Erin's Journals

Just a thought… Optimism isn’t a belief that things will automatically get better; it’s a conviction that we can make things better. [Melinda Gates]

If I titled these journals, which I don’t, I think I’d call it “My Life in a Gift Bag.”

As we continue to sort and donate (including to DeclutterforDiabetes.ca – details in a video tomorrow on their weekend pickups all summer), I found myself on Saturday in the laundry room, knee-deep in piles of gift bags.

About three-quarters of them were Christmas bags: some had been labelled and relabelled, some used only once. A few had the store-attached labels on them filled out, but most were in good or fair condition.

I piled them according to their destination: new condo (see last week’s journal here if you missed the story of why and where), donation pile, and garbage or recycling. Here are a few favourites that made the “condo” pile. Bought these ones full price – and you know how rare that can be in these dollar store days!

As I posted on FB Saturday, someone needs to stage an intervention the next time I find myself carefully peeling off a label and tucking that bag away. And then I wondered what it is about gift bags that tells me something about myself, and I figured it out: it plays perfectly into the whole idea of who I am.

I am, as I’ve often said here, the kid digging in the pile of manure who’s sure there’s a pony in there somewhere. I have this uncanny (and often unfounded) sense of optimism that is enough to drive Rob crazy: when the Amazon truck comes, I think it might be a gift. When someone arrives at the door, I wonder if perhaps it’s flowers.

I think that the reason I hold on to the bags is because I am always expecting happy events: ones where you would give a gift to someone you love. Maybe there’d be one in return – it doesn’t matter. My outlook is often disgustingly, impossibly cheery.

Then there’s the other part of saving bags. When I took the time to read some of the labels, to make sure that I wasn’t donating ones that had someone’s writing on them, I was taken back to family events of 10, 15 years ago: there was the name of nieces with whom we haven’t shared a Christmas in that long a time, a bag for my aunt (how I ended up with the bag, I’m not sure, but I’m pretty good at squirrelling them away before the recipient knows they’re missing) and, of course, the labels on which we’d written our late daughter’s name.

One very small one had a sticker on it upon which I’d written “Open Me Last.” Was it her “big” gift that year? A cellphone, perhaps? A message that told her where to go look for a surprise gift that wasn’t under the tree? I couldn’t recall and wish that I could. Or maybe not.

As our family Christmases likely come to an end this year (we’ll probably go east in the fall for birthdays and Thanksgiving) I wonder about whether we’ll be somewhere warm for the holidays, if Rob takes hockey retirement or a hiatus. I can’t picture anything beyond trying to get the house ready for listing right now, but time will march on, as it tends to do.

As with all things in life, we don’t know what lies ahead: what challenges, what changes – and always – what gifts.

So I’ll pack away a few and hope to fill them with the ideas of happy moments that still lie ahead. Memories yet to be made, for many years to come. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a pony to find.

Just a thought… Your life does not get better by chance. It gets better by change. [Jim Rohn]

Wow! Who knew at this age I could find a NEW addiction? Turns out it’s selling on FaceBook Marketplace. Now, I have my challenges: for one thing, I have several FB accounts (public, family only, the old one that anchors them all – don’t ask) so I have trouble getting in and out of the selling spot, but I have mostly figured it out and it’s working! We’ve been selling pieces of furniture of all sizes, most of which we moved from Ontario and have rarely used as they lived in the basement.

You know, stuff like that. And then there was this glistening antique table with flaps that fold down to make it super narrow; the perfect piece of furniture in a not-overly-roomy house years ago. It, too, sat unused downstairs here in BC and then made its way into the apartment down there as a desk. It sold too (a real bargain at $200).

But here’s the “eek” story we were told when we bought this from an antique dealer on Bayview or Mount Pleasant in Toronto: in its previous life, it was a coroner’s table. Thus the flaps that dropped at the sides. So I told the lady who bought it, “If you cook as badly as I do, it won’t be the worst thing that table has seen!” She laughed…and believe me, I sussed her out before telling her that story. Didn’t want to sink the sale!

Speaking of sunken sales, after a really good yard sale day on Saturday (the neighbourhood is allowed one per year) I had a really bad experience with a Facebook Marketplace customer. I’ll fill you in on Thursday’s Episode 70 of Gracefully & Frankly. I have to get to another topic here now.

All of this sales talk is to tell you that we are leaving this glorious quiet neighbourhood with its views of mountains, oceans, deer, flowering trees and, yes, Victoria International airport’s comings and goings for a place with ocean and a marina and restaurants out our windows.

As we did when we left Ontario in 2016, we weren’t just going to let unfortunate life changes come without taking control and writing a new chapter. So Rob and I have purchased a condo overlooking the ocean in nearby idyllic Sidney-by-the-Sea. It’s walkable, so much more cycle-able than up here on the mountain, and closer to our friends, now that family is moving away.

Did we consider moving to Ontario? That would seem a no-brainer, but not even for a moment. We both want to live out our days in British Columbia, surrounded by natural beauty (and yes, we know our home province has plenty of that, too) and serenity. What we couldn’t do is stay in a home where three bedrooms had been designated for children to sleep and play in; the sadness of our situation was not going to singe us, so we moved through the flames and found a new place to grow old(er). Top floor, great views, next door neighbours we already know (!) and just a super friendly, liveable location. Although, I will have to stop walking the dogs in the dark in my pyjamas, lest people recognize me for the crazy lady I actually am.

We take possession in a month and haven’t even listed our house yet. I don’t know how we’re going to get through the next month-and-a-half, but when we left Toronto, we had two places to sort, clear out and move (condo and cottage) so we’ve done this before. We have a storage unit and stuff is going in there before the house pictures are taken. I’d like to say it’s our last move, but we said that about the house we so love that we’re in right now. So we’ll see.

Yes, we’re busy. Thankfully, for what we don’t sell or choose to donate, DeclutterforDiabetes.ca is starting regular weekend drop-offs as of May 4. I’ll tell you more about that soon – and again, wish us luck!

Just a thought… The whole time, I was looking for someone to grow old with, until I found the one I wanted to stay young with. [@kirkdiedrich on @threads.net]

Welcome, and thank you for being here today. Especially today.

I stumbled upon that quote on Threads last week and it took my breath away. I mean, here we are with Rob entering a new decade and me nine years behind him and I’m fighting off fear of living without my partner, the one I want to stay young with.

The highlight of our 10-day birthday trip to Henderson, Nevada, outside Vegas, was not a Royal Flush or Four Deuces; it was my absolute ace of a former co-host who flew down from Toronto for four days and made us laugh almost every minute. Bless friends like Mike Cooper, who, like us, has had his share of life’s greatest highs and deepest lows, yet keeps smiling and laughing. We are so truly blessed. (And if you missed the hilarious video and outtakes in last week’s blog, see it here.)

My news now turns darker as we share a development we’ve literally been running away from. In about six weeks, our grandkids and their parents are returning to the city where Colin and Jane were born, where Phil and Brooke met and married, and where our Lauren left this life: Ottawa. Having given it four years here, they’ve decided that they need to go back and start again after their lives were disrupted by Covid and then enhanced by family (us) in BC; back to parents, cousins and friends, school walkability and job opportunities.

More astute followers of my FB posts and journals here probably sensed that I’ve had some less-than-cheery days over the last few months, and you’d be right. So, this is why I’m focussing on letting go. Just for the record, we will not be going with them back to Ontario. Our life is now in BC.

However, coming to terms with losing this family has once again dragged us through the jagged stages of grief we endured nine years ago. But as our therapist pointed out to us about this upcoming change, “You’ve survived worse.” And he’s right.

But here’s where I’m going to ask you this kindness.

Our therapist is allowed to remind us of what we’ve survived; no one else is. Just as I have said repeatedly that at least are two words one never relays to someone in grief (even out of the kindest motives) Rob and I are not in a place to receive gladly the reminders of what we should be grateful for. Don’t worry, we know.

As we did so at Lauren’s funeral in May 2015, now I can list some of the newer “at leasts” that we know:

• we had four of the best years of our grandkids’ lives, shared just a six-minute drive from our house. Sleepovers with Grama and Toot were a regular event to which we all looked forward

• Rob got to teach both kids skating, we showed Colin how to ride a bike, and tutored both kids in how to endure being a Leafs fan

• we were able to take them on road trips big and small: to cabins and amusement parks, restaurants and local wonders

• we shared hours of silliness, teaching them games and making the most of outdoor play 12 months of the year

• we listened attentively to their ideas and feelings, their thoughts and opinions, and we got the opportunity to know these amazing little humans, maybe even helping to shape them along the way.

We. Made. Memories. Christmases and birthdays, holidays and ordinary days. And they will not forget Grama and Grandad Banana (aka Toot). We know all of these things.

Finally, let me share a few dreaded “at leasts” that we don’t need to hear:

• You can always visit, at least it’s not (put faraway country here)

• There’s always FaceTime and Zoom

• You’re lucky even to have grandkids

We know, we know, we know. The list could go on and on, but it won’t. We’re done feeling deeply disappointed and sorry for ourselves: we realized and said out loud to them that the kids weren’t doing this to us but for them. The heart doesn’t always hear what the brain is saying, though, and this will take time.

But you know me – I don’t sit in sadness for long. I push through to find it where I can. So next week here I’ll tell you what Rob and I are doing to control what we can change, accepting what we can’t, always with gratitude.

I guess the quote about staying young with the ones we love doesn’t only apply to a life partner, does it?

Hello – and Happy Eclipse Day! May this not be the most disappointing four minutes in Niagara Falls since it was the Honeymoon Capital of the World!

Okay, I have a VERY special friend with me here on vacation. You remember him from our radio days in Toronto (I hope), so enjoy this video (with outtakes) of Mike Cooper and me. We had a terrific time and I guarantee, so will you!

Just a thought… When you lose, don’t lose the lesson. [Dalai Lama]

Well hello, gentle reader – I hope it’s been a refreshing long Easter weekend for you and that you’ve caught your breath, getting ready for this new month of April with all of its ups and downs, including switching from heat to A/C and back to heat in the course of one drive.

This week Rob and I will be taking off on a birthday adventure for my boy, who’s turning an impossible-to-believe 70 years old this Thursday the 4^th.

Here he is after winning the “coveted” Golden Sieve Award at a hockey tournament a few weeks back. While he was humble in accepting it, I was just so proud of Robbie. Best goalie; forever keeper of my heart.

I had hoped to whisk him away for a romantic couple of days in Banff or something equally magical, but then I stopped and actually listened to what he wanted for this milestone: to return to Henderson, Nevada, and stay for ten days of mindless fun.

I’ve told you here before that we prefer Vegas-adjacent Henderson to the excitement of the strip and now we have even more reasons: hotels are actually charging for parking there, plus there are fewer of the nickel machines on which we like to play our video poker. Perhaps best of all, our dear friend (and my former radio partner) Mike Cooper is flying in for a few days to laugh with us, cry with us (not over losing) and just enjoy each other’s company. Rob is over the moon with excitement. And of course, so am I.

What I am decidedly not excited about is once again giving WestJet our travel money: in January we were waylaid for eight hours and our itinerary altered to include a few hours’ sleep in Edmonton before six of us, including two children, flew on to our family vacation in California. We appealed to WestJet to reimburse us the money we lost, even if only on the accommodations and wasted day of car rental and they have not only declined our request (twice), but have closed the file, telling us to take it to the snail-paced government body that handles these things.

I posted about my disappointment with our former favourite carrier last week on social media, having exhausted all otherwise civilized means of seeking compensation. People in general were helpful with their suggestions (one said that he moved up about four spots in the government appeal line-up over the span of months, so really, why bother?) and someone else brought up small claims court. (If we were at all litigious, we’d have sued ourselves into financial oblivion over Domperidone being prescribed off-label for nursing mothers, a practice which we believe may have killed our daughter.)

Honestly, though, I was more disappointed than anything: we really thought WestJet would come through and do the right thing. But as much as passengers’ rights are being touted these days, it seems we’re seeing less and less proof of them. Like so many other carriers, WestJet simply doesn’t care. That’s not including so many of their kind employees; we’ve all had a lot of really positive experiences with them. But once again, as in the case of so many corporations who have lost their perspective on the importance of customer service, WestJet has just given us the equivalent of the middle finger. Twice.

So this Thursday we’re hoping that the airline treats us decently in our direct flight to Harry Reid International. We just want to get there with our one suitcase apiece (no carry-on for 10 days, thanks) and arrive the same day we’re picking up Cooper at the airport. Why give WestJet yet another chance to foul up our plans? We live on Vancouver Island, and it’s the only airline that offers a direct flight to LAS. You grab those when you can.

One other note: many who responded, some more kindly than others, reminded us of the importance of travel insurance. During Covid, and at times when we were worried about having to cut short trips due to family matters, we would buy it; now, being healthy and unconcerned with external worries, we don’t pay the extra money because we figure WE will be fine. But a plane losing engine functionality when it taxis out to the runway and has to turn back, leaving us to wait eight hours for another flight? That wasn’t on our Bingo card in January.

Turns out it should have been. No more booking travel without insurance, ever. Lesson learned.

For a happy ending, please enjoy a brand new Drift tomorrow night as I introduce you to a story from L. Frank Baum (of Wizard of Oz fame) called The Sea Fairies. And on Thursday, Lisa Brandt and I promise you a brand new Episode 67 of Gracefully and Frankly. Do give them a listen if you have time; I promise they’re worth the 30 minutes (each) and can almost guarantee satisfaction – no insurance needed.

New journal (with Cooper pics, I promise) next Monday!