Erin's Journals

I hope your week is going well; here we find ourselves halfway through both the week and the month. Time is flying and the Toronto Santa Claus parade is gearing up for this Sunday. Hard to believe – and what great memories I have of being able to take part and represent the only radio station in the parade year after year! Of course, the shouts of “Hi Marilyn!” from some in the crowd were always really great at keeping my ego in check. You have to laugh. I did and still do!
 
Having left Ottawa already, the majority of our Christmas shopping is done! Presents for family on the BC mainland were delivered last month when I “rendezvous-ed” with my sister (Is that a word? I’ll make “rendezvoused” a word then) so that’s pretty much it. Hard to believe. But most normal people – and I’m going to assume you’re among them – may have yet to start.
 
So let me offer a little help, as well as some inspiration, if you’re one of those people who think they’ve got a book in them and are wondering just what it takes to get it out there!
 
Nancy, one of my long-time CHFI listeners and a new friend on the Island, felt like so many of us when she left her career and moved to Vancouver Island: what next? Her work in communications and public relations involved lots of writing, but in a business style, often on dry topics (just the facts, ma’am).
 
She loves to write, but wanted to “rewire her brain” to write more creatively and more imaginatively. I hate to take credit for it, but she will tell you that I was her inspiration to being published in what used to be the Facts and Arguments page in the Globe and Mail. (I will take both credit and blame for that, thanks!) 
 
With five books written for children (but sitting on the shelf waiting for her to pitch them to publishing houses), an interesting opportunity came her way recently. Through the woman who started a community outreach in South Africa, Nancy was introduced to Asanda, a 16-year-old boy who loved to draw. He took one of Nancy’s stories and created the basic characters. His work was refined and finished in Victoria by a young welder with a passion for graphic arts and, voilà, The Magical Power of Color was recently published.
 

 
Through Nancy’s words and the animated illustrations, young children get an early sense of how different colours can affect how they feel. We all have our favourite colours and think of how often we use colour in describing feelings: “I feel blue,” “I’m green with envy,” and so it goes. 
 
I can vouch for being able to ham it up when I read it to Coco, because it is a rhyming book. Nancy said that even though rhyming books are not as popular now, they are still much easier for adults to read to kids. My niece Regan loved the one we gave her for her birthday earlier this month, too, and it’s always special if you can get it inscribed by the author. Auntie has connections LOL!
 
You can also order a signed copy from Nancy using the link on the website or you can order via Amazon. Part of the proceeds from book sales will go back to the children who are part of Ukulapha. And as you can see, the feedback on the book has been really terrific.
 
A good book – a good cause – how do you do better than that? 
 
Have a gentle Wednesday and I’ll be back with you here tomorrow.
 

And here we at Tuesday – so I must be in another city. And I am.
 
Today I’ve arrived in rainy Halifax, glad to have brought an umbrella, but even happier to be staying at the hotel where tonight’s Canadian Real Estate Association event is taking place. I brought a good book and plan to spend the day with it, until it’s time to put on the lashes again tonight. What a whirlwind these past two-plus weeks have been! Good thing I like hotels, huh?
 
Although heading to Markham for the huge Celebration of Hope on Sunday was one of the highlights of my year, leaving Ottawa squeezed my heart like a sponge; this visit has been just that sweet. Laughter and stories and calls of “Silly Grandad!” a book about veggies with wedgies and so much more.
 
I worry about having overloading my phone with too many photos and videos while I was there. Here he is after a nap wearing some jammies I’d found (on sale!) at Indigo. He’s looking out at the snow. 
 

 
I’ll have more in coming days. I can tell you that he’s handsome and sensitive, tall and smart and has a terrific sense of humour. I gave his mom a dish scrubber that resembles a girl, so we started calling her Colin’s girlfriend. He named her Monique and I started to do voices for her. I won’t lie, her catchphrase is “Be Best!” and he’s caught on to that. Hmmm…wonder who I made her sound like….
 

 
He sings almost all of the words to “What a Wonderful World” and bursts into song – that song – at random times all day. It’s like he’s reminding us to stay happy all of the time. And we’re grateful.
 
We read for hours (the only TV he likes is Wheel of Fortune) and I can’t decide if the best time is greeting him in the morning and hearing, “It’s nice to see you!” or going to bed and climbing in beside him to talk about his day and take him up to a cloud to tell me what he sees. But the funniest thing happened last Thursday night. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
 
We cuddled up together as I tried to hold on to the smell of his sleepy sweetness. As his sound machine played, the room lit dimly by a Paw Patrol light, he told me how many suns he could see (32) and we shared other little sweet nothings. And then, in the quietest voice, he said to me something I almost heard. What was that? Because I thought he said, “Gramabana please don’t leave….”
 
“What, honey? You don’t want me to leave?”
 
“No,” he whispered, “Please leave.”
 
I had to hold in my laughter. “You want me to leave?” I asked.
 
“Yes,” he whispered. “I want my polar bear.” (It was on the other side of me.)
 
I told him, “Sure,” climbed out of his little wooden bed and tucked him in. We whispered our good-nights and I closed his door. 
 
Creeping into the room next door, where was Rob reclined on the bed, I said, “I don’t know how to process everything that just happened.” My heart was full to bursting with love for this little boy who was just so honest and so sweet and who has our hearts so firmly in his beautiful hands. 
 
We’ll chat with him again this weekend via computer and hold tight to our milky memories of this wonderful visit. We’ll be forever grateful to Lauren for leaving us with this little person, and to Phil and Brooke for gently guiding him through this life with so much love and careful direction. And we’ll be counting the weeks until the end of February: book publication date and a visit to Ottawa on the publicity tour. (Note to Mother Nature: BE NICE!) 
 
Tomorrow: a beautiful children’s book that is sure to add colour to your November day, and maybe a special little person’s Christmas. Be well.
 

Welcome to Monday and I suppose that, for some, the weekend continues. I’ll never get having a long weekend around Remembrance Day. Honestly, it’s not as if today anyone will be going to a cenotaph, will they? But that’s the way it is. Federal offices are closed today. 
 
I don’t know if you keep track of first date anniversaries, but Rob and I do and today it’s 32 years since that night I invited him (my, um, boss) to Second City’s “Not Based on Anything By Stephen King” preceded by dinner at a now-defunct restaurant for which I’d done radio ads and was paid in food. Those were the days! I remember what I ordered: a Caesar and a Caesar (cocktail and salad). Strange the things you recall – and there are so many others from that night. (You’re going to have to buy the book LOL) Anyway, here we are, all these years later. And I am grateful.
 
We’re also apart this year as Rob is back home in BC getting set for a long car journey that I’ll explain and lay out later this week.
 
Today I find myself at Pearson International getting set to fly to Halifax for a job tomorrow evening with the Canadian Real Estate Association. I gave it an extra day, as it’s November and you never ever know what the weather’s going to do, right? After seven or eight of these CREA gatherings over the past two years from BC to Nova Scotia, I’m so sorry to see the talks come to an end. How I enjoyed emceeing them and seeing parts of Canada I’d only flown over in the past, such as Regina and Winnipeg. But all good things must come to an end, they say.
 
Yesterday it was just another spectacular Celebration of Hope. I’m sorry that I am not able to include stories and photos here today as my web editor Rob is several provinces away, but instead you can find out how the event went – including an appearance by my friend Mike Cooper – by going to my public Facebook page: www.facebook.com/erindavispage. I’ll have put up pictures etc. there. Thank you for understanding. 
 
Here, though, is the clip that was prepared and shown to the crowd of 800+ at the Hilton Markham Suites yesterday. After it ran, Mike joined me on stage (Sarah and Christopher and their partners were there as well) and we talked about Debbie’s commitment to giving back to Mount Sinai by volunteering in the cancer treatment reception area and by making sure others being treated were not alone or afraid. She really was something.
 
Take a moment to watch Debbie and Mike as she spoke in 2015, upon receiving her Hope Award, about how her diagnosis changed her outlook. I think you’ll find this to be more Monday Motivation than you can possibly imagine.
 

 
Here’s to making every day count. I’ll be back with you here tomorrow.
 

And we come to the end of another week filled with more news – more sadness – than many of us can take. Another mass shooting in the US. A looming constitutional crisis, also south of the border. The heavy grey of November. I’m sure you’ll be looking forward to taking a breather, if the world will allow.
 
On a much lighter note, we have one last full day together here in Ottawa with the most accommodating couple – and their son – who’ve made Rob and me feel welcome, despite the unwieldy length of our visit, brought about by Deb Cooper’s funeral last week.
 
This lovely stop in Ottawa was already planned, but last week’s sad occasion added an extra few days; we suggested that they think of the visit as ten days but with three off in the middle, and they’ve graciously done just that. We even squeezed in a very early Christmas, as it’s all our calendars would allow this year. (And yes, they now have a digital thermometer to replace the one we melted while making that early turkey dinner.)
 
I’ve never had a problem with people who choose to start getting excited about December 25th before November 11th. I’m of the mind that our hearts and spirits are big enough that we can accommodate many emotions and pay attention to more than one significant event at a time.
 
Yes, I’m sure someone’s nose was out of joint when the Bay windows were unveiled last weekend, just as they would be if a Santa Claus parade was held tomorrow in some small town instead of waiting until after November 11th, as seems to happen annually. But this year, I was incensed about something else I saw – or didn’t see – and I have to share it with you.
 

 
Remembrance Day this Sunday carries with it even more significance than usual this year as it marks the centenary of the first armistice after the Great War, on November 11, 1918. Having visited Vimy Ridge and the memorial there in 2016, we were touched deeply by the significance and magnitude of the sacrifices made by young men and women of so many countries, but especially of our own. 
 

 
The row upon row of white tombstones marked with names, years and maple leaves is heartbreaking. And taking time to remember the children, parents, brothers and sisters lost during the wars in which a young Canada was called upon to help preserve or restore peace is something every one of us should do willingly and with more than just a passing knowledge of what it is we are commemorating.
 
But here’s what happened last Sunday evening. We’d checked into our downtown hotel room and took a walk through the Eaton Centre. We entered at Nordstrom at the north end and, as we passed individuals and groups, security guards and employees in that giant department store and then as we spilled out into the mall itself, we saw not one poppy. Honestly, not one.
 
Finally, we crossed the path of a woman in her thirties, pushing a stroller. She had on two poppies. When we stared at her slack-jawed (yes, I’d gotten pretty worked up by now), she took out her ear buds as if to listen to what we had to say. I told her, “You’re the first person we’ve seen in this mall – from the entrance of Nordstrom to here – to be wearing a poppy!”
 
She seemed surprised at our rather random outburst and said, “Oh, I always wear two in case I lose one!”
 
We thanked her, said, “Good for you,” and were on our way.
 
For the rest of our pass through one of Canada’s largest and most famous shopping landmarks, we saw no more poppies than we could count on one hand. Again, not on security guards. Not on store employees. Not even on men’s jackets on window mannequins. I mean, what the actual hell?
 
I don’t want to be that person: the one who gets all mad at a store for playing Christmas music or like the angry dude who sang “A Pittance in Time” about the people in the store who didn’t stop down during the 11 am moment of silence on Remembrance Day. I’m all about people relishing the freedom that the allied soldiers fought and died for, so that Canadians had the choice to wear a poppy or to not wear a poppy.
 
For all I know, some of these folks had their poppies under their jackets or just had no idea what the whole thing is about. Maybe some are new to Canada or visitors to this country (Americans don’t wear poppies, after all). There are a lot of possible reasons why it took us one-third of the mall on that blustery Sunday evening to spot even one person wearing a poppy. 
 
Something is getting severely lost in the messaging. Whether it’s parents’ fault or that of schools, or if it’s something being dropped in the government’s duty to inform its citizens about an important day in our nation’s calendar, there is a serious disconnect when it comes to why we wear poppies. I know why I do: because I’m so fervently grateful to live in this country and to enjoy the freedoms and rights that we so take for granted and that came at such a ghastly high price.
 
Put up your Christmas tree – your Festivus pole – do what you want. But for heaven’s sake please keep spreading the word about the significance of the poppy and our veterans and active service people. Remind others of the sacrifices that have been made, not just by individuals, but their families as well. And may we never, ever forget. 
 
I’ll be back with you Monday.
 

Boy, it’s strange when the rollercoaster comes to that sudden stop at the end of the ride. You know the feeling: you’ve built up to the climb, there’s the whoosh and excitement and then…with a force that makes your head jerk, it stops. And you’re left trying to focus. Out of breath. I didn’t realize I’d been holding it until it was too late. And then I was in trouble.
 
If you follow me on Twitter (first of all, thank you) you know there was a bit of a grief moment yesterday. I tweeted this, then was told my esthetician was ready. (This screen grab is from about six hours later.)
 

 
I followed a lovely young woman into a small dimly lit room. Then just as the door was closing I heard a guitar lick. I asked if I could stop for a sec and listen. Sure enough, there it was: Let it Be. A message from our Beatles-obsessed daughter to her equally obsessed mother? Perhaps, I thought. Perhaps.
 
Well, that was enough to open the flood gates. The lady who would be with me for the next 90 minutes for a facial and massage could not have understood, but I sat up on her table as the soft spa music drowned out the sound of Paul McCartney’s voice and I buried my face in a small towel and started to sob – something that’s never happened in a spa or anywhere else that wasn’t a “safe” space before.
 
Startled, she said, “What happened? Are you okay?” 
 
I tried to explain to her that I had been holding myself together for a very long time but all of a sudden things hit me. Our daughter had died. We were trying hard to stay happy but we were with our grandson and…and…and….
 
How do you sum up three years of highs and lows to a perfect stranger who’s seven months pregnant, just doing her job and sees this woman break down in her peaceful little room? 
 
Part of this, I know, was the sudden stop. I know the ride starts up again very soon (off to the Markham Stouffville Hospital Celebration of Hope on Sunday and then Halifax for another event Tuesday) but I’ve been finding since leaving the constant, high wire act of live radio, when I turn it ON for several hours, I come down hugely.
 
The void that leaving radio has left in me just seems to get bigger and more extreme. I miss it more than I am willing to admit sometimes, so when it’s over, it just seems abrupt. Weird, I know. But at least I know what it is when it hits and why…and that helps!
 
Tomorrow – something was missing in Toronto this week. But it’s not too late to make it better; there are a still a few days left.