I don’t know if anyone is really putting on pants. Although I do have a pair on right now.

Homebound and isolated as we are, there is a silver lining. We now finally have the time to clean our venetian blind slats, remove the fluff out of our window screens with tweezers, and learn to clog dance. And get reacquainted with our natural hair colour.

This new term, “Social Distancing” is a misnomer. We really should be calling it “Physical Distancing”, because now is when we need to be more social than ever. Phones are things that work even when we are not in a pandemic and we should be taking advantage of them.

Many are struggling with this physical alienation, and for good reason. We are social beings with a natural need for connection. Now more than ever, we need to stay connected because we won’t and can’t, get through this alone. Now more than ever, we need each other. And now has never been a better time to do some good.  It’s a strange – and paradoxically delicious feeling of getting up every morning realizing that no one is here, nor will be, and for who knows how long. And that I am not going anywhere, except for my daily walk – and that at a distance.

In reflecting back to “normal”, never in a million years did I ever think that spending three months in rural Spain a few years ago, mainly in solitude and silence, was preparing me for this.

As further practice, I did not engage in social media or phone calls, listen to radio or podcasts, or watch movies and TV. 

There was nowhere to go, no one to see, and nothing to do.

No distractions, no duties, no obligations.

Alone in that remote, but stunningly beautiful place, I recognized early on that In order to keep myself from going completely mad and not be painfully lonely, I needed to implement a very stringent routine. 

So I woke up at the same time every morning and made myself a light breakfast. At 9 a.m. I walked to the village cafe (village being an grand overstatement), for my cafe con leche, then back home to write for 4 hours. I made lunch and then went for my 2 hour walk in the deserted countryside.

My daily walk was an important discipline because much of my thinking was only possible while on foot, a kind of hedgerow philosophizing. Walking kept me in motion and swayed me from despondency. 

As Robert Macfarlane writes in The Old Ways, “walking is a reconnoiter inwards.” Walking enabled me to have more sight and thought, feeling and knowing, rather than escape and dismissal. It was a unit of progress.  

After my walk, I read until it was time to prepare my 6 p.m. supper. I spent the rest of the evening either reading or editing.

And the day closed on itself.

This was a time of reflection and aloneness, but mostly it taught self-discipline and the grace of endurance.

The grace of endurance.

And joy as a calling. 

This is what is being asked of us at this time. 

Because we humans have a common experience, not only of this pandemic, but the fact that life is temporary and provisional. 

In that I can’t phone all of you in one day, I thought that we could have this mundane conversation via technology. (You are welcome to respond via technology, as my phone is ringing off the hook.) So here goes.

What is your daily routine? My favourite daily activity is, but not limited to, sitting around all day on the couch and occasionally moving from the couch to the table. Clearly I am a woman with diversified interests. I have also signed up with some chat groups, my favourite being “Chair Chat” where we share and discuss photos of chairs that are uncomfortable.

What was the best thing that happened today? It’s easy to be unabashedly grateful when things are going well. It’s definitely more difficult during this time of stress, unknowing and even danger. For me, was finding the lid to a Tupperware container on the first try.

How are you staying fit? This Christmas I made a bet with my sister that I could learn how to dunk a basketball. My home training now comprises of watching videos of Micheal Jordan and hip-hop dancing. It’s very intense. And my dog is a decent stand-in for a yoga instructor. You know. Downward Facing Dog.

Have you started a new hobby? I’ve taken up identifying backyard insects. Two so far. But they won’t tell me their names.  What are you reading? I know you would love to tell me you are catching up on your heady reading with ‘“The Brothers Karamozov,” or “Dr. Suess”, but your partner may read this and they’ll know it’s not true. Accountability is still king. Even in a pandemic. What are you watching? Instead of tuning in to The National Theatre to watch Benedict Cumberbatch play both Victor Frankenstein and his creature, you are probably Googling art that shows ants relaxing. I guess it can bring you joy. I am watching the neighbour’s cat pouncing on flies and trying to catch flying leaves.

We now return to our regular programming.

From my couch to yours…

Home, as a concept, is taking on a new meaning.

This is much more than rearranging our furniture, sorting closets or cleaning out the basement.

For many of us, this new situational reality is just beginning to sink in.

We have no control and we don’t know if it is going to be okay.  But we never really knew. Especially not now. But maybe this will finally shake us awake and makes us more connected, reverent, and alive.  What if we become better people in a better world? But there is something else happening as well. We may realize that the world is more astonishing that we could ever imagine, as well as terrifying, unimaginable and incalculable. But next to this angst, this stage of choice, comes freedom. And with this comes the opportunity to do things you have never had the time to do before, to explore uncharted territories. So change out of your 9 p.m. pyjamas into your 9 a.m. pyjamas, commute to your sofa, and put your feet up.

Because here, for your edification and possible debile amusement, are some, if I say so myself, felicitous ideas to help keep you culturally engaged. Oh God, you say. She has entirely too much time on her hands.

Figure out what kind of wine goes with granola. Put all your socks into pairs. Knit Iceland earflap hats. Watch cacti grow. Work out why dry spaghetti breaks into more than two pieces when bent. Teach yourself the army alphabet: Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo…so the next time you have to spell something out over the phone, you’ll nail it. FaceTime your extended family to vote on who has the nicest ears. (Never mind, don’t do that. That was a weird idea.) Remove pesky nose hairs.  Find out if woodpeckers get headaches. Make an Instagram account for your cat and write posts as though it is the cat writing them. Organize apps on your phone. Google courtship behaviour of ostriches towards humans under farming conditions in Mali. Paint your keys with different colours of nail polish. Rearrange books by colour. Check drawers for puce coloured sweaters. Remove immediately. Research whether cows with names give more milk that those without names. Calculate the total surface area of an Asiatic elephant.  Analyze the side effects of sword swallowing. Say the alphabet backwards. Attempt to like playing Solitaire. Destroy all pictures of you between the ages of 14 and 21.   Learn how to spell Worcester, as in Worcester sauce. Discover new uses for attachments of old vacuum cleaner parts.  Stack Tupperware in descending order and according to colour of lid. Watch black and white movies in alphabetical order. Count your liver spots. Keep a running talley of new leaves on your house plants. Finish Proust’s entire seven volumes of “Remembrance of Things Past” and NOT bring it up every chance you get. File income taxes on time.  Print out this list and use sharp scissors to cut it into separate action items.

Yes, I’m just a women, standing in front of some red liquorice, tryng to save some for later.

We all know how hard it is to declutter and get rid of things.

But bury St. Joseph in the Far East corner of the backyard?

Well, who better?

After all, he’s the strong, silent type. The patron saint of carpenters, families, and “Swedish death cleaners”. 

Swedish death cleaning?  

Yup, the new buzzword on the block – “dostadning”, a hybrid of the Swedish words “death” and “cleaning”.

More on this later.

There are many legends that may have contributed to the belief that St. Joe can help with decluttering: 

• Saint Teresa of Avila in the 16th century wanting a new convent, 
• the late 1800’s ritual of German carpenters burying a statue in the foundation of every house, 
• Brother Andre of Montreal when he wanted land for a chapel, 
• and Coun. Jeff Davidson when he wanted a new arena for the Calgary Flames.

But one must be cognizant, as apparently there are definite protocols for this ritual. Your options are:

• Bury him near your mailbox. (Makes sense.)
• Bury him 9 1/2” deep. (Or less.)
• Bury him close to the street as a sign that you’re decluttering the house soon.
• Place him upside-down so that he will be motivated to free himself by getting your house decluttered. (This suggests he’s stuck until the job is done.)
• Bury him right-side-up facing the house, pointing towards the house, pointing away from the house, close to the back of the house, close to the front of the house, or under a spruce tree.
• If you have an apartment or condo, you can bury him in a flowerpot – plants optional.

Then say your prayers. 
 

Speaking of burying and hunting and gathering, I was just thinking…

Because of the dire situation we are presently in, what if they close the grocery stores?  

We’ll have to hunt for our food.

I don’t even know where doritos live.

So, “dostadning”.  No, it’s not as morbid as it sounds. It’s actually quite practical.

Trailing on the anorexic stiletto heels of Marie Kondo, but with measurable differences, Margareta Magnusson in her 2018 book, The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning, encourages us to slim down what we leave behind, by getting rid of unnecessary objects in favour of what we actually need, so that no one else has to do it for you after you pass. It might be said that this is the antithesis of the ancient Egyptian tradition of being buried with things to accompany us into the afterlife. Like our Saeco Picobaristo Super Automatic Espresso Machine.

But she does have some great declutttering techniques, like some of my clients do – by handing their extraneous stuff to me as I go out the door.   The deal is not to wait until the day you look in the mirror at your wrinkles to realize that some parts of you have dropped so low you can’t find them.

You may want to think of “dostadning” this way.

We all have that box (or three) tucked away in the far reaches of a closet.

Now if we didn’t want anyone to find it while we’re alive, we certainly don’t want to leave it lying around for someone to find out when we’re dead.

(Music softly playing in background from The Bridges Of Madison County when Francesca’s (Meryl Streep) children read the journals leading them back to 1965 and every detail of those four days in which she has enveloped herself every year since.)
 

There are apparently some perks to this “dostadning” thing. 1. It might make you happier. (Or maybe some of the people that live with you.) Unless it is pizza, we can usually live without it. If we pared down the argument is that we can better focus on the really important things in life, like wine and chocolate.Oh, and relationships and experiences.   2. It might help you feel less stressed and overwhelmed and get more done. An argument for embracing your inner Scandinavian Cinderella? Living in an organized space with fewer things to worry about can make life more manageable; from driving 7 children to soccer practice in rush hour, to figuring out how to program Roku to your TV so you can watch a soccer game before it ends, or not doing 13 Things Mentally Strong People Don’t Do.  3. It might help you better cope with the reality of your own mortality. We must all talk about death, but most of us feel like Woody Allen who quipped, “I’m not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”  Death however, is a very effective way of cutting down on expenses. And cleaning.  Getting rid of items can serve as a reminder that things don’t last forever, including us. And some of us may end up having to deal with some disability or illness that forces us to downsize or move out of our homes.

And by the way, Nobody Wants Your Stuff, especially your children. Baby boomers aren’t itching to glam on to your mahogany furniture, 12-piece set of bone china and wool area rugs. They have their own tastes in home decor – and hair styles. You need to ask yourself – Will anyone be happier if I save this? 4. You get to hang onto sentimental and lovable items. Keep just enough to remind you of what you want to be reminded of and what you dearly love (as well as your couch), like your treasured Swarovski crystal owl collection, Girl Guide uniform and love letters.

That’s not to say people with magnetic personalities who aren’t bothered by clutter wouldn’t reap the same benefits of organizing, as people who are innately more motivated to do it. They just don’t know it yet.



But you don’t need to beat yourself up for not attempting it. 

You can always hire a really good organizer/stylist/decorator with the utmost patience, courage, persistence, and just plain hard work, like old St. Joe.  
 

Your faith will be rewarded. (And you won’t have to bury me.)

And Amen to that. 

Sorry I’m late, but I got here as soon as I wanted to. 

I was shopping – at a thrift store. I needed a pair of shorts. For summer. Whenever it gets here.

Because last year I made a vow of no retail clothes shopping and to eliminate carbs after 6 p.m.
 

Unless of course, I’m invited to the Oscars, which probably lets me off the hook anyways, as I wouldn’t go unless I could sit next to Meryl Streep. 
 

But truly, it’s not a sacrifice. In fact, it’s almost embarrassing – it’s not that noble a principle. It’s something I should have done years ago. 
 

But truly, I’m not new to thrifting. I’ve been doing it for decades, years before it (has now) become fashionable. Sourcing everything from clothes to jewelry to furnishings to books. 

There are many reasons why some of us are enthralled with thrifting. Thrifting is unmapped territory. Thrifting is mysterious – a cluttered Nirvana where the possibilities are endless.

It’s a place where we can swipe through racks of lurid and fabulous faster than swiping through Tinder. Where we can flit through racks of colour coded jackets, some older than we are.

In fact, I’m not sure what more you could ask for in terms of excitement.

In the past, thrift stores, garage sales, and consignment stores had a stigma about them of being for people who couldn’t afford to buy new. But over the last few years, our thinking has switched for a multitude of reasons: humanitarian, environmental, financial, creative, lifestyle, individualism, and the thrill of the chase. It also has been helped along by the surge of the internet, of sourcing transparency within the fashion industry, and of course, Marie Kondo-ing. 

I grew up in a time when consumerism didn’t have such a stranglehold over us. A time where quality, not quantity, mattered. A time when you got one or two new pairs of shoes a year, mainly because your feet grew. A time when a new dress appeared at Easter and another at Christmas. And if you were the oldest, you were the luckiest, because you didn’t have to wear hand-me-downs. 

Just nod thoughtfully.



We’ve all heard the quip about “comforting the afflicted and afflicting the comfortable.” So say this with me, “I don’t stop reading blog posts until the end.”

North Americans buy more clothes now than ever, thanks to low-wage manufacturing in poor countries and the rise of fast fashion. Clothes have come from being valuable possessions to disposable, leading to a throwaway mentality with things going out of style before we even knew they were in. 

it is estimated that we each throw away between 68 and 81 pounds of clothes a year. 

Many of us have gotten used to having whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted it. Thus not buying new may be more akin to a painstaking ascent over the Himalayans.

I encourage you to do a scary, yet extremely insightful shift –get over the want and become honest about the need. In other words, take an honest look at the things you want and the things you need, and then question whether you actually do. 
 

Desire reveals itself through certain situations – like browsing in a shoe store. Thus the key to life is to ‘not to want’. Because if you want, you have suffering.

I read this on a tea box. 
 

But really, when we look at the place we are at now, all we truthfully need to buy new are underwear, socks and those great candles from Anthropologie.

Here is where the world starts to divide. 
 

These days just about every business is either evolving or risking becoming obsolete. And fashion is one of them.

In fashion, new markets are emerging:
renting clothes online and off, 
sustainable fashion,
major retailers selling second hand clothes, and 
“trashion” (fashion and objects for the home created from used, thrown-out, found and repurposed elements).

All of this is shifting the goalposts.



The resale market has grown at 21 times the pace of the mainstream apparel market in the last 3 years. ThreadUP indicates that the reselling of thrift clothing alone is slated to be a $33 million industry by 2021 and reach $51 billion by 2023. 
 

It’s estimated that the fast-fashion industry produces over 15.1 million tons of textile waste every year, because rather than donating or recycling unsold items, they often burn or toss them. The debris can end up in the ocean where the plastic microfibres are consumed by fish, and subsequently humans. 
 

But what is worse is the industrial water pollution that occurs with the production of textiles. Around 8,000 synthetic chemicals are used to turn raw materials into textiles. Each year, textile companies discharge millions of gallons of chemically infected water into our waterways. It’s estimated that a single mill can use 200 tons of fresh water per ton of dyed fabric. Not only does this consume vast amounts of water, but the chemicals polluting the water cause both environmental damage and diseases throughout developing communities.
 

Yup, we can always rely on the statistics to make us feel that much worse. 

Modern clothing manufactures use synthetic fibres because they are cheap, but they also require tons of energy and crude oils. Not only are the gases from these oils polluting our atmosphere, but they are also toxic to breathe in and touch. These materials are easily broken down in the wash and end up in our drinking water, as well as making the clothing less durable.

Yes, I am well aware that this is more information than you asked for.
 

But not only are second hand clothes vastly less expensive, but they are often better quality than new ones because if the garment has lasted long enough to be donated, then there is a good chance that it’s durable and well made.

And the longer it lasts, the longer it stays out of the landfill. 

Thrifting is reusing. Point blank. 

By choosing preloved items over newly produced pieces, you’re shrinking your carbon footprint. You’re limiting the amount of natural resources it takes to create new fabric, make the clothing, and ship it hundreds or thousands of miles to a store. Giving a used item new life rescues it from those 26 billion pounds a year going to the landfill by keeping it in circulation. 
 

When you hang onto things you don’t need, you keep them from being useful to other people.

By the way, if you think you are “paying it forward” but dropping off a load of unwanted clothes at Goodwill, think again. 

Many clothing donations never make it to the racks, and only about a third of what does eventually sells.

To really pay it forward, cut down on the amount of clothing you have by buying better quality clothes that last longer.

And just because thrifting promotes sustainability, it doesn’t give us permission to buy more than we need. We shouldn’t succumb into buying something just because it’s inexpensive.

So before buying something, ask yourself, “If I didn’t already own this puce green caftan and saw it at a yard sale for $5, would I buy it instantly with joy?”
 

Against an army of poorly made $50 T-shirts, thrifting is the knight in second hand clothing. Fast-fashion purchases may soon be something that we aren’t so proud of  – not that I necessarily expect you to start carding your own wool and felting hats – but we are all responsible for the quality of life on this planet – yours, mine, and all of Nature.

The way we do things has to change – and it may be hard on your organism.

Because if we don’t shake up the baseboards of society, and soon, we won’t like the alternative. Studying the pilot’s manual is not the same as flying.

Uphold mindless consumption by buying less and buying better, saving money for things that truly matter. Like a good wine collection.

Anyways, thanks for coming to my TED Talk on thrifting.
 

As you may have guessed by now, my goal in writing these newsletters is to help you go to bed smarter than when you woke up by altering facts of what other people have already figured out.

In other words, all my knowledge and wisdom; a borderless nation state.

And one of these is The IKEA Effect. 

You know. IKEA. The Swedish company that sells pieces of cheaply constructed furniture components, along with wordless cartoon instructions, packaged with a bag of hardware including several wrong pieces, and almost always missing one critical component.

The IKEA Effect was identified and named in a 2011 paper in the Journal of Consumer Psychology by Michael Norton, Daniel Mochon and Dan Ariely. They described the IKEA Effect as a psychological phenomenon that explains how we come to love and value the things we put in effort into.

Thus the more effort we put into it, the more we are invested in it, the more we value it. It’s a feeling that what we have made is a hundred times better than any professional could have done. In fact, it’s the best made piece in the history of the world. 

But what is more interesting, is that we think others should value it as much as we do, often widely out of proportion to their logical value. Take selling a home. I see this all the time. Someone who has worked on their home or home projects are often inclined to feel that the house is worth more than market value because of their labors of love. Because really, how can anyone not credit the time and effort it took to painstaking glue the crumbling ’70‘s wallpaper in the bathroom, to embroider daisies on the pink ruffled kitchen curtains, to build a coffee table out of recycled beer bottles, to needlepoint Canada geese flying east on the toss cushions, and to scrounge wood for scaffolding in order to hang the 6 foot macramé wall hanging? Like Chihuahuas and hot curries, this emotion often provokes extreme reactions. So the moment people are involved with their built environment, they have a totally different relationship to it. The equation: the higher the contribution, the higher the value. Interior designers know this feeling. And most of us also have a really great hair. By the way, is it possible to ever get attached to a BILLY bookcase?

IKEA also discovered a long time ago, 1943 to be exact, that people are sometimes willing to pay more for things they are involved in building, hence the 957 million customer visits yearly to IKEA stores.   

Interestingly enough, it actually is more about the completion of the task, as the effect completely disappears when the task is not completed well or not completed at all.

Who of us does not have, somewhere in our home, a table, dresser or bookcase far past its expiration date – wobbly, chipped paint, missing a handle, but we just can’t quite bring ourself to throw it away.

Why?

We BUILT the thing. Maybe it was 27 years ago, but darnit, it’s our baby.

All of us feel successful, and maybe even faintly triumphant, by turning a pile of wood with pre-drilled holes into a desk. The secret that IKEA hit on 77 years ago, is to find the sweet spot; where we can enjoy “building” a desk, get a bit frustrated, but still feel in control and use at the end. It’s always a cause for celebration, even if there is a couple of screws left over or a leg on backwards.

“So what?”, we say. We silently curse the IKEA Gods and go find some duct tape. 

This year and once again, allow me to wax rhapsodic as I present my annual attempt at trying to help you through the minefield of a holiday we lovingly refer to as Valentine’s Day. A day we show love and appreciation for the special one in our life by saying – “Happy, what? Oh crap. I’ll be right back.”

That’s not to say that the only ones that forget Valentine’s Day are necessarily philanderers. Some of us are only thinking about cheating. Paradoxically, and with a straight face. February is pegged as the month of romance…idling over a candlelight dinner, proffering an envelop with a $10 Starbucks gift card, and reading sonnets.  So why is Valentine’s Day in February? Why this month? Maybe because it is usually very cold and low football season.

According to my exhaustive research, there is a particular formula to follow when ascertaining the amount one should spend on that special someone’s Valentine’s Day present. 

Simply take their monthly salary, subtract the cost of yearly medical expenses, divide this by the weekly food bill, and multiply the remainder by the number of days left until Valentine’s Day. Then throw that number out and go down to the nearest gas station to find out what they’re charging for a small bag of red licorice. This is what you have to work with.  

And the world is divided between those who pursue breakfast and those who don’t. 

Current relationship status. Made dinner for two. Ate both. I. Holiday factoid: According to legend, it was common to sign Valentine cards with the salutation, “From your Valentine“, an expression that is still used today, but not in prison.    II. Holiday factoid:  According to the 1978 Canadian census, 91% of Valentines cards (priced at colorful prices known as “insane”), many with Cupid floating around in fresh diapers with loaded arrows, are sold out 2 days before Valentine’s Day. This is probably part of an evil, coordinated plot hatched by the (NGB), notorious guilt bombers, whose evil plans is to empty the shelves just to spite last minute losers. Cause why accomplish things early when you can do them late? another startlingly statistic: For every 100 single women in their 30’s, there are 59 single guys, many of them without a criminal record. For every 100 single women in their 60’s, there are only 33 single men. But thankfully, the curve begins to flatten, because for every 100 single women over the age of 100, 100% of single guys are dead.

Here’s another startlingly statistic: For every 100 single women in their 30’s, there are 59 single guys, many of them without a criminal record. For every 100 single women in their 60’s, there are only 33 single men. But thankfully, the curve begins to flatten, because for every 100 single women over the age of 100, 100% of single guys are dead.  III. Holiday factoid: Most homes have an average of 19.3 boxes of half eaten boxes of cherry covered chocolates, some dating back to their early ‘20s.    I know, I look in their closets. Not even remotely compelling.

IV. Holiday factoid:

The average Canadian consumes 88.18 pounds of saccharine trappings every year. Which means that if St. Valentine were to get dipped in dark organic chocolate, 7 random Canadians would actually have eaten his weight inadvertently.

Not that this is information you actually need. 

V. Holiday factoid:

A red stapler is not a “heartsy” Valentines gift, a decision referred to by many geologists, as “rock stupid.” It is advised to “Put your heart into it.”, as opposed to other organs in the body. 

This also goes for those cliche chocolate-covered strawberries dressed in tuxedos. It’s February, people. Strawberries are not in season, and THEY DO NOT WEAR CLOTHES.

VI. Holiday factoid: 

Subtle hints and reminders are most effective when your partner actually pays attention to what you’re saying.

VII. Holiday factoid: I didn’t have to make up anything in the previous VI paragraphs.  And we wonder why no one claims the making of crop circles.  Lady-In-Read

Signed. Sealed. Delivered. I’m yours.

This January was the longest year I can remember. But fortunately for me, I eliminated some of the travail, by basking in milquetoast Oregon weather all last week.

Why?

Because I’ve been demoted to looking after three dogs instead of my usual gig of babysitting a cat in Honolulu. 

Well…there used to be two cats, but one jumped off the 11th floor balcony. 

Hmmm, you say, maybe that’s why you lost your gig.  

Noooo…he jumped of its own accord. It had nothing to do with me. Just ask the doorman who found him in the bushes. I was in a taxi by that time. 

The minute I arrived in Oregon, I turned technology off.

The reason.

To experience JOMO – The Joy of Missing Out

It was euphoric.

I watched snow drops drift down, sun shadows move, and clouds change. I made a imaginary quilt, listened to birds singing at the feeder outside my window, watched a cactus grow, and never once wondered about Facebook and Instagram posts. 

Emphatic, unhurried. Laudable. Uncharacteristically laconic. Slowly dismantling my obsession with productivity.

And all in comfortable pants.

There were no pings. No binge watching Season 6 Grace and Frankie. No copper mining. And no phone calls.

Not that there were any. I checked.

Yup, I was just a low maintenance introvert one long beard away from being a complete hermit. A party of one.

I am now at the age of knowing that “No One Really Cares What You Had for Dinner”. Essentially being ignored and unnoticed.

Also called being over 50. 

Although it might have been helpful if I hadn’t followed the skin care rules of the ‘60’s – baby oil and tinfoil, and eaten less Cheez Whiz on white bread. I also would have liked to have learned how to keep chairs from wobbling a little earlier on in life.

Although I’m gratefully on the other side of 50, I actually feel 37. It’s the age I identify with, feeling like a young woman with something really wrong with me. But that’s another story.

But I do have to tell you that one of the greatest things I learned over the week, was the flattering illusion that I am really quite an easy person to live with. You can ask anyone here. 

Yea, we live in a time where our dearest, maybe our only, constant companion, is our cell phone. We have it while eating, with friends, exercising in the gym, dog walking, at a concert, breastfeeding, during sex, cleaning toilets…the list goes on. Although the dark truth is, it has become very hard to find anyone (and certainly anything), more interesting than one’s own smartphone.

I mean, it’s not a sign of a problem when the first thing we look at in the morning and the last thing we touch at night is our phone.

Yup, just piling my help and goodness all over everybody. That’s just the kind of person I am.

Maybe cell phones should come with a label from the Surgeon General. Warning: Extensive cellular use causes addiction, mass extinction of species, community breakdown, relationship problems, and extensive Amazon deliveries.

Houston, we have a problem.

t’s such a romantic idea, this solitude thing. Sans technology. Silence.

But yet every day we do all sorts of things to escape this ubiquitous dragon, this ultimate vulnerability, this potentially penetrating hum and bodily ache of being alone.

We become workaholics, consumerholics, religioholics, technoholics, volunteerholics, excerciseholics, chocoholics, kaleoholics – anything to mask the lonely desperation.

We humans have this need for deep connection, even if it’s only with our frozen dinner package, teary-eyed and whispering “Thank you, friend.” after reading the “Enjoy!” note at the end of the cooking instructions. 

Loneliness can scramble our thinking and make us afraid to reach out because who of us wants more rejection when we already have as much heartache as we can manage.
 

But being alone makes us develop our own point of view, giving us time for clear, critical thinking. Time to reflect and ponder, to sense and notice, of being on the cusp of something when we almost know what we feel. It’s unruly, but enduring.

Spending quality time with ourselves also allows us to curtail our gullibility – and not necessarily believe everything I write.

We need to learn to be comfortable being alone without disassociating ourselves from the world, making us more capable of intimacy when we get the opportunity.   When we are not lonely when alone, we have achieved the ultimate -– comfort and ease in solitude.  Yes, Cinderella, you can do it.

As for me, and if nothing else, I’m counting on this solitude thing to make me unaccountably alluring and elegant.

I’m Not Ready to Scrape Ice    Last week. True north strong and freezing. Cold enough to glue eyelids shut. Cold enough to freeze wood frogs solid. Cold enough to freeze tongues to flagpoles. Cold enough that icicles are inside the house. The benchmark lowered considerably for what was enjoyable and what was not. Lordy.  You know it’s bad when even the Gentoo penguins at the Calgary Zoo weren’t allowed to play outside.

Yup, it was approximately the same temperature as it would be if you’d been sitting on top of Mount Everest. Except it was colder. And the snow! All that shoveling. You wonder what you’ve done in your life to live somewhere where there’s an actual threat of losing your fingers while shoveling two feet of snow off the sidewalk – along with having to miss your favorite TV show.  Any of you who lived through a week like last week will now be able to tell your grandchildren of the good old days of 2020.

There are 37.59 million Canadians. These are their problems.   Maybe we should keep this weather seasonal myopia to ourselves. Is this how we want the world to see and remember us? Fur wrapped and huddled around a Primus stove drying out our toques, bemoaning the cancelled bacon cook off? I mean, who needs white sand beaches, sun and suntan oil, when you can be puffed up in four layers of down, long johns and two pairs of wool mitts with matching earmuffs. Surfing the waves? Ha! That’s for sissies.   Now let’s talk about our collective winter creativity? I mean, seriously? Once we had nine professional football teams and two of them had the same name.    Dance Like Snow-One’s Watching  There are still some of us that can be totally fearless during a cold spell, mainly because we hate being confined, especially if it’s for our own good.  Some of us go out and throw boiling water in the air to make mist arcs, use lawn chairs to clear sidewalks, make spaghetti sculptures, play Frisbee with frozen clothes, have frozen hair contests, and dance the bhangra in the snow. For 45 seconds.

All this just makes us just a little bit more Canadian. Just like participating in the Polar Bear Swim or voluntarily spend the night sleeping on a slab of ice.   Yes, we Canadians have a capacity for accepting unconventional things on the intake. Say “Cheese curds on top of fries and gravy.” By the way, there’s an “alleged” cool front coming in again on Wednesday, and if it happens, you may never hear from me again. Plus my leg hurts. It’s been great knowing you all and thank you for reading.  After all, the secret of happiness lies in focusing less on what we don’t have – heat, and more on what we do have  – snow. P.S. But for the record, I’ll continue to skip the double-double. In minus Celsius.

Yes, it’s officially a new decade. So far I have spent it like I spent the end of the last decade – in my pyjamas eating macadamia nuts and bingeing on Netflix. I figure it’s better to start small and work up to bigger things.I’m not generally one for New Year’s Resolutions – better known as casual promises that you are under no legal obligation to keep.Statistics show that 92% drop their New Year’s Resolution in about 7 minutes flat. If you are very, very quiet, you can hear them breaking all over the world.So rather than setting myself up to fail, I prefer to cut out the middleman and jump straight to not doing things.But two years ago, I came up with a resolution I could actually keep. It had everything an achievable goal should have. It was specific ― not vague or lofty, like wearing breathable fleece or reading all seven parts of Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past.   Itwas a small, daily task with measurable results. It was intrinsically motivated — I was doing this for me and me alone.   My resolution: eat more chocolate. And I did it. I’m still doing it today. Matter of fact, I’m doing it right now.

I am fairly certain that given a cape and a nice tiara, I could save the world.

Some resolutions are easily enough achieved, like cutting down on extramarital affairs, but some are like hammering the ‘CLOSE DOOR’ button in an elevator when you see your archenemy approaching.  There just is no point. It won’t close any faster by continually punching it. It only gives you the illusion of control and stops you from remembering that you’re in a metal box dangling from a wire sixty feet in the air.

Developing a good habit or breaking a bad one isn’t easy, as anyone who has endeavoured to make a New Year’s resolution can attest. It is now well known that there is no magic time interval to make a habit. Not 21 days, not 30 days for majestic abs, not 66 days to stop late night snacking.  I found that the best way to begin a new habit is to set the bar incredibly low. You pick something so small, it’s easy to do. For instance, you want a tidy house, then start with tidying up your bathroom. Every Day. That’s it. Little motivation is required and you never raise the minimum. The goal remains to only tidying up your bathroom – everyday. Anything more is a bonus. If you want to maintain the habit, and hopefully one day exceed it, you need to be okay with just doing the original version of it.In other words, if you get immediate rewards from your new habits, you will be more likely to stick to them.Like – this past year I went to the gym eight times. This New Year’s resolution is to cut that number in half. It’s something like the age old age battle of doing what you want to do, and not what you should do – like not returning your grocery cart and wearing questionable fashion statements.

“Should-ing” on yourself is never a good idea. It only leads to guilt, shame, remorse, and probably more drinking.

Take that one word, “should” out of your vocabulary, and you may stand a fighting chance of scaling the heights of sorting through those closets, tackling the basement, or thinning out the filing cabinets. 

“Should” implies that whatever you are planning is only a possibility, not a reality. In other words, you’re giving yourself an excuse simply by saying you “should” do something, rather than you “will” do something.  As Nike says, Just Do It, and pretty soon and before you know it, you may find yourself deep in recycling bags. That is, after you take that 30 minute walk that you vowed to do everyday since 1804. I know, I’m being surprisingly unhelpful.  So, as someone dragging a trail of abandoned yoga mats and water bottles, it’s nice to finally see the bottom of a promise fulfilled – another empty chocolate box. By the way, January 8 is National Ditch New Year’s Resolutions Day, or in the case of a small disinterested minority, the anniversary of Prime Minister Patrice Emery Lumumba’s Assassination.  Here’s to a powerful and cheerful new year.

Holiday Greetings!  It’s the Christmas Season and I know you are dying to know what exciting things I’ve been up to this year. Having turned down repeated requests for interviews from People magazine and the National Enquirer, I’ve decided to give you, my dear clients, an exclusive.   Since it is the holiday season, it seems fitting to mention that I haven’t been invited to a single Christmas party. I only mention this to make you feel guilty in case you had a Christmas party and failed to invite me, because I’ve been free every weekend in December and most weekends in November.  Although not generally known for my eagerness to go outside, this year I made a number of driving trips (there may have been a Hop on Hop off in there somewhere), and stayed in an inordinate number of places where there is a healthy fear of getting lice from the blankets. I ate breakfasts, lunches, afternoon snacks, dinners, and late night desserts coupled with a tipple of Sauvignon Blanc on most occasions. During those sojourns, I remember inadvertently sharing some of my deepest secrets to strangers, as well as having to fight off a cow. (By the way, NEVER look into a hotel’s lighted magnified bathroom mirror. It’s scary. Not even God wants to see us that close up.)  I have to admit that I chose this year of all years, to have a past-middle-life crisis. Apparently I have been buying clothing that is far too trendy, started leaf-pressing as a hobby, and have been seriously considering designing a line of swimwear for cats. This petit trauma led me to discover the joys of anti-anxiety medication. It is truly a match made in heaven and a relationship I plan on nurturing for the long haul.   As many of you know, I’m a great lover of artful tchotchkes, I mean, treasures. So during my travels, I was always on the lookout for any that could potentially unlock the mysteries of my ancestors and match the colour scheme of my living room.   Oh, and this year, I finally got those drapes I’ve been wanting.   I am, although, happy to announce that I still haven’t had my identity stolen. I did try to auction it off on ebay. A nice gentleman from Grenada contacted me and we have started up a correspondence. He promises to totally change my financial profile. In the meantime, I remain at the same address.   In closing, I want to offer you all a hearty thank you for your support and for cleaning my house (if applicable). You have been an important part of my year and you helped me realize that aside from that catastrophic loss and ensuing despondency, the encroaching arthritis in my left elbow, and possible onset of asthma from poplar pollen, this year may prove to be my best year yet.    Cheers,  Karyn