Yoga Talk

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After years of dedicated practice, in 2016 I took yoga teacher training, and I have been lucky enough to be teaching consistently ever since. I have taught everything from vigorous, athletic Ashtanga to slow-moving restorative yoga; senior’s yoga and yoga for stroke survivors, Hatha yoga and chair yoga, and even one outdoor children’s yoga class, for my niece’s Sparks unit. Teaching this wide variety of classes has given me a very good understanding of different bodies, abilities, and needs, and I think it has made me a better teacher.

Recently Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked her readers to discuss things that they excel at, that make them feel in their element, and for me, I think it’s teaching yoga. More specifically, I think my strength is making students feel comfortable and welcome in my yoga classes, and encouraging them to just be there and be part of the group. I really try to make new students feel like they are immediately part of the community; I work hard to make a warm and welcoming space for everyone to explore yoga postures as they need to.

I trained to be a yoga teacher under a man who was himself Iyengar trained, and if you know anything about yoga, you will know that Iyengar-style is very focused on alignment; in other words, to be very exact in how the posture is taken. It is ironic, then, that my particular teaching style has nothing to do with this. I believe very strongly that we all have different bodies, and so every asana is going to look different for every person. I spend a lot of time thinking of different variations so that any given posture can be accessible to every person in every class, regardless of any bodily limitations.

I became very good at this when I was teaching yoga for stroke survivors; some of my students were seated on mats, some on chairs, the occasional student in a wheelchair or scooter. I would read the room and then figure out how we could all do, for example, baddha konasana or butterfly pose. On a chair, it looks like putting the soles of the feet close together while allowing the knees to go apart, on the mat it looks different, but it is having the same benefit. One is not better than the other, but one may be more appropriate or accessible, depending on the person.

In 2017 I started subbing every so often at a community centre, and I ended up taking over these classes entirely a little while later. These are registered classes, which are an absolute joy. Students have come and gone – and this week I had two new students, one lady who had never done any yoga before in her life – but I have been teaching a core group of ladies, and the occasional gentleman, for years now, and I know all about their lives, their spouses, their children and grandchildren, their surgeries, their blood pressure and cataracts, just everything about their lives. I am a people person and for all the classes I have taught, I have always tried to find out at least a little bit about every single person. I have taught a lot of people over the years, and so I occasionally forget a name or detail, but not with my registered classes. Seeing people regularly for years really builds up a great sense of community.

There is one small thing about these wonderful classes, and I can’t decide if it’s ultimately a “we’re all in this together,” character-building, This Is Real Yoga thing, or if it’s what it feels like, which is kind of a negative: the actual physical space. It’s different from the cushy studios I have taught at over the years that feature art and candles, props and blankets, soft lighting and tea after class. This is an old-school community centre hall: a big spacious, drafty room with fluorescent lighting and linoleum over concrete floors. It’s chilly at the best of times, and this past six weeks, all classes have been cancelled as they have been replacing the HVAC system. Last Monday was my first class since mid-March, and I was excited to see all my students again.

I received an email the week before classes restarted, which said that classes were still starting as scheduled but there was still no heat in the building. This is a room that is chilly at the best of times, but with no heat? People, it was brutal. There were space heaters, but they did not seem to improve the situation at all. The room was 16 degrees in my Monday afternoon class but 13 degrees for my Thursday morning class; I wore a jacket with thumbholes and thick legwarmers with wide stirrups, I tried to incorporate as much movement as I could to keep warm, but it’s a ninety-minute class, and ninety minutes in a cold room is a long time. And the heat won’t be fixed until Friday, so I have two more classes like this.

It reminded me of when I used to teach Yoga for Seniors at a beautiful studio, pre-pandemic. The room at the studio was kept quite warm – between 24 and 26 degrees – and I usually tried to cool it down a bit before class, as the warmth was not popular with my senior students. One gentleman in particular HATED it. He used to ask if he could open the windows in the dead of winter, and once plaintively asked me if there was any such thing as “cold yoga,” and if so, where could he sign up. I’ve thought of him many times through the pandemic: he would have loved chilly outdoor yoga classes, and he would have absolutely been all over the classes this week. I guess it shows that there is truly a yoga for everyone.

Weekly Reading

Bear. Have you ever looked at a wild animal and thought “I wonder what it would be like to fuck that?” Well, wonder no more! This book, about a lonely woman spending a summer on an isolated island in northern Canada, won the Governor General award in 1976, which really makes you wonder what was happening in Canadian literature at the time. It is literally a woman having a sexual relationship with a bear and not, as my son asked, a big furry gay guy. An actual bear. I don’t want to kink shame anyone but I think we can all agree not to embark on inter species sexual relations. This book is just as strange as you might think. Yes, if we were in a literature class we could talk about the symbolism of a woman going from a colourless, meaningless life in the polluted Big Smoke, and then becoming one with the glory that is Canadian nature, but also? The image of the bear giving oral along with its erection is incredibly disturbing. Did you know bear penises have bones in them? Well, now you do. This book gives a whole new meaning to animal lust, and also “boning.”

More Than You’ll Ever Know. This story revolves around a woman who was leading a double life – two families, two countries. She was married to two men, one of whom was murdered when this double life is discovered. Decades later, a writer tries to uncover the truth by telling her story. There are some very unexpected twists and a side story about the writer that I didn’t care for, but all in all a diverting read.

All Along You Were Blooming. This is such a wonderful little book of uplifting poems and readings. I have been reading this before my yoga practice for the past several months and it never fails to warm my heart. It’s really beautiful.

It is forecasted to be warm and sunny all this week, which I’m hoping will help with the warmth in the community centre. I have had a pretty wild, rollercoaster week, but everything has ended on a very high note. I spent the weekend at my parents’, which was lovely, and included a second birthday cake! Happy May, friends! May day, m’aidez! xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The 48 Feels Great Edition

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I had a moment of birthday-related epiphany this past week. When I was pregnant, way back in the day, every single change in my body was noted and celebrated by me. Every pound of weight gained, every change in my skin and hair, everything made me so happy. I was lucky enough to never have morning sickness or any other nauseous unpleasantness; I did have aches and pains, and I was diagnosed with preeclampsia in my first pregnancy, but in all cases I took it in stride with joy. Oh, so I have to be on bedrest for weeks? Okay! Maybe I’ll watch some movies! These were my actual cheerful thoughts when I had the potentially deadly preeclampsia diagnosis, which just goes to show how thrilled I was to be pregnant.

I was thinking about my happiness with my changing body during that time of my life, and how a changing body doesn’t elicit that same level of happiness during other stages of life. It’s not fair, really. Why should our bodies not be celebrated in the same way, just because the boulder is rapidly rolling down the fecundity hill? Change is part of life, and just because those changes that come with age are not valued in the same way by our youth-obsessed, patriarchal society, it doesn’t mean they are not worthy of celebration. Why is a waistline expansion cheered when one is pregnant, but not when one is in perimenopause? Both are natural occurrences and both involve hormones and shifting times of life. If anything, perimenopause should be cheered even MORE. We’re here! We made it! Not every woman experiences pregnancy, and not every woman experiences perimenopause, but not experiencing the latter most often indicates that the woman did not live long enough to do so.

I turned 48 last week, and although I hope to live to see triple digits, there is a decent chance that the number of years I have ahead of me is fewer than the number of years I have behind me. I don’t want to dwell on the past but good god, I wasted a lot of time in so many ways. So much time worrying about really pointless, stupid things. I mean, life’s a journey, all our experiences shape us into the people we are today, etcetera, etcetera, but still. I can’t get that time back.

I’ve been triangulating toward this for a while, but I feel like I’ve gotten to a point where I wish to fully embrace – or at least, pleasantly accept – my changing body. I refuse to waste any more time thinking about it except to nourish it in every way; joyful movement, joyful food, joyful serums and beauty products. Fashion trends are absolutely not meant for my demographic, and so I will curate my outfits with my own personal style, without thoughts to what’s in style. Joyful Nicole Style! That style will not include wide-leg pants. I have been there, done that, and the young people can laugh at skinny jeans all they want, but they’ll pry them out of my cold, dead hands.

I feel great at 48; I, like Goose, feel like I’m lucky to be here, and I would like to share with you a few things that made my birthday month shine.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The 48 Feels Great Edition

Spiritual Gangster’s Paradise

There is a little clothing boutique beside the Kihei Caffe (if you know, you know), and while we were standing in line for the best breakfast in Kihei, my husband saw a very cute tank top on display. You need this shirt! he said to me very seriously; one thing led to another, and now I have it in my possession. Did I need another workout shirt in the form of an early birthday gift? Probably not, but the material is so soft, it doesn’t look sweaty when it is sweaty, and it just makes me happy.

Pre-workout.
Post-workout, and boy, is my face red.

Great news, you do not have to travel to Maui to proclaim your spiritual gangsterness, (although, it’s not a bad incentive); you can buy a number of different styles online. They are a bit on the expensive side, but the material is quality and I think it’s going to last a long time.

Sugar, Black Honey Honey

I finally joined the Black Honey party, only a couple of decades late. Black Honey by Clinique is touted as a lip colour that flatters every skin tone, which seems like a tall order to me. It reminds me of the time Victoria’s Secret was giving out thongs as a gift with purchase, and when I told them my size, the woman assured me that she didn’t need to know it. These thongs were “one size fits all.” What. How is that possible?

And you might be thinking the same thing, how can one lipstick flatter ALL skin tones? Well, I don’t know. I cannot speak for every woman; I am no Whitney Houston. What I can say is that, by looking at the actual product, I did not think this would work for me, but it DOES. Does it flatter every skin tone? I don’t know, but it flatters mine. It’s a very natural-looking colour and I love it.

Mentioning the Unmentionable

Speaking of thongs, or panties in general, about once a year or so I go through my underwear drawer and throw out anything that is worn out, ripped, or in a state that is not even fit for “Ladies’ Holidays.” We all know that I like a good outfit, and I think that a good outfit starts with good underwear. This might be an Information Overload situation, but I always match my panties to my bra – which isn’t too hard since they are almost exclusively black, with a couple of so-called “nude” items for light coloured bottoms or dresses – and I like them to be pretty. Yes, they have to be comfortable and functional, but they must be pretty or I won’t wear them, not even to bed, not even to exercise, not even during my period.

I love the products from La Vie En Rose, which frequently have promotions for bulk buying panties. I just took advantage of one of those promotions, happy birthday to me, and I cannot even tell you how happy it makes me to know I have pretty new panties on. Life is too short for ill-fitting, ugly underwear.

Even I shall not show photos of my panties on the internet. Behold, my dresser.

Opening Pandora’s Box

Many years ago, when I got my first Pandora bracelet, a friend of mine excitedly said “This is so great, now your family will always know what to get you for your birthday!” This turned out to be a very prescient comment. I now have four Pandora bracelets, and I have never purchased a charm for myself. For my birthday my parents gave me this gorgeous heart charm, and if you have a magnifying glass you might be able to see the words “Love Forever” etched on the tiny heart in the middle.

Isn’t it lovely? These are my two “everyday” bracelets; every single charm means something special to me.

Nailed It

Before our Maui trip, I wondered what to do about my nails. I didn’t want to waste precious liquid carryon space for nail polish, but the polish I love simply doesn’t last that long. With winter and hand-washing and general dryness, polish tends to chip within a few days for me, at best. I decided to give Sally Hanson Gel a try; it goes on just like regular polish and as a bonus, it dries really quickly. But the biggest benefit is that it LASTS. For me it lasts at least a week, and sometimes up to ten days.

My nails after 8 days of wear.

Outfit of the Month

Since the majority of this month has been spent cleaning and decluttering, my outfits have been pretty plain and simple: tees and sweaters with jeans. And rubber gloves.

However, I wanted to dress up a little on my birthday for my brunch out on the town, and also just because.

I have mentioned these pants many, many times. They are the City Sleek line from lululemon; they have a button and zipper and yet feel like soft pants, which is pretty much the most we can ask for from pants. The boots are Sorels; they are not winter Sorels as they are unlined, but they are waterproof, so perfect for spring. Or, “spring,” as we say in Calgary. The sweater is from lululemon, and I always think of it as new, but as I wore it for our holiday card photo in 2018, it is not. The tank top underneath is a basic Old Navy, and it is at least as old as the sweater. My friend Amy (HI AMY) made that mala years ago, and I love it.

It’s Taurus season, everybody! Thank you all for your very sweet birthday wishes, and if there is something that you loved this month, do let me know! xo

Birthday Weekend!

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I am a person who likes to have little treats and things to look forward to every single day. Sometimes these treats are very simple parts of my everyday life, for example, when I wake up, I think “oooh, coffee,” or “yay, it’s pasta night!” I spend time choosing a scented lotion to apply after my shower, every day I text or message or see a friend, and even on my busiest days I squeeze in some time to read a book. These are all just tiny joys that brighten a regular day.

Fridays are my favourite day of the week, and I always try to fit in lots of happy little things on Fridays. Last Friday was my birthday, which happens to be my favourite day of the year, and so I decided I would just make it a day full of lovely joyful things: coffee and reading and yoga, an energy-boosting Peloton ride with a fire playlist, a long walk with Rex, which is always a joy, even in the falling wet snow.

Spring!
Putting my best face forward but deep down, what no one could see, is that my sock came off inside my boot.

Earlier this week I came across some videos from when the kids were small; it was very nostalgic and sweet, and I had that bittersweet feeling that accompanies the end of an era. Look at how cute they are, I thought. They called me Mama! It’s so easy to gloss over the physical exhaustion of caring for a 2-and-3-year-old, it’s easy to forget messy mealtimes and meltdowns and night wakings when faced with a tiny voice saying “Mama go yo-yoga! Cheese! Not bathtime yet Dada!” But even as I look back on that sweetness, on the cusp of yet another era ending, I have to tell you that it is really wonderful, having adult and almost-adult children. My older son was working Friday evening so he treated me to brunch; we had a lovely visit and I had the most amazing avocado toast.

For my birthday dinner that evening, my husband and younger son brought me takeout from my favourite Lebanese place; as usual I raved over the food and also as usual, my son asked plaintively that if I love it this much, why don’t we eat there more often? It’s a good question.

As I usually do on Fridays, I had a few glasses of some lovely red wine, and I also treated myself to a couple of episodes of NYPD Blue.

The birthday weekend really began on Thursday, with gifts and a family viewing of Seinfeld, my choice of episode; I chose the one with Keith Hernandez (“I’m not DRIVING him to the AIRPORT!”), and didn’t end until cake and a dinner I did not make nor clean up for on Sunday.

It’s been a bit of a busy week for me, so it was nice to wind things up on Friday. I’ve been in constant cleaning and decluttering mode and it’s exhausting. I am no minimalist, but I do a big Kondo-style declutter every few years, and so I did not think, prior to this past month, that I had a lot of stuff. I also, if you had asked me a month ago, thought that I had a very clean and organized house, but after this extreme iteration of decluttering and cleaning, I am now of the opinion that we are a family of disgusting swamp monsters who are wallowing around in our own filth and over-consumption.

I know this is not a popular opinion, but in general I find cleaning to be a very soothing and satisfying job. I took yoga teacher training with a lovely woman who owns a small cleaning company, and we once had a long discussion about this exact thing. There’s something so great about stepping back and admiring the results of your hard work. I was really feeling it after the past few weeks; giving things away on the Buy Nothing page, scrubbing and scouring little corners of the house that have been neglected, and generally raising the bar on the overall cleanliness of the house. I was so pleased with myself, even if no one else noticed that I’d scrubbed the tile ceiling of the shower or the areas behind the toilets.

Here’s a little tidbit about Rex: in the last six-plus months since he came to us, he’s become very well-known at the dog park. Everyone there is very indulgent, as a nearly-100-pound dog runs in circles around them and then, with certain receptive people, comes in for a pet. “Hi Rex, yes, hi there.” He is laughed at constantly in a gentle way, as he will take a run and then barrel roll in the grass or snow or leaves, depending on the season. He’s always rolling around joyfully, and it’s very cute, and then he shakes it all off.

Earlier this week I had let him outside; it was only five minutes later he barked to come back in. This is what I was greeted with:

What happened.

I have never seen him in such a state before; he had dry grass everywhere from his eyebrows to the tip of his tail and it took some significant brushing and six sweeps of the floor to deal with. Six sweeps of the previously spotless floor. Was he trying to bring me more cleaning satisfaction by bringing in a yard’s worth of dead grass? Or perhaps reminding us to not neglect the yardwork, with all this inside work? What a good boy.

Weekly Reading

I had some very good and interesting reads this week, one fiction and two non.

How Not To Drown In A Glass Of Water. The structure of this book, about a woman who, after 26 years, loses her factory job, is quite interesting. This is in NYC in 2009, the woman is in her fifties, is not a US citizen, and neither reads nor writes in English. The book is made up of one-sided conversation, as she goes to a 12 week career counselling program after losing her factory job. Through these interviews, her life is revealed: her early life in the Dominican, her struggle to pay bills, her relationships with her son, sister, and the people in her building. In a way this book made me think of Olive Ketteridge, as the narrator is unreliable and deeply flawed, but also with a good heart. There were a few parts that made me a bit breathless with the reveal; it’s a very real book. It’s a fascinating look into what it means to be a community member, and how the financial crisis affected vulnerable populations.

The Body Liberation Project. How much of diet culture and toxic wellness ideology is steeped in racism? A lot. This important book explores the connection and is incredibly uplifting and inspiring, to bring joy and love to our physical bodies and whole selves. As a white, straight-sized, cis woman who has immense social, economic, and health privilege, I have to say much of it is uncomfortable to read. But discomfort is where growth begins. Being an ally in anti-racism doesn’t mean performatively posting video and memes and black squares on social media. That’s less than worthless, according to the author. We need to learn and do better, and not try to explain to other white people why hashtag Black Lives Matter. We need to listen. Sometimes we need to just be quiet and step back. Lots of learning and thoughts from this very excellent book.

Token Black Girl. This was fascinating and, for me, really eye-opening and informative. I don’t think I’ve read a memoir with this POV before. The author us an affluent Black woman who grew up going to elite schools and activities with nearly all-white populations. She began working in the fashion industry, and her experiences in our world of structural racism and white supremacy seem shocking and, if you’re wondering how to change things, overwhelming. I learned a lot reading this young woman’s story, about fashion, beauty, and the struggle to fit in to a society that at its core undervalues Black people. It was a really great read. Also, after reading about what lengths she and other women go to for their hair, I will never complain about my own locks again. Well, I probably will, but I will try not to.

I have an interesting and somewhat complicated week coming up; I hope you all have a beautiful week filled with wonderful things. Maybe even some cake! xo

Snow, Selfies, Sensitivities, and Segues

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“I don’t know how anyone can live in Calgary for any amount of time and STILL be surprised by snow in April,” my son’s podiatrist said to me, conversationally, as the snow flew sideways outside the window in the exam room. I agreed, and went further: snow in May hardly makes me blink, although I did feel a little alarmed at the snow mixed with thunder that was happening at the time.

I took a few photos, not for shock value on social media – there would have to be a real dump of it for that, and this was barely a centimetre – but because the snow looked really pretty contrasted with the blue skies, giving rise to the very popular Calgarian view that “at least it’s sunny.” Blue skies are lovely, it’s true, although given the choice I would take grey skies and much shorter winter duration.

I like to take photos, but I also like to have my picture taken. There is a photo, circa 1979, of my dad and brother dressed up for a Scout meeting, and I am in the corner of the photo. I remember desperately wanting to be in the photo, but being told this was a special photo just for the two of them. I was photobombing before photobombing was a thing.

I was thinking about this when I was recently taking photos of the guys on the beach; a woman offered to take photos of the four of us, which I gratefully accepted. She said to me that moms are always behind the camera, and should be in photos more, and I think that’s very true generally, but not particularly in my case. I appreciated the sentiment, but there are lots of photos of me, and when all else fails, there are selfies!

Recently Engie (HI ENGIE) asked how to take a good photo of yourself, and I have two pieces of advice: find good lighting, and shoot from above. The first photo is a straight-on shot, and you can see that by taking the angle higher, it results in a more flattering photo.

That last photo cracks me up. A few years ago, my MIL discovered the selfie function on her phone while looking down at her phone, and was absolutely horrified to see herself in that way. She told me tearfully that she could not BELIEVE how bad she looked and how much she has aged and is that what people see when they look at her? GOD NO, I told her. I was quick to assure her that NO ONE is seen in that angle and that we all look terrible when shot from below. Shoot from above! Find good lighting in the house! If all else fails, try the car.

Even with good lighting, not everyone loves having their photos taken; we all like different things, of course. I was thinking about the rich tapestry that is our world when I was recently in a bookstore: there are so many different kinds of books. How many books have been written in the history of time? It’s overwhelming to think of, but also heartening because there is something for everyone. No matter your taste, there is something out there.

I read a lot and I do try to read a wide variety of things, but within certain parameters. My dislike for dystopia, horror, sci-fi, and fantasy is well-known, so I avoid those genres. I love books that are very character-driven, rather than plot-driven, and I have been told at times – usually by strangers or slight acquaintances on Instagram – that such books are boring. I suppose to some they are, because I find my avoided genres to be boring, among other things, and so it doesn’t bother me that we don’t all share the same view.

But sometimes, it does bother me. Not often, but sometimes I will share my feelings about a book to a friend who has similar tastes to me, and then I will be taken aback when that friend isn’t on the same page, so to speak. I have many friends with widely diverging tastes, and so this is a very infrequent occurrence, but sometimes I do feel a bit hurt when a friend doesn’t love something in the same way, when usually they do.

This is a very silly way to feel, because I didn’t write the book, I have no stake in the outcome of the book, and yet. Several years ago, after I talked about how much I loved Calypso, a friend mentioned she had read it and hated it. I was so surprised since we had shared a similar view of many books, but when she said I just don’t get it, it’s not funny at all, I admit to questioning everything we had talked about before. Who is this person, I wondered, maybe we don’t have anything in common after all.

There are people who prefer cats to dogs, and although I can neither understand nor relate to such feelings, I can appreciate those people all the same. And most of the time I simply appreciate that we all have different reading tastes and love different things, but once in a while I will feel a bit hurt and put out. It feels like a dog person saying how much they love dogs, but they don’t love MY dog.

Speaking of my dog, he was a bit put out that I had to leave him to go to the dentist. I was mentally prepared for it to take all afternoon, but happily for Rex it turned out to be only a cleaning, not a checkup, and it took only fifty minutes. Some of you may recall my last dental appointment, which took ninety minutes, much of which was probably due to the long, involved conversations I ended up having with the hygienist.

Sometimes I wonder is it just me or everyone, and now I realize that no, it’s just me. A simple cleaning probably should not take fifty minutes, but the I ended up in another long, involved conversation with the hygienist, a different one from last time. She kept stopping what she was doing to get my reaction to her viewpoint, or to ask me a question, and while I’m always happy to chat, I did at one point think could she just talk and I listen? Would it be rude to ask her to just keep scaling?

It is interesting to think of how one topic segues into another, and sometimes I wonder how did we get here from there? What is the thread that links topics? Unsettlingly, sometimes no such thread exists. Our conversation started, as it always does, with yoga. As soon as a stranger learns I am a yoga teacher, the conversation naturally goes into that person’s experience with yoga, and their love for or hatred of it. After that we discussed the following, in order: seed cycling for hormone support, bodybuilding and how the hygienist placed second in the Bikini Division of a recent competition, the use of creatine and supplements in the bodybuilding world and how the hygienist refuses to use them, leading to a second-place only, our favourite red wine varietals, the Peloton instructor Cody Rigsby, ziplining in Costa Rica, competitive dance routines set to Mamma Mia, salsa dancing, the hygienist’s broken foot and the physiotherapy she is doing, her ex-boyfriend’s habit of leaving used dental floss on the living room coffee table, germ phobia and the increase of such feelings during the pandemic, and lipstick. How did we get there? I don’t know exactly, but shout-out to Cover Girl Outlast lipstick. “Oh wow, this is the most amazing lipstick!” the hygienist said to me. “This whole time, it hasn’t smudged or left a mark on my gloves at all!” Getting through a dental cleaning with perfect lipstick does feel like a win, and also, seed cycling? Who knew! Certainly not me; life is so interesting, you can learn new things every day.

Weekly Reading

The Social Climber. I thought this was going to be a rags-to-riches story, instead it’s a novel of revenge. The first half of the book, I was sure the book was going to go one way, and did it ever veer in a different direction! It was very entertaining, with some very unexpected twists. Thanks to Birchy (HI BIRCHY) for the recommendation!

Trespasses. At the heart of the novel is a love affair between a twenty-something teacher who occasionally works in the family pub, and a married man twice her age who is a renowned barrister. This simple affair is greatly complicated as it takes place in Belfast 1975, the height of the Troubles. To be honest, this is a time and place I know little about so I spent a lot of time looking things up to understand context, characters, and what was happening. Without that info, this story is confusing and difficult to understand. But oh! It’s really excellent. It’s so moving and I literally gasped out loud at some parts. DO NOT GET INVOLVED WITH MARRIED MEN is always a good place to start but when the married man is a Protestant who defends IRA members, and the woman is Catholic, and it’s Ireland in the 70s…things might be even more doomed. If you don’t have a background on the Troubles, like me, use this book to do some research and reading. It’s really good. Who recommended this? I feel like one of my readers did and I cannot recall who. If it was you, let me know!

Hello Molly! Sometimes I’ll read a memoir by a celebrity I hardly know, and I’ll feel like I really wish I hadn’t. But this was the exact opposite. Molly Shannon is an incredibly hard working, interesting, and inspiring woman. She had a really tough start to life – she was in a car crash caused by her father when she was four, and her mom, baby sister, and cousin were all killed – and wow, did she ever do everything in her power to live a happy and fulfilling life. This was a very easy to read and quite uplifting memoir. I can’t say I was a Molly Shannon Fan before – but I am now!

It’s going to be a busy and fun week ahead; lots to do, and also, it’s my Birthday Week! I hope you have a wonderful week. xo

Maui Vacation Reading 2023

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Part of my daily self-care process is carving out time in the day to read. I have always been A Reader, I always have a book on the go, and being on vacation is no different. I am a Very Early Riser and so I would sit on the lanai (I love saying the word “lanai”) with my coffee and my fruit, reading as the sky started to brighten. It was a beautiful start to every day on Maui, as I waited for the rest of the family to wake up.

I really noticed that, being on a digital detox, I had a LOT of extra time for reading. I never think I use screens all that much, and then when I don’t use them at all, I find I have huge chunks of time! Therefore, I read a lot of books while I was gone; one was excellent, a few were pretty good and okay, and two were really bad. I still finished them, so I wouldn’t give them a one-star…but it might be close.

Maui Reading

Anna. I am used to reading memoir but it’s been a long time since I read an actual biography. This was an exhaustive look at Anna Wintour, the fashion industry, and Vogue. It showed Wintour as a very complex person, which I enjoyed. She’s not just the devil wearing Prada, people! I really liked the description of the fashion industry as a whole.

 Stay Awake. I don’t read thrillers very often, but when I do I enjoy them! Suzanne had recommended this (HI SUZANNE) and it was a diverting read about a woman who wakes up with a bloody knife in her pocket…and she can’t remember anything. Not only that, she can’t remember anything from the part two years! It’s a good reason to practice good sleep hygiene, people! It got a little “explain-y” at the end but very enjoyable. 

The Glass Hotel. OMG I LOVED THIS BOOK!!!! A woman goes missing from a container ship and a whole lot of people lose big on a Ponzi scheme; these two events are related. Writing it down that sounds boring, honestly, but this book is so good, descriptions don’t do it justice. It’s layered and nuanced and shows how people from all over are connected. It was excellent. Thanks ONCE AGAIN to Suzanne for the great recommendation!

Wrong Place Wrong Time. Is this post dedicated to Suzanne now? Apparently! This was the third book in a row she’s recommended and that I’ve enjoyed! I wasn’t sure because TIME TRAVEL. You all know how I feel about time travel. You don’t? I HATE TIME TRAVEL AS A LITERARY DEVICE. But. BUT! It really works in this book that works backwards from the moment a woman witnesses her son commit a violent crime. This book really is thought provoking – if you could go back and change the future, would you? If you could revisit your past self, what would you do? If you could do that and uncover unsavoury secrets…well, it’s a really fascinating and compelling story. A fast paced thriller.

The Boy In The Striped Pajamas. First of all, I would like to note that this book forced me to break my “never state a negative opinion as a fact” rule. On a superficial level, this book about two boys, exactly the same age, one German and one Polish, is a fable about how we are all the same on the inside. I suppose it’s supposed to be in the vein of and a little child shall teach us. However, this book is really fucking stupid. I suppose the author maybe has never met a nine year old boy? We are to believe that this nine year old German boy in 1943 a) thinks that “heil H****r” is another way to say “good afternoon, b) has never heard of Jewish people, and c) thinks Poland is in Denmark. This character is possibly the stupidest character in the history of books. If the character was four I might believe his fascination with the life of the prisoners in “out-with” but this book is so dumb. If this is meant for children, the author must think children are incapable of sentient thought. The main character feels ENVIOUS towards a child in the “out-with” concentration camp because THERE ARE OTHER CHILDREN THERE TO PLAY WITH WHAT EVEN AM I READING. I can’t, you guys. This is the stupidest book in the history of books.

All You Can Ever Know. I heard about this book on a podcast; sadly, I found the podcast much more compelling than the book itself. That said, it is a fairly interesting memoir about what it means to be adopted, particularly interracially adopted. It’s complicated, sad, and ultimately a lovely testament to family in all iterations, even if I did find it a bit slow. 

The Confessions of Frannie Langton. A former slave/ servant is accused of murdering her “employers” (for lack of a better word); this book goes from the sugar plantations of Jamaica, where some incredibly unethical experiments are taking place, to London, where the woman us “given” to the ultimately murdered couple. This dragged so much for me in the middle third, but the first and last were great.

My Darling, My Hamburger. The upside of this book is that it will take maybe ninety minutes to read. Have you ever read this book? I heard it recently mentioned on a podcast and I recall it vaguely from my youth…it’s kind of weirdly dark and I thought it was not great, Bob. I mean, compared with The Boy In The Striped Pajamas, it’s a Giller Prize winner, but ugh.

Indelible in the Hippocampus: Writings From The Me Too Movement. Woof. This is a collection of fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry, and you need to be in a strong state of mind to read this. It is rough, but I think important. However, do take care when reading. Trigger warnings ahoy.

I am going to take this opportunity to shout-out e-readers! I love my new Kobo, which is compatible with the Canadian library system. Since I travelled with only carry-on, this was a perfect way to take multiple books with me.

What have you been reading lately? Any five-stars? Any duds? Tell me everything. xo

Maui Encounters, Medical Emergencies, Mini Eggs

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This week’s post is brought to you by the letters M and E! I could say every post is brought to you by ME, I suppose, but let’s separate the letters this week. In addition to the title, I could also add in Massively Exhausted. Whew, I don’t think I’ve fully recovered from the red-eye flight, the time zone change, and the incredible amount of work I’ve been doing since returning. I’m in a massive decluttering and organization project, which I’ll discuss in detail later – hold onto your hats – and it’s physically and mentally draining.

Something that happens to me now that never happened in my pre-perimenopausal life is that I can tell with one hundred percent accuracy when my period will start, and it’s not just that I have existential angst, a descent into non-specific sadness, and sleeplessness. That happens, but for the purposes of this story, I will tell you about the one other symptom that is a neon sign that Nicole Is Getting Her Period: my breasts. Suddenly, my breasts go from resembling the stocking that Laura Ingalls set out for Santa Claus that contains a single orange and a penny in the bottom to over-inflated water balloons. Va-va-va-voom! I would appreciate this brief foray into bustiness a lot more if it was not accompanied by agonizing pain that makes me want to bind my breasts like a medieval upper-class new mother who has just handed her infant off to the nearest wet-nurse.

It just so happened that this Playboy-centerfoldness occurred on one of our last days in Maui and although I know better, I really do, I donned a bikini that, while absolutely adorable, was maybe not as supportive as others. I did notice that I was a bit more cleavage-y than earlier in the vacation when I had worn this specific bikini, but yolo. I soldiered on to the beach. My mistake was soon revealed in a literal sense; it was just fine when I was swimming or bobbing around in the waves, but when I hopped on the boogie board and caught a wave, I ended up flashing the entire beach as my breasts popped right out. Right out. The bikini top was completely BELOW my breasts and I scrambled to pull it back up, while not letting the boogie board float out to sea as the waves pulled back. It was no mean feat, let me tell you. Fortunately, my sons were behind me in the waves, and so were not psychologically scarred, at least as far as their mother’s public semi-nudity is concerned.

I decided to call it a day at that point, and headed to our little umbrella-and-beach chair set-up, letting the guys play in the water while I read a bit. I was soon approached by a young man, at least twenty-five years my junior, who was holding an M&M tube, the kind that contain mini-M&Ms and are found in Christmas stockings everywhere, except for Laura Ingalls’. He held up the tube with a huge silly smile and asked if I wanted to see something cool. Awww, I thought. This maybe-slow young man wants to show me something. I gave him a big, encouraging smile, and said sure. He opened it up and I peered inside. What…was it? Was that a little crab leg? Or legs? Dead bugs? It was hard to see – I was under the umbrella and I had sunglasses on, and the sun was at this fellow’s back.

“What is it?” I finally asked, after an uncomfortably long pause. “Weed!” the young man said with enthusiasm. “Do you want to buy some?” At this, I burst into laughter. “Oh, HONEY,” I said. “Honey, no. No thank you, dear.” It was like I was ninety years old and someone asked me to go skydiving, or to have some backdoor action in a public washroom with a stranger. He looked a little started at my laughing and asked if there was anyone I knew who might want his presumably M&M-scented weed? I shook my head and said “No, sweetie, I don’t.” He looked perplexed at both my cluelessness and my laughter, and set off, presumably to try to sell to someone who didn’t seem like his own mother. Or grandmother. I was gratified that he thought I was so hip, even though my “honey, no” would indicate that I am not.

I haven’t smoked weed for well over thirty years, but I do, on occasion, use over-the-counter sleep aids. I decided to take some Gravol for our overnight flight; generally I am a person who can sleep in transit, but I thought I should take something to help me get more than a couple of hours. According to my watch, I did sleep five out of six hours on the flight, and the hour that I didn’t was fairly interesting, if somewhat worrisome.

I had completely passed out as soon as we were in the air, and I blearily awakened to some jostling, anxious voices, and the caution to “stay in your seat.” I opened my gritty-feeling eyes to see several flight attendants in various stages of distress, right at my seat. The woman directly behind me was having a medical emergency; she had been treated for a sinus infection while on vacation, and suddenly was having severe shooting pain in her eye, as well as feverishness and nausea. Fortunately, the man across the aisle from her was a nurse – and was coming back from his honeymoon! – and he was able to assist the flight attendant with the emergency medical care she was administering. The flight attendant was on a phone call with a hospital for more instruction, and at that moment I thought to look at the digital flight map. We were directly in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, an hour and a half from Maui and four and a half hours from land, so there would be nowhere to turn around or to land. Perhaps it was because it was the middle of the night, perhaps it was due to my aforementioned Lady’s Holidays, but my thoughts started to go dark. What happens if someone is having an emergency and there is nowhere to land? What happens if someone dies on a flight? What do they do with the body? They couldn’t possibly just leave the dead body in the seat, but what? Is there someplace to put a body? Things are pretty tight on a full plane. Would the body be put where the flight attendants sit for takeoff and landing? Then what of the flight attendants? These unsettling thoughts kept pinging into my brain until the woman was given an antiemetic, put on oxygen – the tank was under my seat – and the flight attendant said she’d check back every ten minutes, which indicated to me she was stabilized somewhat. Relieved, I drifted back to sleep, waking only a couple more times to peek over the seat to make sure she was okay, before we landed.

With five hours of unsettled sleep and a time difference of four hours, I was pretty disoriented when we got home to our clean but food-less house. Does grocery shopping ever end? Of course not. Since we were in a condo in Maui, we ate a lot of meals there, which meant grocery shopping in Maui, too. Which is fine, but what I am saying is that I wasn’t super excited to immediately set out for the grocery store while the rest of the family napped at 9:00 am. However, I did want food and I had to pick up Rex in the afternoon, so off I went.

The very first thing I saw in the store were the one-kilogram bags of Cadbury Mini-Eggs, and they were on sale for $5 off. I have an actual mini-egg preference, and that preference is Cadbury, so I immediately picked up a bag and dropped it into my cart. Dropped it. Into my cart. As soon as the bag made contact with my cart, it exploded, and a kilogram’s worth of mini-eggs scattered all over the aisle and into the produce section. I stood there, frozen, as mini-eggs cascaded from my cart, rolling and bouncing in all directions. After about five long seconds, I looked around to see a produce clerk coming my way. “I’m so sorry,” I said, still staring at the rolling eggs that were now surrounding other people and their carts. I followed the apology by surpassing the world record in banal statements: “The bag, I think the bag, I think it has a hole in it?” The clerk assured me that it would be taken care of and not to worry. I picked up another bag and very slowly, very carefully, placed it in my cart.

Weekly Reading

I read so much on my vacation that I am going to make a separate post about all the books I read; the excellent, the pretty good, and the really bad. Do you rate the books you read? I do, but privately. I give a rating out of five on the spreadsheet on which I track my books, and it’s extremely subjective based on how much I loved the writing and how it made me feel. I don’t get too mired in the details, but a five would be a book I absolutely loved, and a two would be a book I hated but still was able to read. I am realizing now we all have very different methods of rating. I was talking to a friend about this, because I was surprised to see her rate a few books I really liked as threes. A three, to me, is meh; a book that is fine, but that I would never re-read. To her a three was pretty good, a maybe re-read, and a five would be a book of the quality of Maya Angelou or James Baldwin. I found that so interesting! I am not at all stingy with my fives; if I loved it, it’s getting a five. If I loved it but had some small quibbles, I will give it a four.

In any case, I read one non-vacation book this week:

In Every Mirror She’s Black. This book follows three Black women who all come to Sweden because of one powerful Swedish man: one through employment, one because of romance, and one as a refugee. Their lives intersect but are very separate. The ending is pretty intense, and I would say this book had its ups and downs for me. I didn’t love it but I liked it well enough.

More books to come, but in the meantime, I must get on with my week! I hope you all had a lovely Easter weekend. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Here Today, Gone To Maui Edition

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Aloha! I’m back from my digital detox which, as it happens, I took on Maui!

What a fabulous trip. We have been to Maui several times, the last one being in 2016, and it was interesting to see that it has changed very little from that time. The two main changes I noticed were that every single restaurant or eatery had a sign saying that they were short staffed – and there were many radio commercials about hiring opportunities all over the island – and that since October of last year, only mineral, rather than chemical, sunscreen is allowed on Maui. This is wonderful news for the coral reefs, of course, but also? I hope someone soon comes up with a mineral sunscreen that doesn’t feel like those neon zinc sticks that you would see on the noses of Australian lifeguards in the 80s. Mineral sunscreen, with its white streakiness and heavy feel, is not my favourite, but I love the fish and turtles and other ocean creatures, so I’m happy to comply.

Honestly, the whole trip was my Favourite Thing; it was our first big family trip since before the pandemic, and in my mind there is the possibility that this could be our last big family trip, at least for a while. My yoga ladies, discussing this with me, pointed out that as long as you’ll pay, they’ll go, which I’m sure is true, but timing and life might get in the way. In any case, it was a wonderful trip – definitely our last big spring break trip – with lots of great family time, sunshine, and ocean. What more could I ask for?

The re-entry to Regular Life has been a bit rough; we flew in on the red-eye, getting in at 7:00 am on Tuesday, in addition to being exhausted it’s been a scramble getting groceries, picking up Rex, getting organized with life, and remembering how to dress for below zero temperatures. Also, I currently have, according to my blog reader, 158 unread posts, so I have some catching up to do. In the meantime, I have to mention a few of my specific Favourite Things from paradise.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Here Today, Gone To Maui Edition

Fruit Is Nature’s Candy

Probably ten or fifteen years ago, there was a trend called the 100 Mile Diet, meaning that a person should strive to eat food that was produced within 100 miles of wherever they currently reside, mostly for environmental reasons. Well. As a person who lives in Calgary, if I did this then during the winter I would be Laura Ingalls in the Long Winter, eating nothing but bread and a single potato each day, and maybe, for excitement, some old cabbage. I have many, many issues with this kind of smug and judgy diet, which inevitably is created by someone living in California or some other gorgeous climate with lots of year-round produce. One such issue is that it has been proven that greenhouse-grown produce in cold climates use much more non-renewable resources than do trucked-in produce, so fuck you, 100 Mile Diet. However! When I am in a place like Maui, I feel like I COULD happily partake in such a diet because OMG THE FRUIT. The fruit! It’s all so good, being so close to the source. A pineapple that has travelled from afar in the winter just does not taste the same as those island-ripened prickly queens, and so I enjoyed delicious fruit each morning with my coffee, watching the sky brighten in the early hours.

Things Are Getting Skechy

In my youth I would sacrifice comfort for fashion, when it came to footwear, but I have no time for that now. Life is too short and too fun to wear uncomfortable shoes, but also, I want my comfy footwear to be cute too. I love Skechers; they consistently fit me well and I like how they look.

Every morning on Maui I would go on long walks, breathing in the ocean air and appreciating the palm trees and flowers everywhere. We stayed in South Kihei, which is a really active-in-the-morning place – EVERYONE is walking or running – so it’s pretty fun for people watching, as well as nature enjoying. I saw many yoga classes on the grounds of the fancy Wailea hotels, and thought hey, I could totally teach that. I would see couples taking photos of each other and I’d offer to take one of the two of them. One morning – at 8:30 on a Monday – I saw a wedding on the beach. I love my daily constitutionals – to borrow a term from my afore-mentioned ladies – and taking them alongside the ocean was just incredible.

In addition to these comfortable and cute walking shoes, I took these Skechers slide-on sandals for the beach and pool. Look at the sparkles!

Speaking of sandals, I also brought a pair of Skechers that were more appropriate for walking when I didn’t want the bulk of an actual shoe. They are so cushiony and strappy at the same time; I wore them when we went out for meals, and for our shopping trip to Lahaina, where I found a HAWAIIAN CHRISTMAS STORE at which I purchased two personalized ornaments, and then the shopkeeper actually said Mele Kalikimaka to me, and my life is now complete.

What, you can’t see the sandals? Yes, well. I thought I had a photo of them, but it turns out the only ones with my feet in them were group photos, so I did a little cropping. As an aside, that dress is a workhorse. I bought it in 2012, it’s from Prana, a yoga-wear brand which may be defunct, and it has a shelf bra. We all know how I feel about a shelf bra. Anyway, here are the sandals, tiny though this photo may be.

A long while ago, Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) posted about things she wished she liked; my comment to that was that while there are a lot of things I dislike, there isn’t anything that I WISH I liked. I am taking this opportunity to amend that comment. Flip flops. Flip flops are so cute, they are everywhere, and oh my god, the thought of having something between my toes makes those toes curl up and I start doing involuntary Kegels. I just cannot do it. I have been like this my whole life; putting flip flops on me is like putting boots on Rex. It is an unnatural thing and we cannot walk or even move under those conditions. I even have to do deep ujjayi breathing when I’m getting a pedicure and the esthetician puts toe separators on to do my polish.

You Can Leave Your Hat On

Even the heavy-duty sunscreen is no match for Maui sunshine, and so I wore a hat on my walks and while reading outside. This is not just for vanity reasons – I don’t want to look like an apple doll – but also for melanoma-prevention reasons. I wore this cute sporty hat from lululemon on my walks:

I also brought this ADORABLE, foldable hat that I bought on a whim from amazon, which ended up being the perfect travel hat. It has a wire brim which is easily reshaped after being mushed in a suitcase or beach bag. It also has a chin strap to keep it from flying off on windy days, of which we had few.

Hair Baby, There Mama

I didn’t have my hat on all the time, though! The boys taught me to body surf and boogie board, and you guys, it is SO fun. My husband said the whole time, I was laughing and smiling, especially when a big wave would carry me far up the beach.

It’s a family photo! Can you see?

Anyway, all that salt water and sun could have wreaked havoc on my hair, but it didn’t, because I used this:

I love Bumble and Bumble products generally, but this is beyond amazing. I think it really helped with sun damage – after twelve days of sun and salt water, my hair does not look like orange straw, which is a victory in itself. It’s pretty pricey, even for this tiny bottle, but the big Sephora sale starts next week, so I think I’m going to buy more in the larger size. We travelled only with carryon luggage – I will NEVER again check luggage, mark my words, the freedom of walking off the plane and not waiting for or worrying about luggage is glorious – and so this little trial bottle was worth the per-milliliter expense.

Outfit of the Month

I love getting dressed in warm climates. It’s SO easy. Maui is such a casual place that you can wear a swimsuit and cover-up to the grocery store and no one bats an eye. This is my favourite cover-up, it’s a cute little dress with pockets!

A word about swimsuits: up until about eight years ago, I was a big fan of the tiny bikini. It was around the time I turned forty that I realized that string bikinis were no longer suitable for a couple of reasons: a) my breasts resemble droopy water balloons that have sprung a leak, and b) the boys were at an age where I was no longer comfortable around them or their friends whilst in a state of extreme scanty-cladness. As well, I have enjoyed water sports with them as they have gotten older and more active, and let me tell you, a small bikini is a recipe for wardrobe malfunctions. I am still a two-piece suit fan for using-the-washroom purposes, but my bikinis have a lot more coverage and support. This is my new favourite:

Of the four bikinis I packed, I was surprised that this single-strapped one ended up being the best for boogie boarding and body surfing. It must be noted that my younger son looked at me strangely and said “Mom, are you wearing a BELT to the beach?” Yes, it does indeed have a belt attached, which feels silly but looks kind of cute.

I feel so fortunate that, after three years of cancellations and disappointments and general angst, we were able to take this trip. There are a lot of big changes coming to the Boyhouse, and this trip was what I needed to centre myself, to be present, and to really appreciate my family and my life. How lucky. xo