Erin's Journals

Just a thought… Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy. [Leo Buscaglia]

Welcome to the waning days of July. If you’ve suffered through heat, fire and smoke (as some truly have), you may be happy to see August’s gentler golden days on the horizon. May they bring safe returns to home for so many who are still wondering what they’ll return to. While we here in our area (on BC’s Gulf Islands) have been spared the hardships of those endured by many Canadians this summer, our hearts are with you.

A few people commented on last Monday’s blog when I told you about my Little House effect: the baking, the cooking, the hosting (just one guest – let’s not get carried away) and feeling so deeply grounded in this little tiny piece of a small Gulf Island. By the way, don’t miss the wonderful low-sugar, high protein greek yogurt blueberry muffin recipe in that blog. Rob’s still raving. I guess I’ll have to make more….

If anyone had said to me ten years ago, “You’re soon going to leave Toronto and find yourself in a spot that is small and isolated, where you’ll talk to your dogs more in a day than you do to humans, and you’re going to be so deeply joyful that you cannot fathom it,” I’d have said something akin to “cow droppings.” You know what I would have said.

But experience has taught me – and possibly you – that this is how life works. I’m not saying that this sense of peace that goes to my bones morning ’til night is something that everyone will find, especially after losing a child or someone dear to you, as Rob and I did 11 years ago. I would have neither the insensitivity nor the temerity to suggest it’s even possible! And yet, here we are.

I remember in the early 20-teens, sitting on our small Toronto condo balcony on a warm summer evening and saying to Rob that we were in a blissful bubble at that moment. Yes, my mom had died a few years prior, but we knew that she was at peace, as we had to be with losing her. Our friend Debbie Cooper, whose birthday it is today, had not yet been diagnosed with the colon cancer that would eventually claim her life. At the time of my observation, my radio partnership with Debbie’s husband Mike was joyful and successful, we had a grown daughter who was finding her way in the big wide world of radio (perish the thought today), and Rob and I were solid in our love and marriage. Now, only the last of those things still exists.

So here’s the thing, my friend: the trick is not to seek the bubble, or wish for it, but to know when you’re in it. To also recognize that although all may not be perfect (Mom died suddenly of an aneurysm and 78 was too young for her to go) it’s good. It’s very good.

The other thing that time and life teach us is to know that in that moment of seeming perfection, we also have to acknowledge that, as in all good and all bad, “This, too, shall pass.” One day Rob and I will have to age out of our place here. One of us could get sick or become unable to take the stairs up to our loft bedroom. Anything could happen: fire, falling trees, earthquake. But do we worry about that? No.

Why would we lose one moment of joy, putting our minds towards things that have not happened, and may not happen? It’s human nature, unless we set our minds to be here now. To know that this moment, this one precious life, this blink of an eye in the story of the universe is all we get. This tenuous, glorious bubble.

Just a thought… My baking is like partnership: it’s not easy, there’s often a bit of a mess, but if there’s love and effort, no matter the outcome, we can usually be grateful. [Erin Davis]

Just a Day in the Life – this past Saturday – so many highs and I couldn’t resist sharing a few with you today.

On Friday our friend Chris, who was an extraordinary commercial producer at CHFI but now lives in Vancouver and does freelance work, came over on two ferries to spend the weekend with us on Pender.

He and Rob worked together on our little deck, we visited the local farmers’ market, and even checked out the Airstream where Pender Radio broadcasts from.

Lisa Brandt and I have donated our weekly Gracefully and Frankly podcast episodes which air Sunday mornings at 9 am on the local volunteer-run station. It’s my and our little way of giving back to a place that has already given us so much. So it was nice to see the setup and it made me miss radio a lot.

So you can imagine the thrill I got when I received a comment on an Instagram post that afternoon, saying I was a clue in the Saturday Globe and Mail crossword. I thought she must be mistaken but looked it up and, sure enough, there I was!

Rob being who he is, he gave me the takedown that my dad would have: “Who is it – FRED Davis?” and then said, “Calm your tits, it’s not like you were an answer on Wordle.” We laughed, and then Chris proceeded to call me Marilyn. So there you go. No ego trips here, my friend!

While the boys sawed, screwed and swore (only a bit of the latter), I made crispy onion/cheese bites to have with their hot dog lunch….

Later, a dinner of barbecued chicken was augmented by a potato salad (my favourite weird ingredient is dill pickle relish) and focaccia bread that takes a few days to rise in the fridge and is dead simple. Except that this time it didn’t get the bubbles and rise the way I wanted it to. Oh well, the boys liked it…that’s what counts.

Then I got super ambitious and made the boys Greek yogurt/blueberry muffins to have for dessert. Good for breakfast too, as Chris and Livi will attest!

Something about this tiny cabin makes me want to bake and nest! There are greasy smears on my laptop from toggling through three recipes at the same time, our small oven got a workout and the power stayed on. Rob and Chris were happy and well fed, and the dogs have an extra lap for cuddling.

Call it the Little House on the Prairie effect (having watched the first season of the new and excellent series re-up on Netflix) but considering I mostly watch true crime and murder documentaries, I could have leaned in a completely different direction. Rob’s much safer this way – and happy, too. All in all, I’d say that was one perfect weekend. Hope yours was, too!

Just a thought… Be brave enough to be bad at something new. [Jon Acuff]

I was never that person. Never an athlete, but only an “okay, I guess I have to do this…” kind of gym-goer. I’ll never be a runner, and my idea of a long walk was putting in air pods, starting up my step counter and a favourite podcast, and heading out on the streets or roads of wherever I find myself these days. However, on Friday something in me shifted.

It was through the gentle persistence of a neighbour here on Pender Island, whose small, lithe body is the very picture of athleticism. An avid paddler (kayaking) and cyclist (definitely not an e-bike), Jenn is also a serious hiker. So when I arrived on the island Thursday evening to this text, I was hesitant.

“Orca Day? I’m in!” I said to Rob. But I’d done just part of that Shingle Bay park a week ago, found myself getting a little lost, saw that my step counter had me already at the equivalent of 37 flights of stairs and turned around to head back home. It seemed beyond my abilities and I knew that being out alone with just my phone and a terrible sense of direction, I should play within my limits.

I asked how long the walk would be and later determined Jenn hadn’t lied: about 8 km. With not just a little trepidation, I agreed on a meetup time and under filtered sunshine and with comfortable temperatures awaiting, I was ready to head out when I realized with horror that my hiking shoes were back in Sidney! I’d worn them home last Monday and then came back over in my Skechers. Ugh. They’re not exactly built for hiking over rocks and steep inclines and declines, but I wasn’t going to back out.

Off we went, through gentle short trails and brief stretches of paved country roads, eventually making it to the Pender Museum. There, we got to hear John Pender, an ancestor of the first non-Indigenous settler to the island, talk about his roots as well as the legends and firsthand sightings of giant sea serpents in our area. We heard a young Indigenous woman tell us the story of how the orca began as a wolf who, with the help of a raven, found his way into the sea and began life again there.

We listened in as a dozen or so locals sat in a circle and played acoustic tunes. We perused the museum, looked at outdoor displays of whale teeth and various other animal parts, enjoyed conversing with Parks employees and met a few more of our fellow islanders. It was soon time for Jenn and me to say good-bye to the husbands who had come over to the museum by car to meet up with us and partake in the afternoon’s activities.

Then it was on to the strenuous part of our journey: Jenn and I headed off for the look-out part of the hike. And here’s where I needed to toughen up.

It was on one very steep forest path that I just put my head down and kept going, one step at a time, following my friend’s lead. I reminded myself during that stretch that I had survived giving birth and I was going to make it up this mountain. In fact, I was remembering that the nurses offered me a mirror as Lauren was crowning, but I didn’t want to see how much farther I still had to go. That’s how I felt on this hike: just keep going, keep pushing, and you’ll get there.

We did. This is the view that a backless but welcome bench afforded us upon our arrival.

We didn’t see any whales – just this guy at the Pender Museum. Maybe the rest of them were out partying on their big day.

Now, there were a few eagles circling far below us. Could’ve been worse: might have been vultures above us! The best part of the whole day was the literal hours that we spent talking, sharing our stories, our journeys that brought us both here, our troubles and our wisdom. Oh, and there were plenty of laughs, a few well-placed expletives and just connection on an otherwise isolated trail.

The descent was the trickier part of the day. Leaves on the path made getting a grip in my stupid sneakers more challenging and only once did I slip and nearly lose my footing. I picked up a branch and used it as a walking stick, eventually getting a finger puncture for my troubles. Again, though, the mantras of “one step at a time” and “don’t look too far down the path, just get to the next level space” served me well.

As the walk ended, I not only felt an immense sense of accomplishment, but a bit of a renewed purpose. That night I was ordering collapsible walking sticks (one for Rob should he want it) for the next time I need a bit of stability help on a decline. I looked into a small hiking backpack to take the place of the waist purse I used, so I could put a water bottle in it and free up my hands to grab trees or potentially break a fall.

While I don’t expect a weekly hike will be the norm – it did take a fair bit of Saturday for my legs to feel more like they usually do – I won’t rule it out, either. The pains of giving birth didn’t end when the pushing was done, just as my body didn’t let me forget right away what I’d put it through (12.2 km, 17,000+ steps and the equivalent of 87 flights of stairs).

Has anything worthwhile ever come easily, without a bit of fear and doubt? Not ever for me, anyway. And I just may have gotten the hint of a new passion sparked within me. We’ll see. Just as long as none of the outings starts before noon, I’m great!

Speaking of new goals, Lisa Brandt and I passed a milestone on the weekend (a quarter million downloads) and wanted to thank you for making us at Gracefully and Frankly part of your week. If you haven’t yet tried it, we have a short clip to introduce you to it, here.

So please share the love and if you have friends who haven’t tried podcasts yet, we’d love to be their first. Or yours! Why not try something new? I promise you it’s free, and way easier than hiking!

And, by the way, I’ll have a new sleep story for you tomorrow on Drift called Fawn In the Wood.

Just a thought… Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom. [Marcel Proust]

Ah, Monday. Another quiet day here on Pender Island before we take the 45-minute ferry ride home this evening for a few appointments and errands in Sidney, BC. Just the usual: get my roots done (although I’m almost always wearing a hat), get my nails done just so they look pretty while I type. Yeah, now that I think of it, it doesn’t make much sense, does it?

Then there’s our toenails. We all show ours off more at this time of year, but this summer in truly trying to embrace island life, I bought my first pair of Birkenstocks. These flat, usually open-toed shoes have been around for decades (not my pair; I bought them new) and I never really felt a need to own them. A couple of weeks ago on a drizzly day in Sidney, I found myself looking for better hiking shoes than the Skechers I usually wear. In addition to getting a pair, I was also drawn to – and purchased – a very basic pair of Birkenstock sandals. “Finally,” I told my Gracefully and Frankly partner Lisa Brandt, “I’m a true island girl!”

Am I the only person in BC – or anywhere for that matter – plagued by blisters from them? After my first wearing, Rob had to adhere some moleskin we keep handy for my soft, sucky feet to stop the rubbing. I’ve worn them only a handful (footful?) of times since, but I’m afraid I got sucked into the hype. The plastic pair I bought for $10 in California a few years back (“before” Elbows Up) have proven more comfortable. Maybe I should have bought the plastic Birkies instead, but I wanted as authentic as I could get. Serves me right. It’s not like they’re haute couture to begin with.

Speaking of which, I read that Taylor and Travis’s wedding went off, seemingly without a hitch, in NYC on Friday with both members of the couple wearing Christian Dior. While I’m not a big Swiftie and can barely pick out Kelce from a lineup, I’m delighted that two seemingly lovely people had the party they wanted in the venue they chose. They donated $26 million to charities (many of them food banks), paid $160K for their own police security around Madison Square Garden, and managed to invite about one thousand people who, so far, have kept their fingers off their devices and their mouths shut about the no-phone event, so as to preserve some semblance of privacy for the happy couple. How they managed to keep even the servers on the downlow is beyond me. But they did. They pulled it off, and that’s amazing.

What I haven’t been able to get my head around is all of the bitter Betties and Bobs who have been obsessed with slamming T&T for everything surrounding the event. Now I’m not here to defend a billionaire and her new husband; they don’t know me and certainly don’t care what I think, nor should they. But why does everything have to be such an outrage? Leave them the hell alone. I mean, as much as the biggest pop star on the planet and her dashing husband can be “hands off.” She didn’t take over Venice like Bezos and his inflatable bride; she caused some traffic closures in a city that is hit with them so regularly it’s an event when there isn’t one.

Frankly, in the midst of a red, white & algae green shit show in Washington the past week, a World Cup rife with corruption (with Mango Mussolini himself admitting to calling the FIFA boss to get a red card suspension on a US player overturned), and a heat wave that seems to have been as punishing as last winter’s cold in parts of Canada, what on earth does it hurt to have something pleasant on which to dwell? It’s not like the Jays are brightening our moods, but the fact that we weren’t even tempted to spend big American bucks to go south of the border to watch them lose two out of three makes me a little bit grateful.

I guess what I’m saying is, to hell with the negativity. Or, more appropriately, yay positivity! Let’s celebrate what we can, when we can. Even if it’s getting two exceptional pictures of a lovely buck relaxing behind our cabin on Saturday evening.

I just happened to capture him with the perfect late-day lighting, and I’ll hover on this cloud of contentment for as long as I can, grateful we had no fireworks in our area to frighten them during our blissfully quiet Canada Day.

May your week include moments of peace, too. Oh, and comfortable shoes! Talk to you with Lisa on Thursday, or on another free Drift with Erin Davis sleep story tonight. And thank you for spending some time here.

Just a thought… Where there is kindness, there is goodness and where there is goodness, there is magic. [Ella’s Mother, Cinderella (2015)]

I think we can all agree that there’s just not enough magic in the world once we’re past a certain age. Even for some children, sadly, there’s little or none when they’re living with food insecurity, illness, emotionally unhealthy family situations or the threat or aftermath of war or natural destruction.

But I’d like to think that, in a way, I helped add to a little boy’s sense of wonder right here on Pender Island yesterday, and that’s the story I’ll share with you here.

One of our new friends in this little spot of heaven has a grandson who we’ll call Owen. A fresh kindergarten graduate, he’s spending time with his grandparents here. One of my favourite pics of all time is one that Jennifer took of her grandson on a nearby marina playground at sunset about a month ago.

Jennifer and her husband make a point of keeping fairies and pixies in Owen’s life. They visit special forests here where little houses and tiny tree doors open imaginations young and young-at-heart. Jennifer makes a point of hiding notes and trinkets in random places that they “discover” while out exploring.

Yesterday I brought a tiny gift that a neighbour in our condo in Sidney made for us. It’s a sparkly little orca to hang in a window, and I immediately knew what to do with it.

While out on a trail walk yesterday, I hid it at the base of a bench with an arrow-shaped rock pointing towards it. I texted Jennifer with the name of the trail (not far from either of our houses) and then, not half an hour later, both grandmother and grandson paid us a visit to show us the orca, with Owen thanking me for telling him where there’d been a pixie surprise. (I told him we were on a walk and spotted it, but knew it couldn’t be for US, so we had to tell him instead!)

As we left the ornament in its secret place, I told Rob there’s just not enough magic in the world and if I can help to add to it a little bit, it gives me such joy.

I’ve no doubt the whole experience felt every bit as good for me as it did for them. As they left, I proceeded to scour the place for any more surprises I could hide in future. I don’t have any, but that doesn’t mean I won’t get some. How I miss our own grandkids! But we make and find our own joy where we can, right?

I don’t need to tell you what else raises our spirits these days (not you, Blue Jays): Canada advancing in the World Cup, the waning days of rainbow celebrations as Pride month wraps up and, of course, the incredible gift of living in Canada as the 1^st of July approaches.

This year we’ll miss Sidney, BC’s terrific fireworks display on the 30^th just out on the ocean behind our condos. Instead, tomorrow we’ll quietly mark my 7^th year of sobriety with whatever cake we find in town today on Pender Island, and forego the crowds and celebrations on Canada Day. For us, just being here in the silence and counting our blessings, which number far more than 159, will suffice.

May your Canada Day be one of appreciation and a renewal of our national “Elbows Up” spirit, and hope for unity and bounty for all. Have an amazing week, and I’ll be with Lisa Brandt this Thursday for Episode 183 of our free podcast at gracefullyandfrankly.com.