Erin's Journals

Just a thought… The best ideas spark your brain but touch your heart. [an Erin original, so do with it what you will]

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

Well, here we are in Standard Time – which, of course, we re-entered on the weekend with clocks going back, but I flew into the Eastern Time zone Saturday; I’m here in Toronto for an emcee event all day today for the Canada Awards for Excellence, and then for the Breast Health Centre at Markham Stouffville Hospital on Wednesday evening with my buddy Allan Bell and his incredible team there.

But it’s more than only a work trip: my friend Lisa Brandt is on her way here on Wednesday from Port Stanley, then staying with me that night and on Thursday – put this in your phone or your calendar or write it on the wall – yours truly will be sitting in the guest chair for a few segments on CTV’s The Social. That’s this Thursday (check your local listings – it’s on at 1 pm in most time zones) and I’m very excited and, yes, nervous.

It came about because I interviewed Lainey Lui of E Talk and The Social (for a podcast I do for the Canadian Real Estate Association) and we hit it off so well she suggested I might sit in. So thank you, Lainey. I don’t know what we’ll talk about, but it’ll be fun.

This Friday, as you well know, is Remembrance Day. After that, of course, it’ll be no holds barred for the Christmas crush and you can be sure that as stations dust off the Bing and Bowie for another six or seven weeks (thoughts and prayers to the hosts; I’ve been there), the ads will be hitting hard and fast trying to part consumers and their money.

So it was with delight and no cynicism whatsoever that I saw what arrived about a month ago at Brooke and Phil’s house: a real, honest-to-goodness catalogue – not for a brick and mortar store like The Bay, but for an online shopping site. THE online shopping site, Amazon.

Now, I will preface this by saying, please, please, if you can, shop locally, support the store owners whose lives are wrapped up in this season’s sales, and keep your town or city going by putting your money where your postal code is.

What captivated me about this Amazon holiday kids’ gift book is that it was such a call back to older times, when we would go through catalogues, circle or cut out, and make sure our parents knew what we were having sugar plum dreams about. Maybe if we were really lucky, we’d get ONE of those things we really wanted. Sometimes, not. But this catalogue is something else. It has fun stuff like stickers…

…and word searches…

…to make it a great idea for parents or grandparents to pass along to the littles in their lives. And, of course, while they’re there, kids can flip the pages and see the stuff that Amazon is selling.

And what do they do when they spot what they want?

Put it on the list, of course…or get a grown-up to do it.

It’s a brilliant marketing idea. And again, so unexpected from an online shopping behemoth to come up with something as simple and old school as a catalogue.

Again, please shop locally. But why not use this little catalogue as a way to find what the kids in your life want, and then search them out at the store on your town’s main street? There’s always that option. We don’t have to keep supporting the billionaires’ companies whose own employees need food donations (as is the case at Walmart) or have to pee in bottles because their shift doesn’t allow them bathroom breaks (looking at you, Jeff Bezos). I’d rather keep our little town of Sidney’s toy store going if I can, using the kids’ wish list to know what I’m looking for.

To each his or her own. Money is tight and they say in 2023 it’s getting tighter. But I just had to share with you something that tugged at my heartstrings and made me want to say, “Well done!” What you do, that’s up to you!

Enjoy your week – a long weekend for some with this Friday’s Remembrance Day. I’ll be flying home next week, but will try to get a journal to you here early in the week, with pictures. There’s a new Drift with Erin sleep story awaiting you tomorrow. We’ll be bringing in our Christmas and holiday stories soon, so keep checking in for those, too.

Just a thought… Talent hits a target no one else can hit. Genius hits a target no one else can see. [Arthur Schopenhauer]

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

Happy Halloween! We’ll likely be digging out the banana costumes tonight, hoping the atmospheric river we’ve been in since Saturday night is all the way out, and helping our sweet grandkids make their haul.

So, last Friday, if you happen to be on Facebook (and honestly, between Mark Zuckerberg and Meta, and now Elon Musk bringing the swamp back in full fetid force to Twitter, I don’t blame you if you’re not) I was open with you about the ton of stress going on in our lives. No, Mira is fine…but another dear friend is in hospital, my Dad has been in now for well over a week and is getting a lot better, while we try to figure out his next steps when they discharge him, and on and on.

And, yes, I know plenty of people have it bad; as the comments on Facebook put it so clearly to me, many people know about dementia and the challenges in our family – and in health care in general – firsthand. So that’s why, when I found just the perfect Halloween-themed gift for our friend Charles, I had to buy it.

We were in the grocery store picking up a few little sustaining meals for our friend Nancy, who is Charles’ wonderful wife and, right now, caregiver. While we were there, I saw at the end of the wine section of the store (which, as you know, I do not pass through) a display of these:

What is it? I hope you see from the tiny writing on the label that Type B stands for blueberry. It’s blueberry wine. I packed it in with flowers and a little care package for Nancy, which is exactly what she would do for us, only there would be warm fresh bread and she’d have made the mac ‘n’ cheese and chicken Alfredo herself. I told her we didn’t need two people in hospital, so it’s better I let the store chefs make them.

That little pint of “blood” (which might well have had the same alcohol content as mine a few years ago) brought Nancy a real belly laugh, and made Charles smile. The wife of a fellow patient had a good laugh too. I told Nancy to give it to their favourite nurse; these days they need all the support they can get. And yes, probably wine.

Then there was the gift that I got a few weeks ago for my birthday that I’ve been waiting to share with you.

Anyone who knows me (or read my book, for that matter) also knows that I have a thing for Dateline, NBC’s true crime broadcast, and podcast, too, I might add. And I’ve always had a very soft spot for Keith Morrison. Even as a geeky news-loving teen, I would watch him on the weekends on CTV when Lloyd Robertson was off. Yeah, Keith was hot then and still is.

So, a talented writer friend of mine named Cece had a woman she knows use her gifts – just for me and my small, enduring crush. Look at this:

It’s in pencil. An actual hand-drawn rendering of Keith. And it sits in front of my TV so he watches me while I watch him. (I’m not weird, you’re weird.) Cheryl Tenn does incredible artwork and you can find her on Instagram at studio10_art. I’ve thanked her and Cece profusely for this thoughtful and wonderful gift.

Side note: Keith comes up in the story of his stepson Matthew Perry in an interview Matthew did with Diane Sawyer last Friday. If you want to understand anything about the power of addiction and why we are never, ever done with it, find that interview.

Take good care and I have a very interesting – but not too interesting – new story for you on Drift tomorrow by the author of The Wizard of Oz. It’s called The Girl Who Owned a Bear and I hope you love it. Just ask Google or Alexa to “Play Drift with Erin Davis” or click here and subscribe (for free of course, thanks to our friends at enVy Pillow), and enjoy more than 60 stories and sleep-related interviews. Have a lovely week and Happy Hallowe’en!

I’ll leave you with a few more pieces of Cheryl’s artwork. They are music to the eyes. Thank you again, Cheryl and Cece.

Just a thought… There is no need to explain good intentions. The ones that love you understand and the ones that hate you have no relevancy. [Kushandwizdom.com]

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

It’s quite a story today so I’ll leap in. Get a coffee and get ready. I told you on September 1^st that our dear friend Mira turned 97. My birthday promise was to take her to an opera. And not just any production: one of the biggies.

I knew she loved them, but Mira hasn’t been to one since moving here from Europe and the Middle East some 40 years ago.

Bizet’s Carmen is, of course, a most famous opera: a fiery young woman wraps men around her finger and then, because it’s opera, dies. We were SO excited.

Our original matinee performance was postponed because of a cast member’s illness, so we went on Thursday evening instead. As Rob drove us, Mira talked excitedly all the way downtown about the story, her favourite operas, what to expect and to listen for.

We made our way to rather cramped seats in the century-old Royal Victoria Theatre,

Mira and I felt crowded on both sides, but we settled in, masks on, and enjoyed the first act. Then, just as the second began, Mira lowered her mask and said quietly, breathlessly, “I feel sick. I need to leave.” She tried to insist that I stay – as if I’d let my little friend make her way, cane in hand, up the darkened aisle to get to the lobby!

With whispered apologies, I cleared a path past the people in our row, got to the lobby and got her seated in some soft armchairs hustled to us by the amazing staff. Then Mira’s hands began to shake violently and she could not catch her breath. In between holding her hands and trying to calm her, to steady the cup of water she sipped from, I Googled the symptoms. Answer: anxiety or panic attack. I suggested this to Mira and she responded in short, gasps, “No. Not panic.” Well, whatever it was, it was not good. I called Rob and told him to come quickly; we were taking her to the hospital.

He arrived in ten minutes, and we began our interminable ride, not to the nearest hospital, but the one closest to Mira’s home, at her insistence. Then – oh, no – we had to get off the highway; just ahead of us, at least 10 police vehicles, lights flashing, entered and took up all three lanes. I texted Brooke and asked her to try to learn what was going on and, although she could find no explanation, we knew it wasn’t good and got off at the nearest exit. That meant taking a dark, winding and foggy road. When Mira asked, “How much longer?” we started to think we chose the wrong hospital.

Finally we pulled up to the ER. A helpful commissionaire grabbed a wheelchair and I burst into the entrance in full breathless TV drama mode. “I’ve got a 97-year-old woman having difficulty breathing, experiencing uncontrolled shaking!”

Except that, after being on fast-forward, everything suddenly slowed to a crawl. “Health card number?” “Patient’s name?” “Contact person?” and on and on. From then on, the phrase “hurry up and wait” kept ringing in my ears.

Mira was helped up onto a gurney and covered with three warm flannel blankets. I pulled a chair up next to her. We were two of about 25 people in the ER; more than a few were young athletes who seemed to have sports injuries.

At 9:30 the waiting really began. In the next three-plus hours, we were seen by a nurse twice. At one point, I asked a nurse if Mira could please get some oxygen or anything to help her breathe. I was told I’d have to wait until a doctor saw her. I was also asked by another woman writhing on a gurney if I could please ask a nurse to see her because she was in a bad way. I did; no one came by. For all I know, my message to the same person I asked about oxygen was never relayed.

In the meantime, Rob had been taken home by our son-in-law, who lives nearby, in order to get another car so he could leave me one in which to get myself home. Rob returned with a drink and snack for me, a charger for my phone and a change of shoes. Yes, my poor slippers gave out while I was running around and I felt like Cinderella after midnight.

Finally (or so I thought), at 12:40 am we were brought into a small private room in the ER. There, Mira and I got her into a hospital gown and I wrapped her up warmly again. And as she refused to sleep, we talked.

We chatted about what she thinks the afterlife will be. We talked about religion in general. I asked how her Jewish husband wasn’t discovered in the German work camp in which they both met, when Mira was a teen. We talked about those years. We chuckled over her dear late husband’s sense of humour…how her told her the longest period in a woman’s life is the ten years between the ages of 39 and 40.

We laughed. She rested. She tried to catch her breath. And we waited. She made me try on her jacket (sure that I was cold, lol) and gave me her pearls to wear for safekeeping.

Blood was taken; an ECG done. Everyone could not have been kinder.

Then, at 3:10 am I inadvertently seemed to figure out how to get the doctor to come: I went out to add more time to my parking. When I returned, after running from one locked door to another, I was buzzed in and found that the doctor was now with Mira. He said they could find nothing amiss in her tests. No after effects of the bronchitis she’d suffered earlier this year; nothing on which they could pin these scary symptoms.

By now, Mira just wanted to go home. I helped her dress and then ran out to get the car.

Luckily, the fog had lifted and we were the only people on the highway at 3:50 am. I told her it was like this when I drove to work all those years.

When we got Mira to her apartment, she wouldn’t let me tuck her in, never mind stay overnight; a fiercely independent and, shall we say, sweetly stubborn woman, she had a short but restful night. We were both in nap mode all day Friday.

For now, that’s our story.

How Carmen had an early and awful ending for us both. She kept saying how sorry she was; all the while I’m thinking, Jeez, Davis, you’ve almost killed this woman. What were you thinking?

When we talked about it the next day, she said her sons were not at all upset with me for taking her to the opera. She felt totally up for it and had looked forward to it for weeks! But it does seem that it was just so much for her. And no wonder. So many people close by, after years of near isolation.

It was an unforgettable girls’ night out, for all the wrong reasons. I won’t forgive myself as gracefully as she has forgiven me, but Mira’s words thanking me for caring for her during those terrifying hours will stay with me too. I mean, since I caused it all, you’re welcome?

You take it easy and I’ll be back with you here Monday. And don’t forget to ask Google or Alexa to play Drift with Erin Davis sleep stories and I promise you sweet dreams with a short new folk tale on the way for you tomorrow from India.

Just a thought… Enjoy yourself. It’s later than you think. [Socrates (or an old ad for Labatt’s 50 ale)]

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

Welcome in. First, thank you for your heartfelt messages about my puppy love confession here last week. Almost to a person on social media, you were compassionate and had some helpful suggestions on Facebook to help ease this longing. Every one of them was appreciated. Oh, by the way, no cats are in our future; they’ve shared our lives in the past, but a family member has allergies. So on we go. Besides, as Rob reminds me, I have travels next month for work and then time away from BC’s wet winter in February.

Speaking of wet, when many Canadians think of Victoria, or Vancouver for that matter, they think rain, right? Wrong. Look at our forecast for this week.

It’s been glorious here in the westernmost part of the country this month. The weather on Vancouver Island has been unseasonably warm and sunny for weeks now with forecasts of sunshine and 20C or more in many areas, day after day. Up island in Gold River, it was 28 on the weekend, which is hot for summer here, never mind the second half of October.

Everything is crispy and dry and it’s hard to really be in the moment and enjoy the top-down days in our little MINI, when we know that something is terribly wrong. How can these days of blue skies and convertibles feel wonderful and awful at the same time?

Fire fears are real; yesterday we awoke to smoke (from Washington state, we believe) so thick we had to close out the beautiful temperatures from our home. We can only hope that people obey the fervent requests not to have fireworks or bonfires on Halloween, which are a thing out here. Of course, there’s always someone. It’s human nature, I guess. Seize the day and all that. Halloween only comes once a year, I’m sure they would say. But how long does it take to rebuild your life if your neighbourhood burns to the ground? And here in BC we’ve seen plenty of that.

You know me; I like to keep things positive. But I pity the people who warn us, who must feel like Cassandra of Greek mythology. She was given the gift of being able to predict the future (including disasters) but was also cursed with never being believed. Or as we call her today: a scientist.

So what do we do? We don’t give up. It’s the same reason why Rob and I are going to get our bivalent vaccine today. It won’t completely protect us from the new immune-resistant variants that are coming our way, but it may ease the effects if we catch Covid a second time. And if we’re really lucky, we’ll get a flu shot today too. Collect the whole set!

As in all things, we change what we can, we protect ourselves and our loved ones to the best of our ability, and we listen to warnings and to science, which focuses on facts, not opinions. Like the good scientists at NASA. I smiled at the recent success of the space agency shooting an asteroid out of its orbit, a dry run should one ever be on a course to destroy Earth. Why worry about a big ol’ rock coming our way when we’re doing such a good job of destroying Earth ourselves? Always worrying about outsiders taking their jobs!

Anyway, I hope this second half of October is good to you, whatever it brings. Me? I’m going to do my best to make the most of these warm and smoky days, remembering that we had a super soggy spring through June, and hope that perhaps Mother Nature is just making it up to us. Yes, that’s it – isn’t it?

Just a thought… Love: the heart wants what it wants. It doesn’t seek other people’s opinions; sometimes not even your own. [Steve Maraboli]

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

I have a confession to make. Almost daily, I scroll through the internet looking for the dog who will fill a hole in my heart. I do it on the downlow like an adultery-seeking spouse; I do it in bed after Rob has fallen asleep. And I know that I shouldn’t.

You see, on my birthday two weeks ago, what I hoped with all my heart was that my gift would be Rob changing his mind and saying we would try once more to bring a dog into our lives. That did not happen and although I didn’t express disappointment, we did have harsh words when Rob told me to just stop hoping. It was not in the cards for us.

Pepper and Molly, who graced us with joy for 17 and 15 years respectively, were, for us, the perfect dogs (that is, once Pepper stopped chewing every stick of furniture and even brand new California shutters). They were our companions, sleep buddies, and sources of great joy and comfort. Some of our best memories of Lauren also include Pepper and Molly.

Almost two years ago, which was two months after saying good-bye to our sweet Molly, I picked up a dog my sister had vetted for me (so t0 speak) little Rosie.

Although Rob was not all in, we thought we could do this, training a puppy again. I took virtual obedience classes (Covid, of course) and did my best; Rob did as well. But the problem, you see, wasn’t Rosie; it is almost never the animal, but their human. I have taken to sleeping in like it’s my job – sort of the reverse of the three decades when getting up in the dark actually was my job.

When little Rosie wanted to pee at the crack of dawn (we didn’t successfully crate train her, so she slept with us as Pepper and Molly did) it was Rob who got up and took her out, again and again. I thought it was lovely that he was doing this, but he came to resent it. A simmering, seething husband is something I’ve never had to live with, but it became a regular thing. We became miserable.

There’s another reason why we had the friction between us: that same month that Rosie entered our lives, so did two podcasts; a few weeks later, a third. Suddenly I was chained to a chair writing or in my studio recording. One time, as Rob tried to keep Rosie quiet during an interview I was doing, she literally pooped in his lap. That was a fun day.

So eventually, as our marriage found itself with a rift in it bigger than one we’d ever had in over 30 years – one of resentment – I acquiesced and we found Rosie a new home. I get occasional updates and her new mom adores her, walks her, takes her on play dates and does all the things a young dog loves. I admit that compared to her, I was not a good dog mom.

But, why do I wish so badly to do it again? Why do I surf dog sites like I’m looking for a date? Why am I ignoring Rob’s wishes because of what I so desperately desire? A shrink might say I want Pepper and Molly. I know I can’t have my child back; am I trying to replace what I can and mend my heart where it’s possible?

I wish I could tell you. I miss the soft furry body in bed next to mine. The sniffles and snorts. The cuddles and the sweetness, the company and the kisses. But if I have to choose between getting those from a dog or my Rob, the choice is clear. I only wish I didn’t have to make it.

Have a great week – I’ll be back with you Monday. And a very Happy 8^th Birthday to our sweet grandson Colin.

Every day we are grateful for the Thanksgiving season gift that is this kind, smart, boisterous and funny boy.