Psychological Long Covid

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Well, it has been a very busy and festive week in the Boyhouse! The biggest news, of course, was that we celebrated a 17th birthday!

There was a parent meeting for the birthday boy’s Phys Ed camping trip at the end of the month, notable because I still find it novel that we are having parent meetings in person. The camping trip itself is Very Backcountry, which should be interesting, as I inferred from the meeting that very few of my son’s fellow students have been camping at all, let alone in the backcountry. Where can I charge my phone was a question asked in his class, which is amusing since there is no electricity and in fact no signal at all where they are going. I mean, they are going to have to treat their water before drinking it, this is the level of Backcountry. It sounds like the seventh circle of hell to me, but he’s excited. He camps annually with his dad and brother but it’s never this extreme. I hope no one gets giardiasis.

Back in the fall of 2019, he started spending two lunch hours a week learning all the boring ins and outs of sailing; he did fundraising and worked really hard to go on the Grade Nine Sailing Trip, which was something he had looked forward to all through junior high and which he felt would be the Pinnacle of His Life, So Far. Of course, it was cancelled, and to say that was a disappointment would be an enormous understatement. All of which is to say I’m very happy for him and his hellish camping trip; I wouldn’t say that things are Pre-2020 Normal around here, just over two and a half years from the first lockdown, but I’m no longer feeling constantly anxious that activities are going to get cancelled at the last minute. I no longer refuse to think more than a week ahead of time.

I was feeling a bit weird and anxious on my last grocery trip, however. Superstore has rearranged all – ALL – of its aisles, which is incredibly disorienting. Instead of efficiently popping down Aisle Five, say, to grab a box of pasta, I found myself slowly wandering through each and every aisle just trying to find the pasta, as the signage detailing what was contained in each aisle were not consistently updated. Nothing was in the least bit intuitive: the condiments were beside the toilet paper, the cereal was tucked into the Natural Foods section, which was separate from the hot cereal that was next to the garbage bags. It took me a moment to realize why this was happening, and that moment came when I realized I needed to go down the chip aisle, something I normally avoid, to grab snacks for my son’s birthday party.

The whole aisle was like that, just filled with big boxes containing fifty single-serving Old Dutch products, almost exclusively plain chips. It was clear then, that Superstore is just filling space and that they amalgamated all their aisles to make it look fuller.

Who is buying all this water? No one. So I suppose it’s great to give the illusion of full shelves. It was unnerving, to say the least.

I don’t want to alarm anyone, but there wasn’t much in the baking supplies department. There was flour, but they had arranged it to seem like there was much more than there was; there was probably a third of the stock that they normally have. And, of course, still no sriracha, and I have no idea when that will be back in stock.

This is where I will shamefully update you on my Just One Backup promise. A few weeks ago I saw this:

While I would like to say I thought Oh, lemon juice is plentiful again, isn’t that interesting, I did not react with such equanimity. Friends, I bought a bottle to go with my other six in backup. Then, that very same day, I went to Costco where they had Boom Chicka Pop on sale for two dollars off per bag.

I bought three bags.

Other than that I have been doing really well, I swear. I emptied the freezer almost down to nothing before buying a few things, I’m working my way through the jars of salsa and nut butters, and the kids ate every last eighth of a container of homemade ice cream before I started making more. I wonder if there is a Long Covid, but for our psychological health? I think I must have some kind of Psychological Long Covid that causes a hoarding instinct whenever I perceive a shortage of certain key items. You can bet that when sriracha comes back, I will be unable to keep to my Just One Backup rule. In the meantime, I am stretching out the 1/4 of a bottle that we have, hoping it will last as long as possible.

Weekly Reading

This week contains a hit and a miss!

Bookends. I had never heard of this podcaster; I picked up the book on the promise of her showing “how books can help us through tough times,” as it says on the cover. I love books and so I assumed I would love this. I WAS SO VERY WRONG. For one thing, there is absolutely no discussion on how different books helped the author through tough times, instead she merely lists the books she was reading at the end of each chapter with no discussion or context whatsoever. As an example, she writes about the very tragic death of her best friend, who lost her life in the Twin Towers on 9/11, and then at the end of the chapter she says the title of the book that she was reading, with absolutely no parallels drawn. If you want to just write a memoir, fine, but if you’re advertising it as something that shows the meaning and inspiration that comes from reading, then you should probably write something about the meaning and inspiration of that book, not just the title.

The author is an incredibly privileged woman with enormous inherited wealth, and boy does she make that clear. This might be the most humble-braggy, name-dropping book I have ever read, and I read Will Smith’s memoir, so that is saying something. Sure, I would probably also be very proud that my dad created his own Fortune 500 company, and that my mom’s second wedding was featured in Town and Country, but in the absence of any other context, it just comes across as obnoxious. There is a paragraph about the author working out on the elliptical machine in the gym of the very fancy Hotel Bel-Air, and John Legend was working out beside her. End of sentence. Not to get all Chekov’s gun on the woman, but if you’re going to mention John Legend working out beside you, there should be an anecdote about it, or at least a reason that it is mentioned, not just a statement of fact, otherwise it’s just ridiculous name-dropping.

Even in the more relatable moments, like with parenting struggles, I found myself rolling my eyes about them. It is HARD to parent small children but whenever she talks about something like bedtime or dinnertime, and then mentions her two employed nannies, well, it’s hard to feel too sympathetic. I’m sure parenting twin toddlers is incredibly difficult BUT such paragraphs are followed by a description of her super-rich mother sending her to a weekend spa to catch up on sleep. I mean. Life is stressful for everyone, but I feel much less compassion for a person who has to run with the stroller to the expensive Manhattan toddler activities or when someone is late to the very expensive private school parents’ night, than I might to a woman who is stressed to the maximum just putting food on the table for her children, if you know what I mean, and I think you do. I had to remind myself to be compassionate – she did lose many people in tragic and horrific ways, and she did struggle with anxiety and depression. But her writing made it so hard to be compassionate. Anyway. I wanted to read it because of how it was advertised, all about books. I was extremely disappointed. Tl;dr, if you’re looking for a book about literature, this isn’t it.

Whew! That was a lot of words about a book I didn’t care for at all.

Writers and Lovers. I really enjoyed this gorgeously written book about a woman trying to live a creative life, trying to write a novel, all the while desperately needing to make a living and get herself out from under massive debt. It was particularly interesting to read right after Bookends. Yes, one is a memoir and one is a novel, but I could not help but be struck by the incredible differences between the memoir author and the protagonist of Writers and Lovers.

It’s obvious, of course, but being independently wealthy makes such a difference in being able to make it as a writer. In Writers and Lovers, the protagonist has to wake up very early to carve out writing time, and then work double shifts at a restaurant to pay her bills; she is absolutely crippled by debt and living in a garage, quite literally a starving artist. Compare that to Owens in Bookends, who is the recipient of enormous inherited wealth, such that, as she states, she never actually HAS to work in her life. She lives in a four-story brownstone in Manhattan, and was also a legacy student for both Yale AND Harvard Business School. Some people have everything literally handed to them and others, like in Writers and Lovers, have to hustle every minute of their lives, and have to try to still flex their creative muscles while their physical muscles are exhausted. It was a very interesting juxtaposition.

Speaking of exhausted muscles, it looks to be another busy week; I started back at teaching last week, and am getting to know a few new students, along with my old faithfuls. I hope you all have a wonderful week! xo

Dancing In September

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Remember the sign that advertised taking a “reliable” car on vacation?

The sign is, if not punctuation-wise, at least thematically correct. The seasons (“season’s”) ARE changing; the afternoon temperatures are lovely and pleasant, but there is a definite crisp in the air, crunchy leaves are starting to litter the neighbourhood, I have swapped my summery tea towels for those with a fall leaf, owl, or apple motif, and we are eating as many plums, peaches, and nectarines as is physically possible. I’ve been busy in the garden, and it’s almost time to cut and dry all the herbs.

Look at my haul! It was exciting but I am never planting carrots again, mark my words. They are so much work for so little gain; I think my biggest carrot is maybe three inches long. Tasty, yes, but not worth the effort. Next year: more kale, more lettuce, same amount of zucchini and tomatoes. I did get a total of two little cucumbers, which was very exciting, but again, perhaps more work than results.

Anyway, the air is crisp and after months of bare feet and sandals I am wearing socks, and reminding myself to put on a jacket when I leave the house. It’s also Cute Scarf Season!

September always feels like a Fresh Start time of year, just as much as January does. I wonder if it will always be that way for me. In any case, I was infused – INFUSED – with energy last week, and decided to deep clean the kitchen. To be clear, my kitchen is always generally clean, but there were little things that it felt like only I could see: slightly grubby cupboard doors, a few fingerprints on the fridge, some build-up of grime here and there. I spent two hours scrubbing, even going through not one, but two old toothbrushes, to really get into the corners and crevices. It was so satisfying and I was thrilled with the results, even if no one else could really tell. Here’s the before and after:

So it really is apparent to no one but me, but believe me, it was SO satisfying to scrub the tiny edges on the cupboard doors and the sink corners and around the windowsill, and I have been just standing in the kitchen admiring my work.

This would be a much more dramatic photo if I had a “before.”

One thing that is dramatically different is our Vitamix. If you have a Vitamix, or any other blender with a plastic container, then you have probably experienced The Cloud, caused by mineral buildup:

Prior to the summer I was scrubbing the Vitamix with baking soda paste every week, to deodorize it after making salad dressing that contained garlic. No one wants a garlic aftertaste in their smoothies, after all, but as a side benefit The Cloud was minimal. This summer all the dressings I have made were just “mix in a mason jar” rather than “blend,” and so the Vitamix was just washed in a regular, non-scrubbing way, and The Cloud was getting out of control, as you can see. Not today, Satan. Not today. I made a baking soda paste and scrubbed in all the little crevices, then I soaked it for hours in vinegar and water, and voila:

Now THAT was a satisfying job.

It was during my deep clean that I learned of the Queen’s death. I was, and am, quite sad about it; I have been very interested in the Royal Family since the announcement of Lady Di’s engagement, back in 1980. The Queen and I shared a birthday, which always made me feel bonded to her. The Queen and I, celebrating our birthdays together, yet apart. I feel sure she loved cake as much as I do.

What an incredible life of service she led; she dedicated her whole life to her country and worked up until the day she died. Who among us could say such a thing? I hope she’s frolicking with horses and snuggling corgis, in the heaven version of Scotland.

Weekly Reading

A Town Called Solace. This was an enjoyable read about a town in Northern Ontario in the 70s, written from three points of view. A girl goes missing, a stranger moves into town, and a woman at the end of her life ponders a life-altering incident thirty years previous. Well done and satisfying; it didn’t blow me away but it was a diverting, solid story. 

Bomb Shelter. So a few weeks ago, I read I Miss You When I Blink, and while I enjoyed it, it didn’t really resonate with me in a meaningful way. Lisa (HI LISA) mentioned that the author had a brand-new book of essays out, which deals with processing emotions about having teenagers on the cusp of moving out, and her son being diagnosed with epilepsy. WELL. This hit home, let me say that. It hit home. Every essay had me deep breathing and thinking YES, THIS. It is such a complex thing; we spend so much time preparing our children to eventually not need us, because that is the goal in parenting, and then they don’t need us, and oof. But sometimes they do still need us? Life is an exquisite tapestry of emotions and feelings. Anyway, it is an excellent book and it’s 100% geared towards the life stage I am currently in, AND there are a couple of essays about having teenagers at home during the Covid pandemic. If that wasn’t enough, there is an essay about birthdays, and never before have I read my own feelings about birthdays, so exactly, in someone else’s words.

All The Queen’s Men. I picked this up on a whim – I liked the cover! – a few weeks ago, and it has sat on my side table, apparently waiting for just the right moment for me to pick it up. I suppose the Queen’s passing was just that moment. In any case, it felt like the perfect time to read a murder mystery/ detective story starring our very own, dearly departed, QEII, taking place in – where else? – Buckingham Palace! This was a very fun little book.

So it has been an energetic kind of week; everyone has been out of the house except me. This coming week I start teaching again, my younger son starts wrestling, I have a parent meeting for an upcoming Phys Ed camping trip, AND we have a seventeenth birthday in the house! CAKE!!!! I’ll leave you with a photo of me seventeen years ago this week, and with the wish that you all have a wonderful week. And maybe some cake? xo

Should I Just Burn The House Down Or…

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It’s a tough day in the NFL, my husband said conversationally a few weeks ago. I thought that meant someone died, but no, it was the day the draft picks got cut from 80 down to 53. My husband watches the NFL draft every year – the sound when someone is drafted is actually the ringtone on his phone – which means I vicariously watch the NFL draft every year. I do like seeing the absolute joy when a player is drafted, particularly from the family members watching, and, even more specifically, the happiness on his mother’s face. The years of work and sacrifice and wondering if it will ever pay off; then when a player’s name is called you can see the relief and pure joy. Now imagine that same mother, just a few months later, when her son gets cut. Even if the player survives the cut, such a career is tenuous at best. I always think of a player’s mother, when I see one get carried off the field with what my husband will inform me is a career-ending injury, sometimes before the season even begins.

Parenting is hard, is what I’m saying.

So it’s been a very roller-coaster week around here, and I’m not going to get into all the ups and downs, or bore you with my subsequent existential crisis, but I will say that Thursday was my last first day of school ever, and I came home to a completely empty house, for the first time without a sad Barkley to commiserate with.

Well, onward. Let’s rewind two weeks to our Mexico trip and how the boys fared on their own.

I was a bit nervous to leave the boys to their own devices for five days. What if there is an emergency? I kept saying, but when my husband asked me what kind of emergency I was pondering, I just couldn’t articulate. I don’t know, someone gets gravely ill or the house floods or the furnace explodes or something? But the fact is that a) we have left them overnight before with zero issues, b) they are both very responsible and have pride in the house, c) they are both fairly competent in the kitchen, and d) my older son is 18, so technically an adult. I had two rules. Rule Number One: No parties! Rule Number Two: If you do have a party, erase the evidence and make it look like you didn’t.

I mean, we have to be practical here.

The boys did have friends over, and I know all their friends and they are all good kids. I wasn’t worried; as long as no one barfed in my house or got alcohol poisoning, everything was fine by me. Let’s not be naïve! I’m of the belief – and this may be controversial, and it really depends on your own personal situation – that the European way of introducing alcohol as something that is not forbidden, but should be consumed in mindful moderation is what’s best for my family. I also don’t want the boys sneaking around; I know some of their friends hide booze from their parents, but I wanted my kids to tell me if they were having a drink. If you want a drink, have a drink, but don’t sneak around and for god’s sake, don’t barf or drive or do anything stupid. Open communication! It’s something that has worked for us; my older son is legal drinking age now, but we’ve been doing this for both boys for a few years. Again, this is something that should be looked at on an individual basis but for us, it’s worked. I think flat-out forbidding things makes them that much more desirable, which leads to bad decisions.

In any case, I knew that they had a few friends over early in the week and a few drinks were consumed. I know this not only because they told me but because there was cheap beer leftover in the downstairs fridge (Mountain Crest, who are these people), and my husband’s very expensive five-year-old bottle of Patron was opened, even though we have many half-empty bottles of cheap vodka in our liquor cabinet BUT WHATEVER. Side note: kids, if you are going to take from your parents’ liquor cabinet, don’t choose the very most expensive bottle. And then don’t tell us you MIXED IT WITH DR PEPPER. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD THESE PEOPLE ARE MONSTERS. Anyway, I texted my sons while we were getting ready to come home, and was surprised that my younger son didn’t text me back until late in the morning. He’s an early riser generally but he said that was up late because he needed to “take care of some things late last night.” I was sure they didn’t have friends over at that particular evening, since my older son had a job interview early the next morning, so I figured he was just cleaning things up from two nights previous. We got home to a perfectly clean house, and I just shrugged it off. I don’t need to know every single detail, the house was clean, who cares.

The day after we got home, I decided to make a loaf of banana bread. I reached into the drawer under the oven where I keep all my baking pans. I noticed something suspicious. I moved the pans and confirmed that it was not my imagination. I started screaming my younger son’s name over and over, moving over to the cupboard underneath the sink. He came running out, probably thinking I was dying, which I was in a way. By the time he got to the kitchen I was taking everything out of the cupboard under the sink, screaming incoherently.

Me: That thing you had to take care of, what was it? WHAT WAS IT?

Younger Son: It’s okay, Mom. I took care of it. You don’t want to know.

Me: THERE IS MOUSE POOP EVERYWHERE, WAS IT A MOUSE.

YS: Um, yes. But I didn’t see any poop! I didn’t know about that.

Me: THEN HOW DID YOU KNOW THERE WAS A MOUSE?

YS: I saw it.

Me, now hysterical: WHERE WAS IT?

YS: Um, in the hallway.

It is a miracle I didn’t black out right there. I mean, I feel a bit dizzy just writing that. Reader, it is impossible to convey my reaction and the depths of my feelings, but when I relayed this information to my mother on the phone later, she let out a low-pitched sound like aieeeeeeeeeee and that pretty much sums it up. My son assured me that he found the traps and caught the mouse! It’s all okay! But how did he know there weren’t many mice, and if they were in the hallway, what is to say they aren’t everywhere right now. What if they are in my dressers, what if they are in my bed. At this point my husband, who was working from home and had been on a call, came upstairs to see me spiralling into insanity, hysterically disinfecting everything in sight and wondering whether boiling all the baking pans would suffice or if I should just burn down the house and start over.

Five traps later and things seem to be under control, mouse-wise. But for how long? I ran into one of my neighbours down the street, who casually mentioned, with no prompting from me, that they were having mouse problems. They mentioned a certain trap they had obtained and that in the last week they had caught over thirty mice in their house and garage. MY NERVES. THIRTY. If it comes to that I will have no mind left, none at all. As it is my poor fragile sanity is hanging on by a thread.

Whew, let us change the subject to something infinitely more pleasant: my garden. The flowers have been gorgeous; the roses are still blooming, the daylilies are beautiful, and we’ve had lots of tomatoes and zucchini. I thought I would have more zucchini, given I have seven plants, but perhaps I overplanted. Maybe there is just too much competition for the soil. Lessons for next year, I guess.

Exhale. In any case, the crazy week ended on a high note, as I spent a couple of nights at my parents’ house on the lake. It was a great way to end this very beautiful summer.

Weekly Reading

The Lies That Bind. Okay, so the first 2/3 of this book, I was thinking this is a cute little romance! It takes place in the months before and after 9/11; I was 26 in 2001 and so the events and the cultural details really resonated (remember Fodor’s guides?). Then it TOOK A TURN. Then it got really wild, like a weird train wreck that you have to keep reading but the whole time you think wait, what? What? Did that just happen? I’m not recommending it but I’m not NOT recommending it either. It just…was not at all what I expected. Reading it, I felt like that meme:

Literally, me as I was reading this.

The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. I hardly know how to describe this gorgeous piece of writing. The author spent twelve years creating new words for the very specific emotions we all experience. It’s brilliant and profound, and also makes me feel very, very seen. What a unique and creative work!

Here we are; the long weekend is over. We are officially in September and fall mode! I guess it’s back to reality on all fronts. Happy September to you all! xo

More Vacation Reading 2022

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I guess it’s the price I have to pay for travelling, but I am just getting over a head cold. This is the first time, other than our brief bout with Covid, that I have been sick since October 2018, when I came down with the flu exactly one week before my scheduled flu shot. I had a good run of good health, but sheesh, I forgot just how irritating a cold can be. There’s no way out but through, I thought as I dug out my Neti rinse and nighttime Advil. Well, my tissue usage is now approaching normal, I can laugh without it ending in a coughing fit, and although downward dog still makes me feel like my sinuses might explode, a Peloton ride no longer makes me feel like my lungs are on actual fire and has me mentally going over signs you may be having a heart attack.

So, books! I haven’t had a book update in – checks blog – OVER TWO WEEKS, IS THAT RIGHT? No wonder I have so many to go through! Here we go!

Beautiful Country. I was absolutely not prepared for this. Wow. This is a memoir of a woman who was brought to New York at age 7, and who lived an illegal and undocumented life there. I was not prepared to read about the abject poverty, the complete lack of health and dental care, the hunger and malnutrition, and the absence of clothing and hygiene, experienced by a small child. She’s not alone of course. I just wasn’t prepared to read about it, nor the sweatshops her parents worked in to eke out a meager existence, living in constant fear of deportation. Her parents were professors in China, fleeing a system in which they could not speak freely. Professors, turned sweatshop workers, for very little. This is a terribly sad story, and it’s one that happens every day. The author herself is incredibly inspiring and a wonderful writer.

Marrying The Ketchups. Lisa (HI LISA) recommended this and I’m so glad she did – it’s perfectly light and lovely, with a big dash of hopeful optimism. It centres on a large family and their restaurant, and the story begins after three things happen: the patriarch dies, the Cubs win the world series, and you know who wins the 2016 presidential collection. It follows the adult grandchildren and their lives and relationships and it’s so REAL I felt like I knew them personally.

I Miss You When I Blink. Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH) mentioned this book and as soon as she said “memoir” and “essays” I was 100% in. I like a good memoir and I like a good essay! The author is a woman who seemingly had it all and believed with enough hard work comes happiness. Instead, she found herself longing to make a change. It’s part mid-life crisis, part charming anecdotes, and part self-deprecating humour. Some essays resonated, some didn’t, but I do love different perspectives as well as the acknowledgment that “one person’s more-sad doesn’t cancel out another person’s less-sad.” Truth! 

Interpreter of Maladies. I actually recently read the title short story recently, as it was featured in David Sedaris’ collection Children Playing Before a Statue of Hercules. This is a fantastic collection of stories about Bengali people living far from home, and their experiences as immigrants and in going back to India. I loved it!

Confessions of a Prairie Bitch. WHOA NELLIE!!! I listen to a podcast called Gen X, This Is Why, where they recap Little House on the Prairie episodes, and this book was mentioned. Of course I had to read it – who didn’t love to hate Nellie Olson? This memoir was so much fun to read. I was shocked to learn that Alison Arngrim had an incredibly traumatic childhood full of sexual and physical abuse, but she has overcome those traumas to become a children’s activist, as well as an AIDS activist. These are heavy, heavy topics, but she writes with a lightness and humour that is impossible to resist. Her behind-the-scenes stories about Little House are so wonderful. Mary really WAS snooty and awful, and Carrie really couldn’t speak well! It’s a great book and I recommend it to all Little House fans.

Mindy Kaling: Nothing Like I Imagined, Essays. There are six of these essays but I didn’t want to post every photo. Just know that these are lovely, light essays by a beloved celebrity.

The Namesake. This book. THIS BOOK! This was just incredible. What a beautiful story about identity, change, assimilation, and the many directions life can take us. I don’t know if it’s this time of year or what, but I found I was identifying so strongly with one of the characters near the end of the book that I had to just stare out into space, teary-eyed, for a long while. This is a gorgeous book and I really didn’t expect it to take the turns that it did.

There! I’m all caught up on my “books read,” and maybe some of those will appeal to you as well! More to come on Monday. xo

Almost Paradise

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Well, I have certainly had to hit the ground running after coming home from vacation! Note to self: the end of August is a busy time of the year. My older son, who is taking a gap year, starts his new job today, and my younger son starts school on Thursday, with the requisite day before taken up by textbook acquisition, locker assignments, and all that. I had to swing back into meal-planning-grocery-shopping mode after five days of Very Easy Living, and I found it a bit tricky. What is food, what are meals, what do we eat. Happily, my new freezer arrived, and so all is well in my frozen food world.

A few people mentioned to me that they were surprised I went to Mexico as I never brought it up it in our conversations; that is because after so many cancellations I didn’t really believe it was going to happen. I guess I wasn’t letting myself get too excited in case it got cancelled, again. I haven’t been out of the country since March 2019, which feels like A Very Long Time Ago. But the trip did happen, it was lovely, and, to be honest, purely indulgent. Weather-wise it’s a bit of a bold move going to Mexico in August, but it was wonderful, if hot and humid.

We went to Secrets Los Cabos; we had actually visited that resort five years prior, in August as well. Cabo San Lucas is a relatively short, direct flight from Calgary, which is the reason we chose it, and although it’s hot and humid, it’s not rainy, which is a big plus in my books. We have stayed in a few Secrets/ Dreams resorts, and I am not going to lie, they are Very Luxurious.

This is an all-inclusive resort, which I really like. I love not having to think about anything at all, I love that people come by to ask if I’d like a refreshing drink or if I need another towel, I love that the biggest decisions I need to make are where to eat dinner and which pool to lounge by.

When we got there, we were told that cabanas were available for rent at the Regular Pool, but cabanas were included in the Preferred Pool, which we had access to, because We Are Fancy. The only catch was that the Preferred cabanas were first come, first serve; as a person who is regularly up before the sun, that was not a challenge in the least. We had a cabana for two days, which was a nice respite from the heat.

One thing I legitimately love about being at a resort is meeting all sorts of new people. It feels almost like summer camp, with its instant friendships and constant Getting To Know You chatter. I know a lot of people prefer to keep to themselves on vacation, but there are apparently many people like me who want to talk to everyone surrounding them. An interesting thing I noticed was that no one I met – and I met a lot of people – was from Canada. Every single person was from the Southern or Midwestern United States. Our flight from Calgary was full, so I’m not sure where all my compatriots went, but it didn’t seem to be Secrets. In any case, with only one exception all the people were lovely and a lot of fun to be around.

Dawne from Arkansas: Y’all are so nice, I wish I had a Polaroid to take a photo of you!

Me: Well, we have cameras on our phones…

The one exception was a kind of miserable woman and her husband who a) immediately told me, in graphic detail, about her colon surgery and what that meant for her digestion, and b) complained incessantly about what food was or was not available at any given time and what kind of drink she had which wasn’t the drink she wanted and that the service was not up to her standards. I easily could have tolerated a, but I have no patience for b. These resorts were hit really hard by the pandemic, and in talking to the employees, I got the impression that they personally suffered a lot over the last two years. Besides which, look around, look around, how lucky we are to be alive right now. Here we are, in actual paradise, and someone is bringing you a cold beverage, and you are going to complain about the ice levels or the actual brand of liquor used? I’m pretty sure that woman didn’t tip at all, not that I noticed, anyway, and I kind of hoped that her drink was spat in. I’m sure it wasn’t, but if it was, well. No jury would convict the poolside concierge, let’s put it that way. But that couple was the exception, everyone else was lovely and fun. One guy was a little too fun, as he had to be escorted out of the pool by security, due to extreme drunkenness, at three in the afternoon. Poolside drama!

Another way the resort felt like summer camp was the amount of activities scheduled for every hour of the day. I was pretty happy to just hang out by the pool, dip in and out, read my books, and talk to my neighbours, but had I been so inclined I could have done any number of fun things. To be honest, it felt too hot to even attempt water aerobics or table tennis or even beachside yoga, but I appreciated the opportunity. The only activity I participated in was Karaoke Night.

I love karaoke. I have feelings about karaoke. Some people refuse to do it because “they can’t sing,” but to me, that means it’s an opportunity to increase your stage presence. What I lack in vocal talent I more than make up for in showmanship, if you know what I mean. I would much prefer hearing a subpar singer belt out a song with gusto and include the crowd in the chorus than sit quietly and listen to an earnest, heart-felt rendition of some emotional song no one has heard of. My songs were Material Girl and Before He Cheats, the latter being a huge crowd favourite with the majority of the participants from the South and Midwest. There was a lot of country that night, and the crowd was really fun. It was more like a giant dancing singalong than a karaoke performance.

Over the past six months I have been learning Spanish with the Duo Lingo app. I had some doubts that it would come in handy; I mean, when will I ever say Mi gato es muy grande y bonito (my cat is very big and pretty)? Wait, let’s not answer that. LET’S NOT ANSWER THAT. Anyway, I wasn’t sure if I would be able to converse in Spanish but YOU GUYS, I DID! People understood my very rudimentary Spanish and I understood them! I felt like if I had spent more time there, I would have really improved my vocabulary. I used the phrase “I am learning Spanish” a great deal, and the staff was very patient with me, even spending time teaching me new words and phrases. The moral of the story is that, like with karaoke, it’s the effort that counts.

Well, after all that luxury, it is back to reality for me. It’s time to jump into the new week and the new schedule. I have books to talk about, but that will have to wait. Here’s to a fresh new week! xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Carryon Only Edition

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I have noticed throughout my life that whenever I secretly judge something, it always comes back to haunt me. I’m not talking about things I judge loudly, like not returning a shopping cart, but things I silently think that I will never do myself. I have long since abandoned such thoughts about parenting in particular, because I have learned that all I have to do to curse myself is to think I would NEVER let my kid do that or similar, and the thing happens.

One thing I have silently judged for as long as I can remember is people who travel with only carryon luggage; not the people with slim and light bags, but the people who take the maximum size possible and then jam that suitcase into the overhead compartment, leaving no room and no little inconvenience for the people around them. For god’s sake, I would think, meanly and with great resentment as I was forced to squash my tiny bag under the seat in front of me, Just pay the $25 and be done with it.

Well, here we are, in the summer of 2022, and the resounding chorus from anyone who has travelled is that a) their luggage got lost and was never found, b) their luggage was lost but was returned to them on the last day of vacation, rendering it essentially useless, and c) they waited for an hour to get their luggage at the airport terminal, while exhausted and already late due to a delayed flight. C is the Best Case Scenario.

My husband and I just got back yesterday from a long-anticipated trip to Mexico. We had a family vacation there planned in March of 2020, which turned into – after vaccines became available and we were so optimistic for the future – one for March of 2022, which would have coincided with both our 20th anniversary and our older son’s 18th birthday. We cancelled that trip in January 2022, what with everything going on, and it was lucky we did, as my son tested positive for Covid the day before we would have been due to leave. We decided to turn it into a vacation for just the two of us, and I have much to tell you about. First, though, luggage.

I am a notorious overpacker. For one thing, we have the kind of credit card that gives free checked luggage with every flight, which exposes my just pay the $25 thought process as privileged and tone-deaf. In any case, even before the free luggage benefit, I’ve never given it a second thought. Six black tank tops? Why not! Five pairs of shoes? Sure! When we travel by car, we take my minivan, which is generally stuffed full. But I will tell you this: the only thing that makes me feel more anxious than travelling without a giant suitcase full of my favourite things from home is LOSING that giant suitcase full of my favourite things from home. Therefore, given all the Lost Luggage Drama that has been a trademark of this summer’s travel, and with a lot of encouragement and tips from my friend Janet (HI JANET) I was determined that I could do it. I could do it! I could! I could go Carryon Only. Here’s how a terrible, spoiled overpacker ate her own words and went to Mexico with only a carryon suitcase and a smile.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Carryon Only Edition

Hold Me Closer, Tiny Toiletry Bottles

The biggest thing holding me back from taking only a carryon is, of course, toiletries. It will not surprise anyone to know that I use a wide variety of liquid-form toiletries and hair products on a daily basis, and, of course, that is something that is very restricted in carryon luggage.

Aside from the fact that I have an environmental issue with those tiny plastic bottles of toiletries, they seem to be following in the footsteps of lemon juice and popcorn, in that they are very hard to find right now. I don’t know what the Trial and Travel section looks like in your local drugstore, but I have visited a few in the past month and mine are largely empty swaths of space, interspersed with the occasional basket containing tiny bottles of Pert Plus and mouthwash, a few brands of tiny toothpaste, and, strangely, mini-spray-deodorants.

Janet clued me in to companies that sell little refillable bottles for exactly these purposes, and so of course I bought a few sets. I even found one that had little tiny SPRAY bottles, so I could fill them with my hair products. I did buy couple of tiny toothpastes, because what are you going to do, but most of my other products I just squeezed into the little bottles. Sunscreen was the biggest challenge but my favourite Ultra Sheer Neutrogena sunscreen is in a smallish bottle anyway, and I figured we could probably just buy sunscreen, if push came to shove.

My husband is a person who can travel with almost no toiletries; he’s happy to use whatever the hotel or resort supplies, which feels like a risky business to me, but which also meant that he could take a few of my things in his luggage.

I couldn’t decide between the pretty little silicone bottles or the ones with the case, so I got both. But check out the labels that came with them:

Are we bringing our own sauces with us? If so, it’s good that there is a label for it; we would hate to confuse a condiment with a body wash, and vice versa.

Waterproof Mascaras and the Wipes That Love Them

I don’t wear waterproof mascara very often, but it’s a must in Mexico, what with the humidity and the swimming. I recently bought the waterproof version of Maybelline’s Great Lash mascara in a fit of nostalgia; I used that mascara exclusively in my junior high years entirely due to an article in Sassy magazine about the Fancy Hollywood Makeup Artists who swore by it. You know what, it is a really good mascara; there is a lot of bang for the buck here.

When I use waterproof mascara at home I use a liquid remover with a microfibre cloth, but that seemed like a ridiculous waste of liquid packing space, so I decided to buy makeup remover wipes. I know! I know. They are environmentally terrible, but this is a special occasion and I promise I won’t do it again. It is well documented that I love Neutrogena everything, and so I bought these wipes and gave them a trial run before I left. They do the job perfectly; not a trace of mascara was left on my lashes, and no irritation around the eye area either.

Gleaming The Packing Cubes

My friend Kim (HI KIM), who travels a lot, mentioned packing cubes in a Facebook post as being “life-changing,” and so of course I investigated, and bought myself a set in a very pretty blue. Kim was RIGHT. Such a simple thing and yet it kept my little suitcase perfectly organized; I don’t tend to unpack when we are in vacation, choosing instead to literally live out of my suitcase, and these cubes made it so easy to find what I needed each day. Swimsuits in one cube! Dresses in another! Underwear in a third!

Plus, the set came with a dirty laundry bag and a little makeup bag, which I used for my very-pared-down-for-the-trip makeup items.

Compression Digression

If you have known me for any length of time, you know all about my circulation issues. If you’re new, hi! Welcome! Also, I have circulation issues! These issues crested into “the worst case of varicose veins I have ever seen on such a young woman,” as the surgeon who stripped them back in 2011 said; that stripping should have been the end of it, but I am a special flower who has developed new ones, to the alarm of my current physician. Too long, didn’t read; I wear compression stockings or calf sleeves a lot, but particularly when travelling to ward off blood clots and, I guess, death. The compression stockings I wear for flying are pretty hard-core; they take significant effort to put on and take off, and they look exactly like something my grandma would wear. Thick, “nude” stockings, what could be more stylish?

My husband: You can barely tell you’re wearing them!

Me: silently wonders if my husband is losing his vision.

The ones I wore for the flight to Mexico were thigh-high, as opposed to my full-on pantyhose stockings, which I wore on the way back, because I wanted to be able to easily (or, “easily”) peel them off in the airport bathroom to shove into my bag when we got to our destination. Wearing a skirt meant this was easy to do, and as a bonus the skirt also hides the invariable bulge at the top of the stocking. Vanity should have no place in this situation but it does.

Canadian friends: I have found it to be a terrible pain to buy medical grade stockings here. If you want anything more than light grade knee-highs, a prescription is needed, which I have, but then it’s a matter of getting measured at a pharmacy, and ordering them, and it’s just a pain. Easier and cheaper – even given the exchange rate – is ordering them from the US; I like this website.

Kindle The Reading Fire

I am going to preface this by admitting that I used to say I would NEVER use an e-reader, never. I like books! I like pages! My husband bought a Kindle back in 2012, and it has sat unused for the past several years in a drawer. Last year, a very lovely friend (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE) sent me her very wonderful manuscript to beta-read, and the best way for me to read it was on an e-reader. It turns out that, like many other things I said I would never enjoy, I really liked reading that way. Don’t get me wrong: I still much prefer paper books. But with limited luggage and also reading outside with sunglasses as opposed to reading glasses, the old Kindle (with large font) was just the ticket. I loved how I could load it up, and pop it into my bag.

The only problem is that a ten-year-old piece of technology is very SLOW when it comes to uploads. I think if we are going to travel more I am going to put a new Kindle on my Christmas list.

Safety, Measurements

When flying, there are so many safety measures in place, and those two words made me think of the two posts that I read this month that really stayed with me, but in very different ways.

Erin (HI ERIN) wrote an incredible piece about the meaning of safety in childhood, drawing on her own experiences, and it is very powerful and moving. I found myself holding my breath while reading, and reminding myself to breathe through the difficult parts.

As I thought about people, myself included now, I guess, shoving their carryon luggage in the overhead compartments and maximizing every last inch of space, this hilarious post about the meaning of an inch popped into my head. I think we can ALL relate.

I have so much to talk to you about! The flight! The trip! The books I read! The leaving of my teenage children to their own devices for five days! But those things will have to wait, as I have much to do to catch up on life! Soon. I promise! xo

Five For Friday: Nostalgia

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  • WILMA! I’M HOME. I floored to see this display at Costco; I didn’t know that Fruity Pebbles still existed. I have never eaten them in my life, so I have no opinion on the taste or quality of the cereal, but it seems like such an incredibly dated item. I mean, The Flintstones? Is this still part of the cultural zeitgeist? I used to love that show when I was a kid, but there weren’t many other options at the time, and I feel that if I watched an episode now I would be absolutely horrified. However, that doesn’t mean that seeing Fruity Pebbles didn’t give me a nice feeling of nostalgia; I remember watching commercials for such cereals on Saturday mornings while I ate my unsweetened Shreddies or Cheerios, or, if my mom was feeling especially indulgent, my Honey Nut Cheerios. The commercials would be for things like Count Chocula or Boo Berry cereal, items that my mother would have died before purchasing. Last Christmas I saw Elf cereal at the grocery store, and although I have followed in my mother’s footsteps when it comes to virtuously healthy cereal purchases, I bought a box, thinking it would be a fun snack. Reader, it was not. Even my teen boys couldn’t eat it, and I feel like that speaks volumes.
  • Twinkie Twinkie, Not A Star. Speaking of my youth, I loved Archie comics, and I would read them cover to cover, including all the advertisements for things like Sea Monkeys and Twinkies. Sea Monkeys, I have since learned, are dehydrated brine shrimp. Twinkies, though. They looked so delicious, along with Hostess Cupcakes and Ding Dongs; I longed for such treats but at the time they were only available in the US. Any other Canadian women of a certain age remember how you had to “cross the line” to get such things? At the time I’m remembering, the Canadian dollar was pretty much on par with the US, and things like clothing and shoes were so much cheaper “down south,” so we would often drive down to Montana or Washington to do some shopping for back-to-school clothes. It was on one of those trips – where we ate unsweetened but still exciting cereal from those tiny boxes that came in a multipack, in our motel room – that my mom bought Twinkies AND Hostess Cupcakes. No Ding Dongs, but no matter. I was so excited to finally try these long-anticipated snacks, and let me tell you, never was a child so disappointed. I may have accepted that no matter how much cherry Kool-Aid I consumed, the Kool-Aid Man was never going to crash through my kitchen wall; I may have come to terms with the fact that a giant sentient bubble would never appear and hang out with me in my Mr. Bubbles-filled bathtub, but I truly felt like a Twinkie or Ding Dong or Hostess Cupcake would deliciously transport me into the world in which I was shiny-haired Veronica Lodge, snacking while Archie fawned over me and my incredible wealth. I can still remember eating the weird spongy cakes with the flavourless creme fillings, and feeling like my world lost a little bit of colour. Now they are widely available in any Canadian grocery store, and I give them the side-eye every time I see them.
  • Pop Culture. My husband remembers, on a similar childhood trip Across The Line, being able to buy A&W Root Beer IN A CAN and that was as good as it got for him. That was also only available in the States, but since I have a strong aversion to root beer, it would have been wasted on me. My parents used to buy pop from The Pop Shoppe, and the glass bottles came in plastic cases that, along with the bottles, would be returned to the store. I remember one time that they definitely would have foregone the five cent bottle deposit. Generally they purchased cola and lemon-lime, but every once in a while there would be an orange or grape pop bottle in the case, and that would be a huge treat for me. I was told I could go downstairs and bring up “my” pop, but I was so excited I dropped the bottle on my foot; it shattered and I had to go into urgent care. The fourth toenail on that foot is still a little deformed to this day. Despite the fact that those drinks would be a treat for me, my number one favourite beverage at that time was the uncarbonated Orange Drink that came from McDonalds, and that was featured in every single Sports Day during elementary school. Along with the admittedly-probably-watered-down Orange Drink, it would have been considered extremely lucky to receive a little Dixie Cup of vanilla ice cream, the kind that came with a wooden spoon. I am pretty sure the Orange Drink is no longer in existence, and I would probably spin off the planet on a sugar high if I drank it now, but I wonder if those little ice cream cups are still part of this world?
  • When You Wish Upon A Wish Book. One thing that is not part of this world that I genuinely miss every fall is the Sears Wish Book. I have loved the Wish Book for my whole life and was bereft when Sears went out of business. I loved the “gifts for under $10” section, and I always wanted a Snoopy Sno Cone Machine. I’m sure it would have never worked and would have been at least as disappointing as the Twinkie/ Hostess Cupcake experience, but still. Something that was NOT disappointing was the Christmas morning that I opened up my very own Cabbage Patch Kid, named Kora Candi. I did not realize it at the time, but it was a HUGE deal for my mom to get one for me. She had to have her name on a list at Zellers (remember Zellers? Remember grilled cheese sandwiches with fries and gravy at the Zellers “restaurant?”), and when the time came, she was taken into a back room where the staff triple-bagged the box, so that no one would know what she had and would try to rob her in the parking lot. The things moms do to make Christmas magical! The things that happened in the 80s! Let’s not mention that Xavier Roberts completely stole the idea from a little old lady at a craft fair and became very wealthy in the process; I loved Kora Candi and I still do.
  • Your Mom Has Got It Going On. My younger son told me that, in his friend group, the response to “Anyone want to hang out?” is “Your mom does.” I didn’t know guys still insulted each other via “your mom” jokes anymore and, strangely, since I am apparently one of the butts of the joke, it made me happy. Ah, the circle of life. Frequently the question will be reframed as “Anyone want to hang out? Not with my mom.”

We have been having the most gorgeous summer with the longest stretch of absolutely perfect weather; I do not want summer to end. I guess that is why mid-August tends to be a nostalgic time of year for me; this year I’m thinking not just about when my kids were small and we’d be prepping for school, but when I was a kid myself. How about you, are you also feeling nostalgic these days? Is there anything from your past that makes you smile? Tell me everything. xo