Erin's Journals

Here we go: the week that has our daughter’s death date on Friday and then Mother’s Day on Sunday. To say that May carries with it an extra heaviness is an understatement, but we will, to quote a song title from our favourite Beatles album (Abbey Road), “Carry That Weight.” 
 
Oh, by the way, we did hear from the town of Sidney: they have no plans to put a bench near those ponds at Iroquois Park, as there are other places that are higher up the list for benches. That’s all right. I’ve written back with a special plea, so we shall see. I visited “our” pond last Thursday and found this bench-shaped rock.
 

 
It’s a nice place to sit and listen to Lauren singing “Dream a Little Dream” on my phone. And that’s just what I do when I’m there with the ducks quacking quietly and the human-made waterfall flowing nearby.
 
We’ll find other ways and other places in which to spend time with our girl. It’s not as if she’s not with us every moment anyway. 
 
Thank you to Joanne for sending me a People.com article about Carol Burnett, who at the age of 85 is embarking on a new TV show on Netflix! She reflected on the 2002 death of her daughter Carrie at age 38 of cancer and how it threatened to take Carol out, too. She had to get out of bed, though, to complete a play she was writing and she said a prayer to Carrie to help her. Here’s how the rest of the story goes: 

Burnett says that at the time of the play, she suddenly felt Carrie’s presence all around her.
 
“I got on a plane and said a little prayer to Carrie, and said, ‘I’ve got to do this alone. Don’t leave me alone. Give me a sign that you’re with me.’” 

When Burnett got off the plane and checked into her hotel, she saw there was a beautiful bouquet of birds of paradise flowers waiting for her. 

“That was Carrie’s favorite flower,” she says. “She had one tattooed on her right shoulder. Then at dinner the maître d’ gave us a bottle of Champagne, and the label said ‘Louise.’ That was Carrie’s middle name. Then it rained on opening night. Carrie and I were nuts for the rain.”

I love reading these affirmations of signs from those we love. When I told you a few weeks back about the tearful walk I took and then the flower and the Beatles song that I heard a snippet of during that sad time, I left off one detail that I thought was just too much to believe.
 
As Rob and I got closer to the house, we were about to turn into the driveway when I could hear, wafting from a house a few doors down (or perhaps it was a crew working on a nearby site, but I somehow doubt it), the final few lines of one of the biggest movie themes of all time. It was Whitney Houston’s voice singing and the song was “I Will Always Love You.” Even with hearing aids made necessary by years of headphones and high volume editing, Rob didn’t hear the love song’s strains, so I didn’t point them out to him. But I carried it with me inside the house.
 
We have all the proof we need that our loved ones are around us and if they’re not what we want – an actual conversation, kiss or embrace – we still have to find some way to be grateful. A few lines of a song played over a store’s PA, a dime on the ground or a special bird (in Rob’s case, an eagle) flying over as friends sing “Happy Birthday,” they’re all just little nudges or “Godwinks,” as one reader calls them, to remind us that those we love are as close as our heartbeat and as constant as our breath. Have a gentle Monday.
 

Ah, yes, Star Wars Day. “May the Fourth Be With You,” and all of that. I confess to having fallen into that little hammock of wordplay: March 10 is “Mario Day” (MAR10)…July 10th is “Julio Day” and so on. I just like dates and numbers and silliness like that. I always said, too, that March Fourth was the only day of the year to tell you what to do, although, to be fair, March First might well have fit that narrative, too. The point is, I’m a word geek.
 
So it took me by surprise to learn that something I’ve heard since I was a kid turns out to be, not only corny in a harmless kind of way, but downright offensive. There are a lot of words and terms that fit this bill: for example, “gypped.” How often have you heard someone say that, in the context of having been cheated or swindled? Guess what? It’s racist against the Roma people, or gypsies. I had no idea until someone phoned the studio to tell us that, about two decades ago.
 
Or to “welsh” on a bet. You guessed it, it’s putting Welsh people (like my Davis, David and Davidson ancestors) in a bad light. Apparently those good folks didn’t pay up? That would certainly be the inference.
 
Then we have “paddy wagons” which we now recognize as having been coined as a slur against the Irish who were rounded up and taken to jail. It’s not as though the revelation of that term’s origins was instant and painless: we got to the point where we didn’t say that anymore after hearing from listeners who gently corrected us. Of course, some broadcasters would hang up and then say “get a life” (or even do it into the phone before hanging up – I witnessed that, too), but me? I always valued the opportunity to learn something, especially if it meant no longer causing someone upset. What’s the point, really?
 
And so it was, through the recent suspension of a basketball play-by-play guy, that I learned how offensive another term is that was ubiquitous when we were growing up. How many times did Yosemite Sam use the term “cotton-pickin’?” To put it in context, something like, “I’ll blow your cotton pickin’ head clean off..!” You probably recall it yourself. 
 
Last month, one man with a microphone used the term while calling Oklahoma City Thunder player Russell Westbrook “out of his cotton-pickin’ mind.” Westbrook, it might be important to note, is African American. And who did most of America’s cotton picking? Slaves, of course. That’s the connection between that adjective and Brian Davis’ suspension for one game at the broadcast table. It was deemed offensive and inappropriate.
 
Ricky Gervais has a saying that, just because you’re offended, doesn’t mean you’re right and I usually agree with him. But I’m going to go ahead and say that if members of the African American community find that term offensive, then why would anyone ever say it again? Davis himself – no relative that I know of – was mortified at what he called an unintentional lapse in judgment and expressed great remorse and humility. You can bet your OKC jersey he’ll never ever use that term again. 
 
But it made me wonder: how many other things are we saying that are, not only outdated, but are downright wrongheaded? 
 
I’ve no doubt that some reading this will say, “Oh, this is political correctness run amok!” and I’ve already said here that calling things out as too PC is often just another way of saying, “I don’t care about your feelings and I don’t want to change.” I’m just glad that it was Brian Davis and not Erin Davis who got caught saying something that some consider, well, deplorable. 
 
The way I see it, there are enough words out there that are honed to hurt and designed to denigrate. Why not scratch a few off the list if we know that’s what they do? Have a great weekend and I’ll be back with you here on Monday.
 

“Go make money talking!” Those were the last four words as my sister and I hung up the other night; she was heading to bed to get ready for an early morning seminar at her retail job and I had just been summoned to my booth by Rob to please come and do an audition. That’s the thing with freelance work: you leap when the opportunity arises, to be one of the first hopefuls in on a job. And maybe – just maybe – you’ll be the one to get it, out of the 200 who tried. 
 
Sometimes, even when you do get the job – whether it’s a 30 second commercial for a hospital in Oregon or one line for a company video – the work isn’t over when you think it is.
 
For example, when we were away in Ottawa, we set up our makeshift studio in our son-in-law’s basement and, with Rob holding a blanket behind my head and over my shoulders to block out any room resonance, we submitted a four-minute voiceover job that we considered exactly what the client had requested. Yes, it was a pain to do it on the road, but we were glad to have brought our equipment and Rob is more than able to make whatever situation we’re in sound like studio quality.
 
No news being good news, we were pretty sure the job was done, but we just hadn’t been paid for it yet. Well, it turns out there was a good reason: the producer wrote back yesterday to tell us, with plenty of cheery exclamation marks, that the entire script had to be redone (including Rob’s edits, de-breathing, etc.) because the client just told them that each sentence had to fit a pre-existing video. I was basically redoing the job word for word with the exact same cadence and timing as the person they were replacing. Okay…I like a challenge!
 
The icing on the cake, of course, is that there’s no extra money involved. We agree when we bid on a job that there might be revisions. But to us, revisions are a few lines changed or some other alterations that the client or producer have requested, and not the entire job! (My pal Lisa, who – along with her husband Derek – is much more experienced than we are in the world of pay-for-play voice work, says that the producer is either new to this, or playing us.) 
 
Nevertheless, as they say, she persisted. I timed each section of the video and then, with one earbud playing the man on the video, and the other ear covered with one headphone feeding me my own voice as I recorded, I managed to match the content, as per their request. Rob edited it and sent it in late yesterday and we crossed our fingers in the hope it’s what they want. Imagine listening to something in one ear and then saying different words, but in the same pace at that exact moment, and not sounding robotic? There’s a trick to it, I’ll tell you.
 
I learned it when I was doing television: you have an IFB (or interruptible foldback) ear piece and while you’re doing your interview or having a conversation, someone in a booth somewhere is telling you to wrap up your piece, what to throw to next, what question the producers would like you to ask your guest, or the name of the caller on the phone. All of these things are spoken to you, sometimes while you’re in the middle of a sentence. Talk about separating your brain so you can multi-task! I did enjoy doing that, though; I enjoyed most elements of television, except for the “hurry up and wait” part. 
 
These days, we’re finding fun and fulfillment in auditioning (we get about one in fifty jobs we try for – it’s a big world and a lot of people are trying for the same jobs), hopefully getting short-listed and even landing some freelance work. We’re super excited to be signing a contract for a job with Disney that involves books and I’ll fill you in when it’s done, but this is exactly what we hoped this next chapter in our lives would mean for Rob and me. It’s pretty great when you can do what you love together.
 
Oh, and as I was finishing writing this, I just heard a ping: we got five stars from the guy for whom we did the revision. I guess that’s worth it? 
 
Look, I’m not complaining; I’m getting paid to talk. And if the voices in my head have to move over for someone else’s for four minutes, I can handle that, too.
 
Come back tomorrow – I have an enlightening journal for you about a term I never, ever considered offensive, but I sure do now.
 

I started this journal no fewer than three times today and ended up saving the other two ideas – several paragraphs’ worth – for journals down the road. May can leave me looking inwards an awful lot, so I’ll be happy to have a few in my back pocket to share with you that don’t have to do with love, loss, Lauren and Mother’s Day. To the saved file they go!
 
Oh, my heart leapt when I saw that temperatures back in my old stomping grounds in Ontario were into the 20s yesterday. I saw 680 meteorologist Jill Taylor say that the hot spot was Borden at 26.8. And that wasn’t just noteworthy because Borden’s never really been considered a hot spot – ever! I’m so glad that winter finally seems to have gotten the message to get out and STAY out. Doubtless there are a few sunburns today on those who really didn’t quite believe the sun was actually out, or who just didn’t care.
 
For the record, I did go back to see what Wiarton Willie had to say three months ago today: he predicted six more weeks of winter. SIX WEEKS? That would have been a picnic compared to the rotten cold and endless snow and ice that beset Southern Ontario right up until this past Sunday, when I saw City TV’s Melanie Ng had posted a picture of her patio furniture covered in more than a light dusting of snow. This rodent prognostication stuff has just got to stop. I mean, seriously!
 
Okay, I’m half kidding. People do what they have to do to get through winter and that may include pretending to care what some cranky, sleep-deprived groundhog has to say. But the important thing is that spring has actually sprung. Carpe Diem, my friends. And don’t forget the sunscreen.
 

You have heard of the Six Degrees of Separation that we all have among us – or even from Kevin Bacon – but on Friday night we learned that one man linked Rob and our dinner guest, and had changed both of their lives for the better. You probably won’t be surprised to learn it was a teacher.
 
As we enjoyed the vistas at Oak Bay Marina’s restaurant with our friend, the broadcaster/writing/marketing mind Terry O’Reilly, the conversation drifted towards something he and my husband Rob have in common: a Sudbury upbringing. (Born in Brantford, Rob moved as a young teen to the nickel mining town and went to high school there.) It was soon evident that Rob and Terry, who’s five years his junior, went to the same high school and, although their paths never crossed, they both had the pleasure of being affected in an incredible way by one man at the high school they both attended.
 
The man’s name is Sterling Campbell. He is responsible, it would seem, for setting up a Television component to the Art program at what’s now known as Sudbury Secondary School and, for Rob, it was a lifesaver. Not a particularly avid student (although he had earlier thought of going on to become a math teacher), Rob was drifting by the time he was choosing courses for Grade 13. That was when he discovered that the school had this new program, wherein he could experience the basics of TV production.
 
For Terry, it was somewhat of a lark: he signed up for the requisite courses – math, English, science, history – and then saw that there was this new course being offered. How lucky he was to be able to take five years of the course, starting it in Grade 9 as he did. 
 
As Terry and Rob spoke, they marveled at the forward thinking of Mr. Campbell and the great fortune they had to have taken his course. Not only was the equipment as state-of-the-art as one could hope to get their hands on in high school, but it was such a rarity in the 1970s that when both Rob and Terry applied at Ryerson to take Radio and Television Arts, the mere fact that they had a “reel” – a tape to prove that they had, not only a propensity towards television arts, but actually had experience with the equipment and how to use it – instantly got them accepted into college. 
 
To say that the post-secondary program was life-changing for both Terry and Rob is a bit of a Captain Obvious observation. Rob fell in love with radio at Ryerson, while Terry heard a guest speaker talk about marketing and advertising and knew at that moment that his future was being laid out for him.
 
And so, as the lights on masts in the yacht club illuminated and the sun disappeared behind clouds that had, as it turned out, moved in for the weekend, the two men reminisced about a teacher who had changed their lives by showing them what was possible. By working to establish a broadcasting course for high school students that could be envied by colleges. And by being a teacher who nurtured and encouraged students to experiment in a medium new to them.
 
Look how it all ended up: Rob had a career in radio as a producer and in management (where he met me) and Terry went on to found Pirate Radio, and to become a best-selling author and prominent voice of marketing and advertising in North America. 
 
After Friday’s dinner conversation, Rob reached out to Mr. Campbell, who now resides (appropriately) in Campbell River, about a three-hour drive from where we are now. In case you’re curious, Rob found him by Googling him and learning that he’s with the BC Retired Teachers’ Association. Although he wasn’t sure he remembered Rob (whom he taught for just one year), Mr. Campbell did remember Terry fondly; he added how happy he was to hear from former students and was truly thankful to Rob for reaching out.
 
Every day should be Teachers’ Day. And how grateful Rob was to make the day of Sterling Campbell, simply by letting him know what a difference his efforts and his encouragement had made in two men’s lives, and doubtless those of many others (and women, too). It’s a noble calling, teaching is. Have a great day and Happy May.