It’s a good question. Some longtime friends visited us this week, and we were talking about their upcoming retirements. I’m not sure if I can claim that I am retired since I’ve worked only part-time at most since March 2004, but my husband thinks that the key to a happy retirement is to become time-inefficient. This doesn’t mean that he’s lazy or unproductive, but instead it means that he doesn’t rush to cram everything into every possible moment of the day. His workouts are no longer a rushed hour before leaving for the office, but a whole-morning affair, complete with stretching and meditation. Yard work is no longer crammed into the few weekend hours that weather would allow, which is a good thing, since we have so much more yard here than we did in Calgary. Life is more relaxed and happier, particularly since there are no longer insane demands on him, like meetings at 10:00 on Easter morning, as an example.

How we spend our days is how we spend our lives, which is a sentiment I both love and also feel uncomfortable with, given that I spent at least five hours grocery shopping, driving to and from grocery stores, and putting away all the groceries this week. Is my life just groceries now? I suppose there are worse ways to spend my one wild and precious life.

One fun thing I spent time doing this week was make a double batch of cupcakes for my friend Sammi’s birthday (HI SAMMI). There was a big party for her, which was delightful. Happy birthday to my beautiful Sammi!

Speaking of friends and ways we spend our time, my friend Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH) is hosting her semi-annual walking club. It’s my time to shine! I am the QUEEN of the daily walk; I haven’t missed one since March 2020, and before that, I walked probably 99% of the days since Barkley came into our lives in September 2008. If my day is a tent, metaphorically speaking, then my daily walk is one of the tent poles adding structure to my life. It’s a time for moving meditation and podcast listening, gentle exercise and fresh air, enjoying being outside and the beauties of nature, such as this sight from last week.

Another tent pole in my daily life, for half the year at least, is the garden. At the party on Saturday, a friend’s husband asked me how my summer was. Great! I gardened all the time! I answered, garnering a puzzled and somewhat pitying look. Well, I love it, but garden season is coming to a close and I’m going to have to figure out what I did for all those hours in previous offseasons. Oh right, I wrote a book.

As will be obvious from my Favourite Things post last week, an important tent pole is my daily shower, makeup, and hair routine, together with, at the end of the day, my makeup removal, cream application, and dental hygiene routine. These are both very vital parts of my day, as in I cannot imagine my day without them. How would I function?

I saw something several months ago that I have thought of nearly every day since. A fairly well-known Canadian writer had posted a photo of herself in a t-shirt with something witty on it, and that was the point of the post. However. I cannot remember at all what the t-shirt said because the side note of the photo was that the writer was wearing two day old makeup. I cannot get over this. I have to remind myself that the world is a vast tapestry and we are not identical robots. Still. It’s hard for me to fathom not showering daily, let alone going TWO days shower-less, short of extreme illness, surgery recovery, or camping. It is harder still to imagine going two days without washing one’s face. What would her pillowcase look like? What does her skin look like? How does one have eye makeup on for two days without it devolving into raccoon eyes? WHAT KIND OF MAGIC MAKEUP IS THIS?

Well. As I said, we are all different and have different priorities and ways in which we choose to spend our time. I am comfortable with the tent poles that give structure to my days, and therefore, my life. Well, mostly. I would prefer to spend less time vacuuming the floor, which is a tedious tent pole of my day, but that’s the tradeoff for having this guy in my life.

Weekly Reading

Reading is, of course, an important part of my day, and I finished two very good books this week.

Big Little Lies. I first read this in 2017, but decided to reread in preparation for the newly released Big Little Truths, for which I am in the library queue. The queue is pretty long, so hopefully I won’t forget everything by the time my turn comes. Anyway. Rereading this catapulted me back into the days when my kids were in elementary school: the fundraising for Smart Boards, the mom cliques, the playground gossip. This is such a propulsive, funny, and very thoughtful read about a very serious subject: domestic abuse. Moriarty is an excellent writer, and I have a little six-degree connection – a woman in our Morocco tour group taught math to her daughter! I felt starstruck just knowing that! Also, Rex would like you to know that he’s not telling any lies, big or little.

Tunnel 29. Big thanks to blog reader Allison R (HI ALLISON R) for telling me about this excellent nonfiction book that reads like a novel! It details the creation of a tunnel underneath the Berlin Wall through which 29 people escaped East Berlin, but more than that, it is a picture of post-war Germany, the division of the country, and the very grim living situation of East German people, particularly those in East Berlin. I had no idea about the Stasi – the spy network – that infiltrated every part of East German life. This was a very fascinating book and one I’d recommend if you are interested in German and Soviet history. I clearly remember the Berlin Wall coming down, I was a teenager, and this brings so much more context to that event than I have ever had. 

If I were more on the ball, I would have been singing Earth, Wind, and Fire’s September this time last week, but alas. Perhaps I’ll change it to the 28th night of September, just for today. How has your September been? I hope you have a beautiful week, friends! xo

Dolly Parton brought so much joy and goodness into the world; not only did she have the voice of an angel, but she had the demeanour of one as well. She did so much for so many, particularly with regards to improving children’s literacy and education. By all accounts she was a woman full of love for all; she was quoted as saying The Holy Ghost is that part of God that lives in everybody, and the way you sin against it is by not loving everybody with all your heart, for exactly who they are. Isn’t that beautiful?

I’ve always liked the saying that a woman at twenty has the face she was born with, and at forty she has the one she deserves. I think women, as they age, become more beautiful when they have a beautiful soul; their aura shines through. Their beauty comes from the inside out! But sometimes, I like to think of beauty going from the outside in.

What I mean is that I always feel like I’m my best self when I put effort into my outward appearance. I grew up in a house in which vanity was a flaw to be overcome, and I really do think that song is about me, so I have a little bit of low-level shame about my fixation on my appearance. As I have gotten older, I have become more and more comfortable with my own vanity and the importance my appearance plays in my life. I don’t care about looking nice for other people, I want to look nice for ME, and I don’t feel like my best self when I don’t look my best.

I think this is one of the reasons I love Dolly so much. She had a rich inner life AND she leaned in to her looks. She worked hard and donated massively to charity and meant so much to people, and she looked fabulous while doing it. Another quote: My joke of, ‘It costs a lot of money to look this cheap’ ‒ that’s so true because I like to look a certain way. I can’t just put on a little bit of makeup and think I look good because I don’t look good with a little bit of makeup. I like to wear a lot of makeup. It fits my personality. Even if somebody says, ‘Oh God, she was so over-made.’ Well, if it fits me then I’m going to make everybody around me happy because I’m going to feel good myself. Never have I related to something so much. One can be a serious person and also enjoy frivolities at the same time. Being sparkly doesn’t mean being stupid. Working on one’s outer beauty does not preclude working on one’s inner beauty.

This month’s Favourite Things is dedicated to glorious, glamourous Dolly.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Goodbye, Dolly Edition

Maybe She’s Born With It, Maybe It’s Maybelline

Like Dolly, I don’t like to wear a little makeup, I like to wear a lot of makeup, every day. This is especially true of mascara.

There are areas in my life where I like to splurge, but mascara isn’t one of them. I go through a tube a month and so I prefer a less-expensive drugstore brand. My favourite – and it’s been my favourite for YEARS – is Maybelline’s Surreal Falsies. It builds nicely, doesn’t clump, and I don’t feel bad if I go through it quickly.

I also love Maybelline’s Express Brow, which is essentially a mascara, but for eyebrows. It covers up the wiry white eyebrow hairs and patchiness that are part of my life now.

Love The Skin You’re In

I honestly think that laugh lines are very beautiful, and I also have deep forehead wrinkles and marionette lines from a lifetime of smiling, laughing, and raising my eyebrows. No regrets! What can I say, I’m a “facey” person with a lot of expression, and my visage really did freeze that way. Nevertheless, I do like to use night creams, not to erase those lines – that’s too tall an order for a mere lotion – but to soften, smooth, and hydrate.

I was standing in line at the Costco pharmacy, waiting to pick up my husband’s medications. I am trying not to look at my phone while waiting for things, and so I glanced around at the people around me, peeking into their carts and wondering about their lives. What are they doing with all that cheese? I’ll wonder. To my left was a long aisle of beauty products. Here’s the thing about buying beauty products at Costco: it’s a gamble, and a very tempting one. Everything is so economical and also so GIANT. I have found myself saddled with massive amounts of product that was wrong for me, which is wasteful and makes me regret my life choices. But there I was, in a very slow-moving line filled with elderly people filling prescriptions, beside all sorts of untried and promising products. I kept glancing at them. Minutes ticked by. I AM NOT MADE OF STONE.

I ended up with a two-pack of Cerave Skin Renewing Eye Cream and a THREE-pack of ROC Correxion Cream. It was a gamble, but one that paid off. I love both of these products, and, as a bonus, Wirecutter chose the Cerave as its recent number one pick for eye creams! Now, let’s hope they are back at Costco by the time I run out of them, which will be many months from now.

Nailed It

Until I was about 23 years old, I was a terrible nail-biter. Now that I’m not, I like to keep polish on them at all times to keep from reverting to bad habits. I have had three professional manicures in my life, and one of those was a gel manicure. That lasted several weeks without chips, but the downside is that it kind of wrecked my nails. I always get gel pedicures, so I don’t know what the difference was, but my fingernails were so weak and prone to splitting post-gel-manicure that I never got one again. Instead, I use Sally Hansen Miracle Gel polish, which lasts about a week before chipping, can be removed with regular polish remover, and doesn’t destroy my nails.

I love the look of dark nail polish – my toenails are always, always red – but I find that a light, natural colour is more forgiving in the chip department. I don’t know how one gets a job naming nail polish, but I wish it was mine. The colour I like is All Chiffon The World.

A Hair Affair

Recently my gorgeous friend Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) asked if my hair was naturally curly, and the answer to that is: not really. But it’s not straight, either. It’s more like weirdly inconsistent beach waves. Here is what it looks like wet:

And then this is with blow-drying:

Suffice it to say that it needs a little help, and so I love my curling iron. About a year ago I splurged on a fancy, expensive one, and I have never looked back.

It takes 5-10 minutes to curl my entire head of hair, depending on my precision and mood.

Then I gently comb it out, using a wide-tooth comb or my fingers.

I suppose I could blow-dry it straight, the way every hair stylist always does for me, but the truth is I don’t like the way it looks. My hair is so fine that it looks kind of flat and flyaway, and so I prefer the curls. I only wash my hair every three days, so it generally just needs a touchup or a bun on non-wash days.

It doesn’t take an eagle-eyed reader to notice the white roots! I don’t know when, if ever, I am going to allow my hair to go natural, because wow, does that feel like a process. At this rate, I’ll be the little orange haired lady in The Home. I started colouring my own hair during the pandemic and I never looked back, except to be low-level horrified by the amount of money I spent at salons for two decades. My current favourite is L’Oreal, and I am toying with the idea of going back to the chocolate brown of my youth. We’ll see!

Shine On You Crazy Diamond

As you may recall, I have had a lifelong goal to look like Mr T, when it comes to jewelry. More is more, I say! Just like I don’t feel like myself without makeup, I feel naked without jewelry. I like to wear bracelets, rings, earrings, and a necklace every day. I also wear my Garmin watch, but I’m not sure if that counts as jewelry.

Outfit of the Month

Nothing makes me want to shop my closet more than current pant styles. Everything is so wide-legged now, and I don’t love that style on me. Well, as Dolly herself said, Here you come again, and so slim-fit pants will eventually be back, but for now, I’m pulling out my old City Sleek Lululemons. I love these pants and I have several in different colours; I wore the charcoal ones with an old Gap tee and my Skecher sandals to a friend’s birthday lunch.

I am getting a lot of mileage out of that silk scarf I painted with my friend Sandi (HI SANDI) last summer. It’s the perfect lightweight scarf for a warmish fall day!

Face, hair, nails, clothes, accessories…I think I covered all my favourite frivolities, all of which Dolly made look so good. Goodbye, Dolly. You were an angel on this earth and now you are a literal angel. You were a gift to all of us. I will always love you. xo

I thought that was very sweet, and I am always happy when other people are happy, but wow, I cannot relate at all. Do not get me wrong: I love my husband, we are very compatible, and I enjoy his company immensely. I think we have a beautiful, fun, fulfilling life together, but in no world do I consider him to be my best friend. In my mind, “husband” and “best friend” are two completely separate concepts. If you marry your best friend, then who do you talk about your spouse with? The snake is eating its tail!

For a few months now, I have been intermittently thinking about a situation my friend Swistle (HI SWISTLE) found herself in: she had planned a coffee date with a former colleague, and at the last minute that colleague texted to say that her husband was going to come along. I’ll just let you digest that for a moment. A former colleague casually mentioned that her husband, heretofore unknown to Swistle, was going to join the coffee date scheduled between the two women. Frankly, I would have fallen over like a tree hand-chopped by an old-timey lumberjack with the shock, even if it was one of my friends whose husbands I DO know and am friendly with. Even if said husband was said friend’s best friend, as with Nick and Helene, I would STILL be distressed at the idea. What world do we live in where a coffee date gets crashed by a husband?

Under no circumstances could I fathom just randomly bringing my own husband along to a coffee date with a girlfriend. Still less could I fathom my husband suggesting that he join us. This behaviour is baffling, to say the least. But then! It happened AGAIN. Swistle made another coffee date with this woman and, AGAIN, at the last minute the friend informed her that her husband was going to join them. Twice makes a pattern, in my mind. Once? It’s weird. Twice? Something strange and unsettling is afoot.

My immediate thought was that this man was one of those atrocious, overbearing bores who cannot bear that their wives have a social life outside of their own twosome. I was a bit nervous that perhaps that woman was being, if not abused, then certainly domineered. Then I thought that maybe he was one of those overly-social joes who insist on being the centre of attention and the life of the party, to the detriment of all his relationships. We all know the type; the fellow who thinks everyone benefits from knowing him, and who wants to be involved in everything, all the while irritating every person in his sphere.

Now, one might reasonably say but what about the woman in this scenario? Does she not have any agency and responsibility here? And indeed. I have a tendency, much to my husband and sons’ mild exasperation, to place the blame squarely in the testosterone column in most scenarios, like Miss Cornelia. Isn’t that just like a man? But I am an open-minded person, and so I do feel that some of the onus here is on the woman. Of course, if we are in the first situation, then it is possible she is an exhausted, beaten-down woman who is used to her borderline emotionally-abusive husband not allowing her to exist outside of his realm, and therefore she is deserving of great sympathy. But if it’s the second situation, she might still be exhausted and beaten-down, but in the way of the girlfriend of the guy who is wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a lampshade on his head at every party. Perhaps she’s powerless in the face of his extreme social extroversion, but my own sympathy would be a little stretched. In either case, I want her to rise up, rise up. There is also the scenario in which the couple are best friends, and the woman feels that lives are enriched by knowing her dreamboat husband, and in this case, I have no sympathy whatsoever.

But then a new situation arose in my mind, and in the minds of many of Swistle’s readers, and that is that they are swingers and are courting her. Key parties ahoy! This certainly makes things more interesting, albeit unsettling. I don’t have any swingers in my life – that I know of. Given my history of being completely clueless when someone has been romantically or sexually interested in me until things become SO CLEAR that there is no room for misinterpretation, it’s perfectly possible that I could be courted for swinging without having any idea. I don’t think that’s happening to me, but who can say, really. In any case, I do find the whole concept of swinging to be pretty wild. We all deserve to be happy, and I don’t want to yuck anyone’s yum, but also? I find it kind of distasteful in a fascinating way. I was talking with my son about polyamory and open marriages, and as he succinctly put it: One person is super happy with the whole thing, and the other person has dead eyes. I think that sums it up quite admirably.

Really. Who has the energy? I personally can only manage one dog at a time, let alone anything else. How would anyone get anything done? A long while ago I heard an interview of a woman who had written a book about her open marriage, and to be honest, it all sounded pretty grim and depressing, not to mention logistically complicated.

The truth is I think about this woman all the time. When the interviewer asked her for any product recommendations, this woman touted the benefits of a particular waterproof dog blanket designed to protect upholstery, which she used for her frequent, messy, and fluid-filled sexual encounters. I immediately ordered that exact dog blanket myself, not for my own frequent, messy, or fluid-filled sexual encounters, but for my monogamous dog relationship. It protects the back seat from a certain giant, grubby dog and his frequently messy and, on rainy days, fluid-filled paws. At least twice a day, when we are getting in the car to head to the walking path, the open marriage lady enters my consciousness, and I feel gratitude for her and her desire for clean upholstery.

Weekly Reading

I read three extremely different books this week!

Culpability. A family travelling in a minivan with self-driving capabilities hits and kills an elderly couple in a small car. Whose fault was it? Was it the driver? Or was it the fault of the self-driving vehicle? This was a propulsive read and an interesting story, but it fell really flat for me due to the overblown and on-the-nose writing style, as well as the extensive telling, rather than showing. I found the ending flat and all of the characters to be deeply unlikeable. There are a lot of interesting threads in here, with the basic idea that AI is ruining our world, but I found the execution to be deeply lacking.

Cherry Baby. The flap copy for this book did not at all prepare me for the very lovely story of a marriage torn apart by success, and then brought back together. In fact, the flap copy is quite misleading. Nonetheless! I was so invested in these characters and their story. As well as being a love story in all its iterations, it’s also a statement on going through life in a large body, particularly in this time of GLP-1s. I loved all the characters, I loved the sister chat threads, and I loved the different romances. What an enjoyable read! There is a giant dog named Stevie Nicks, and I am here for it.

Wide Sargasso Sea. When it comes to Jane Eyre, I have always been Team Attic Wife. I mean, who WOULDN’T descend into madness after being taken from the West Indies and made to live alone in an attic in rural England? So I have long wanted to read this book, which is a prequel of sorts, and explains the life of “Bertha,” the wife in the attic – and we discover her name is not Bertha at all. It’s Antoinette, and Rochester, that evil buffoon, randomly changes it. Isn’t that just like a man, to quote Miss Cordelia once more. Anyway, I’m glad I finally read this but be warned: it’s a very complicated and difficult novel to read, with changing points of view and a lot of unspoken nuance. I had to do some research regarding the post-emancipation era in the West Indies, and its colonial history, of which I didn’t know much.

It’s been a fun week, with birthdays and cake and time in the garden. I have another fun week ahead – more birthday celebrations and more cake will be involved! I hope you all have a lovely week. xo

I understand the need for an automated system, but I feel like any person with any kind of critical reasoning skills might be able to deduce that there is an issue here that was not generated by my five monthly posts. However, we live in an automated world, and so I took it upon myself to follow the step-by-step procedure to discover from where such a jump in storage usage originated. And indeed, I found the issue: on July 7, 42583 files were added to my site.

CLEARLY THERE IS AN ISSUE HERE. And let me just say that this is not my first web host issue rodeo. At least twice before, I have encountered fairly significant issues, and it is always, always a problem originating from the provider: the extra files from a site migration ended up being duplicated, for example, or there is a problem with the firewall that mysteriously leads to thousands of spam comments crashing the site. It’s all very, very tedious and boring, but there is no way out but through. I contacted the web host provider, which led to a most trying afternoon. I spent a total of two hours in some kind of weird circular conversation, in which I would say that there was a problem on their end of things, they said no, there certainly wasn’t, I said there was, and they said I just needed to buy more storage.

I capitulated. I spent ten dollars on upgraded storage, because my site had not been backed up and I live in fear that it will somehow disappear without a trace and eighteen years of talking about grocery cart returns will evaporate into the ether. And not just grocery cart returns: the story about the professor with the absolutely monstrous body odour would be gone, forever, to live on only in my memory. I would never be able to recall that I had a similarly trying conversation with technical support almost exactly 16 years ago to the day; that particular incident ended with me sobbing and the technical support person calmly telling me he would stay on the line for as long as I needed to collect myself, and that perhaps I could get a glass of water while he solved my issues. I wouldn’t be able to remember when it was exactly that I gave myself a bikini wax and ran out of wax. What can I say, in the early days of the pandemic the honeypot spiralled out of control. It was a hairy situation, if you will. Imagine a world in which such important stories are not readily available for public consumption!

The point is, I have a lot of attachment to this blog, and so if ten dollars would give me a little extra security, then so be it. However! I wanted to get at the root cause of this issue, because if life has taught me anything, it’s that if you ignore a technological problem, it will grow and swell and eventually burst, like a giant bubble of gum that gets stuck into your hair and eyelashes. And so the weird gaslighting conversation between me and the web hosting help desk continued, with me saying there was a problem, them saying there wasn’t, me saying there was, and them saying not to worry, my site was now safe and secure, thanks to the upgraded storage.

Me: There is still an issue. There were 42853 files added on July 7. How did that happen?

Them: No. That’s just your site. You have 42583 files.

Me: I did not add them all on July 7. There has to be a mistake. Something had to have changed on your end. Did something get duplicated?

Them: No. Nothing changed. Everything is the same.

Finally, after 75 minutes on their online chat and 45 minutes on the actual phone, we had a breakthrough.

Me: Please, can you just look into the files on the backend. I am sure you’ll see something there.

Them: I cannot.

Me: *stares off into space, breathes deeply* I’m sure if you look…

Them: I am just a customer service representative. Only a technical support person can access the backend.

Me: *questions what just happened over the last two hours, questions sanity* Okay. Could you please put me in contact with a technical support person?

Them: Yes.

Me:

Let’s just gloss over the fact that I had requested technical support in the first place. The upshot is that I eventually received a message from technical support with the information that backup settings had been changed, resulting in a significant increase in storage usage. NO SHIT, SHERLOCK. After some investigation, I discovered that they had changed their backup system provider, which led to a duplication of everything. Technical support assisted me in a fix, which I stoically and dutifully applied. It’s fine, I’m fine, everything is fine.

So imagine my surprise when, a few days later, I received my annual renewal notice, and learned that the new and improved backup system was not a mere $10, but quadruple the previous cost for a third of the time period. Now listen. Writing is a hobby of mine and as with any hobby, there are costs involved. If I played golf or pickleball or tennis, if I was a crafter or fibre artist, if I was into photography or painting, if I had a dollhouse, all of those hobbies would come with costs in the form of fees, materials, or equipment. Web hosting fees and backup programs are part of the cost of having a writing hobby, and I have no plans to introduce ads or sponsored content or affiliate links in order to offset those costs. HOWEVER. This uptick seemed over-the-top, not to mention I did not consent to it, which is how I found myself on chat with customer service, again, for another 75 minutes at 5:00 am on a Friday morning. The happy news is that I was able to switch to a less-expensive backup platform. The sad news is that I was charged for BOTH platforms, which required yet another conversation with customer service to reverse the charges.

Weekly Reading

I was on a road trip this week, which called for lovely light reads!

28 Summers. I have read a number of Elin Hildebrand books, and this is far and away my favourite! I loved this story of a “same time next summer” affair that spans, as the title suggests, 28 Summers. The story really captured me and I became very invested in these two people who, despite everything, continue their once-a-year affair every Labour Day. I read most of it ON Labour Day this year, which was fun. Each chapter starts with “what we were thinking about this year” and it starts in 1993, the year I was 18, so I have very vivid memories of all of the references. What a lovely book of romance and friendship – and a steamy, sexy, kind of scandalous, affair.

The Shippers. This was a cute, fluffy, totally predictable and a little bit silly story of childhood friends who discover they love each other while on a cruise ship for her sister’s wedding. Listen, it’s just fun. Let’s not overthink it! Plus, the love interests are both mathematicians!

Part of Your World. A big-city, wealthy doctor accidentally drives into a ditch, and is rescued by a B&B owner and small town mayor. They come from different worlds and are in very different tax brackets. Can they make it work? Well, I think you know the answer. This was a sweet and satisfying book.

The remedy for a week of discontent is a road trip! We had a great time travelling to see friends and my parents; good times were had, wine was consumed, and games were played. Now it’s time to get all caught up on regular life – and to prepare for a very special 21st birthday tomorrow. Have a beautiful week, friends. xo

After a very busy and productive August, the garden is starting to take its annual September Slow Down. Every single day last month, I spent hours in the garden harvesting berries and vegetables, weeding, and deadheading. I was especially proud of myself for my management of what I like to call The Annual Zucchini Situation; I had been picking them when they’ve been of medium size, I’ve been using them up or successfully pawning them off on my very sweet friends, and no one in my house has mutinied due to the zucchini-in-everything Augusts of the past. A few weeks ago I was in the garden, thinking about this in a very smug way, and as we all know, karma does not enjoy smugness as a character trait. I immediately tripped over a massive zucchini that had apparently appeared out of nowhere.

I can only imagine it had been watching me for weeks from its hiding place under a large leaf.

Raspberry Beret

In addition to an actual ocean of tomatoes, I have been enjoying a tidal wave of raspberries. There is no need to figure out what to do with all of them, because as soon as I pick a bowl, it magically disappears. But a few weeks ago I had a bigger than normal raspberry harvest, and I also had an unaccountable gap in my weekly meal plan. I decided to do something I haven’t done in years, since before we moved here in 2023, which was to make breakfast for dinner. I thought I’d use the raspberries, along with my farm market peaches and nectarines, for a fruit salad to go along with my Famed Cinnamon Waffles.

The Landslide’ll Bring You Down

My cinnamon waffles were Famed only in my sons’ circle of friends. During their teen years, the boys had early dismissal on Fridays, and most of the time on those days my house would be suddenly filled with famished teen boys. I always made them cinnamon waffles because it was such a massive recipe, and then I would bask in the glory of being the Mom With The Best Waffles Ever. There is nothing, nothing so satisfying as cooking for teenage boys. No one is so ravenously appreciative.

Filled with nostalgia, I pulled out my waffle maker and went to grab the recipe for Nicole’s Famed Cinnamon Waffles, which were not Nicole’s at all, but merely a recipe in the little booklet that came with the waffle maker. And that is when I discovered that the little waffle maker recipe book was MISSING.

To my surprise, I immediately spiralled into the same kind of sadness that I had experienced back in 2023, when my bookmark collection was forever lost in the moving process. I assumed that the waffle recipe book had followed suit, and all was ashes. I was sad all over again, thinking of all those Friday afternoons when the mudroom was piled with gigantic dirty shoes and the dining room table was sticky with syrup, when Barkley braved the noise of ten teen boys in the house in the hopes of some dropped waffles, when said boys exited the dining room all saying That was AWESOME, Nicole, thank you! Never again would that happen for me, mostly because I don’t live there anymore, I don’t have teenagers, and Barkley is, sadly, long gone. Also because I would be unable to replicate the recipe. I was surprised at my sudden and intense reaction. Just feel your feelings, I said to myself sadly. The lack of the Famed Cinnamon Waffle Recipe felt devastating. Not as devastating as the bookmarks – I didn’t cry myself into a dehydrated state – but sad nonetheless.

Guess Who’s Back? Back Again?

As I wallowed in sadness, I realized that, current fashion trends notwithstanding, we are not in the Nineties anymore. We live in the Age of Information! And not all of it is Mis-or-Disinformation! I bustled over to my trusty laptop and searched up Cuisinart Waffle Maker Recipe Book and lo. There it was, the Famed Cinnamon Waffle recipe. What a time to be alive. I immediately printed it off and filed it in my recipe book, to ward off any future breakfast item-related sadness spirals.

I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

The happy ending to the waffle recipe sadness spiral reminded me how wonderful the world is, and not just because we can access any kind of information at any time. It reminded me of how all of you, dear readers, rallied when my bookmarks were lost. I was going through such a massive transition in my life, and the bookmarks felt symbolic in the saddest way. No one, not one person, said they’re just bookmarks, get over yourself. Instead, friends from near and far provided me with bookmarks. My friend Sammi drove over to my house with a selection immediately on hearing the news, I received bookmarks from Washington State to Marco Island, from the US Midwest to California, from Alberta to Saskatchewan to Ontario, from Barcelona and Portugal. My son made me bookmarks featuring Rex, Salvadore the gnome, and Gerbera daisies for Christmas. My sweet friend Gigi (HI GIGI) cross-stitched personalized flowered bookmarks for me. I keep my collection in a tin that my longtime friend Elise (HI ELISE) sent me, and every time I start a new book, I happily choose one and think of what a gift it is to have such people in my life.

I will never forget how supported and loved I felt and still feel. Thank you, friends.

All You Need Is Love

Speaking of fun and exciting things in the mail, I received this from my friend Engie (HI ENGIE).

I literally screamed with delight when I opened it. Gnomes, love, AND math? I’m in heaven. Receiving fun mail reminded me that we are now into September, and it’s not too soon to start thinking about holiday cards. Are you a Holiday Card Person? If so, let’s exchange cards! (EXCHANGE is the key word here). Merely fill out this google form, and I will send you my address. If you are already on my list, no need to fill out the form, unless your address has changed. Now, I think that’s enough randomness – let’s get on to this week’s very mixed reading.

Weekly Reading

I had a DNF this week: Heated Rivalry. You all know I love a closed door romance, and whoa nelly, that was not this. It was way too spicy for me and I DNF’d at about the 12% mark, after the third graphic anal sex scene had me Kegeling like nobody’s business.

Her One Regret. From the author of The Nine Lives of Rose Napolitano – a book about a woman coerced into having a baby – comes this book about the biggest taboo in motherhood; namely, regretting becoming one. It is touted as a mix between a thriller and a manifesto, and indeed, it does get at some uncomfortable truths about early motherhood like exhaustion, resentment, change of identity, and overwhelm due to the stunning responsibility that is caring for a tiny helpless person. I will say that it’s pretty repetitive and overly convoluted, and every man in this book is as flat and one-dimensional as can be – they are all complete dicks. The “thriller” part was less than thrilling, in fact when the big reveal occurred I thought “Huh. Okay.” and moved on with my life. It does highlight that society views mothers that leave their families VERY different than they do fathers that leave, but mostly I felt it was kind of overwritten and a bit dull.

Inheritance. What makes a father a father? How does your biological ancestry affect who you are as a person? This memoir explores such questions after the author discovers, through an ancestry DNA test, that her long-deceased father was not her biological father due to a very sketchy infertility “treatment.” I will say that the author’s journey to peace with this very disturbing discovery is quite interesting and eventually lovely, but something did not sit well with me throughout this reading. I am in no way disparaging or questioning her lived experience. I am sure it’s extremely disorienting to discover that your father isn’t who you thought he was, and in the author’s case, this had larger implications. Her father’s family was a prominent Orthodox Jewish one, and on her discovery, she felt as though she had lost her identity and was subsequently traumatized. “It’s traumatic because I’m fifty-four years old and I found out the father I adored, the father who raised me, was not my biological father. That the family I thought I came from is not my biological family. That my ancestors are not my biological ancestors.” I understand this, however, I take a bit of issue with it. I would say that a father who adored you and raised you IS your father, end of story. I suppose I feel touchy about this because my beloved Grandma Fern was my step-grandma. We were not related by blood, but she was still my grandma. She cherished me exactly the same as she did her biological grandchildren. In the author’s case, a (sketchy) sperm donation does not make a father, in my mind. Anyway, this was a very interesting and kind of wild read about the nature of infertility treatments in the early 60s. I also learned a lot about Orthodox Judaism. This was definitely worth the read, and had me thinking a lot about the nature of families. I think there is just so much more to family than blood.

Walking With Beth. During the Covid pandemic, the 71 year-old author and her 101-year-old friend Beth deepen their friendship with regular walks and talks, and this book is a record of their conversations. Both women are from very prominent Canadian families, and so their recollections of their younger years were quite interesting to me, not to mention all they’d seen throughout their lives. Beth was born in 1920, at the end of the 1918 influenza pandemic, so it’s interesting that the two bonded 100 years later. This book introduced me to the concept of Anam Cara, “soul-friend,” of whom I am fortunate to have a few. “This friendship…was an act of recognition and belonging. When you had an anam cara, your friendship cut across all convention, morality, and category. You were joined in an ancient and eternal way with the friend of your soul. This art of belonging awakened and fostered a deep and special companionship.” This is a beautiful story of aging and friendship, and I LOVED the description of Beth’s outfits. Talk about goals! Thanks to Elisabeth and Pearl (HI ELISABETH HI PEARL) for mentioning this book.

Hello to September! We are going on a little road trip this week, and I have the feeling we will be seeing lots of fall foliage. In the meantime, take care, friends. xo

When I was in Grade Five or so, my best friend’s mom imposed a rule on her that she could not take out “junk” books from the library. She was not allowed to read what the rest of us were furtively reading, which were the Sweet Valley High and Cheerleader series, and their ilk. At the time it struck me as patently unfair, and now, looking back on it, it strikes me as patently stupid. What kind of a person puts reading restrictions on a ten-year-old? Even my own mother, who was no slouch in the “strict rules” department, did not know or care what I was reading at any given time; I soon graduated from those books to things like Flowers in the Attic, Clan of the Cave Bear, and Elvis and Me, all of which combined to give me a very strange outlook on life. To this day I will not eat powdered doughnuts.

No matter. I strongly believe that kids should read just what they want to read, and so should adults, with no apologies. For me, I have always been interested almost exclusively in the lives of girls and women – both the concept and the actual book – and so the vast majority of the books I read have female protagonists and are written by women. In fact, it’s somewhat of a joke in my house if I’m reading a book written by a man: the guys will ask if he’s gay, British, or gay and British, and indeed, that does tend to be the exception to my women-only rule. There are exceptions to the exception, though; this calendar year I have read two 5-star books by non-gay, non-British men, The Remains of the Day and Grace and Henry’s Holiday Movie Marathon.

I love character-driven novels about the minutia of life, I love books about the extraordinariness of ordinary life, I love prose and dialogue that is clever, witty, and beautiful. This means much of my reading is women’s literary fiction, although I do like an occasional upmarket or romance. I do not care for dystopian books at all, but as I said, there are exceptions: I love both The Handmaid’s Tale and I Who Have Never Known Men. I don’t like magical realism or fantasy, but I loved The Husbands and The Mists of Avalon, the latter of which I have read multiple times. I shy away from horror, having been scarred by a single reading of Misery back in 1990, and also because I generally am easily terrified. Books that contain time travel, sci-fi, or futuristic timelines are completely uninteresting to me and I refuse to read them. I don’t tend to gravitate toward thrillers or mysteries, but occasionally I will be coaxed into one by a glowing review from my friend Suzanne, and I always end up enjoying it (HI SUZANNE). Historical fiction is a tricky category for me. I don’t like when things wrap up too neatly, and also my number one pet peeve is when current day values or language are imposed on a book of yesteryear, which happens often in historical fiction. That said, I absolutely loved Isola, as well as any number of novels about spunky letter-writing women during the Blitz in London. I enjoy a well-written and entertaining memoir and the occasional interesting non-fiction as well. Sometimes I think I should branch out more, genre-wise, but mostly I just embrace what I like.

Who and Where

My TBR – to be read – list is staggeringly long and it just gets longer every day. The problem is I have so many well-read friends who are always recommending excellent books, although I have gotten very selective as to who I take recommendations from, having blindly picked up, and then regretted, many titles. And it goes the other way too: I once had an old school friend message me on Instagram, angry that she had BOUGHT three books on my glowing recommendations, and that “nothing happened in any of them!” They were so boring and I can’t believe you liked them! What a waste of money! she said. Well. The only thing I can say to that is that you really need to know a person’s taste BEFORE you take on their recommendations, and certainly before you commit to buying them. Support your local libraries! It’s a cost-free way to read – or not read – as many books as you like.

Speaking of Instagram, I do get a lot of recommendations from there; I follow a number of bookstagram accounts, and I also have some friends who are avid readers and with whom I share interests and tastes. My friend Anna (HI ANNA) and I enjoy 95% of the same books, so when she recommends something, I listen. I also get a lot of ideas from blog friends; notably Allison (HI ALLISON) who puts up a very detailed annual summary every January. I take a lot of her four and five star fiction recommendations. She is much wider-read than I am, genre-wise, but she always separates out horror, sci-fi, thriller, and mysteries, so I don’t get myself entangled in anything that I am uninterested in or scared of.

I also get a number of recommendations from podcasts, although that has been hit-and-miss for me. I enthusiastically picked up The Idea of You based on a podcaster’s recommendation and I never trusted that woman again. Just like that old school friend will never trust me again. The world is a vast tapestry, big wheel keeps on turning, Proud Mary keeps on burning.

When and How

I read 2-3 books per week, almost all physical books, the rest on an ereader, and the reason I can manage this pace is twofold: I am a fast reader, and I carve out time to read every day. Even in my busiest eras of life, of which I am markedly NOT in currently, I always made time for reading daily. Reading is the R in my REM Y REM protocol for mental health and general well-being. (Exercise, Meditation, Yoga, and REM sleep are the other key parts). I read both in small snippets throughout the day, and then longer stretches in the later afternoon or evening. My husband is a sports fan, and there are games or tournaments or what have you most months of the year, so while he watches those in the evening I keep him company by reading on the couch. I try to read for an additional 30-60 minutes during the afternoon, depending on my day. I read while I eat lunch, I always have a book in my bag so I have something to read if I’m delayed or waiting somewhere, and I try to pick up my current read whenever I have a few spare minutes, rather than scroll on my phone. Recently my friend Elisabeth (HI ELISABETH) shared a “Couch to 5K,” but for reading, which I think is kind of brilliant. We are all so fractured, attention-wise, these days that I think there is real value in just concentrating on a book. It’s beneficial for our brains and our outlooks on life. What could give us more knowledge and information than reading? It’s never wasted time, as far as I’m concerned, and I never feel guilty about it. I know plenty of people who feel that reading is unproductive, but a) what are we being productive for, b) taking time for ourselves benefits everyone in a “put on your oxygen mask before helping others with theirs” way, and c) fuck the patriarchy that wants to keep women busy every second of the day.

Weekly Reading

A Woman in Berlin. I know I declared Reread Fortnight to be over, but I squeezed in one more, which I first read about 25 years ago for a now-long-defunct book club. This is an actual account, based on the author’s diary and notes, of the fall of Berlin in 1945. If ever you are having a bad day, remember you are not a woman in Berlin, a city which was bombed to rubble, foraging for food and getting raped six ways to Sunday by the Red Army, all with the shame of what your country’s leadership has done. It is grim. But here is an interesting sidebar: up until TWO WEEKS AGO, I had a picture in my mind of post-war Germany, and that picture had a line down the centre, dividing it into East and West Germany. I had assumed that Berlin just happened to be in the middle of that line, thus the division and eventual wall. HOW WRONG I WAS! Berlin is actually very deep into the heart of what was East Germany, so that West Berlin was surrounded on all sides by red, if you will. This blows my mind! I had no idea. If you were a person in West Berlin, would you be able to travel to West Germany easily? I suppose there would be checkpoints and so forth, but it is a long way from West Berlin to West Germany. If anyone can point me to further reading material on this subject, I would be very grateful. I know I have some German readers, so please let me know if you have any recommendations.

Silver Sparrow. I loved this book about two girls who are half-sisters – one of them knows it, one of them doesn’t. Their father is a bigamist, and this is a dual-perspective story about the lives of the two girls as they grow up in Atlanta, but it’s so much more. The characters are so richly developed, and there is such a statement about generational cycles. The ending made my jaw drop a little. A beautifully-written, compelling story.

The Sweet Spot. Oh, I loved this delightfully heartwarming book with all its charming characters and really great arcs. It has all my favourite literary f-words: found family, friends, funny dialogue, and forgiveness. There’s fucking too, but it’s all closed-door and perfectly non-spicy, which is exactly how I like it, literarily speaking. I love it when a motley crew of characters all end up working together for a common goal, and that is exactly what happens when a baby finds itself in need of a caretaker – or, in this case, many caretakers. This is just a lovely, feel-good book, perfect cheer for a gloomy, rainy weekend. WHO recommended this book? I owe you one! And not in the way of my old school friend, or, I should say, my former school friend.

There was some sad news this week: Dolly Parton passed away. She was an absolute angel, and among numerous significant charitable contributions was a champion for children’s literacy. I dedicate this book talk miniseries to her memory. May she rest in fabulous, over-the-top, glittery peace.

My feeling is that everything is easier when it is shared, and also there is no such thing as too much information. Today I will be talking about my Favourite Things when it comes to managing this sweaty, roller coaster-y stage of life. We are in this together, ladies! I also hope my three male readers enjoy the ride.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Perimenopause Edition

HRT for Me

When I was in prenatal class with my first pregnancy, I was assigned a “birth plan” to create. I remember clearly that my “plan,” such as it was, would be to try to avoid an epidural or other drugs, but I wasn’t opposed to them if needed. I had never had a baby before, so I didn’t know if I would want them or not. And indeed, I did have not one but two drug-free births, but during the first one, I started screaming I can’t do it anymore, I need the drugs!, at which point the nurse told me I was nine and half centimetres dilated, it was too late, no drugs for me. The second time around was even faster, and so I never asked for any. Plus I felt like an old pro by that time, as my babies were born less than eighteen months apart, and the vag wasn’t what it once was, if you know what I’m saying.

I have always found it a little distasteful when there is smugness involved in anything birth and parenting related, because the wheel of fortune is undiscerning. My labours were four and two hours long, respectively, but if I was a woman who was in labour for many hours or even days, I would absolutely have had drugs.

I had the same feeling about hormone replacement treatment for perimenopause, namely that I would consider it if I ever felt that I needed to. And for years I didn’t need to; for the longest time, I thought not right now, I can manage without, it’s not so bad, until last April. Last April, things became unmanageable. Suddenly I was unable to get restorative sleep, I was exhausted all the time, my whole body thrummed with fatigue and, oddly, an elevated heartrate. I was having hot flashes and night sweats constantly, and I just could not cope. I didn’t want to cope. My doctor, a brilliant and progressive young woman, immediately prescribed a low dose oral estrogen and progesterone protocol. When I went to the pharmacy to pick it up, the pharmacist explained that the estrogen would help with the hot flashes and the progesterone would help me sleep. Friends, I was so tired that I just burst into relieved tears, right there at the Costco pharmacy. The pharmacist smiled knowingly. The estrogen will help with the mood swings too.

I cannot begin to explain how life-changing this has been for me. In the way that you can’t tell how bad something is until you’re out of it, I realized I was on an energetic downward trajectory for MONTHS, and now I feel like my old self again. I wake up feeling restored and refreshed, my body doesn’t ache, my plantar fasciitis cleared up completely, and I have had not ONE incident of hot flashes or night sweats. My energy is great, I feel good, my cognitive function is such that I’m not wondering if I’m slowly losing my mind. Prior to HRT I was forgetting words like “lunch.” THANK GOD FOR MODERN MEDICINE.

Ritual Stacking

I never forget to take my medication, vitamins, or supplements because I always tie them to something else. I take most things with my breakfast and lunch, but progesterone needs to be taken at night. I keep this mug that my friend Joy gave me (HI JOY) next to my bathroom sink; I tie the progesterone to my nighttime flossing and brushing routine. The mug makes me smile every day, and it feels like a call-out to all us Peri Bitches.

BEAST MODE

I bought you a present! my husband said, and I excitedly bustled over to see what it was.

Some people might not be super excited about a pull-up assist, but I sure was. We are all supposed to be working on strength to counteract age-and-hormone related loss of muscle mass and to improve bone density, and I do, but wow, is it boring. I grimly do my weight training routine with as much joy as I do the vacuuming: I like the end result but it’s just another chore in the day to get there. However, I will say that this pull-up assist is SO much fun. I feel like an absolute beast.

Look at me go! I find it very satisfying that eighteen months ago I could only hang, straight-armed, for a count of ten, and now I can do pull-ups with only the lowest-level of assistance. Maybe one day I will be able to do them totally unassisted! But even if not, it is the journey, not the destination, life is a highway, etcetera.

Roll Out The Welcome Matte

If you are a Gen X woman, then you will surely remember the days of using St Ives Apricot Scrub followed by Sea Breeze toner and Cover Girl matte foundation and pressed powder. We valued a matte face, let’s put it that way, and I still do. I hate the feeling of my face being dewy and shiny; I wear pressed powder every single day and have since I first started wearing makeup. The problem is that once a woman reaches a certain age, a matte look can exacerbate certain lines and wrinkles. How to balance the two?

I absolutely love Tarte BB Blur tinted moisturizer, which provides much-needed moisture without a ton of shine. It purports to have SPF, but it doesn’t say that on the tube, and so I apply it overtop my Neutrogena Face Serum Sunscreen.

It’s still dewier than I like, so I have been following it up with Tower 28 pressed powder; I had seen this powder highly recommended, and I will tell you it is worth the extra expense. It gives a matte finish that lasts all day, without any need for touch-ups.

It also doesn’t collect in little lines and crevices, which is an important consideration for me.

Wrap It Up

I am just not ready to embrace my natural hair colour, which is white and grey. For one thing, to go au naturel would be quite the undertaking: I would have to live with increasingly longer white and grey roots with increasingly fading red ends, or I would have to cut my hair super short and just let it be white and grey, or I would have to have my colour stripped out and then somehow allow my stripped hair to blend in with the white and grey. None of these options appeal.

I usually wear my hair in a bun if I’m on my third day of the three-day wash cycle, and for the last ten days before colouring my roots are pretty noticeable. Enter the hair wrap!

I just got this new one from Scrummy Scrunchies on Etsy; it’s nice and long and I can loop it around my head a few times or let it hang down my back in a bohemian kind of way.

In addition to covering up the roots, it also covers up thinner spots. I know, no one wants to talk about thinning hair, but it happens to the best of us. The feminine mystique takes a bit of a beating during perimenopause; our skin changes, our temperatures change, we sweat more, our periods are all over the place, our vaginas dry up, our waistlines expand, we sprout moustaches and chin hairs, and OUR HAIR STARTS TO FALL OUT. I will give another plug for Nutrafol (I WISH I was sponsored, alas, I am not), which I have been taking religiously since November 2022, and which has made a significant difference in my hair density. At one point, I was actually worried I was going to go bald. My Calgary doctor – A MAN – dismissed my hair loss concerns and said to me flippantly “How many bald women do you see, really?” To which I informed him that actually, my paternal grandmother had to wear a wig because her hair fell out, DO NOT GASLIGHT ME ABOUT MY HAIR, DOCTOR.

Anyway. Nutrafol has worked wonders but the thing about a hair growth supplement is that one’s roots become en evidence much quicker. Well, I can’t simultaneously complain about rapidly-appearing roots from hair growth while taking a hair growth supplement.

Outfit of the Month

I have a tale to tell about this skirt. I was in the market for a summer skirt that was more structured than my usual, and this one from Lululemon seemed to fit the bill. It is the perfect length, it is made of a stiffer material than my athletic skirts, it has a side zipper for a sleek silhouette, it has shorts attached underneath, and it has pockets! Perfection! The reviews online indicated that it fit smaller than usual, and since half my wardrobe is from Lululemon, I very confidently ordered it one size up.

When it arrived, I could not do up the zipper. Well, that’s not true. I was able to do up the zipper, but it involved massive sucking in. Also, I ended up zipping the skin of my waist into the zipper, which was a painful insult-to-injury situation.

I know what you’re thinking, because I was thinking the same thing. Did I changed sizes? I wondered euphemistically. I tried on my very fitted, structured Lululemon pants that involve buttons and zippers, but mysteriously, they fit perfectly. I tried on my jeans, and it was the same thing. It soon became evident that it was not me, it was the skirt, and so I took it back to the store and did what I should have done in the first place, which was to try it on.

And I ended up going up THREE sizes.

I mention this to illustrate that women’s clothing sizes are a joke. We tie so much of ourselves to a certain size – or weight – and then we feel badly when things don’t line up. But those numbers are just numbers. Those numbers are not US. A different number is not some kind of moral failing and it doesn’t say anything about us as a person. All the clothes in my closet fit perfectly, and there are many different sizes involved, depending on the store or brand. I will say that I felt a bit taken aback, going up three sizes for a skirt, and Younger Nicole might not have bought the skirt at all. Wouldn’t that be a shame! Forgoing something so cute for a stupid metric like a clothing size, and in any case, Lululemon tags are designed to be ripped out.

Sandals are from Skechers – comfortable shoes are a must at this stage of the game – and the top is an old one from the Gap.

The thing about perimenopause is that I feel lucky to experience it. Some women don’t make it this far! And the truth is that although some parts of it are absolutely unpleasant, we live in an age where we can talk about it, and there are medical interventions that can help with the really bothersome symptoms. I’m so happy to have a good and open doctor, I am so happy to have access to HRT, and I’m thrilled to live in a world where there are cosmetics, hair colour, and elastic waistbands. xo