November Bits and Bobs

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My son was telling me about a throwback party he attended at the university bar; the throwback era, he said was mostly between 2012 and 2014. I was momentarily stunned into silence, and then had him list off a few of the songs that they had played: a lot of Pitbull and the Black-Eyed Peas, the notable era exception being the 2005 hit Hips Don’t Lie by Shakira. Shakira Shakira! All the songs he mentioned are on my Nicole’s Workout Spotify playlist, and they are all songs that I consider to be “modern.”

This reminded me of an 80s Retro party I myself went to at the bar at my university, and the year was probably 1995, so I guess the years go by and yet nothing changes. Still. At the time, I remember dancing to My Sharona and thinking how fun it was to dance to such retro music, and here is my son, grooving to Mr Worldwide. Sunrise, sunset.

We have a houseguest this week! My younger son’s best friend is visiting from Calgary, and he scheduled his visit to coordinate with the ending of my son’s seasonal golf course job as well as my older son’s reading week, so the house is full and so, if you will forgive the sentimentality, is my heart. My older son’s roommate just happens to be a good friend of both boys, so he has been over here as well and I am in my element, feeding everyone in a “Eat, Eat!” kind of way.

Speaking of my younger son, once again he has decided to grow a moustache for the month of November. Typically he only shaves every four or five days, meaning that he usually has a stubbly scruff most of the time, but now he is clean-shaven except for his old-timey Clark Gable-style moustache. As always I am a strong proponent of body autonomy, even in the facial hair department, but also, Clark Gable-style moustache. Remember that Jimmy Buffett song Pencil Thin Moustache? It’s not unlike that.

Rest in peace, Jimmy Buffett. He sure brought a lot of joy to this world, and particularly to me. He also brought us the song Why Don’t We Get Drunk And Screw which I secretly wanted to play at my wedding, but did not. Imagine how funny that would have been, though. I just got a water bed, it’s filled up for me and you. What a glorious time piece of a song. The 70s is my favourite era, music-wise: soft rock, yacht rock, cock rock, Motown, and, my top genre, disco. It would be very, very difficult for me to find a song I do not bop around to happily that was created in the 70s. Even the ones with terrible lyrics and misogyny I will happily sing and kitchen disco to, notably When You’re In Love With A Beautiful Woman and If You Want To Be Happy. I joked about having the latter played at our wedding and my husband was horrified at the very thought. It would be a fun ironic song if it wasn’t blatantly mean-spirited. Still, I will groove to it.

I was grooving down the pathway the other day and I stopped to talk to a gentleman I frequently talk to, who just so happens to look exactly like Kenny G. He and I are probably going to one day spin off this planet with our excessive morning positivity; he’s a kindred spirit, Kenny G is, is what I’m saying. He gestured to the path in front of me saying “Are you enjoying our Golden Mile?” and I was so charmed by this turn of phrase.

The path has been carpeted with leaves, and somehow Rex managed to walk an entire 90 minutes with a leaf on his head. I guess he was feeling Fall Festive.

Less festive is the fact that the dog park has been very, very muddy of late. I stopped to speak with yet another gentleman on the path, while our black and white dogs sniffed each other. The gentleman laughed at Rex’s paws, which were completely covered with mud. “Rex! Your boots!” he said, and I replied with a “This is the problem: no white shoes after Labour Day!” The man looked at me in the most puzzled way, with a completely furrowed brow, and then smiled and nodded as he said his goodbyes. Later, I asked my husband if men do not know about the Labour Day White Shoe rule and he replied with what are you talking about, so I guess that answers that, at least in the Boyhouse.

Weekly Reading

Pineapple Street. Have you ever picked up a book based solely on hearing other people mention the title, without looking at the synopsis or anything about it at all, and then, on starting it, realize that it’s completely different from what you might imagine? This was exactly my experience with Pineapple Street. In my mind it was something exotic, maybe something tropical, maybe women in a different country and their lives? Well. I did not realize Pineapple Street is in Brooklyn Heights and that this book would be about an ultrarich, old money family. I guess that is exotic in its own way, there’s no rich like NYC rich, am I right? But I have to say, while it’s a readable and easy book to digest, the writing is pretty lazy. All the characters are completely one dimensional and then most of them do a 180 near the end of the book with no nuance whatsoever. The theme is millenial heirs of old money, and it’s like the author thought “okay, three kids, we will make one of them represent the millenials who want to give away all their fortune because they disagree with inheriting large sums of money, one of them will just enjoy the money and work in the family business, and the last one, let’s make her someone who gave up her career to have kids and wants more, more, more money. Great, we covered it all.” Like I said, this is readable and for those of us who like to read about fashion and tablescapes, it’s kind of fun, but it’s not profound or nuanced or going to set the world on fire. I later learned that the author is actually a publishing executive so, you know, that answers that.

Please Don’t Sit On My Bed In Your Outside Clothes. This hilarious, smart, and thoughtful book of essays was written in 2020, so it definitely has a Quarantine Flavour to it. This woman has had a very, very different life experience from me, which makes this all the more eye-opening and thought-provoking. She has a way of starting with a hilariously shallow topic, that suddenly delves deeper, having me think of things in a totally different way, i.e., the concept of self-care. The essay that I think will stay with me the longest is the one about performative allyship, which is something that I have been thinking about since the summer of 2020. Actually, I’ve probably been thinking about the concept of people using social media to “raise awareness” without doing anything meaningful since the days of women posting their bra colours on Facebook to “raise awareness” about breast cancer. Friends, we are all aware. But what are we going to do about it? One takeaway from this is, in terms of allyship, that it can be actively harmful to repost violent viral videos. Marginalized people do not need to be inundated with that in the name of “raising awareness.” Anyway, this was a very enlightening – and did I mention, very funny? – read.

Some of you will remember a while back that I was interviewed as a guest post on my good friend Elisabeth’s blog (HI ELISABETH); sadly, that blog was deleted and my interview, including the story about topless sunbathing, was lost forever. Well, the happy news is that Elisabeth RE-interviewed me and it’s up there today, so please go check it out. Another piece of happy news is that my friend and writing support Laura Bray has a substack and this month she is offering 20% off paid subscriptions, in honour of her birthday month (HAPPY BIRTHDAY LAURA!). Do go check her out as she is a gifted writer and an all-round lovely person.

On that note, have a beautiful week, friends! xo

Five For Friday: The Small Grievances and Their Associated Upsides Edition

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  • At the end of October I always head to Bath and Body Works to purchase festive hand soaps for Tiny Secret Festive Season, and this year was no exception. I prefer regular liquid soap to the foaming variety for reasons that are mostly hard to articulate, with one exception: foaming soap never seems to pump nicely, instead I seem to always have to apply what I consider to be excessive force just to wash my hands. The result of this is that the soap often shoots out wildly, in the best case scenario into my sink, in the worst case scenario onto my sweater. As I shopped for my soaps this year, I noticed that all the soaps were of the foaming variety; when I asked the salesperson about it, she directed me to one small shelf near the back, where the selection was very small and the bottles themselves very bland, and not festive at all. According to her, foaming soaps outsell regular by twenty to one, and so the company has now focused the majority of their festive soap effort on foaming. Rather than buy a sad, pine-scented hand soap – I love pine trees, but I don’t want pine-scented hands – I gave in and bought the foaming soaps. The scents are glorious – Coconut Snowball! Twisted Peppermint! Winter Candy Apple! – and I’ve mostly mastered the pump-without-spraying-my-sweater, but not entirely. I’m learning and growing as a person.
  • Despite all this festive hand-washing, last week my husband and I succumbed to the cold-like viral sickness that has been going around. I was, pardon my indelicacy, desperate for my Neti rinse, but I could not find my squirt bottle nor the giant Costco 200-pack of Neti salts to go with it. I looked everywhere, but sadly concluded that those items must have been part of my Insane Moving Purge in the spring. I wasn’t comfortable sharing indoor air with anyone, so instead of going to the drugstore I ordered a new bottle and salts from Amazon, which I thought was a one-day delivery, but it ended up being three. As soon as it arrived I ripped the package open and showered the sinuses I love with love, if you know what I’m saying, and it was such a relief. I washed out the bottle and then went to put it under my bathroom sink, where I found my old bottle, partially hidden behind my hair products. I was very annoyed, thinking this whole time I could have been Neti-ing. However, I had noticed on the package that the company recommends replacing the bottle every three months and at that point, I’d probably had my old bottle for at least eight years, so it was probably for the best. Although, doesn’t it seem like an environmental disaster to throw out a perfectly good bottle every three months? That seems like an excessive reaction, and a ridiculous waste. I’ll probably keep this one for another eight years, I have not died from not replacing my Neti yet.
  • This might be a uniquely Canadian problem right now, but has anyone else noticed the sugar shortage? About five weeks ago there was no brown sugar at Superstore, and then there was no white sugar, and this lasted up until this week. I mentioned this to my mother-in-law who had NOT noticed, but then she called me in a panic to say that the workers at the Rogers’ factory were on strike. Ah! No sugar tonight! This explains why I could buy a giant bag of imported brown sugar in the international aisle but not in the baking aisle. I think the strike is now resolved but sugar is, of course, slow to get back to its regular supply level. I was at Costco and they had the giant ten kilo bags; an older couple was there with two carts, one of which was completely full with sugar, and they were working on filling the other one. Should I be hoarding sugar too? I thought. Maybe? Is this like 2020? The woman noticed me looking at her, lost in my own thoughts, and I startled myself back to reality. “You must have a lot of baking to do!” I said in the most pleasantly normal voice I could, trying not to sound accusatory like I know what you’re doing, you hoarder. “We have a lot of JAM to make!” she said, and I wondered if she had some kind of jam home business, or if it was all a cover to profiteer on the sugar black market, like we were in Europe in World War II. Either way I grabbed a bag, which I technically didn’t need, but let us remember Lessons From The Pandemic: if you see it, maybe buy it. Within reason, of course, let’s not forget how I ended up with six boxes of expired cream of tartars in 2023, and I don’t even use cream of tartar.
  • I have been talking about the nightmare that is time change for twenty years, so I won’t bore and depress us all with its history, how it makes no difference with energy usage which is WHY it is touted to be still in existence, and how everyone is just fucked up for a week twice a year, including, importantly, the pets of the world. JUST PICK A TIME AND STICK WITH IT, I DON’T EVEN CARE. What I did not realize is how early it gets dark here; it is completely dark at 4:30 pm. I even thought I was maybe hallucinating a little, due to time change and my brain fog from my lingering sickness, but no, a check of my weather app tells me that the sun sets at 4:21 pm. What will happen in December? Well, there’s nothing for it but to embrace my inner Dane and get Hygge with it. I have my light-up gnome and electric candles, so I can participate in the Danish Hygge ritual of candles without the fear of scary actual candles burning my house down.
  • I have been so looking forward to a women’s weekend retreat that was to take place next weekend. I haven’t been away by myself since my YMC days, and I was so excited as my friend Sara (HI SARA) was teaching the yoga sessions, and in addition to that there was going to be snowshoeing, lovely meals, and a comedy night. I was hoping to meet other snowshoeing women in the area, and did I mention it was a weekend of meals someone else prepared? Bring your swimsuit for the hot tub! the website said cheerfully. DONE AND DONE. Then, earlier this week, I got a notification that the weekend was cancelled, or, technically, postponed until 2024. And this after my husband bought me a new headlamp so I could take part in the Night Snowshoe Adventure. Well, I did get use out of the headlamp when I walked Rex before sunrise a few weeks ago; the completely unlit path was a little terrifying even with the headlamp, and I kept waiting to get murdered or for us to get attacked by wildlife, but perhaps wildlife could smell Rex and kept out of our way.

Happy Friday everyone! I hope you have a great weekend. xo

Conversations With Strangers

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Last Wednesday marked the beginning of Tiny Secret Festive Season! If you’re new here, welcome! Everyone is welcome in the Boyhouse. Also, if you’re new, you may be wondering what even is Tiny Secret Festive Season. The short answer is that it is something that I have created to enjoy the Christmas holiday spirit in the face of those who think that November 1st is Too Early to start being jolly. Generally in Canada “Too Early” can be defined loosely as “Anytime Before Remembrance Day, You Disrespectful Bitch” all the way to December 1st. In the US, the consensus seems to be “Before US Thanksgiving.”

But why should there be time restrictions on Being Jolly, I ask, and so Tiny Secret Festive Season was born. Now, if you are a person who is in agreement with the Too Early sentiment, well, you are still welcome here but just know that I am keeping it a secret from you, hence the Secret part of Tiny Secret Festive Season. On the other hand, if you’re a person who likes to mimic Costco and start your Holiday Jolliness in July, well, that’s not really Tiny, is it? You’re still welcome here, in fact, I salute you! But that is not what Tiny Secret Festive Season is.

The key is that one must incorporate small, festive items into everyday life, so on the outside one is just living a regular everyday life. But on the inside! Secretly there are small things that are making our Inner Elf feel known. For me, that means a) festive hand soaps by the major-use sinks, b) wearing my Christmas bracelet every day, c) using Vanilla Candy Cane foot cream, d) hanging holiday-themed tea towels on the oven door, e) playing holiday music for my daily piano practice, f) wearing holiday-themed pajamas, and g) using Christmas napkins at the dinner table.

In other festive news, we had not two but THREE Trick-or-Treaters on Tuesday! I gave my husband a meaningful look as I dropped a few assorted full-sized bars in the little girl’s pillowcase; the lesson, people, is to always buy extra candy. I think this is a lesson not just for Halloween, but for life. Now, was I a little surprised to get a knock on my door when I was in my pajamas with no makeup on and a face full of night cream? I was. But I overcame them, in the spirit of the holiday.

Speaking of which, I do think the myriad night creams and serums are working, in that my skin is softer and more, dare I say, radiant, but there is nothing in this world that is going to fix my raging case of Bitchy Resting Face. It’s pretty bad, friends. Several years ago I was at a get-together with friends from high school, who I hadn’t seen since those days, and a man looked at me and said that I looked disgusted with everyone. I replied with surprise that this is just my face in repose.

One area in my life that happily appears unaffected by my Bitchy Resting Face is that people, particularly strangers, are apt to talk to me very openly about a wide variety of topics. Maybe I give out an aura that I want to know everything about them, which is true, I do. People are endlessly fascinating to me. I think that small talk is a wonderful way to connect to people in this shared human experience, and it often, for me, leads to incredibly involved discussions about someone else’s life. I think that people are often very lonely, and just want someone to listen to them, and when I die I hope my photo evokes conversational memories for the populace. Oh hey, that’s the woman I talked to about my eyelashes and how I was using that new L’Oreal Telescopic mascara while we were in the security line at the airport.

Eyelashes are definitely a hot topic of conversation for me these days – are they real, if not, what mascara are you using – and much preferred to the one I once had about the occasional utilization of Smooth Move tea on days that a person is, shall we say, backed up. This conversation took place after a yoga class, with a young yoga student who was just in my class. I generally do not want to talk about bowel movements – I am even grossed out by the poop emoji, do NOT text me with that thing – but I guess I am happy that I’m a safe space for such discussions, and also that I am clearly just a regular gal. Also, I should probably not be so squeamish; after all, as the children’s book says, Everybody Poops.

I can talk to pretty much anyone about a wide variety of topics, is what I’m saying.

Sometimes, looking back, I have no clue how lighthearted chitchat turns so intense. In the last two months alone things have escalated. I don’t know how the piano tuner got on the topic of how his wife died of cancer only four days before their thirty-third anniversary, but I was happy to hear he’s found love again in the shape of his colleague at the middle school they have both worked at for twenty-five years. I’m not sure why the woman with the cute Labradoodle at the dog park tearfully told me that she yelled at her children that morning for losing their shoes and then cried after school drop off, but I’m glad our dogs could play together while I assured her that parenting IS hard. I’m still a bit worried about the cashier whose dad was in the hospital with what they thought was a gall bladder flare; he’s ninety-six and she was waiting for The Call. I felt badly for the older gentlemen couple on the walking path who just got back from two weeks in Paris in which they never got over their jet lag and also stayed at a very high priced, but inconvenient location, dissuading them from going to Europe ever again.

Possibly the most interesting conversation with a stranger of late was at, of all places, Superstore, and in this case I actually DO know how one topic segued into the next. I complimented the cashier on her Tree of Life necklace, which led, immediately and startlingly, to how she wanted to turn into a tree when she died, as opposed to being cremated. We briefly touched on the unsettling environmental impact of cremation, at which point I, having recently heard a science podcast on the topic, brought up the idea of human compost, and with that, we were off to the races, unfortunately for the people behind me in line who were listening to this grim topic of What To Do With Our Bodies When We Die. We both agreed that we believe souls can live on, and maybe we’d both return as birds to visit the flora that our composted bodies were nourishing. I contemplated this beautiful idea as I wheeled my giant cart away and I didn’t notice my 16-pack of Kleenex had fallen off the bottom of the cart and was lying in the middle of the parking lot until another woman called my attention to it. Another opportunity for small talk and human connection, but after discussing usage of my future corpse I was not equal to it. I thanked her, picked up my Kleenex and went home.

Weekly Reading

Sweetbitter. I typically dislike books in which the protagonist is a very young mess of a woman (SEE BELOW), with vast amounts of drug use, description of the aftereffects of drug use and drinking (SO MUCH VOMIT), and bad choices in general. Typically I avoid those books but there was something really captivating about this story of a young Ohio woman who lands in NYC and starts a job as backwaiter at a very upscale restaurant. If you’ve ever worked in a restaurant the scenes of stress and conflict during a shift will resonate, even if the restaurant in question was Moxie’s in the 90s, and not an expensive NYC place in 2006. Nothing really happens, and yet everything happens. It’s a compelling read.

Really Good, Actually. SPEAKING OF HOT MESS YOUNG PROTAGONISTS. I have to say, this book was quite a ride. At first, I found it absolutely delightful and so very clever – lots of smart pop culture and literary references, like the “soft animal of her body loving what it loves” while she ate hamburgers, for example. Then, midway through I thought “wait, is this the whole book?” Then the delight really took a turn into “wow, if this woman was in my life I’d never speak to her again.” As an example, there is a scene in which her dear friend and her fiance have decided to adopt a dog, and instead of being happy for this turn of events, she says “We all know a puppy is just a down payment on a dog funeral” which, hey hot mess protagonist, just go fuck yourself. I found myself warming to the her a bit near the end as she tries to redeem her sorry self, but in a cool, detached, “If I saw her in the grocery store I’d maybe have a polite conversation about seasonal vegetables” way. It’s yet another book about a hot mess of a young woman going through a divorce, is broke, and her thesis as yet unwritten. It’s very readable, but kind of like Train Wreck Readable, and tl:dr; I am probably, yet again, too old for these books. But fun fact: the author was one of the Schitt’s Creek writers!

Happy November, everyone! How are you doing? It rained here for a few days and I cannot even express how novel that is to me. Rain? In November? It’s not snowing? Well, as they say, it’s hard to hold a candle in the cold Gnomevember rain. xo

Still Spooky Season

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Harry: Look, when the shit comes down, I’m going to be ready for it. That’s all I’m saying!

Sally: Well, in the meantime you’re going to ruin the rest of your life thinking about it.

Sally and Harry were discussing death, but I think these viewpoints can be utilized more generally, or, at the very least, to refer in a symbolic way to little, everyday, non-fatal deaths. As a casual example, let’s say you’re planning a move from the place you’ve lived your whole life, from a neighbourhood where literally everybody knows your name, from the very house in which you were new bride, a new mother, and then raised your children to adulthood, to live at the end of the road in an agricultural part of a new city, next door to your mother-in-law. LET’S JUST IMAGINE SUCH A FICTIONAL SCENARIO. One might consider that to be the death of a certain kind of life; sure, it’s followed by the birth of a new kind of life, but it is a death nonetheless.

Typically I am a Sally-type person; in fact, if I was to describe my personality using only fictional on-screen characters, I would say I am a Sally Albright mixed with a healthy dose each of Monica Geller and Buddy the Elf. And typically I am a person who really does try not to worry overly about future events; I became extremely adept at this during the pandemic, when I basically turned into someone from a twelve-step program, taking things very much One Day At A Time. I firmly believe that worrying does not prepare a person for future events, instead it saps energy and strength for when those events come to pass.

And yet, during the past year I have had many Harry moments. I have had many, many moments of worry or concern or grief for events-that-have-not-yet-happened-but-will-happen. Halloween 2023 was one of those events that I was thinking about, during Spooky Season 2022. This time last year, I had a few verklempt moments, looking at our front yard, thinking next year our house won’t be a Halloween destination for neighbourhood children. Next year we won’t have any Trick-or-Treaters. Next year I will not be able to identify as the Fancy Lady Who Gives Out Full Sized Chocolate Bars In Her Spooky House. I had to swallow hard a few times, making Special Bags for the Special Children On Our Street who I knew would be coming, including cans of pop because why not give children caffeinated beverages to go with their full-sized chocolate bars and fun-sized Swedish Fish. I was mourning the death of myself as that Fancy Lady.

Life, as we all know, can be what we make of it. I’m as happy as can be here in my new home – maybe even a little bit happier as my old home had a snowfall warning last week and the grocery store parking lots are now entering, as my friend Janet calls it, 4×4 Cart Season (HI JANET) – and Halloween IS different, but different does not mean worse.

We have exactly two children on our road, and their mother told me that she definitely would be bringing them by to Trick or Treat, presumably on their way to a neighbourhood with higher population density. I sprang into action and purchased a box of full-sized chocolate bars, along with a four-pack of Hubba Bubba and two giant Kinder surprises shaped like monsters.

You know there’s only TWO of them, right? my husband asked me suspiciously. Of course I know, but my Fancy Lady Energy must be channeled somewhere, and that somewhere is going to the two neighbour children. We can still be a neighbourhood destination! It’s just that the neighbourhood is much, much smaller.

Longtime readers may remember our old neighbour Chad, who for years competed with my husband for Best Lawn Decorations; my husband famously declared himself the winner by making a sign out of caution tape that said “Chad I Win.” When we moved we passed most of the decorations on to Chad, including but not limited to the twenty-foot Grim Reapers and the giant ghosts and skeletons; it cheers me to no end to know that our old street is a Halloween Destination and that finally, Chad is the winner. My husband did keep a few things but in my Moving Angst I felt it was a useless waste of packing boxes; wasn’t I wrong though?

He and my son hung several undead and one creepy clown in the overhead vines and the carport, all of which have failed to faze Rex in the least.

We also have this cheerful guy who is apparently going to climb onto our roof and haunt us.

Living on a vineyard and walking the dog on a gorgeous greenway next to a creek filled with ducks and geese have obvious advantages, but there is one huge disadvantage that I did not properly account for, and that is that Rex is really filthy, all the time. If it was Barkley, with his brown fur, I probably would have never noticed, but Rex’s white paws really show it. One rainy morning last week he played happily with an energetic collie in the mulched, muddy area of the offleash park, and his paws matched the rest of his coat. Happily, I was able to get him in to the groomer on Friday, which was perfect as we had Halloween festivities and he was my accessory, or, Rexcessory, if you will.

Bring me all the puppies! Or at least, one large galoompa of a puppy.

Weekly Reading

I had a DNF this week: I started but just could not get into Dinner For One: How Cooking In Paris Saved Me. It sounded SO good, but I found it incredibly boring and by page 44 I aborted mission. I just had too many other good books in the pile!

Truth and Beauty. This is a memoir by the incredibly talented Ann Patchett, and it’s an intense one. It follows her friendship with poet Lucy Grealy, who survived a Ewing’s sarcoma at age nine, which left her with a jaw deformity and a lifetime of corrective surgeries. The memoir shows a close friendship starting when the women were up-and-coming writers, and this was the most interesting to me of all. It shows Patchett as the slow and steady friend, the writer who buckles down to work steadily, and Grealy as the wild, beloved genius who misses deadlines constantly, amasses debt, and is in constant physical and emotional pain. There is not a happy ending to this story. Grealy spirals downward while her friends – Patchett included – continue an upward trajectory and try to help her on the way. I will say that I don’t think I could have been as supportive a friend as Patchett was, if faced by the desperate cavernous neediness that Grealy displayed. 

The Brilliant Life of Eudora Honeysett. Are you in the mood for a heartwarming story of intergenerational friendship, family by choice, and a seemingly hardened old woman whose heart becomes soft and open? Of course you are! Who doesn’t need a light and uplifting book of goodness? This is a very sweet book about an elderly woman who has HAD ENOUGH of life. She lives alone, she’s 85, and she’s decided she wants to die on her own terms, so she applies for assisted death in Switzerland. Meanwhile – cue the music – a new family moves next door and the ten year old girl corkscrews her way into her life. This is just a really lovely book that switches between current time and flashbacks to her earlier life, showing how we all make choices and take paths that get us to where we are. Listen, this isn’t going to set the literary world on fire, and there are no surprises here, but it’s just a nice heartwarming book for a chilly day in fall.

Happy Halloween to everyone! Are you celebrating? I hope there are at least fun-sized chocolates involved for you this week. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Oooh, It’s October Edition

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At the risk of sounding like an incredibly demented Little Miss Sunshine, I do not have a Least Favourite Month. I don’t have a Most Favourite Month either; I love April because it’s my birthday, and December because of Christmas, I love July and August because of the heat and summery vibes and I love September because it’s my younger son’s birthday and, together with January, there are those fun Fresh Start Feelings. I love May and June because of gardening, and March because it’s my older son’s birthday and our wedding anniversary. Even the less-popular months like November and February I love; the latter because I like to celebrate Galentines’, Valentines’, and eating half-price chocolate, and the former because of Tiny Secret Festive Season. October, of course, is a great month for Halloween and all the festivity that comes with that, including, but not limited to, fun sized candy.

But in my mind, due to a lifetime lived in Calgary, October is the beginning of winter. The leaves were always blown off the trees, meaning that the trees would be naked until May. It would always snow. The constant wind meant that wearing lip gloss and having my hair down at the same time was hazardous. My whole life I have always secretly wondered at those people who are strongly Fall People; it always seemed aspirational to me, while I dug out my winter coat and boots, to be walking around in October in only a sweater and scarf, with leaves still on the trees, eating fresh apples and looking at pumpkin displays that hadn’t been frozen and thawed so many times that they turned into mush.

But wow! Do I ever love fall here! October is gorgeous; even on the rainy and cool days, it’s beautiful. I’m turning into a Fall Person! And so of course it’s time for…

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Oooh, It’s October Edition

If You Leave Me Now

Now, of course I greatly enjoyed the fall colours when I lived in Calgary, of course I did. Every year for approximately two to three weeks, I would walk around like the aforementioned demented Little Miss Sunshine and photograph the changing trees against the blue sky backdrop. Then there would be a hard frost and an enormous windstorm and the trees would be mere sticks against that blue sky backdrop. And then it would snow.

You guys, not only are the leaves in full, glorious colour right now but they have been for over a month AND there are some trees on which the leaves are STILL GREEN. What is this magic? It is so gorgeous, I can’t even. I CAN’T EVEN. I have gone from demented Little Miss Sunshine to possibly scaring fellow walkers with my enthusiasm for fall foliage. The vineyard is golden, trees are all green, yellow, orange, and red, RED, you guys. I can’t get over it. I actually phoned my husband the other day, while driving, to shriek about the alternating colours of the trees near the library. I would have taken a picture but you know, I was driving.

The Book Of Love

Speaking of the library, after my rough start I am getting really comfortable with my local branch. I still have my CPL account for ebooks, but I am finding the selection here for paper books is quite good. I went in the other day to pick up a hold, and ended up cleaning out almost their entire shelf of “Staff Picks.” As I went to the counter with my arms stacked, I mentioned somewhat sheepishly and guiltily that I had done so, and the librarian checking me out cheerfully said That’s what they are there for! We will just put in new ones!

Also, the loan period is four weeks, which seems gloriously generous and justifies my giant, greedy piles.

People Of The World, Spice Up Your Life

If you are not following my friend Suzanne’s blog (HI SUZANNE) you are sadly missing out: not only is she an incredibly gifted writer who is an absolute delight to read, but she also frequently posts recipes and dinner ideas. Last fall she posted the Perfect Fall Cookie and my goodness, friends, you need this cookie in your life.

This particular one was more chocolate chip than cookie, which should be Cookie Goals.

Now, because I’m me, I made a few changes: I added vanilla and omitted the cloves, and I did not want eight giant cookies, I wanted many, smaller cookies, and so I just adjusted the baking time accordingly. They were perfection, all the beauty of fall in cookie form.

Kale-ing Me Softly

Back in the spring, my sister-in-law thought I would be sad, moving to Kelowna, particularly since I would miss out on a whole year of gardening, and so she planted some cherry tomatoes and kale for me in my mother-in-law’s garden. You may remember that my mother-in-law is next door, but what I haven’t mentioned is that the garden will be mostly my responsibility next year. I have BIG PLANS, including raised beds for all the veggies, but in the meantime, I had these lovely cherry tomatoes and kale that were just for me.

The kale is STILL GOING STRONG. I have had so many cuttings of it this year, and it’s still going! We’ve been enjoying giant salads every Sunday dinner since we arrived here, and it’s been so prolific that my husband MAY have hinted that he’s tiring somewhat of kale. Well, too bad for him, because we still have some in the garden! Plus, my favourite farm market still has them in giant bunches 2/$5, so get ready for more Vitamin K!

That sounds like a joke, but kale really is high in Vitamin K. Moving on!

Snack-ual Healing

Let’s stay with the topic of food for a while; I have two items that I am obsessed with. Now, the first one I am a little shy to tell you about, as I JUST wrote about the madness of diet culture and my belief that we CANNOT assign some kind of morality to food choices, we just can’t. It’s absolutely wrong and destructive and I WILL NOT DO IT.

But OMG, this popcorn. Look, I know. I know the name is stupid and goes against every single thing I just said, but this popcorn is SO good. Could I pop my own corn and toss it in a coconut oil and nutritional yeast concoction to make something similar, precluding me from financially supporting a snack food company called Lesser Evil? I sure could. Will I? NO, because this is so delicious and also I make every single thing from scratch around here, just let me have this. Let me just have something easy.

I picked this up at Costco on a whim; I was hungry, and also I was stuck in a cart traffic jam, waiting for a dozen people to get their free sample of crackers and file out of the aisle so I could move on with my life. I saw this and was intrigued, and let me tell you, it is every bit as amazing as I could have ever hoped. It’s spicy and sweet, and tart and sour all at the same time. It’s like an incredible chewy candy, but it’s fruit. It is so good and I plan on grabbing several bags the next time I spot this. Of course, this is Costco we are talking about, and so who knows if I will ever see it again.

Smooth Operator

If you have been reading this blog for any length of time, you will know that I have been a Neutrogena devotee for years, decades even. You will also know that any skin care or beauty product must be used by me for a minimum of three months, and must show some kind of benefit, for it to be featured in my Favourites. Well! Let me tell you about this:

I started using Neutrogena Retinol Plus about six months ago, both the eye cream and the regenerating night cream. I was initially attracted to it because it comes with a warning label: NOT FOR BEGINNERS. This cracks me up so much, but it also indicates that it involves some pretty potent retinol. Well, this is not my first retinol rodeo, people, I’ve been riding that retinol bull for some time now.

Does it work, you may be asking, and the answer is I think so? But it’s impossible to tell, really, because time keeps marching forward and I do not live in the multiverse, people, and so there’s no Nicole Without Retinol to compare to. But I do think that my makeup-free face is less haggard-looking than it was when I started; then again, when I started I was in the midst of preparing for a move and an empty nest and my husband’s retirement, and was having a nervous breakdown every other day, so who can say what the cream is doing. It could be working OR I could just not be under an unbelievable amount of stress, who knows. What I know for sure is that my forehead lines are a permanent fixture and nothing short of surgery or massive filler injections is going to change that, so que sera sera.

Welcome To Her Dollhouse

Do you need a little pick-me-up? Of course you do! Well, let me tell you about my lovely friend Michelle (HI MICHELLE). She is an artist and a crafter and she has been working on a dollhouse for a while now, and let me tell you, it is the MOST incredibly adorable thing you have ever seen. Like, I have actual fantasies of shrinking myself down to live in that dollhouse. Every single new addition is better than the last, and I honestly feel like I might spin off the planet whenever I look at it, it is SO cute. I go and look at her photos at least once a week, when I need cheering or when I just want to see how the doll-half lives. THERE ARE GNOMES, PEOPLE. I find when I’m looking at it I am barely coherent because LITTLE TINY ROLLING PIN AHHHHHH.

OOTM

Look at me, swanning around with no coat, just a jaunty sweater and blanket scarf! This is Peak Fall Fashion Goals for me.

Rex wants you to see his white tuft, which matches my outfit.

These pants, boots, and top have all been discussed at length before, I am sure, but what I want to talk about is this cream poncho-like sweater. I bought it from lululemon at least ten years ago, and while I love it, I don’t wear it often. Mostly, because it’s cream and I almost always immediately spill something on myself whenever I don light-coloured clothing. But there is a funny story attached to this sweater, and that is that I was wearing it at the playground, underneath my winter coat, while waiting for the kids to finish sledding after school one day. My friend Helena (HI HELENA) came up to me and pulled me aside to tell me that she thought I should know I had toilet paper hanging down in the back.

Now, first of all, god bless everyone who tells people things like this, whether it’s a toilet paper mishap, lipstick on the teeth, chocolate on the face, or skirts tucked into pantyhose. These people are doing the lord’s work. But the thing was, I did NOT have toilet paper stuck in my waistband and hanging down below my winter coat, it was just that the jaunty edges of the poncho-like sweater gave the ILLUSION of having toilet paper stuck in my waistband and hanging down below my winter coat, and I think we can all agree this is not a look anyone would aspire to.

Therefore, I swore I would never wear that sweater again underneath any outerwear, and since I lived in Calgary until three months ago, this meant that my opportunities to wear it were greatly reduced. Calgary is not a place that really encourages a person to go anywhere without a jacket. But now! Now I can wear it in all its glory, I just have to make sure I’m not going to immediately spill wine or salsa on it, which is what happened the last time I wore it. Resolve Stain Remover: also a Nicole’s Favourite Thing.

Hilariously, one of my Favourite podcasts, Nobody Panic, released an episode this week called How To Be A Basic Autumn Bitch and it spoke to me, people. It spoke to me. I hope you are enjoying October too, and if you have Favourites to share, I’d love to hear them, as always. xo

Let Me Eat Cake

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One of the things I was most excited to do when I moved here was to restart cross-country skiing; I love it but, sadly, for one reason or another, have not skied in twenty years. Now that I don’t have children in school or classes to teach, I have been eager to restart, and because ski technology has changed significantly in my prolonged off-season, not to mention that my feet have gotten bigger, my husband and I went to the local outdoor store to procure new equipment.

We were immediately helped by a nice, knowledgeable young man named Brett, who showed me some skis that he thought would be appropriate. When it came to sizing them, he measured against my height and then casually asked my weight. I replied, truthfully, that I really didn’t know. I have not weighed myself since August 2020, when I read Your Body Your Best Friend; even at the doctor’s office, I have turned around while being weighed and asked not to be told the number. Brett suggested that if I didn’t know my weight, I could just step on the scale, that one, right over there!

“Oh, I’m not stepping on a scale,” I said, and my husband laughed. “That’s a dangerous question!” he said to Brett, and what was so interesting to me is that Brett looked completely puzzled as to why a woman would hesitate weighing herself not just in public, but ever. Like, he was genuinely nonplussed. Why would weight be any different than boot size or height; this was value-neutral information used to select the appropriate ski equipment.

Honestly, it’s aspirational. I cannot imagine being in a mental place where knowing my weight didn’t cause a steep descent into utter madness, regardless of what that weight is. I cannot imagine just knowing my weight without some kind of insane moral value judgement, the way I feel about my height and the size of my feet and hands. In the end we compromised; Brett told me the weight range in kilograms for the skis I was looking at, and I was able to tell him that I thought I was within that range.

I am still a little depressed about the Weight Watchers book I read last week, friends. I don’t know if it was because I read it just before my Ladies’ Holidays when I was already in a fragile emotional state, but wow, did it ever bum me out. The idea that we are living in a society that essentially wants women – sure, men are subject to weight judgements too, but let’s face it, it’s mostly women – to take up less space and to always be hungry or, alternately and concurrently, not hungry but guilty and full of shame, just made me so sad. The thought of all these millions of women who have been weight cycling their entire lives, just futilely dieting and gaining and back again, and then made to feel shame about it, made me feel like wrapping up every one of them in a hug.

The author herself, and most likely, millions of other women, seemed to have two modes when it comes to food: restriction and the accompanying obsession with food (did we learn nothing from the Minnesota Starvation Experiment?), or shame about eating and the accompanying obsession with food. Restriction and shame, those seem to be the options. There was no joy whatsoever.

I learned something unsettling this week, and it has to do with Ozempic. I know there is a lot of discourse around this drug, and I am not going to touch on that. What I am going to tell you is something that I did not know, and that is that while Ozempic has been used very effectively for fairly significant weight loss, once a person stops the drug the weight is regained. The only way, apparently, to maintain the weight loss from Ozempic use is by continuing usage of Ozempic, indefinitely. The thought of people staying on a drug that is probably not tested for extreme long-term usage – how could it be, when it’s relatively new? – for the rest of their lives just to maintain an arbitrary Ideal Weight has me upset on a macro level. What are we doing in our society?

Once you open your eyes to the insidiousness of diet culture, you can’t not see it everywhere. Conversations about skipping dessert to be Good happen everywhere, or thoughts like I want to eat a lot at this event so I won’t eat all day to prepare abound, women everywhere are thinking I ate those cookies yesterday so today I’ll skip lunch. Whole swaths of food are demonized as Bad, every time you turn around it’s something different: oils, sugar, carbs, whatever some so-called expert has decided to pick on. Food is fuel, of course it is, but it is so much more than that. Food needs to nourish our bodies AND our souls; it is nutrition and it is community, it is family and it is joy, it is culture and tradition. When we reject these things, we are rejecting little parts of ourselves. Of course we need to make choices that are best for our bodies, of course we do, but our physical bodies are only one part of us.

What upset me the most from that Weight Watchers book was somewhat of a throwaway line, and that is that Jean Nidetch said that being thin needs to be more important than any food, and suggested this life hack: on your birthday, every birthday, for the rest of your life, bake a cake, cut the cake, serve the cake, but DO NOT EAT THE CAKE. Now, I probably would not have noticed this line at all if she talked about pie, which I loathe, or even something I feel neutral about, like doughnuts. I don’t dislike doughnuts but I never feel like eating one, and so if someone told me that there would be no more doughnuts or pie for the rest of my life, I’d never blink an eye. Done and done! But cake! We all know how I feel about cake. The thought of slicing a cake and not eating any on my own birthday, ever again, is the saddest food-related thing I can think about.

Maybe it’s because I’m 48 and although I hope I have a little more life ahead of me than behind me, likely that is not the case, but I just refuse to spend even one more minute like this. I refuse to think that if I have that, then I shouldn’t have this. The fact is that I genuinely do not think about my weight at all anymore, unless I’m in a ski shop and they ask for it, but it’s taken work to get here.

On the subject of cake, it was my husband’s birthday, and so we spent the weekend feting my Shmoopy. Obviously there needed to be cake involved, and for this special occasion, we went with carrot. It was delicious.

Weekly Reading

Falling. Let’s say you’re on a plane. The pilot discovers, after takeoff, that his family is being held hostage and he is given one of two choices: crash the plane, killing everyone on board, or his family dies. What’s he going to do? This is an entertaining thriller of a book, although probably not recommended for anyone who, you know, has a fear of flying. I don’t, so it didn’t bother me BUT I could not stop thinking about the author. The author, get this, is a former flight attendant who WROTE THIS BOOK WHILE WORKING THE RED-EYE. That’s right, as the passengers slept on overnight flights, she wrote a book about terrorists threatening every person on board and the pilot’s beloved family. What kind of a warped and twisted mind does that? I don’t know but I’d love to be her friend. Imagine getting your little bag of pretzels or Celebration cookie from a seemingly-innocent flight attendant who is imagining your death. Actually, given how some people behave on planes, this is kind of a reasonable response. Thanks to Stephany (HI STEPHANY) for the recommendation (listen to her podcast, The Friendship Paradox!).

Daughter in Exile. I think this is an incredibly honest and accurate book about what it is to be an illegal immigrant in the US; this story follows a young, educated Ghanaian woman who gives up her job at the Thai embassy in Senegal to go to America with her boyfriend, who turns out to be a cad, uninterested in her when he discovers she doesn’t have wealth. Stranded in America, pregnant, she struggles just to survive, the people around her in equal measures helping her and also taking advantage of and hurting her. I’m sure this is very realistic, with one awful thing after another happening to her, but it is very hard to read. I guess it is just a slice of life. I can’t say I enjoyed it; I did not like the writing style and I found the dialogue to be pretty stilted and unnatural. I think, however, it was a very eye-opening novel to the immigrant experience. 

The Woman in the Library. This was SUCH a fun and entertaining read! It’s a murder mystery with clever parallel story lines – a mystery being written, and a beta reader reading that mystery. Very fun indeed!

We took advantage of a beautiful weekend, and having my son home for my husband’s birthday, to take our annual family photos. Would you like to be included on my holiday card list? All you have to do is include ME on yours! At the risk of sounding like a Christmas Asshole, I am only interested in card EXCHANGES, so if you too love sending out holiday cards, and want one from me, let me know! If you sent me a card last year you are already on the list, never fear. In any case, have a lovely week, everyone; hopefully there will be cake or something delicious involved. xo

Just Me Or Everyone

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In beginning of The Blind Assassin, my favourite book of all time, there is a scene where octogenarian Iris is presenting an award at the local high school, watching the graduates file on stage.

Up they trooped, solemn and radiant, in many sizes, all beautiful as only the young can be beautiful. Even the ugly ones were beautiful…None of them understands this – how beautiful they are.

I first read this book when it came out, in 2000, when I was only 25, and this scene resonated with me even then. I think about it all the time, particularly at this time of my life, particularly when I see groups of girls walking together, going home from school or hanging out at the mall. I always think they don’t understand how beautiful they are.

Because, let’s face it, they don’t. I mean, I didn’t! And I am not going to write about the perceived negative effects of aging and perimenopause on my face and body – that’s IMPLIED, my goodness – because the truth is that I feel so much more confident in my appearance now, at 48, than I did 30 years ago. I would rather FEEL beautiful, the way I do, than BE actually youthfully beautiful, with all the insecurity around my appearance that I had when I was youthfully beautiful.

Now, let us be clear, I’m not blind. I feel beautiful but I know how mirrors work. I realize that my neck looks like a striated tree trunk when I smile a certain way – but that certain way is when I’m really happy and excited. I realize that my forehead is lined from a lifetime of speaking expressively with my whole face and that I have lines around my eyes and mouth from laughing and smiling, but I think those are a pretty decent price to pay for visual reminders of joy and happiness. I realize that my breasts resemble semi-deflated water balloons and require feats of engineering in the bra department, and that my waistline isn’t quite so defined anymore, but I HAVE breasts, which I do not take for granted, having so many friends go through cancer treatments, and if my pants are a little tight at the waist, well, it’s a sign of enjoying my life and also that, perhaps, my incredibly frequent Ladies’ Holidays might be nearing the end. I rejoiced at the expansion of my waist during pregnancy, and while I am not rejoicing, I refuse to be upset with the expansion of my waist during perimenopause. It’s just a new stage of life, and also, elastic waistbands exist.

Listeners of Alison Rosen Is Your New Best Friend will be very familiar with the segment “Just Me Or Everyone?” where guests will talk about something that they do or think, and wonder if it is something only they experience or if everyone else is experiencing the same thing. I love this segment. I, too, feel sadness and concern when I see a little boutique or restaurant that is empty! I, too, feel guilt when dusting up a spider web, thinking I destroyed the hard work of an industrious little arachnid who is trapping pesky bugs for my benefit!

When I see groups of young girls, and I think of that quote from The Blind Assassin, I want to actually go up to them and interrupt their conversations about whatever young girls discuss to tell them how beautiful they all are. I mean, I have to remind myself that this would be a creepy and strange thing to do. Imagine! Imagine how weird that would be! But I see teen girls, and I know – I KNOW – that they are filled with that special kind of female self-loathing perpetuated by our patriarchal society that makes girls and women think that their worth lies completely in their physical appearance, I know that they are all dissatisfied with their faces or their hair or their bodies or all of the above, and I want to pull over my car, jump out, and tell them to their beautiful, youthful faces how gorgeous they are. Probably they wouldn’t believe me anyway. Probably they would just live with their loathing until several decades go by and they look at photos of their younger selves with wonder. Is it just me, or does everyone want to do this too?

Speaking of the youth, is it just me or does everyone get confused when people change their names on Instagram? This seems to happen quite frequently, and it always throws me off. Who is that? I’ll think as something shows up on my feed. Where did they come from, why am I following them? Finally I’ll realize that my friend’s daughter simply changed her handle for the fifth time, or that random follower from my YMC days got divorced, or that I’m not even following that person at all, they are simply “suggested for me.”

Despite occasional confusion, I do love Instagram. Mostly because I am nosy and I love little peeks into other people’s lives; I realize that what people share and the reality of their lives can be two different things and yet, I love it. I most certainly understand that no life is a highlight reel of fabulous vacations, brilliant, high-achieving children, or even good hair days; there is a side of everyone’s life that they don’t always care to show.

Later in The Blind Assassin, twenty-something Iris visits her childhood home and stands looking pensively at the portrait of her grandmother who she never knew, a portrait that had been there her whole life. With insight gained from her own life experience, Iris thinks I bet you were alleycatting around…I bet you had a secret life. I bet it kept you going.

Is it just me, or does everyone occasionally become struck with the idea that every single person we encounter has a whole side of themselves that few to no one sees; perhaps a secret life, like Iris’, but usually it is just a personal side of themselves. I remember this striking me incredibly when I was a young woman working on the trade floor for an energy company. There I was, surrounded by men in a professional atmosphere, everyone working and making decisions and, in some cases, screaming at people on the corded phones. I remember seeing all of their wedding rings glinting in the harsh overhead fluorescent lights, which, by the way, did not contribute to a feeling of positivity about my own face and appearance, see above for “self-loathing,” and I thought All these men are married. All of these men, who are currently swearing at their screens, presumably bought rings and nervously paced while preparing to propose, all of these men have a secret life that I know nothing about. And on the flip side, their spouses probably had no idea what their work life was like, probably they did not know the gritty details of their days and had no idea, while sitting across from them at the dinner table, that they spent many hours of the day tersely shouting at their brokers and were possibly being recommended by HR to take anger management courses.

People contain multitudes, is what I’m saying, and sometimes I feel something nearing awe at the idea. Every person has a multifaceted story and a secret side of life.

When I was visiting my parents last week, my mom and I went to my friend Merry’s Mercantile – if you are in Central Alberta, you MUST go – and when I saw that card in her display, I laughed until my stomach hurt and immediately purchased several. I am loathe to imagine anyone at all doing the deed, but there is something particularly unsettling and disturbing about one’s parents taking a trip to pound town. I’m sure my own children share this sense of horror and have mentally blocked out any such idea. Secret sides of life, we all have them.

Weekly Reading

The Librarian Of Burned Books. This book of historical fiction brings attention to the Armed Services Editions, books sent to soldiers in WWII, alongside book burning in Germany in 1933, and banned and censored books through the war. It also looks at the treatment of the LGBTQ community in Nazi Germany and what it means to be a bystander, and it felt like all these subjects, sadly, still have relevance today. It’s interesting and culturally relevant but I will say that unfortunately I found this book to be more of a “Tell” instead of a “Show.” That aside it’s still a pretty decent read, with different and connected characters.

This Is Big: How The Founder of Weight Watchers Changed The World (and me). Woof. This was one of the most depressing books I have ever read. Talk about self-loathing brought on by our culture of shame, judgement, and obsession. The book itself is well-written and is designed in a really unique way: the biographical chapters about Jean Nidetch, founder of Weight Watchers, are alternated with memoir chapters, where the author details her year of joining Weight Watchers and her life of weight cycling and, frankly, self-hatred. It is kind of hard to read: the author was put on her first diet before she was five years old, and her parents basically body-shamed her for her entire life (“you don’t need the bread basket.”). The author admits that she spent her entire life obsessed with food, diets, and hating her body and while I wish this was a unique experience, I feel like it isn’t. It’s an extreme case but I would say that every woman in this world has spent a great deal of time in the same way, and it is shitty. It is SHITTY. It is sad and depressing and terrible. The parts about Nidetch are fascinating and also very depressing. She built an empire, but after the sale of Weight Watchers to Heinz, she was no longer president, and kind of floundered, gambling and shopping and basically trading food for other obsessions. She ended up dying alone, with less than a million in the bank, and given she made a LOT of money, this is really saying something. I finished this book and just stared into space for a while.

Well. On that note, let’s pivot a little and look forward to the week ahead. We have a birthday to celebrate, I have some fun things planned, and the weather promises to be gorgeous. I hope you have a gorgeous week as well. xo