Erin's Journals

This is good-bye for a little while. I’ll ask you to read to the end to understand why and then we’ll reconnect soon (I hope).
 
I’ve been struggling.
 
First, I will tell you that if you haven’t seen Brené Brown’s amazing Netflix special The Call to Courage, I urge you to take an hour and watch it. This woman, who specializes in shame (of all things), has so much wisdom in one hour that I had to watch it twice to get even half of the messages. If you see it, you’ll understand what I mean. Part stand-up comedy and a whole lot of inspiration, this special truly lives up to its name. Special.
 
It’s taken quite a bit of something like courage on my part, if I can say that, to take a step and write those three words above the previous paragraph. I always prided myself (ah, pride…) on having broad shoulders and being able to take on whatever the world placed there. Whether it was struggling at work decades ago (it’s in the book…) or navigating the worst grief that a parent can imagine, I always felt “I can handle this.” Hell, I even wrote a book about it, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, LOL. And I stand by every single word in it, especially the ones about “Reclaiming Joy.” It’s all true.
 
I can’t let my pride about keeping up a strong outer appearance and veneer hurt my health any more. To be clear, I never struggled with talking openly and honestly in public about our love, our loss and our Lauren. Quite the contrary: I found a certain catharsis in being in a position to help other people, who also suffer, to understand that there is hope. In talking about her, I kept Lauren’s memory alive and hopefully encouraged others to talk about their loved ones, too.
 
But I also am doing everyone, including my husband and me, a disservice if I don’t take better care of myself. 
 
Recently I’ve been in group therapy for some of the effects of the grief that struck us in May of 2015. Having taken a month off at that time to plan Lauren’s funerals, I hopped back on the air in June. And continued to show, by example, that life could go on in meaningful and joyful ways, after the loss of your only child.
 
But here’s the thing: I haven’t been taking care of myself the way that I should. As I mentioned in the book, I gave up the sobriety of which I was so proud in November 2016, the week that: a) Donald Trump was elected US President (don’t laugh: many psychotherapists say their offices are filled with people who are suffering because of what’s going on in DC), b) I had announced I was leaving radio and the station and city I loved, and c) a flight attendant gave me a Caesar instead of a virgin Caesar. The difference, vodka, was everything. And I was out of reasons not to drink. Of course, I later stopped again. Then started. Then stopped and on and on….
 
Not having boundaries or reasons for rules has not been a good thing for me. I’m addressing that seriously through AA (which is wonderful!) and treatment. But now, at the urging of those handling my care, I’m going way deeper. I’m attending an inpatient program where I’ll learn more about my grief and, in so doing, about yours, too. I want to be in a place of much more wisdom and information when people who struggle with great loss reach out to me. By the time you read this, I will already have started on this journey. 
 
I need to get better and I need your help, so I’m asking you please to hold off writing to me. Rob has custody of my computer and cell phone for the next while and, believe me, with my anxiety over current affairs, that is a GOOD thing! But I’ve made him promise that if Trump is ousted, he’ll let me know during one of his weekly visits. Yeah, fat orange chance! 
 
If it’s a matter concerning the AMAWaterways riverboat cruise (an ad on CHFI will be directing listeners to erin@erindavis.com) Rob will make sure people get the info they need.
 
But please understand I won’t be in touch for a while. Not on email, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram or through my journal. This website is also getting a facelift while I’m gone (while I am not, dammit!). I promise to return to this place the Tuesday after Labour Day. That will be the longest I’ve ever been away from here, but I have to do this. 
 
When I return, I will be healed and ready to help others to heal again. The honour that has come with being helpful to those who suffer is not one I take lightly, but I need to be the best, the strongest I can be. I’m working on that, my own Call to Courage.
 
Be well and thank you for understanding. I’ll be back soon.
 

Imagine a lavender farm on a mild Vancouver Island Saturday – skies dotted with clouds but a comfortable 20C. Now picture goats – little ones, bigger ones – running freely. And now, add yoga. That’s exactly what my pal Nancy did last weekend. I wish I’d gone, but since I didn’t, I asked her a whole bunch of questions about “goat yoga” so we could share the experience together. Here we go!
 
Some 20 yoga enthusiasts (most of whom were probably just there for the goats, if they were honest) gathered, as many do every Saturday from May to September at a lavender farm up island a bit. Seems to me that “Going to yoga at the lavender farm” sounds like a euphemism for being put out to pasture…or worse! But oh, no, it’s not (although it would seem to be like heaven).
 
The women, one teen and one man, laid their mats down ever so carefully amid the little Cocoa Puffs that the goats had left behind. (Our family raised a pair of goats that we named Starsky and Hutch. Yes, it was the 70s. But we also knew what goat droppings looked like: that chocolatey cereal.)
 
The price, $25, is a little steep for yoga, but the reward is the time with goats, big and small – as tiny as this fella, who was one of four siblings and won everyone’s hearts! He was one third of a kilogram when he was born. Imagine!
 

 
How did Nancy and her pal feel about the whole experience? Johanna says, “There’s something very relaxing and soothing about being in the country fresh air with your yoga mat, surrounded by adorable goats and getting your Zen on, while feeling like the chosen one and throwing your ‘downward goat’ position out the window if a goat or two should wander your way looking for a scratch and cuddle.”
 

 
How wonderful is that? Now I know there are some reading this who’d rather do anything than get “up close” with a farm animal. One woman responded to my picture on the weekend with “I just don’t get the goat thing!” and, you know, I understand that. Hey, as someone wise once said, if everyone liked the same things, there’d be long lineups for everything, right?
 
These little goats are very sociable, super curious and love to be cuddled. Nancy tells me that one woman had two plunk down on her mat for the whole yoga session! There’s also the added wrinkle that goats, as you know, love to nibble: hats, laces, pant legs. I’m sure it was hard to hold a pose while giggling over the goats’ antics. One poor fellow in shorts had three goats all trying to get into any opening they could find! Yikes! But despite that, the whole thing (not the hole thing) sounds wonderful. Here’s their FB page if you want to learn more.
 
If I have time after my upcoming retreat, I’ll be sure to try to fit it in on a Saturday morning. What retreat, you ask? I’ll fill you in tomorrow. And thank you for being here. 
 

Happy JULIO Day! It’s July 10 (Jul 10, thus “Julio”) and although it hasn’t caught on like MARIO day (Mar 10 – you guessed it) who knows? Maybe it will – or has done in countries where Julio is a more common name than here in the Great White North. Or maybe I’m the only person in the world crazy enough to look at numbers and letters and come up with words. That’s how this brain of mine works, for better or for worse!
 
More importantly than any JULIO, this is a special day for us because one Brooke Russell Shirakawa is marking her 26th birthday. I’m using this space to tell you a little more about our “daughter-in-law” Brooke than you already know because it’s her day. And with a baby arriving in early October (another Libra like Colin and me – yay!) she’ll have little time to soak up moments that are just for her. And goodness knows she deserves them, which is why we do spa days when I get to Ottawa.
 
I mention in my book Rob’s and my vast appreciation for Brooke. She came into Phil’s and Colin’s lives when it seemed that the sun would never shine on this tightly-knit duo again. But there she was. A blend of strength and vulnerability, confidence and questioning, she has brought joy, love and stability into all of our lives.
 
I love the conversations we have that go for hours as Brooke shares what’s in her heart and listens to what’s in mine. She’s put up with the crazier aspects of my life (so much tamer than it used to be, but still very public) as she read comments on Facebook about her pregnancy and had to smile through suggestions that her own baby bear the name or middle name of her husband’s late first wife, our Lauren. I mean, how much shadow does a gal have to step out of, she must have wondered. And I agreed.
 
Brooke has come to a place of understanding the vast kindness that people have shared towards our little family and that it now includes her. It’s not a situation everyone understands, but still, she tries and I appreciate that. 
 
She’s had to learn to adapt to the often not-so-gentle dance of family dynamics as her marriage expands to not the usual two families and sets of parents, but three (which, thankfully, includes us). And as always, she adapts.
 
Now, here she is ready to add to their own little trio – with a baby girl due in two-and-a-half months. I know she’ll be a great momma to the sweet pea who’s arriving in a bit; she’s already proven that again and again with Colin. She’s patient and funny, strict but soft. Thanks to both of his parents, Colin is learning manners and boundaries, but always the rules are imbedded in logic and a sense that the child understands what it is that’s being asked of him, and why. They’re not “those” parents who let their child run wild or act out. And every Sunday we get to spend FaceTime with Colin, all the while catching up with Brooke.
 

 
When people, such as the women I spoke with in a FaceTime book club this past Monday, mention how they marvel at my relationship with Brooke, I give her all of the credit. She had to open her heart – mine had already been blown open by grief – and accept this woman who might, by logic, resent her being there. Nothing was further from the truth, despite little voices whispering in her ear that that would be the case. Luckily, she and I found out who each other really was (thanks in part, ironically, to talking about the NBC show This is Us) and we’ve grown from there.
 
How lucky Rob and I are to have this young woman in our lives! I hope we tell her often enough, but really, is there such a thing?
 
Take good care and enjoy this Wednesday. Going to combine babies and lavender and…goats here tomorrow. Talk to you then!
 

Thanks for your feedback and posts yesterday regarding the bin and the bags. I always appreciate hearing your opinions.
 
Living on the “left coast” as some call it, we tend to raise ideas that get the rest of the country’s eyes rolling (that is, until they adopt or adapt them too, which they usually do – eventually). There are some on the far right and of older generations, for example, who think trying to dispose of plastic straws is something to ridicule, instead of seeing the movement as just a teeny, tiny step towards helping to heal the planet and cut its addiction to disposables in general and plastics in particular. It’s about making you think.
 
When you put your lips around a paper straw at A & W, for example, you remember that one less piece of plastic is quite possibly going to end up in landfill – or worse still, in the oceans. It simply makes one more conscientious, hopefully. Of course, there will always be those who ridicule, too. But I don’t understand their thinking. (I do get how plastic straws aid the disabled; we’ve had that discussion here before and I think there’s room for everyone’s need to be accommodated.)
 
Then, of course, there’s the movement towards cleaner air, an embracing of the undeniable science of climate change and a switch in our energy use. I just mute people who claim that alternate fuel sources equate to a belief in unicorn p*ss and fairy dust (as seen on the stickers on huge pickup trucks). I can’t and won’t waste my energy debating them. Many have been marinating in oil and tar sands their entire careers and I get that. I did answer a post using that photo yesterday saying that the pickup’s driver must be just astounded at the magic of electricity in his house every day.
 

 
Some of those folks with their heels dug in – even my own Dad – love to laugh about “tree huggers” as the enemy. How very 1960s of them! I don’t. I want this beautiful planet to survive so that my grandson doesn’t have to keep witnessing the marking of “hottest June (or insert month here) on record,” as we did again this past month. But as I say, I’m done arguing. If someone wants to cherry-pick scientific facts, perhaps they could try jumping out of a second storey window to prove their disbelief in, say, gravity. I don’t recommend it.
 
But I digress. Getting some ranting off my chest this week, I guess. Here’s what made me smile when we were in our hotel room two weeks ago in Vancouver.
 

 
I love this idea. You’re actually rewarded for not getting your towels washed daily. Being there just one night, we didn’t get a chance to acquire any rewards for doing what we would have done anyway. Who are these people who need their towels changed every single day? Do they do that at home, or is that what makes a hotel stay special – wiping off with a pristine towel every single day?
 

 
Rob and I have stayed some places where we’ve put the card or note on the bed that we are going along with their green initiatives, only to find that fresh towels replaced our damp hanging ones anyway. I’m guessing for some housekeeping staff, it took a while to break the habit of just switching them out daily. But honestly, it’s such a small gesture – and one that’s made even sweeter by the rewards this hotel offers.
 
Let’s hope more and more establishments start to take up this initiative. I just love the idea of giving to the David Suzuki Foundation and, even if you don’t believe in its work, you’d still get a reward for doing the right thing.
 
Is it going to change the world? No. Will it save a town in India that has run out of fresh water? No. But not doing anything most surely will not, either. It’s like the straws: not a big thing, but a tiny thing. Some might call this “virtue signalling” (cynics love to stomp all over well-intentioned initiatives). I call it doing the right thing – one tiny step at a time. Back with you here tomorrow and I won’t be so ranty – promise!
 

Hope you managed to stay cool this weekend if you were in the more humid parts of our lovely country; here in the Victoria area it was cloudy and about 20C. Perfect weather for the Saanich Strawberry Festival, where you could spot Rob, me and a whole lot of other great Rotary folks volunteering, cooking and selling dogs and burgers. Now I think we’re off ’til Labour Day and the Saanich Fall Fair. I shall practise my Bingo calls until then.
 

 
Seeing the trash and recycling bins everywhere yesterday reminded me of something I posted on Twitter last month when I was in Ottawa. It was one of the hottest days of the year to date and Colin and I were hanging out at the playground nearest his parents’ house. I was trying desperately to commit our moments to memory – the sights, the laughter, the experience of going down side-by-side slides with him – when my olfactory bulbs were slapped with the smell of something that definitely didn’t fit the sweetness of the day: dog poop baking in the sun.
 

 
I tweeted something to the effect of, “those who ignore signs and dump their dog poop where they’re not supposed to are garbage people.” Something like that; I don’t commit my tweets to memory.
 
Now, you know I generally don’t go out of my way stir up sh – er, stuff. I thought it was a no-brainer that if you deliberately disobey signs and put your poo bags where they don’t belong, you’re not a good pet parent. Or citizen. Or, okay, person. Who actually wants to be bombarded with the smell of doggie deposits in the hot sun like some vile version of Shake ‘n’ Bake?
 
Well, surprise, surprise: I was treated to a lot of opinions. Many had suggestions of what was worse, like people who toss their bags in others’ driveways or on the lawns nearby; most everyone had a story of a careless pet owner who couldn’t be bothered to dispose of their bags at home. We’ve all seen ’em.
 
But the most in-your-face response came from one person who insisted that putting it in the trash was the best thing that a pet owner could do. (There were a lot of “at least” comments made, but especially from this one person.) Apparently the SIGN ON THE GARBAGE CAN asking people not to do it didn’t apply if one thought it was a better idea than: a) not picking it up at all, b) spreading it on the slide (one commenter’s experience), or c) just dropping the bag out in the open.
 
For heaven’s sake, whatever happened to just obeying the signs? Staying within the lines, whether or not they suit you personally? I swear these are the same people who insist on texting or using devices while they drive (or are stopped at red lights) because they know better than the law.
 
(As an aside, we came up on a car on Friday that was stopped at a green light – not one that had just turned, but that was full-on green – whose driver was doing who-knows-what. Fortunately, we were able to swerve and miss her as soon as we realized that she wasn’t moving, but the gentle sound of our horn hopefully woke up the driver.)
 
We may not like the rules, but they’re set up for a reason and they apply to everyone, not just the ones who agree with them. If you think it’s doing your civic duty to put your poo bag in the public trash, then good for you. But if that garbage, which by the way cannot be moved easily as it’s planted in concrete, happens to be mere metres from a play set, as this one is (not great planning, City of Ottawa)…
 

 
…then is it so hard just to obey the signs? You could think it through and consider children and caregivers who have to live with your disposal, or you could just, as Paul McCartney put it, “listen to what the man says.”
 
Getting along would be a lot easier if we weren’t constantly having to deal with other people’s sh*t, don’t you agree?