sadness and one on the history of the patriarchy. There was a quote from Oprah that stood out to me, in response to a guest downplaying the book she had written: “Playing dumb, weak, and silly is a disservice to yourself and to me and to the world. Every time you pretend to be less than you are, you steal permission from other women to exist fully.” Wow, OPRAH. PREACH. I found this resonant as well: “Too many of us function as the prefrontal cortex for our children, letting our kids outsource their self-regulation to us, because it’s so hard to watch them struggle, even when struggling, as we know, is how we learn and grow.” What a great reminder! Lots of gems in this book. How many times have we looked at another woman who has what we want, and thought massively critical thoughts about her, her body, her morality, her personality? How many times have we felt we should lose weight and take up less space in the world? How many times have we dismissed praise and compliments, saying we aren’t as good as we are to show our humility? How many times have we denied ourselves desperately-needed rest so we could do one more thing, just one more, and to stay productive at all costs? How many times have we swallowed anger so that it goes inward, eating us up as stress, instead of expressing it, to show that we really are nice? I thought this book was so full of thoughtfulness and smart insights.

So as I said, some hits, some misses. My current read is EXCELLENT – more about that later – and I would like to mention the Cool Bloggers Book Club, hosted by Engie (HI ENGIE) starts on Monday! We are reading My Brilliant Friend, and you neither have to be cool nor a blogger to join the club. Just show up at Engie’s blog on Mondays in February to discuss the book.

Happy Friday, my friends! I hope you have a lovely weekend ahead of you. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Fancy Was My Name Edition

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A few weeks ago, we were having dinner and Fancy came on, via the Nicole’s Karaoke playlist, which sparked a discussion with regards to the mother-daughter relationship between Fancy and her mother. Well, she basically prostituted her daughter, I said, to which my son answered, What do you expect? She named her daughter Fancy. Obviously she didn’t think she’d grow up to be a lawyer.

One of my Favourite Things in the world is having Responsible Adult Children. Recently Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked what has, so far, been the best age when it comes to children, and I have thought about this a lot. I think I suffer from recency bias because if you asked me at any time in my children’s lives what the best age is, I would say, with great enthusiasm, this one! I loved babies and toddlers, I loved preschool and elementary school, and I loved – and am still loving – the teen years; yes, even the awkward junior high years. I’ve loved all the ages and stages and I think I just enjoy my children more and more as the years go on, as I see them grow and change and become more and more the people they have always been, but more awesome.

So there is probably some recency bias here, but wow, do I love my kids being Responsible Adults. My husband and I went away to Secrets Maroma in Mexico for a week; we have, over the years, gone away together several times, but never for very long, because when the kids were younger there were just so many logistics to account for, plus the typical motherly guilt about leaving the children behind. But now we have very few constraints and my younger son wasn’t working last week, so we left him to be in charge of the house and also Rex, which is no small task, given that he has Very High Needs when it comes to exercise and general affection. He drove us to the airport at 5:00 am, and picked us up in the middle of the night (read: 9:00 pm); I came home to a perfectly clean house – albeit one with an empty refrigerator, because he cooked all his own meals for the week – a happy dog, and no laundry to do except for the myriad bikinis and sundresses crammed into my carryon.

It was a really incredible week, and a perfectly indulgent one. We met up with friends, relaxed, ate and drank and soaked up the sun and played in the Caribbean. I have zero complaints; no notes. I do have many Favourite Things, though, so without further ado:

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Fancy Was My Name Edition

Life In Front Of The Curtain

The incredible vacation started out on the flight. We had splurged on premium seats and friends, I do not think I can ever go back to economy. I can’t! I won’t! Well, I will – we have a few upcoming flights that are not premium – but as god is my witness, I will never go economy again if I can help it. Flying in general feels like a tedious exercise in maximum discomfort, but flying premium? Oh la la. I felt a Mad Men-level of glamour, like it was the 1960s and everyone was dressed up for a fabulous flying experience. I mean, they served us actual meals on actual crockery and drinks in actual glasses; we got snack packs and offers of booze, refreshing hot towels, and the exclusive use of the premium bathroom. On a practical note, my circulation and varicose vein issues are pretty bad, even with my full-length, medical grade, “nude” compression stockings, and with the roomy seats and legroom I was able to stretch out quite a bit. Also, our flight was ninety minutes delayed on the tarmac before takeoff, and I think I might have died, or at the very least, been incredibly annoyed at having to sit in a cramped economy seat for an extra hour and a half on top of the over six hours of flying. As it was, I just chilled out and read, sipping from my complimentary water bottle. Ten out of ten, would recommend.

Here’s Your One Chance, Fancy, Don’t Let Me Down

We have been to many of the Secrets/ Dreams resorts in the past, and they are all really great. This one, however, was beyond everything I could have imagined. Every single detail was pure luxury. The rooms were beautiful, the pool areas were stunning, the service was incredible in every way; I have often thought that all-inclusive resorts are a bit like a fancy summer camp for adults, because it’s so easy to meet people and there are fun activities people can partake in, pretty much every hour of the day. My preferred activities were reading by the pool, cooling off in the pool, and swimming in the gorgeous turquoise Caribbean Sea. I did, however, partake in Spanish lessons one morning.

Hablo Espanol

I have been learning Spanish via Duolingo for a while; 702 days, to be exact. My son got me started on it – he’s learning Japanese – and every week we go on our Friends Quest together to maintain our positions in the Diamond League. Anyway, I felt like I had learned a lot, but I don’t have any friends to speak Spanish with, face to face, with the exception of my husband’s colleague’s wife, who very patiently, and with great encouragement, spoke with me at his retirement party in September.

Therefore, I was a little nervous to attempt to converse with actual people; practicing on an app is one thing, actually speaking is another. I was worried that I would use the wrong word or phrasing, I worried I’d use the wrong verb conjugation. Then, just before we left I had a pedicure, and the esthetician, who spoke little English, had a brief conversation with me about the weather; at that moment I realized that I would never judge someone learning English for using the wrong grammar or conjugating a verb incorrectly, so it stood to reason that the same would go for me, speaking Spanish.

I was right! Also, I was amazed at how well I could carry a conversation; I could understand everything being said to me, and even when it took me a moment to formulate a response, I could still formulate the response. Now, I probably have the conversational ability of a preschooler (I WOULD LIKE TO SPEAK SPANISH WITH YOU PLEASE) but it was so great to be able to practice. My Spanish lesson at the resort was fun and also enlightening; the teacher informed me that, in Mexico, one should never say estoy caliente, because that doesn’t mean I’m hot, it means I’m horny. This, I felt, was excellent information to have.

The Sharks Like It

After discovering that this invention was the highest valuation on Shark Tank, my husband bought us LARQ water bottles. The cap contains a special UV light that kills bacteria and there are two modes: regular, and “adventure.” I wanted to use fewer plastic water bottles, which are ubiquitous at these resorts, and so I was excited to give this a go. Now, there are two things to note: a) the concierges warned against drinking the tap water in the rooms, and b) there must be a big filtration system somewhere on the resort because there are a lot of fruits and vegetables, not to mention ice in drinks and jugs of water in restaurants. I did not know about a) until I had filled this bottle from the tap, and drank from it, at least four times. I didn’t get sick so I guess it works.

While I was by the pool, I asked one of the bartenders if I could have water to fill my bottle, thinking that he would just fill it from a tap behind the bar, but instead he just opened up a couple of plastic bottles and poured them in. That was a little discouraging, but then I discovered a bottle filler NEAR the bar. I’m sure it was filtered just fine, but still I used my little UV light, feeling like a well-hydrated rock star.

I got some kind of mystery marks on the bottle, which I THINK came from a travel-size black plastic tissue pack that melted in the heat, but happily, after an application of baking soda paste with a Scrub Daddy, they have since disappeared.

Here Comes The Sun(screen)

Just like (hopefully?) I will never go back to economy seats, I will (absolutely!) never go back to checking luggage. Generally it’s not too difficult for me to pack carryon only, but the one thing that is tricky is ensuring I have enough sunscreen. On our trip to Maui last year, I just purchased a lot of sunscreen on the island, but I didn’t want to do that here because omg, do you know what a bottle of sunscreen costs in a Secrets resort? FIFTY-EIGHT US DOLLARS. With the exchange rate and tax, we are looking at almost a hundred dollars for a measly bottle of Banana Boat.

But sunscreen we must have, and there are only so many travel-size bottles one can squeeze into the regulation one-litre bags, especially when one needs to take hair products, makeup, and night cream. It was serendipitous that I came across these solid Neutrogena stick sunscreens, which do not count as liquid, obviously, because they are solid. Bonus for the fishies in the sea, it’s mineral.

Some of you may remember my lament last year about mineral sunscreen and the white cast it leaves on the skin, and this one, despite being “Ultra Sheer,” is no exception. However, it works really, really well, as evidenced by the little spots of sunburn on my knees and breasts where I obviously missed with my application.

Welcome To Margaritaville, Population: Me

My husband’s birthday is in October; we went out for dinner to celebrate. Since that day, I have made dinner every single night. Every. Single. Night. So what I’m saying is that I was very excited to partake in unlimited food items that I had absolutely no hand in preparing. The food at the resort was so incredible, so vast in variety and so well-prepared and fresh, and, in comparison with other resorts, the plant-based offerings were Off The Chart. I couldn’t even begin to believe my luck. I’m used to very limited options, and so I was amazed at all the delicious vegetarian and vegan food available. At breakfast there was CHIA PUDDING. And little waffles made with almond milk. And incredible fresh fruit. And made-to-order smoothies. Lunches had me plowing through vast amounts of lentil and chickpea salads, and chips and guacamole; so much guacamole, friends. There were fresh berries and caramelized pumpkin seeds, there was every dessert you could imagine, and every dinner was more delicious than the last.

Of course there were also mango margaritas by the pool!

Probably it’s good to only have gone a week, my liver may have exploded in protest if we stayed longer. But oh! So delicious.

Outfit of the Month

I know, I know, I KNOW that we are all trying to avoid fast fashion. I really am. But also? I am not made of stone, and I found this dress at Old Navy last summer for ten dollars. That is TEN CANADIAN DOLLARS, which is essentially free for my American friends. What price my morals? I know. Anyway, I keep all my clothing for many years, to the chagrin of my husband, and so I’ll probably have this cute dress for decades. The sandals are old Skechers, but I think I need to retire them. I think these sandals are a half size too small. A few times after a big dinner and lots of wine, I had to walk barefoot back to the room as my swollen feet exploded out of their strappy cages in the heat and humidity. Probably that is not an ideal thing to do, but I’m still here, with intact feet, so I guess it worked out fine. I’m in the market for dressy new sandals, is what I’m saying.

This week of rest and relaxation was exactly what I needed after such a hectic and stressful year. I feel so rested and ready to take on anything. Up first: figuring out how to make my own caramelized pumpkin seeds, and finding new sandals. xo

Five For Friday: The Five W’s Of Rest Edition

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When (Is It Beddy-Bye Time). Years ago I came across a rather treacle-y poem called The Last Time, which talked about the many “lasts” in parenting, the upshot of which is enjoy it all because one day they won’t hold your hand to cross the street, you won’t read them bedtime stories, they won’t climb into your bed at night. Etcetera. I will admit that at some point in my life I would have been very emotionally moved but now it just fills me with puzzlement. When WAS the last time any of those things happened? Things I thought I’d never forget are completely lost to the annals of time. I cannot remember when I stopped tucking the children in to bed for the night, for example. I cannot remember what ages they were when I would have supervised bedtime and told them it was Lights Out. Were they 12 and 13? 11 and 12? Who can say. All I know is that it has been many years since I was responsible for anyone’s bedtime except my own, and my own bedtime happens much, much earlier than the rest of my family, including my husband. We never go to bed at the same time; I typically am in bed well before 9:00 pm and am fast asleep by the time he retires for the night. This is not a commentary about the state of our marriage, don’t worry! I am more of an Afternoon Delight kind of gal, rather than a Pina Colada one. Making love at midnight, are you crazy? Unless I decide to start a cocaine habit, that is OUT.

Where the magic happens.

Why (Am I Obsessed With Bedtime). Even without cocaine, I am a pretty high energy person, somewhat like a Jack Russell terrier, and I believe strongly in the yin/ yang connection – if a person has too much yang in their life, their bodies will force them to get yin, typically via a illness. Believe me, I have been there. Our go-go-go society pretends to value productivity at all costs, but in my mind true productivity can only come from a rested body and mind. REM Y REM is my motto – Rest, Exercise, Meditation, Yoga, and REM sleep. I really make a point to prioritize sleep; if I have a bad night of sleep, I have no compunction whatsoever about taking a sleep aid the next night to get reset. I feel no shame in that game; needs must, sometimes, as my grandma would say. I have always been an early riser; I wake up naturally between 4 and 4:30, and because of this I work my bedtime backwards from there. I typically get an average of 7 1/2 hours of sleep a night during the week, according to my watch, and I get a little more than that on weekends; I can usually coax myself back to sleep for an hour or two. It’s not often that I get less than 7 hours of sleep, but when I do I can really tell in my face and body, which become haggard-looking and creaky, respectively, not to mention my brain, which becomes foggy and unfocused. I’m like a cross between Aunt Bethany and C3PO. I’m not, however, an actual robot and I am in perimenopause, so despite my best efforts, plenty of nights have me waking up sweaty at strange hours with my mind racing, but I try to take it in a zen way, which means I am often doing breathing exercises in the middle of the night and telling myself that a) just lying and resting is beneficial, even if I’m not technically sleeping, and b) my body is a wonderland and hot flashes are a natural part of a woman’s life, if she’s lucky, which I am. Usually this borderline unhinged way of thinking is enough to lure my body back into slumberland, or into an incredible state of boredom that is akin to slumberland, at least until 4:30, when I am Wide Awake and Ready For The Day.

Good morning world!

What (Do I Do To Prepare). The act of getting ready for bed feels almost ritualistic for me; I love the feeling of ending the day and preparing for my cozy bed. I start my bedtime routine about an hour before I actually snuggle into said cozy bed; I floss and brush my teeth, I detangle and brush my hair, I remove my makeup and put on a number of different moisturizers on various parts of my face and body, and I put on my pajamas. Every day I carefully choose pretty workout clothing even though my gym is in the basement and I work out before anyone else is awake, and every day I put on a coordinated outfit with jewelry and makeup even if I am going nowhere and seeing no one, so it should surprise no one that every night I wear pretty, matching pajamas. Every evening I choose my pajama set based on the season, the temperature, and my general mood. I have many pajama sets, thanks to Christmas and birthday gifts mostly from my mother, but also from my husband. I have worn pretty nightwear for my entire life, so the idea of NOT choosing a pajama set is as foreign to me as not matching my bag to my shoes, or going a day without makeup, which is to say, incredibly foreign. After I am pajamaed and lubed up, I join my husband on the couch for a while, reading while he watches TV. I don’t read in bed because I reserve the bed for sleep and sexytimes only, and also to fold laundry on. I am adamant about not using any screens, other than the TV in my periphery, before my bedtime, to the chagrin of anyone trying to text me after 8:00. By the time 8:30 rolls around, I’m making my way up to bed and nestling in.

Where I wish the magic would happen.
Stop! Jammie Time.

Who (Changed My Life With Her Life-Changing Magic). Many years ago I adopted the KonMari method of decluttering and tidying, and I started rolling all my clothing pieces that reside in drawers. The exception was pajamas, which tend to be floppier than regular clothes, and resist rolling. My pajama drawer felt like a mess compared with its daytime-wear compatriots. That is, until a few years ago, when Gigi (HI GIGI) mentioned her brilliant method of rolling pajamas: she puts the top and bottom flat together and THEN rolls them up, and it is simply genius. Why didn’t I think of that? In any case, I have done that ever since, which means I have perfectly organized pajama drawers, and can choose my set with ease.

Rolling, rolling, rolling in a pajama drawer.

Where (Am I Going). In the theme of rest and relaxation, my husband and I are heading to Mexico for a week. We are meeting our good friends down there and I am so excited; am I more excited about the trip itself, or about not preparing dinners for a whole week? Who can say. I’m just happy to be going somewhere, to be honest. Maybe I’ll even have some pina coladas! Who am I kidding, I don’t even like pina coladas, no euphemism implied. Today is filled with all those exciting pre-holiday things, like a pedicure and sugaring, and seeing how many bikinis and sundresses I can squeeze into a carryon. In any case, I’m looking forward to fun, food, and lots of relaxation; I will catch up with you all when I return. Take care, friends. xo

Doctor Teeth and the Winter Mayhem

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We received a little blast of winter this past week: a couple of inches of snow, followed a few days later by some cold days, and by “cold,” I mean the low minus 20s. Friends, experiencing forty-eight years of Canadian prairie winters has prepared me for this moment. Never have I felt so hardy. I went to Costco the day after it snowed, and the parking lot was maybe a third full. The entire store was eerily quiet and when I went to check out, the cashier with the most gorgeous head of hair –the secret is Moroccan OIL oil, not the Moroccan oil shampoo, the OIL – told me in all earnestness that the day previous was beyond busy, as people prepared for The Big Storm. I blinked a couple of times, thinking about the two inches of snow and the temperature around zero. I felt not unlike Lieutenant Dan in the crowsnest of the Jenny, screaming “You call this a storm?”

My mother-in-law has, over the past six months, expressed amazed astonishment at my willingness to leave the house in even the slightest bit of inclement weather. I will take this at face value as a perceived compliment on my strength of spirit, even though I think it is completely unwarranted; she praised me for being brave for driving in These Conditions, These Conditions, again, being two inches of snow and slightly icy streets. In Calgary, if you didn’t go out when there was snow on the ground, you would never go out. Rex and I need our daily constitutional – I am not sure which of us need it more, to be honest – and so the streets shall be braved.

In addition to our daily walk, which is typically around six kilometres, give or take a little, Rex goes out a few times a day to do what we call Exploring. We have two acres of unfenced property, and let me tell you, the “unfenced” detail was cause for much concern on my part prior to and during the move. What if he chases an animal and get lost, what if he runs away, what if he goes onto the road and gets hit by a car. It turns out that all those worries, like most worries, were merely depleting my mental resources and were ultimately unfounded; dogs can be trained to obey property lines, even unfenced ones. There are dogs at all three of the nearest properties to us, and they all stay on their own properties, more or less, unless two or more dogs are out at the same time. In that case, all bets are off and a dog party will certainly ensue. I have looked out the window to see Rex in a cluster of dogs at the end of the grape rows, all happily wagging and sniffing. After a few minutes of this they all magically return to their own places.

Of all the things I should never have worried about, Rex running away would be top of the list. Rex likes to be within sight of me or, more preferably, within petting distance at any given moment in the day. In my recently Ask Me Anything, Engie (HI ENGIE) wondered what a day in the life of Rex was like, and, other than the Explorations, his day is my day. He gets up when I do, around 4:30, and hangs out with me while I practice yoga and exercise, he is in the kitchen when I’m cooking or in the office when I’m writing. If I’m folding laundry or reading he is directly at my feet. When I shower I will open the bathroom door to find him directly on the other side of it. He is my fuzzy shadow and I really love it.

That is why last Thursday was so strange, because he was at the vet all day getting a dental cleaning. No one followed me from room to room! No one lay down directly behind the rolling office chair, so I could stand up and sit down with complete impunity, with no worries that I would accidentally roll onto a fuzzy body part! I went into the pantry without anyone at my heels, hopefully looking at the container of freeze-dried liver!

Do not get me started about the ridiculousness of a professional dental cleaning for a two-year-old dog; despite the fact that for the past nine months I have brushed his teeth and given him a dental chew every single day without fail, he still had pretty massive tartar buildup. I think Barkley was eight or nine by the time we had to give him a cleaning, but here we are with Rex, age two.

It’s funny how seasons of life change. With the kids I went through years of toothbrushing instruction, semi-annual dental cleanings, and braces, my god, the braces. I spent so many years in the orthodontist office – or, in the case of the pandemic, the orthodontist parking lot – and I figured that once my children were grown, the only teeth I would need to think about would be my own. And now here I am, brushing my dog’s teeth with beef-flavoured toothpaste, checking his gums, and having earnest conversations with the vet about the dental genetics of different breeds. If you’re interested, poodles and terriers have, in the vet’s words, the Worst Teeth Of All. That was interesting to me, as my childhood dog, Spike, was a terripoo. I asked my mom if he had bad teeth, and she couldn’t remember. But then again, she said to me, we didn’t BRUSH dogs’ teeth back then. True enough.

Weekly Reading

Speaking of my mom, she happened to mention that it was minus 55 with windchill at her place, minus 42 ambient. It sure made our little blast of cold seem cute! But it was still a chilly weekend, so I lived La Vida Hygge, wrapping up well for our walks and spending the rest of the time puzzling, reading, and, obviously because this is my life, cooking. Some hits and misses in the book department this week; here we go:

More Myself. My son very thoughtfully bought this book for me for Christmas, knowing that I love a) Alicia Keys and b) memoir about women, specifically celebrity women. And I will say that Alicia Keys has had an incredible life; she is a talent beyond talent, a woman who has been writing, composing, and producing her own music since she was fourteen years old. Fourteen is also when she met Krucial, who was her first serious boyfriend. He was 24, and a father. I HAVE SOME QUESTIONS. In his (very slight) defense she told him she was 17 (still not cool, omg), so imagine his shock when, two years later they are LIVING TOGETHER and he discovers her real age. Which was sixteen. Good lord. The way she glosses over that detail in this book is really unsettling. Anyway, she is an incredibly talented woman who has also started a number of social justice campaigns as well as a charity that supplies antiviral medication to babies of women living with HIV, so that they do not contract the virus through breast milk. All great stuff, right? Well, let me tell you, despite the incredible wealth of material, this memoir is SO DAMN BORING. There is a part where she relates a conversation with Oprah, who tells her to keep her private life private, as her Stedman relationship going public is a huge regret for her. Alicia apparently takes this to heart because there is NO juice here. It reads like a matter-of-fact listing of her professional and personal accomplishments, completely devoid of any emotion or vulnerability. Even when discussing a nervous breakdown that led her to a transformative solo trip to Egypt, it was like “I was overtaxed and exhausted. I went to Egypt. It was a transformative experience.” As a memoir, it fails.

Games and Rituals. I really love everything this author has written, and this newest collection of short stories is no exception. This is my favourite genre: everyday, ordinary occurrences made extraordinary. This is Writing Goals right here! The sign of a really good short story is that it makes you think about all the backstory that isn’t there, the iceberg beneath the surface, so to speak. I loved it. There is one particular story about a woman and her elderly father that I will be thinking about for a long time.

Cat’s Eye. Recently Allison (HI ALLISON) mentioned her daughter reading her copy of Bluebeard’s Egg, and that set off a massive craving in me to read some Atwood. I wanted a novel, not short stories, and Cat’s Eye is perfectly suited to January: much of it takes place in the dreary, drab winters of Toronto. I have read this many times and every time I read it, it hits just a little bit differently. I find something new to identify with every single time I read this moving story about a woman who returns to Toronto, the city of her youth, and is confronted by all the myriad ghosts of her past. I have always found this book to be one of the most realistic when it comes to how young girls behave towards each other, the various cruelties that girls and women can inflict on each other, and the lifelong effects of the small and larger traumas experienced in youth. It’s about healing and understanding. It is a work of art, full stop.

Our winter blast seems to be waning and it looks to be a beautiful week ahead. I hope you are all staying warm and maybe also living La Vida Hygge where you are. xo