But of course, there is always an exception, and for me that exception is Wiser Than Me, wherein Julia Louis-Dreyfus interviews older women who are celebrities. And now I will tell you that there is an exception to the exception; I very much enjoy these interviews and Julia’s style with one important caveat, which I will get to shortly.

Recently she interviewed Cyndi Lauper, of whom I have been a fan since I was eight years old, when She’s So Unusual was released, and this episode did not disappoint. I adored listening to her heavy Brooklyn accent – whaddya wanna know? – relate her take on life and zest for standing up for what she believes in. But most of all, I loved that she called out Julia for the question that I absolutely loathe, and grit my teeth about during every one of her interviews.

At the beginning of every interview, Julia asks if the woman is comfortable divulging her real age, and after that, she asks how old do you feel? My love for Cyndi Lauper was like the Grinch’s heart, exploding out of the little box it had been in before, as she called out the question as the bullshit garbage it is. When Julia expressed surprise that Cyndi, who is 72, said she feels 72, she replied:

Well, here’s what I think. I think it’s a bunch of bullshit that they give you these numbers and they tell you what you’re supposed to do at what age and what age you’re supposed to feel like this and what age you’re supposed to feel like that and I think it’s a load of crap.

I love her. How old do we FEEL? I don’t know about you, but I feel 51, because THIS IS WHAT FIFTY-ONE FEELS LIKE. Can we please normalise the idea that it’s okay to be the age we are and, relatedly, that how we feel does not need to correlate to a number? If I said I felt 92, the immediate thought would be that I frailly had one foot in the grave, not that I felt wise and gentle with the years. If I said I felt 22, it would be assumed that I was vibrant and sexy, and not riddled with self-doubt and insecurity. I very much dislike that “old” is used pejoratively, and “young” is the opposite. Listen, I get it, I get that there are things that are objectively difficult about aging, but also, it’s not like being young is always a bag of laughs, see also last week’s rant about Monica Lewinsky’s youthful indiscretion and the resulting turmoil for that poor young woman. I would never, ever trade my menopausal tum-tum for my previously stellar flat stomach if it meant I had to go back in time. I LIKE having these years behind me, I LIKE not second-guessing myself, I LIKE the feeling of having experience and knowledge and that there is more of that to come. Sure, I may no longer be able to put my legs behind my bed or run a sub-eight minute mile – or CAN I? I haven’t tried for a while – but that’s a small trade-off for this glorious peace of mind, this who-gives-a-shit attitude, the feeling that this is who I am, take it or leave it.

It’s like bananas.

I don’t mean it IS bananas, although it is, the worship of youth culture. I mean that we are literally like bananas. God bless the banana, I say, what a versatile and wonderful fruit. Bananas are delicious when they are still a bit greenish, they make a great smoothie when they are yellow and frozen, and when they become black and mushy and kind of grody, they make the absolute best baked goods. I ask you, what can’t a banana do? They are full of vitamins, potassium, iron, and fibre, they have electrolytes and prebiotics, they are essentially a superfood. They are reliably inexpensive and available year-round, and if you are travelling and are concerned about getting explosive diarrhea from a piece of fruit? Have a banana! They come pre-wrapped! You can pretend to make a phone call with them, you can make your mouth into a giant banana smile, and you can look deeply into your husband’s eyes while eating them, so he can uncomfortably look away.

There is a time and place for every stage of a banana’s life.

There is no judgement about which stage is better – they are all useful and delicious in their own way. All hail the humble banana, and all hail us, in all our glory, no matter what stage we are in. I feel like I am in the banana ice cream stage: kind of sweet and soft, good for a dessert, better with some chocolate sauce and Reece’s Pieces…you know what, I’m not sure this metaphor is working anymore.

Weekly Reading

The Elegance of the Hedgehog. This interesting little book involves a middle aged concierge in an expensive Parisian hotel particulier and a 12-year-old inhabitant of said building, both of whom hide their extensive, and kind of pretentious, intelligence in order to fit into society’s expectations for them. The concierge pretends to like things like cabbage and television – so pedestrian! – so that no one will know she’s a brilliant autodidact, while the 12-year-old has decided that privileged life has no meaning, and so she is going to set fire to the building and kill herself by her thirteenth birthday. Talk about preteen angst. When an intelligent Japanese gentleman moves into the building, things start to change for both of them; discoveries are made and friendships are created. It’s a statement on class-consciousness, to be sure, as well as the beauty of life and the power of connection. 

Writers and Lovers. I first read this gorgeously-written book in 2022, and I wanted to reread it concurrently with the author’s latest, Heart the Lover, which is, interestingly, both a prequel and a sequel to Writers and Lovers. Alas, due to library holds, the concurrent read didn’t work out, but I think that’s for the better: I think the books work so beautifully stand-alone, with the “oh, THAT’S what happened” feeling of Heart the Lover. A concurrent read would highlight a big inconsistency with one of the major plot points of Heart the Lover, when compared with the character of Casey in Writers and Lovers. I know from an interview with Lily King that the big plot point was a late addition to one of the final drafts, and I like knowing that – I like knowing the process, and I think that plot point added so much to Heart the Lover, even if that means that some character details don’t stand up to close reading scrutiny. The tl;dr here is that I LOVE THIS BOOK and I also loved Heart the Lover, and I think they should be read and appreciated separately. I loved Writers and Lovers when I read it in 2022, and I love it even more now. It hit me differently this time around and affected me deeply.

Interestingly, I went to look up my 2022 review and it is in a post entitled “Psychological Long Covid” in which I talk about panicking at the grocery store, hoarding lemon juice, and also – callback to podcasts – eviscerate a book written by an obnoxious and privileged podcaster. Blog posts are such time capsules! And speaking of time capsules!

The Remains of the Day. Wow, this book. This book! I loved it so much. It combines two of my major interests: the staffing and running of great English houses, and the political ideologies and events in the years between the World Wars, hashtag I am a War History Buff Now. This book should be held up as the gold standard for showing, not telling. The narrator, who seems kind of like a robot, personality-wise, is not exactly unreliable, but the information we receive is limited and much is concealed. Slowly, we begin to see a clearer picture of both the butler’s life, and also the life of his employer. This is a slow burn and is really, really remarkable in the writing style. It is desperately sad and contains incredible insight. The quote that might stay with me forever is this: “You’ve got to enjoy yourself. The evening’s the best part of the day. Now you can put your feet up and enjoy it. That’s how I look at it. Ask anybody, they’ll all tell you. The evening’s the best part of the day.” As a metaphor, it’s incredible. As a book, it’s absolutely excellent. As a part of this blog post, it’s perfect.

My husband was camping this week, so after I finished The Remains of the Day and stared into space for a while, emotionally destroyed, I thought Maybe I should watch the movie! And friends, I should have learned my lesson from Hamnet, along with EVERY OTHER TIME I have watched a screen adaptation of a beloved book: don’t. Or, don’t watch the movie so close to reading the book, because instead of appreciating the film for what it is, I mentally pulled it apart for how it deviated from the book. Did I expect it to have that same emotional interiority of a book, even though that is impossible to show on screen? Did I expect the literary genius to come through? I told my older son I was going to watch the movie and he said, warningly, that I would be angry because it wasn’t the book. The young can teach us so much. He knows me better than I know myself. I do not like screen adaptations. I NEVER like screen adaptations. I am who I am, and who I am is a browning banana who needs to be peeled and put in the freezer before the fruit flies start swarming. I really don’t know what I am doing with this metaphor. xo

But time is the panacea for most things, as it was for this. I now have to factor in Chat Time every time I go for a walk, I have a fabulous group of friends, I am a familiar face at the grocery store, farm market, post office, winery, and library. It’s hard to remember that deflated feeling I had, now.

One thing that has been consistent since our move is my love for our house. This house is so beautiful, and after 23 years in a north-facing, 1962 bungalow, I was thrilled from day one with the sudden acquisition of all the things I didn’t have before: the abundance of natural light, cupboard, and closet space, a mudroom, a pantry, a laundry room, and an ensuite. The novelty hasn’t worn off. Every single day I am grateful for every single one of these things, not a day goes by when I don’t marvel at them.

In my Ask Me Anything – back in December! I am nothing if not prompt – my friend San (HI SAN) asked: What is your favourite room in the house? The answer is the same when asked about my favourite month: I don’t have one. They are all my favourite in their own way! They all have wonderful things to recommend them, but I thought I would talk about the rooms I spend the most time in.

Upon entering the house, it is a straight shot from the beloved mudroom to the kitchen, living room, dining room, and deck. I love that we have dinner every day overlooking our beautiful view, I love our cozy living room, I love my spacious and bright kitchen. And of course, I love our deck! It’s an extra room during the warm months, and it’s where I can be found, reading, for a good part of the day.

When it’s not warm enough to be on the deck, I like to curl up on the couch, reading. Rex generally wedges himself between the couch and the coffee table, because I just cannot be close enough.

Those gold-framed flower pictures in the background were painted and given to me by my dear friend Florence (HI FLORENCE) before I left Calgary, and I think of her every single day when I see them. Also, full disclosure, I started this post a few months ago and then it fell off the radar, which explains Rex’s fuzziness in some photos.

The pandemic was terrible for many reasons, but, as Ma Ingalls says, there is no great loss without some small gain and for me, that was my Peloton bike. I love our home gym; we had one in Calgary too, but it was much smaller, and this one has a squat rack, which I use for pull-up practice.

I write in our office, and although it tends to be a bit of a catchall for some items (I think there still is a box that really should be unpacked and dealt with), I love the space. The shelves are filled with photos and albums, the kids’ craft and woodshop projects, and my husband’s prized bowling trophy from 1978.

I don’t spend a ton of time in here, but I love that we have a guest room and that our bookshelves fit so perfectly!

Enroute to our bedroom is our wall of photographs; some are from recent travels and some were on our walls in our Calgary house. Every one of them is a great memory. In this photo you can see the doors to the boys’ rooms – so spacious! – and also their bathroom. Really, since there is only one boy living at home, it’s HIS bathroom.

Where the magic happens! Also, while I like to stretch out on the deck or curl up on the couch, my husband enjoys reading in the recliner. But what’s that on his bedside table?

Inhale Exhale! Not just for middle-aged women! My husband proclaims it is his favourite book, and god, I love that man. I love that it is positioned perfectly next to his blood pressure monitor.

Weekly Reading

Speaking of books! I am CRUSHING my goal of DNFing when a book isn’t working for me, and this week it was Villa Coco. Clearly this author is not for me as I slogged through his Less in 2017 and I abandoned ship on this one at page 40. It had so many elements that I thought I’d love: setting in Tuscany, a sassy 92-year-old female side character, and an illicit affair. Very Nicole-coded! But wow, was I bored. I realized there is a huge wait list for this at the library, so the best thing I could do was return it early.

Dear Monica Lewinsky. Who among us has not had a youthful indiscretion? I have long thought that Monica Lewinsky is the most maligned woman of my lifetime; imagine your youthful indiscretion resulted in betrayal by a close girlfriend, becoming the focus of international attention and intense ridicule, being slut-shamed and weight-shamed and all-around-shamed, being the frequent subject of sexist, rude, crass jokes on late night television and Saturday night live, not to mention national programs and publications, having your entire reputation precede you forever at the age of 25, being unable to find a job or to outrun your persona as a gross whore, and, at the end of the day, having the man with whom you had this youthful indiscretion deny the whole thing and then having to prove it by getting a DNA sample of the jizz he left on your dress? Let us all remember what we were like at 22, let us all remember the rush of power and the butterflies of adoration, and let us imagine our lives being forever changed afterward. Or maybe there is no imagining needed. This book deals with a woman facing her own youthful indiscretion and how it impacted her life forever; she calls for help from a canonized Monica Lewinsky. The book interweaves the lives of female saints with the story of the young woman’s time at an art history summer program, using the cleverest, wittiest writing I have seen in a long while. I loved this book and I am standing with my fist raised against powerful men who use young women for their own desires and then step away unscathed, while the women deal with the fallout. Also, fuck the patriarchy that makes girls and women feel their worth lies only in their ability to attract the male gaze.

Saoirse. What happens when the people who are supposed to protect children don’t? What happens when children fall through the cracks? Can a person outrun their past? These are all questions that are answered through this book, which features a very young American woman who flees to Ireland with a stolen identity. This is a very readable book with beautiful prose, and I liked but did not love it. I found some of the relationships and storylines strained credulity; for example, I cannot imagine housing a person, rent-free and indefinitely, in my home, whom my son sat next to on an airplane. I cannot imagine a relationship that would be love at first sight and then that love would endure after years of not seeing each other, but I suppose it could happen. I found the antagonists to be quite flat and one-dimensional. But these quibbles do not mean that this is not a good story containing characters who do have lavish and interesting backstories – it is. But it’s a little too neat for my personal taste.

Best Offer Wins. Speaking of dream homes, how far would you go to get yours? Probably not as far as our narrator, Margo, who becomes increasingly unhinged as entering the DC housing market becomes more and more unattainable. This is a wild ride; it’s very pacey and entertaining, and I was thoroughly engrossed in this absolutely insane effort to obtain the house of our narrator’s dreams.

Summer is just flying by, friends! I can hardly believe it. I’m heading to the beach today with some girlfriends, which feels like a very luxurious thing to do on a Monday! I hope you have a week with such little luxuries ahead of you. xo

A while ago, my husband’s friend went to see Guns and Roses in concert in Vancouver, which is at least a four hour drive from here, meaning that this was not just an evening out. It was a commitment. Concert tickets these days are not what they once were, and accommodations in Vancouver are also pricey, so I imagine it was not an inexpensive endeavour. It probably would have been worth it to this sixtysomething rocker, had the band played even one of their many, many hits. But no. Guns and Roses spent the entire concert playing all new material.

I can understand an artist wanting to share new work with the world; I am not sure I would want to continue doing the same thing over and over for four decades. I can understand that it would get tiring, as Elin Hildebrand said on her podcast about her annual Nantucket books, that people want the same thing every year, but make it different. And yet, I do feel that a band with such stature as Guns and Roses, who charges exorbitant fees and who has an extensive catalogue of excellent, much-loved music, should give the people what they want.

This is why I love cover bands. I ADORE a cover band. If we go somewhere and there is a cover band playing the hits, you can bet I am going to get that dance floor started. This past Friday my husband and I went to see The Hip Replacements, which is the very witty name of our local Tragically Hip cover band, and it was so much fun. I danced all night, got home late, and paid for it the next day with sore feet, a sore throat from singing, and general exhaustion due to my inability to sleep in no matter what time I go to bed. It was worth it!

But back to Guns and Roses. I always, always have a song stuck in my head at all times, but in the past few weeks I have had three on rotating repeat, for a variety of reasons.

Sweet Child of Mine

A few months ago I heard a piano version of Sweet Child of Mine, and I immediately purchased and downloaded the sheet music. What fun! And also, whoa nelly. Look at this key!

It’s a challenge, let’s put it that way, a challenge that is peppered with unusual C flats and tricky fingering. I’m working hard at learning all eight pages of it, the result of which is that the tune loops through my head many times a day. She’s got eyes of the bluest sky I’ll think as I roll out my yoga mat, looking at the morning breaking. Where do we go now I’ll hum as I look for something in the pantry.

Welcome To The Jungle

Sweet Child of Mine gives up its place in my brain every morning when I head down to the garden, at which time Welcome To The Jungle wedges its way in.

The tomatoes are going rogue.

My arms are completely covered in scratches from squeezing between the raspberries and the zucchinis. Wear sleeves! my husband says helpfully, forgetting that I am a perimenopausal woman working outdoors in the height of the Okanagan summer, and that wearing sleeves feels as comfortable as donning a medieval suit of armour.

You’re in the jungle, baby, you’re going to die! is something that inappropriately floats through my head as I serenely build the sand mandala that is weeding.

Patience

Those two songs have been in my head constantly, but a third popped in last week when I was at Costco. I don’t know if this is a seasonal fluctuation, but for the past few months every time I go into Costco I think it just can’t get worse than this and then, somehow, it does. Said woman, take it slow, it’ll work itself out fine, I mentally sang to myself while completely immobilized in the dry goods aisle, with unmoving carts before, beside, and behind me. All we need is just a little patience I thought, waiting for throngs of carts to move so I could exit the freezer aisle.

I congratulated myself on making it out without internal impotent rage, and then I saw this beside my car.

It takes so much more effort to wedge a cart’s front wheels up onto the median without destroying the vehicles around it, particularly since the carrel was mere steps away.

I wasn’t as bothered as I usually would be, because I was still pondering a very kind, but odd, compliment I had received at the pharmacy. The young fellow – I would place him in his late twenties – talked to me about my prescription and then said Oh, by the way, I love your hair! I responded with a grateful and enthusiastic thanks, to which he followed up with It’s so old-timey! Like a 1940s movie star.

Listen, I will take any compliment, no matter how strange. And I’ve always thought it would be wonderful to swan through life in soft focus like Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca. Old-timey isn’t exactly a compliment I expected, but I will take what I can get, and just hope he didn’t mean Joan Crawford or Bette Davis in Whatever Happened To Baby Jane.

Weekly Reading

The book flood continues!

Luckily, I have had a lot of uninterrupted reading time this week; after the guys got back from Vancouver, my husband went camping with some buddies for a few days, and I camped out on the deck for hours every day with my trusty reading partner.

Laundry Love. I put this on my TBR five years ago – and then promptly forgot about it. It wasn’t until my friend Stephany (HI STEPHANY) mentioned this that I metaphorically slapped my forehead and took it from TBR to my library pile. And I know what you’re thinking: an entire book about LAUNDRY? Yes. Not only is it a delightful, joyful meditation on caring for our clothes, each other, and the planet, but it also contains everything you ever wanted to know about the act of laundry, including how-tos about washing wedding dresses, wool suits, and fur coats, in case anyone actually has their grandma’s furs. I don’t, obviously, but I still found it interesting, and also oddly inspirational.

Flashlight. My writing friend Jen (HI JEN) told me about this densely layered, nuanced, and complex novel about a father and daughter who disappear while walking along a beach in Japan. The daughter washes up ashore, alive, while the father does not. The story is so much more, and takes turns I was not expecting. I learned so much about the relations between Japan and Korea – both during and after World War II – as well as the relationship of North Korea to its neighbours and to the US. The three main characters all have trauma and are all incredibly, deeply unlikeable. The writing is so good that I felt physically uncomfortable reading about their fraught interactions with each other and with the world at large; there were a few times that I had to look away from the book, so awful do these people behave. The reading experience was immersive and compelling, and one of the adjacent characters was so completely delightful that it almost made up for the nastiness of the others. A really excellent book, so well-written and executed.

Upward Bound. I would term this book as autofiction; the story is about the clients and staff at Upward Bound, a day care program for adults with severe disabilities. The author himself is the first nonspeaking autistic graduate of UCLA, and I understand there is some controversy surrounding whether or not he actually wrote this book, or if his mother stepped in while he used Facilitated Communication. To be frank, I do not give a fuck if he literally wrote it or not, that is not the point. The point of this book is to bring humanity and understanding to an underserved population, a voice to the voiceless. And if his mother did write it? Well, it’s not much different from ghostwriting, is it? It’s a moving collection of chapters from different points of view, and I think it can only help bring compassion towards people who are very much othered in our society.

The Nine Lives of Rose Napolitano. I love thinking about different paths our lives can take, and this book is all about that very thing. Rose is a woman who has never wanted children, and she’s always been clear about it. Her husband agrees, but then after they are married he changes his mind. This book goes through all different scenarios, a choose-your-own-adventure, if you will. I love books about marriage, particularly when there is strife, complication, and extramarital action. This book has it all and more, and I really enjoyed it. I thought it was a very nuanced and powerful statement on what it is to be a woman in our society, the pressures and resentments, the difficulties and the joys. I especially like that the book is not laid out linearly, rather all the lives are scattered throughout the book, so it kept me very engaged, even through the initial scene about prenatal vitamins, a fight that is repeated throughout the book. Thanks to Lisa (HI LISA) for the recommendation!

I’m looking forward to a pretty normal summer week; more gardening, more reading, and a nice afternoon with the girls coming up! I hope you are all having a beautiful July so far. xo

Rarely do I have this same we are one feeling with clean-cut white men in their sixties, but I did recently when I spotted such a person wearing a Che Guevara t-shirt at Superstore. Che Guevara! What a statement! I had one of those myself, circa 1990, although mine was red while this gentleman’s was green. I mentally saluted him.

Kelowna is a summer-tourist town, and so traffic is definitely heavier at this time of year. Since I lived most of my life in Calgary, I refer to Kelowna traffic as “traffic,” in that it might now take you 15-20 minutes to get basically anywhere, as opposed to 10-15. It means literally nothing to me, but it must mean a lot to some people, judging by the fellow who was behind me when I was on my way to Superstore to pick up groceries and send admiring thoughts to 60-year-old Che Guevara fans.

I was stopped at a red light, waiting to turn right. The person in front of me was also stopped, and although there was a small gap in traffic (“traffic”), she hesitated. Maybe she was waiting for a bigger gap. Maybe she was worried a pedestrian was going to cross. I don’t know, but her pause prior to turning was approximately three seconds long. At that point, the man behind me had had enough. He laid on his horn – for longer than the woman was stopped – and when I looked in my rearview mirror he was gesturing, his mouth moving violently. Unless my lip-reading skills fail me, he was cursing this woman and her cautious approach to driving.

Of course after the turn I found myself directly beside the man at the next red light, who was again gesturing and, apparently, swearing. I wondered how miserable life must be in order for someone to be that worked up by what could be, at most, a tiny blip of a delay. Maybe he’s getting a divorce, I thought to myself. Maybe his wife died. Maybe his child is in the ICU at the hospital and he just wants to go home and shower before returning to be by his side. Maybe he lost his job or his investments tanked or he discovered he has cancer. I related this to my husband later, who replied that maybe he was just an asshole.

Well, there’s always that. I did think of my husband’s words later in the week when I was walking Rex. One of our regular routes is on the greenway by a creek, and I cannot emphasize enough how wide this walkway is. It’s designed not only for walkers and runners, but also bikes and horses. Five people could walk abreast easily at any given time. In other words, it is very easy to pass people if need be.

I did pass a woman with a small dog; as always, I smiled and said Good morning, to which she said nothing. I didn’t really clock this at the time, since I was immersed in a podcast dissecting, of all things, Mrs Dalloway, and Rex was busy sniffing the ground. We stopped as he investigated the greenery from which the week before a garter snake had emerged; I supposed Rex was waiting to see if the wiggly moving twig was still there. The woman passed me, and I hurried Rex along, an image of him picking up the wiggly moving twig and accidentally crushing it to death floating, Hamlet-like, through my mind.

We walked along sedately, fifteen feet or so behind this woman, when she suddenly stopped. She turned to me furiously and said JUST GO, gesturing wildly in front of her. Rex and I silently walked forward, while the change in perspective from Mrs Dalloway and Clarissa is a significant one played in my ears. From the corner of my eye I could see this woman standing still and staring daggers at me. I kept my gaze forward, wondering what just happened, as I put some distance between us.

Five minutes later I ran into some regulars with their dogs, and as I chatted with them, I could see the woman approach. She stood at a distance, still glaring, her angry energy emanating off of her body, until our small party broke up and went our separate ways.

I don’t know her story. Maybe her dog was once attacked by a big dog, maybe she herself was once attacked by a big dog or by a middle-aged woman in an “I Love Canada” t-shirt, maybe she had a Covid hangover and took social distancing to an extreme, maybe she was just an asshole. But other people exist, and when we leave the confines of our own four walls, we have to figure out how to live in the world as it is.

It reminded me of when I was living in Calgary, only a few months into Life With Rex. We were in – this is an important detail – an off-leash dog park, when a man tore a strip off of me as Rex waggingly approached his dog. Call your goddamn dog! he screamed. What happened? There was no barking or growling or any other questionable behaviour. I quickly went over to him. My dog’s in heat! Get your dog under control! the man yelled, as Rex stood by obliviously, happily wagging.

This happened during a time in which I was under immense, non-dog-related stress. My nervous system was shot. I was completely unprepared to be verbally accosted by a stranger in the dog park, and so I apologized – I APOLOGIZED – as I leashed Rex and led him away. It did not occur to me until later that a) while Rex is male, he has no testicles, and would not be an impregnation threat, and b) WHO TAKES A DOG IN HEAT TO AN OFF-LEASH PARK?

An asshole, that’s who. This was three and a half years ago, and I still cannot come up with a compassionate, empathetic story about this man. My conclusion is he’s just an asshole, and a really stupid one at that.

Weekly Reading

I’m having a book flood right now! I had paused all my holds for our trip, and now they are all coming in. I finish one book and two more are waiting for me at the library. It’s a lovely problem to have, particularly since the guys went to Vancouver for some World Cup watch parties, so I’ve had a lot of uninterrupted reading time.

Lady Tremaine. This retelling of the Cinderella story through the stepmother’s point of view was very entertaining. It went in directions I did not see and had a very satisfying ending. A happy ever after, but different? I really enjoyed it.

Cleo Dang Would Rather Be Dead. Canadian author alert! Also, dead baby alert. Halfway through this book about a woman whose baby dies at birth, I flipped to the acknowledgements, where my suspicion was confirmed: this author did write this sad story based on her own experience. What it lacks in tight plot and storyline it more than makes up for in emotion and a realistic portrayal of what it is like to live out every parent’s worst nightmare. She writes about the difficulties of watching her best friend having a baby – that lived – on the exact same day as hers died, of going to friend’s baby showers, and of navigating well-meaning but draining and awkward interactions with the public. It’s a story of grief but also of hope, and the author wanted to break the silence around the tragedy that is infant death. I’m glad I read it, and I will read more from this author.

Dog Person. It’s been a while since I’ve read a book by this author, and this, her latest, is a very charming and sweet story about a grieving man who is faced with losing the bookstore he ran with his late partner. The twist? It’s told from their dog’s point of view, who has been tasked with finding someone for the widower to love again. As a warning: the dog is old. We all know what happens in books in which the dog is old, so BE WARNED. But, like having a dog, the joy is worth the end. What a darling book, with such a great first line: “There are two kinds of people in this world: dog people, and people who still need to meet the right dog.”

With the guys away, Rex has been enjoying my undivided attention. My younger son thought that a book written from Rex’s point of view would be 300 pages of Mom Mom Mom I love Mom Mom Mom treat Mom Mom Mom walkies walkies with Mom I love Mom Mom Mom oh no she’s getting in the car without me when will she be back when will she be back when will she SHE’S BACK YAY Mom Mom Mom I love Mom. I mean, it might not be a bestseller, but it would be a bestseller to me. xo

Speaking of reading, I wanted to share my reading – and NOT reading – list from my recent trip to London and South Africa. Before my trip, I was chatting with my friend Nicole (HI NICOLE). She and I have had a monthly check-in since January 2018, and we’ve never missed a month, despite Covid, vacations, and a cross-province move. She is the person who best knows my reading taste, and she asked what I had loaded up my Kobo with. I cheerfully told her that it was mostly filled with random romances and other light-sounding books from the library and from the Kobo website; I had several very long flights and stopovers in my future, and I wanted the reading to be fluffy and fun.

And let me tell you, this was a mistake.

I’m the problem, hi, it’s me. Something I know about myself is that too many “light and fun” books in a row, and I start to become very unengaged with the tropey stories. I am also not a Spicy Romance girl; I find graphic sex scenes to be weirdly boring and, in the case of a few very descriptive anal ones, alarming. I have been known to inadvertently Kegel whilst reading them. I prefer a sexy, fade-to-black Closed Door Romance. I just don’t want to read about throbbing cocks penetrating wet pussies, I AM SORRY, BUT I DON’T.

Unrelated to spiciness, I plodded my way through The Friend Zone and Kitchen, and then I ran out of patience. I was in the midst of Ready or Not, which deals with a woman who gets accidentally pregnant from a one-night stand with a bartender, even though they used condoms, which, as we all know from sex ed and also from that stupid storyline of Ross and Rachel, are only 97% effective. Okay! But the pregnant woman is seemingly completely unaffected and unaware that her life is going to change, and starts a romance with her best friend’s brother, at which point I said ENOUGH. I started, and DNF’d, four more books IN A ROW: Book People, Strangers Tend To Tell Me Things, Exit Lane, And Then There Was You. I began to despair for myself as both a reader and as a writer.

Then something changed, and my reading life brightened up again. Thankfully! So here’s the low down on what I DID finish, the lows, the highs, and the in-betweens.

Vacation Reading: London and South Africa 2026

The Friend Zone. In my 20s, a friend told me she and her husband divorced because he wanted kids and she didn’t. “There’s no compromise,” she said. “It’s you have kids or you don’t.” That’s kind of the premise of this romance – a guy wants kids, a woman has extreme fibroids and maybe can’t, they never discuss it…you know what, this book is kind of dumb. But it was an easy read for travel and all’s well that ends well. Also, the author based it on her friend’s lived experience so…great for her, I guess? A meh read, kind of disappointing as I like this author generally.

Kitchen. This was a original little read about found family and the power of food to bring people together. I didn’t find it overly compelling or engaging, but it was short.

Why We Hate Cheap Things. Also titled, Why I Hate My Kobo Which Keeps Glitching So That I Read A Random Book In My London Hotel Room. But honestly, this WAS an interesting read about society’s devaluation of low-cost consumer goods, from pineapples, which once were extremely expensive and rare and are now frequently found on pizzas and in jello salads, to clothing. There was an entire series, with titles like Why We Will Marry The Wrong Person, but my Kobo started working again and we left London.

The Borrowed Life of Frederick Fife. Oh lordy did I need this refreshing little book after my string of DNF’s. This was very sweet, the definition of heart warming. After an elderly man dies, another is mistakenly taken for him – and as the dead man was a dementia patient, no one listens to his protests. Soon he assumes the nursing home life that the deceased had…and ends up with friends and family he never dreamed of. Just a fun, lovely little read.

Always Pack a Candle. This was fantastic. I very much enjoyed this memoir of a public health nurse who worked in the Williams Lake/ Cariboo region in BC in the 1960s. Thanks to Birchie (HI BIRCHIE) for the recommendation!

Hamnet. Late to the party but I loved, loved, loved this book! Maggie O’Farrell can WRITE, wow. This is such an incredibly loving and beautiful story about every mother’s worst imagining – the loss of her child. This is the kind of historical fiction that I love – often I dislike that genre, but this has beautiful writing, fascinating characters, and a rich story. I finished this on the plane and then thought I would watch the movie – and I lasted all of ten minutes before turning it off. Too soon? I don’t know.

Definitely a mixed bag of books, and my ongoing resolution to DNF more was definitely upheld. What are you reading these days, what have you DNF’d, tell me everything. xo

Two great, everyday pleasures in my life are eating and getting dressed. I recognise that the former can be fraught, especially for women; there is a lot of guilt and shame associated with pleasurable food, and I have devoted this, the second half of my life, to eliminating those feelings both in myself and others. What could be more boring and depressing than thinking constantly about optimising our diets, about macros and counting protein grams and shunning delicious things like dessert or wine? I refuse. This is not to say I’ve devolved into total hedonism with no thought to my physical health, on the contrary, I eat to nourish my body and my soul. I strongly believe that restriction leads to obsession, and that life needs to be worth living, and so indulging in joyful deliciousness is part of my life.

As for the latter, it’s no secret I love clothes. Sometimes I think of myself as one of my own childhood paper dolls, that I get to dress every single day, usually multiple times a day. I have curated my closet such that everything in it makes me happy and feel beautiful, and if it doesn’t, out it goes. I have no time left on this mortal coil to feel bad in my clothes.

And so this week I have combined my dear friend Suzanne’s Dinners This Week with Kae’s Daily Outfits (HI SUZANNE HI KAE), for Fashion and Food!

Every Day

On yet another podcast, author Elin Hildebrand described herself as “reliable and consistent,” and girl, same. Whatever I lack in other areas, I make up for in reliability and consistency; if I say I am going to do something, I will, and also, you could set a watch by my morning routine. I start, post-coffee, with my yoga practice, followed by my strength and cardio workout, and for that I wear one of my many, many Lululemon Tri-Y tops that I have amassed over the past nineteen years of daily yoga practice.

What can I say, they don’t wear out. I pair it with Lululemon cropped leggings. Every single day, for the past nineteen years.

I am a sweaty gal, so after that I need to change into a different outfit for my long Rex walk and my gardening session. At this time of year, that means a short-sleeved or sleeveless tee with a fresh pair of cropped leggings.

I wake up at 4:30, and I finish gardening around 10:30, so those two outfits get me through a large chunk of the day.

Sunday

It was Father’s Day, and my husband celebrated by grilling his own damn steak. He and the boys enjoyed that, along with roasted sweet potatoes and asparagus and fresh-from-the-garden kale Caesar that I made.

I always make a special dessert on Sunday, so I made my husband’s favourite: a frozen strawberry daiquiri pie with homemade magic shell.

I wore an outfit entirely from Mark’s, of “Work Wearhouse” fame. They are so much more than steel toed boots and hard hats, people! They also have my favourite Silver jeans and simple tees.

Also, I’m still wearing the ugly house sandals, which have been keeping my plantar fasciitis at bay.

Monday

Another outfit from Mark’s – they should sponsor me – and it’s perfect for a warm summer’s day.

My writing group meets on Mondays at 5:30, so we have a dinner that I prep earlier and can cook quickly, which almost always means stir-fry. This one includes tofu, cashews, and cilantro from the garden.

Tuesday

This is the hot weather uniform: a Lululemon skort and a tank top, this one from, again, Mark’s. Longtime readers will remember I had surgery on my varicose veins in 2011, and then, to the surprise of everyone, I started developing new ones several years ago. That’s very unusual, my doctor said. At one point in my life I would have been self-conscious about them, but now I’m all Get a good peek, city boy?

It was Big Fun Salad night, using Romaine and raspberries from the garden, plus homemade crusty bread.

Wednesday

I know for a fact I have had this outfit since at least 2015, if not earlier. Another Lulu skort – love them – and an Old Navy tank. I know we are all against fast fashion, and we should be wary of the environmental impacts of the textile industry, but I have no regrets about a tank that has lasted over 11 years.

Dinner was build-your-own pasta salad, in which I set out a variety of veggies and everyone can add what they like, including our first zucchini of the season. IT BEGINS.

Thursday

Another hot day, another Lulu skort, this one paired with a ruffly tank that I bought at Jacob, which went defunct in 2015, so I cannot even guess at its age. Also, oh happy day, Rex got groomed! He stayed clean for 35 minutes before going rolling and coming back covered in dust, with a tail full of dead grass and bits of spear grass in his face and ears.

Dinner was black bean soft tacos with garden lettuce and a vegan chipotle sauce I make.

Friday

Friday we had cooler weather and, thankfully, a bit of rain, so I wore another pair of Silver crops – Mark’s! – along with a Lulu tank under an Old Navy tee. The latter two I think of as “new” but I believe I bought them when I was teaching yoga in 2017.

Friday is my favourite day of the week, so I celebrate with my favourite dinner: Greek salad with pita and hummus. And wine! This Riesling from Tantalus has a 94 rating!

Saturday

This was a very unusual day because not only did I go out for lunch with my friend Sandi (HI SANDI), but I also went out for dinner with my husband! This never happens! But my son has a houseguest this weekend and they went out, so my husband and I went to the pub; I had a veggie burger and salad, with yam fries and happy hour wine.

I wore Lululemon City Sleek crops, a tee from the Gap, and a silk scarf from Cambodia.

It was a fun way to cap off a week of yumminess.

Weekly Reading

It’s Buzzy Book Week in the Boyhouse! Let’s see how the buzzy books of the summer stacked up.

Lake Effect. For very personal reasons, the last part of this book was extremely upsetting and triggering to me, such that I had to steel myself to finish the book. That is not the book’s fault, in fact, it is a testament to the story that I wanted to push through to finish, because up until that point I really loved it. It’s a story of two unhappy marriages that get blown apart by an affair, and that affair has ripple effects throughout the connected families and the community. It’s a really interesting examination of choices and their consequences, how secrets can be devastating, and, ultimately, the power of forgiveness. There is also a heavy “food is a love language” theme which really resonated with me. Like I said the end part was extremely hard for me but I hope it is not hard for you.

Yesteryear. Anyone who knows me knows how much I hate time travel as a literary device, and so I was a bit wary to pick up this, arguably the Book of the Summer, in which a tradwife influencer wakes up one morning to find herself living in the year 1855. Without spoiling anything, I will say that the “time travel” component was more original, creative, and, frankly, weird than anything I’ve read before. This debut author received an enormous book deal, and the film rights have already been snapped up for a huge financial number, and I can really see why: this story would be perfect as a film. As a statement and societal commentary, this is very sharp and smart, not surprising considering the author is an acclaimed and serious podcaster. As a literary experience, I found it a bit too on the nose and unbelievable to really become immersed. I also had a few quibbles with some editorial oversights – such as “her sewing needles clicked as she knitted,” a character is referred to as an “old maid” when she’s 30 and has five children – but these are small things. I found the story of the influencer’s journey to be the most interesting, and conceptually this book is a real allegory about social media, appearances, and extremist views about the evils of the world we live in. All in all I enjoyed the ride and I congratulate the author on her huge success.

It feels great to be back in the swing of things around here. I will be back with my vacation reading list later this week, and in the meantime, take care of yourselves, friends. xo

I’ve been home for twelve days now, and my trip to South Africa already feels like a dream. It was a dream! Every little thing was perfect. When we arrived at the Johannesburg airport, the gentleman who was escorting us to the tiny airport that housed all the little bush planes said to me hopefully it won’t be the last, when I said it was our first time to South Africa. From your lips, sir, to god’s ear.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The South African Safari Edition

Oh, I’m Driving My Life Away

We were in three different parts of South Africa, and each place was quite different in terms of landscape and animal populations, and we booked with a company called And Beyond. The woman who arranged all our transportation and accommodations is called Tonya Siebert, and she was fantastic. I highly, highly recommend them. Game drives happened twice daily, and each drive was between three and four hours long. A friend asked if I was ever bored, and the honest answer is no. I don’t think I COULD get bored, because there was always something new and different to look at. It was incredible to see animals up close, just living their lives and doing their thing, not caring one bit about the car full of people taking their photo.

On our very first game drive, right after we saw these lions, our guide stopped the car and suggested we get out to stretch our legs and have a drink. I assumed he was just reminding us to hydrate, so I opened the glass bottle of water they had given me, and started to chug. Then I saw what they were setting up.

It was a full bar with snacks. A FULL BAR WITH SNACKS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BUSH. This happened on each drive; in the morning they would serve coffee, tea, or an absolutely delectable beverage called Mochachocolottamarula, which is basically coffee with hot chocolate mix and a delicious liqueur called Amarula. I had one every single morning and I plan to make this a part of my Christmas holiday celebrations.

This brings me to my next point.

Food, Glorious Food

I had nothing but amazing food for the entire time that we were there. The travel company had sent us a lot of paperwork to fill out, and one part of it involved food preferences. For each meal, I was given a special menu that had my name on it and every single thing was incredibly delicious and was similar to the regular menu my husband was given, that did NOT have his name on it. For example, if he was offered steak, I was offered a cauliflower “steak,” if he was offered a pasta dish mine would not involve meat. The food was so fresh and flavourful, and I have to mention the avocados, which were the best avocados I have had in my life! Every day my menu was different, varied, and universally delicious.

I was also introduced to the South African Pinotage, a wonderful red wine, and enjoyed my favourite Aperol spritzes as well. Also, when they made a gin and tonic, they made a gin and tonic.

One thing I loved about the lodges is that they were equipped with a water filtration system, so drinking water is simply served in glass bottles. There was no plastic and no waste. Any food scraps were sent to local pig farms, and grey water was used for irrigation.

Is This The Real Life?

The accommodations were stunning as well at each of the lodges. Kirkman’s Kamp, in the Sabi Sands, was probably the most convivial; it was quite small, so we got to know all the other travellers, and there was a bar that everyone would go to post-game-drive-pre-dinner, which made for a very fun atmosphere.

Ngala Safari Lodge was gorgeous, and featured a swimming pool that elephants would come to drink out of every once in a while. This happened while we were there but we missed it; later that night we heard the elephants making a lot of noise, and hyenas screaming. I don’t know what happened, but this is why guests are not allowed to walk by themselves after dark.

The most interesting and luxurious accommodations of all were in Phinda Forest Lodge. Each room was a separate structure in the sand forest, and each structure was built around the trees, literally.

People Who Like People

Each safari vehicle was equipped for six guests, and I did wonder what the others would be like. It’s always a bit of an unknown when you join a group, and I always hope for the best. I am happy to report that all of our safari-mates at each of the three lodges – eleven other people in all, from all over the world – were all incredible and I am so happy we met them and spent so much time together.

Every second night each lodge would host a boma dinner, which takes place in an enclosed, open air area, and involves a family-style buffet dinner. Each safari group, along with the guide, would be seated at one table, and there was often traditional singing and dancing around the firepit. Of course I loved that, but as a people person, I also loved eating dinner with a big group and learning everyone’s stories. I am a person who wants to know the story of your life, even if it doesn’t get us out of Chicago.

Fuck The Patriarchy

I love all the animals, and I especially loved learning about their habits and lives. But there was something VERY UPSETTING about the fact that all the female lions hunt and the male lions have first dibs on all the food; the females eat only after the males are done. Female rhinos are always trying to dissuade the males from mating with them if they already have babies, because if they get pregnant too soon the babies will die. It just feels like the world over, males are dominating females and making them weaker, see also the excess of valium prescriptions during the women’s revolution and the emphasis on thinness from the time women got the vote.

YES I AM PROJECTING MY FEELINGS ONTO THE ANIMAL KINGDOM.

My favourite animal is, as I have mentioned before, the elephant. Elephants are matriarchies, but that’s not the only reason I love them. They are such intelligent, incredible animals. The female-led group all help each other raise babies, they support each other, and they rally around each other and their offspring in case of danger. Let us all be elephants!

Plus, baby elephants are the cutest thing I have ever seen. They practice threatening behaviour by flapping their ears out wide, which made us all go awwwww, he’s threatening us. They have to learn to use their trunks, so we watched them dip them wildly in the water.

We also learned that hyenas are a matriarchy. We watched them at their den, and the little cubs were so cute and fun to watch. I used binoculars to get a really close look at them and was absolutely alarmed to see the junk on the baby male. I actually thought it was a fifth leg. It turns out that hyenas have a very high concentration of testosterone, so that even female genitals are, shall we say, elongated. Listen, I’m not drawing any parallels or jumping to conclusions, all I am saying is that it’s a sight to be seen. Or not, depending on your interest in animal genitalia.

Outfit of the Month

Imagine my minor distress on finding out that black clothing is discouraged on safari; I have been diligently shopping my closet for the past several months, but I had to face facts. I needed some new clothes. I have become a big fan of Solbari sun protective clothing, a company out of Australia. If anyone knows about sun protection, it’s the Australians. I purchased a couple of long-sleeved tops in creamy beige and moss green, as well as a long-sleeve light beige button-up top from Lululemon. I wore the long-sleeve tops with my beige Lululemon Dance Studio Crops or my newly-purchased dark green Daydrift pants. Light, loose, comfortable clothing – with elastic waists! – was the order of the day, when you are spending six to eight hours a day in a safari vehicle.

I also wore cute Skechers walking shoes, which have now seen me through Morocco, London, and South Africa. May they travel to more destinations in the future!

I can hardly believe June is almost done, friends. How was your month? Tell me everything. Even if it won’t get us out of Chicago. xo