Erin's Journals

I trust you had a lovely weekend – or at least one that had just the right amount of activity and nothing at all. For me, it was definitely more of the latter, and that’s how I like it right now, still settling in as we are after a winter away and then the trip to Southern Ontario.
 
By the way, if you caught the Globe & Mail on the weekend (or last week’s Toronto Star), you saw that Mourning Has Broken: Love, Loss and Reclaiming Joy remains at #1 on the Canadian non-fiction list, and #3 non-fiction overall. I will not (and do not) take this for granted, not for a moment. There will come a weekend, perhaps soon, when it’s no longer at the top of the list. But for now, it all feels…surreal.
 
As you probably did, I spent the weekend thinking about New Zealand, thinking about the rise of white supremacy and its terrorism worldwide and the reluctance of even some of our “leaders” to call it out and risk alienating any Islamophobes in their “base,” thinking about how a horrible mentality has been given such a prominent platform, thanks to the internet. Unfortunately, as heart-wrenching as these attacks are, these “slaughter(s) by appointment,” as news commentator Waleed Aly said on Australian television, are not shocking. See his entire commentary here.
 
The language of hate, the increased use by so-called leaders of incendiary words like “invasion,” the ramping up of “we” versus “they” that we’re seeing more and more in our own New Zealand-like paradise – Canada – just continue to sound a call that is louder and clearer than ever: if you are not like me, if you don’t pray like me, if you don’t think like me, dress like me, make love like me or vote like me, then I don’t want to know you and I don’t think you belong in MY country.
 
It’s making me sick: this poor poisoned earth, where the air we breathe and the oceans we fill with garbage are a clear and obvious reflection of the toxicity of the thoughts and beliefs that fly invisibly from one device to the next.
 
Maybe you’ve not said these words or had these thoughts. I’m going to bet you haven’t. But who are we if we let comments posted to us by family or friends and acquaintances on social media go unchallenged? Even if you don’t click like or retweet, not calling out someone when they make xenophobic, racist, sexist or out-of-bounds comments is quiet affirmation.
 
When I’m followed on Twitter by someone whose banner says “Make Canada Great Again” or something equally Trumpian, I block them. When someone sends a Facebook message that says “I bet 99% won’t share this…” about something they claim our government is doing, or planning to do to them, I do a quick bit of research and write back saying, “You’re right – I won’t. Because there are no facts backing this up.”
 
I’m sure that’s not the response most people expect or want when they just spew widely something that fits their narrative, regardless of whether it’s factual or not, but I’m tired. Tired of the hatred. Tired of ignorance disguised as opinion disguised as fact. Tired of intolerance. Tired of it all.
 
For heaven’s sake, we all share one little blue dot in this vast universe. We just get 80 or so years each, if we’re lucky. As Canadians, we feel blessed to call one of the most beautiful, bountiful and – for the most part – peaceful countries in the world our “home.” Isn’t it time we started acting like it: looking for a common goal on higher ground, instead of pulling each other down into the mucky and miry playground of small minds bent on destroying everything we’ve built in this country? And for what – to make Canada, a country that continues to strive for improvement every day, “great?”
 
It is great. Just being here, we’ve won the geographic birth lottery. We’re far from perfect and not all attempts at getting better have been successful. But we’re in this together, this big beautiful mosaic that we call Canada. And we’d better wake up and realize this before we find ourselves pitted against each other any more than we already are.
 

So, yesterday being 3.14 on the calendar (at least, as some read it), it was designated Pi Day. In addition to being Albert Einstein’s birthday, it’s also the day that a Google employee set a new record by calculating Pi (the ratio between the circumference and diameter of a circle) to 31.4 trillion digits.
 
There. Now that we’ve gotten all that science-y stuff out of the way, let me tell you about one of the most memorable presents Rob and I have ever received: pie. And the fact that it came from a most unexpected source makes it even more special.
 
Late in 2016, when we realized that we’d be picking up our lives and moving west, we found the perfect buyers for what was supposed to be our dream house on Lake Simcoe: Jennifer Jones, a local real estate agent, and her husband Keith. We skipped right past the listing and showing and all of that, made a tidy transaction and prepared to start our new lives on Vancouver Island.
 
Imagine our surprise when, upon arriving here, we found a gift basket awaiting us. Sent from a place very close to our new North Saanich home, it included preserves, cheeses, breads and crackers, two varieties of house-made ice wine and an envelope. Inside was a card on which were printed these four delectable words: The Gift of Pie.
 

 
The Roost is a local spot that offers dining in and a bakery, plus a well-stocked food counter for take out. Their popular menu of sandwiches, frittata, thin crust pizza and fresh salads makes for a parking lot so full that the chickens who wander about have to watch where they’re going (as do drivers, obviously). The Roost Farm Bakery and Vineyard Bistro also makes the most astounding pies you’ve ever encountered and I’m not talking berries (although they do have sweet pies for sale); I’m referring to their savoury pies.
 
On this card, which we’ve just this week exhausted, but are strangely reluctant to part with, each dot represents a glorious dinner: a main dish taken to a host’s house (as we did last weekend with a steak and potato variety) or a few nights of comfort food – tortière or chicken – when putting something frozen into the oven was about the extent of the labour we were ready to do.
 

 
I think what amazed us most about the pies (which retail in the $20 range) is just how thoughtful it was for someone who had bought something from us to actually give us a gift to help welcome us to our new life.
 
That sentiment, along with the light buttery perfection of a well-made crust and its farm-fresh contents, have warmed our hearts and tummies for some 27 months. We thought of Jennifer and Keith every time we enjoyed one. And we were sure to thank them (probably too many times) for the extremely thoughtful Gift of Pie.
 
Now, as you get set to embark on what for many is the gift of a weekend, I hope you will have some time to enjoy something that truly nourishes your soul and your tummy all in one. You’ve almost made it through another winter. That should be reason enough to celebrate, right?
 
Talk to you here Monday.
 

Here we are in the final week of winter (or so says the calendar) and I understand that for some of the folks who join me here from Ontario, there’s a bit of a mild (albeit wet) spell settling in. Not good for those worried about flooding, but great for the soul and a reminder that even the crankiest winters can’t last forever! Here near Victoria, we still have smatterings of dark, dirty snow piled on the ground, but the blossoms are out on some of the trees and we’re heading for a cloudy high of 8 degrees today. Not bad, but not cycling weather (for us) just yet.
 
Of course, I remember March Breaks when it was so warm with temperatures up into the 20s that we’d joke on air about the poor folks who spent all of that money to go away and enjoy weather conditions just like we were experiencing at home! That might not be the case in all of Canada today (I know it snowed for hours in Ottawa yesterday), but it’s still better than minus-stupid degrees.
 
You probably know by now that I contribute to ideas.walmart.ca. I wrote this week’s Walmart piece about at-home March Break crafting with the kids after being inspired by colouring with Colin and watching him enjoy what seemed like hours of quiet art work.
 
My briefcase was open when we were at their house in Ottawa a couple of weeks ago and he was attracted like a magnet to the highlighter pens in pink, yellow and orange that were nestled inside the case’s lid. Of course, I gave them to him, but made him promise he’d only use these distinctly NON-washable markers in the safety of the kitchen and away from the living room furniture! Don’t want drama thanks to Grama Banana, if you know what I mean!
 
Speaking of which, Colin was off school yesterday for March Break and happened to be watching Cityline with Tracy Moore, because his Grama was going to be a guest. (Here’s a link.) Brooke and Phil sent a video of Colin losing his mind with excitement when his GRANDAD came on the TV. LOL! I mean, this is exactly what I was writing about yesterday: how life has a way of just keeping you grounded.
 
He looked up from his book when I was on and said, “Mommy, that’s my Grama on TV.” You know, like every kid’s is, right? And then when a shot of his Grandad came on, he just shrieked and pointed and got very excited: “That’s Grandad! He’s a boy! Robert! Robert! Grandad!” (Of course, he hears me call his grandad Robert, as sometimes with his hearing impairment, Rob doesn’t hear just the one syllable when I’m calling him – something Colin came to know and imitate loudly through the house.)
 
I love his reaction to the TV, though. I love everything about that. But do you know what I love most? The fact that Lauren would have done the exact. same. thing.
 
She would do stuff like that just to tease me, and always remind me that “Daddy’s the funny one.” The three of us would laugh together and it was just part of the dynamic of our relationship; although it was there and she certainly was warm and caring, she’d resist reciprocating the over-the-top love I would give to her and I got that. It seems Colin inherited that little trait too (which you see illustrated with humour in Mourning Has Broken).
 
Thanks for coming by today and for your kind comments about yesterday’s TV visits, including a very emotional one with Ben Mulroney. I was touched and surprised that they kept his tears in the segment; it never hurts people to see or hear that hosts are real just like them, right?
 
Have a gentle day and I’ll be back with you here tomorrow to wrap up the week on the Ides of March. I wonder if Clamato has considered building an ad campaign around March 15 and the Bloody Caesar? Hmmmm.
 

Hey there – I wanted to remind you gently that if you’re so inclined, you might want to catch tonight’s etalk. It’s on CTV and I had a beautiful few minutes talking with a tearful Ben Mulroney. As I mentioned here last week, it really opened my eyes to who this man is at his heart.
 

 

 
Also, today is the day they’re airing my spot on Cityline with Tracy Moore, taped just before Tracy went on a short vacation. Since details of my press whirlwind are pretty blurry now, I’ll be interested in tuning in to see how it went!
 
Tracy’s show is where this whole book story began: forgive me if you’ve read this tale before, but it’s still pretty unbelievable. On the day of my final Casa Loma broadcast for 98.1 CHFI in Toronto, Cityline aired an interview I’d taped with Tracy just the week before. In the studio audience that day was one woman who would change my life.
 
You see, Iris Tupholme is the Senior VP of Publishing for HarperCollins Canada and she was there on a girls’ day out with her sisters. She could have been at a matinee, they could have gone shopping or to a spa. But that day she was in the Cityline audience and later that week Iris sent me an email saying, “I think you’ve got a book in you.” And here we are. So going back to visit Tracy, on the first of ten days of interviews, seemed not just fitting, but full circle. 
 

  
Lest you think I’m getting too big a head over all of this book stuff, I want to assure you that there’s always ALWAYS family to keep it real for you. Like my Dad, for example. After I told him on Friday to keep an eye out in the Globe & Mail for the weekend’s best seller list, he asked why. I said, “Because I’m number one.” 
 
Dad laughed and corrected me: “I’m pretty sure you’re number three. At least in 1962 you were….” He was referring, of course, to birth order. As I say in my book (after Dad had a hard time finding words of praise for a Blue Jays TV Father’s Day segment) I’m one of four and nothing more. And that’s okay; it’s how he has always parented and I wouldn’t expect anything else, nor would I want it!
 
I think that if, at some time in their lives, each child secretly believes they’re the favourite – and least favourite – then parents have probably done a good job. I can’t speak to the equanimity question, though, just having had the one.
 
Dad called on Saturday to let me know that he couldn’t find the best sellers’ list in the Globe. He asked me if I meant the Toronto Star, which they don’t get at his Kelowna retirement home. I clarified that, while it was also in the Star, it was definitely in the Globe, even the BC edition, and I knew it because my friend Susan had brought a copy over.
 
Turns out this is what I’m pretty sure happened: he found a previously-enjoyed copy of the paper in a lounge and went through it all, but the entire Saturday section on books was missing. Figures, huh? You screw up the nerve to brag about something to your dad and then you practically feel like you’ve lied ’cause he can’t find any evidence to back your claim! 
 
How old do you have to be before you stop trying to prove yourself to your parents? Asking for a friend. LOL
 
Have a great day and we’ll be back with you here tomorrow.
 

You probably know Arlene Dickinson: famous for her prominence on the Dragons’ Den panel, she’s about to embark on a new show on CBC (starting this Friday at 8:30 pm) called Under New Management, in which she “takes budding entrepreneurs on a life-changing journey of assessing businesses for sale and whether they are really ready, and have what it takes.”
 
She’s a fascinating follow on Twitter @ArleneDickinson. Seemingly daily she tweets something positive and reaffirming to jump start our souls and I appreciate her outlook and sincerity. But it was a tweet on Saturday that I read, related to and commented on that I thought you might find interesting here today.
 
She wrote:
 

 
I echoed her sentiments and then was pleasantly surprised when she responded.
 

 
But it was a tweet that followed that really stopped me in my tracks. Sophia @hoistingmysail wrote: “Girls, I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you both. You inspire so many to carry themselves like Goddesses no matter what! Please do the same too! You own it!!!”
 
As much as I’d love to believe what Sophia says (surely more applicable to Ms Dickinson than to me) there’s still that small but persistent voice, that insecurity that has always been there. It’s the voice of the tall, new kid in so many schools who never fit in with the cool girls, except now, some 40 years later, those girls have been replaced by the superbly coiffed and often gorgeous sales women in stores where I could afford to shop but simply won’t. Can’t. Why? Because, like Arlene, I could just be coming from a salon myself, or on my way to a special meeting, and I still would not feel put together enough.
 
I’d think of the fraying handle on my three-year-old purse or the salt lines on my well-worn boots; I’d know that my size body is probably “plus” in many of their fashion lines and that I wouldn’t spend that kind of money on designer clothes to begin with. For what? So I can wear it a few times in public and then retire it to the back of the closet where clothes from a life I used to lead all go to die? (I gave away almost all of those dresses and pieces before we left Toronto in 2016.) 
 
Because clothes shopping is not something I particularly enjoy, I’ve been lucky in this public life to have had the support of a couple of amazing women in the business. Freda Iordanous is owner of Freda’s on Bathurst near King and she always treated me kindly and with generosity when it came to dressing for television or borrowing a gown for a one-time special event.
 
Then, thanks to events I was hosting in York Region for Markham Stouffville Hospital, I had the wonderful help of the women at The One and Only boutique in Aurora (still my favourite store). I love going where there’s no judgment, the staff treats you like a friend or a sister, and they know what will look good on you before you even try something on.
 
If not for those women in those places, I think I would have been that same 15-year-old girl every time I looked at clothes, even today. I don’t go into the high end stores where you can sense the top to bottom once-over the moment you pass by. I’m reminded of the scene in Pretty Woman when Julia Roberts’ call girl character is openly shunned by a snooty store clerk and then, of course, turns out to have a platinum credit card or something and surprises that nasty employee. Prejudices exist everywhere and, in the big picture, this one – real or perceived – isn’t really important.
 
It is, as Sophie pointed out in her tweet, something we should own. But I did find it comforting to know that a high profile business entrepreneur and media superstar like Ms Dickinson feels as I do. I’m much happier supporting the small store owner – a person who values her customers and treat us all equally, whether we’re sporting yoga pants and sneakers or toting a Louis Vuitton purse. (Hint: I’m the former.)
 
Oh, by the way, see the dress I bought in the Vancouver airport – not kidding – tomorrow on Cityline with Tracy Moore when I return to the place where the whole book adventure began. Might want to set the PVR today.