Erin's Journals

Just a thought… Talent is like electricity. We don’t understand electricity, we use it. [Maya Angelou]

You can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

Happy New Year AGAIN. I keep saying it well into the year and I don’t care. Soon it’ll be the Lunar New Year – Year of the Rabbit – so we can say it again then. Maybe as long as we keep saying it, we get fresh chances.

Like the new podcast my friend and fellow broad in broadcasting Lisa Brandt and I started up last Thursday called Gracefully and Frankly. Just a few days in, we’d already had more than 800 listens (thank you!). To put that in perspective, that’s in the top 5% worldwide – and if you go here, you’ll even find a video on how to listen to a podcast.

It’s okay if you don’t know – we all had to learn sometime. And this one, since it was our first, is a great time for you to listen to one for the first time too, right? Then maybe you’ll try Drift sleep stories, too…well, I can dream. In fact, so can you! LOL

Anyway, I bring this up because one of things Lisa and I will be talking about this Thursday really has me scratching my head. Lisa asked me to think about it – and I’m going to ask you to think about it too.

If you and five others were the last people on earth, what talents would you bring to the group?

Now, here’s the thing. I used to ask myself a similar question: if I was in Little House on the Prairie times or dropped on another planet, what skills, what talents, could I bring to the people there to save us, or even myself?

This is where it gets awkward. Because I can’t really do anything useful. I could show them how to use two broad blades of grass to make a whistling or tooting sound. That’ll get me killed. Or I could show them how to crochet, but then we’re going to have to get wool off a sheep or something. Or perhaps use those aforementioned grasses? I don’t know. Does that save my life? Hmmm.

My talents, if you will, are as follows (and are open to argument): talking, editing, putting up pithy memes. Doing tech 21^st century stuff. Negotiating peace. Listening. Okay, those last two things are hopefully what might save me and whatever is left of the civilization I’ve been dropped into: the ability to try to get both sides to agree on something, or see their commonality, their humanity (if they’re humans).

Can I start a fire? No. Maybe I can stop a fight. And if you think about it, perhaps a fight – the big one with Putin and the red button – is what started this, so SOMEBODY had better start listening.

But still, I’m definitely not the one to go on Elon Musk’s last rocket to another planet. Pick Rob. He sews, can fix or wire anything and really does have a lot more talents than I do.

That’s why one day soon he’ll be in a vase. Oh, no, it’s not an urn – I promised I’d remind you about that new year’s gratitude jar. Mine’s a vase and I promise I won’t bore you with each week’s entry, but just to show I did, here it is: we launched Gracefully and Frankly and Lisa Brandt and I are grateful and in awe at the number of people who have listened, who have written and who will listen to episode two this Thursday!

And oh, if you haven’t listened to a podcast or don’t know how – just go to back to Facebook and I’ll have a link for you to a cute little video Lisa made that takes you through it step by step. I promise you’ll thank us – as I thank you – and I’ll be back here with you next Monday.

Just a thought… To multiply your joy, count your blessings. [J. B. Priestley]

You can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

Welcome to a brand new year, and thank you for helping me to start my 20^th year of blogging then vlogging with you here. I can’t even believe that.

The dawn of a new year can bring things that resemble resolutions: things like #DryJanuary (or as I gratefully call it, “January”) or planning to get into a new, healthier routine after a week, month or a few years of just letting go. Those are good things, for sure. But I am going to try to do something a little more philosophical – and one thing that you can do too if you like.

First, my friend Lisa Brandt, who’s launching a new podcast with me starting this Thursday called Gracefully & Frankly, is a follower of the Stoics. Yes, it’s a good band name, but they’re the Greek and Roman philosophers who laid out what I consider to be great groundwork for living: life rules that maximize positive emotions, reduce negative emotions and help us to hone the virtues of our character.

Now, that sounds like a lot, but one of the basic tenets is one I’ve lived, especially since our worlds were shattered in 2015, and it’s this: “Okay, that happened. Now what are you going to do about it?”

A guy I follow on Twitter, who is my portal to stoicism and learning and practising it more mindfully in 2023, is @ryanholiday – same handle on Instagram. When this New York Times bestselling author posted “11 Ways to find Stillness in Your Life” I thought, oh I’ve got to share this with you.

They go as follows:

1. Journal

2. Take Walks

3. Stop Watching the News

4. Read Books

5. Put Your Phone Away

6. Get Rid of Stuff

7. Seek Solitude

8. Enjoy the Small Pleasures

9. Realize You Have Plenty

10. Build a Routine

11. Pace Yourself

Those things are all more easily said than done, sure, but if you want a little help, let me show you something that I saw over the holidays that kind of wrap together #8 and #9.

You get a Mason jar if you have one, a pickle jar or maybe a vase. (That’s what I’m using.)

One day a week you write on a piece of paper something good that happened to you in the past week. And then, at the end of 2023, you can pour out the pieces of paper and read all the things you have for which to be grateful.

I’ll be starting mine this Sunday and, if you don’t mind, I’ll try to remind you on Monday next week here in case it slips your mind. It’s like a gratitude journal but a little more – I don’t know – tangible? I hope you’ll give it a go. What can we lose by being more mindful of the things we have for which to be grateful, right?

Speaking of which, a new year of Drift Sleep Stories begins tonight with The Elves and the Shoemaker. It’s available free wherever you get your podcasts, or just click here. And as I said, this Thursday, go to g-and-f.simplecast.com for a link to our very first Gracefully and Frankly podcast. It’s free, of course, or find us at Gracefully and Frankly on Facebook where there’s a fun video we shot together explaining the whole thing. Wait, did number 11 on that list say “Pace Yourself?” Right….

Hello there and Merry Christmas!

Here it is: the pass-the-gift game we’ll be playing on Christmas Day. Just watch the video on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube and have fun – we sure do.  

*Just make sure there are more than two people playing and that everyone starts with a small present in hand (something that anyone taking part could appreciate). When you hear the word RIGHT, whether spelled R-I-G-H-T or only sounds like it, you pass to the right…and same with the word LEFT. Only one spelling of that one! Have fun.

The Story of the Wright Brothers’ Christmas

Once upon a time, there were two brothers. Orville Wright and Wilbur Wright. They lived in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, right near Raleigh. Orville and Wilbur never left home; instead they stayed in Kitty Hawk and decided they wanted to fly.

How could that be right? No one had ever flown a plane for more than just a few seconds. And usually those flying machines were left in pieces on the ground.

But Orville and Wilbur had the right stuff. They said, “Leave it to us!” So, people left it to them. After all, what right did anyone have to say that they couldn’t fly – right?

These two Wright brothers built a little airplane. They built it with parts left over from their tractor and even used a surfboard for the right wing.

This left everyone laughing. But you know who didn’t laugh? Their mother. Orville Wright and Wilbur Wright decided to write a letter to their mother, who had left earlier that month to visit Paris and its famous Left Bank.

“Dear Mom,” they did write. “You left too soon! We are right about to take our first flight, but before we do, we wanted to tell you about it.” Orville was the one to write the letter, as Wilbur was left-handed and couldn’t write as well as Orville.

They told their mom about the flight, left it in the mailbox down the street and got ready to fly.

On a chilly December 24th, right before Christmas, Orville and Wilbur got into their plane. A priest, who worried they might not make it, came and gave them last rites. But they said, “Oh no, Father, we’ll be all right! Besides, we haven’t even left yet!”

They started their plane and it began right away. They flew a little to the left, and then a little to the left again…and then up and down and then…to the left. “Uh-oh,” said Wilbur, “this ain’t right.” So then they tried to straighten up and fly right, but instead, the plane just kept going up – up – up!

As the Wright brothers started to panic, their plane continued its ascent. Up over rooftops, up through the clouds, so far above they couldn’t see the crowds. (Not that there was anyone left; it was late and it was Christmas eve).

All of a sudden, over the whirr of the little plane’s struggling propellers, the Wright brothers could hear a sound. Wait, thought Wilbur, that can’t be right!

“Do you hear bells?” asked Orville.

They did! They did hear bells! They looked above them, they looked to the right…they looked below and they looked to the left…. And what should they see, right there beside them?

None other than Santa Claus and a magical sleigh being pulled by eight reindeer!

“Hey!” shouted Santa, “what are you doing here? It’s my turn to fly – you haven’t the gear! You land that plane right now, before you crash badly.”

“Okay,” said the Wright brothers, nodding quite sadly. “But we don’t know the way – I guess we did goof….”

And Santa said, “Follow! I’ll land on your roof!”

So that’s what they did, and they followed Santa and his reindeer, led by Rudolph’s glowing red nose. Down, down, they went. Turning left and left again…until right below them was their house.

As Santa and his reindeer landed and quickly left their presents, and then flew off into the night skies again, Orville and Wilbur Wright put that little plane down gently on a snow-covered farm field right next to their house.

“All right!” they exclaimed as they climbed from the plane and left it behind to run and see what Santa had left.

For Orville, a pair of flying goggles and a can of Right Guard deodorant. For Wilbur, a baseball glove so he could play left field with the Kitty Hawk Kittens team come spring.

And right there under the tree, the best gift of all?

Santa left them a map and a note saying “Don’t fall!”

The story is over now, hold on to your gift: no passing, no sassing…just open what you got!

Just a thought… I think as you grow older, your Christmas list gets smaller and the things you really want for the holidays can’t be bought. [Author Unknown]

You can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

Welcome, my friend, to the last journal of 2022.

I wanted first to say thank you. You come here, you follow what’s going on in our lives: the ups, like this lovely cookie baking moment on Friday…

…and the downs, like our journey with my dad, who is seemingly getting his mind back, and we’re going to be moving him into a professional caregiver’s home. And best of all, that personal support worker is my sister Leslie and her family. So that’s all happening. And it turns out to be another “up” to end the year.

You are so kind, so caring. This connection we have is the gift that I unwrap all year ’round.

So I’d like to give YOU a gift. On Friday, watch this space for a link to the video of a present-passing game that I introduced to you last year called “A Wright Brothers’ Christmas.” We’re going to play it together on Christmas night after dinner!

Let me tell you what our traditions have become, if you don’t mind. You probably know that we are a blended family of the best kind: our grandson Colin, his sister, our granddaughter Jane, and their folks, Brooke and Phil, will come here Christmas Eve for the big dinner. This is the one where I haul out my mom’s fancy no-dishwasher china, and polish up her silver. We bring in the generation before us to join us at this dinner table.

Then, the kids open gifts from us and we enjoy the excitement of the night before Christmas, while I privately reminisce about all of those years we enjoyed Christmas Eve at Erin’s with our friends from CHFI and listeners across the GTA. Forgive me if I’ve told you this, but one year, ratings measurements showed that one out of every two radios on Christmas Eve was tuned to our show. I will always appreciate the honour of being part of people’s traditions – whether they were wrapping, driving, sitting alone or celebrating with loved ones. That is the highlight of my professional life (no offense, Mike)!

It’s hard not to feel melancholy at this time of year; anyone with an empty chair – literally or figuratively – at the table during Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa or New Year’s knows what I’m talking about. But we keep memories from wilting like a rose in the snow by allowing ourselves to feel the longing, the echoes of joy. Like this picture from Lauren’s first and last Christmas with Colin. There’s my dad, too, and – oh – that real tree. How lucky we are to have that precious, precious memory.

And here’s my last gift to you as we prepare to wrap up 2022 this week (I’ll be back with you January 3rd in the new year), and that is the present of appreciating the present.

A few weeks ago a family friend told Rob that he’s envious of us at this time of year.

Now, when Rob began to pass along those sentiments, I started to get my back up. I mean, who could possibly be envious of a couple who were so sad, especially at Christmas, because of Lauren being taken from us.

And then Rob continued: the reason Sam said he envies us? We have grandchildren with whom to celebrate the holidays.

Now, of course, we know that Colin and Jane are a blessing. Our grandson’s sleepovers are the reason I go to sleep with a peaceful smile (as I will with Jane, too, one day). They hold on to our hearts with sticky fingers, fill the silence with shrieks and baseball stats, pass the hours with games and hiding and seeking and colouring. In short (quite literally) they’re our reason to keep going.

As I said quite pointedly in Mourning Has Broken, no one gets to say to us, “at least.” No one tells us which blessings to stop mourning, which ones to count.

But in his way, in that moment of vulnerability and tenderness, our friend reminded us that even when the tree shines just a little dimmer, we are lucky to have family gathered around it or poking at its ornaments.

We are blessed. And the fact that we made it through another year – you and I together – is testament to that.

So thank you. Just for being here and in my heart – for the years of letting me wake you up, and now putting you to sleep with Drift. I am so grateful to you and we’ll see you in 2023, my friend.

Just a thought… To care for those who once cared for us is one of life’s highest honors. [Tia Walker]

You can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

Well…we’re finally settling in at home for the holidays. Between Toronto business travel and my not-so-friendly-skies experience in Edmonton in November, the turnaround trip to Mexico to help my sister recover from emergency hip replacement surgery (she’s doing amazingly and even performed – standing – at a Christmas concert last week) and then another journey to the BC interior last week, I haven’t been home enough to water the plants. Lucky for them, I don’t have any.

I’m here to brighten your day today, and I’ll tell you a story that perfectly sums up the yin and yang, the darkness and light of life.

We’ve all been through family struggles – whether it’s with our children, our parents, our siblings or other relatives – so when I told you about us moving Dad into assisted living, a great many people could relate.

It was a hard four days, both physically and emotionally, as my younger sister Leslie and I dug through nine decades’ worth of pictures (and some even older) deciding what to keep, what to let go. Medals and plaques and mugs and memories from a career in the armed forces, plus university honours and decades of singing and performing in community bands and choirs (and all the sheet music!); they all add up to a life that is slowly coming to its coda.

When Dad didn’t remember why we were hauling into his new suite a huge, 80-pound mostly-engraved tombstone – one which he commissioned after Mom’s passing in preparation for his own – we knew his memory was really gone. After all, he’s been so proud of the steps he’s taken to make sure that when he’s gone, his “girls” (as he calls my three sisters and me) would have no worries.

Well, the worries are happening now. Dad has been failing fast and the first night that sister Leslie didn’t stay with him on a cot in his new assisted living suite, he awoke and called 9-1-1 because he couldn’t get back to bed. Right away we were told by the people at the new place that, even though they had assessed him, he was not going to be able to stay.

In fairness to them, Dad did suffer a fall before he moved. EMT came and put him in his bed – no x-rays or anything – and he’s suffering physical pain now as well as mental distress. He’s practically talking in tongues, which to us points to a familiar bacterial infection that is blasting his brain.

Two days after we left, Dad was admitted to hospital. He’s in there now as we wait to see what the future holds.

So now let me tell you the brighter side to this story.

As our tiny plane landed on a dark, rainy Victoria runway, I got a ping from sister Heather who said that Dad remembered seeing Rob but didn’t recall me being there. That brought on more tears, having shed plenty when we said our good-byes just hours earlier. I knew his memory was failing, but it hadn’t hit me that hard before that moment.

Here he is in a gift I picked up during that long layover in Edmonton airport: a toque from his alma mater, the U of A. The same man who couldn’t tell me if he’d even had breakfast broke into three verses of his college fight song! What a moment!

And here he is Friday: same hat, same ol’ Dad, in the hospital awaiting more tests.

But the bright moment in all of this? After a very long, emotional stay in frigid Kelowna, tears on the plane and exhaustion setting in, we walked into our house and saw this.

With all of my absences since the start of November, Rob had taken it upon himself to bring the tree up from downstairs. But we’d still left it in a partial state of undress. Well, while we were in Kelowna, Brooke, Phil and the kids came over one evening and Brooke hauled out the decorations (along with a few she’d bought to add to our décor) and almost completely decked the tree.

With that, the two sides of the same family coin came shining through to me: the heartache, worry and pain of slowly letting go, and the warmth and peace, the joy even, that come from letting IN as well. With an open heart, mind and home, you might just find that, like me, even the worst hurts can be made better with some compassion and a little love. What else is there?

Take good care and please do enjoy tomorrow’s Drift Christmas story. It’s Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. Listen where you download podcasts or click here and don’t forget to go to envypillow.com and use the code DRIFT to receive 10% off your selections there. Our gift to you now and through the year to come. And thank you.