Neither Rain Nor Sleet Nor Snow Nor Hail

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I was at the post office, elf-like, with a bag full of parcels to mail. There were a few people waiting in line, so I picked up some flat-rate boxes and started cramming things into them as best I could, addressing them merrily. One of the parcels was the wrong size for a flat-rate box, but I had expected as much and had already addressed it and secured the festive paper with what was probably way too much packing tape. By the time I had finished my little project, the lineup had disappeared, and so I sauntered up to the counter.

When I moved here I very much grieved the loss of my neighbourhood, where it felt like everyone knew my name, or at least my face. I felt both nameless and faceless as I moved about my business in my new city. But now, two plus years later, I feel like I’m pretty well-known around town, and by “around town,” I mean at the library and the grocery store and, importantly for this story, at the post office.

I was thinking a lot about mail this week as I finally read The Correspondent, which I will talk about shortly, but just know that I loved it excessively. Longtime readers might remember when I found an entire moving box full of letters: mostly from my grandma, but also many from various pen pals I kept over the years. Old fashioned letters really do tell a story, and although I send postcards and holiday cards and birthday cards and, sadly, sympathy cards with much regularity, I haven’t sent an actual letter since my grandma died almost twenty-six years ago. I do, however, exchange epistle-length emails with one of my former senior yoga students, which feel correspondence-like. Writing this blog, and reading those of my friends, also feels very correspondence-adjacent.

There’s nothing quite like getting mail, though, which is why I am a regular at the post office. I take a lot of time to choose pretty stamps – only available for Canadian addresses, so sorry, non-Canadian friends! – and I’m always excited when there is something new. Last month there were Blue Rodeo stamps, BLUE RODEO. May I remind you of the 2008 Plates of Gold Gala?

In case you’re not up on your Canadiana, that is Jim Cuddy, singer of Blue Rodeo and the person who is referred to as “my boyfriend” in this house.

What I am saying is that I have really gotten to know the women who work at the post office, and as I ambled up to the counter looking like a cheerful version of the Grinch, balancing boxes and bags in my arms, the employee on duty apologized for not helping me with the flat-rate boxes. I don’t know how she possibly could have helped me shove gifts into them, but I appreciated the sentiment, and when she asked if I was sending any dangerous goods, I mentioned that one of the parcels contained a puzzle for my nine-year-old niece. This spurred a long and detailed conversation about puzzles, and how we liked them, and then she suddenly turned away and disappeared, only to return with a puzzle box lid and a small piece of said puzzle. This in turn spurred another long and detailed conversation, this time about the puzzle that was currently being constructed in the post office break room and how difficult it was and how we both preferred puzzles that are vignettes rather than difficult landscapes, of which this was one.

The employee looked around to ensure no one else was in the office, and then she gestured to me to come with her. We went together into the back office, where I could see not only the puzzle-in-progress, but I could also see the walls which were completely lined with completed puzzles. It was like A Beautiful Mind, but with puzzles.

And at that moment, I thought this is what life is all about. Live your life with arms wide open! I didn’t wake up that morning thinking I would tour around the back of a post office, talking about different brands of puzzle glue, but here I was. The things that can happen when you don’t live a rushed existence! As we went back to the counter so that I could finish the actual job that I came to do, an elderly woman burst into the post office, and burst is really not an exaggeration. I would not say that she was the reason for all those “abuse will not be tolerated” signs, but she was quite snappish. She wanted to know WHEN letters would be delivered again.

When indeed. For those of you not in the know of the inner workings of Canada Post, earlier this fall there was a brief strike which became rotating strikes, and so the mail has been delivered, albeit slightly slower, since early November. The employee said as much to the woman, who was in disbelief.

I wondered if she had checked her mailbox at any time over the past six weeks. I pictured it exploding as she turned the key to her little box. I imagined that there would be an incredible backlog of, at the very least, flyers and bills. Perhaps there would even be a holiday card in there. And then I thought, maybe she had checked it, and maybe no one was sending her anything at all. Maybe she had a “no flyers” sign, maybe all her bills were paid online, maybe she had no one to send her a holiday card. Maybe she was just a cantankerous old lady who needed a lesson on the True Meaning of Christmas and who would, in time, be the recipient of much festive mail and become a beloved member of the community.

Well. I was letting my imagination get the better of me. I was creating an entire character arc in my mind and a whole story in which she would be serving Christmas dinner at a soup kitchen and would become attached to a plucky young orphan who would teach her all about LOVE, and meanwhile, the woman merely huffed and stormed off, presumably to open up her mailbox at last to find that Kellogg’s products were on sale at the Save On.

Weekly Reading

At the urging of my son, I need to issue a correction. There is another book which spurred actual tears once, and that is The Godfather. The son in question was a year old at the time, and I was gigantically pregnant with my second, reading The Godfather in the waiting room of the doctor’s office. I came across the part where the Don is asking the undertaker to do his best to prepare Sonny’s body for viewing. “I don’t want his mother to see him this way…look at how they massacred my boy.” I burst into tears. I have reread The Godfather several times over the past twenty years and never again have I cried, so I think it was more of a hormonal response than a literary one. Anyway, this story has been family lore lo these many years, and I cannot believe I forgot to mention it. Correction issued!

Great Big Beautiful Life. I had heard some criticism about this book, being a bit different from the author’s usual – but I liked this story about two writers competing to get access to and write the memoir of a mysterious, reclusive celebrity. There was a story within a story, which I like, and a twist which I didn’t see coming. A nice diversion of a book. 

Favourite Daughter. The author of this book is from Calgary, love to see that! I also loved seeing little snippets of my hometown sprinkled throughout this story of two women who discover that they are half-sisters after their father passes away – and after they discover he made a wild decision with regards to his rather significant estate. It made me think that two people can view and experience a person very differently or, relatedly, that one person can be very different to different people. Mainly, this book is about addiction and alcoholism, with detailed descriptions of withdrawal, recovery, and relapses. You all know I feel about such subjects, and for that reason, as well as a couple of others, this didn’t work for me.

The Correspondent. I have been waiting for months to read this book, and wow, was it worth the wait! To be honest, I was a bit worried, as this book has generated a lot of buzz. I was concerned that this would be another situation like Remarkably Bright Creatures or Where The Crawdads Sing where everyone in the world but me was in love with it. But I need not have worried. This is an extremely Nicole-coded book! What an incredible piece of writing. This epistolary novel showcases the extraordinary life of an ordinary woman which, if you’ve been following along with me for any amount of time, is my absolute favourite. It doesn’t shy away from showing deep regrets, bad mistakes, failures, and general cantankerousness. But it also shows the power of the written word and of communication, the joys of relationships of all kinds, and the beauty of living a life with arms wide open and with acceptance and love. I wish I could read this book all over again for the first time, but I know I will reread it in the future and be just as delighted, moved, and warmed by it.

If you are a blogger, do you ever go back and read old posts? The one I linked to above, about my 2018 discovery of all my own correspondence, was very fun to read. I do like looking back to see what my life was like back then, as I am at the point where I can barely remember what happened last week, let alone in years past. Maybe we are all Sybil from The Correspondent, in that respect. I mean, hopefully not in terms of all the tragedy, but the spirit is there. And speaking of spirit, just a reminder that I have an Ask Me Anything form, if you have any questions or topics you would like to see explored. And on that note, I hope you are all having a lovely December so far. xo

Do You Remember the Very First Night of December

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Get Your Calendars Ready!

Happy December, everyone! Are we all starting Advent calendars today? I have my usual dogs-in-Santa-hats puzzle calendar ready to go, but after last year’s extreme disappointment over a much-coveted After Eight calendar, I decided not to buy myself one. Instead, I opted to purchase a few bags of treats that I love – Lindts, mostly, but also York peppermint patties – and I’m going to choose one daily. It’s like my own low-effort, high-rewards calendar.

I did buy three actual Lindt calendars from Costco for the guys at least six weeks ago, and while I was browsing I came across this:

Please notice the stack of Godiva chocolates for scale. This Lindt calendar was over five feet tall, and on sale for a mere $249.99. To be fair, each day in the calendar contains an entire bag of Lindts or a full-sized Lindt bear, and that is probably a decent price for that volume of quality chocolate. And I will say that I did have a moment when I wondered if I could fit it in the car, and then I had another such moment last week when I saw it again, and it was discounted by $50. However. That really is a lot of chocolate. I think it would be an incredible addition to, say, an office break room, if one had a lot of staff. Which I do not.

Am I still thinking about it? Am I wondering how discounted it would be now? Am I considering asking my husband to bring his truck to Costco? Yes to all of those questions. However, his truck is currently full of leaves, ready to be taken to the organic waste section of the landfill, so I guess that is a no for me.

It’s Really The Twenty-Fifth Night of December

My sons both loathe December by Earth, Wind, and Fire, citing it as the stupidest Christmas song ever written. They changed one word and then called it a Christmas song, they say, which is true. I still like it though, as well as Taking Care of Christmas, which I probably shouldn’t mention in the same sentence as December. After all, there are festive lyrics in there, not just a swap of “December” for “September.”

The song I really loathe is Wonderful Christmastime. The second I hear the opening bars, my shoulders creep right up to my ears and I do whatever I need to not to listen to that tuneless tripe. However, my friend Hannah (HI HANNAH) sent me this as a coping mechanism:

Reframe the narrative, as they say. I cannot always control hearing Wonderful Christmastime, but I CAN control my thoughts about it, and now I will constantly think of it as masking witchcraft.

It’s Mariah’s Time To Shine

The truth is I love most holiday music and will bop along to anything. I will also, as per Buddy the Elf, sing out loud for all to hear, although I admit I don’t do this consciously. It just sort of happens. Sometimes I will see someone else singing quietly in Superstore, and our eyes will meet with great understanding.

And let’s not forget about my all-time favourite!

I swear, the first person to hurt my feelings about Whamaggedon will get buried in my floorboards. Emotionally.

First Sob of the Year

Back in October, we were having breakfast in Morocco with our new Australian friends, and somehow I volunteered the information that one of my favourite songs of the season is White Wine in the Sun. How or why this topic presented itself, I cannot say, but I got into an involved conversation with one of the Australian men. He told me that Tim Minchin wrote it when he was 25 and far from home. And when he gets home, everyone is waiting for him drinking white wine…I started to say before choking up, waving my hands in front of my eyes. It’s too much! I said, welling up, which made the Australian man also well up, while our respective spouses looked on, dry-eyed.

It’s my go-to Christmas Cry song, along with River and, if I’m in a certain mood, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Recently, my friend Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked what was the last book that made you cry and I had to sheepishly answer that it was Of Mice and Men, when I was 19. I am very often moved, sometimes vastly, but I never cry while reading. I just stare off into space for a while, sometimes with my hand on my throat. Am I made of stone? No, because even thinking about and you won’t understand, but you will learn someday brings tears to my eyes, and if I go further than that, heaving sobs are guaranteed. Am I crying RIGHT NOW, just thinking about it? Yes. Did I listen to that song on Friday and go hug my son tearfully, who asked Mom, are you listening to that stupid song again? Yes.

For the record, if I have to tell anyone the ending of Of Mice and Men, I will also start with the heaving sobs.

Buble, King of the World

My husband watches The Voice, and, by the powers of osmosis, so do I. Technically I read on the couch while he watches, but I look up often enough to reflect that it is one of the nicest shows I have ever seen. Remember the days of American Idol? Perhaps those days still exist, I don’t know. What I do know is that there is no nastiness on The Voice, all of the judges are kind to the contestants and to each other, and their appreciation of the music is unmatched.

Michael Buble is one of the judges, and wow, do I love him. What’s not to love? He’s a proud Canadian, by all accounts he is a great husband and father, we never hear anything bad about him, and he gently makes fun of himself while advertising for Bubly, which I ALSO love. Not to mention that he created the single greatest Christmas album of all time! I love all versions of Santa Baby, but I love his best of all.

Blue Jays fans: did anyone else think his name was spelled Boba Shett?

All of this is to say I love holiday music and at any given time these days I’m grooving along to it.

Weekly Reading

This was a VERY fun week for reading!

All The Other Mothers Hate Me. This was a ride and I loved it! It’s a fast-paced, weird and funny book about a former girl band singer who is a hot hot mess, and whose only reason for getting out of bed in the morning is her quirky 10-year-old son. When her son’s nemesis – an heir to a frozen food fortune – goes missing on a field trip, she springs into action…to make sure her son isn’t accused. I don’t know how to describe this book. A thriller? A comedy? A thrill-com? It’s just FUN. A good time, quick read. Fun fact: the author wanted to create a main character who was as awful as can be while still being a very loving mother, and DID SHE EVER.

The Love Haters. What I love about Katherine Center is that while her books are warm-hearted, light, and so much fun, they also deal with deeper issues. For this book, that deeper issue is body image and, in the words of Whitney Houston, learning to love yourself. It is the GREATEST LOVE OF ALLLLL. The body image issues that the protagonist has certainly resonated with me, even if she is of my children’s generation, rather than mine. In fact, the love interest mentioned his mother’s year of birth, which is the same as my husband’s. Nevertheless! I really loved this book, even if at times the story was a bit silly and far-fetched. WHO CARES. It was a delight! It had it all: a handsome rescue swimmer with the Coast Guard, a group of old ladies known as The Gals whose ringleader was named Rue, a Great Dane named George Bailey. It was just a perfect romp with a great message about loving your body because it’s your body, and not wasting time and energy trying to live up to some stupid societal standards. My one quibble was the title. I did not get the feeling that any of the characters hated love. But that is such a minor quibble – I really loved this.

It’s that time of year again! Now that the madness of November and NaBloPoMo is over, I am going to do an Ask Me Anything. Do you have questions for me? Just fill out this form and I will be happy to answer them in the upcoming weeks. I am, as you know, willing to talk about almost anything. Happy December, friends. I hope you have lots of light and chocolate and music and all the good things. xo

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Fight The Gloom Edition

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November is such a grey and gloomy month, isn’t it? As I write this, the sun rises at 7:29 am and sets at 4:02 pm, and those precious daylight hours are only going to get worse before they get better. However! November is also the month of Tiny Secret Festive Season, which morphs into Full On Festive Season, and all the happiness and light that brings to me. In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer. It’s not the depth of winter, not even close, but the sentiment stands. In the depth of November, within me I found some Favourite Things.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Fight The Gloom Edition

It’s Puzzle Season, Motherfuckers

November through March – i.e., the non-garden season – is unofficially Puzzle Season around here. I love a good puzzle but I definitely gravitate towards the less difficult realm. Do I want to go insane while staring at 1000 pieces of hell? No I do not. My husband is a person who enjoys wildly difficult puzzles, like the one we did of a canoe on a lake with a background of mountains, or the one of Queen Elizabeth’s coronation in which every single piece was the exact same shape. I like a series of vignettes, is what I’m saying.

The completed puzzle!

My older son gave this Jane Austen puzzle to me for my birthday, and I saved it to kick off Puzzle Season. It’s a very special puzzle because the photo on the box does not contain the solution. The Puzzler must put the characters together, figure out who goes with whom, and then use the conversational clues to figure out how to arrange them for the final product.

ELL-OH-ELL Mr Darcy

You need to be a Fan, is what it boils down to.

Oh, Caroline Bingley. Go pretend to read a book.

It’s a really clever idea and it was so much fun. I tried to explain WHY it was so amusing to my family, and their eyes started glazing over.

Fun fact: I used It’s Puzzle Season, Motherfuckers for a Favourite Things last December, and it also included a Jane Austen puzzle! Will the pattern continue? Check in with me in 2026!

Oh, I’m Writing My Life Away

On the topic of Items Received For My Birthday That I Am Using Seven Months Later, my dear friend Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) sent me this notebook.

Mary Oliver!

I was absolutely delighted, and I knew that I wanted to save it for a special use. Right now Inhale Exhale is out for review with Clarion, which means that the process is out of my hands, as nerve-wracking as that is. Time to redirect that nervous energy and start something new!

Work in progress.

Two of the women in my writing group, Gill and Michela (HI GILL HI MICHELA) swear by Morning Pages; they say that there is something about it that really sparks creativity. I am not at the Morning Pages Life Stage yet, but I have been using Suzanne’s gorgeous notebook to handwrite thoughts about my new project in a very stream-of-consciousness way. And I have to say, it has worked. Creativity has been sparked!

On the same topic:

Isn’t that a beautiful cover? I am SO pleased with it. If you’re wondering what it’s about, wonder no more!

My publisher, Friesen Press, is a hybrid one, which means that my path to publication is not traditional and I won’t have the ability to pre-order, or to give you an exact release date quite yet. However! It will be available at all the usual bookstores, and the MINUTE I have that information, it will be here on the blog, it will be on my Instagram, it will be on Facebook, it will be sung from my own rooftop. I absolutely loved writing this, and I hope people will love reading it.

Me and my writing buddy.

She Walked Up To Me and She Asked Me To Pose…Y-O-G-A Yoga

I realize that a discussion of yoga mats might be more topical in, say, January, but in my mind ANY time is a good time for yoga. Also, it’s possible that one might want a yoga mat for Christmas, and I have very strong feelings on this topic.

As a small digression, I would like to go on the record to say that yoga truly is for everyone. No one is “bad at yoga.” No one “can’t do yoga.” No one is “too stiff” to do yoga. There are as many ways of practicing yoga as there are people on this earth. Some people do seated postures on a mat, some people do standing postures, some people sit in a chair, some people lie in savasana. And, as I said sternly to my husband and son who were watching a commercial with a football player doing a barre practice while someone jeered, no yoga teacher has ever “laughed at” a student. If such a thing has ever occurred, it has not been in my hearing, and I would posit a theory that such a person is not truly a yoga teacher. Yoga teachers are almost exclusively a gentle, loving bunch who only want the best for their students. If a person can sit quietly and listen to the sound of their breath for thirty seconds, THEY ARE DOING YOGA. Yoga doesn’t necessarily mean putting legs behind one’s head, although it can. Yoga doesn’t necessarily mean touching one’s toes, although it can. Yoga is LIFE and it is practicing loving-kindness to oneself and to the world around us, and it means leaving a room a little brighter than one found it. In this definition, I would venture to say that we are all yogis. We are all practicing yoga every day, or at least we have the potential to. Being able to touch one’s toes is a nice thing, but it doesn’t define a yoga practice.

Back to the topic at hand, which is my own personal physical yoga practice, and my mat of choice, which is a Manduka Pro Black Mat. It is expensive, yes, but it is the best mat on the market. It is thick and heavy and doesn’t move around while you practice, even if you are taking vigourous vinyasas. It gives cushion for the knees and for the sitz bones, and mine are going to go with me to my grave. My (theoretical) great-grandchildren will be cleaning out my room at The Home and will wonder why Grandma had so many mats.

Because I do have SO many mats. There are four – FOUR – Manduka Pros in this house, although one is my husband’s, given by me for Christmas one year.

My husband’s mat, foam roller, and yoga balls. I feel like a picture is worth a thousand words here.

One of the mats was purchased to leave at this house, when we lived in Calgary, so that I didn’t have to schlep it back and forth. Another was my practice mat, which I kept in a storage space at the Yoga Shala, and the other was my teaching mat, which lived in my minivan and would be taken to all the non-Shala places I used to teach. And then the pandemic happened, and the Shala closed, and my classes went from ten a week to two, and those two were taught via zoom; my need for multiple mats evaporated, but my mats live on.

The collection.

Ever since my friend Gillian (HI GILLIAN) turned me on to them in 2009, I have been a devotee of the mat cover. These microfibre covers serve several purposes: a) they keep your hands and feet from slipping by being grippier the more sweaty one gets, which is good news for a sweaty gal like myself, b) although this seems to completely contradict what I just said, it makes your feet slide nicely when doing vinyasa, c) it feels nicer than a naked rubber mat, and d) it keeps the mat clean and is machine-washable. Need I say more? And yes, I have three, one for each of my mats.

The practice space, complete with practice buddy in doughnut pose.

Friluftsliv!

A little while ago, my friend Sarah (HI SARAH) said plaintively in response to all the autumnal celebrations that fall is already really nice, what are we doing about winter? Well, what I do, and what I have done for the past five and a half years, is to embrace my half-Norwegian heritage and the concept of friluftsliv, which means that life is best lived outside. I go outside every single day and I also embrace the somewhat strident Scandinavian belief that there is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothes. To that end, I want to talk about something that has definitely made my Favourites in the past: the bum warmer.

Walking In Winter Fashion

A woman in Calgary that I met through a Yoga Shala holiday market buys old sweaters at thrift stores and transforms them into a skirt-like item, the bum warmer, and then uses the remainder to make headbands and mittens. You would not believe the difference this makes, warmth-wise! I have three of them but this is my festive season set. I top off the look with legwarmers and a toque, and I am cozy and toasty and ready for the outdoors. It’s very hygge, and also very ecologically friendly.

You Don’t Know What You’ve Got ‘Til It’s Gone

To think I took something as mundane as the mail for granted for almost my whole life. I didn’t realize how much happiness sending and receiving mail gave me, particularly during the holidays, until the Canada Post strike shut it all down last year. I am a little scarred from that experience, and have been frantically writing out my cards in order to get them into the mail, just in case the current rotating strikes turn into a full-blown one.

On a recent episode of The Girl Next Door podcast, one of the hosts talked about her secret fear of getting a paper cut on her eye, and while I don’t share that particular worry, I am always concerned that I’m going to get one on my tongue while licking envelopes. Anyway.

I loved pen pals when I was younger and it’s a thrill now to have my own grown-up ones. Sometimes it’s more than a postcard or a note; last week I received a parcel from my friend Lisa (HI LISA).

Imagine my surprise when it contained a SIGNED copy of Wreck! I almost fainted. Lisa! Talked to Catherine Newman! And she signed a book just for ME! I could die. Have I read it yet? No, because I still have eleven library books that need reading. But I cannot WAIT. Thanks Lisa!

Outfit of the Month

In the spirit of shopping my closet, everything in this outfit is at least seven years old, with the exception of the jeans. It’s a whole thing with Jean. Please don’t make me relive my Jeans Crisis.

The lined coat is from lululemon, circa 2013, and the sweater is from the same place but a few years later. The boots are lightly lined and perfect for this weather right now – not too warm, but warm enough.

What are you doing to stave off the Novemberies? I know my dear friend Michelle (HI MICHELLE) is celebrating Gnomevember, but I would posit that every month is Gnomevember in the Boyhouse. Tell me all your Favourites this month, I would love to hear them. xo

Small Appliance Chaos

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I spent a lot of time in the kitchen, although less time than I used to, back in the days when the kids were in school and it felt like at least fifty percent of my one wild and precious life was spent procuring, preparing, and cleaning up after said procurement and preparation of food.

It’s not fifty percent in this season of life, but it’s still a hefty chunk of the day, and it’s because of this that I am a devotee of small kitchen appliances. As it should be abundantly clear by now, the coffee maker is the number one small appliance in my house – let’s not have a murder! – and the Vitamix, used multiple times a day by multiple people, is a close second. Tied for third are my stand mixer and air fryer, the latter being a dark horse. I did not expect such an item to take a place of importance in my life, but here we are. The last in this list is my food processor, which gets used three or four times a month, and of which I have burned through several over the past fifteen years or so. What can I say, I used to test a lot of recipes for YMC, RIP all my recipes.

If you have been keeping track, you will no doubt remember the Vitamix debacle of last June, which was resolved much more happily than anyone, least of all me, expected. And of course we all know about my recent coffee maker woes, which have also been happily resolved, luckily for my family and anyone who comes into contact with me. We also all know that things happen in threes, and so it should not surprise anyone that another one, as they say, bit the dust, and that one was the stand mixer.

Now listen. This is only a minor grievance. This run of small appliance deaths is not, truly, a tragedy. It’s not even tragedy-adjacent. It’s not like having one of the big three – fridge, stove, washing machine – die. It’s a mild inconvenience at worst.

Deep down, I knew it was coming. I have had this mixer at least since the kids were in early elementary school, possibly even preschool. I have put it through its paces at least twice a week for fifteen years or more. And three or four weeks ago, as I was mixing up some banana muffins, I heard a little snap.

Well, a broken whisk isn’t the end of the world, is it? I figured I could probably buy a new attachment, if indeed this model of stand mixer still exists. In any case, it still worked. Maybe not as efficiently as before the whisk snapped, but it still got the job done.

Then, last week, I was AGAIN making banana muffins with the broken whisk attachment, and when I unplugged the mixer the electric ground stayed behind in the plug outlet. I stared at it for a few minutes, looked at the broken plug in my hand, and then stared into space. Yikes! I might be able to work with a semi-broken attachment, but I am not willing to get electrocuted. My husband suggested getting the plug replaced, but I felt that was only a delay of the inevitable.

Well, as he said last year at this time, when I had the Great Closet Crisis of 2024, it is the best time for something like this to happen. I have said it before and I will say it again: it is WEIRD that Black Friday is a thing in Canada. Do not get me wrong, I am also HAPPY that Black Friday is a thing in Canada, but it’s still weird. Weirder still is that Black Friday is now code for “the entire month of November.” Soon it will be Black Friday on the day after Canadian Thanksgiving. And then it will be Black Friday In July, and after that it will just be Black Friday every day of the year. If every day is Black Friday, then is any day Black Friday? It’s a question for the shopping philosophers.

Weird or not, I gratefully purchased myself a discounted stand mixer, which arrived on Saturday, with plenty of time for holiday baking. That hasn’t been started yet, because there was a bigger project this weekend at the Boyhouse.

The tree is up! The season has shifted to full-on festive, and it’s all holiday music, all the time around here.

Weekly Reading

I have had no fewer than twelve library books out over the past couple of weeks. Every time I take some back, more holds have arrived. But I’m diligently working on the stack!

It’s A Love Story. This book is about the stories we tell ourselves ABOUT ourselves, and how we let those stories define us, for better or worse. There are some nice themes about family and open and honest communication, and about self-fulfilling prophecies, but it took me about a quarter of the book to get invested. I found the main character hard to like, but there was a nice redemption arc and, as it should, everything works out nicely in the end.

The Enchanted April. What a charming, delightful book! This book, written post-WWI, follows four women from London who rent an Italian castle for the month of April. The women are mostly unknown to each other, and seem to be unsuitable companions, but everything works out in the most charming way. This book was written in 1922 and spurred a tourism craze to the Italy! Many thanks to my friend Pearl for the recommendation (HI PEARL).

Everyone Is Lying To You. Thrillers aren’t my usual thing, but I enjoyed this page-turner about a tradwife, homesteading influencer whose husband is brutally murdered. Who did it and why? It’s a compelling story about a very weird side of the internet. It’s also an interesting commentary on the idea of comparing your life to those of influencers, and what really goes on behind the scenes. A good November diversion!

Here we are in the very last week of November! Where did the month go? I hope you all had a lovely weekend and are feeling less salty than Rexie, who isn’t a fan of having his bed moved, even if the “moving” is a total of three feet away. xo

Minor Mysteries

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I know you were all waiting on the edge of your seat for the next thrilling episode of Nicole and Her Coffee, and I am happy to relate that you can all breathe a sigh of relief. My new coffee maker has arrived!

Isn’t it beautiful? I’m hoping that German engineering will break the long chain of leaky coffee makers that have been bolstering my mornings lo these many years.

Speaking of mornings, I noticed something strange on our walk a few weeks ago.

When was it so windy? I asked a woman who was walking by and complimenting me on my doggy model. She informed me, with an oddly curious look, that there was a terrible windstorm the night before. Didn’t you hear it? she asked, and I marvelled at the apparent coma I fall into at 8:30 pm every night, which is a bit of a downside to being an early morning bird.

There have been a few mysteries I have encountered lately, two of them very specifically app-related. I have a Garmin watch, and for a long time I have somehow been included in a “100K Step Challenge,” which is a weekly ranking between me and nine random strangers. I don’t remember joining this challenge, but here I am. I almost always hit 100,000 steps in a week, but I am never in the top three. There is always someone who blows everyone away, step-wise, and, knowing how much time I spend Getting My Steps In, I can only assume this person walks all their waking hours. Maybe it’s David Sedaris! Who can say.

But the mystery is that a few weeks ago, I idly checked my ranking only to discover that I was now in a “85K Step Challenge.” How did that happen? Did I get demoted? I didn’t get as many steps as normal while travelling in Morocco, but still. I don’t think that justified kicking me out of the 100K club, the club that I don’t remember joining but on which I am now, apparently, basing my personality. And indeed, after a few weeks of being home and taking the number one spot in the 85K challenge, I’m back in the middle of the pack in the 100K group. Perhaps this is one of those “challenges” that Garmin has to keep people motivated, rather than demoralised. I found my demotion, with my subsequent domination of the leader board, to have the opposite effect.

The other mystery is with regards to DuoLingo, the language learning app. I am on a 1358 day streak, and for all of those days I have been on a “Friend Streak” with my younger son. Every week, we receive a “Friend Quest,” which is just a little challenge that we complete together. Because this is a special thing between the two of us, I only follow my son, no one else, so that we are assured to be assigned to a Quest together.

Well. Lately DuoLingo has not sent either of us “Friend Quests,” instead telling us that we need to “sync our contacts” and “follow new people” in order to be assigned a “Friend Quest.” I WILL NOT. I am incensed by this blatant desperation for more DuoLingo users. NOT ON MY WATCH, DUOLINGO. My reaction to this lack of weekly “Quests” is probably wildly out of proportion to its actual importance in the not-even-grand scheme of things, and yet, I feel justified. I pay for the extended family plan and the “premium” edition, and this is the thanks I get? I cannot even work with my son on a shared goal to get 90% in 30 classes or 4500 XP? Nonsense! I am a Taurus, and if there is one thing Tauruses are known for, it is their stubbornness and inability to budge. My heels are dug in. THIS IS THE HILL I DIE ON.

I guess that is less of a mystery and more of a rage-inducing marketing attempt. After yet another week of realizing that we weren’t getting our Friend Quests, I headed out for a walk, hoping the steps would quell my disproportionate outrage. (I AM NOT DOING YOUR MARKETING FOR YOU, DUOLINGO!). While walking I listened to the latest episode of You Are Good, a recap of Billy Madison, a movie that I unapologetically love even though the humour is very, very stupid. I quote from it all the time: It must have been that damn Sasquatch, I’ll say when someone asks a question, and I award you no points, and may god have mercy on your soul, I’ll say randomly.

Back in my minivan-children chauffeur stage, I would frequently use I’ll turn this damn bus around.

But I got to the part when Billy debates which is better: shampoo or conditioner, and something occurred to me. When did we stop calling it “creme rinse?”

I remember it being creme rinse when I was a kid, but I do not remember when the switch happened. Is there a difference between creme rinse and conditioner? Don’t they both leave their hair silky and smooth? Does anyone else remember the product Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific? I could probably look up all of these things, but I think I will leave it as is, a little mystery.

Weekly Reading

A Home For The Holidays. Okay. Someone posted about this last holiday season, I think it was my friend Sarah (HI SARAH), and I did NOT read a synopsis nor the flap copy, instead I just put it on my “For Later” list and activated it recently, so I could read what I thought was a light holiday rom-com. A feel-good book, if you will. So you can imagine my surprise when I discovered that it is a book about grief, about a woman losing her alcoholic mother two weeks before Christmas. Trigger warning, everyone! In the weeks following her mother’s death, she begins a kind of wild emotional journey to discovery. She learns about her mother’s past, and to learn that her mother was more than her addiction. There is an almost unbelievably quick romantic sideline, as well as a nice story about family and chosen family. It was far too soon after The Bright Years to read another book about a family semi-destroyed by alcoholism, but the ending was nice. So I guess it was a feel-good book after all, albeit one about addiction and a weirdly quick romance and a surprise long-lost best friend. Maybe don’t overthink this, just go along for the ride.

Americanah. I had recently read, and loved, Dream Count and The Thing Around Your Neck, and years ago had read, and loved Purple Hibiscus – all of which written by this author. So I was excited to read Americanah, and also was curious that I hadn’t read it before. Friends, I started on the very first page and thought, huh. By the time I finished the first scene, I realized that I had read it before. But when? I started keeping track of my books read in January 2017, and Americanah came out in 2013, so I guess sometime in between. I didn’t remember how it ended, and I only remembered scenes as I read them, so it was definitely worth a reread, this book about a Nigerian woman who goes to America to live and then returns to her homeland to find it, and herself, very changed.

How are you all doing, friends? Any little mysteries in your life of late? Tell me everything. xo

Coffee Crisis

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Every single morning, the first thing I do after waking is carefully make my way down the stairs and pour my pre-measured water from the coffee pot into the appropriate receptacle in the machine, and then press start. After that I drink two big glasses of water and head to the bathroom for my morning ablutions. The only variation to the routine is that on weekends, I sleep slightly later and so I let Rex out of his crate prior to the ablutions, but always, always, always, as they say FIRST, COFFEE.

So it was that Saturday morning rolled around, and I was coming out of the bathroom freshly washed and brushed, thinking I would pour myself a cup of that sweet, sweet nectar on my way to let Rex back in. I noticed that there was a fairly significant pool of water on the countertop, surrounding the coffee maker. I don’t know about you, but I frequently spill water when I’m pouring from the pot to the receptacle, so I thought that I had done just that, although it DID register that a) it was a fairly large volume, more than my usual splash, and b) how did I not notice? Well, I have not noticed more significant things than some water, so I wiped it up, let Rex in, told him he was a good boy and I love him so much, yes I do, yes I do, and then I went on with my day.

I was a little annoyed that my mistake had led to less coffee than normal, but I moved on with my life.

The next morning, as I poured the water into the receptacle, I reminded myself to be very careful. I didn’t spill a drop. By the time I returned to pour myself a cup, there was an even bigger pool of water, and now it was spilling on the floor.

This exact thing has happened to me before, and it was April 2020. It felt like a crisis at the time, because buying anything was such a ridiculous hassle, and what could be more important than a coffee maker? Probably you are thinking many things are more important than a coffee maker, but friends, you don’t live with me. You don’t live in fear of being murdered, stabbed, or, at the very least, spoken to sharply because Nicole Didn’t Get Her Coffee. Coffee or complete mental and emotional breakdown, choose one.

Happily for everyone involved, this did not devolve into a crisis because a) the coffee maker was still brewing coffee, albeit at a lower volume than anticipated, b) my husband has a fancy espresso maker that I do not know how to use and would unlikely be able to figure out in a caffeine-less state, but he would probably get up and make me a SERIES of espressos if things got desperate, and c) I remembered we still had our old coffee maker from our Calgary house, still in protective wrapping from the moving company. I pulled it out of the pantry and it happily worked, although my son asked darkly for how long? He seemed nervous that the old one would just as suddenly start malfunctioning, and THEN where would we be? You need to buy a new coffee maker, Mom, he said in an uncharacteristically forceful way.

And indeed, he was right to be concerned, because not three days passed before I noticed a small but distinct dribble of water beside the coffee maker. My husband is on the case, believe me.

I am a terrible coffee addict, I know, and it’s not something I feel moved to change about myself. I am harming no one by consuming vast amounts of coffee between 4 and 9am every day, and, in fact, I would probably harm someone if I didn’t. At the very least I would not be radiating sunshine, let’s put it that way.

My coffee habit has been going strong lo these past thirty-eight years, which makes me marvel at the idea that there are people in this world who don’t drink coffee at all and still function normally and non-murderously. I feel true amazement and wonder at this. What is your life like? I want to ask. Some people drink their first coffee of the day mid-morning, after accomplishing many things, and some people drink coffee in the afternoon. Some people drink it after dinner! Some people have one cup a day, no more, and some people drink it sporadically during the week. Nothing gives me more of a the world is a rich tapestry feeling than hearing these anecdotes.

Well. Baby, baby, it’s a wild world. I have been the recipient of much amazement as to my own habits, non-coffee-related. I loathe pie, for example, and even the idea of a cooked apple makes me want to heave. I refuse to have celery in my house and I do not, as a rule, enjoy black or green tea. I fall asleep by 8:30pm and I prefer having spoilers rather than endure any tension in TV or movies. I reread books frequently, I’ve never worn eyeshadow, and I think Old Dutch Ketchup potato chips were the greatest snack food of all time, although I haven’t consumed them in many years. There is room for all of us and our personal opinions and preferences in this life, and as long as I get my coffee, everything is happiness.

Weekly Reading

On the topic of the world being a rich tapestry: books! What could be more varied and individual than reading tastes? I thought I was making a dent in my pile of library books, but as I took three back to the library, four more came in. So it’s a one-step-forward-two-steps-back situation.

The Bright Years. This book follows a family and their secrets, and ultimately their healing. It spans decades, and I really liked the little pop culture and current events that were peppered in through the years. There is a child given up for adoption who is looking for his birth mother, there is a chosen family, there is a supportive mother-in-law who chooses her granddaughter over her alcoholic son. Speaking of the latter, if you know me, you know I HATE plotlines about alcoholism and addiction, but I pushed through, and I was rewarded with a nice redemption arc and message.

Mean Moms. WHAT A HOOT. This book was so fun to read. I have also read this author’s Bad Summer People, and let me tell you, she has the concept of Ultra Rich People Behaving Badly down! Whereas Bad Summer People follow a crowd who “summer” on an exclusive island off the East Coast, Mean Moms follows a group of Manhattan moms at an exclusive private school. Strange things start happening to a couple of these moms just when a woman from Miami arrives at their school. Is it a coincidence? Or is someone out to get them? This book was an absolute riot and the sections are divided by WhatsApp chains, and if you have ever been in a parenting-or-school-related text chain, this will resonate deeply. I enjoyed this so much.

Not My Type. Normally I avoid any and all mentions of the current US president, so at first glance it is odd that I would pick up this book, which details his trial and subsequent conviction as to the matter of sexual assault and defamation of writer E. Jean Carroll. However, I listened to interviews of the acclaimed 81-year-old writer on a number of podcasts and immediately fell in love with her. What a fascinating and brave woman! This book is horrifying and also a triumph, and when the current president claimed that he just grabs women by the pussy, well, that is exactly what he did do in a Bergdorf Goodman changing room in 1996. This book contains official court transcripts as well as the author’s own notes on the trial. As a note, IF the current president ever pays the $83 million owed, the author has decided that all – ALL – of it will go to charities and causes that said president loathes, such as women’s reproductive rights, voting rights, and climate solutions.

On that note, I will sign off for the week. I hope you are all enjoying the things you individually enjoy, perhaps a hot beverage? Say a little prayer that my backup coffee maker doesn’t meet its maker, so to speak, before the backup arrives. xo

If These Were Physical Books, It Would Be An Avalanche: Paris and Morocco 2025 Reading List

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Thanks to long plane rides, airport stopovers, and bus journeys, I read a LOT on my trip to Paris and Morocco. I am ever so grateful for my Kobo and e-reader technology; isn’t it amazing how many books can be “packed” in such a slim way?

City of Night Birds. I have always thought the greatest athletes are the ones who are in the artistic realm: figure skaters, gymnasts, and dancers. The amount of strength and training that goes into those athletic feats PLUS artistic expression? It’s really remarkable. So I was excited to read this book that delves into the Russian Ballet in general and a prima ballerina in particular, and in the way of providing details about the training process, the body deterioration, the work and skill and sacrifice, it did not disappoint. It is also so well-researched in terms of the ballets, the roles of the dancers, and Russian nomenclature. I kept checking to see if the author was Russian, because of all the Russian words and the names, which vary from the diminutive to the formal. So that’s the upside. The downside is that, whoa, this book is long. It is 120K words, and I think that’s at least 20K too many. It just gets in the weeds about every possible detail about every ballet. The entire second act, and most of the third, really dragged for me, and the big reveals were just not all that interesting. I feel like if it was shorter and sharper I would have really loved it, as it was, I didn’t.

The Rumor. Was I dissociating from the news by binging on Elin Hildebrand’s back catalogue? I’m not NOT doing that. This was a fun one: a rumor circulates that Madeline, a writer, and Eddie, her best friend’s husband, are having an affair. But in reality, it’s Eddie’s WIFE who is having an affair with her gardener. Madeline, on deadline for her next novel, writes an outline in desperation, featuring the details of the affair. Meanwhile, Eddie’s deep in debt and starts a prostitution ring with his cleaning staff, and all is ASHES. This was fun and entertaining and (almost) everything works out in the end.

Nesting. This book, about the struggles of an Irish woman leaving her emotionally and sexually abusive husband and recreating a life for her and her small children, was compelling enough for a plane read, but the symbolism of the crow kept captive was a bit heavy handed and also WEIRD. Who rescues a baby crow and keeps it tied up in their yard? Seriously, weird. I get the symbolism but it’s a bit much.

Ask Not. Another plane read but this was just frustrating and enraging. Talk about entitled rich white men. From lobotomizing one’s own daughter to wild adultery, to continuously case miscarriages through passing on endless STDs, to rape, to actively causing the death of a number of women, to flying under the influence of painkillers after repeatedly been told not to fly under the weather/ medical conditions and killing oneself and one’s wife and her sister, well, the list goes on. I mean, don’t read this if you don’t want to think AGAIN, MORE, ANOTHER ONE. I wasn’t in the headspace for this but I guess I’m glad I read it. The alternate title could be Entitled Rich White Men Who Ruin The Lives Of All The Women Around Them. GRIM.

Is She Really Going Out With Him? On a lighter and much-needed romantic note, I really liked this lovely little enemies-to-lovers romance. I love a book where it all works out, particularly on the heels of reading about Entitled Rich White Men! A divorced mom living in Bath takes on a magazine assignment where she dates who her kids choose – as long as it’s not online dating. There is an amazing character who’s is a Jane Austen superfan, which I loved. It’s a great, light story. 

Reckless Girls. Okay, first of all, I thought this author wrote The Girl On The Train, which I genuinely enjoyed, but no. That’s PAULA Hawkins, no relation to Rachel Hawkins. Anyway. This was decent bus read, a twisty-turny thriller about people who end up on a deserted island. Not my usual thing but a diverting read nonetheless.

Finlay Donovan Is Killing It. Another decent book for a long bus ride – a writer is mistaken for a hit woman…and then gets unintentionally tangled in an actual murder! Cute and fun, let’s not overthink it.

How To Walk Away. Oh, I loved this romance between a woman who survived a terrible plane crash – albeit with severe burns and a spinal cord injury that has left her paralyzed – and her physical therapist. As a romance it had me cheering for the happy ending, but it was more than that, with a message that when we are broken and hopeless and damaged, the best thing to do to heal is to help someone else. It was really a lovely story, with fun and charming characters.

The People We Keep. This book features a teen/ young woman in the 90s, and I was also a teen/ young woman in the 90s, so the setting immediately appealed to me. But whoa, this book is a heartbreaker. It was particularly poignant for me as I knew many young people with bad home lives who slipped through the cracks. Ultimately it is a story of hope and of chosen family and of letting people into your life, but 95% of it is heartwrenchingly sad. Beautiful. But sad.

Crush. I find my husband very sexy and attractive and I’m very happy in my marriage, which is maybe why I find myself fascinated to read books like these – it’s such a different perspective, and why do we read if not to expand our outlooks? This book is kind of wild: a woman – who, frankly, is married to a guy who seems like a dud, he refuses their entire marriage to get a job or do domestic duties because he is AN ARTIST and must only devote himself to art – is living a decent life. She loves her almost grown child, although she regrets not having more – her dud husband only wanted one. She has decent sex but no foreplay or kissing, and so her husband encourages her to kiss other men, he find this sexy. Ooookay. But then! She begins an emotional affair which is, honestly, kind of pretentious with lots of literary references BUT they end up doing it. It’s the most sacred wonderful sex ever. Like, transported into another universe, that kind of good sex. Meanwhile Dud Husband is now going on dating apps in order to have sex with much younger women. Things devolve and it’s an interesting, if kind of weird, story. I had a conversation with one of my sons about the concept of polyamory, and we both agreed that while we don’t want to yuck anyone’s yum, it DOES seem frequently – but not always, probably, I mean, how would I know – that one person is really, really into it, and the other person? The light has maybe dimmed in their eyes. Anyway, that’s kind of this book, that shows that a dull marriage was certainly spiced up, and then destroyed, through the introduction of polyamorous behaviour. And somehow, everyone ends up living their own Happily Ever After. Is that a spoiler? I don’t know. It’s fascinating! But also? Somewhat mind-bending.

Cults Like Us. This is a very smart and well-researched book about the nature of cults, and how cults have shaped America since the Puritans landed. There are interesting insights into how isolation and a need to belong drive cult membership, the development of MLMs, specifically Amway, and how charismatic leaders can manipulate the disenfranchised. This is written in a casual and easy-to-read style, but the subject is pretty depressing. Don’t read this if you want to, say, distract yourself from the news or feel happy about anything.

Aren’t e-readers such a great invention? So many books and nothing to pack! Speaking of which, I put all my library holds on pause while I was travelling. Last week, I kept seeing that several were “in transit,” and then last weekend they all came in at once. Here’s the teetering stack I have now:

Eeep. And according to my account, one more has arrived and there are three more in transit. Well, there are worse problems than a stack of books! On that note, I’m off to tackle some. xo