Erin's Journals

Well, here we are, at the end of the first (partial) week of 2019. I don’t know when I’ll get used to saying that new number, but at least I’m not finding myself filling in the 19– part of a cheque book, page after page. I would always do that anytime the new calendar changed in January.
 
There’s another tradition I kept up nightly from the age of 12 until about age 50: keeping a diary. Every five years I’d ask for – and receive – a diary. Early on, I’d record mostly the minutiae of teenaged day to day life: what I ate, what someone at school said that day, what boy I had my eye on.
 
Eventually someone had his eye on me, too, but having learned from an awful experience where my mother discovered a diary, read and confronted one of my two older sisters about a boy that she’d been hooking up with, I vowed if I was doing anything Mom wouldn’t like, there was no way I was going to rat on myself! So what did I do? I learned something called “briefhand.” I wish I had a diary with me so I could shoot a page of it. It’s rather akin to something you might see on the wall of an Egyptian temple. 
 
Not to be confused with shorthand, it’s a form of abbreviation that was once (and may still be) used in some secretarial circles. Since one of my sisters was studying to become a legal secretary and still living under the same roof as I was, I had at my disposal her briefhand books.
 
I enjoyed teaching myself different ways of shortening words and replacing letters, a skill that I used to great advantage when I became a reporter just a few years later. Best of all, I was the only one who could decipher the swirls and dots – a great thing when you’re writing a secret, coded diary. (I suppose my sister could have figured it out, but why would she care what I was up to?) 
 
Or was it such a great thing? Now that I’m old enough to know that I should’t have been doing things I wanted to write in code anyway (!) I don’t think – if I had a gun to my head – that I could be forced to decipher what I was writing about my activities at that time. Now, before your mind goes too far into sketchy areas, I was as close to an altar girl as you could get (not that there were any then, mind you) and I really wasn’t up to much.
 
I’d love to sit and just try to figure out the language and meaning of some of the stuff I scrawled out in those last years of high school, but what would be the point? Maybe one day I’d have translated it all and shared some of it with Lauren, but to be honest, the time to even try to do that would have been when Lauren was the same age. And I doubt she’d have cared much, busy as she was leading her own life. 
 
Later, as I went back to writing in English, my diary would become a sort of homemade ancestry.com. When Mom wanted to know what date or year so-and-so died, or when we travelled here or there, I just had to look it up. They did come in handy after all, and that’s why I still have them.
 
So, somewhere sits a pile of little, differently-coloured five-year diaries, some of them with silly tarnished locks along the side (that were easily breached by a curious/furious mother or a mere snip of scissors, I’m sure). This year, after having dropped writing in a diary years ago (thinking, with this journal, just how much can one pen about their own non-royal life, anyway?) I’ve picked up a daily planner.
 
I figure with so many things happening (especially in the first few months of the year) it’ll be good not only to have records in our iPhones and on our shared computers, Rob’s and mine, but a bit of an actual journal. A real, old-fashioned diary. Because I want to remember every good minute of this year. 
 
Have a lovely weekend as the world prepares to ramp up into full GO mode on Monday – and I’ll be back with you then. Next week, more book stop details as they unfold!
 

So early in the year and already I have a confession to make. I am not crazy about one of the biggest, buzziest films of the 2018/19 season. It’s taking a lot of courage on my part to stand up and say this, being the “people pleaser” I try to be on so many fronts (Trumpsters being the main exception), and acknowledging the fact that so many people who are far, far more knowledgeable and accomplished in film criticiquing than I am are running out of superlatives to praise it. But here goes.
 
I didn’t love Roma.
 

 
Set in 1970s Mexico and shot in meticulous digital black and white by the film’s director and writer himself, famed Gravity creator Alfonso Cuarón, it’s the story – loosely – of a young housekeeper (in a home much like that in which Cuarón grew up) who finds herself in times of personal turmoil while the city around her, Mexico City, is also surging with range and change. The film’s climax (one of two, perhaps, if that’s possible) is one that brings together both the young woman and the politics around her in one tense and heartrending series of moments. And yet…and yet….
 
It wasn’t the fact there were subtitles (not a challenge for us), nor was it that our bedazzled brains got to settle back and enjoy the nuances of black and white for a change. I did find a character or two for whom I could root and sigh. But did I care deeply enough to connect and take this film with me for a few days to savour, ponder, reflect upon and truly appreciate more as time went by? Nope. 
 
Far more touching to me was the brutally honest, heartwrenching and touching standup special Nanette with Hannah Gadsby. I swear to you at times it was like watching the most famous breakdown point of the acclaimed film Network. In a Twitter-sized summary, Hannah, who’s openly lesbian, declares she may no longer be able to do comedy because she needs to address the pain that surrounds it for her – and the changes that have to be made.
 
I couldn’t quite believe what I was watching and I want to take her bravery and determination with me as I decide the tone of public speaking I take on in the future. The right mixture of laughter, honesty, tears, frustration and searching – always searching – for hope. 
 

 
Those were the moments I’ll remember among the bingeing and the sampling over the Christmas holidays. The delicious all-you-can-eat buffet of delights that is The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, the multiple espresso-fueled jolt I felt over watching Nanette, and the curious chef’s special that was Roma. How fortunate we are that the choices are so varied and that there are plenty for all.
 
Have a great day – and we’ll have more here tomorrow.
 

Here we are – beginning another year together in this quiet spot I call my journal and I want to thank you for making the time in this often hectic life to sit here with me for a few minutes nearly every day.
 
Was your holiday break a good one? Did you indulge a little too much and sleep as long as you wanted? I hope you did just the right amount of recharging your batteries to carry you through the winter months as we await longer days and whiffs of spring.
 
I was saddened to read of the passing of Jann Arden’s mom, who suffered with Alzheimer’s and whose slow fade into darkness had been so eloquently and honestly shared by her brave, funny and beautiful daughter. Although the lyrics to Jann’s “Good Mother” have echoed through my mind this past week, twice I’ve been in places with music playing and heard her singing “Insensitive.” Nice to be reminded that down here in the US they know a great Canadian singer when they play one. 
 
Speaking of mothers and daughters, I have to tell you how my 2019 began yesterday. After a midnight swim that followed just the right mixture of quiet reflection and channel flipping, I fell into a deep sleep that took me well past my usual 8:30 am awakening. And there’s a reason why I didn’t want to open my eyes: I had my first long dream of reuniting with Lauren since she left us in May of 2015.
 
In this dream, she came to visit as an adult in our MINI convertible with a girlfriend who was in her wedding party. In a house I didn’t recognize, I couldn’t leave Lauren’s side; my late mom was in my dream, too, and at one point Mom, Dad and I were sharing cookies that Lauren had made with Brooke (the wife of Lauren’s widower Phil). And Brooke – they were great! I broke off a piece with icing on it….
 
At one point I had to leave the room, I was crying with such joy to be with Lauren again. My mom didn’t quite get why I was being so emotional and I knew I was being silly – Lauren was just back on a visit, is all, from her home in Ottawa – but you see, in real life, I was just the same: absolutely giddy when she would come for a night or two and stay under the same roof.
 
Except in this dream, my joy was extreme and, for some reason, so was the depth of my need to be at her side, stroking her arm, hugging her, sitting on a step (near a bush vibrant with bees and wasps, one of which ended up down the neck of my dress, but that I successfully fished out of the band of my underwear before it could sting). Ah, dreams….
 
This is how I started 2019. Awake from a dream where, towards the end, Lauren had knocked over and broken a champagne glass (that had a K etched on it) and in which, when I saw an envelope addressed to a media outlet, I mused that it couldn’t be for her, as Lauren no longer worked there, having died. And that’s kind of how the dream ended.
 
What does it all mean? Everything and nothing, I suppose. All I know is that it’s the first significant reunion I’ve had with our girl, and I’ve been so hoping she’d visit in a dream. I recall offering to give her our car if she’d come back and live with us, then laughing, realizing she had her own life; that she had to be somewhere else. I would like to think she’s pointing me towards the year ahead. And reminding me she is always, always at our side.
 
Happy 2019, my friend. Our dreams may not all come true, but sometimes it’s enough just holding onto gratitude for what we have, what we had, and what lies ahead.
 

As winter begins this afternoon and the official solstice occurs, it seems a good time to remind us all that the short, darker days will be turning around and we’ll see more light in the coming weeks and months. May that be a metaphor as we face the end of one year and the start of another.
 
Of course, for many, the lights will shine brightest this coming Monday and Tuesday, as families gather to celebrate the warmth and love of the holidays. How we wish these feelings could last through the year! But that’s up to us, isn’t it?
 
As we embark on a few weeks’ hiatus here on the journal, returning on Wednesday, January 2nd, I want to tell you what I hope for us in the coming year. 2018 has been filled with travel and adventures, sadness and serenity. As always, Rob and I have striven to keep a balance of it all and to stay the right amount of “busy.” We’re still working on it.
 
I’m finding myself filling in the calendar for the coming year with a mixture of company (coming down to join us between now and mid-February) and business travel: we’re returning to our Ontario home towards the end of the second month as we prepare to spread the word on radio, TV and in print media about Mourning Has Broken: Love, Loss and Reclaiming Joy. 
 
Although I am bound by the rules set out by our publisher regarding what I can say about appearances and when I can say it, I was sent this Chapters Indigo notification by a friend, Charlene Close, earlier this week. So it’s out there: on Wednesday, February 27 at 7 pm I’ll be at Indigo in Oshawa for an interview about the book, followed by a book signing! I’m very exciting to be hitting up Durham Region and this gorgeous store and you can click this Facebook link or simply Google it for more information.
 
I hope to see you there, if you’re not coming to Oakville or one of the other appearances that have yet to be officially announced. If there’s any news over the holiday break, I’ll be sure to post it on Facebook – if you’ve been Invited to Like, please do click Like on the page and if you haven’t been…well, Like it anyway and that way you’ll get instant notifications that I’ve posted there, if you’re so inclined.
 
I have been blessed with the support and encouragement of a lot of my sisters in media and people whose paths I’ve been lucky enough to cross through my career: Marilyn Denis, Amy Sky, Olivia Newton-John and Jeanne Beker have all written a few lines, what we call “blurbs” for the book cover about its contents or its author. But the nicest surprise came our way from Jann Arden.
 
This phenomenal human being, who inspired me to start journalling 15 years ago, thanks to her own frank, funny and touching thoughts on the internet, said “yes” when I reached out and asked her to write a Foreword for the book. Although she was up to her eyes in her own projects (including a CTV sitcom that’s coming out in 2019!) she agreed to read the book and write the Foreward, warning me that she wouldn’t be able to get to it until mid-October because of her TV commitments.
 
Days passed. Then weeks. I figured that it was a nice try on my part and I didn’t blame her for not finding the time. I heard from our publisher that the book was put to bed before the holidays, so if we did eventually get something from Jann, we’d use it for the HarperCollins.ca website (where you can also pre-order the book) or on my own website. I wrote Jann and told her to take her time: the pressure was off and if she wrote anything, it wouldn’t be in the book per se.
 
She got back to me immediately and told me she was just finishing this “glorious” book of mine and asked if it was too late. I told her we’d see. 
 
The next morning, this incredible singer-songwriter, herself living with the broken-heartedness of watching her dear mom slip away to the ravages of Alzheimer’s, sent me these lovely words. 

There is nothing that can prepare you for life, nor is there a single thing that can prepare you for death, your own, or for one of your tribe, your flock, your family—blood or otherwise. Death comes down either by hammer or feather, neither of which are particularly kind.
 
What Erin Davis has managed to articulate with her gut wrenching and brilliantly inspiring memoir dumb-founds me. Page after page is filled with such grace and insight and openness that quite often I was wiping a tear off my cheek or a laugh from the corner of my mouth.
 
How do you reconcile the sudden death of your only daughter?
 
How do you navigate a marriage and a job and myriad friendships and errands and appointments and just day to day breathing in and out? Erin bares all and in doing so gives us the opportunity to share our own losses—making us feel less alone in our own rivers of grief. That river that winds in and out of our days, stealing sleep and happiness and eventually our mental, physical and spiritual health.
 
Grief shared is more bearable.
 
Grief shared heals tender hearts.
 
Grief shared is a gift that Erin Davis and her beautiful book “Mourning Has Broken” gives to humans everywhere.

Can you even believe the beauty of Jann’s composition? I was speechless. Teary and speechless. And in a small miracle, when I reached out to the senior VP and publisher who’s been shepherding me through this whole project, she said she’d talked to the art department and they had just enough space – and time – to add it to the book. The words “A Special Foreword by Jann Arden” have been inserted onto the front cover, right below Olivia Newton-John’s quote.
 
And so, there you are. A note of grace, the kindness of the universe and a message of hope moving forward. Sometimes all you have to do is ask and you shall receive; being patient and trusting that all will be well is another path to choose. There is still so much kindness in the world. And I wish you and your loved ones a gentle and peaceful holiday season and a serene 2019.
 
Merry Christmas. And above all, thank you. Talk to you here on January 2nd.
 

Thank you for letting me share what was in my heart here yesterday. I wanted to post an addendum late last night saying, “My day got better!” in case you were at all worried. But, of course, you knew it would get better, just as I did. All it takes is time.
 
Tomorrow will be my last journal here of the year, as so many folks get busy with the holidays and celebrations starting next week. I get that, and anticipate you’ll want to take a break from the journal, too. But I’ll be back here tomorrow and I’ll share with you another book-related appearance that has been made public. We may see you there in February!
 
Over the next two weeks or so, in addition to hosting one of the lowest-maintenance guests a girl could ever hope for (my sister-in-law Sue), Rob and I will be doing our share of trying to get work.
 
As you may know, I do voice work on the side; there’s a British company which uses me for Southern Ontario phone prompts (maybe you’ve called a company, been put on hold and thought that voice sounded familiar?) and we also audition for a half-dozen or so other voice jobs daily through various online sites that post jobs, and to which we subscribe (at a cost). I’m thinking 2019 might be the year I get an agent for voice work as well as for public speaking, as I hope to get much busier in the coming months.
 
You may be wondering where we do our recording down here in Palm Springs. Would you believe in a trailer?
 

 
When we saw this place online last spring, the big attraction for me was this little retro-looking Shasta trailer. It’s actually just a few years old, but is designed to look as if it’s straight out of the middle of the last century. It sleeps four (although we haven’t booked enough company here to put it to the test) and is a sweet little thing. I’ve always had a thing for trailers. Although I’m not sure I’d like the life, I do love the idea of having your house on your back. My friend Lisa and I share that passion.
 
Perhaps it’s about the freedom to travel as long as you want, staying where you like. I’m afraid what could ruin the experience for me would be staying in close proximity to people who don’t respect rules or boundaries; we’ve experienced that enough with noisy neighbours and slamming doors in hotel rooms. I wouldn’t want to have to ask someone who’s had too many (and is a possible gun owner) to keep it down, if you know what I mean.
 
This little trailer isn’t going anywhere; it has locks on the wheels so no one tries to open the gate and wheel it out. That’s okay; we don’t need to move it; we like using it as our studio!
 

 
I sit at the little table which Rob has surrounded with our black egg carton-like acoustic foam, and my microphone is on that table. As Rob listens and records from the seating at the back end of the trailer, I do my auditions and then we come into the house, Rob edits and sends them out and we wait. And wait. 
 

 
I haven’t lucked into much work yet, but we’ll keep auditioning. Luckily, Derek (my friend Lisa’s husband) landed a nice fat job from some trailer voice work he did here, and Lisa also got work, if I recall. So it’s been great for them and I hope over the next few weeks it’ll be lucky for us, too!
 
Back with you here tomorrow to wrap up the week, the season and the year!