Wednesday already.  You have to love a work week that starts on a Tuesday!  I was ready to raise a glass of 1% to Dalton McGuinty yesterday but then Rob reminded me of the thousands upon thousands in extra taxes that his HST has cost us on our building project up north, and I put down my glass.  Boo.  Still, I'm thankful for that Family Day.  I'm still coasting on the good vibrations and that's something we can all use.

Speaking of which, we have a guest on the show today who's with a United Church in Pickering.  He posted on CHFI's Facebook site yesterday about what his congregation is doing for the 40 days of Lent, which begin today: it's called 40 Acts and sounds something like "paying it forward".  What a wonderful idea - can't wait to hear more.  Wouldn't it be great to get kids in schools - separate and public schools alike - to take part in this?  I love it.  A way to bring lessons about beliefs and morals into your everyday life.  Putting words and thoughts into action.

Yesterday, of course, was Fat Tuesday (or as I call it, Tuesday) - also known as Pancake Tuesday.  We did indeed have pancakes, plus peameal bacon and some fruit salad, all washed down with a nice glass of cold milk.  Fantastic!  I can't tell you the last time I had pancakes at any time of day, so it was a treat.

So much better than what I spotted during a visit last week to one of our favourite healthy haunts, The Big Carrot on the Danforth.  I had to shoot this, and threaten Rob with it for our Pancake Tuesday dinner.

I can promise you, had those been the pancakes I tried to serve, the next thing served would have been divorce papers from Rob to me.  Aw honey, you'd shouldn't have!

Have a great day and we'll be back with you tomorrow.  Thanks for coming by.  Do NOT give this up for Lent, okay?

Erin

Welcome to a brand new, short work week.  And Pancake Tuesday at that!  Tomorrow, a picture of how I threatened to ruin the day (the dinner, actually) - but for today, how we marked our 24th wedding anniversary Monday.  In a word: quietly.

With the maelstrom of emotions and activity over the past three weeks in our lives, just about the last thing we had the time or inclination to do was go out to celebrate, or perhaps pick up a trinket for each other.  It's not taking the other for granted when you can awaken and say your wedding vows to each other (as we have since the first day we stumbled and laughed over them in a small downtown Toronto church house); we just needed not to have to do anything - if that makes any sense

After an extremely quiet Friday and Saturday, we decided on Sunday to venture into the Independent grocery store in Beaverton for a few supplies and found ourselves discussing anniversary cards.  And that's when the idea struck us: rather than go and buy each other a card that would be read, reread and then recycled, we'd do something a little crazy but kind of clever (we thought).  We made our way to the card section of the store and chose a card to give to each other.  Then we exchanged the cards, read them, (I) got a little misty and we said, "Thank you."  Here's the one that Rob chose for me, and which I agreed I liked best for him, too.

The cover looks like this:

Then you open it and it says this...

...and this...

We said, "Awwww," put it back in the rack, and in so doing, we saved $4.99 (each).  Sorry, Hallmark.

Okay - it wasn't about saving the money, but we did have to laugh at having invented a new way to budget for your special occasions.  Sure, I wouldn't trade for anything the hand-written messages inside the birthday and Christmas cards my mom has sent me in past years (which, despite my purging nature, I am grateful to say I have held on to), but in the case of our annivesary number 24, neither of us could have asked for anything more.

Yes, that rhymed.  Count that as a bonus card, Rob!  Have a lovely day and we'll be back with you tomorrow.  And don't forget your pancakes!

Erin

Welcome in to today's journal - for Thursday and Friday this week.  I apologize and hope it's the last disruption to either your reading or listening habits for a good long time, but I have booked Friday off and hope you'll understand.  S'all good in the neighbourhood, friend, and I'll be back with you Tuesday.

In the meantime, I have a few notes to share with you.  I had hoped by now to have answered all of the kind letters of condolence that came into my inbox over the past two weeks, but my internet provider has had other plans for me.  It's painfully slow answering work e-mails from home or at the cottage (or, if I dare complain, while I'm in the car - safely from the passenger's seat, of course) so if you've written and haven't heard back, my apologies.

There are a couple of e-mails in particular that I've highlighted to share with you.  The second, from Patricia, filled my heart with both great joy and sadness when I read it, and I hoped you'd maybe take something from it, too.  But first, here's what Davin wrote to me.

She began with kind words of condolence and support.  And then:

I lost my mom 17 months after my dad was killed by a drunk driver.  The doctors said that grief took the best of her health even though she was on dialysis.  These two losses were huge for my family as my dad died in the middle of one summer and mom died on boxing day the next year.

Our family's way of remembering our parents: we have adopted 3 hospitals in the Kitchener Waterloo Cambridge Area.  On Christmas morning my family and I together with my sister's family serves coffee and pastries to the hospital staff on duty.  This little gesture on our part has made a difference as this demonstrates how we appreciate them for the work they do for the sick.  This really keeps my parents' memory alive.  We have been doing this for 6 years now.  My next step is to start a campaign to get families in a similar situation to ours to adopt a hospital and do the same in hospitals in their area.  I hope I can get this going this year as it really helps my family heal.

Dear Erin, This poem was sent to me when my mother passed away.  I hope that it can offer you and your family some measure of comfort.  I especially like the line that begins, I would study the sky...  Perhaps that will be you at your cottage, very soon.  Here's the poem:

If I should awaken to find the world without you in it,
The sun never would shine again so brightly for me,
But I would go on.
If I should be forced to manage in the singular instead of plural,
I would do so.....
But not without great fear in the prospect of proceeding alone.
If I should suffer the agony of your death, and survive the insult,
I would sense your pride in my ability to walk the path that I have been given.
If I should find myself alone in the darkness of the night,
I would study the sky to find the star you glow through and feel you close to me and I would go on.
If I should find myself immobilized by my loss,
I would reach out to those around me for the comfort your presence can no longer give,
And accept what refuge is offered.
If I should find in time, that my thoughts of you no longer render a gaping well of sorrow,
I will know your unseen hand has guided me to this place of comfort.
And I will go on.
And if I should Blessedly grow into a life of contentment,
In a world without you in it, I will know, at last, that grace walks with me,
As I go on.

Can you think of a more perfect piece of writing on which to end a week focussing on love and Valentines?  I sure couldn't.  Have a wonderful weekend and thank you for coming by.  We'll talk with again on Tuesday.

Erin

Wednesday already - halfway through the work week and more than halfway through February.  Have you made Family Day plans yet?  Yes, there's a holiday Monday on the way (thank you, Dalton McGuinty).  We haven't got anything special on the agenda, just hoping for a quiet weekend together.  We'd love some time with daughter Lauren, of course, but she's five hours down the highway and busy with her and Phil's own lives.  So, R&R&R (the third R is "Rob") it is.  Our anniversary falls on the holiday, so that's kind of nice.  When we chose February 20th, never would we have imagined that would happen!

Our Valentine's Day included a visit from an electrician (and, no, not to get the sparks flying in the bedroom, although that IS where the problem was).  Something went wrong (a break in a wire and subsequent short) and it meant our master bedroom was fairly dark in the hours leading up to a first condo showing at 11 am.  But a friendly fellow with gloves and know-how arrived at 10 am and got things fixed in time.  Then we took off for a few hours; our plans to go north were thwarted by some two words: freezing drizzle, and we thought better of it.

Instead, we took Pepper and Molly for a much-needed late-winter grooming.  I walked them the four blocks or so to the little spot on Church Street that does them so well, but I had a bit of a revelation on the way back home without them.  It looks kind of strange to be carrying a tell-tale black poo bag when you're not actually walking dogs.

Just something to ponder.  It may never happen to you, but in case it does - you've been forewarned!

We did a little driving around, grateful that the rain/snow mix finally gave us an excuse for our filthy car.  Don't you hate going to a car wash this time of year - no matter how badly you need it - 'cause you know within a day or two it'll all be for naught?

Anyway, had a comforting lunch of clam chowder and fish at Olde Yorke Fish & Chips on Laird.  Sweet, sunny Jane was our server - say "hi" to her if you're ever in.  Rob even had himself a tiny little Guinness - isn't that adorable?  Reminded me of the old days and baby-sized root beers at A & W.  

Oh, and here's a smile for you.  We were both so tired after our little outing and lunch that we went back to our parking garage, turned off the car, reclined the seats and slept until we got the phone call (amazingly, with one bar's service underground) that the second showing had finished.  Yes, we napped for an hour in the car.  When does life get normal again? LOL

Have a good one - and we'll talk again tomorrow.

Erin

Happy Valentine's Day - whether you celebrate this day with a card or a phone call, a hug or a "meh" - I hope that you are loved.  By a partner, a spouse, a child, a parent - even a pet - may there be someone in your life who makes your heart beat just a little bit faster, simply for knowing that they're there for you.

My heart rate got good and ramped yesterday when, after a brief post-show nap, I'd gotten up to start primping the apartment for a 12:45 pm showing.  While Rob made his  way home from his weekly hockey game, my job was to turn on lights, fluff pillows, leash up the pups and make us all scarce before the agent and her clients came to the door.

With fifteen minutes to go - or so I thought - I heard a bit of a rattle at our condo door.  For some reason, I'd had the foresight to put the security arm on the door (those things that flip across in hotel rooms, to add a slight delay to the entry process) and I could hear a woman's voice.

Thankfully, I'd gotten fully dressed, even if the makeup was only about half reapplied, when I heard her.  I rushed to the front door and breathlessly made my apologies about not quite being ready, but inviting them to please enjoy the party room or a tour of the exercise facilities on the main floor!  And off they went.  (Turns out the showing actually was at 12:30; their agent was right, the confusion was on our end).

As I hastily pulled the still-warm bed together and flicked on every light in the place, I hurriedly called Rob and told him, "Change of plans!  They're already here!"  But he was in the elevator on his way up.

Considering the fact the place has been on the market less than two weeks and we've had about twenty showings, it's remarkable that we've only had this one mishap.  The couple was coming in for the second time; we heard from our agent that an offer from one of the interested parties would be forthcoming, but that the husband and wife were not exactly in agreement about the place.  I get that.

I get that our place is not an easy sell: not one of the rooms has four 90 degree angles and we, ourselves, had to see it at least four times before we could get our heads around where furniture would go.  But it's a great spot for the right family, and they'll find it.  Maybe today: there are two more showings.

Although it makes for an early day tomorrow (up at 2:50 am) and a long day today, we're going to leave town and not have to deal with playing hide-and-go-seek with potential buyers.  Let's hope the snow stays at bay and we catch a break somewhere this month.

Happy Valentine's Day and remember: whether you hold disdain for February 14th and its Hallmark sentiment (although I'm a fan of Carlton's offerings these days), be thankful to be loved.  And can I just suggest this: don't miss a chance every day to tell the object of your affection just what's in your heart.  You never know how much time you have.

Erin

No matter who we are, what tax bracket we're in, whether we're on the front page of a magazine or in the front seat of a bus, our lives - with few exceptions (although obviously there are some) - come down to one word: choice.  Choice is how you play the cards you've been dealt.  Choice is taking that first taste, that first toke, taking that step down the aisle, taking that job, taking that advice.  While we may have no choice when it comes to illness (unless it's because of lifestyle choices - smoking, lethargy, overeating, over-indulging in anything) we do get to choose how we deal.  And that's what makes me so angry and sad as I write today's journal.

I had to keep reminding myself of that word "choice" yesterday, as the news of Whitney Houston's death just wouldn't sink in.  I wondered why I felt shock, when her downward spiral had begun a full twenty years earlier as drug use began to damage her voice, her supermodel looks and her image.

Even in more recent years, we'd seen her on Oprah, about to embark on an ultimately doomed comeback tour.  We saw her trying to present a facade of strength, but too many signs that her protestations and promises of being clean, sober and ready to take on the world were not exactly the truth.  At least, that's what I saw in that two-part interview.  I remember it - and how I felt watching it - so clearly.  I felt I was being lied to (don't ask me how) and that Oprah was complicit in it for airing this tragedy two days straight.  I remember coming in and asking the guys if they believed a minute of it.  Maybe I was just too skeptical.

Online yesterday, plenty of people blamed her husband.  As one person tweeted: "Yes, there's a lesson in Whitney Houston's death: don't marry Bobby Brown."  But as much blame as people will lay on him - and there's no question that her descent did coincide with her marriage to the singer - she chose him.  She married him.  She had a daughter with him, and Bobbi Christina should be remembered by those who will lambaste her father publicly.  That's still her parent, even if he was on stage Saturday night in Massachusetts instead of at their daughter's side.  That, too, was his choice.  And yesterday she was taken to an LA hospital, reportedly suffering the effects of stress.  Let's hope it wasn't some failed and misguided attempt to join her mother.

Whether you were a fan or not - and for many of us, her voice provided the soundtrack to a good chunk of some of the best years of our lives - there is indeed a lesson in the life and tragic, untimely death of Whitney Houston: no matter who you are, it's about choice.  Once addiction takes hold and strangles away your ability to choose, you'd better hope to have someone with a strong heart and a strong foot to boot you back to the right path.  By many accounts, that strength could have come from Whitney's mother Cissy, who tried countless times to help her daughter.  But as we all know from someone in our lives, you cannot help someone who won't let you help them.  You have to choose to take that step.

It's a waste - a huge waste - of a talented, beautiful woman who at one time truly had the world in her hand.  She wadded it up, threw it away and left those who loved her music, and the legacy she leaves behind, crumpled in the aftermath.

Erin

What the heck - I'm going to put this picture in today's journal again.  Just 'cause I want to.

If you missed our segment at 7:20 yesterday morning, I told the story of mom's passing and sprinkled the tale with a few laughs, and some very real moments.  One of those involved her heart that - as Celine Dion would sing - did go on.  And on.

We were fortunate that the health centre in which mom rested, after her brain aneurysm rendered her brain dead on Wednesday night, allowed her to remain on life support until her daughters - at least three of us - could gather at her side for her departure one week ago today.  We listened to the strains of her favourite music on Dad's iPod - everything from the Carpenters to her dad's band's theme song, "Now is the Hour" - and eventually, the hour did come to say good-bye, just as the song said.  We left the room as a nurse removed her breathing tube.  And then we returned to wait.

And wait.

An episode of Grey's Anatomy that I watched on my iPad on the plane helped prepare me for what happens when support is cut off, and we knew that it could be a matter of hours, not just minutes.  The heartbeats per minute which had sat (comfortably, to me at least) at 98, now began to slow.  Eventually - about 50 minutes after she was left to her body's own devices, the monitor's count showed 0.  No beeping or tones (they'd been turned off); just a number.  We held hands, tearfully said good-bye and began to gather up our crumpled tissues, coats, music and so on.

But wait!  Her heartbeat returned - up it jumped to 30.  Again, we hugged and held her, the tears and words of love flowed, and we waited until the number again dropped to 0.

With another good-bye, we resumed our clean up for departure so that the nursing staff could clear her room.  But...no...that heart started up again.  This time, it started after I rubbed her arm and kissed her cheek.  And that's when the nurse told me that this is not such an unusual occurrence; merely touching each other, we transfer energy and electricity.  It could well be that we were starting her heart.

And then there's that little piggy that could...the heart valve that she'd gotten five years ago that simply wasn't ready to stop.  And no wonder - it still had another 15 years on it - or so we all hoped.

Five times her heart stopped and then restarted.  And it wasn't until listener Marie wrote to me yesterday and pointed out that we'd placed five roses on Mom's bed (one for each daughter and her best buddy, Dad) and that's why her heart came back five times.

Ah, whatever it was, it made for a story that - as Dad said when we left the room - was "one for the blog".  We know that, given a choice, she'd have never left us behind, but also that there's no way she would have chosen to stay if she'd been debilitated or had her enjoyment of her wonderful life diminished.

It all unfolded just as it should have.  Only the timing was off.

Have a lovely weekend and again, thank you for you kindness.  Shall we gather here again on Monday?  Good then!

Erin

I scarcely know where to begin today.  So many times over the past week I've had thoughts to share, stories to tell you, but I settled instead for 140 characters on Twitter, or silence.  Sometimes that's a good thing, too.

Today it's back to my work family - Mike, Gord and Ian - with thanks to Julie James for coming in to play with the boys every morning for the past four shows.  Has it only been a week since I left for Edmonton and flew the next day to Palm Springs?  Thank goodness I chose WestJet and the sleepover; had I waited until Friday morning and caught a different flight, I might well have been one of 600 flights cancelled in Denver (a transfer point for my itinerary).

You have been so kind to me and to my family, and I am gradually getting through your e-mails, reading and responding to each one.  It's astounding to me how many people have lost a parent in the past years, months and - even in one case - days.  We all share so much in common.  I guess when you get past 30, it's part of the "circle of life".  But knowing that everything is finite doesn't mean we're prepared - especially when someone is the picture of happiness, living life to its fullest, enjoying every day and laughing so freely and often.

I'll tell you stories of this past week in the days to come and I promise not to make you sad.  There was one extraordinary moment last Friday after which my dad said, "There's one for the blog..." and I had to smile inside.  It makes me quite sure he doesn't mind me sharing this story with you on the air today and in the journal tomorrow.  Here's a pic at our cottage a few years back.  Mom look particularly fetching that day - and trust me when I say she looked every bit as youthful and healthy when we last hugged in December.  It's all just surreal.

I'm grateful for the time spent with my sisters and father this past week, and to an understanding boss and co-workers who encouraged me to go where I wanted to be, do what I needed to do.  I am hoping that losing Mom brings a new closeness among us - it's what she always wanted for "my girls".  Time will tell, just as it promises to heal.

In the meantime, thank you.  From the bottom of my heart, thank you.  Your support, wisdom and openness have again just been a source of great strength and joy to me and to my family.  We continue to count the many blessings that came with a sudden, nearly painless passing from this life into the next for our dear Mom, and among those many things for which we're grateful is your kindness.

Be well and thanks for coming by - hope you will tomorrow.

Erin

Hello, friend.  You may have tuned in this morning wondering why I'm off.

Today I'm saying good-bye to my dear, dear Mom. We got a long distance call on Tuesday at 11 pm saying that it appeared that right out of the blue, she'd suffered a stroke.

Erin

Today is one of the rare occasions where I hand this space over to you.  Journal visitor Michelle G. wrote to me when I was away late last week and I had to share her letter with you.  It's harrowing, it's real and it puts you in her shoes: what would you do if fire broke out on your train?  Here's her letter to me about an incident that barely even made the news.  To me, it sounded terrifying:
 

Last night I suffered a horrible ordeal and I just felt like I needed an outlet to express the fear and anger I felt after this incident.  For years now I have traveled GO transit from Whitby to Toronto without incident until yesterday.  I happened to have plans to celebrate my Mom's birthday in Scarborough so I boarded the 5:20 Stouffville train to take to Kennedy station.

A few minutes into the ride, I looked up to see everyone at the end of my car stand up and start scattering.  All of a sudden there was smoke everywhere.  People were confused wondering if someone was smoking until someone yelled out for a fire extinguisher.  Surprisingly people were not completely panicking despite the fact we were on the end car so pretty much had nowhere to go and the fire was growing.

After several attempts to get to the fire extinguishers on the lower level - by big grown men who were unable to break the glass to get to them I might add - someone finally retrieved one from somewhere upstairs and sprayed the fire.  Now this car that was full to capacity with people is now also full of smoke so nobody can breathe and the residue from the fire extinguisher - but thankfully no fire.  The alarm had been pulled many minutes ago (seemed like forever) but the train still didn't show any sign of slowing down.  At this point people started to get very scared because they couldn't breathe.  I was one of the fortunate ones near the door that I managed to open enough to put my foot in and let in some fresh air.  After a few more minutes someone managed to break the glass and pull the cord so all four doors on train were now open - with the train still moving at a pretty fast speed.  Still no announcement to tell us help was on its way or that the train would slow.

I understand accidents happen and that there are emergencies that cannot be avoided Erin.  What I cannot understand is that an alarm was sounded, there was a fire onboard, people could not access fire extinguishers that are meant for emergencies such as these and doors opened on a moving train and that still wasn't enough for the train to stop.  To add insult to injury when this train finally pulled into Scarborough Station to meet Toronto Fire GO Transit did not even so much as take the time to ask those onboard who had been in the car with a fire to come forward to ensure they were ok.  An announcement was simply made that if you require emergency attention make your way 5 cars up to the Customer Service guy and he'll help you.

REALLY????  So many things were handled incorrectly in this incident Erin and I truly think they need to be addressed.  I tried speaking to Transit Safety and I'm not sure my point was heard.  First and foremost when there is a fire detected on board and a fire extinguisher removed from its case should that not alert the Conductor and be cause for the train to stop IMMEDIATELY.  I understand sprinklers onboard are probably impossible but why isn't there a system in place where if a fire is detected air systems are deployed that suck the air out of the car in danger instead of recirculating the smoke throughout the car you're in to make breathing impossible?  When train car doors fly open on a moving train is that not reason enough for the train to stop quickly?????

When I finally was able to get off the train and gather my thoughts I spent the rest of the night in tears.  It truly was a terrifying experience and I can only imagine how many others onboard felt the same and will have no voice.  I saw a CITY TV truck in the parking lot and asked if this would be on the news but was told that since there were no injuries and Toronto Fire cleared the train to continue on there was no story to be told.  REALLY?  I'm not an expert but for a system that prides itself on SAFETY FIRST I can't help but feel extremely disappointed with how (yesterday's) emergency was handled.  The people who were onboard that train deserve an explanation and deserve to be heard.

I'm hoping you will be our voice.  That this letter will alert Go Transit of those areas that they fall short and that something like this never happens again because God knows had people not kept their wits about them it could of ended a heck of alot worse than it did.  Thank you for listening.  Stay well, Michelle.
 

Take care, and we'll be back with you tomorrow to wrap up the week.

Erin

Welcome to Wednesday and FEBRUARY!  Even an extra day tacked on to the end (when my dear Uncle Vernon turns 15 at last!) can't diminish my glee: another full month and then we squish towards spring.  Our Gord-on-the-board saw himself a robin last weekend, so there's not going to be quite the excitement about the first one of the season when "that call" comes into our radio studio.

But why?  Why was a mosquito still alive and nipping in January?  And what makes some Canada geese decide to fly south, while others hang around, tough it out and await the return of spring and open waters like the rest of us?  Wasn't that the surest sign of winter's impending doom: the flocks of geese heading south?  Times have changed.

It's kind of nice to realize that February brings us, not only Valentine's Day, but also Family Day and a three-day weekend.  That's something to look forward to, whether you're able to spend it with those close to you or not.  So bring it on, February.  We're not winter weary yet, thanks to January's gentle vibes, so I'm filled with hope that, except for the odd rogue mosquito, and a few frozen flakes, we're going to get through this little month just fine.

Oh, and a SOLD sign on the condo would be nice, too, if it's not asking too much!  Take care and we'll talk tomorrow.

Erin

January comes to an end today - one month into a year that is to bring great change.  I had that sense of 2012 long before we started our bait-and-switch game of moving from a three-bedroom condo to a more modest-sized unit a few floors below.  After all, once our building project up north finishes, we'll be spending (we hope) more nights there and Toronto becomes a place to crash when duty calls after our shows wrap up at 9 am.

There is method to our madness, but right now it seems that about the only way we could further complicate our lives is if: a) I became pregnant, b) Lauren became pregnant or c) we both became pregnant and decided to shoot a reality TV show about it.  Rest assured, there's little chance of a) or c) coming to pass and I don't believe b) is in the cards for a good long time.  Right, Loo?  Thank goodness her wedding plans are for 2013 and not 2012.  I think neither our wallets nor our blood pressure could handle that.

Doesn't anybody elope any more?!?

I joke about that (not to mention dropping the name "Sandals" with as much regularity as discretion allows), but the subject of eloping was an ongoing gag in our house when we grew up.  Faced with bankrolling four daughters' marriages, Dad would always half-jokingly remind us where the ladder was.  At least that's how it started; the 60's turned into the 70's and that gay tune changed with the addition of some fuzzy electric guitar and a purple hazy drum beat.  As we left behind the Leave it to Beaver days of early childhood for the eldest of the children, to the Maude mores that coincided with my sisters' sexual maturation, that gag morphed into a declaration: no weddings in which couples had first co-habited would be bankrolled by Mom and Dad.

Once again, times have changed and, while Rob and I haven't discussed it, I do know that Lauren's pretty much expecting that their modest at-home wedding will also be paid for by her parents.  We're fine with that.  We are watching with interest as they plan a multi-stop European honeymoon, however, and wonder what the financial arrangements are for that.  I know there must be more books than nearly anything else dealing with wedding etiquette (including who pays for each element of it) but I haven't had the time to delve into any just yet.  We'll see as things roll along.  All I know is that I'm grateful that the new place up north is going to be the perfect setting for June nuptials and a nice party to follow.  Now, to get it finished.  And get our home situation settled.  You can understand why we're just hoping that the rest of 2012 speeds by as rapidly as January has!

Take care and have a gentle day.

Erin

Thanks for coming in today - hope you had a restful weekend.  I most definitely did, and am more than ready to take on the world - or in our case, the show - today.

I was awash in a mixture of emotions yesterday afternoon when I saw that Darryl Henry had posted on our CHFI Facebook page that three guilty verdicts had been handed down in the Kingston drownings of three sisters and their stepmother.  First degree murder, just as it should be, was found to have been committed (premeditation being the mitigating factor there) and the girls' father, mother and brother now all face "life" sentences of 25 years before parole.

The pity of it is, the brother will still be a young man in his forties when his sentence has been served.  I think, if we all live long enough, we'll remember this week when his time comes for possible release.  I don't think Canadians will soon forget this horrific crime based on twisted beliefs and matters of "honour" and a sense of misogynist sadism that is increasing at alarming rates around the world: 3000 "honour" attacks were reported in the UK in 2010.  And they're within our borders, too.

While this story and its horrors have opened many eyes to the barbarism and oppression faced by girls and women in Canada every day, anyone who's even gotten close to a women's shelter knows that there is so much lost in translation when families come to Canada.  And because so many girls and women in this country are under the control of the men in their families, they are often without outside contact, without help, without a voice.  The issue of language is a huge part of the abuse cycle in this country, too.  Where do you turn, if you fear that no one will understand your pleas for help?

That was not the case with the Shafia family.  Three of the victims were young women raised among Canadians and exposed to our belief system - that females are not only equal but deserve freedom of thought, action and expression.  This is who we are as a country.  This is who these young women were - or wanted to be.  Their stepmother (from what I understand of the case) had simply wanted freedom from her husband and a return of some of the money she'd brought into their marriage, so she could leave their bizarre living arrangements, move to France and be done with it.  He offered her a pittance and she may have paid for the brazen request with her life.

When news of the verdict broke yesterday, one person in particular posted on our CHFI Facebook page not once, not twice, but three times, that this is why Canada needs less immigration.  I used my rarely exercised ability to delete his comments and here's why: in no way should what the Shafia murderers plotted and carried out be a reflection on others who have chosen Canada as their homeland.  Using that twisted and xenophobic logic makes as much sense as saying that Robert Pickton and Clifford Olson are good reasons why Canada needs fewer men.  It's ridiculous.  And no one should get away with trying to use these murders as an excuse to tell people they're not welcome here.

Medieval, misogynist, hateful attitudes towards women are not the sole domain of people who are new to this country  Take a look inside the shelters of our cities and towns where women are in hiding from those who have abused them and you'll find as many white faces as not; as many "foreign" names as those which signed Canada into Confederation (also largely immigrants, I might add). 

Let these horrific acts, and the convictions that have so rightly been delivered, be a message to those who are seeking the strength to escape from homes like the one in which the three Shafia girls lived.  Let this somehow be their call to seek their own freedoms - the ones which we so take for granted in this often cruel and barbaric world.  And let us all be there to offer them help when they do.  The women in the bottom of the canal at Kingston were our sisters, too.

Erin

Thank you for coming by today.  As I mentioned here on Wednesday, I'll return to Mike, Ian and Gord (and you) on the airwaves Monday, but I have some things that needed to be taken care of on the home and "me" front, and there's no time like the present.  All is well.

In the meantime, I want to introduce you to two very smart and funny ladies.  My longtime pal Lisa Brandt (whose birthday falls just days after mine, something of which we teasingtly and bitchily remind each other regularly) has a great blog and unlike so many, she keeps it up daily - often even on weekends.  She's well worth the visit and I hope you'll click the link to enjoy her musings, wit and wisdom.

Lisa and I share a mutual friend and you may even know her name.  A Canadian and a warm and funny woman, Judy Croon has made her mark in radio, on standup stages everywhere and on bookshelves, too.  I've told you in the past about comedy fundraisers that she's headlined and helmed and now there's a book to enjoy, also for a great cause.

My copy of the book is on its way and I look forward to poring over the thoughts of some very sharp and funny women, and perhaps even gaining some perspective, insight and inspiration while I'm at it.  Give it a look - and maybe it'll be just what you need to lift you out of those mid-winter blaaaaaahs.

Enjoy the morning show with my favourite fella Mike and the terrific Julie James, plus the usually stunning Ian and Gord and a new version of the CHFI Faceoff (lots of fun and we don't have the pressure of being judges - huzzah!) and I'll talk to you again Monday.  Thanks for coming by...have a restful weekend.  February's just around the corner!

Erin

[That's a Scottish Blessing, courtesy journal visitor and friend Donna Mills.  Translated: Some have meat and cannot eat, some no meat but want it.  We have meat and we can eat and say the Lord be thanked.]

Welcome to Wednesday and Happy Robbie Burns Day.  Part of today's traditions - according to the above-mentioned Donna - include addressing the haggis.  I don't know what I'd say to a haggis but it might start with, "Wow.  You expect me to eat you, do you?"

Actually, I must confess to having tasted haggis and...it wasn't bad!  It's a combination of all kinds of ingredients including sheep's lung (illegal in the U.S. according to one recipe I tracked down yesterday) a sheep's stomach, heart and liver, suet, onions, oatmeal and spices.  But what makes haggis not only edible but - to some - downright tasty, is a scotch sauce.  I seem to recall the one I tasted also had a nice peppery flavour; it was a long time ago and very early in the morning.  If memory serves, the haggis was brought to us from a Toronto hotel...might well have been the Sheraton Hotel during the Hans Gerhardt days.  The official practice after the haggis has been "piped in" is that it be "ceremoniously served with 'neeps, tatties and nips' -- mashed turnips, mashed potatoes, nips of whiskey."  So there you go.

I am so glad I was raised to have an adventurous (some would say crazy) palate.  In small town Ontario we were eating with chopsticks as children, we tried tacos as soon as they came to Canadian stores and special occasions were marked by a rather foolhardy but wonderful event: meats cooked fondue-style in bubbling hot oil.  Four kids and a dozen long forks - what could possibly have gone wrong?  Everything!  But I'm so glad my folks were adventurous.

We were forced to be adventurous, too, and were not allowed to turn up our noses or say "no" to anything presented to us on a plate.  For that reason, there's just about nothing I won't at least try.  Among the things I wish I hadn't: sea urchin sashimi (it was a payback thing - long story), green lobster innards ("In Newfoundland they eat all of it!" Mom would say.  Um - no), lima beans and anything that a pig would use to get around - leg, hock, foot, whatever.

The worst dinner we ever had (and about which we still laugh) took place in Paris where - either through something lost in translation or just a need to be adventurous - we ordered a three-tiered tray of cold seafood.  Well, we expected seafood; what we got were snails in their shells (with no hot garlic butter) and all sorts of other slimy offerings - everything raw!  We ate what we could wash down with wine, laughed through our horror and then I had the audacity to ask our server if I could just take them home (where I was going to drown everything in that hot butter).  We were told "Non!" - perhaps due to possible freshness issues, or just plain spite.  I guess the best part of that whole meal was the story that came out of it.

One food I do love the taste of, but gave up about four years ago, is lamb.  It was one of my barbecue specialties: marinated in red wine, garlic and rosemary and then gently grilled.  But I found myself rethinking it all one day when, on our way to the cottage, I saw some lambs playing in a field and called out to Rob to stop the car so we could watch them.  From that point on, I realized I had to stand for something.  Although I won't go so far as to eliminate other meats from our diet, giving up lamb just seemed the right thing to do.  Do I miss it?  Sure!  Especially when we hit the Danforth for a nice summer dinner.

I think it'd be a breeze to get into the Meatless Mondays that Paul McCartney supports, as so many of our meals are meatless anyway, featuring pasta with a jar of Debbie Cooper's amazing tomatoes.  Hey, speaking of McCartney - there's a video for you to enjoy of "Mull of Kintyre".  And here's to the 48th Highlanders who make this a highlight of every Paul McCartney performance in Toronto. Happy Robbie Burns Day.  No, I'm not Scottish, but what do you have that's better to salute today?

I'll post a journal here tomorrow  - and I'll be back on the air with you Monday; as I mentioned at the start of the week, I'm taking a couple of days off to take care of some outstanding issues - health, home and so on.  Talk to you soon and thanks for coming by.

Erin