Erin's Journals

Just a thought… Nothing vast enters the life of mortals without a curse. [Sophocles]

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

It’s been a heavy week – as we’re still trying to come to terms with the pain of Canada’s Indigenous people and what we can do to help, there’s this horrific hate crime in London, Ontario. Four family members, three generations, wiped out while enjoying a walk on a sultry spring evening. A boy left without his family. For some – for me – it’s hard to make this make sense. Any of it. The cruelty of it all.

I do have a few thoughts that just keep coming to the forefront of my mind. If you have seen The Social Dilemma, you’ll understand; if you haven’t – it came out last September on Netflix and this documentary about social media and its reach is mind blowing.

I didn’t want to watch it at first, because I like my social media, thank you very much! Love Twitter and, yes, Facebook or Instagram, through which many folks are finding this journal today. Thank you. So I didn’t want this doc to ruin my fun – and fortunately, it hasn’t. It’s been enlightening. I can decide how much I let it in.

As a parent, grandparent, whoever you are, I’m going to urge you to watch this, not as a fun vampire – like I’m not going to say, “You’ve got to give up this or that…” – but to know what’s happening.

Take, for instance, that crazy uncle you have who keeps spewing this unbelievable BS about vaccines or magnetism or flat earth or deep state or whatever? And then says, “Well, I like to keep informed.” Yeah. There’s a very good chance that, a while back, he was sent a story about, say, flat earth (good band name, bad science) and decided to read it. Then clicked to read more.

All of a sudden, he gets a trickle and then a flood of stories coming in to him that feed the same whacky narrative. And there it is. He’s surrounded by like-minded people all reading and repeating the same insanity.

This was the true eye-opener for me about The Social Dilemma. I suddenly understand how people, who get the same access to newspaper feeds and information as I do, could believe such bat shit crazy nonsense. Because that is what they’re being fed. It’s how some 70% of Republicans believe that their guy won the presidential election. Because it’s what their little BS bubble is telling them.

I’m not for a moment going to give the murderous driver of that pickup truck in London the benefit of the doubt, any doubt, or say “There, there, the internet made him do it.” But instead of saying how much hatred he had to be raised around in his home, maybe take a good hard look at his social feeds: what has been raised around him, what he was surrounded by.

And then, ask who in YOUR life might you have a talk with. Too awkward? Sit with them and watch The Social Dilemma. Especially if you’re a parent. You need to know what’s coming at your kids. It really is well done – entertaining even – and I’m not trying to sound an alarm; just think of it as a poke (which isn’t a thing on FB anymore, but you get my drift).

I’ll be back with you on Monday and thanks for coming by this week.

Just a thought… Trust your Inner-Creator and let go of your inner-critic. [J.R. Incer, author of Mastering Success]

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

I have a guest today in the form of the voices in my head. I thought you might be able to relate, if you have those nagging little thoughts that tell you you’re not worthy, you don’t deserve this (the good things, that is; the bad things you almost always deserve, according to that destructive little sprite) and that you shouldn’t be announcing something big because it sounds as if you’re boasting.

I’ll take you back to give you an example of when that voice was loud and funny. Last month I was delivering an online speech for a U of T group. While it was happening, I could see how many people were online taking part and watching. Okay, cool. I don’t measure my success in numbers anymore…or so I thought.

Because every time I saw “so-and-so has left the group” I’d think, Aw jeez, what did I say wrong? How did I offend them? Was it boring? when, of course, it wasn’t about me. For all I knew, they had an appointment to get to and caught as much as they could. Right?

But it’s always that voice. The one that told me to lay off the mentions here and in my social media of the Hall of Fame induction last month. The one that had me suggesting to my pal Nancy that she not notify the local media, when in reality, the piece that CHEK News in Victoria did was really a highlight – being recognized in my own community. I have been contacted by people in grief and service groups here in the Victoria area who are interested in my message, so that’s a huge positive and really what this is all about: hope.

Then there’s the actual award and the “worthiness” issues that come up. I concocted a list in my head of the things I figured people would be thinking or saying about me getting the acknowledgment, not one of which actually came to my inbox or showed up online. A long public life has me kind of braced for this all of the time. (See: Reasons Erin Drank #14.)

Public or not, I know I’m not alone. I got an email from a brilliant woman just this weekend who specifically mentioned those gremlins as she tackles her next great project. Fortunately, there’s hope, as we are both fans of this woman:

One of the few (and best) researchers and speakers on the subject of shame and vulnerability is Brené Brown. You’ve heard me mention her before and I’ll do it again: her Netflix special, part stand-up comedy and ALL brilliance, The Call to Courage, reminds us that it’s the person who is in the ring, getting bloody and dirty and failing, who is doing the work, not the one in the stands yelling or taunting or, yes, posting. The critic doesn’t win.

So what about when that critic isn’t in the stands but in your head? One of Brené’s books (and each of them is outstanding in its way; I recommend hard copies instead of downloads so you can mark, dog ear and read over and over) has the perfect analogy. Forgive me if I’ve brought this up before, but maybe you need reminding of it as much as I do.

Say you were driving down to work and you had a passenger who was sitting there sipping her coffee and saying things like, “Oh my gosh, that outfit makes you look fat. You’ve got to get more sleep, you look about ten years older than you are. Is that the best you can do? Because what you’re saying isn’t very funny and, frankly, you’re a lousy driver.” You know, stuff like that.

So what would you do? Quite likely, you’d pull over, tell that cow in the right seat to get out and find another ride. You would tell her she had no right to talk to you like that and if she didn’t respect or care for you enough to treat you better, then she could just…well…YOU fill in the blanks. But “take a walk” would be one way of putting it.

Ms Brown’s advice is to let that passenger out of your head. I am telling you this because I let her ride for free far too often. Not only is she annoying as hell, but honestly, all of that nasty heaviness is really hurting my speed and how much distance I can get to the litre.

Enough. Time to ditch the b**ch. Literally.

Just a thought… We operate under a jury system in this country, and as much as we complain about it, we have to admit that we know of no better system except possibly flipping a coin. [Dave Barry]

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

Well, I got this in the mail the other day. Yep, the long arm of the law has come for me – but in a good way. Apparently I’m to get up and go to the courthouse a week this Saturday at 9 am and show up for jury duty.

And you know, although lots of people have good reasons for not wanting to do it, I feel like if I was tried for something (not that I have anything planned or anything, let me say that for the record) I would want ME on a jury. So call this paying it forward. It’s also the price we owe for living in a law-abiding society. So I’ll be dropped off at the courthouse on Saturday and we’ll see what happens.

Some people never get asked, while this is about my fourth time getting called. It’s never happened here in BC but did three times in Ontario. Twice, I was about to move and leave the area so I couldn’t attend, but the third time I was doing the morning show in Toronto and I did the whole “show up and wait” thing.

Boy, was I was nervous! Like, defendant nervous. First of all, I was going to try to tell the judge that my hours just wouldn’t allow it – I mean, does anyone want a juror who got up at 3 am nodding off during testimony? But as I listened to the judge shoot down excuse after excuse from potential and begrudging jurors ahead of me, I realized that I was going to get a lambasting from this Judge Judy and my little fatigue factor excuse was flimsy; I was not going to sway her, nor did I choose to be humiliated in the process.

So I got as far as swearing in, then being interviewed by the defense and Crown representatives. There was a cop on trial, as I recall, and I think that my deference to authority with “yes sir” and “no sir” responses to their questions scared off the Crown. That wasn’t my aim, but that was the result. They basically said, “Thanks for coming out,” and that was it. One audition I was relieved not to get, thank you.

For some, there’s the perception that once you’re in the pool, you’re called upon regularly. Despite our sometimes hectic schedule (we’ve already given warning to our podcast partners that I might not be available for a scheduled recording session) I’m pretty much free to do this. Rob will drive me to and fro and we’ll see what happens.

Let’s just say I’m relieved that this is coming now and not when I’m doing a regular job. I do recall Mocha from the Roz and Mocha show on our sister station Kiss 925 having to juggle mornings and jury duty; then there was an idiot on another station who made jokes about the trial he was involved in. It caused the host’s suspension from his soon-to-be cancelled radio show, and nearly caused a mistrial.

The justice system has enough roadblocks and challenges – not the least of which has been rampant Covid delays – without “but, my life is busy” being one of them.

Like I said, I’d want me on a jury, so we’ll see if they do, too. And if I’m really lucky, there will be frisking. Kidding. I won’t frisk anybody.

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

Just a thought… Reconciliation is a journey, not a destination. [Carey Newman]

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

We leave this month of May today with a mixture of feelings: there’s hope, but there’s also heaviness.

A deep sense of sadness sits within me and many more of us across our land with the news of the horrible discoveries – to some, not revelations, but proof – of the previously undisclosed or unconfirmed deaths of hundreds of children at the Kamloops Indian Residential School (as it was named at the time and Canada’s largest) in lower central mainland BC.

No matter what part of this land you call home, this has been a weekend of heavy hearts, of questions and demands for answers, of prayers up and calls for reparations.

I thought many times over the past few days of an hour I spent on a stage near here as part of an arts festival. I interviewed a beautiful and gifted man named Carey Newman, who is of Kwakwaka’wkaw Coast Salish and settler heritage and whose father was a residential school survivor.

Mr. Newman is an artist who created The Witness Blanket and, while it is not a literal blanket, it is an indelible display. Carey spent a year logging 200,000 kilometres and talking with some 10,000 people in 80 communities who had attended the residential schools or had family who did. He took with him their stories, along with 887 items, some as intimate as cut-off braids, straps for disciplining, hockey skates and even hand-written letters.

Together, these pieces of our darkest era as a country and a people are strikingly mounted, alongside actual floor boards, tiles and bricks from the schools, on 13 wood panels, eight feet tall and 40 feet long. As a whole, I can tell you it is breathtaking to bear witness to in person. But each element of it – large and small – offers a piece of the story detailing the immense atrocities and immeasurable tolls of the era of the residential schools, which housed some 150,000 Indigenous children, many snatched away from their parents, families and communities from 1870 to 1996.

Carey Newman lives near us here on Vancouver Island and is a professor at U Vic. He told me that his own father spoke little of his time in the schools but carried the emotional scars for his entire life – wounds that Carey began to understand on a deeper level as he created The Witness Blanket.

This moving display, and I mean that in both ways – both of the heart, soul and mind, and physically crossing the country – is currently housed in the Canadian Museum of Human Rights in Winnipeg, where it is undergoing conservation after logging so many kilometres enlightening, and reminding us of the system that robbed so many families of so much.

Simply go to witnessblanket.ca or Google the Witness Blanket. There is also a documentary titled Picking Up the Pieces: The Making of the Witness Blanket. It is free online so you, too, may bear witness. Here’s a link. If you do watch, please do so with care and read and heed the call for a connection to support if you or your family members have a history with residential schools.

What we already know is horrific. What we will learn is apt to be more so. The fact that many of these children were buried without last names – some not recorded at all, their parents denied the cold comfort of having their children’s bodies returned to them, or even knowing of their fates – is unforgiveable. Our hearts ache.

Just a thought… When you live with an open heart, unexpected, joyful things happen. [Oprah Winfrey]

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

Here we are heading into the last weekend in May and inching towards better numbers and more openings. Getting our shots. Wearing our masks. Being caring and responsible towards our fellow citizens. We can do this.

One of the side effects of this pandemic has been a scarcity of bicycles and many people wanting to buy 0ne have found it to be nearly impossible.

Rob and I already had bikes, but here’s the problem: we live on a mountain – or, at least, a very big hill. And while it makes for views like you’ve seen here on occasion, it also means an impossibly steep climb up and treacherous ride down.

What to do? Well, E was the answer! Our friends found a sale at a big wholesale outlet and alerted us, after having done research about the brand of electric bikes and its ratings. Rob called while I was out one day and asked me, hurry, did I want one?

I honestly hadn’t thought we needed an e-bike. When we wanted to go out, we would put our cycles on a rack on the back of the car and drive wherever we wanted to go, once we’d made our way down that hill. We knew the altitude was going to kill us on the trip home; we’re about 105 metres or 350 feet practically straight up from the main road below that gets us to Sidney in one direction or the kids in the other.

So we took the plunge – so to speak – and got two of the last ones left. After a whole lot of trepidation, I found the bike and its gears and battery assistance to be really easy to maneuvre. Keep in mind, I’m the gal who, while learning to drive Rob’s scooter (which had the heft of a motorcycle), hit a wall at about 40 km/h nine years ago this week. I ended up in a bad way for a few months and I’ve not been brave on two wheels ever since. And I gave up on the motorcycle course.

Touch wood, this is going really well. Most importantly, I can pedal when I want and get my exercise.

But here’s the kicker – or the kickstand: the first day I went out, I tweeted this: 

Yes, I tagged Keith and Josh, my two favourite hosts of our absolute must-see Friday night show. If you’re not familiar with Dateline on NBC, they dive deep into crimes, often disappearances or murder mysteries, that go on for years. In my book, I referred to it as “grief porn,” which helped take us out of our own suffering, if that makes any sense. We’re still hooked.

Well, imagine my surprise when Josh liked it and then tweeted:

I was kind of tickled by that. And then, Keith Morrison, on whom I had a crush back in my teens when he was a CTV News weekend anchor, tweeted in return as well:

No amount of wind whistling past my ears as I rode that day at about 30 km/h down our hill could match the unbridled glee I felt just to hear back from two TV hosts I really enjoy.

I know it doesn’t really matter, but in a time when everything is so surreal, that was kind of the psychedelic icing on the brownies.

Have a good weekend, fit in some fun and we’ll be back with you here on Monday. I mean, I hope. Keith warned me….