Erin's Journals

Just a thought… When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” [Fred Rogers]

I had put my rant pants in the laundry as we get set to close up the house and come back to BC. But, if you’ll forgive me, I dug them out again, and all thanks to one tweet. One tweet. And if you’d like to rant, too, my Facebook page is wide open.

I already had one person say everyone’s going “overboard.” If she meant crazy, shopping for the apocalypse and adding bodies to crowds when we’re not supposed to gather together, she’s right. But if she’s talking about taking precautions so that the vulnerable among us don’t catch a virus that is ten times more deadly than the flu to which it’s so often compared, she’s wrong. Dead wrong.

Open a news link and read about Italy. Spain. The other European hotspots. 

Yes, the virus began elsewhere, but history will be clear: the horrific handling of the situation lies solely in the lap of the man who said to the whole world, “I take no responsibility.” The person in charge, who basically said, “The Buck Stops….way over there. Next question!” The one spreading lies about how the Obama administration handled H1N1 because everything is Obama’s fault. The one who only worried about how this pandemic was going to affect his chances at re-election and did NOTHING.

I almost deleted and re-wrote today’s journal because I thought no one needs more angst. It’s like I felt in the early days of losing Lauren: I awaken feeling just fine and then the memories of what we’re going through come and sit on my chest like a baby grand piano and I remember. This is actually happening.

As – one by one – major sports, music and family events were cancelled, I turned my thoughts to children late last week when theme parks closed down and slammed shut the dreams they’d been making for months. Then I found out just how even the most innocent statement of compassion can be a jumping-on point.

I thought of the families in those TV commercials, whose kids lost their minds when they opened their Christmas gifts to find they were going to the Happiest Place on Earth in the spring. I remembered much more modest outings with my own parents – they were few – when we counted the days before heading off to a little adventure.

I imagined, as a grandparent myself, having the fantasies of a few days of unfettered fun with Colin and Jane at a special place – a water park hotel, a magical theme park, a tropical resort with a crazy fun kids’ program – and felt my own broken heart. It’s called empathy. You probably know it, but not everyone does.

Because then, to my immense surprise, came the pile on. One came from a media person (who later tweeted that his response was “his bad” so I won’t show you his tweet), and the other from a few random tweeters who saw his and dove in.

Basically, their responses suggested we imagine, instead, trying to tell those kids their grandpa had died because of the virus and the trip they took. Others said there were much bigger concerns; Disney trips can be rebooked and it’s not like the park won’t reopen.

Did someone call Captain Obvious? I’m pretty sure I haven’t booked anything recently through him….

SHAME ON ME! I took one aspect of the coronavirus and told a small tale of what I pictured was happening in families at that moment. Children too young to understand what even a US president didn’t seem able or willing to comprehend – the deadliness of a pandemic and its consequences, big and small – who would be left without the March Break of their little dreams. That includes camps, parks, skates and other events. All totally inconsequential things to us big, mature, circumspect adults, but almost impossible to explain to a child.

I was reminded, not only of what a cesspool Twitter can be, but of how the “whatabout-isms” never, ever end. Justin Trudeau’s wife is diagnosed with COVID-19? Let’s pile on and tell her to give him a big hug so he’s sure to catch it. Let’s say we hope he dies. Let’s use social media to show who we really are – without, of course, actually using a real name or photo. Let’s just be the garbage people that a pandemic calls for. Roll up!

The ones loading up pick-up trucks with hand sanitizer to sell at exorbitant rates (and have now been prohibited by Amazon from selling them). The store managers who jack up the price of toilet paper or hand sani just to make a profit on people’s fears. The people peddling panic.

Side bar: just where did the story about needing toilet paper so desperately emanate from, you ask? My friend @lisambrandt posted that @YahooNews claims the TP panic began with a story about a shortage of material to make masks overseas. She says, “Some twits on social media decided incorrectly that it’s the same material needed for TP. It is not.” Ah. There it is.

We are, most of us, sentient beings. We are capable of caring for more than one group of people, one issue at a time. I can feel sad about children’s disappointment, and desperately sorry about people losing their grandparents because of this illness.

I can feel compassion for our prime minister and loathing for another “world leader” at the same time.

You can worry about how you’re going to go to work while your children’s daycare is shut down, while contemplating the horrific life-and-death decisions being made daily by doctors in Italy.

We can do all of these things. We can have all of these thoughts simultaneously. And we don’t need to be called out by the higher thinkers with no names and 7 digits following their twitter handle, who feel we’re monsters for not encompassing every single person, every cause, every disaster in each individual tweet.

But let’s be positive. We’re going into self-isolation when we get home this Thursday for two weeks. Rob’s going to miss playing hockey BUT WE KNOW HE’S NOT IN ICU. (His BC hockey’s been cancelled anyway, but you get the point.)

The NHL and NBA seasons are postponed BUT MOST PEOPLE CAN’T AFFORD THEIR RENT, NEVER MIND PRO SPORTS TICKETS.

Restaurants are asking people to buy gift certificates to keep them afloat and pay their employees during the pandemic BUT WHO HAS MONEY TO EAT OUT WHEN WE’RE PAYING FOR DAYCARE?

I won’t see my aunt and uncle in the days after our return BUT WE’RE NOT VISITING THEM IN A CEMETERY.

You see how stupid that all sounds? Perspective, please.

Me? I’m going to chill, continue to lie low here trying to distance myself from social media just a bit until we fly out Thursday and wonder on occasion why I don’t self-isolate from it (despite how much life it gives me to get ranty now and then).

I can’t quit you. I may even start writing more. Thanks for being here and thanks for being sane, like Steven Braverman, aka @Brittlestar, a fun follow on Twitter.

I’ll be back tomorrow with some happier news – a bit of fun you’ll want to listen to, to take your mind off the headlines, the headaches and head-scratching posts on social media.

Be well. Self-distance. Be kind. Call a neighbour or someone who’s not going out, and may need milk or just a kind voice. We can all be “the helpers” that Mister Rogers advised us to seek.

We Can Do This.

Just a thought… It’s easier to fool people than to convince them they have been fooled. [Mark Twain]

Hello from self-imposed isolation. I’m fine, I’ve just got a chest cold – nothing more, so I’m staying home. Where I caught this, I don’t know, but I’m doing my level best to make sure it doesn’t spread to someone whose immune system is compromised.

I realize I’m fortunate: I can afford to stay in and not miss work, obligations, etc.. Even with my somewhat froggy voice, I can pull off some auditions; as I knew would happen, I landed a job this week for a PBS documentary airing in Kentucky.

Fortunately, we were able to pull a few digital rabbits out of our hats and Rob and I made my voice match the pitch and sound of my original audition done last week, and it worked. But I KNEW I’d land a job as soon as this thing hit my lungs!

I’m one of the lucky ones. I haven’t got a fever and am doubtful there would be any thermometers to be found at the local Walgreens anyway. There’s always the pool thermometer, but where it would go would probably hurt. A lot.

I’m just fine. But here we are in California, which has declared a state of emergency, and in Coachella Valley, where the world-famous Coachella music festival has been postponed for six months or so.

The economic fallout from all of these cancellations has to be almost incalculable, and my heart goes out to those small business people who rely on mega events to make their annual budgets. This is a hard one on so many, no matter how you look at it.

There are the WAY bigger-picture losers, too. The cruise lines (yes, ours is still on for the fall and Gerry@newwavetravel.net is fielding calls and talking to travelers daily), the airlines and myriad other businesses dependent upon groups and crowds – the very things we’re supposed to avoid during a pandemic – are doing the best they can.

It’s hard not to be furious about the massive mishandling of COVID-19 (not the Wuhan virus or WuFlu or Chinese flu or any of the other dog-whistle names the racists are trying to put on it to stoke up more xenophobia) here in the United States.

A man who lies about the smallest and most easily verifiable things (crowd sizes, maps and weather) has all of his Faux-viewing followers believing that it’s just a hoax cooked up by the Democrats to make him look bad. I grieve for the loved ones of seniors who refuse to listen to warnings and advice that could help them stay healthy. And for the innocents around them who could catch what they’re spewing – and I don’t just mean misinformation.

Fortunately, my own father – at nearly 87 and in the bull’s-eye of the virus’ target demographic – is not one of those. But his gal pal is. When this sweet, educated woman wants to put on FOX in the evening, he picks up his phone and cane and gently says he’s going back to his room. (GO DAD!)

My take is that she is too kindhearted to believe that she could be lied to again and again by this addled reality-tv host, and that anything she sees on that propaganda-laden dumpster fire of a netquirk is simply messaging from, or for, Dear Leader.

I remember when my grandmother would talk about stories she believed that had been written in the National Enquirer, and we’d tell her they weren’t true. She’d ask, “How could they print it, then?” Ah, yes, simpler times, and ones that continue for those who swallow every story they see on Facebook or social media – hoax, lyin’ and stinker.

But now things are getting real, and fast: the NBA has suspended its season after a player for the Utah Jazz tested positive for the virus. Beloved movie icon Tom Hanks and his wife Rita Wilson, both of whom are medically compromised (he has Type-2 diabetes, she is a breast cancer survivor), have tested positive while in Australia for a movie shoot.

The pandemic is as real as the experts predicted – weeks ago. People, including many in the US government chose months ago not to believe or reveal the facts as they were presenting themselves, day by day.

Last night, after a 45-minute wait (followed by being disconnected) and then another 75-minute wait, we were finally able to change our WestJet flights and make plans to come home next week. While WestJet did waive our rebooking fee, we did end up having to pay several hundred dollars more on the new seat rates. Ouch.

But here’s why it’s worth it: we don’t want to be here if the disease gets even more rampant and the testing still isn’t being done. I’d rather be sick at home than in a foreign country, and heaven knows Trump could panic and decide more borders have to be shut. After all, he did remind everyone last night that the virus is “foreign.”

That speech from the Oval Office was it for me, and that’s when we decided to come home a month early. He knows so little and cares even less, especially about anyone or anything except his puffy bottom line. How will the virus affect his “ratings?” How will he keep up the artificially bolstered, Obama-strengthened economy that took another dive in the moments after his speech?

If you were up to watch the aftermath on TV, or read about it today, you’ll know that a number of clarifications had to be made about those few minutes of awkward reading, having to do with travel and product bans.

There’s been a lot of talk about travel from Europe being banned, except from the UK. Why the UK, people wondered? Well, a quick check online shows three reasons, and they even have names: Doonbeg, Turnberry and Aberdeen. Three Trump-branded resorts in Ireland and Scotland. Don’t you worry about the First Grifters – they’ll be fine and you can take that to bank. 

Just please, not if you’re sick.

Try to do everything you can to stay home and keep yourself and your loved ones from catching COVID-19 or anything else, for that matter. I’ll say it again for the people in the back, the ones who perhaps did not hear the announcement from the coronavirus expert and insist it’s no worse than the regular flu that kills thousands every year.

This from the Director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, and adviser to SIX previous presidents, Dr. Anthony Fauci: “It’s ten times more lethal than the seasonal flu.”

It’s not “just the flu.” Keep that flat-earth, climate-change-denying garbage out of my timelime. And if you don’t agree with me, come on over. I have a pool thermometer I’m happy to share with you, but it won’t be pleasant.

I’ll be back with you Monday. And again, except for my comfortable pajama-rant-pants, I’m fine. I hope you are, too.

Just a thought… Our biggest problems as human beings is knowing that we don’t know. [Virginia Satir]

Welcome to a brand new week. Grab that second coffee or tea, as you may just feel a little bit behind the ol’ 8 ball, having missed an hour’s sleep over the weekend.

I know that back in the days of my pre-dawn alarms going off, it took me about a week for my body clock to adjust, like taking something that’s already upside down and then shaking it around a bit – and that’s what I got.

I’m so grateful for the uninterrupted sleep I get after 30-plus years of those rude awakenings, and for the rest of my life, I will continue to say a silent thank you when the room is lit naturally when I awaken.

Still, we set an alarm yesterday so as not to miss our weekly video chat with Colin and his mom and dad (with the occasional cameo appearance from his beautiful baby sister). We’re already planning activities for our May visit and are quite literally counting the days.

Three years in, this is what reWirement is about now for Rob and for me: having joyful things to anticipate with excitement. Looking ahead instead of looking back; trying to make that “opportunity meets preparedness” saying come true and just waiting for a bit of luck to put it all in motion.

Maybe making that happen by doing dozens of auditions for voice over jobs every day, working on an interview-based podcast for a real estate association that launches next month and mulling over prospects for speaking engagements.

(Some good news there: I’m signed on a trial basis with Speakers’ Spotlight, Canada’s largest booking agency, in hopes that that turns into a long-term thing. I’m also in talks with another one as we endeavour to spread the book’s message of optimism and deciding what direction your life takes after a huge chasm breaks open.)

We can hope. We can wish. But sometimes we need our angels to come in and sprinkle their magic: those people who believe in you, aren’t afraid to hear the words “no, thanks” and then try again. I want to tell you about my friend from Vancouver Island, Nancy Wood.

She’s the person in my life who gently pushes from behind, saying, “What have you got to lose? You can do this!” The person with the voice we should always be hearing in our own heads anyway.

Nancy has reached out to a Palm Springs area library that does some amazing reading events (Rob and I tried to attend one a few weeks ago, but it was full of library patrons who’d gotten there first). So, at her behest and after she made e-introductions, we dropped off the only soft cover version of Mourning Has Broken that I have.

A box of them awaits in BC, but for now, I had just the one and I hope it’s found a good home and that I’ll be speaking at the Rancho Mirage Public Library next fall.

Nancy has also reached out to the organizers of Michelle Obama’s speech in Victoria at the end of this month, suggesting my talk for an “opening act” if you will. As you might expect, we got that dreaded two-word response, but I did put on my big girl Spanx and follow up with an offer of the code for the Youtube video of the 30 minute version of that speech. To that, I got crickets – no response at all – but I guess that’s to be expected.

It’s a lot to ask someone to watch a video and perhaps we need a shorter version. I’m new at this. And, God, I hate asking people to take time out of their day for something. I knew that feeling when I was in radio and I felt an obligation to do what they asked. But this is the real world, where people have their own agendas and, if I’m not part of them, then that’s that.

This self-promotion stuff is hard. I share the odd picture or post on social media when people send me shots of my book in stores, like this one:

(Thank you so much for this!) But I hear a voice in my head saying, What, this again? The other voice says, Well, honey, if you don’t promote it, who else will? and while the two battle it out, I just click SEND. Who knows what other angels – the Nancys out there – will see them and think, Hmm…maybe we should talk with her and hear what she has to say? We can always hope, right?

What it comes down to is this: I’m searching for a purpose. That thing in life to make me feel like you once did – full of direction and fire and excitement and butterflies. That thing that makes you know you’re doing what you’re put on this tiny blue dot to do. Getting back on that race horse.

I don’t think I was ready for this feeling to sink in, to be honest. I’m in that deeply uncomfortable place of not knowing, and while the universe keeps telling me to be patient, my mind has the horses all lined in the starting gate, bucking and twitching and ready to go.

When is the next race and where will it take me? And will that gate open again?

Perhaps the answer is this: appreciate the beauty of the day and be grateful for the life that brought me to where I am today – whether the words “and they’re off!” are ever heard again.

I can try.

Have a beautiful day. And if you’re looking for me, I’ll be the terrified, unusually tall jockey with the number 8 on her silks, Depends in her breeches and riding a horse called Angel. (Thanks, Nancy!)

Just a thought… It’s what you learn after you know it all that counts. [Harry S. Truman]

There are a lot of things I don’t understand; the internet has only just taught me how many things. Used to be you could say something and be pretty sure that you were right. Now there are people who are more than willing to call you on it. And I’m grateful. I love to learn. Here are two examples.

First: a word. I have been known to use the word “empathic” a lot, especially in my keynote speech, Reclaiming Joy (a video version of which is now available upon request for those wishing to hear it in person and possibly book me to speak).

The context is that I used to consider myself empathic, but after losing Lauren, my heart was blown wide open to so…much…more understanding, sympathy and empathy to those who suffer. It’s a good thing. A happy side-effect to an awful event.

But I hear a lot of people use the word “empathetic” and I wondered: have I been wrong all along? Or is it one of those things that’s just evolved in our language and I’m holding on for the wrong reasons?

Thank you to @ToriBarron13 who gave me what I think is the perfect explanation:

So, while I’m not an empath, I can be empathetic. And I’ll be changing the way I use that word from now on. Thanks, Twitter!

Now to this.

I’ve been visiting a lot of public places lately. As I tweeted a while back, my super power is flushing toilets that have been left unflushed.

To date, I can happily tell you that nothing has jumped out of the bowl to eat my arm. I think that people are careless because we’re so used to self-flushing commodes now, and many just get up and go, after they’ve sat down and gone. It doesn’t trouble me. I’m not five years old.

But then we get to these things. (It’s a picture from the internet because I haven’t wanted anyone to hear the sound of my phone taking a picture in a bathroom stall.)

The automatic seat cover that whirrrrrs with the touch of a button (or better yet, without the touch of a button) to replace one bit of plasticky film with another. I have about a million questions about these things, but I’m going to start with just a handful.

1. WHY?

2. WHYYY?

3. Do you change the cover before you go, after you go, or both?

4. Is there some kind of etiquette?

5. Do these things supposedly prevent disease, pregnancy or pee and flush splashes from the previous occupant from getting on your bum and legs?

6. Did anyone in history ever get a disease on their bum and legs that came from a toilet seat?

7. And finally….WHHHHYYYYYY?

Do you use an automatic cover when you encounter it? How about those tissue paper ones? And again, why? Do you use them at home? Do you have someone who comes and wipes the seat for you before you go? How about after?

I just don’t get this. There’s too much being flushed into our sewage systems that doesn’t belong there; I’m looking at you, so-called “flushable wipes” and those who toss their dental floss down there, too, effectively crippling water treatment plant equipment like a dense rope around the prop of a ship.

I’m not judging and once someone can explain the ins and outs (if you will) of these toilet seat covers, I think I’ll have a little more understanding the next time I encounter those automatic plasticky seat sheets and the paper ones that are just tossed and, yes, often not flushed – something else I witness when I push open the door of a public restroom’s stall to exercise my super power.

Again, so many things I don’t know. YES there are bigger issues today and this is the classic “First World Problem.” But forgive me, friend, I just had to get that off of my…chest.

And yes, I know, wash your hands. As I tweeted yesterday, I promise not to touch my face 77 times a day if you promise to compliment me on my new goatee.

Just a thought… We live in a world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open. [Jawaharial Nehru]

Welcome to March! What a wonderful thing it is to have visitors: they make us go out and see our own surroundings, and take little trips that we so often don’t make without an “excuse.” (How many Torontonians have visited Niagara Falls without out-of-town guests?) Life is so much more interesting when we live it as sightseers. And we did just that on Saturday.

A few minutes’ drive from our home is a place called Sunnylands, in nearby Rancho Mirage. Built in the 1960s by Walter and Leonore Annenberg, of TV Guide and other publications’ fame, the sprawling 200-acre estate has hosted every US president since it opened (except LBJ and Trump) for social as well as state visits and casual conferences.

For this reason, Sunnylands has been dubbed “Camp David of the West.” Built with hospitality in mind, the home, with its 9-hole golf course, pool and myriad dining and sitting rooms, is a post-modern design marvel of its time, but not out of date.

When you enter Sunnylands – free for those wishing to walk, do Tai Chi or yoga on the lawn or just enjoy the peaceful vistas – you are immediately taken with openness and views of the visitors’ centre.

Works of Canadian Indigenous father and son Stan and Jason Hunt (from our home of Vancouver Island) are on display for a limited time. And they’re spectacular.

We also enjoyed the painting and sculptures of musician, producer and business mogul Herb Alpert (of Tijuana Brass and A&M records fame). We had no idea the man was as talented with a brush and his hands as he is with a trumpet.

Prior to our house tour (a $49 per person ticket that is worth every cent and which is best purchased in advance) we watched a film about Sunnylands’ history, as well as the couple’s philanthropy and support of the arts, then enjoyed a walk through surrounding gardens, and their early pre-spring blooms.

Our guests (or is it hosts, since they booked and paid for our tickets?), Rob and I joined three other people and boarded a shuttle for a fact-filled and fascinating tour of the actual 25,000 square foot Annenberg home. A circular drive, accented by a replica of a pillar from Chichen Itza, provides the perfect appetizer for the feast behind two massive doors.

Tourists are prohibited from taking pictures inside the home for security purposes, since it continues to play host to world and business leaders on a regular basis. But here are shots of the home’s foyer and living room, from sunnylands.org and The Wall Street Journal, respectively.

A sharp eye may spot the Eve statue in the centre of the photo below; yes, it’s a Rodin original. The walls are lined with copies of the Annenbergs’ Picassos, Van Goghs and Monets, currently on loan to galleries. But there’s plenty to admire, just the same.

Outdoors, a pool situated to take advantage of golf and mountain views invites guests to take a dip. Just not us. We were not to touch or sit upon anything in or outside of the house – and I get that. It would take one person with gum on their pants or moisturizer on their hands to ruin an overstuffed chair or such priceless treasures as centuries-old sculptures or hand-painted sunflower curtains.

We toured the kitchens, Mrs. Annenberg’s bedroom, a few of the guest suites (all of which are named for cheery colours) and the vast rooms set up for entertaining groups, both large and intimate.

From Frank Sinatra and Barbara Marx (whose wedding was held in front of the fireplace in the living room pictured above) to Bob Hope, Gregory Peck and Kirk Douglas, countless celebrities have enjoyed Sunnylands’ hospitality.

Queen Elizabeth, Prince Philip and Princes Charles are among royalty who’ve paid a visit; every US president from Richard Nixon to Barack Obama (for whom a 90″ TV was brought in so he could follow March Madness basketball action) has stayed a night or two, or even longer.

One could spend a day simply perusing the photos in the office/library where Ronald Reagan watched Mikael Gorbachev’s televised announcement to the US people about the dismantling of the Berlin Wall. Holiday cards from the world’s who’s who are kept on display.

Elsewhere, the specially-branded golf balls of those luminaries whose shots ended up in lakes have also been preserved for posterity! Rather than play nine, I’d rather just watch the fun from this pool, thanks.

Today, the estate of the late ambassadors – they are to date the only couple to have both served their country in the role – is managed by a board and foundation that includes the Annenbergs’ surviving children, and which continues to donate huge amounts of money to worthy causes.

Closed for more than half of the year to the public, the estate plays host to think tanks and conferences meant to bring leaders of opposing parties and differing views together to work out their differences for the betterment of the world.

Sunnylands: a beautiful cause, a beautiful space and a beautiful day spent with friends enjoying a true gem of the Coachella Valley.

I’ll be back Thursday.