Erin's Journals

Just a thought… The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair and confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing…not healing…not curing…that is a friend who cares. [Henri Nouwen]

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

This will be my last journal until after Labour Day – you see, I have a very special friend coming this weekend. Gee, that sounds like my period, but that ship (with a P!) has sailed, thankfully. No, it’s Lisa Brandt, former broadcaster, current voice artist extraordinaire, writer, blogger, soul sister, longtime confidante and forever partner in dark humour. We’ve been through hell and back a few times over the past two decades and in two days she’s getting on a plane and coming here from Ontario. Girl’s got her vax and she’s prepped to relax.

After her body clock adjusts a bit, we’re taking a Thelma and Louise top-down (the car, silly) road trip for four days across to Salt Spring and then up island. Just Lisa and Erin and a whole lot of talking, sight-seeing and breathing in the bliss of our company and the beauty of our surroundings.

There’s something almost indescribable about a friend, who has been with you through the worst parts of your life, who is irreplaceable, and nothing brought this home more to me than an article in The Atlantic online magazine.

It was a long read about a couple, the McIlvaines, who lost one of their two sons in 9/11 in the twin towers terrorist attacks, a horror that is coming up on its 20^th anniversary next month. While we know never ever to compare grief, reading the father’s reaction – which was to go down every single rabbit hole there was about conspiracy theories and “truthers” surrounding 9/11 – and the mother’s, was eye-opening to me.

In fact, I can’t let go of it. I can relate to her grief in some ways – not all, of course, as my daughter’s death wasn’t a worldwide news story, a “remember where you were” moment that will be indelibly marked for decades to come, and an event that affected everything from travel precautions to wars and countless other parts of our lives. In no way do I compare my own loss to hers. We don’t compare grief and I’ll keep saying that until I’m blue in the face.

But in that Atlantic article, the things that mom Helen said which resonated with me most loudly (in fact, they’re in my book) included the dreaded “at leasts” and the well-meaning pep talks with statements like “no parent should have to bury a child.”

Their son Bobby’s soon-to-be fiancée also said something that jumped out at me: “Don’t tell me I’m going to be okay.” Because, at that moment, Jen’s life had fallen apart and she did not want to hear that, even though the words came from her own future mother-in-law who was, at the time, begging for one of her son’s journals to be returned to her. She knew Jen would still have a life; Helen, the mom, was just clinging to what she could from her son’s existence. Boy, do I get that!

I’ve told other parents who’ve reached out to me in their rawest grief that every day does get a little bit better and the weight on your chest a little lighter. But never would I say, “You’ll be okay.” The truth is that there is no finish line when your child dies. It’s a cross-country marathon and, if you’re lucky, eventually the hills get gentler and fewer.

The friends who are there at the marathon’s hydration stations to hand you water (when you wish it was wine), who will listen to you talk about stuff like this – to hammer out the progress, the possibilities, the common threads that have tied you together all of these years – those are the ones who have you counting the days, the hours and the blessings that come with seeing them again.

I wish you a friend like Lisa – and I’ll be back with you here on the 7^th. In the meantime, I’ll be posting daily on Facebook.

Just a thought… Grief can be the garden of compassion. If you keep your heart open through everything, your pain can become your greatest ally in your life’s search for love and wisdom. [Rumi]

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

Now, today I’m not talking about grief – stay with me – it’s about what can happen afterwards and the joy that can await you.

I have a couple of special people in my heart and on my mind today. One: my dad. Yes, you’ve met him and I’m so glad we had that trip to see him in June, when we took that boat trip on the Okanagan before the whole area surrounding Kelowna became one big smoky smudge, with temperatures daily in the 30s.

Mind you, here on Vancouver Island, we’ve come through another hot stretch with temperatures in that same range, although today’s high is a much more normal 22. Mind you, Rob and I are lucky because, although we don’t have central air, there’s a heat pump system with three units that cool the house. Most folks and almost all resorts up island have no AC at all. It’s time to start looking at the future and this new normal, I fear.

At long last, more governments (including ours in BC) are mandating that all people who work in long-term care facilities now have to be vaccinated. It seems a no-brainer, but as we’ve discussed here before, there’s a shortage of intelligence and common sense abounding.

The second person about whom I’m thinking a lot these days is a new/old friend. Her name is Mira and I met her when Rob and I picked up some new addresses on our weekly meal deliveries for a community centre. Next week she’s turning 96.

Mira is a gift to us: one of the most lively, active, sharp and funny women of her age – and almost any other – that we’ve met in years. She greets Rob and me with an offer of ice cream bars from her freezer; she has started stocking new choices every week and no matter what we have after our deliveries, we are now making sure we have time to be with her, to sit, to make a small repair here or there, or to share our stories, listen to hers, or just talk about the weather.

She has no air conditioning, but she’s faring well enough with little ice packs on her wrists and that freezer of cold treats. I wish we had a fan we could have lent her during the last wave. They’re nowhere to be found these days, as you can imagine. But trust me, she’s lived in the middle east; she can handle this, as she’s been through so much more.

Mira was in a work camp as a young girl during the Second World War. She and her future husband, who lost his entire family during that awful time, moved to Israel in its aftermath, as her country (the former Yugoslavia) no longer existed.

She came to Canada when that loving husband died suddenly while visiting one of their sons here. That was nearly 50 years ago. And so here she is, a Canadian for the past 15 years. Her life, her memories and her spirit are such a bright light and Rob and I feel fortunate even to share a slice or a scoop of it, every week.

Mira even introduced me to a wonderful former Toronto resident who was invited over in time for our meal delivery a few weeks back; the woman happened to know who I was when Mira spoke of me on the phone, so there was a lovely familiarity. Unfortunately, that woman is moving back east in a few weeks, but she’s introduced us to other couples so that we might make some more friends in our new homeland. All about connection, right?

I’m touched almost beyond words by the kindness that has come into our lives just because we stepped through doors and out of our own comfort zones. Even during these times of delivering in a mask and gloves, of taking precautions and keeping our distance, we can still forge bonds of the heart. We never know how long they will last, but as Mira says of us, we are already in each other’s hearts. She’s one in a million and a literal reminder that you cannot spell m-i-r-a-c-l-e without Mira.

Have a lovely day and I’ll be back here with you Thursday.

Just a thought… The universe is under no obligation to make sense to you. [Neil Degrasse Tyson]

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

Long ago, one of my radio partners, Don Daynard, said that I looked like Angela Lansbury. Now with Don, I was never sure if it was a compliment or not, but now I have a mystery on my hands that is right up Jessica Fletcher’s Murder She Wrote alley.

Last week, Rob got an envelope in the mail from one of our former fellow Rotarians in Sidney. That envelope had been sent to the community centre where the Rotary meetings were held before Covid, and the member kindly sent it on via snail mail to Rob.

The envelope had no return address, just the writing, “Rotarian Rob Whitehead” and the address of the community centre. So that was strange enough.

But the contents were really bizarre. This photo.

Take a look at the gal on the right. That’s me, aged 12, bawling as a classmate wrote in my autograph book at Grade Eight graduation.

There’s a whole lot in that picture, and what a nice job my mom did in sewing that dress! But more to the point: I was crying my face off. Big old ugly tears. Oh, I was always crying.

I hated good-byes (moving around as an air force kid will do that to you). I was the one the family called “Mona” supposedly for always moaning and crying (and this was before my teen years!) the “over sensitive” one. Yes, I was an alien being in my own family, but that sensitivity and perceived weakness turned me into an observer, a feeler, a writer, a communicator and whatever it is you see here today.

But who sent it? Why was it kept? Half a face is cut off in the foreground and I can’t even remember the name of the girl signing. (Is that you, Corinne Cummings?) And why was it sent without even a cover note?

So many mysteries and nothing I’ll lose sleep over. But someone out there went out of their way to put a stamp on an envelope to send, not me, but my husband this picture and then leave us hanging as to the circumstances surrounding it.

I guess we’ll never know. 

Oh, and before I go, have you found my Drift Sleep Stories podcast yet? I’m terrible at promoting things, but I have to start spreading the word a bit. I’ve got all kinds of great 30-minute stories, starting with some gentle and relaxing music, and ending with waves. Give it a go: here’s a link.

It’s free unless you want to subscribe for stories before everyone else and interviews with some fascinating people on sleep-related topics, like dream coach and expert Patti Allen and pediatric sleep guru Dr. Jodi Mindell. Please go and find it and, when you do, please rate it on Apple so more people will find it too! Thank you!

Have a relaxing weekend, try to stay sane and safe and I’ll be back with you Monday.

Just a thought… A lot of the people who keep a gun at home for safety are the same ones who refuse to wear a seat belt. [George Carlin]

And I’m going to add “a mask,” but first, to Olympic rings, Canadian flags and moments of pure joy….

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

And so, a year late and with far less fanfare than we’ve seen in our lifetimes, the Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games are done, and the Paralympics begin on August 24th. As usual, I went in having close to zero interest (something I’m loathe to admit, as it seems just so wrong) and came out with a heart full of pride for all of the athletes but, of course, especially our Canadians.

With a record 24 Gold, Silver and Bronze (in non-boycotted games), and many of our participants coming home with only memories and a whole lot of experience for next time, they’re all winners. I’ve got undying respect for their commitment, their sacrifices, their talent and their courage.

What have we done for Canada lately, besides cheer on our athletes, be respectful to competitors from other countries and share in an immense amount of national pride? Well, let’s see…we could defend our borders – and not with the guns mentioned by Mr. Carlin, but with masks. And uh-oh, here’s the unpopular part: closures to some.

I know people have many really good reasons to want to allow the borders to open again, especially to American travellers. First: matters of the heart and people who haven’t hugged or seen a family member in person in a year-and-a-half. Then there’s the economy: like so many in the lower latitudes of Canada, I reside in an area that depends largely on US dollars, so I understand that a lot of people are figuratively dying for those American greenbacks. But actually dying for them? No, thanks.

Come on into Canada – or for that matter into BC from Alberta – but please, only if you can prove you’ve been vaccinated or have a legit reason not to have been.

A vaccine “passport” is not a huge deal; travellers to foreign countries have needed them for decades in the instances of highly-infectious diseases such as yellow fever, polio and meningitis. My dad would get several shots to travel the less-developed parts of the world during his time in the Armed Forces; it’s what you did to protect yourself. And unless I’m mistaken, most kids have to prove they’ve had their shots before being let into school. It’s been a thing forever, but somehow, people scream about a dictatorship if you have to prove you’ve had a vaccine during a worldwide pandemic. Good Lord, the entitlement, shortsightedness, selfishness.

I’m not going to argue with people who are still against the Covid vaccine (like James on my FB page yesterday who said “brainwashed” and I responded, “Better than brain dead”). ‘Cause, Jimmy boy, at this point, it seems the only thing that gets through some heads or changes people’s minds is finding themselves or their own loved ones in the ICU.

But if our grandson, his two-year-old sister or anyone in our family is hospitalized this fall because a parent of one of his little classmates contracted Covid due to their cellphone-science-surfing on the toilet, I’m going to be looking for names. If someone comes into my dad’s seniors’ residence and hasn’t been vaxxed and passes on a breakthrough variant to him, his 91-year-old gal pal or anyone else there, same fury here.

At this point, the vast majority of those dying from Covid are the ones not vaccinated, but that doesn’t spare those who can’t be immunized from suffering and living with long term effects.

Please don’t stop begging those around you who haven’t made up their minds yet. It’s not JUST ABOUT THEM. And for those who say, “No one should be forced to do anything,” like Ontario’s Doug Ford, remind them about seatbelts. Yes, you could still be in an accident wearing one, but you’re far less likely to die or suffer terrible consequences. And that’s not just science, it’s common sense.

I’ll be back with you here on Thursday.

Just a thought… And suddenly you know: It’s time to start something new & trust the magic of beginnings. [Meister Eckhart]

As always, you can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube (if there’s an ad there, thank Motown!).

I want to share with you a story or two about a guy – a pillar at CHFI – who’s leaving the only job he ever had, today. Okay, he did have another job: he drove the van for the Pickle Barrel in his teens until he took a corner too fast and a door flew open. Out sailed a brisket, or an entire leg of beef, or heck – who knows? – maybe the whole cow, and he kind of quit on the spot. But from there, he moved on to handling hams; so much better at that.

Today Ian ‘The General” MacArthur says good-bye, after 30 years of helming the CHFI Morning Show with me, Don Daynard, then Bob Magee, Jay and Billie, then me again, but with Mike Cooper…

…and Ian’s new-found little brother, our tech producer, the wonderful Gord Rennie…

Then the insanity of the past few years…and lovely Mo and Mike, of course, which brings us to today. Ian is sailing off into a new life of reWirement. No one will fill those big shoes, or strangely little chair….

That’s one Lauren had as a toddler, then we gave it to Ian and Anita and their three children…and the day after Lauren’s wedding, he delivered it back to her. Her son and his sister now use that chair in our home in BC. It means the world to us and, of course, so does our dear friend, her Uncle Ian.

If you subscribe to the CHFI newsletter, you’ll probably have seen a tribute to Ian from his daughter Ava. If you missed it, here’s a link.

I hope you hear or heard the show on 98.1 CHFI this morning. Rob and I put together a little something for the radio. Ian has a very special memory of a Breakfast on the Beach with Lionel Richie. Also, this weekend Ian takes off for three weeks in his native PEI and so, from one ocean to another, I send this love letter on the airwaves and the ocean waves to my friend. (Imagine the Commodores’ hit “Sail On” playing quietly.) 

Ian, I’ve had an awful time finding the words today – but I’m looking at the ocean and thinking of you.

I mean, how to sum up 30 years of closeness – a lifetime in many ways – and a friendship that grew into more like a brother and sister than I think either of us ever knew possible.

From perfect harmonies to sharing all of those mornings – the rawest, guffaw-est time of day together – before most of our world was even awake.

You gave many of us THE most memorable good-byes and I’ll never be able to dance you out, as you did me from Casa Loma, ending this radio career I’m not even sure was possible without you in my corner. ‘Cause you’re The General. If you were there, we were going to be okay.

But after 30 years of steering this flagship into the sunrise, you have earned smooth waters AND warm winds, knowing you were the best brother, producer and leader you could’ve been for our team (even with Beckham!).

Now get out there and rock your reWirement.

Do it on YOUR terms with love, laughter, and loads of loud music.

Sail on, my friend. And THANK YOU. Rob and I adore you, Ian – now go on and find your good time.