Erin's Journals

Just a thought…Nothing can bring you peace but yourself. [Ralph Waldo Emerson]

Leaky eyes, rainy skies and sad good-byes…another trip to Ottawa over until who-knows-when. Remembering the “don’t be sad it’s over…etc.” but this is just how life is.

There’ll be no pictures of Colin and Jane (although I took plenty – and videos – of course), but I can tell you that they’re both healthy, happy and as busy as two baseball-playing kids can be, which of course means their parents are doubly occupied.

We were lucky enough to catch three of Colin’s games (the second one of which his Great Aunt from Kingston joined us to watch, and in which he was the difference in a winning outing), and a game and practice of Jane’s. For the most part the weather cooperated; it wasn’t until Saturday that there was a deluge and thunderstorm, but we’d planned ahead, going to see The Sheep Detectives in a theatre.

We also introduced the kids to The Lion King on TV, and were amazed at how many of the lines from the 32-year-old movie Rob and I remembered by heart. Our big regret was that our trip – planned to coincide with baseball – didn’t time out for the debut of Toy Story 5, a family tradition since Lauren was a child. But at some point we’ll likely catch it, again in their family’s living room as we did The Lion King.

One might think that a nine day stay is too long for anyone, but since we stayed at a hotel, we timed our visits so as not to disrupt their home life too much. There’s an old saying that friends/family are like fish: after three days, both start to smell. We hope we didn’t leave too much of an odour!

I’m typing this on the flight home, where it’ll be late morning by the time our Porter plane touches down in Victoria. Then we head up island and, one hour after collecting our luggage, we’ll pick up our two dogs. TWO? Yes, both: our plan to leave Livi at the breeder’s where she would be nursing a new litter of pups was derailed hugely the day before we flew out on May 29^th.

You may have heard the story on Gracefully and Frankly last Thursday. If not, please go, hear it for free, and don’t miss an episode every week with me and my bestie and cohost Lisa Brandt. I alluded to it in my journal here last Monday but it’s always a challenge to choose what to reveal here and what to save for the podcast!

To recap briefly: Livi met up with her “boyfriend” at the breeder’s and had three successful ties (what they call hooking up – literally) on Apr. 1, 2 and 3. They mated until Livi was literally snapping at Prince to leave her alone. Who hasn’t been there, right girls?

Anyway, the strange thing with small dogs is that it’s hard to tell whether or not they’re expecting. Usually a few weeks in, they turn their nose up at food, but with two dogs grazing from one bowl all day, it’s a bit hard to tell. We kept an eye on her and detected weight gain and a slower pace, and although we were still suspicious she might not be, by week eight we had convinced ourselves that we’d be leaving Dottie at the boarder’s, and Livi at the breeder’s, right after an appointment at the vet to check via sonogram how many puppies were in there.

You can imagine our surprise when the doctor came out of the examining room carrying sweet, lethargic Livi in her arms, and was shaking her head. “NONE?” I said loudly for people in the coffee shop across the street in Cobble Hill to hear. We just couldn’t believe it. I mean, yes, we knew it was a possibility, but to have mated three times and to have shown all the signs…and then not a pup in sight (just “lots of poop” the vet said) was unimaginable.

Of course, breeder Bev was disappointed, and now Livi at four-and-a-half has aged out of being a mom for Bev, which suits us. Dottie will have a go this winter, and then she should be done as well, and our contract with the breeder ends, making our two girls all ours. Not something I’d ever do again, but to have Dottie and then be given Livi has been worth all of the headaches and hassle.

By the time you read this, we’ll be all together, this half-hairy little family of ours (three-quarters if you count Rob), and our next adventure will be to drive east as far as Alberta to deliver my dad’s ashes and headstone to their final destination.

In the meantime, tonight we’re ferrybound to Pender Island (pictured below in the photo by our friend Jennifer Douglas) our laundry barely dry from the Ottawa trip turnaround, as we continue to seek to cocoon in whatever pockets of love and nature we can find.

Our hearts never truly mend from great loss, but we can gently stitch them as best we can, and hope that they hold. That’s what we do, right?

Just a thought… Happiness, not in another place but this place…not for another hour, but this hour. [Walt Whitman]

Typing this as I sit at the side of a neighbourhood diamond in Nepean near Ottawa…the music’s playing, the coffee in my traveller mug is cooling in the gentle noonday air, and kids are out having fun, running, catching, playing. A perfect spring day.

In the distance, a cardinal chee-chee-chees, perched high enough in a tree not to be seen, but definitely to be heard and appreciated by someone who doesn’t experience them in BC. That’s okay, though; since we’ve been here my phone has been pinging with sightings back home of orcas, gray and humpback whales near our cabin.

The job is to be here now, in the arms of family and taking in the moments that can only happen once. Playing on the swings with my granddaughter. Cheering both Colin and Jane at their respective baseball games. Spending time watching the Jays, while wishing we had a team worth watching together in the Stanley Cup.

So on we go. We play ourselves out with our beloved not-so-little ones – 11 and 6 – here in Ottawa, take in all the games we can, put together Jane’s new bicycle and hope to have ALL the fun.

Rob and I have both pledged to let the happiness of seeing the kids and their folks outshine the sadness that this part of the country and the inevitable memories also bring. As always, we make the most of what we’ve got, while we’ve got it. I know Lauren would want it this way, and she’d be so proud of Colin, his sister Jane, and their folks. ‘Cause that is what this is all about. 

We took advantage of a short drive with Colin yesterday to cram in some “grandparent-flavoured” wisdom. (And contrary to what that might imply, no it is not Werthers and Nicorette!) 

Lately, Colin’s been experiencing what I went through at his age, and that is some bullying. While it’s not my story to tell, 63-year-old me has learned some life lessons that I truly wish I had known at his age. More importantly, I would hope I’d have been smart enough to take them in and hold on.

During our brief commute to pick up dinner, I said to Colin that I missed telling him things, but that I had something I really needed him to hear. I said, “Do you want to know the secret of life?” and of course he repeated the question, and then said yes. I told him, “Man cannot control what happens to him. The only freedom we have is to choose how we respond.” Then I repeated my paraphrased words of Viktor Frankl again, and Rob gave him some examples of what we meant.

By the time we arrived at our destination, and then again on the drive back home, we had him reciting it to us. I told him that we could have died when the worst thing that could happen to a person befell us. But instead we chose to be grateful: that our daughter left us him, a beautiful son, and that he would get a wonderful sister whom we would love just as much. We choose to say, “Wow, aren’t we lucky we have Colin and Jane! ” instead of simply giving up and not wanting to live anymore. 

We can hope that the lanky boy with long hair and big, baseball-filled dreams took in those words. We’ll make sure we say them together again a few times this week. After all, I have never forgotten my grandmother’s words: “Love Many, Trust Few, and Always Paddle Your Own Canoe.” That, and “Don’t marry a man with a cleft in his chin.” I didn’t, but the one guy I did date with one turned out to be a total scoundrel. Well played, Grama!

Full moons, glorious sunsets and worn-out kids (and their parents and grandparents) are what have filled our visit thus far. As Rob’s shirt says in the picture, Life IS Good. Talk to you Thursday on Gracefully and Frankly and I’m not kidding when I tell you that you have to listen.

There was drama at home before we left that I’ll be telling you about on the podcast, and it has to do with our sweet Livi. I will just let you know that our flabbers were ALL ghasted, and our both our gobs were smacked, Rob’s and mine. DO NOT miss Episode 179. It’s a half-hour long, it’s free and it’s worth every penny LOL.

Just a thought… Be patient and tough; someday this pain will be useful to you. [Ovid]

Well, that was quite a weekend. Apart watching the Jays and Habs, deer and fawns, Rob and I did one of those things that can really test a relationship.

We’ve had them before: the earliest I can recall was wallpapering together. Boy, if that isn’t a recipe for disaster, I don’t know what is. But we got through it way back in the day, and lived to face other way bigger couples’ challenges. How lucky we are that we’ve gotten through them all intact.

We’ve assembled a big gazebo, with me standing near the top of a ladder, resting the roof on my head while while Rob secured it. We’ve managed to put up a massively heavy nickel-and-glass hotel pendant light, me holding the globe aloft like Atlas with a colourful vocabulary, while Rob screwed a plate into the ceiling. And we moved that gorgeous behemoth to at least two homes.

All that said, we’re lucky to have survived this job on Friday night. It was about 10 pm when I said, “C’mon, let’s do this now.” Oh sure, we were smiling when we decided to tackle it, and no, there was no alcohol involved!

We had lucked into an apartment-sized washer/dryer pair from our condo neighbours. Rob managed (solo) to get them into the back of our smallish SUV and brought them over to our Pender Island cabin, and together we got them, via hand truck, bumping and rolling into the house.

A kind neighbour had “voluntold” her husband to help us to get them up these stairs and I gratefully accepted. But…

In truth, I don’t think they knew what Dan would’ve been in for. We sure didn’t! And in retrospect, asking anyone to help us move these would have been too big a request. When he came over on Saturday to see what we’d accomplished, he agreed it would have been awfully tough. And yes, my friend, it was.

As you can see from the first picture, there’s a tight turn at the bottom of the stairs, and another squeaker at the top. Obstacles included wooden uprights, a natural wood pole upstairs (too splintery for my exotic dances, I’m afraid, lol) and glass panels lining the stairs all the way up.

As I tugged up on the hand cart, Rob was crouched, a pillow on his back, under each appliance. Using his quads and his back, after every “one-two-THREE!” from me, he pushed it up the stairs. Aside from having to unscrew the handrail, our biggest hiccup was when the heavy washer bumped up to the tight top landing and I was pitched backward on my butt. I was extremely mindful of the glass panel that could potentially break my fall, and fortunately, everything – including all of me – ended up intact.

The pair fit into our walk-in closet, which is now, in addition to being a powder room (we had a small toilet/vanity combo plumbed in and installed) a place for tightly fitting laundry facilities.

We won’t be using them this week, as on Friday we start a 10-day visit to Ottawa. In that case, we’ll be able to take our stuff over to the kids’ place to wash, though, thank goodness.

Oh, and of course I will not miss any episodes with my Gracefully & Frankly partner Lisa Brandt. Talk to you Thursday.

Just a thought… You can take away a man’s show; you can’t take away a man’s voice. [David Letterman]

Welcome to a new week, and a holiday if you’re lucky enough to have it off today. An event to come in a few days has had me reflecting a lot on my own life, and wondering if perhaps you can relate, not only to me, but to an internationally known TV personality.

As you are aware, this Thursday is the final new episode of The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. After nearly 11 years, the talk show host will say his good-byes on CBS. Who will be his guest on the finale is still a secret, but my best guess is that during a week off a while ago, he not only travelled to Chicago to sit down with President Barack Obama, but went to Rome to do the same with Pope Leo. As a devout Roman Catholic who wears his heart on that well-tailored sleeve, it is not just ironic but insulting that the far right lunatics decry a moral man for calling them out on their bullsh*t. But I digress…and again, Pope Leo is just a guess.

It’s a done deal. CBS has bowed to their Golden Piggy and removed Colbert from the network. And it’s not a desperately failing network’s boneheaded move that has me thinking. No, it’s what’s next for a man I admire but have never met.

When I left CHFI of my own volition in December ten years ago, it was for deeply personal reasons. Rob and I had to start a new life and, for us, that meant pulling up stakes and moving as far west as we could go in this glorious country of ours. It was not an easy decision and we knew we were leaving family, friends, a career and a life behind. But we had set our GPS for the future, and that’s where it led us.

Now settled into our third home since packing too much stuff into vans that would make their way across most of five provinces and a part of an ocean, life is making more sense every day.

But it has taken me almost an entire decade to finally let go of the work dream: that I’d return to radio or continue to be doing what I loved. That desire and need have morphed into a gentle satisfaction in doing two podcasts: my sleep stories Drift with Erin Davis (now closing in on 500,000 listens) and the weekly joy Lisa Brandt and I call Gracefully and Frankly”(which is nearly at 240,000). These, along with this journal, will have to be the way I share myself and my stories. And the emails and messages I get keep me connected. Thank you!

From what I’ve gleaned, taking on retirement is a job in and of itself. Not just in filling the hours – far from it: there are always volunteer positions and freelance that people can seek.

But, psychologically, it comes with a process that is a lot like the grief cycle. Normally (whatever that is) the yearning continues for 3-12 months, and even up to two years.

It’s the loss of your professional identity. The social connection. The structure and routine.

Experts recommend seeking counsel, or just allowing yourself to grieve. Rebuilding your identity with different hobbies, pastimes and activities, and creating a new structure and routine. Goodness knows (as I found out first-hand) having no structure can mean it feels like a Saturday night and get-out-the-Grey-Goose every danged evening. And that’s not good for anyone.

For Mr. Colbert, the future is bright: he’ll land wherever he wants and is already diving into co-writing a new Lord of the Rings film. But it’ll take time (and plenty of that in a shrink’s office, no doubt) to deal with the pain of what has happened to him as America takes on an increasingly fascist air, particularly where comedians and truth-tellers are concerned.

I wish him only the best in whatever this newly-turned 62-year-old plans. Yes, there are plenty of people who’ve been turfed from their jobs, but this is a different case and anyone who says otherwise doesn’t want to recognize it. The Colberts won’t need a GoFundMe to keep going, or to start downloading coupons for groceries, like so many who have been fired must do. Perhaps because 23 years ago I experienced myself what it feels like to lose a public position, his firing resonates loudly with me. But more likely because he could be the biggest canary in the coal mine where media control is concerned. For that matter, CBS has already signed its own death warrant. I care more about the fate of the historic Ed Sullivan Theater than I do about what’s left of the network.

May he follow in the footsteps of David Letterman, and do only what he wants and when he wants to do it from here on in. I wish him even a fraction of the joy he’s given us, and none of the consternation he caused among the worst of them.

As Letterman himself said the other night (quoted above), “You can take away a man’s show; you can’t take away a man’s voice.” Hear, hear. And that goes for women, too.

Hello!

Last week if you read my journal here, you may remember my message to myself was “enough.”

So, with that in my mind and heart today, I will pass on writing a blog and invite you back here next week. (Of course, Lisa Brandt and I will have a new episode of our Gracefully and Frankly podcast Thursday and I look forward to talking to you then.)

In case you’re not on Facebook or other social media, I did put together a gentle video that I think you’ll like that had a true Mother’s Day and Mother Nature theme.

Enjoy this, know that we’re having a peaceful day together, Rob and I, and thank you for coming by.

Erin