Erin's Journals

Just a thought… Trust in dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity. [Kahlil Gibran]

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

I’ve been having the most complicated dream lately and it took me remembering what someone (I think it was dream teacher and soul coachPatti Allen) told me: “Dreams love a pun,” in order to decipher it.

You know that we all have work nightmares, right? From astronauts to radio hosts, we’ve all had these dreams where something at work goes terribly wrong and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. And as you know, these dreams persist long after we’ve stopped whatever it was that first sparked them.

Over the past two months, during my so-called retirement, which I prefer to call reWirement, there’s been this one recurring nightmare. Maybe it’s because it was the season for Ross Petty’s panto: a rollicking musical comedy, a British tradition, that happens yearly on stage at Christmastime in Toronto.

In 2003 I played the Fairy Godmother in his show Cinderella, and it was the time of my life, one which also taught me a life lesson: when I am dying, I don’t want to spend my final days wishing I had worried less and enjoyed more. I was afraid a lot of those 8 weeks or so of rehearsing and performing my role; I wish now I’d just relaxed, had fun and cherished every moment. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, after all. So I learned from that.

But my terror at blanking on lines (vodka the night before to “unwind” after a show didn’t help my brain at all) or having an ad lib fall flat (which it did on opening night, a gaffe that made it into the newspaper review to my utter horror) clearly never left me.

So about that dream: again and again I’m about to be in a big stage play but I don’t know any of my lines, there has been no time to rehearse and I haven’t met my fellow cast members – the ones I might need to lean on to teach a newbie the ropes or to help me out if I need a little nudge or hint on what I’m to say next. Sometimes I’m on stage reading from a script in a performance; others I’m just going to have to go out there and not have a clue what I’m doing – which, of course, is my fear from every moment of my career and freelance.

I’m loathe to talk about dreams because they’re so personal and, really, does anyone care? But let me tell you why I’m relating this story: because in talking about it, I came up with a reason for it…and haven’t had the dream since.

I was chatting about it when Phil and Brooke and the kids were here, explaining the whole scenario and its variations on a cringeworthy theme and I said that in the dream “I don’t know my role.” And then, like a bolt of lightning or one of Oprah’s aha moments, it came to me: I DON’T KNOW WHAT MY ROLE IS.

Am I grandmothering right? Am I doing reWirement properly? Am I letting one of my freelance projects take over my life? Am I losing connection with the people I loved sharing my day with – you – after five years away? What is to become of me as I enter a new decade later this year? What is my role?

This realization has made me focus on what my future should look like. Yes, it started with organizing (see last Thursday’s vlog) but I have to move into prioritizing: making sure I’m showing up 100% where I’m needed and not letting myself spread out like that mythical, messy watercolour in the rain.

I won’t be leaving this space; I feel that I’m just the right amount of connected now to you – and grateful for it. For others, I’ve faded away or was never there. But sometimes we need to listen to the message in dreams and find out why they’re not just mirroring our thoughts, but perhaps holding up a big neon sign to an off ramp to a better place.

May you have a gentle ride this week and I’ll be back with you on Thursday.

Just a thought… Clutter is nothing more than postponed decisions. [Barbara Hemphill]

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

I don’t know what’s come over Rob and me the last few weeks. Maybe it’s our tenants leaving the lower part of our house, which is now where my studio is. Could be it’s a matter of hitting five years in BC and seeing a whole lot of disorganization where we should be settled in, with everything in its place, a place for everything. Or perhaps it’s the whole “new year” mentality of “out with the old…” but in this case, do not replace it with “the new.” Do not.

And yes, what you see here…

…is our closet. I’ll explain in a moment. Perhaps I need this “before” shot to set the scene.

We’re on a tear: getting dressers and ordering cloth baskets to help make that closet look less like the police have tossed our place for evidence. Ridding our home of things that never should have made the move from Ontario in the first place. Does anyone really need four flippers (the pancake not the scuba kind) one of which has a broken handle? I think not.

Take my so called “travel closet,” which I spent hours clearing out yesterday. In it, I have two tiny old hair dryers to take on trips. Side note: if I’m going to a place that doesn’t have a hair dryer, I’m likely a hostage. So one of those got sent off in the bag marked Donations. Probably should have been both.

I’m also a hotel toiletry hoarder, which was remedied last week when we took an enormous bag of shampoos, soaps and lotions – the nice ones – to the centre for which we deliver meals weekly. I also had no fewer than 18 boxes of Uncle Lee’s Green Tea, a freebie that came with our vitamin shipments, and they’re now off to the food bank. Not quite “all the tea in China” but it looked like it in our pantry.

Stuff is easier. But the clothes are a much harder and more emotional decision. You’ve seen me supporting Declutter.Diabetes.ca here and I have indeed put my Mackie where my mouth is (okay, I don’t have any Bob Mackie stuff, but it’s better than the “muumuu” or “mukluks” that Rob suggested for that line to replace “money”).

But here’s the thing – and you may have faced this over the past two years – is life ever again going to look the same as it did? I mean, working from home, noticing our bodies change, seeing our whole existence altered. Someday it has to be reflected in our closets and dressers.

I have long dresses. Only a few fancier outfits, because I was always fortunate enough to have stores that would allow me to borrow something pretty amazing if I had to do a big event, one at which the dress matched the occasion. Thankfully, I haven’t invested a ton of money in clothes; anyone who knows me will agree that fashion was never that important to me.

Now I have work pyjamas and sleep pyjamas. A few nicer tops that I put on to visit here with you. My best purchase of 2021 was two pair of Lululemon yoga pants. (I have to trust they’re good for yoga; right now they’re great for chasing a two-year-old around the house.)

Shoes? What are they even for now other than comfort? I’ve put supports in my slippers because my feet are falling faster than my boobs from not wearing supportive footwear. And yes, I wear a bra almost all the time, but bought one without underwires because – well, why the heck wouldn’t I?

Here’s the emotional part: am I ever, EVER going to need a gown again? A pair of shoes with a bit of glitter, a dress that shows a tad more skin, with a hem that skims the floor? I’m seriously doubting it. As for that mother-of-the-bride dress, which I still adore, I’ll part with it this year, I think. Brooke has suggested giving it to a girl who needs it for prom. And that’s fine by me.

The hardest part is not giving up the possessions; it’s giving up the dream. Another door closing on a pretty wonderful life, going from a spectacularly decorated ballroom and into a quiet, hummingbird- and deer-filled garden.

It’s not giving up clothes, it’s gaining space. It’s opening a window to the future and seeing me without high heels. I never liked them anyway.

It’s the me I was when I wore them I guess I miss the most.

I’ll hope to see you here on Monday and thanks for coming by. Lisa loved your comments on her blog yesterday and I’m so glad to see that you shared it from my Facebook page. A lot of wisdom.

Now…back to my closet.

Just a thought…

Ring the bells that still can ring 
Forget your perfect offering 
There is a crack in everything 
That’s how the light gets in

[Leonard Cohen, “Anthem”]

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

I don’t believe in Blue Monday. Any day can be bright or blue and a lot of it depends on you. But some travel company came up with it as the day the bills come in, the holiday cheer is but a distant memory, and so on.

Because I find this stuff fascinating, I thought it would be positive to shine a light on something about which you may not have heard: Canada coming in first overall (up two spots from 2020) on a large independent ranking of Global Performance. Yes, as you probably figured out, that’s among all countries in the world.

If you just said, “Oh, really? Because….” and you fill in the blank, you may not be in the mood to hear how well Canada ranked. But stay with me; it’s worth reading. Our primary focus for negativity, at least anecdotally here, is our healthcare system which, as you well know, is stretched to the max. The system for which we are renowned among other nations has failed us again and again of late. Not the people in it; the people who run it. Cutbacks and more cutbacks. Putting politics or party lines ahead of people.

Nurses, doctors, hospital staff are pushed to exhaustion and then have the added insult of being harassed by idiots. Patients with life-threatening illnesses are not getting care because resources are taken up by those suffering from Covid: some who did everything they could to protect themselves, and others who waved off a chance for protection from it because they “knew better.”

My own aunt was recovering from some surgery complications when she was bumped out of the hospital room in Calgary she’d occupied for almost two weeks this month. She ended up sleeping in a hallway. I can only hope she got all the meds she needed to help her. Thank goodness she’s home today and hopefully catching up on a lot of sleep. But seriously?

Of course, while there are huge negatives, there are also the positives that if we suddenly are hit by a major health crisis, we won’t lose the roof over our heads. We do have that for which to be thankful and it is that reason for which Canada is recognized as fourth in the world in health care.

When it comes to the #1 spot for Quality of Life, which we have held for six straight years, let’s break it down: Canada ranks first in having a good job market, second in being politically stable (I guess the last election with nearly no change at all proved that, huh?) and third in having a well-developed public education system. A lot of people will disagree with that, especially with this being a back-to-school day in some parts of the country, but the ranking is backed up by independent research and likely has a major asterisk next to it for Covid times.

Where we also ranked at the very top was in Social Purpose, a new metric in this annual survey. What, you ask, is that? According to usnews.com and the entire article, it means that we as Canadians can come together to support causes we feel strongly about. These include human rights, the environment and religious freedom. When we unite, it gives us a feeling of cultural cohesion and thus a shared sense of purpose. A “we are all in this together” kind of feeling.

Also, Canada ranks highly for being open for business, which may clash with what we’re seeing on storefront signs, but refers to being welcoming to capitalists and corporations. Sure, come on in. But pay a living wage, okay?

Elsewhere, we rank third behind the US and Australia for a new subcategory called Agility. That describes Canadians as being adaptable, dynamic, modern, progressive and responsive.

Yes, there’s a lot to unpack in this whole ranking and survey of some 17,000 respondents. For example, in the category Adventure, we come 12^th after Brazil, Italy, Spain, Greece, Thailand, Mexico and so on, in terms of where people want to visit to feed their wanderlust.

My wanderlust is running rampant right now; when I sit quietly, all I do is think of going somewhere. Anywhere. It’s not that our lives here aren’t full and happy; I just miss warm breezes, palm trees, swimming pools, sweltering humidity. You know, like almost any Canadian in January, Blue Monday BS or not.

But while I – perhaps we – may want to get out of Canada, our reasons for that longing are far different than most of the residents of countries low on the list to which I refer today. And for that, we can be – should be – grateful.

I hope your week is gentle and that you stay safe and warm. I’ll be back with you on Thursday.

Just a thought… What is a legacy? It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. [Lin-Manuel Miranda]

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

I promise this isn’t a downer, but I’ve been thinking a lot about death this week. I mean, how could we not, right? We’re surrounded by reminders of the toll of this wretched, stubbornly mutating virus, and then in the obituaries we read the names of people we knew and respected, even loved in some cases: Betty White, Sidney Poitier, Bob Saget, Marilyn Bergman, Peter Bogdanovich, Ronnie Spector. And that’s just since New Year’s Eve.

When you first hear of the passing of someone whose work you watched, enjoyed, respected, you kind of give a bit of an involuntary gasp, and then an “awww….” And then you start remembering the moments they gave you that impacted you. Whether it was as a sitcom star or a bawdy talk show guest, a beloved TV dad or an Oscar-winning trailblazer, we each have those moments in some performer’s life that resonate with us. Long ago they may have stopped contributing to their body of work, or maybe they did a show the previous night. It doesn’t matter. Their legacy is in the moments that touched our souls.

So what about the rest of us: the regular non-Walk of Fame folks who wake each day thankful for another chance to get it right (or just to be upright)? For us, you and me, a legacy means a different thing.

You may have heard the story of Alfred Nobel – you know, the Swedish prize guy. In the 19^th century, his brother died. But an obituary was mistakenly written about Alfred instead. In it, he was called the “Merchant of Death” for having invented dynamite, furthering the growth of armaments and destruction in the world.

This error in journalism, what Emperor Tang of the 21^st century would decry as “Fake News,” could have infuriated Mr. Nobel. But instead, we are told that the wealthy and brilliant Swede used the mistake to examine and then alter his own legacy. For two years, he and an assistant toiled to come up with the answer: funds from his vast fortune towards Nobel Prizes in Chemistry, Literature, Medicine, Physics and Peace. So, rather than be remembered for blowing things up, his name is synonymous with building people up.

Few of us have the resources to leave that sort of legacy. But look at Betty White: on her 100^th birthday this Monday, many are donating to their local animal shelters in her memory. Bob Saget, best known as dad Danny Tanner on TV’s Full House, and later host of America’s Funniest Home Videos, who was, onstage and off, about as dirty a comic as they get, was lauded as a kind and supportive friend to all. Whether or not people liked or got him, that comes in a distant second to the kind of person that he was. And Sidney Poitier? Respected for class, grace and his fight for human rights. And, yes, for being a fine actor who broke colour barriers.

A legacy is so much more than how many people bought tickets to your latest show or downloaded whatever you’re putting out. How kind we are to people who couldn’t repay us: that’s what really matters. What we give to someone when they need it most, or better yet, anticipate it before they do – that’s the legacy. Simply signing an organ donor card because we might save several lives when ours is over. That’s all it takes to live on.

Tomorrow is promised to no one. Bob Saget had gigs booked for the year ahead. Betty White was looking forward to a big 100^th birthday celebration.

Morgan Freeman’s character said very memorably in Stephen King’s Shawshank Redemption: you better “Get busy living, or get busy dying.”

I’ve done the math: if I live as long as my mom (who died way too young) I have 18 years left. On the other hand, if I stick around as long as our friends Helen or Mira, I’ve got well over 30. But in the case of Helen Mirren, we don’t know. It’ll never be enough, but we get what we get and, yeah, in some cases, maybe earn, I guess. Better get busy.

Just a thought… Don’t worry that children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you. [Robert Fulghum]

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

Welcome in and thanks for coming by. I hope you had a gentle weekend. Perhaps you, too, are now Christmas tree-free after un-decking the halls…although it will be months before the last bits of glitter have been sucked up.

Ah, sucked. There’s a word that brings me to the topic of today’s journal: the danger of words and being overheard.

There was a time when, about 25 years ago, the term “sucks” entered the lexicon in a huge way. Of course, it had always been around, but “you suck,” “that sucks” and so on hit me all the wrong ways as a broadcaster. Sucking, to me, had a sexual connotation. And at that time (remember, this was decades ago) it was something I wasn’t going to say on the air. I held myself to a higher standard. Ha!

Here we are in 2022. The PM says it. Everybody says it. Because, well, how else do you describe being locked down for two years? It DOES suck. (But I’m still uneasy with the word. You can take the girl out of Catholic school….)

Our language is not an easy one to navigate and when you add a layer of bureaucracy or another mother tongue altogether, it gets even murkier. Rob and I laughed ’til we were in tears when our 96-year-old friend Mira told us about being in a government office and trying to get some official documents – passport or something – updated. She was born in a country that no longer exists: Yugoslavia, which completed its breakup in 1992. She was trying in her best English to explain to the woman what she should type in under Country of Birth. And the woman kept telling Mira that there was no Yugoslavia. So, having come to the end of her rope, Mira said to her, “Why don’t you write F-U?”

Now, Mira, in whose mouth butter wouldn’t melt, did not mean that the way we know F-U to mean. She was saying “former Yugoslavia.” But this sweet little old lady coming out with that must have had the whole office in stitches. It is, I will tell you, a story that Mira loves to share. Because she has since been told exactly what her words meant.

You don’t have to tell me, as a former broadcaster, that since you can’t be sure what is being heard, you do have to be extra careful. Like a day last week when Colin was afforded a bonus sleepover because of school closure.

I was in the living room with Rob, seven-year-old Colin in an adjacent bedroom that we’ve turned into the kids’ play room, complete with TV, Wii, a ball pit, the whole nine. Rob and I were talking about how ridiculous it is that people who have been exposed to others who’ve tested positive for Covid were gathering for the holidays and then going off merrily to work. I said (in what I thought was under my breath), “It’s so effing stupid!”

Except I didn’t say effing. Well, apparently Colin wasn’t as absorbed in his Lego superheroes TV show as we thought. We hear this shout from the next room: “Grrrrrrama! What word did you just say?”

And I thought, Uh-oh. Here we go. I’m teaching him the bad words, just as we inadvertently did with Lauren (it’s in the book and is a pretty good laugh).

So I sheepishly answered, “Uh….’stupid’?”

And he came out, hands on hips and said, “You said it AGAIN!”

Yep. Next time I won’t be so effing s—-d. I mean, those are words kids are meant to learn in the schoolyard, not at Casa Banana.

Good thing he wasn’t with us Saturday night for the Leafs’ game. Have a good one, and we’ll talk to you here on Thursday.