blogthecat

Five things

Well, here it is, December 1st, 2023. I am excited about December after a tough fall (but an otherwise good year). A highlight of 2023 was visiting our dear friends Rob and Rachel and their kids in Maine in the summer. While we were there, Rachel and I chatted about collaborating on a blog that would be called Five Things, or some variation on that. Rachel is a brilliant photographer and beautiful writer, and no one bakes anything as good as she does. I still crave the blueberry muffins she made seven years ago.

For various reasons, our project launch has been delayed but I have faith that we will get to it in 2024. Until then, I am going to begin practising for it.

The idea is simply to write about, or share photos of, five wonderful, or poignant, or everyday-but-momentous thoughts, events, interviews, recipes, books, whatever. Our blog will be full of imagination and silliness and things in our heads that need to come out. It will bring joy to us, and maybe to others.

Which brings me to Five Things I'm thinking about today.

ONE

Practice

When we are little, we know all about practising, whether it's piano, balancing, whistling, singing, soccer, or whatever else. It's woven into our days, often at the behest of our parents. Even at that age, we know it's hard. It's nothing like the rush of an ice cream cone, the delight of a movie, or the adrenaline high of a nerf-gun battle. It takes work, and it can be boring and frustrating because the very nature of practice is that you haven't gotten to some perfect end point. It's always a process and usually the gains are gradual. But if it's grounded in passion and linked to a goal, it's tolerable and maybe even more than that sometimes.

As an adult, I am terrible at practising. The fear underlying my perfectionism – fear that I/it will never be good enough – makes me shy away from trying regularly in an area I really care about. I know it's quite possible that diligence will not lead me to what I want, which is to be very good at something. Wouldn't the work be torture, then, if it doesn't lead to that end? What if I just practise, practise, practise, for as long as I live? What if I write and it's just awful. What if, what if, what if ...

Which brings me to my beloved yoga studio, SoulSpeak, owned by the most gorgeous woman, Erin Harris, whose voice is magical. In her classes, Erin either shares what she has written or what others have written before we begin moving our bodies in the hour that we have in the studio. A couple of nights ago, it was a poem called What if. Erin couldn't find the source of the poem and I can't find it either when I search on the web. But here it is, and boy did it hit the spot for me. It helped me to be here today on this blog doing exactly what I know I need to be doing: practising. It won't feel as incredible as when Erin voices it, but it's still worth writing out. The poem is a response to all the times we stop ourselves with negative talk, imagining the worst.

But what if...
everything works out
you have the time of your life

What if...
everyone loves what you do

But what if...
nothing bad happens
your hard work pays off
you find your purpose
it leads to something amazing

What if ...
you stand up for yourself
you use it as a lesson
you can do hard things
you become who you needed all along
you learn to love who you are.

If I were to extend that poem, I might write:

But what if...
It is just practising, practising, practising, for as long as I live

What if...
That was okay

What if...
It felt really good

What if...
I wasn't scared anymore
Not standing beside
Diving in
Not perfect
Finally

*

TWO

SoulSpeak Yoga

Yes, I already mentioned it, but I can't stop at Erin. The instructors are mind-readers, heart-readers. Their words, humour, encouragement, chill. This is unlike any yoga I've done before. Bodies of all shapes and sizes. Shameless wobbling. Breathless soul work. Killer playlists. This studio has been so important to me in 2023, especially given a hugely annoying rotator cuff injury that prevents me from doing a bunch of other stuff. Hoping next year I get to do yoga and my other obsession, boxing with Nicolina, Sarah, and Noura at The Rig. Until then, I will revel in the direction of instructors such as Josh, who encourages us into "nonchalant but earnest" poses (or today I believe the idea was a "ferocious yet gentle" transition); Ali, who reminds us that the very last thing we should be thinking of in yoga is what we look like as we move; and Andrea, who giggles as she proposes really hard sequences ("that I haven't even tried yet!"). So grateful.

THREE

Falafel

If you are vegetarian, falafel can mean a lot to you, probably because you had a to-die for experience eating one somewhere, sometime in the past and obviously because it doesn't have meat in it. But sadly, most falafel is meh, or worse than meh. Dried up, crumbly. Or sodden in garlic sauce, wrapped in soggy pita. But not today. Ohhh, not today. Walking on Wellington I finally popped into Shawarma Al Mouna and I fear it will now be a daily occasion. How much falafel is good for a body? Is there a limit? Al Mouna's falafel wrap is everything I could ever ask for: the tender falafel itself; the mouth-watering layering of garlic sauce (not too much), tahini, pickled turnips, lettuce, tabbouleh, and for me, because I am hot sauce-obsessed, banana peppers; and pita bread, toasted with hints of charcoal. I had to call the lovely owner once I had scarfed it down at home. "Thank you so much, thank you, thank you," he said, and so, I hope, begins the story of how I will finally get top-secret tips from an expert for how to make my hummus less pasty.

FOUR

There is no four, or five, today. I don't have time. But you know what I had time for? One, two, three. That feels pretty darned good.

SoulSpeak Yoga.

 

 

 

 

 

Don't Give Up

I have tried so many antidepressants that I can’t even remember which drug last sent me into a worse state of mind than when I started it. Whatever it was, its unintended effects had me dragging myself into the doctor’s office a couple of years ago, trying to figure out next steps. Again.

Not even bothering to wipe away tears, I squinted at the computer screen with my GP as she pulled up my chart. A psychiatrist had seen me years ago, and though I never saw her again (I may still be on a waitlist), she sometimes contributed notes about new drugs that might finally relieve my recurrent, and ever more debilitating, anxiety/depression disorder.

Together, my GP and I read the psychiatrist’s guidance:

“If drug X doesn’t work at this dose, do not attempt a different dose. Consider it a failed trial.”

Huh. Another dead end. My GP and I talked a bit more about symptoms, etc. Then she said, “So should we increase the dose then?”

“Of what?” I asked, turning my head slightly toward the glowing computer screen still showing the psychiatrist’s notes.

When she answered, I wasn’t even surprised. I just cocked my head a little more pointedly towards the computer. “I think probably not, right?”

So, we didn’t load me up on still more drug X that day. We could have, but I decided it was likely not the right treatment plan. Over the years, I have always known at least as much as my GP about which drugs are meant to do what things for patients presenting with my symptoms. This is because my GP is not a mental health specialist and has no time to read the latest literature on new treatments. I have made that time because there has been no other option.

I like my GP, by the way. That she is not the right doctor for me is not her fault. She is not a psychologist or psychiatrist, yet our healthcare system forces her into a position where she must try to act like one.

As anyone who has suffered from mental illness knows, there are very few mental health practitioners in Canada who are both accessible (say, within eight months?) and good. This leaves you with this option: Try to keep afloat, wait to find help, and keep your mind open to the zillienth antidepressant prescribed to you in the meantime.

There’s a catch, though. Many people can’t do that. A lot of people are too sick to wait, even for brief amounts of time. Or they have tried too many times to find help, and they’re wearing down, because nothing is working. That was me not too long ago.

For most of my adult life, I fought back against countless episodes of depression, anxiety, and OCD. I could never have done so without the most patient, loving family ever. I battled as quietly as possible, especially because I have kids (that’s a whole other story … the superhuman effort you make to avoid passing on your pain to them) and a career I did not want to jeopardize. Being quiet, masking pain in public, was a choice I felt I had to make. But it came at a cost: so many missed opportunities for connection, and so much unnecessary shame and exhaustion.

Sometimes I felt like a conqueror. I had blissful spells of remission, and you could not find a happier person in the world during those times. The relief you feel when you don’t have to pretend to be okay – because you are actually okay – is overwhelming. You get so much energy back because you can finally do other things than fighting your stupid thoughts all the time. You are yourself – but better, because this version of yourself is so exciting (and relaxing) compared to the other one you know so well.

Unfortunately, in 2021, reprieves of wellness were fewer and farther between. By the end of the year, I couldn’t surface and rebound. The grooves in my brain where depression and incessant worrying had run for so long were getting too deep. I stopped going out, stopped reaching out to my best friends, couldn’t work, and cried all the way through the Christmas holidays, even though my brother’s family had braved the Covid odds and travel hell to get here from California. 

Before sinking, though, I had thrown myself into yet another round of intensive research about how to get better. I consulted with my sister-in-law, Nicole, who has always found the time to help me research alternative therapies, and investigated something called ketamine, a psychedelic drug sometimes used recreationally (with serious risk) and frequently used in hospitals as an intravenous anaesthetic. Rarer and more recent is ketamine’s use as a treatment for mental illness.

Nicole’s friend in California had taken ketamine, and still does from time to time, so I reached out to her. Ketamine worked for her in a way nothing else had. It wasn’t a cure, but it lifted her almost immediately out of the very serious place she had gotten to. When she did find herself depressed again, which was less often, she could make her way out more quickly and take a booster of ketamine.  

I read and read and read (please see the bottom of this post for some of the materials I consulted – let’s just say this was a tiny fraction of my research and excludes scientific studies). There are risks. Ketamine does not work for everyone. The science is still coming in on how exactly it functions in the brain and whether there are consequences down the line. Johns Hopkins Medicine sums up the way it differs from typical antidepressants like this:

“Esketamine … increases levels of glutamate, the most abundant chemical messenger in the brain. The result? A greater impact [than antidepressants] on more brain cells at one time.”

John Krystal, chief psychiatrist at Yale Medicine and one of the pioneers of ketamine research in the US, calls ketamine "the anti-medication" medication, and says:

“This is a game changer. With most medications, like valium, the anti-anxiety effect you get only lasts when it is in your system. When the valium goes away, you can get rebound anxiety. When you take ketamine, it triggers reactions in your cortex that enable brain connections to regrow. It’s the reaction to ketamine, not the presence of ketamine in the body that constitutes its effects."

I accepted the risk profile of ketamine (which to me is no worse than that of most antidepressants) because I just couldn’t keep going on the way I was. Anticipating the appointment I had made in November to begin ketamine treatment in the new year provided hope through Christmas, as difficult as that holiday was for me and my family.

My treatment in January 2022 took place in Ottawa at a private practice called Braxia. The protocol was twice a week for the first month (the “acute” phase), then after that every week for a couple of months. Now it’s once every three weeks/month. I feel better the next day after taking it.

I ingest it sublingually (it tastes absolutely awful), though the “gold standard” is to take it intravenously. Ketamine is already terribly expensive in the sublingual form ($250 a pop) and intravenous is a heftier bill than that. It is not covered by OHIP, which makes me sad and angry. There are so many people who could get lifesaving help from ketamine who cannot because they would have to pay out of pocket. In my case, heightened productivity at work offsets the cost of the treatment … many times over.

The experience is always a bit different. I always go into a trance 30–40 minutes after putting the lozenges under my tongue or tucked into my cheeks. The trance wears off in about two hours. A nurse comes in every so often to check my blood pressure and make sure I'm not overly freaked out. When the drug is wearing off, I sit in my recliner chair for a bit before trying to walk. I can't drive for 24 hours; Craig comes to pick me up. I stay off screens for several hours afterwards. I like to take it in the evening so I can work the next day. If I take it in the morning, work is a no-go for the rest of the day – I'm just too spaced out.

Sometimes the experience is intense, sometimes less so. That unpredictability stems in part from taking it sublingually. Intravenous allows for a more precise effect. I have had wonderful times on ketamine, where I enter a world full of brilliant colours and textures and come to realizations I wouldn’t have come to otherwise. Those feel like trippy dreams, and they are more common when I am in a great, relaxed mood before the treatment. I have also had rough experiences where I am fearful and worried that I won’t emerge intact. Both types of experience have produced the same result the next day: a noticeable lift in mood that lasts for weeks.

Ketamine has changed my life. I no longer suffer multiple bouts of illness a year, am so much more present with the kids and my family, have never felt better in my career, have my sense of humour back, and am more connected with my friends than I ever have been (lucky for me because I have the best friends in the world). Sometimes I have dips, but they last for a couple of days rather than weeks at a time, and they are much less vicious than they used to be.

Studies of ketamine have found that it is beneficial for half or more of those with TRD (treatment-resistant depression). It works immediately for those it does help, as opposed to antidepressants which, if they end up working at all, take weeks to take effect.

I could go on and on, but I won’t. I never thought I would write much about this very private topic, especially because the kids are teens and I’m nervous about sharing too much for that reason. I decided to in the end because I am aware of too many people suffering silently right now. Maybe it was the pandemic, maybe it’s the state of the world, but it seems like more people are feeling pulled under.

Sacrificing a bit of my privacy is worth it if it helps anyone who is beginning to lose hope. If antidepressants don’t work for you, there are other options to explore and discuss with your doctor, who may or may not be aware of them. If you don’t have enough energy to do the research and the advocacy, hopefully you can reach out to ask someone who can.

Ketamine is something to investigate. So is electric convulsant therapy (ECT), which got a bad rap in its infancy and in sci-fi/horror movies, but which is much safer, more effective, and less shocking (ha) than many imagine. Neurofeedback is also helping patients suffering from a wide range of disorders, including ADHD and anxiety.

Important to keep in mind with this post: I am not a doctor (though we joke in my family that I am because of how much medical research I sometimes do). I have no idea if ketamine would be right for you or anyone you are worried about. It’s not a “first-line” treatment for depression, but rather an option if nothing else is working. The reason I wrote this post is that there needs to be more awareness in Canada of new treatments that have been proven to dramatically improve the quality of people’s lives – or even to save lives.

If any of this is interesting or relevant, the next step is to research lots and lots and have your questions answered by a reputable practitioner. I can only speak for myself.

Most of all, I want you to know that if you are suffering, or watching a loved one suffer, there is still hope. Antidepressants are not the only option. If they don’t work for you, don’t give up.

The picture is of the sign that greeted me, along with fairy lights in our bedroom, when I returned from my first treatment. I know.

For further reading:

The Ketamine Cure, New York Times: https://www.nytimes.com/2021/11/04/well/ketamine-therapy-depression.html

Ketamine Therapy Is Going Mainsteam: Are We Ready? https://www.newyorker.com/culture/annals-of-inquiry/ketamine-therapy-is-going-mainstream-are-we-ready

Esketamine for Treatment-Resistant Depression: https://www.hopkinsmedicine.org/health/treatment-tests-and-therapies/esketamine-for-treatment-resistant-depression

Ketamine and OCD: https://stanmed.stanford.edu/carolyn-rodriguez-ketamine-ocd/

Ketamine for Major Depression: https://www.health.harvard.edu/blog/ketamine-for-major-depression-new-tool-new-questions-2019052216673

How Ketamine Works with Depression: https://www.yalemedicine.org/news/ketamine-depression

 

 

 

The "Freedom Convoy": The extreme right is counting on an exhausted public

Long ago, I blogged about being at the 2007 BC National Award for Nonfiction gala listening to Dragan Todorovic speak about watching his country disappear. Todorovic was nominated for his memoir, The Book of Revenge: A Blues for Yugoslavia. I wrote:

 

"Todorovic spoke of how easily, how swiftly, a country can turn from being one thing to being something else entirely, about how quietly dangerous denial is.

 

He recalled his experience of watching his native Yugoslavia torn apart, and about how powerful the urge can be among citizens to hope that everything will just get better somehow if we keep our heads down, say what everyone else is saying, and leave it to our leaders to sort deadly messes out.

 

At the end of his speech, Todorovic looked at us all in the audience and said, referring to a country's disassembling or changing its essential values: "Keep your heads up. Do not think it can never happen in Canada. We never thought it could happen in Yugoslavia, either."'

 

I'll never forget that speech, though I have certainly not heeded its wisdom enough. Not by a long stretch. I thought of this today while feeling grateful to many friends for posting regularly about the protest-that-is-not-a-protest ... the fake-protest that is actually an insurrection uniting extremists of every stripe that draws support – financial and otherwise – from powerful extreme-right-wing politicians and individuals in the US. It’s an insurrection that has gathered strength for a number of reasons, including pandemic fatigue and hardship among many law-abiding Canadians who are done with restrictions and lockdowns and life being interrupted for so long – and who therefore support the “principle” if not the extreme actions of the occupiers.

 

Now that the insurrection is this far along, and only gaining momentum and impact, we are all wondering when, and how, it will end. We have been gobsmacked by the unbelievable fact that this is happening in Ottawa, in Canada. But “This is not our Canada!” is feeling pretty frail in terms of a reaction at this stage. “Our Canada” is ever more a misnomer, a dangerous simplification that is increasingly unable to glue together deepening divides in our society.

 

I, for one, have not considered just how much our country has changed, in part because of a desperate focus on believing we could all come together to beat back infection and mortality rates and protect our most vulnerable. But we aren’t together. A recent Leger survey found that one-third (32%) of Canadians “support the message the trucker convoy (also known as Freedom Convoy) protests are conveying of no vaccine mandates and less public health measures.” More than half oppose the way the “protest” has taken shape but the fact that such a significant proportion of Canadians agree with the message is something that makes me pause. It makes me think that Trudeau’s dismissive stance towards anti-vaxxers/maskers and opponents of public health mandates has been a serious tactical error. As much as I have admittedly also been dismissive, I am not the leader of Canada. Trudeau's approach and rhetoric has obviously alienated too many and may be contributing to dangerous gaps in national outrage about what is happening on our streets. We are so fractured.

 

As of this writing, seemingly no one knows how to stop the madness. But the longer it goes on, the more fragile our faith in the strength of our democracy, the more tenuous our federal government’s grip on power (and by power I mean the ability of the government to actually govern), and the stronger the ability of the occupiers to terrorize and freeze our economy.

 

We can only hope that our governments, police, and military are consulting the most formidable minds out there right now about how to defuse this situation. If it can’t be defused, what happens next? I tell myself I can’t imagine, but I know I am also stopping myself from imagining. That’s something to think about, when I think back to Todorovic’s words of caution. Because as we speak, well-organized extremists are all too aware of our feeling exhausted by the pandemic and bleary-eyed as a result. They are banking on it.

 

We are so close to the end of this ordeal, right? We can feel the light at the end of the tunnel, a spring enjoyed with far fewer restrictions, gatherings with friends, adventures, kids being kids – finally – first kisses, travel, etc. The occupiers know we are close to those hard-won joys – and it's not stopping them. They can't wait. You have to wonder why. They are NOT the rightful representatives of a frustrated but democratic minority. They need to go, for the good of all of us.

A night to remember

Last night we had so much fun watching Oliver's hockey game. It was a clean, fast game and every kid left it all out there on the ice. It all ended in a tie and that felt absolutely right. Anyway, my dad wrote this and sent it over to us this morning in an email. Sometimes life is pretty beautiful.

**

When you think of perfect evenings, do you think of elegant dinners? A magical performance at the theatre? That night you stayed up late to watch meteor showers dance in the heavens?

All good, all good.

But there’s nothing there to match hockey pucks and cheeseburgers, smothered in a little girl’s hugs.

It happened last night, a gift for a near 78-year-old who doesn’t care all that much for driving at night, even ever so carefully, even wearing cozy warm underwear to fight off the frigid benches at the west end hockey rink.

What greeted me there was the enthusiasm of my favourite daughter, combined with an endless flurry of hugs from my ten-year-old granddaughter, combined with the whirling on-ice performance of my 13-year-old grandson, topped off with the finest cheeseburger in town, all dressed by the lovely lady who lives in the snack bar: Mrs. Burger.

When you get all these people performing at their peak it is well worth the inconvenience of a frozen bum and a drive in the dark.

So last night I hit the jackpot. My daughter led the cheering, even when the other team scored a goal. Well, one of their goals. She deemed the goal worthy, and it was.

Myriad hugs from my other fellow spectator, little Cookie, who is an athlete in her own right but more than that, an endlessly wriggling FORCE.

And Oliver! Number 11! The player with one white sock and one black sock. Impeccable defensive play.

And the goal! Oh my, the goal. Some foolish player on the red team left the Big O uncovered half way in from the blue line for maybe three or four seconds. Never leave Oliver unprotected for more than half a second. The windup! The shot that threaded the needle at a difficult angle and wham! I mean WHAM!!! Into the lower left hand corner. A thing of beauty.

Oh, the red team managed to make it a tie, but never mind. Bring on the mustard, ketchup, relish and onions. How I love you, Mrs. Burger.

And the crowing glory: while sitting in my car, munching my burger, who should come tapping on my window? The goal-scorer! Thanking me for coming. Thanking ME for coming. The goal scorer was thanking ME!

You think you know perfect evenings?

Think again.

Post courtesy of its author, Dan Turner.

About that cleanse

It didn't work! I didn't adhere to it 100%, more like 80%, and basically I felt deprived and also somewhat pregnant most of the time (hello increased fibre!). I gained weight and resented smoothies. I loathed every bite of nut butter. BUT. It wasn't for nought. I for sure got more nutrients and broke my addiction to Mr. Noodles. I didn't eat sugar and I liked not craving it after a few days. These are actually big things and I intend to keep going with those elements - less white, less beer, more water, less sugar, and lots more green. What I am looking forward to is returning to a way of eating that has worked for me in the past and that feels good: intuitive eating.

Below are a couple of things I enjoyed on the cleanse. The first is just a super-easy breakfast or lunch: brown rice, spinach, peas, veggie broth. The second is a tofu creation Georgia and I collaborated on one night. She thought up this idea of a "community" (i.e., an environment) in a meal: broccoli were trees, carrot rounds were stepping stones, etc. We ended up including about a dozen different veggies because it was so exciting to keep adding to the metaphor. 

However, here's the thing: I generally always make such things! I needed the cleanse to get me back on track and now that it's over I plan to continue eating in the same vein: just with a lot more butter and cheese! :-)

Giggle, repeat

This tiny little slice – is it called a meme? – made me laugh when I first saw it on a friend's FB post and it keeps making me giggle. If you have a dog you can't help but love this one. I am racing today on many deadlines so this is it for now. It's enough, right?!

Smiling eyes

A few days ago in my first November post I mentioned my plan to do something every day that makes someone feel great. I think I try to do that as a matter of course but it's still good to think about it more intentionally. Anyway, last night I found a nice opportunity. I was at Superstore, which means muzak, harsh lighting, and long lineups for the most part. The atmosphere doesn't do much to promote random acts of kindness. However, when I finally got to the cash I was greeted by the loveliest clerk. She was excited that I had my Optimum card to receive rewards. She was delighted that I reached a bill amount that allowed me to get a big wooden cutting board for free. And every time she looked up at me she was smiling – I could tell she was even though we were both wearing masks. So of course I was smiling back. It felt wonderful. Before I left, I told her what beautiful eyes she had – twinkling eyes. "THANK YOU! she exclaimed, then said that her regular customers said they missed seeing her face because of course it's partially hidden by the mask. "You can still tell what a kind and wonderful face you have, just from your eyes," I said, and we bid each other the fondest of goodbyes.

Cheeto Head

Speaking of things that make me happy, I was just looking though my photos and came across pics of my friend Jenn's birthday party for her son (which was epic and wonderful). As you can imagine, Cheeto Head was a highlight. 

What's Cheeto Head, you ask? Well thanks to another of our friends, I know and have witnessed it on several occasions now. All it takes is Cheetos, shaving cream, shower caps, and competitive people. 

As EasyPartyIdeas explains, it's not that hard to play:

"One of the pair puts on the protective garb and gets shaving cream piled on their head. The second of the pair steps back 4 feet and throws Cheetos at the shaving cream for 2 minutes. The pair that has the most Cheetos on the shaving creamed head wins."

Risks: 

• Players eating the Cheetos because along with Mr. Noodles they are one of the world's best foods.
• Attending dogs eating the Cheetos that fall and having Cheeto barfs later in the evening.
• Cheating of course because it is not always the easiest to get a Cheeto to stick to a head, even if the head is covered in shaving cream!

All who have played Cheeto Head agree, however, that the risks are outweighed by the rewards.

This picture does not do it justice. Think about it: Cheetos, heads, shaving cream. Best party game ever! 

(And yes, that is our dog Blue scavenging in the bottom unperturbed by the potential for regurgitation. Dogs are unmoved by such prospects and truly live in the moment.)

 

What's exciting, divisive, and mostly kept in a drawer?

Today in retail therapy, I received my online order of two pairs of Zara socks. I am verrrry happy about them (especially the ones you can admire at the bottom of this post). Thinnish, warmish, and colourful but not crazy.

I am not a crazy sock person though I am interested in those who are. Lifehack says such folk may be more likely to be brilliant than the rest of us. Mic.com says socks can be a way for men to express their creativity in a world where sometimes men's fashion can be conformist (though thanks to dreamy Harry Styles and his like this seems to be changing! Not to mention the glory that was the Black Panther movie and the red carpets that followed).

But back to socks. There is, of course, the sock fetish, as defined by Urban Dictionary as:

"...when the visual inheritance of socks adds to the sexual desire of another person. The attraction can range from plain white ankle socks to rainbow striped thigh highs. On the foot or taking them off the leg and vise versa. There is many possible variations to this fetish but as long as a sock is thought of as sexy then it constitutes a sock fetish. A sock fetish is thought to be a branch of the foot fetish fantasy tree."

I am not sure what they mean by a "visual inheritance of socks" but the rest of it makes sense – Britney Spears' Baby One More Time video is 'all the proof we need (you are welcome!).

Socks can also be divisive. We have division in our family about Oliver's preference of socks with slides. It's so hard to look at, but apparently he's on trend. If Rhianna's doing it, I guess we all should.

Do you also have many feelings about socks? If not, maybe now you do? Whatever the case, I leave you with my own socks. These (a) make me happy and (b) prompted me to explore the wild and woolly world of socks in a way I perhaps might now have done otherwise. Who knew socks could open so many excellent rabbit holes to pop into!?

 

Mr. Noodles

Hey November 10, where the heck was I on you? Well, busy, and honestly, struggling a bit. Well, a lot. I hate writing that but I was emboldened by a friend's post on FB where she shared that her marriage had ended and how sad her whole family is. It was an honest, raw post and the supportive responses she got were just incredible: hundreds of them. Everyone appreciated her dropping the happy-shiny-thing on social media and everyone felt compassionate and empathetic. Not empathetic because their marriages had fallen apart (though maybe some of them had) but empathetic because EVERYONE struggles at times. No one gets off scot-free in life, and the only thing we can all aspire to is to have compassionate people around us to help break our falls when they happen. I have those people, though it takes me ages and ages to reach out to them. But they are there and I love them for it.

Today's post is about Mr. Noodles primarily. They are my favourite food in the world – but usually, especially when I'm not feeling great. Mr. Noodles are a delicacy best savoured incredibly intermittently. It is time for me to abandon my daily intake and turn again to all things green. White foods are the yummiest, but they are a bit addictive. 

So I'm doing a little 10-day cleansy thing, and before you roll your eyes, I am not saying that such cleanses are the cure-all. I am saying that I need a reset and I'm interested in comparing how I feel right now to how I will feel in 10 days. Maybe it will be the same. Maybe not. Certainly worth a try!

I am taking my cues from a Daily Om course about how to eat when in menopause. I am not in menopause, but I do think my hormones are right out of control (am finally going to see a holistic doctor for that, Nicole!). I like Daily Om's courses by the way, and they are incredibly affordable. They have a 10-minute no-sit-up abs course that is really wonderful and not the kind of 10 minutes you dread. It actually works - and who likes sit-ups, really? Anyway, my first smoothie is going to be this one .. an "anti-inflammatory, antioxidant-rich, belly-loving, and bloat-reducing smoothie." I think that sounds like an excellent idea even if it is going to pale in comparison to Mr. Noodles. I'll post a pic once I get the ingredients later today and make it (UPDATE: I didn't have all the ingredients but I had some – it's still very green as you can see!). Bye for now, November 11!

INGREDIENTS

• 1 cup organic, unsweetened coconut water
• 2 cups (tightly packed) fresh, organic baby spinach
• 1 kirby cucumber, cut into chunks
• 1 stalk celery, chopped
• 1/2 cup pineapple chunks (fresh or frozen)
• 1 tsp freshly grated ginger
• 1/2 Tbsp ground flax seeds
• 1/2 cup fresh mint leaves
• 1/2 avocado
• Juice of 1/2 lemon or lime
• 1/2 cup ice (optional)