Gratitude and Grievance

Posted on by

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Yesterday my husband and I took a ten hour road trip to visit my parents. It was a gorgeous drive but I am a tiny bit tired; not, however, as tired as I was Saturday morning when I was woken up several times by a pack of howling coyotes in the vineyard. They even woke my very hard-of-hearing mother-in-law up, so you can imagine how loud that must have been.

What I’m saying is I’m not feeling particularly rested this holiday weekend, but it was such a beautiful drive and, of course, it was lovely to drive into my parents’ very welcoming home. This is what I’m looking at right this minute:

I meditate every day, as part of my self-care REM Y REM; most days the meditation is part of my yoga practice and savasana, but once or twice a week I listen to a guided meditation. A few weeks ago I listened to one that had a gratitude theme, and one of the lines in that meditation was What you focus on is what you see more of. I mean, yes, obviously. But also YES!

Let’s say, for example, that you wake up one morning and perceive, on looking in the mirror, that for the first time in a very long time, possibly years, a pimple has inexplicably developed underneath your left eye. Perhaps, instead of feeling gratitude for the exuberance of youth that has suddenly revisited your face in such a way, you unhappily focus all your vision on this little red protuberance. In fact, you focus on it so much that, upon viewing your reflection, you cannot see anything else. You might as well have no other facial features; your face has become Only The Pimple.

At the same time, you might notice that it has been three weeks since you last coloured your hair, and so the hair framing your Only The Pimple visage is white with grey accents, contrasting sharply with the rest of your kind-of-orange-fading-red hair. Instead of feeling deep gratitude for this interesting confluence of Youth and Old Age that is your current reflection, you feel simultaneously grieved for your loss of youth and also for this strange resurgence of youth. Instead of thinking that your body, indeed, is a Wonderland, you are laser focused on what you perceive as flaws, which are really not flaws at all but just glorious markers of the human experience.

What you focus on is what you see more of, and if you step back and soften the focus on the things that you are unhappy with, and maybe take a selfie with the knowledge that car lighting is the very best kind of lighting, maybe you can focus a bit more on gratitude than on grievances.

I’m sure that’s what the guided meditation meant.

So many of my friends have Gratitude Journals, and I deeply admire that, although I do not have one myself. My friend Ally (HI ALLY) recently brought my attention to something called a Grievance Journal. I had never heard of such a thing before but indeed, there are many such items for sale; the price of such things might surprise you, for example, this grievance journal is $208. Ally correctly pointed out that one could simply purchase a simple spiral notebook that would serve the purpose, but we are often more inspired by thematic stationary, aren’t we?

My thought on this is that anyone who had a diary with a lock and key in their youth was most likely keeping a Grievance Journal. I shudder to think of my own teen angst committed to the pages of my locked diaries, but on the other hand, maybe I was a trend-setter without even knowing it! I was Grievance Journaling before Grievance Journaling was cool.

Then again, what is a blog but a repository for grievances – and gratitude, of course. And because it is Thanksgiving, I will share with you, my dear readers, something that I am very grateful for. One year ago tomorrow Rex came to live with us!

I like to call this our Rexaversary, although I’m sure my husband would like me to note that he hates that term, and no one really knows why. Perhaps it reminds him of Brexit? Or the ridiculously stupid Wexit? As a side note, a couple of years ago we were at the dinner table and my older son said, out of absolutely nowhere, “Remember that thing, Wexit?” and for no reason at all we all became hysterical with laughter. WEXIT.

Anyway, it is one year tomorrow that we received such an incredible gift. He was much loved by his former family, and I still can’t believe my luck that we were the ones chosen to care for our Big Silly, our Notorious D.O.G., our Doughnut, our Puppy Pup, our Rexie. He’s brought so much joy to us every single day; it’s ironic that I was the person who, after Barkley died, was so devastated that I refused to even consider bringing another dog into our family, and now I have a shadow, every waking minute.

My view upon getting out of the shower.

I did feel, a year ago, like Clifford the Big Red Dog was coming to live with us, but after a year of Rex, he just seems like a normal-sized dog, and all other dogs are miniature. Anyway, it’s appropriate that this celebration day coincides (ISH) with Thanksgiving as we are all so thankful to have his Big Silly Energy in our home.

Weekly Reading

The Magician’s Assistant. I really enjoyed this book about Sabine, a magician’s assistant who was married to the magician. When he dies, she discovers everything about his past that he had kept hidden. What’s not to like? Complicated families, interesting female protagonist, beautiful prose. It checks all my boxes! The thing about Ann Patchett is while many of her books follow a similar theme of brokenness and family secrets, they are all so different and unique. Content warning for mentions of domestic and child abuse.

The Perfect Marriage. Did you ever read the Sweet Valley High books? Remember how the physical descriptions were “All American good looks, with blond hair and blue eyes, size six?” That was what this book was like, a grown up SVH, but a “thriller.” The physical descriptions of the characters were so over-the-top: he is a hunky six-foot-two man with broad shoulders, she is a tiny blonde with never a hair out of place, wearing her Louboutin heels and pencil skirts. Basically, a man is accused of murdering his mistress and his wife is his lawyer for the trial. Is this well-written? No. Are the characters interesting and nuanced? No. Is the dialogue natural and believable? No. Is the plot in any way realistic? Absolutely not. Is this book hilariously entertaining in its ridiculousness? Kind of! It’s pretty ridiculous but hey, it’s a fast read and won’t require any heavy thinking or reflection.

I hope you are all enjoying this holiday weekend, or, for my non-Canadian friends, this Monday in October! I am grateful for all of you. xo

Hairum Scarum

Posted on by

The thing about moving is that, once a person has moved, there is still so much paperwork to deal with, there are still so many decisions to make, and there is so very much to learn about the new environment. Moving across provinces, I am discovering, means that much time must be spent in a variety of government and other official offices and on their websites, just getting the basics figured out. In the past three weeks, for example, we have spent countless tedious hours just getting all of our driver’s licenses switched, organizing registrations, plates, and insurance for all five vehicles plus the RV, why do we have so many vehicles, why do we have an RV, and switching our health care from Alberta to BC.

It’s quite exhausting and every day I think of something new to add to the running list: I need to get Rex licensed, for example, and I need to find him a vet, having already found him a good groomer and boarder. I don’t think it will be hard to do these things, but all takes time.

Other things I do not have figured out: medical and dental care. I’m not at all worried about finding a dentist, they are everywhere and all seem to be accepting new patients, but there is a massive physician shortage so I feel like I’ll be lucky to get one before I turn 65. Just don’t get sick, I guess. There are plenty of walk-in clinics, if I do get sick, and on the plus side, a friend told me that a doctor referral is not necessary for a mammogram, unlike in Alberta; apparently, I can just simply book one. But then, that’s one more thing added on my massive to-do list, and my dense, lumpy breasts and I are due for one in October. Guess what! It IS October!

Before my husband retired, I used up all his optical benefits to get my eyes examined and new reading glasses. This is something I have been putting off for years, for no good reason. Can I blame it on the pandemic? In any case, finding an optometrist was easy – I looked for the closest one with the highest Yelp rating – and due to the time of year, they were having a back to school sale. I ended up with Dolce and Gabbana reading glasses, and with the sale and the optical coverage, they were very low cost.

I feel fancy!

Speaking of my husband’s retirement, at his party I was chatting with a woman who will be relocating in the next six months or so, to one of four locations, as yet undetermined, but the move will either be cross-country or out of country. She was, naturally, quite anxious about all the logistics involved in such a move and said to me plaintively I just don’t know how I am going to find someone to cut my hair. Girl, I know. I KNOW! I related so much because of all the myriad things I had to deal with upon arrival, finding someone I could trust with my delicate locks was top of the list.

It’s just such an intimate relationship, isn’t it, the one between hair stylist and hair stylee. There is so much trust involved, and then there are personalities that need to be able to mesh, not to mention actual hair styling talent. When I find a stylist I like, I hold onto them like grim death. I very briefly considered going back to Calgary every three or four months to get my hair cut, but that seemed ridiculous even for me, and the logistics involved were stupid.

So began my search for a stylist.

The first part of my search began, interestingly enough, back in July, when I was very new to town. I made a sugaring appointment at a local place; there are a couple of sugaring salons in town and I chose this one purely because their online booking process was easy and one I was familiar with. The first body sugaring place I tried had an incredibly difficult booking process which required the download of an app, and then it was tricky to find the actual place on the app itself, and I ended up deleting it all in frustration and going with the other, slightly less conveniently located option. It probably says something untoward about my character that while I am distressed at the thought of someone new taking scissors to my hair, I have absolutely no problem exposing my unclothed fuzzy vulva to a complete stranger, speaking sugaring code like can we also do the back, and that my choice of person for this service is made merely by their location and ease of booking process.

In any case, in late July I found myself half-naked with a lovely young woman named Kate, chatting about being brand new to town, the stress of moving, and how it was bathing suit season and what kind of cut did I wear? Kate herself had moved here from a small coastal town, and referred to Kelowna as the hustle and bustle of the big city, which made me smile, as I had the opposite experience. When we were finished, she kindly asked if there was any way to help me feel settled, if there was any information she could share with me. I told her that I was looking for a hair stylist, did she have any friends who she could recommend?

She did, saying cheerily to my express concern about needing a stylist who was well-versed in aging, thinning, brittle hair, that, in addition to servicing all her friends, Abi cuts my mom’s hair! Well. I could certainly be Kate’s mom’s age, but the image I had immediately was a no-nonsense style favoured by senior ladies everywhere, and I felt a little disheartened. However, I accepted the contact information, and was a little taken aback to see that it was a) an Instagram handle, and b) that Instagram handle was Abi Gives Good Hair.

And you guys, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pick up the phone to make an appointment with Abi, who Gives Good Hair, partially because of the Instagram handle and partly because I visualized the clientele as being two-pronged: on one hand, the cute young things getting their beachy waves, who were featured on the Instagram feed, and on the other, the moms. This was probably an unfair assessment on my part, but it’s the truth, and so the weeks passed and my ends became more and more frayed.

Finally, feeling desperate, I reached out to my lovely friend Sammi (HI SAMMI) for help. You may be wondering why I did not reach out earlier, since Sammi has been an extraordinary resource in this move, helping me feel welcome, introducing me to people, and also recommending her very excellent nail salon, which is everything I want in a nail salon. The reason is that the woman who cuts Sammi’s hair is known to be a bit brusque and gruff, and I have been feeling a little emotionally fragile, worried that I would be judged for colouring my own hair or for too much heat styling or for having crunchy, uneven ends.

And of course, this ended up being not the case. This woman was truly wonderful, giving me possibly the best haircut I have EVER had in my life, asking me very thoughtful questions about my hair and its history, and not once criticizing or judging my hair choices. I did not find her brusque but did find her extremely efficient, as I was in and out within a half hour, and the moral of the story is that sometimes a person has to take the risk to get the reward.

Weekly Reading

Probably the most exciting development, other than finally getting my hair cut, was that since I have official BC identification in the form of a driver’s license, I was able to obtain a library card! I immediately put a stack of books on hold, and, while I waited, I picked up an old favourite.

Emma. I love this book so much! I so identify with Emma, although now I’m over twice her age. This book is brilliant – romance, hilarity, class introspection…it has it all. It is maybe one of the funniest of Austen’s collection, as the side characters are absolutely hilarious and relatable; don’t we all have a gabby Miss Bates in our lives, or a ridiculous Mrs. Elton, isn’t everyone related to a Mr. Woodhouse, with his anxious hypochondria and his refusal to allow for any other point of view? Such a great book.

The Swimmers. The first of my library books was a winner, albeit an absolutely heartbreaking and incredibly moving winner. This novel is essentially a love letter from a daughter to a mother with dementia. I do not tend to be a crier when I read, but this book made me well up several times.

In other news – what could top a hair cut and a library card, you may wonder? – our dear blog friend Elisabeth is back! Check out her new site, Optimistic Musings of a Pessimist. All of this is a great way to start a fresh new month, and I wish you all a happy first week of October. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Wake Me Up When September…Wait, September Is Ending Edition

Posted on by

What a month September has been; oddly enough, it simultaneously feels like it flew by, and that it was three months long. We packed so much in, and now my already tenuous sense of time is completely warped. Everything already feels like it happened so long ago. Was it only three and a half weeks ago that my older son moved out? Were my parents really here only last Monday? Was my husband’s retirement party only one week ago today? Was my younger son’s 18th birthday less than two weeks ago? Did I get Rex groomed two and a half weeks ago and his clean fur lasted only two hours? Yes to all of those things.

I have been in Kelowna for two and a half months now, and I have to tell you, I really love it here. I am a person who really loves being outside and who enjoys the beauty of nature, and Kelowna is really gorgeous, with pretty much perfect weather. Even when it rains, it’s beautiful. I mean, look at this double rainbow I spotted from my window this week!

My husband, who grew up here, always said that September was his favourite month. For me, growing up in Calgary, September was a bit of a gamble; the leaves could be still beautifully coloured, on the trees, or they could be blown off in a massive windstorm, resulting in naked trees until the following May. The days could be sunny and warm, or they could be cold, windy, and possibly snowing. There was no telling what the week could bring; too long, didn’t read, wear layers, make sure the winter coats are at the ready. But here, September means cool, crisp mornings with sunny, warm afternoons. We’ve had some rainy days, but the temperature is still so mild that an unlined rain jacket is all that is needed. Some of the trees are changing but many are still green. It’s just full of beauty, and I am really happy here.

You never know, right? You never know what a new place is going to be like until you’re in it, and certainly there have been some adjustments to be made – I spent a lot of time on my yoga mat, meditating in a what lens am I viewing this through, we can control our own responses but not other people kind of way – but I’m happy with our move, and I wanted to share some of my favourite things about this month.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Wake Me Up When…Wait, September Is Ending Edition

To Market, To Market

Kelowna is a hotbed of fruit and vegetable production, and this time of year is just rife with so much fresh produce. There are what are called Farm Markets on every corner, it seems, which sell all manner of local goods. I have discovered my favourite one and I visit there weekly to get the freshest local fruit you can imagine.

McIntosh apples have been in abundance this month, my favourite apple. Tree ripened fruit, sign me up! Also, my favourite Farm Market is selling kale at $5 for two bunches, and those bunches are absolutely enormous. Like, Fill Up All Available Lidded Bowls enormous.

It’s Gourd Season, motherfuckers! Decorative and otherwise.

Pumpkins for DAYS, people, and all locally grown. Listen, for a Calgary girl who has never successfully grown a gourd, this is pretty incredible.

My older son was over for dinner, and upon seeing my bowl he said “It’s Decorative Gourd Season already?” Usually I wait until October, but these little cuties were too good to pass up, and only $0.75 each!

Looking Out My Back Door

One of the most incredible things about living on a vineyard is actually living on a vineyard. Most of the grapes are used by the winery above us, but there are a few rows of Concords and Sheridans, and I do not think I will ever get tired of stepping out the back door to snip myself a snack.

There is a short window of Concord Grape Eating, Before They Get Too Soft, and I am doing my best to keep up.

I Didn’t Want To Love You

One strange, possibly surprising little quirk about me is that when it comes to beauty products, I absolutely hate free samples. I think they are wasteful and environmentally unfriendly, in their tiny little packages, as well as useless. How can one tell if a product is going to work for them from one use? In my mind, most products need to be used consistently to see results, one dab of cream or hair mask is just not going to cut it. I am a product monogamist and I’m not interested in trying things willy-nilly. Why would I engage in a one-night stand when I’m happily married? Does the one-night stand understand how important Top Gun is to me and will possibly don a flight suit? No? Then I am NOT INTERESTED.

So when I got a notification from the Nutrafol people that I was receiving a sample of shampoo and conditioner in my spring shipment, I was annoyed, and resigned myself to either donating or angrily throwing out the sample. What I didn’t realize until the shipment arrived was that they sent me full-size bottles to try. Well! That’s different.

Here’s the thing: Nutrafol alone is already expensive, although I can tell you right now it really does work for hair loss. This is not sponsored, obviously, nothing is for sale on this blog although, if Nutrafol DID sponsor me, I would totally take it, we all have our price, but what I’m saying is that it works. I have been taking it for ten months now and my hair is significantly thicker.

But it’s expensive, especially for Canadians who are not only swimming against the exchange rate, but also have to pay international shipping. The last thing I wanted to do was add ridiculously pricey shampoo and conditioner to my already burgeoning hair budget. Listen, Nutrafol is not dumb. They are a 1970s cocaine dealer, giving me a couple of bumps before I take my platform shoes and sparkly jumpsuit to the dance floor, only to have me coming back to them, wrecked and desperate, with mascara smudges and missing a shoe, weeks later. The first one is free, and then all goes to hell.

What I’m saying is that this shampoo and conditioner is really, really good. In combing out my wet hair, perhaps one or two strands are left in my comb. The scent is gloriously citrusy, and my hair is bouncy and healthy-looking. I am still using my free bottles, and I haven’t decided if I will purchase more when they are gone; I keep hoping that they’ll send me more for free. I will keep you posted, and in the meantime, I’ll toss my hair around while grooving to Get Down Tonight.

The Eyes Have It

Speaking of product monogamy, long-time readers will know that I have exclusively used Maybelline’s The Falsies Lash Lift mascara for years, and before that, The Falsies. If it isn’t broke, let’s not fix it. It works great, it washes off easily, and although I don’t think anyone would mistake my eyelashes for actual falsies, I am happy with them.

Since I love this line so much, I was tempted when I saw that The Falsies has a new product, called The Surreal. I decided to give it a try.

I don’t think the end result is very different from the Lash Lift – and both are superior to The Falsies, in my mind – but the Surreal seems much less prone to smudging. It seems to last a lot longer without giving raccoon eyes, which is an important consideration, particularly for those of us who just naturally seem to have raccoon eyes and bags underneath that should be really checked in at the airport, rather than carried on.

The downside to less smudging is that it is a little bit more involved to remove – it requires a bit of extra effort, but nothing that I would consider a hurdle for purchase.

Outfit of the Month

As I mentioned in my last post, last Thursday was my husband’s retirement party, and I figured I would just wear one of my many little black dresses. When this was communicated to my husband, well, I won’t say he begged me to buy something new, that would be an exaggeration, but he strongly encouraged me to buy something new. I think his exact words were “For god’s sake, Nicole, stop being so fucking cheap! You can’t wear the same dress to every event for a decade!” WELL I NEVER. For one thing, I have NOT worn the same dress to every event for a decade, but I have reworn several of my dresses several times, and while I think that is great, and that I am not being fucking cheap but merely being in keeping with my own personal mindful consumption goals that were renewed after reading Unraveling, I do see his point. The dress I was planning to wear I purchased in 2014.

So I took a reconnaissance trip to the one mall in Kelowna, and found the perfect dress at the first store I went to, which is how I like to shop. Get in, get out.

Isn’t it cute? It’s a little lower-cut than I generally prefer, but it felt simultaneously sexy and classy. The heels I have had since probably 2014, and wow, am I unused to wearing heels. Our Uber driver let us off a block and a half from our destination to avoid us sitting in traffic for 20 minutes, and normally I would welcome the extra steps. NOT SO IN THESE SHOES. My feet felt like they were going to snap off at the ankles and I would have to tap tap tap my way into the event on my sheared-off ankle bones. Still, they went nicely with the dress.

That wrap dress wraps up all my favourite things from this busy, busy month! What are you loving in September? Tell me everything. xo

A New Chapter

Posted on by

I was thinking a lot about the last chapter in A Tree Grows In Brooklyn this week, when Francie goes back and looks at her neighbourhood, wanting to remember it just as it was. This week I was in Calgary again, for forty hours, and it was so interesting to see it from new, non-resident eyes.

Even for a short trip, there is just so much to do to prepare, isn’t there? My parents drove back through to spend the night in Kelowna on Monday, and then Tuesday was a flurry of laundry and groceries for my younger son for the week, and taking Rex in to the boarder’s. Before I move on, let’s just acknowledge that everyone with pets knows the particular and unique stress of leaving their beloved fuzzball behind. I will say that Rex has done great with boarding in the past, but this is a new place, and I follow this place on Facebook, and was a little bit stressed and anxious when there were photos of the various dogs posted but not one was Rex. He’s THERE, right? I said to my friend Jen (HI JEN) who graciously hosted me and my husband in her home. Like, if he was dead or gone or sick they would have told me, right? Like I’m not going to get there Saturday and they are going to say “Oh sorry, Rex isn’t here, he died.” She assured me that IN ALL LIKELIHOOD I would have received at least a text if something dire had happened. My husband suggested I call to check in, but my thinking is that one should not ask a question if one is not prepared for all the answers. If he wasn’t well, what was I going to do? Be stressed and tearful for the remainder of the trip? This felt like the recent time that a woman was at my house for a social event, and I casually threw out a you’re okay with dogs, right? as my big buffoon wagged wildly. No, not really, she said, at which point I was completely at an impasse. What to do? Don’t ask questions if you don’t want the answers. Anyway, with regards to the pet resort, I took some ujjayi breaths and assumed no news was good news, and in the end, that was absolutely the case.

But back to the trip. My sister-in-law drove me to the airport so that I arrived two and a half hours before my fifty minute, domestic flight was due to leave, on my request, because I am secretly this guy:

My husband, let the record show, thought this was an insane move on my part, particularly since my flight got delayed, but let me tell you, it was incredible. I was travelling by myself, with no one else’s schedule to accommodate, the dog was safely being cared for by someone else, and I had nothing to do but read for hours and eat at Subway. What could be better, I ask you? I think I was the least-stressed person in the entire airport, as I was completely untethered and without any obligations or commitments. The people seated next to me on the plane were nearly hysterical as they missed or were probably going to miss their connections, due to the delay, but I was as zen as could be. What is time, anyway?

My husband picked me up at the airport, and the city was gloomy and cold and drizzly, and it turns out that after two months in small-city, slow-paced Kelowna I was unused to the massive traffic snarls in Calgary, but still in my zen state I was completely unbothered. The next day, though, YYC pulled out all the stops. September in Calgary can be really beautiful; the leaves were as yet still on the trees and were beautifully golden, and the sky was so blue.

I had an entire day at my own disposal while my husband and friend were at work and her kids were at school; I went for a long walk, alternating between looking at the cute little shops in Kensington and the cute little old houses in Hillhurst Sunnyside. I would never want to live in a pre-war house, what with the newspaper insulation, wonky electricity, lead pipes, and complete lack of closet space, but I love looking at those houses and imagining the lives of the people in them. I especially enjoyed looking at all the lovely tiny yards with gardens, particularly one that was filled with gnomes.

My people!

It was just so incredible to have a day in which I had absolutely no responsibilities, no one to take care of, and nothing to do. I was able to write, and read, and walk, and I still had many hours of the day left. I don’t know if I can adequately describe how therapeutic this was for me, after months and maybe even years of just frantic doing-ness, but I was filled with pure joy and contentment. It was fun to see Calgary through non-resident eyes, but I will say that I found it a little emotional – I used to take the kids to that park! Remember the wading pool! They loved this playground! – and I think it’s easier, now that they are adults, to NOT be where they grew up. I felt very Landslide-y, which I do not feel much in my new home. Maybe it’s the bandaid-ripped-off concept of changing every single thing all at once.

Speaking of changing every single thing all at once, there was a very special reason that I was in Calgary, and that is that I was attending my husband’s retirement party! My husband officially retired last Thursday, and I nearly bought him a t-shirt reading “I tried to retire but now I just work for my wife.” NEARLY. Anyway, there was an amazing dinner for him, surrounded by his colleagues who I have gotten to know quite well over the years, and it was a really wonderful experience.

The next day we drove our hostess-with-the-mostess out to Banff, to meet up with her husband and spend the night before heading home. We had just the best time with our friends, having drinks and dinner and then more drinks, walking through Banff and browsing through little shops. These are our friends who are more like family, who I love so very much, and it was so great to spend time with them. It was also great being in Banff; the larches were changing, the temperature was crisp but not terribly cold, the mountains were show-off gorgeous, and we were staying in the beautiful Rimrock hotel, which in itself a treat.

The following morning we drove back to Kelowna, and I pretty much wanted to just collapse from exhaustion, but we had tickets with friends (HI SAMMI) to see a performance of The Piano Man and The Rocket Man that evening. I am SO glad we went, it was so much fun to see a tribute to two of my favourite performers, and Sammi had booked us tickets very close to the stage, which was just great. The two of us girls bonded by crying through Candle In The Wind, which I would have been much more stoic about had they not flashed images of Princess Diana on the screen. My girl! The people’s princess!

The rest of the weekend was mostly just spent getting my life organized and put back together, and also spending time with Rex, who was not dead and who also seemed to really enjoy his new pet resort, even if they didn’t flood their Facebook page with his photos. What a missed opportunity for them! His smiley face could have been the best free advertising ever.

Weekly Reading

The Dutch House. First of all, Ann Patchett. What can you say about Ann Patchett except that she’s an absolute gift to this world. What an incredible writer she is. This book is one of the most satisfying and wonderful reads I have ever experienced and you guys, that is saying something. It’s an absolutely perfect book. It’s about family and home, the complexity of relationships and the responsibilities we take on. It’s about forgiveness, and rage, and how people change and yet somehow stay the same. I am absolutely uplifted by this book and also astonished at the sheer genius and quality of the writing. This was a work of art, and is everything I love about books.

It has, obviously, been a very action-packed, busy, fun-filled week, and I am looking forward to a calmer and probably more productive week. I hope you all are enjoying this beautiful month of September. xo

Dog and (Social) Butterfly

Posted on by

Although I have seen all of the Feuding Dog Park Men separately a few times, I have not seen them all together since The Incident, and I’m able to give them a nod and closed-lip Mona Lisa smile without being drawn into conversation with any of them. I did, however, get knocked off my feet by a large hound who, inexplicably, came running full speed into the back of my knees. I actually had some air time before landing on my left hip and right elbow and I am going to be grateful for my sons for nagging me about strength training, because I broke nothing. My hip still hurts, a few weeks later, but my doctor’s warning about osteoporosis was not for nothing; I guess my bones aren’t crumbling, thanks to my loathed-but-practiced strength routine and, probably, calcium-rich smoothies. The owner of the hound, a slow-moving elderly man, was horrified and apologetic, and Rex will not let the hound get within ten feet of me. When that dog is at the park, Rex is by my side, barking and growling if the dog gets too close.

Other than that, Rex is very friendly and playful with all the dogs we meet, particularly a three-legged doodle delightfully named Trio, and an actual trio of Bernese mountain dogs. His people! He’s halfway to being part of the group! Also, imagine what that owner’s house, back yard, and monthly dog food bill looks like. God bless, is all I can say.

Speaking of his people, we saw Rex’s doppleganger, Willie the other day, and it was just as cute as the first time. Rex’s social life has been very good of late.

A loose goal that I had created for myself on moving here and starting a new life with very few constraints or commitments was that I would say yes to everything I could, in terms of social engagements and new experiences. So far, this has really paid off in meeting new people, reconnecting and deepening my existing friendships, and generally making my life a lot fuller and more fun.

The past ten days have been a whirlwind of social activity, including a Girl’s Night at my house, a party at which I went in knowing zero people but ended up having a great time, and a mid-week visit from my parents. Having houseguests, sandwiched by parties, has been very fun and feels like a holiday, with big meals and lots of wine and dessert. Now, am I tired today and possibly in need of a cleanse and a liver detox? Yes I am. Do I desperately need to catch up on regular life, including massive amounts of laundry? Yes I do.

After these years of pandemic living followed by several months of packing and moving stress, I feel like my social life, along with everyone else’s on this planet, has taken a massive hit. I recently stumbled across an article about how having kids ruins your social life, and it felt like reading about a whole different world, one I could barely remember, with small children and playgrounds and simmering resentment between parents and non-parents. Clearly I am not the demographic for the original piece, which was written by, I believe, a woman in her thirties living the New York child-free lifestyle, ruing the changes in her friendships, but I read the entire article nonetheless, with interest similar to that of a social anthropologist examining an exotic group of people.

I do think that having children does vastly change one’s social life, for the simple reason that it is very difficult to go anywhere or do anything with small children, but in a way it actually improves one’s social life, as it is so easy to meet people when you have similar-aged children. If I was a woman, like the article’s author, going out five days a week in New York City, clubbing and eating at new restaurants, having leisurely boozy brunches on Sunday mornings, then I would absolutely agree that children wreck everything. Imagine paying for a babysitter for all those parties and taking small children to a fancy brunch; that would be nightmarish and expensive. However, even in my twenties I wasn’t a person who went out clubbing five days a week and now, close to fifty, the idea of going clubbing at all sounds dreadfully exhausting. Maybe if the club started at 2pm and ended at 7 I would be interested, but I’m fairly sure no such thing exists outside of nursing homes.

All of which is to say it isn’t my children that have suffocated my social life; if anything, the vast majority of my Calgary friends were ones who I met simply by having kids in the public school system; there was always a committee or school trip that needed volunteers, and of course, I was friends with the moms of my kids’ friends. So I did wonder what would happen, moving here, when I didn’t have school aged kids or a yoga studio or any of my other Meeting People Situations to rely on, that I have had my whole life. I wondered if I would have a hard time meeting people but so far this has not been the case; I have already met so many fun and interesting people who have been open and welcoming. Perhaps they too are tired of Lame Pandemic Social Lives and are willing to embrace new people; it sure feels that way.

Weekly Reading

Hello Beautiful. I do not have sisters, so I have always been fascinated by sisterly relationships and dynamics. I also love a book that has complicated families and strong female characters, and I did like this book. However – and this is a Me Problem, not necessarily a This Book Problem – it is a modern retelling of Little Women, and I am NOT a fan of the modern retelling of anything, particularly when it comes to a beloved-by-me classic. I have read Little Women a few dozen times; it was a very formative book for me as a child, and I have reread it many times as an adult. And so I will say that this coloured the book for me, and not in a positive way. I felt like it tried to draw too many parallels to Little Women in too many obvious ways, although I did like the portrayal of the parents. Louisa Alcott’s father was much loved by her but famously useless; he was a friend of Thoreau (do NOT get me started on that guy, I cannot EVEN with Thoreau), and he burned through their money, necessitating Louisa’s very hard and constant work so he could basically Find Himself, and I felt that the fictional portrayal in Hello Beautiful was spot on. I also liked that the author took Marmee’s hidden anger and unhid it, in the portrayal of the girls’ mother. Overall I liked this book but didn’t love it, however, your mileage may vary.

My parents’ visit was timed to coincide with my younger son’s 18th birthday. I am officially a Mother of Adults, which makes me feel very Adultish myself. Landslide, etcetera. I read somewhere, years ago, that adolescence exists to help kids make the break into adulthood, but I think it must also exist to serve mothers too. I really loved – and still love, both boys are still in their teens – the teen years, and it’s an extremely satisfying feeling to know that I’ve shepherded them all this way and now I can step back. I mean, I guess I have been gradually stepping back throughout their adolescence, but it feels different now. Your children are not your children is something I think about a lot, especially these days.

So it truly feels like a whole new chapter, and there is more news to come after this week, which is going to be so hectic and busy. More about that later, and in the meantime, I hope you all have a beautiful week. xo

A Grave Mistake

Posted on by

There are few graver mistakes in the acquisition of comestibles than visiting Costco on the Tuesday after a holiday Monday. It is a mistake I made this past week. How I could have possibly made such an error in judgement is beyond my comprehension entirely. Did I have a brain lapse? Did I forget how calendars work? Am I new to this planet? Who can say, but in any case last Tuesday I found myself questioning all of my life choices.

It didn’t even occur to me, what I had done, until I found myself in a lineup just to get into the parking lot, which was, itself, completely full. When I recounted this later to my husband, he said, Why didn’t you just turn around and come home? which actually did occur to me, at that point, but we all know how it goes. Sometimes, we just want to push through. Sometimes, we throw good money after bad. Sometimes, we think, this is going to be a mistake, but what the hell. Sometimes, we feel like we didn’t come this far just to get this far, and so I proceeded to the very far corner of the parking lot where there was one single spot left.

It will be great to get extra steps in! I thought optimistically, grabbing a cart from the carrel and heading in to what can only be described as incredible chaos. I have never seen anything like this, not even when, in a moment of demented confidence, I went to Costco on a Sunday afternoon. It was bumper-to-bumper traffic, but with carts. There were lineups to get to the cashiers that spanned the entire length of the store, blocking off entire aisles and making it impossible to move forward, and yet, it was equally impossible to move backward, so aborting the mission was not an option.

I inched forward to my destined aisles, one side of which were blocked off by the cash lineups, but it got so much worse when I discovered that the aisles themselves were filled with lines of people waiting to get free samples. I wondered if I would die there, surrounded by large-scale baking supplies.

Was it worth it, I asked myself. Was the Kirkland brand coffee and trail mix really worth it?

Well, we make decisions in our lives and then we live with the consequences of those decisions. And eventually I did make it out back out into the parking lot, I did make it back to the far corner where I was parked, and a spot was opened up directly beside me. A man in a truck pulled into the spot; his windows were opened so I could hear him exclaim There IS a god!

I laughed as he got out of the truck, and mentioned that his belief in the divine might be challenged once he got into the store, at which point he offered to take my now-empty shopping cart for his own use. I gratefully accepted the offer, which brings me to my main point.

Although I strive to live my life without casting aspersions or judgement on others, in one area I am as rigid as a steel pole, and that is with regards to people who do not return their shopping carts to the designated parking lot carrels. This is certainly not new information to anyone who has known me for even the smallest length of time; although I do think there are very occasionally extenuating circumstances that would excuse this behaviour, the vast majority of non-cart-returners are, I think we can all agree, atrocious people. Not returning a cart indicates either pure laziness or complete disregard for other people’s well-being, or a mix of the two.

One very interesting thing I that have noticed since arriving in Kelowna is that there are no errant carts in the parking lot. None! All of the carts are happily ensconced in their familial carrels, snuggled neatly up with one another, just like nature intended. Juxtapose this utopia with the Calgary Costco parking lots, where there would be at least a dozen carts scattered throughout the parking lot, parking stalls, and on top of the parking medians. I have always been a strong believer in the Invisible Hand Theory of Shopping Carts, in that people will behave in everyone’s best interest if there is an economic incentive involved which, in this case, is a coin-operated cart. To blend Smith with Hobbes, I would say without that incentive, parking lot life is nasty and brutish, although not particularly short.

I wonder now if I have been wrong all these years, and if my theory was location-specific, and not a global phenomenon. Are people less atrocious here? Is it the beautiful weather and scenery that makes people cheerfully return their carts? Is it all the local fruit and wine? Time will tell but at the moment, things seem paradisical, at least from a shopping cart perspective. They were less paradisical from an actual shopping perspective, but despite what messaging we Gen X women have been subjected to through our youth, we cannot have it all. I guess right now what I gain in shopping cart happiness I lose in shopping experience happiness.

Weekly Reading

The Stand-In. This was a cute and light romance with a big side of family and friendship. It concerns a Toronto woman who is a lookalike to a Chinese film star, and she becomes her stand in for public appearances when the film star has issues with anxiety and depression. Of course the appearances take place with her male costar, who is a dreamboat, and you can probably guess the rest. This book was fun but I thought it was about a third too long; some parts really dragged for me – and it’s a light romance, it shouldn’t drag! Anyway, the ending was well worth it, as feel-good endings go, so overall it was enjoyable.

I Feel Bad About My Neck. Recently Engie (HI ENGIE) asked if there was a book that made you feel seen, and this is one of them for me. This resonated even more so than it did when I first read it, five or so years ago. I love Nora Ephron and I love this collection of essays about aging as a woman. It contains one of my favourite lines ever: “Not having to worry about your hair anymore must be the secret upside to being dead.” Word. Something to look forward to, the next time I find myself contemplating my own demise whilst in Costco.

A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. Speaking of Engie, I took part in a very fun blogger’s book club, hosted by her this summer, and this was the book we read. I had read it before, but many years ago, so there were many parts that I did not remember. It’s much sadder and a bit more scandalous than I remember, about a girl growing up in the tenements of Brooklyn in the 1910s. What I really loved about this book was its realism: in an autobiographical turn, Francie writes stories about her life for a school assignment and the teacher berates her for writing about ugliness in life. Francie is astonished, because she found beauty in all of life’s hardships. This is a beautiful coming-of-age book but it does have a lot of internalised misogyny, racism, and antisemitism; the language is typical of that place and time but it can be upsetting to modern readers. I first read this before I had children, and this time around I found myself simultaneously relating to and also judging harshly the decisions and feelings of Francie’s mother, Katie. It is well worth a read or a revisit. The final chapter is one of the most moving and wonderful feel-good chapters in any book. Francie looks around her neighbourhood before she moves away to go to college and thinks “…she knew she would never see it again. Eyes changed after they looked at new things. If in the years to be, she were to come back, her new eyes might make everything seem different from the way she saw it now. The way it was no was the way she wanted to remember it.” If you’ve ever visited your childhood home or places you loved as a child, you know this to be so true.

Speaking of old neighbourhoods, my Calgary neighbourhood friend Lyndsey (HI LYNDSEY) sent me this photo of my old house:

Do you see what that is in the front yard, beside the door? It is a shopping cart. According to Lyndsey, that cart has been there for weeks. I feel this is some kind of sign from the universe, but what it means I am not yet sure. If you have any theories, I would be happy to hear them, and in the meantime, I’ll leave you with a photo of my current neighbourhood Baloo, who I spotted on my way home from grocery shopping, heading down our neighbour’s driveway. xo

The Bear Necessities

Posted on by

There are so many ways in which Younger Nicole would not recognize Current Nicole, and one of those ways has to do with animal care; specifically, I am now a person who brushes her dog’s teeth. Fourteen years with Barkley and it would have never occurred to me to have a tiny toothbrush and a tube of beef-flavoured paste; I just gave him a Greenie and called it a day. About six months ago, the vet told me that Rex had a fairly significant case of gingivitis and plaque buildup, particularly for a dog who was only TWO, and it seemed my Greenie routine was just not cutting it anymore. And so, every day in the late afternoon I brush his teeth using encouraging words like look at you, you’re so good, yay, and then I send him outside with a special dental treat to chew on. It’s pretty much the only time during the day he’s not within six feet of me for more than five minutes. He’s known as Mom’s Bodyguard for a reason, people, and that reason is that he doesn’t want me out of his sight for a moment, whether that be to shower or to refill a glass.

Last week he was out with his dental treat and I suddenly heard barking, which was very unusual, and the bark itself was very strange. I went on the deck to see what was up and lo and behold, not a hundred feet from me and just beside my mother-in-law’s yard was a huge black bear.

Well! That will get the heart pumping. I got Rex inside the house, and phoned my mother-in-law, who didn’t answer her cell or her landline. Finally when I saw the bear was gone I sent my son over to tell her the news. It turns out that she had been moving the sprinkler on her lawn, not fifty feet from the bear, but out of my sightline, completely unaware of the furry existence. I found the whole thing a bit stressful but after some REM Y REM, I came to the following conclusions: a) bear sightings are commonplace in this area, and will only be more so due to the fires, b) with all these sightings there have been exactly zero bear attacks on people or dogs over the years, and c) at this time of year bears are really only interested in maintaining and increasing their zaftig figures, so the likelihood of a bear turning away from the grapes to maul my dog is near zero, if not actually zero. We may have to revise c) in the spring, but let’s live in the present. Also, Rex was smart enough to stay near the house, rather than bounding over to see if there was a new friend who came to visit, which has been my worry since last fall, when my mother-in-law continuously sent a slew of texts with bear photos from the neighbourhood. Am I going to be living in the actual wilderness? I would think to myself, looking out the window to see Rex wandering through the fenced yard in my suburban oasis.

I have two very vivid, fearful memories from my early childhood, and the first is looking at a motion lamp my grandparents had that depicted a forest fire, like this one. I oscillated between fascination and fear, looking at that lamp, which I think we can all agree is a little bit weird. Home decor that showcases the devastation of a forest fire? I mean, it’s yet another reason I won’t watch Bambi. When I was in the first grade, there was a visit from firefighters who told us all about fire safety, and one, probably well-meaning but misguided firefighter casually mentioned that we all needed to have a exit plan in case of fire, since every single person will be involved in a fire in their lifetime. EVERY ONE OF US. Pro-tip: never tell a child something like this, particularly one with a vivid imagination. I spent many nights lying awake, planning the fire escape route from our bungalow, wondering when, exactly, I would need to put this plan in place. In my six-year-old mind, this fire safety visit meant that we were all going to die in a fiery inferno, perhaps soon, and thus began my lifelong fear of fire. With the exception of birthday candles, I will not light a candle in my house, so help me god. A few of the yoga studios I taught at had little tea lights burning all the time, and I would immediately extinguish them before starting class, so worried was I that someone would catch fire during a vinyasa. This fear wasn’t completely unfounded as once a woman came in to the lobby and the fringes of her scarf grazed a candle as she nonchalantly removed her boots, eliciting a very non-zen shriek from me, behind the desk, as I pummeled her scarf on the table.

The second fearful memory is very fuzzy, literally and figuratively, and has to do with a movie that must have been on television playing in the background while I dressed up my paper dolls, wondering if I could pair those heels with this skirt, or if flats would be better. This movie, which I have since deduced must have been the 1976 film Grizzly, featured a rampaging, human-eating grizzly bear. I would never have watched an entire non-Muppet-or-animated film as a child, but I clearly recall viewing a scene in which a woman and child were hiding in a cabin, ostensibly believing themselves safe from becoming dinner, when a bear claw slid underneath the cabin door. I’m sure it ended in their deaths, but at that point I stopped watching and just started screaming hysterically, probably to my long-suffering mother’s exhausted chagrin. Wasn’t she just playing with her paper dolls a second ago? That scene is so indelible in my mind that when I saw it again while babysitting years later, again on a background television, I gasped out loud and went to check on my tiny sleeping charge, just in case a grizzly slid its claw under the door to break it down, without my knowledge.

The rational, lived-the-vast-majority-of-my-life-outside-the-Rockies me knows there is a big difference between black bears and grizzlies, particularly Jaws, But Make It Bears, fictional kind of grizzlies. Chances are that our visitor is more Baloo than Murder Bear or Governor General Award-Winning Soft Porn Bear, but still.

As an aside: once again, what was happening in the Canadian literature world in 1976?

Anyway. Isn’t it funny that within only six weeks in my new environment, I have faced not one but two of my greatest childhood fears? If, as the lululemon shopping bag says, we should do one thing every day that scares us, I guess I am living my best life just existing here. What’s next? Is someone going to force feed me celery with peanut butter and raisins? I hope not. If anyone is going to eat Ants on a Log, it had better be our Baloo, and involve actual ants on an actual log.

Weekly Reading

An Unquiet Mind. This is a memoir of a woman who has her PhD in psychiatry…and suffers deeply from psychiatric illness. She is what is now known as bipolar disorder but she refers to as manic depressive illness (this was written in 1995). In fact, there is a whole section where she argues against the term bipolar. Anyway, she describes her psychotic breaks, her experience with lithium, and the ethics of treating psychiatric patients when one has a very serious, potentially debilitating mental illness. Some parts are fascinating, others really dragged for me, but mostly I thought it was an educational look into a first-person account of such an illness.

Let’s Explore Diabetes With Owls. I posed this question on Instagram to my fellow Sedaris fans: after reading Happy Go Lucky, do you find your rereading of his old essays to be…disturbing? What I mean is, any essay that mentions his father, I see it through a completely different lens, and believe me, even before Happy Go Lucky I found it weird that his father would walk around pants-less constantly, and comment on his daughter’s appearances. Anyway, I thought I’d reread this collection and I enjoyed it significantly less than before, and not just because it contains a few fictional essays, which I tend to dislike due to their over-the-top mean-spiritedness. A friend who had gone to one of his readings responded to my question, and said that you could see his mean-spiritedness come out in his interactions with his fans and with book signings, mental note, never go to a Sedaris book signing. Don’t get me wrong, the essays that hit really hit, and I did find myself laughing out loud at times. It was just less than before and had me wondering if I would feel this way about all his essays.

Calypso. I had to try it. I had to see if I would have the same reaction and I did not. I still love this collection, and the parts about his family – specifically his father and his sister Tiffany, who died by suicide – are moving and nuanced and thoughtful. This has always been my favourite collection and I’m glad it held up for me.

Same Time Next Summer. I really loved this author’s first book, so I was really disappointed with this one. I guess it’s the premise that I really disliked: woman goes back to her childhood summer home with her fiance, runs into “the one that got away,” The One being the guy she dated in high school. Maybe it’s because I just cannot relate; all of the relationships of my youth blew up so spectacularly that I could never fathom ever speaking to any of them again, let alone rekindling lost love. So I didn’t love the storyline and I didn’t love the weird little twists, and I especially didn’t like the fiance painted as the Stiff Wrong Guy who had Serious Opinions on things like wedding invitations and what kind of cake to serve. Show me a guy who has a real vision of what colour of napkins should be used at a wedding reception and I’ll show you a wedding planner. Anyway, your mileage may vary but I thought this was a very silly and trite romance, albeit a quick and easy read.

It’s been a very exciting week at the Boyhouse: my younger son started a full-time job last Monday, my husband came home from two weeks away, and my older son moved into residence at university. All wonderful things, and I’m looking forward to a busy week ahead. But first: enjoying a beautiful Labour Day! I hope you all are having a lovely long weekend. xo