Erin's Journals

Just a thought… We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope. [Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.]

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

March fourth. “March forth!” It’s as corny as I am, but this is a day that I always loved for telling us what to do – and what we have to do.

I don’t know if you feel this way, but let me share something that we’ve been talking about here in our house. There’s this feeling of hope – this beautiful sensation of knowing that we are over the hump, and although you could say “it’s all downhill from here,” that can be taken two ways: we’re heading downward and not in a good way, or we can put it in neutral and let it coast, pumping the brakes occasionally to make sure we stay within the speed limit (and, yes, I do this in our neighbourhood all the time).

The vaccine rollout timeline is getting clearer by the day, at least here in BC. In fact, today, my dad in a residence in Kelowna is getting his and he can’t wait. He’s had to be patient, like everyone else, but he’s excited. Of course, this means that he and his gal pal will soon ramp up lamenting about not having his car, but we’ll take that obstacle as it comes.

Here on the home front, our son-in-law is working in a job he loves and this means that we’re picking up our Colin from school more days, so that’s an added bonus. Fantastic – more boy time. And if you’re a pining grandparent, I wish the same for you, very soon.

The weather’s getting better, the daffodils are up (I’ll duck now), the cherry blossoms are out and the days are definitely getting longer. In ten days we put our clocks ahead.

But this feeling – this hope – is something that a lot of people are unfamiliar with and, if you’re like me, you’re reluctant to get too excited. If this past year has taught us anything, it’s that indeed when there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, sometimes it is a train.

But hear me out. This is actual hope. I’m starting to dream about travel again – in fact our Ama Waterways Rhine and Swiss Alps river cruise is a go for late next spring and we’ve already had two more couples sign up to join Mike Cooper, Rob and me, in addition to those who were coming before the cancellations. You can drop our friend Gerry Koolhof a line for more info.

Honestly, I just can’t wait to pack a suitcase and go somewhere again. I fantasize about hotel rooms. I see a murder in a motel on one of the ancient Law and Order episodes we tape daily and I go, “Yeah, I’d stay there.” So that’s where my head is at.

All signs are pointing to hope and to letting ourselves feel that again: to make plans, in pencil so far, or somewhere in our electronic calendars that can easily be moved or deleted. But once we all feel healthy and safe again, the doors will swing wide open and we’re going to start to climb back. There are signs the economy will explode – in a good way – and we’ll see what they are calling echoes of the last century’s “Roaring Twenties.” (Let’s not concentrate on the memory that the “Dirty Thirties” followed, but we can use it as a cautionary tale.)

Life will never be the same as it was before one year ago, but hopefully and full of hope, we look ahead. We embrace this feeling: one that allows us to take a deep breath and actually let it out, too. We’ve been waiting to exhale for an awfully long time.

So, we March fo(u)rth. Have a great weekend and I’ll be back with you on Monday. And thank you, always, for coming by.

Just a thought… Don’t look back, you’re not going that way. [Author unknown]

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

Well, here it is: March. A time to look ahead. A lot of people are talking about one year ago, because it was in this month that we all began to hear about this coronavirus. Yeah, remember when jokes abounded with Corona beer and Lyme disease? Not funny then, and really not funny now.

We heard about what was happening in Asia and thought: Wow, that’s awful – those poor people. We’d been through SARS not even 20 years earlier; we could relate. And then, because we live in, as Marshall McLuhan so aptly put it, a “global village,” the disease spread faster than you could book a flight. And then it became alarmingly real. It hit home.

You’ll remember that for most kids, Friday, March 13^th took on a different kind of meaning: it wasn’t just a day for superstitions, it was the last day of school for a very long time. For some, that was lucky, I suppose. But for most, not at all. A lot of kids missed out on a whole lot of experiences that they’ll never get a chance to relive, and it’s taken a toll on them, as this whole pandemic has on us all.

For Rob and me, that sinking feeling occurred earlier than the 13^th, when we had friends visiting us in California who had gone to lunch with a pal who lived a few hours’ drive away. They heard that she had gotten tested for Covid and we were all awaiting word. Had they inadvertently brought the virus back to our house with them? Turns out they had not. But we were on alert, just the same.

With these same friends, we went out in a maskless crowd for the last time. And here’s where it gets kind of embarrassing. In an attempt to show them a fun night out after pal Charles’s birthday dinner, we had bought tickets to see a ventriloquist at a nearby casino resort.

Now, this guy, who had apparently won America’s Got Talent or something, had his name atop every cab in Las Vegas. I’d seen that name a million times but didn’t know how to say it. I thought he was Terry faTOR. Apparently, though, it rhymes with “tater” which is exactly what I thought of myself after seeing the show.

There’s no doubt he was a man of many voices, but some of his act was just…cringeworthy. The one part that sticks out most was his Michael Jackson puppet. Yes, complete with possible child abuse jokes and lots of other alleged humour that made me glance around and see who was laughing. Turns out, our foursome might have been some of the few who might be labelled “woke” when it comes to jokes about molestation. Who knew?

I held onto the ticket stubs for I don’t know how long and for reasons I haven’t figured out. My last link to the “before times,” it also marked our last time in a casino. And we didn’t even gamble, even though our tickets provided free points or something. We didn’t want to put Charles and Nancy through that.

It has made me think so often during these past 12 months of the things we didn’t do when we had a chance. We never made the trip from Palm Springs to LA; we never did that trip to the San Diego Zoo. Yes, we’d seen other parts of California before and we had always thought we’d have time for those side trips…next time. Next time.

Now, there isn’t going to be a next time.

The night that the one-term president took to the oval office desk and began to riff about the virus, about a travel ban and so on, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. March 10^th it was, ’cause, boy, it made me “tenth” all right! I told Rob about the jumble of an address that I’d just seen and said, “I think we’d better book a flight home.” (Up to that point, we’d been free-wheeling and were going to decide at a later date when to return to Victoria International Airport).

It took us days to get a flight that would accommodate Molly – WestJet had a limit on the number of pets per flight – and we finally booked our tickets for March 17^th. In that time, Rob had an exchange with an auto mechanic; the guy, who also ran a gun store (because, of course he did) said that they couldn’t keep up with the demand for ammunition. Whatever this was a sign of, it wasn’t good. And it added to that sick feeling.

We got out, we got home. And as you may know by now, we’re never going back to that house. If we’d known that, when we were packing up to come back, we’d have brought a lot more personal stuff with us – things that eventually had to be shipped to us back in Canada. But I had this feeling – I didn’t know if it would be destruction from riots or what – that when I closed that front door for the last time, I wouldn’t be returning.

Do I find myself California Dreamin’ these days? Of course I do. But the trade off has been being here in a house that’s visited by grandchildren now and is our one and only home base. Could we have imagined how this would all turn out? Well, let me remind you how, when some said that the lockdowns beginning in March “might last all summer,” we were filled with dread and disbelief.

We can wish all we want, but this is the reality until we all get vaccinated and our society begins to heal. We’ve gotten a pretty clear look at who we are: we banded together with telethons and evening pot clanging until we got sick of it. As we await our turns in line for the vaccine, we’ll do what we have to do. Plenty of people have it worse – in every way – than we do.

All we’re being asked to do is wait, stay distanced. We can do this. With this new month comes not just looking back at March of 2020, but looking ahead at March of 2021 – with the hope that accompanies spring. Baseball is back. Days are longer. And as in all things, we can do this.

Stay safe and stay smooth and I’ll be back with you Thursday.

Just a thought… Pink: Positive, Inclusive, Nurturing and Kind. [Noa Daniel @Noasbobs on Twitter]

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

This is Pink Shirt Day – an anti-bullying initiative that began in Canada and is now marked in 170 countries. I guess when you put red and white together, it really does come out pink in the wash. Or it does in mine.

What IS bullying? To put it in black and white terms, it’s someone who’s simply bigger: whether as a kid, someone bigger than you, tougher than you, in a bigger number than you…or as an adult, someone who has a bigger platform or just a louder voice, able to reach out and target you or people of your gender, colour, beliefs, clothes choices – whatever – using their size to make someone else feel smaller.

You could feel me duck when I shared news of having to let Rosie go here Monday because of what I’ve seen on the internet. Our Brooke said, “Uh-oh, here it comes” as she’s seen Facebook posts where people have begged someone to take their dog and the pile-ons that ensued. Maybe people who wanted to say something harsh to me about Rosie didn’t, because they knew that my social media are places that are generally supportive in a reciprocal way. So I know full well how lucky I am.

I also ducked, though, because in my life I’ve been wounded by the shots that have come my way. Being a seemingly strong woman in the public eye, people will criticize or judge you for your words, your appearance, your actions, without having a clue who you are or even caring to know that before they do.

But as a child, I was so often the new kid that I became a very easy target, whether for icy snow in my face from a girl who was much bigger than I, day after day…or the Yank (actually from “CanadER” thank you) in England who was called “cookie face” because I didn’t say “biscuits.” Stuff like that.

Is it like being beaten up for wearing a pink shirt, for being disabled, for having dark skin, for different beliefs or for being born gay? No. Not even a little. But it is about the imbalance of power.

And we CAN reclaim that power, eventually, if not in forgiveness, then at least perspective. I have looked back at the girl with what seemed like huge hands and endless anger, and wondered what she must have gone through at home before coming to school and seeing this new girl every day who needed her face washed out with snow. I figure kids in England saw someone different, and that made me fair game. Imagine if I’d had dark skin in that lily-white middle school.

Last year I got an email from a girl with whom I went to high school, apologizing for being mean to me. Honestly, I had let that go; knowing my name is on the wall at the school is probably that “revenge served cold” of which they speak. I didn’t know how to respond and haven’t yet.

The meanness shaped me, but fortunately not in ways it could have. I was always what people who didn’t understand my hurt called “overly sensitive” but it’s what makes me who I am. And it’s why today, and always, I will stand up for the victims.

On Pink Shirt Day we focus on teaching children a lesson that we adults need to remember. Because in 2021, the victims are also the elderly: people who are living out what could be their last days in loneliness and isolation, because others, who have their loud voices on social media, are choosing to ignore science and just live their lives as they want – to hell with the most vulnerable.

Stand up to bullies. You may not see it in the outside world, but it’s very real right here, where we are. You have a voice. And when you see anyone trying to make someone feel “less than,” remember that you could be next. Or think back: maybe you already were.

Take good care and I’ll have another vlog and journal for you on Monday.

Just a thought… The degree to which a person can grow is directly proportional to the amount of truth he can accept about himself without running away. [Olivia Carli]

If you’d like to watch a video version of this journal, it’s available on my Facebook page, or on YouTube.

Well, I don’t know how to say this, so I will just go ahead and rip off the band-aid…I made a mistake. A huge one.

Here it is: as you know, I brought a puppy into our home last November 1^st, coincidentally the day Rob almost lost a finger in a saw. So our little black and white bundle of rambunctious sweetness came into a shaky place: separate rooms at night for Rob and me while he dealt with his pain and I settled in with Rosie. Not the best start.

Then our work lives ramped up exponentially. I told you about this new third project that I’m working hard to get ready, while also doing 2 podcasts plus virtual emceeing and keynote speeches. But we worked around it; for instance, a friend came in and slept over so she could handle Rosie overnight and in the morning when I was broadcasting live on camera for 5 hours for a convention.

Although Rosie always wanted to be with me, snuffling or barking in the recording studio or jumping up to move my laptop during Zoom calls, we worked to make it work: extra food puzzles and fresh toys for each occasion, lots of walks (hopefully) to wear her out, and so on. We tried everything to keep it all in balance – a happy, healthy pup and happy, healthy work and family lives.

Rob didn’t want another dog to raise after Molly left us in September, but while he was resistant, I was persistent. In “encouraging my own fulfillment” in those wedding vows, Rob relented. I promised this was to be MY dog. I would take on the early mornings, the busy days and all of the obligations that come with the joy.

Then two accidents laid me up – I’m almost walking normally but not quite, and face some therapy going forward – and caring for Rosie fell almost entirely into Rob’s computer-laden lap. He and I are usually so in sync that it was really hard emotionally to take: he was exasperated, I felt guilty and there was a rift between us that’s not only rare but extremely strange.

And so, we – I – made a very tough call that we would have to find Rosie a happy new home – one where she’ll have all the attention and walks she needs and wants. She and I grew very attached and this has been hard – trust me, there have been tears – but I know it’s for the best for her, for me, for Rob and even our extended family, of whom we will be seeing a lot more.

Rosie’s new mom is a young retiree who lost her own little elderly fur baby in December. She’s dealt with scammers and dead ends in finding a pup, until us. She lives alone and through interviews and a socially-distanced meeting, we established that Rosie will have a good and loving home, all of the attention she deserves and plenty of much-needed exercise. And so yesterday we said good-bye to Rosie Doodles.

I know I made some big mistakes. One was plowing ahead with looking at puppies online until 2 am when Rob was asleep and couldn’t beg me not to. Another was just expecting that she’d fit into our lives, even as they got unexpectedly more complicated. None of this was fair to her. But it will be. She and her new mom will make each other very happy for years to come. We’ve given away every treat, jacket, leash and toy that we’ve collected over the past 20+ years of having a dog in our homes, and closed that chapter in our lives.

I know some people will judge me but no one can say anything I haven’t already beaten myself up with, so there’s that. I tried to fill that hole in our heart left with Molly’s passing and I did it all wrong. And I am truly sorry. I messed up in my grief – and guess what? If I know me, it won’t be the last time.

I’ll be back with you here on Thursday.

Just a thought… Alone we can accomplish many great things. Together we can change the world. [Estafania Gualalupe Estrada]

As usual, if you’d like to watch a video version of this journal, you can do so on my Facebook page or here on YouTube.

This weekend – Saturday as a matter of fact – Rob and I will mark an anniversary quietly and at home. It’s our 33rd wedding anniversary and apparently the gift is amethyst. I don’t need any gems – I married one.

On our anniversary, we recite our wedding vows. We memorized them from a booklet offered to us by the couple who married us, a Baptist minister and his Mennonite minister wife, and we have somehow managed, I guess by repeating them, to remember those words all of these years later.

But one line comes up most often in our days together: “I encourage your own fulfillment as an individual through all the changes in our lives.”

That’s been a big thread – besides the humour, which was evident when we laughed through our vows – that has held this marriage together.

When it became apparent that my career was rising higher and faster than Rob’s, he made a big step to move away from producing morning radio, and raise our daughter while I was at work. At the time, Mr. Mom was still a popular cultural movie touchstone and he heard that title a lot. He also was chided, to his face and behind his back, by people who thought that, as the husband, he would WANT to be working outside the home. As though there could be any job – even one that paid less than could cover child care – that could be better than parenting.

He turned out to be a wonderful dad and he’s an amazing grandfather. Just as I knew he would be. We’re still pinching ourselves that our daughter gave us such a beautiful, wonderful, wise and funny child, and that he’s in our lives now on such a regular basis. Out of the ashes, you could say, has grown an immense reason for joy once again.

After I left radio in 2016, I was approached to write the book I did,  Mourning Has Broken: Love, Loss and Reclaiming Joy for HarperCollins, a book about my grief in the public eye, which of course was the result of the death of our own child the previous year. This was one of the few times in our marriage that Rob and I differed on how to respond: he wasn’t sure it would be healthy for me to delve into those darkest days, while I saw it as not only about Lauren’s death, but about all of our lives, and the path through this devastating loss we had suffered.

Despite his misgivings, Rob supported me as I wrote the book – helping to fill in details, to navigate legalities and to offer editing and writing ideas on the days I drew blanks. He also led me off to bed when a day of pouring out my heart into my laptop was followed by an evening of pouring out wine into a glass. He’s been through a lot. We have – together.

Today, as we are just over one month away from Lauren’s 30th birthday, he continues to grieve quietly in a way that is different from the way that I do. I see purpose in it all and it drives me forward. On the rare days when I wonder what I’m doing any of this for, I remember that I wrote a book about reclaiming joy, so I’d better get busy reclaiming it again, dammit. It fuels me in methods that I don’t even understand. And of course, then there’s her son – his sister and family – and the ways that Lauren continues to give us life.

I cannot imagine our 33 years without our daughter, even though the pain of losing of her was enough to break up our marriage (as losing a child often does for couples) or even mean the end of our lives – together, or alone. But here we are…and it’s been amazing.

Thank you, Robbie. Happy Anniversary. Thanks for taking such good and patient care of me when I’ve been hopping along and even after I fell down four stairs last night (sober!) on my way to shoot my video journal. My legs are now a matching pair of colourful bruises – from black and blue to purple and green, I’m looking like a human Mood Ring these days. It’s been one heck of a month but you’ve been there every step of the way. Even the ones I’ve missed.

Have a gentle weekend and I’ll be back with another vlog on Monday – if I don’t stumble into a wood chipper or something.