Erin's Journals

Just a thought… If “Plan A” fails, remember you still have 25 letters left. [Henry Guest]

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

So, I hope your week is going smoothly. Mine? Well, I’ll be honest. It’s just still a tech nightmare. Basically, just one big cyclone bomb.

There’s a term I hadn’t heard before, and it was all over the news and weather forecasts for our part of Canada earlier this week. You may have seen that I shot and posted Monday’s journal with my fingers firmly crossed that we wouldn’t lose power. See, we live on a peninsula that juts out of the lowest, east side of Vancouver Island. That horrific storm was swirling off the upper west coast, which made for lots of surfing and winds and hard rain for areas like Tofino and Ucluelet, but meant just winds and rain for us.

We know we live in a windy area; gusts are the biggest wild card when it comes to dicey conditions around us, as we’re surrounded by very tall, very old trees .

So how to prepare? Well, unlike a disaster like pouring an entire cup of coffee on your computer keyboard – and no, we haven’t gotten ours fixed or replaced yet, still waiting – we can do something proactive like get a generator, right?

Well, we’ve tried. Back in February after a blackout that lasted several hours, Rob started looking into it in earnest. We need a whole home one, as we have tenants downstairs, and we also need to keep up power in case it goes out while I’m hosting a live show from home, such as I am next week for Excellence Canada’s big awards event.

In May we pulled the trigger and ordered one. It’s the price of a used car, but we’ve seen more effects of climate change with every passing year.

But here’s the problem (and you knew there’d be one): it hasn’t arrived yet, with no word if or when it will. For all I know, our generator was on that ship that was burning off the coast of Victoria, in the Georgia Strait.

So we wait and we hope. When you try to prepare for bad outcomes but you can’t even get to first base, it’s frustrating. We’re dancing as fast as we can. But we’re doing it with coffee.

I posted a poll on Twitter Sunday night asking this about a night of stormy big winds and my conundrum about when to make coffee. Should I make it the night before and drink 10-hour-old coffee, wait and hope the power stays on, or examine my addiction? Over half of the poll’s 186 responders said to make it in the evening, drink it cool…while about 30% said hope for the best. The others told me to look at why I’m worried about my coffee. (I don’t know that last group!)

We made the coffee the night before and heated it with fresh Nespresso added in the morning and all was well. And for everyone whose power did not go off, you’re welcome. Pretty sure we made that happen by prepping coffee as, miraculously, our power only sputtered briefly on Sunday night.

Have a great weekend and a safe Hallowe’en and I’ll be back here with you Monday.

Just a thought… There is no better teacher than history in determining the future. There are answers worth billions of dollars in a thirty-dollar history book. [Charles T. Munger]

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

“Out of the mouths of babes,” they say, and it’s been no more evident in our home than the conversations we’ve had with a sharp seven-year-old (aren’t they all, now?) about Covid.

The first talk came when we were asking about Colin’s classmates and who he likes this year. He couldn’t really say, so we narrowed it down this way, asking, “If you were to have a birthday party after Covid, who would you invite?”

While that did succeed in helping him to figure out whom he would choose, it also opened up a whole different field of questions afterwards, like, “So, when am I having my party?”

We had to explain to him what “hypothetical” means. We forget sometimes when talking with such bright little beings that abstract ideas like “what if” can sometimes go over their heads. So yeah, no – there wasn’t going to be a party anytime soon.

Then, the other day as we were driving home from a visit with, and meal delivery to, our 96-year-old friend Mira, Colin piped up from his booster seat behind us: “Hey Grrrrrama….”

“Yes,” I responded, loving the way he stretches out the Rs.

“I know! Why don’t you go on your phone and ask Google when Covid is going to be over.”

I put my chin to my chest and sighed. To him, to all children I suppose, it’s just that simple. If a grown-up doesn’t have the answer, we ask Google.

So Rob said, “Oh, honey, we’re sorry – but Google doesn’t know that. No one does.”

And I added, “As soon as everyone gets their shots and wears their masks – that’s when we hope Covid goes away.”

These kids are doing their part – many awaiting vaccines and all of them wearing masks at school all day – and look at the example that some adults are setting. People in stores not wearing their masks (which Rob witnessed the other day while out for groceries); others just waiting on those of us who are responsible to get our shots so they can rest safe in their mental inferiority (knowing better than actual scientists, of course) and let us take care of them.

Interestingly, in Brazil, the senate is calling for President Bolsonaro to be charged with crimes against humanity, including murder and genocide, for the way he mishandled Covid and leaned into the BS herd immunity school of misinformation. If only the senate in the US had the cojones to point those charges towards the former guy. But nothing sticks to Teflon Don so why even bother?

Back here in Canada, particularly BC, we’re in a real state of confusion over federal vs provincial Covid vax cards, ID and the like. BC went ahead with the QR codes while Ottawa was distracted with an election. Now that we’re ahead of the fed, they’re trying to marry both systems so people who want to travel internationally – like me, please! – can get in and out without a whole lot of headaches added to the already cumbersome limitations.

No matter our age, it is confusing. We can’t ask Siri or Alexa, or just Google the answer to a question we all want the answer to. And while we still see around us the stubborn stances of those who get their science from Q-Anon or whatever bad actors are posting fake information on Facebook, I do have the perspective of our sweet Mira to keep me grounded.

After all, she was actually confined in Nazi work camps in her teens. She knows what fascism is, firsthand. She has witnessed atrocities that most of us can never imagine and some don’t even believe happened because they never cracked open a book; they just saw or heard on the internet that “we have questions.” Mira knows what real hardship is. The question she asks is, “What is wrong with these people?” And I don’t have an answer for that, either.

Be well, stay safe and sane and I’ll be back with you on Thursday.

Just a thought…

“Doctor, I think I swallowed a pillow.”

“How do you feel?”

“Honestly – a little down in the mouth.”

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

Well, hey there – and thanks for coming by. In case you’re interested (and really, I’m okay if you’re not) my computer parts should be arriving by tomorrow and then we’ll see if they’re able to fix my inner workings.

Speaking of which, I had my biennial appointment yesterday to get, as our Brooke puts it, my “chimney swept.” Now, because I know that not just cisgender women come by here, I’ll couch this in very gentle terms, but the doc tried something different and I wanted to run it by you. A new take on this old wife’s tail.

First, though, a few hopefully amusing thoughts as I was getting ready for this most delightful (not) procedure, which is no woman’s favourite by any means, but which we regularly undergo to stay on top of our health.

I was remembering an observation someone once made about how women go to the doctor’s and, when we undress, we make a point of hiding our undies under our jeans, or hanging them behind our clothes so no one sees them. Like sharing a glimpse of our underwear is the most immodest thing we’re going to do that day! That has always struck me as funny and, yes, guilty.

I got to the doctor’s office at the time instructed, five minutes prior to my appointment. That’s when lovely Heidi at the desk told me that there was an intern, and would I be okay if he did the exam or would I prefer my usual GP? I said anyone was fine, adding, “as long as he doesn’t have a habit of laughing at inappropriate times.” Honestly, with the health care system as stressed as it is, I’d have said “yes” to a mechanic. Just get ‘er done.

In the examination room, I folded my dainties and left my socks on, preparing for the usual awkward scooch and show. But this young doctor, who told me to call him Josh (’cause I’m guessing that was his name) and from the mask up resembled a handsome Dr. Pravesh from TV’s The Resident, chatted with me and asked some questions and then we got down to business (specifically, mine).

I’ll do my best not to go into great detail, but here’s what I wanted to tell you. He offered me an option not to put my feet in stirrups (giddy-up, Jerry!) and told me about a new position. That’s when I asked, “Oh, so I do the exam on you, then?” and he laughed. It was not a sexual question, just a role-switching joke. (Careful, Davis. It’s the 21st century and not everybody gets you….)

Then he said that he learned this through a gynecological conference, and I told him to be honest: he’d seen it on TikTok. He laughed and said he wouldn’t tell me if he had! But this innovation (at least to me) is meant to let us feel like we’re more in control. That was comforting: it shows me that women are starting to say, “Hey, what if we try it this way…?”

Because you’re reading this and I can’t use my hands to show you, you’ll have to imagine a bear trap snapped shut and then pried open. Feet placed soles-together in the centre, resting on a table extension and in a bit of a yoga stretch, knees as flat on the exam table on either side of me as dexterity will allow. (Am I describing this properly? I’m trying to paint a picture without making you feel icky.)

A few minutes later, it was all done. Light conversation aside (and a joke about how gin used to make this so much easier), I found myself missing the lovely Monet poster that one of my former doctors had on his ceiling. Hey! Why not a word search or a 3D poster, or perhaps a maze from a kids’ placemat. Just a thought.

Was this innovation better than the old way? I think so. It was interesting that there is now an alternative to the extremely awkward and vulnerable position in which we are put every two years or so. (Shout out to Dr. Pettle in TO who used to have oven mitts on his metal foot rests.)

There you have it: a little more insight than perhaps you bargained for (which at least the doctor didn’t say) – but as it was happening I thought, well someone else is going to find this interesting. And you know me: I’ll always have something to say wherever there’s an opening.

Come back Monday. I promise I’ll have regained some semblance of modesty and/or sanity.

Just a thought… You know great things are coming when everything seems to be going wrong. Old energy is clearing out for new energy to enter. Be patient! [from PeacefulWarrior.com]

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

Welcome in and happy Monday. Well, where do I start? I told you on Facebook, if that’s where we connect, about the disaster – and no, I’m not overstating it – that befell my laptop last week.

A full cup of coffee was resting beautifully on my bedside table, all ready to do its half-caff magic. When I got up to grab something, always in a hurry, my phone cord pulled that cup right over on top of my laptop, which was resting in an open drawer (my “bed desk” if you will) and completely flooded it.

Yes, we have Apple Care in case of such an emergency because that computer travels with me everywhere and contains my life. Not just photos, but hundreds of thousands of words, including the stories I write for Drift. By the way, tomorrow’s new story for paid subscribers is Nice Threads: The Emperor’s New Clothes, and the one that slides over into free territory is The Island of the Nine Whirlpools. I hope you’re subscribing to Drift with Erin Davis and enjoying these sleep stories. Thank goodness I had them written, edited, produced and sent before Coffee-geddon happened.

But here’s what’s keeping me awake these nights: the techies at the one Apple-approved shop in Victoria can’t even get in to fix my lap life until later today – a full five days later – because of a Find My Device setting. Don’t ask me to explain it; I don’t understand. Today, Rob’s going in again to try to talk them through. Meantime, we wait.

I am working on an old laptop with a very sketchy charging cord that has no updated files since 2018. Rob is sending me speech documents and things I need from his computer for keynote speeches I’m giving in the next few weeks because, yes, it appears it’s going to be at least early November before I get my new computer. I understand these people have steps they have to follow, but in the meantime, I’m in a very bad place of patchwork purgatory.

So there’s that. Fighting technology all the way and just kicking my own butt for letting this happen. But there were a lot of helpful comments on that FB post. A lidded cup? Good idea – but I hate really hot coffee. I’ll think about it. Use iCloud to store files? Hard no – my security comes first. Breathe? Yes. Doing that.

In the meantime, I thank you for your patience as we work through all of this. Mercury moves out of retrograde today, which makes for a really happy Monday – and whether you believe in it or not, it’s been a really rough month for us in terms of communication. That all being said, though, I wouldn’t trade this connection with you for anything. It’s the next best thing to radio and, these days, I’m glad to be far away from it, thanks!

Be well, back up your files and I’ll be here (hopefully) on Thursday.

Just a thought… Dance is a prayer for the future, a remembrance of the past and a joyful exclamation of the present. [Amelia Attwater Rhodes]

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

I’m sorry to have missed doing a journal earlier this week, but life has been busy in the most joyful of ways. Colin turned seven on Monday which, of course, is just the whipped cream on the pumpkin pie of our Thanksgiving every year. (And there’s birthday cake, too, naturally.)

What we also missed on Monday, besides a journal here, was something Rob and I have been doing for two weeks now. It’s an exercise in intimacy. Now before any pearls get clutched (not that that’s who you are, I know!) it’s not S-E-X. No – although we’ve been warned that it could lead to it! I’m talking about doing something where we’re close, where we’re looking in each other’s direction instead of at a hockey game or a computer screen (guilty!) as we usually are: it’s dance lessons.

Last month for my birthday, Rob gave me a printout of the program he’d signed us up for. I laughed because we had just been telling friends about the last time we took lessons about 20 years ago in north Toronto. It was fun, but he remembers far more about it than I do!

So why take them? Initially we thought we wanted to go on a cruise and look like we knew what we were doing (a bit). Rob’s not a dancer; he’s a bass player and would rather be in the band than one of the people enjoying the music with their feet.

Me? Oh, I can dance – just not sober or without a two-year-old (in Jane’s case) leading the way!

So when we got on the cruise, we took more lessons and they taught us the steps we thought we knew, only backwards, for foxtrot sake! So that was the end of that – ’til now.

There’s something so connecting about touching your partner and letting them lead you around the floor. Because if you know me, I don’t follow very well. Take the pancakes I made last week: instead of a tablespoon of sugar as the recipe required, I put in the same amount of salt. Ugh. Can’t even follow a recipe.

Also, I panic when I’m doing something other than talking in public, and am thinking oh, I look so stupid and then I don’t absorb the instructions. So, we’re going to our third dance lesson in a middle school gym on Monday night, along with about 12 other couples around our age. (Which reminds me – we have not been practising those steps. Bad students!)

This time there will be no cruise at the end, although we have just booked our flights for next May’s Amsterdam-to-Basel river cruise that Mike Cooper and I are hosting with Ama Waterways. 

There will be dances held for our group (still trying to book that entire boat just for us and we have only until Nov. 1 to do so; if you’re interested in more info, click here to send an email to our friend Gerry at New Wave Travel) but Mike, Rob and I will be working those dances, so no reason to kick off our shoes and take to the dance floor!

We’re not doing this for a participation trophy; it’s for Rob and for me. A chance to put on footwear other than slippers or skates (in Rob’s case) and learn something new. As someone wise once said, “We’re fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance.”

Have a great weekend and I’ll be back with you here on Monday.