Erin's Journals

I’d just come home yesterday after a blessedly uneventful visit for a mammogram when the thought of cancer actually manifested itself in words. But this wasn’t about me: it was news on my Twitter feed that Alex Trebek says he has stage four pancreatic cancer and is vowing to fight it. 
 
Here’s the link to the Sudbury native making the announcement about his health: something he wanted to do lest you hear “overblown” or inaccurate reports elsewhere. Good for him – choosing transparency, rather than letting the tabloids or other garbage “journalists” twist the news that is only his to tell, should he choose to tell it.
 
The 78-year-old Trebek admits that normally the prognosis is “not very encouraging,” but he’s going to fight and keep working; he urges everyone to “keep the faith.” He also jokes that he has to win: he has a contract to host Jeopardy for three more years. 
 
I know it’s unusual for me to write here about two celebrities in one week, but these have been exceptional stories: a 52-year-old dying after a massive stroke and now the news of a man who’s been in our living rooms for decades – almost every single night – as well as in our phones (I have the Jeopardy app) and our computers, facing an extremely deadly disease head on.
 
Of course, we all wish him the very best. He feels like family.
 
I don’t really have many Alex Trebek stories; I had the opportunity to intervew him over the phone a few times, including at CHFI and back when I was at CKLW in Windsor/Detroit in the early 1980s.
 
That latter phone call took place when Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune packed an incredible, seemingly unbeatable one-two ratings punch. Of course, Wheel was the winner – something that the dry and wry Trebek had fun with. When we joked about the rivalry between the two shows, he told us, “Of course Wheel of Fortune has more viewers. For that show you only have to know the alphabet!”
 
I always loved that line. Mr. Trebek, I’m told, has a deeply twisted sense of humour (something we get to see glimpses of every now and then) and I have no doubt that it will help him through the weeks and months – and hopefully years – ahead.
 
In the meantime, I’ll watch his show tonight, pausing live TV to give me a chance to answer before the smarty pants contestants buzz in (yes, it’s come to that, my friends). And I’ll sit in otherwise quiet appreciation of a man who just makes me believe that even if he didn’t have those answers (or questions) on a card in front of him, somehow he’d probably know them anyway.
 
I hope he’s got the answers this time, too. Because my question would be: “What is twenty more years, Alex?”
 
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On another note – if you subscribe to Sirius, please join me at 1:30 EST on Sirius XM Canada Talks with Jeff Sammut. We’ll be having a nice long chat, and I look forward to catching up with him. 
 
I’ll be back with you here tomorrow to wrap up the week. And since it’s Thursday, I’m happy to share with you a link to my latest Walmart article about something happening this Sunday morning. I’m sure you’ll find it “timely.” 
 

Ah, home, sweet home. For the second time in two weeks, Rob and I found ourselves unpacking our big teal-coloured hard shell suitcases yesterday and just tossing most of their contents in the direction of the washer and dryer. Some stuff goes back into the “travel” closet (where the extra curling iron and travel-sized bottles live). I want to pitch two pairs of high heels into the ocean, but I’m sure it would just prove frustrating to mermaids, so I’ll keep them until I forget the pain, remember how they looked and pack them again. 
 
One month today we’ll be wheeling those suitcases to our nearby airport again as we host (along with my radio partner Mike Cooper) a river cruise in Amsterdam. This is turning into quite the year for logging miles and I’m not complaining. When I pictured reWirement, TRAVEL was at the top of the list of things I wanted to do. And so here we are. Molly has been in the excellent hands of warm and loving people staying in our home.
 
This time around, I have no travel mishaps to share with you and there’s one great big reason for that: Rob was with me. Yes, we had lousy snow tires in a Toronto blizzard (not our fault; it was the only car that Hertz had available when we landed at YYZ – a Kia with Nova Scotia plates that shouldn’t have been anywhere near a snowy road) but that was the extent of our (mis)adventures.
 
I do have to tell you a Rob story that is so above and beyond the call of duty you’ll marvel at this guy’s patience and sweet nature.
 
It was the day before our trip to Toronto, two weeks ago today. While I was getting my hair cut, Rob had taken Molly into Victoria for a grooming, so that the couple staying at our home whilst we were gone would have a sweet-smelling pup between them when she decided to hop up on their bed and join them for the night (which she does, the little tart). 
 
I asked him if he would pick me up some adhesive lashes. I’d considered getting extensions, but found out that: a) no one in Sidney was available to do them, and b) you need to go a few days with no water or makeup near your eyes for the lashes to adhere properly. The latter was not going to be an option, as I had TV to do the day after we landed.
 
My friend and favourite makeup artist, Christine Calder, had told me that her best pro lashes came from Walmart (’cause I don’t just write for them, I shop there, baby!). So I asked Rob to pick me up a few strips of KISS brand lashes. I guess that sounds simple enough, but here’s how that went down.
 
Overwhelmed by the selection, Rob texted Christine and they had a conversation that went back and forth to such an extent that it ate up all of the time he was going to spend doing errands during Molly’s appointment! He sent pictures, she sent advice and on it went. I ended up with about six packages (or 30 sets of lashes) and will probably be laid to rest wearing one of those pairs, so many do I have now.
 
Then last week, as I was doing a phone interview with PostMedia’s Kevin Connor, Rob was out at a downtown Toronto Rexall trying to match a picture of blush that I had sent to his phone, since I didn’t pack mine. I wouldn’t have ten minutes to shop and he volunteered to go find some for me. He brought back three to the hotel room; one was fine and the other two were returned later in our trip. 
 
Anyway, in case you didn’t already know, that’s the kind of guy I married. The guy who, all last week, got me (and sometimes my amazing publicist Melissa) where we needed to be on time and mostly composed, weather permitting. As I stayed and signed and hugged and talked with readers and former listeners in Oshawa, there was Rob with his own lineup of folks who just wanted to meet him, shake his hand or have him sign my book. It was heartwarming.
 
He’d gotten up a few times at different events and offered his perspective on things, answered some questions and even was the mic runner for one particular gathering in Uxbridge. He’s never stopped supporting this endeavour and I’ll never stop being grateful for everything he’s done to get us where we are – and some days that’s simply “upright.” And that’s okay.
 

This won’t be a long one – I have about 77% on a dying battery and am not guaranteed a power supply on the plane.
 
I’ve many stories and observations to share with you after a whirlwind (almost) two weeks in Ontario but there was news of a death to which I had no real, personal connection that shook me yesterday as I’m sure it did many people.
 
For those who grew up or were in our younger years when a show called Beverly Hills, 90210 was a hit from 1990 to 2000, the ensemble cast members were as familiar to us as those of any show – surpassed perhaps only by the team on Friends. Luke Perry was the “bad boy” James Deanish brooding character who broke hearts and saved the day. I was past the age of having a crush on TV characters or actors (save a few more mature actors like George Clooney) but Luke Perry’s Dylan certainly did have his share of fans.
 
When we heard late last week that the actor had suffered a stroke, it was news taken (at least in our household) with some concern, but with a great big block of salt. After all, how many times have we heard from “news outlets” that a star was at death’s door, only to learn that they were alive and well? (That’s part of the reason I didn’t chime in with thoughts, prayers or anything else when I heard of Olivia Newton-John being on her proverbial death bed.)
 
You just don’t believe that stuff, especially when it’s about someone who’s not only in the midst of a career surge (a cast member on Riverdale, but he had apparently signed up for the upcoming reboot of 90210).
 
Yesterday, the worst news was not only confirmed – it was indeed a massive stroke – but that it had taken his life. He was 52 years old. As Toronto radio host John Moore put it, “And everyone my age is humbled by life.”
 
I get exactly what John was saying. Rob feels the same way when he hears of someone in their sixties dying. But here it is: we should all be humbled by life. Every single day. In our lives, the fact that a healthy 24-year-old can stop breathing – her heart simply stop – in the middle of the night should be enough for everyone just to take a moment and be grateful. For the heart that beats, the lungs that fill, the liver that functions and the brain that keeps us operating. 
 
But the fact is, we don’t. We simply don’t treat our bodies as we should: we celebrate an hour at the gym three times a week when we should be active every single day. We drink or smoke (or both); we do things that if we had to look a doctor in the eye and tell her about it, we might wish to look away. I speak not for all of us but for myself and, I’m assuming, many of us. 
 
A lot of us treat our bodies the way we should only when we’re carrying a baby. Then, we stop any risky behaviour, we give up our sins and reconsider everything from caffeine and artificial sweeteners to the more obvious poisons in alcohol and cigarettes. But why don’t we treat our bodies like that for our entire lives?
 
I’ve digressed here because, for all I know, none of this could apply to Luke Perry. The man who played Dylan McKay on TV could have lived a life of bean sprouts, marathons and meditation; I have no idea. All I know is that life is so damned precious that the death of someone we know – even if it’s just through the TV 20 years ago – is a reminder that there are no promises. A contract signed for a new series (even a reboot) is no guarantee you’ll be around when that season hits the airwaves.
 
It’s “just a celebrity,” but it’s a man’s life. It’s a death. It came on the 25th anniversary of John Candy’s passing and it all just hits home.
 
Life is humbling. Leave nothing unsaid, leave no love unspoken. Do the things you have wanted to do and leave nothing until the day you retire or you find the time. 
 
The time is now and you are alive. Be humble.
 

I hope you enjoyed the sunshine that visited us in Ottawa on the weekend and if you want someone to thank, that would be us. After taking our lives in our hands with a rental car in Toronto that had tires that weren’t fit for swinging on, we made a decision to pay an extra $17 a day for snow tires when we rented an SUV in Ottawa. Good call, I’d say; even though we never had to put them to the test, it was worth it for the peace of mind that came with driving our sweet little boy here and there.
 
Today (after a phone interview with Ken Eastwood at News Talk 1290 CJBK in London to air at 8:20 am), we’ll hop in the car and drive to 1310 News for a late-morning interview with Ottawa host (and Lauren and Phil’s former co-worker) Mark Sutcliffe. After that, we’ll take our precious boy to lunch, head back home and pack up for the flight to BC this evening. 
 
This weekend was a blur – much like the week that preceded it – although we tried to be present for the best moments: making scrambled eggs with little Colin two mornings in a row, Rob taking him five-pin bowling for the first time, enjoying a taco dinner and special “no occasion” cake, spa time with Brooke. Tuck-ins and wake-ups, bath times and play times. All of them things that grandparents who live closer to their heart’s desires get to experience so often, all of them things we cherish and try to hold in our hearts until next time.
 
Saturday, it was late in the day before Rob went out to pick up newspapers, as we’d heard there were some pretty impressive sales lists that I would want to see. That’s the subject of my pal Lisa’s blog today and, thankfully (because I don’t know if I can post bestselling rankings without being accused of feeling too full of myself), I can share in her pride here. Please do take a minute to read Lisa’s blog (today and every day) and I’ll be back with you here tomorrow. 
 

Remember that old folk saying that if March comes in like a lamb, it’ll go out like a lion (or vice versa)? I can’t speak for the weather, but for us, this month is going out like a Tasmanian Devil. NOT that there’s anything wrong with that!
 
I asked your kind forgiveness for going on about this whole book release and tour. It’s been a huge part of our lives for about two years and this week has been the culmination of so very much: some wonderful kind of alchemy that has turned a nightmare into something of a dream that we didn’t even dare envisioning. It’s wonderful, it’s awful, it’s bizarre and, through it all, we are grateful.
 
Yesterday I did something I’ve never done before and just ahead of a story of a very interesting sign from Lauren (yes, everybody seems busy trying to get through to us these days), I wanted to tell you about this experience.
 
After landing at around 8 am in bright but brisk Ottawa, we picked up our rental SUV (paying an extra $17 per day for snow tires, if you can believe it) and headed downtown. After we stopped off for copious amounts of coffee (five hours’ sleep will do that) and a breakfast sandwich, Rob dropped me at CBC Radio Canada on Queen Street in Ottawa.
 
I pre-taped an interview with Ottawa Morning host Robyn Bresnahan to air today and then was escorted to a very small windowless studio that resembled the Whisper Room that my dad bought and set up in his seniors’ condo so he could practise his sax and clarinet without disturbing anyone. 
 
I killed about an hour’s time before my first interview with a host in Quebec. Then about half an hour after that ten-minute chat, I spoke with a woman in Halifax, then one in Saskatchewan, another in Manitoba, and later a gentleman in Calgary. All in all, with scheduling as it was, I was there for five hours.
 
I sat in that room, careful to have my iPhone ringer off, and chatted with these hosts located in so many far-flung places. (Why BC wasn’t on the list, I’m not sure, but I hope to be able to visit CBC in Victoria one day soon!) Each interview was different, each host had his or her own style. And all of those chats will run at various times this weekend.
 
With the message of hope and joy (and love after loss) contained in Mourning Has Broken spreading across Canada, I’m hoping that the Ontario-heavy sales numbers will start to change. I’m not so concerned about the sales – which are beyond my wildest dreams at this point – but about the message getting through. And that’s why this week, including last night’s final book signing for this trip, the radio interview today and the CTV noon chat in Lauren’s old office building in the Byward Market mean so much.
 
The question, “Was writing this cathartic?” seems to be a common one, although nothing could be further from the truth. Rob and I had to go back to the worst days of any parent’s life. We had to talk about details we’d already blurred because we didn’t want to remember them. But as the book evolved, it became our way of healing. Of acceptance.
 
This week I’ve looked into the eyes of completely broken people. But I’ve also heard from those people who have found ways to move forward and through loss and find their own paths of joy. It’s been an incredibly touching and humbling experience and one that I will not forget.
 
I ran into an old boyfriend (story to follow one day MAYBE), received many gifts big and small, and heard stories of signs from our departed. But this one came from my own goddaughter and niece, Lauren’s Maid of Honour and dearest cousin. Meaghan received her copy of Mourning Has Broken via the mail the other day. (I haven’t been giving them away, as I just don’t have any copies yet!) She texted me to tell me and then asked, “Is it written on scented paper?”
 
My eyes grew wide as I wrote back, “No – why?”
 
She answered, “Wow! That’s wild that it isn’t supposed to be scented! The cover of the book right away reminded me of our apple trees that went into full blossom the day of Lauren’s passing. The perfume of flowers was obvious the moment it was unwrapped from the padded Amazon envelope.”
 
Okay – what?
 
First of all, if Meaghan had told me that her trees bloomed exactly on May 11th, I don’t remember. Secondly, there’s a story in the book about the day we smelled baking (we were in bed crying at the cottage and there were no windows open, no people around, no way at all that we could both, Rob and I, smell fresh baking). 
 
Do we believe that Lauren gave Meaghan a hug through the opening of that envelope? Absolutely. In fact, you’ll read about Meaghan introducing us to www.fedisbest.org, too. A sweet gift from one lovely daughter to another.
 
And on that sweet-scented note, I will leave you for today to ponder this first day of “Meteorological Spring” whilst we await the real thing. Our day is about to get exponentially warmer with a visit to our favourite little family just a couple dozen kilometres from the hotel we stayed in last night. There will be more rainbows to come, to be sure, but today the pot of gold at the end of this one has curly brown hair and calls us “the bananas.” (Wonder why?) 
 
Have a lovely weekend.