Erin's Journals

I’ve long been intrigued with the idea that we all have dreams – nightmares, really – involving our jobs. When I was in news, for example, I had a dream that the sounder had gone off (that tune they played when it was time to listen to a newscast), and I got into the booth with just a handful of entertainment stories. No news, just fluff. Of course, that’s one of about a dozen that I’d have as my job evolved. But in every case, I was completely helpless.
 
I know other people have job-related nightmares and have wondered if it might make a fascinating podcast or even a book. What does Commander Chris Hadfield dream he can’t do when he needs to? What does a surgeon dream of not being able to do when the situation is dire? My own dad, a commercial and armed forces pilot, would dream that just as he was coming in for a night time landing, the lights on the runway would be turned off. Seems as if we all have them.
 
So what do we have panic dreams about now? Funnily enough, Rob and I found ourselves discussing this yesterday when he got home from a morning hockey game (he’s back to playing three times a week now). I told him that while he was gone, I dreamed that he was playing goal for the Toronto Maple Leafs. I had texted Ian and Gord from the CHFI Morning Show to be sure to watch, as he’d be in goal that night. 
 

 
So Rob asked me, “Did you also dream that I had a problem with my equipment?” 
 
Rob thought it was funny I had the same dream he’s had for years, but every time he dreams that he’s called up by the Leafs, he can’t get dressed fast enough or he can’t find his equipment and the game starts without him. 
 
I had to laugh. We both remember back to the early 1990s when Rob actually did get a call from the Leafs: Bill Watters was assistant GM of the team and Rob knew him because Bill had been co-host of “Talking of Sports” with Bob McCown and Rob was the show’s producer. Bill knew Rob played goal and there came a day when, to the best of our recollection, the team’s regular goalie was missing practice and the backup goalie had to skip because of a family emergency.
 
We came home from wherever we’d been and checked our trusty Radio Shack answering machine and there it was, something almost every Canadian kid dreams of: a call to take the ice with the team you’ve loved since you could walk, never mind skate. 
 
And we weren’t home to take the call.
 
But that’s okay. We’ve gotten nearly as much pleasure from remembering that day and the one that got away as if Rob had actually been able to let the team use him for target practice; that is, if they could have stopped laughing at his old leather pads (which he later gave to Ian’s kids when he lucked into Felix Potvin’s used equipment).
 
Oh, by the way, Rob says his dream ending to that whole scenario is that he plays with the team that day, they say, “Holy cow, where have you been?” and sign him to a contract. Then the Leafs go on to win the Stanley Cup. Because, as he says, that’s how the fantasy goes. And it’s so much better than the one about not finding your equipment.
 

First of all, welcome back if you were here last week. And, well, if you haven’t checked in since December because you were taking time away from the daily routine, a great big welcome back to you, too, and Happy New Year! I did four fresh journals last week and it feels good to be at this well-worn keyboard again. Check ’em out!
 
As we get set to embark on a brand new week here together, I have to tell you a story about my favourite author, a man I’ve never met, but with whom I’ve been in touch thanks to me being a fan who’s also active on social media. His name came up here last week in connection to a remark he made about a crazy cooking mishap. Linwood Barclay’s regal name also came up in our house around Christmas, as in how I almost ruined my own husband’s gift.
 
Many of you will know Linwood as a former (and hugely popular) columnist with the Toronto Star who has gone on to great success as a writer of mysteries and thrillers. I first got hooked on his writing thanks to a book called Trust Your Eyes. Soon to be a film, its entire premise is fascinating: a man suffering from schizophrenia won’t leave his home but views the world through a Google Street View-type software and thinks he’s seen evidence of a crime. My synopsis doesn’t do it justice, but trust me when I say that there’s a reason Linwood gratefully counts Stephen King among his biggest (and most vocal) fans.
 

 
So it was that when I tweeted I’d just bought Rob (who, thankfully, steers clear of my feed) the latest Barclay book, Parting Shot, this internationally bestselling author very kindly messaged me and offered to personalize the book. All I needed to do was send my address and he’d fill out a sticker with his autograph on it, inscribed to Rob. Sweet!
 
I sent our address and, after a few weeks’ time and an accumulation of things on my mind, managed to forget about Linwood’s kind offer. 
 
Fast forward to a few days before Christmas, when Rob and I were retrieving the mail together. As I pulled a red envelope out of our Canada Post mailbox, excited for more holiday tidings, Rob remarked how strange it was that that particular envelope had no stamp on it! What sorcery was this, we wondered, that allowed a card to travel to us without a stamp? Was it government? Magic? 
 
I looked at the back of the envelope with its little gold sticker and the name “Barclay” with a return address. That’s when my brain shut off and my mouth went into overdrive. 
 
“Barclay? Barclay? Who do we know named Barclay?” 
 
Rob couldn’t come up with anyone. I suddenly remembered a kind lady I used to see for facials a few times a year and wondered how Patricia Barclay found us in BC!
 
And then, when we got home, I opened the envelope and, peeking out from the Christmas card inside, were three personalized labels with different inscriptions. IT WAS LINWOOD BARCLAY!
 
I slapped the card shut and said, “Oh! I remember…” and left it at that. I’m pretty sure Rob saw the labels too, but certainly did a good job of pretending not to have put two and two together on Christmas morning. 
 
Once again proof that I am, to quote a Tweet, “like, really smart.” A real stable genius, depending on which horse farm I’m visiting! Have a great day and I’ll be back with you tomorrow.
 

As we enjoyed a lovely beef barley soup/stew this week, I was reminded how, a year ago, I’d promised Rob and myself that I’d get a little more comfortable in the kitchen in my “reWirement.” That hasn’t happened yet and, along with drinking more water, I’m going to be a little more dilligent in doing just that. Looking up recipes. Stepping outside my comfort zone. Continuing to explain to my sisters why I really don’t need an Instant Pot now that I have time to cook (although two out of three of the sisterhood in Kelowna couldn’t stop raving about these must-have appliances that have taken Canada by storm).
 
Fortunately for you – if not for me – the more time I spend experimenting, the more stories there will be that we’ll all be able to laugh at. But what’s ironic is that, in 2017, the two funniest kitchen occurrences weren’t even my fault. 
 
You’ll recall, of course, the great chicken incineration that happened when Rob reversed how he barbecues and went high and hot when it should have been low and slow. 
 

 
He has since gotten back up on that horse – or fowl – and regained his confidence at the grill, thank goodness.
 
Then there was Christmas morning, just a week-and-a-half ago. My sister Cindy had some frozen buns (and not just because of the Kelowna weather). The recipe for her Land of Nod buns (so named, I’m guessing because you don’t have to get up early to knead, etc.) called for a bundt pan. She didn’t have one and considered using an angel food cake pan, but opted not to. When you combine those circumstances with the fact that she added a few extra balls of dough, above and beyond what the recipe called for, you get a disaster of almost laboratory proportions.
 
When I posted the picture on Instagram and Twitter Christmas morning, I included the caption: “Why, when the recipe calls for a bundt pan, you use a bundt pan,” I got some hilarious responses.
 

 
Author Linwood Barclay tweeted (@LinwoodBarclay) “Which Alien movie is this from?” while Karen called it “Edible modern art.” @Metran15 asked, “What on earth was that?” while most folks on Instagram wondered why I would be cooking giant mushrooms (and that’s a perfectly logical question, judging by the picture). 
 
In the end, they were just yummy (which is all that really matters), we had some laughs and were grateful to have added another memory from a lovely few days of music, family, food, tears and “cheers!” With the 12 Days of Christmas ending, it’s always a good time to reflect and relive the warmth, right? Maybe curl up with a good book? Linwood Barclay has written quite a few….
 

One of the pieces of news to come out over the holidays, and perhaps you missed it, was the list of names of those who will be honoured this year with the Order of Canada. Among many that you know is a person I just love: Jann Arden.
 
This singer/songwriter from Alberta has been as much a part of the musical landscape of this country as almost anyone alive today, and yet, it’s more than her multiple Junos and tremendous book sales that have made her an outstanding choice for this honour. Let me share with you a couple of personal thoughts about this woman.
 
When I think about Jann, I smile. Her sense of the absurd and her way of putting her thoughts into words – profound, profane and both – as a writer, inspired me 14 years ago to start journaling here for you. And thank goodness for that: without this journal, I’d have never had a way to stay in touch with you through the good times and bad, the times on the air and off. Thank you, Jann!
 
She parlayed those blogs into bestselling books and then, more recently, her writing forged a deeper connection with so very many as she told of her mother’s descent into the hell that is Alzheimer’s disease. Once again, just as she had in earlier telling of being raped and of her own challenges with addiction, she was helping countless others to heal through her openness and unflinching honesty.
 
Jann and I have sat side by side on a stage with tears in our eyes as we silently connected through our losses of different kinds; a sisterhood that is shared, not only in our birth year, but in two healing hearts.
 

 
I want to share one more glimpse into who Jann Arden is. It’s a story I wasn’t going to tell, but I will today with the absolute pledge that I cannot – will not – ask Jann again for the favour that she did in December. 
 
A woman who used to listen to me on CHFI reached out. Because she sensed I had a friendship with Jann, she wondered if I could contact her in hopes that Jann might get in touch with a friend of hers. This friend was going through the same awful challenges as Jann: her mother, too, was living with Alzheimer’s. The listener told me her friend followed Jann on Twitter, read everything she wrote and was an avid fan. Could I possibly get Jann to reach out to her?
 
I hesitated to direct message Jann, as I knew how very full her plate was with Christmas concerts, a full travel schedule and book signings. But I did, first gently warning the woman who reached out to me that this might not happen. But Jann messaged me back immediately asking for the contact information. 
 
A week passed, and then two. The listener messaged me that they’d not heard from Jann and that her friend was very much looking forward to it. And so I nudged Jann, apologizing profusely for bothering her in the midst of this busiest of times. Sure enough, the next day she made the phone call and they talked for ten minutes.
 
While I was thanked profusely by both Toronto-area women for making this happen, I was adamant that I really had very little to do with it. It was Jann. It is Jann. And it illustrates perfectly why she deserves to be honoured: for her honesty, her generosity and her huge, kind heart.
 

It’s not the way I wanted to start out a new show and a new year and yet, there I was, being accused of “fat shaming” yesterday on Facebook because of an article I posted on Ocean 98.5’s page. Great.
 
I found a piece over the holidays on prevention.com and while I wasn’t crazy about the headline they used, I thought the information in the story was worthwhile and something our audience (which is much the same as CHFI’s, only smaller) might also take away some tidbits from. The title is “6 Foods Thin Women Eat Every Day.”
 
For the record, in case you don’t have the time or inclination to read the article, they include almonds, whole milk and butter, green tea, chili peppers, pears and eggs. In two brief bits (my chat segments last between 45 seconds and one minute on our midday show) I summarized the six and why nutritionists believe they help speed up the metabolism, make you feel full or give you more fuel to run on. Because I summed them up fairly quickly, I promised to post the article on our Facebook page.
 
That’s when I got this response from Cheryl: “Way to start the year by fatshaming (sic) your audience.” (Followed by an angry emoji)
 
I couldn’t believe what I was reading. My pulse elevated, I responded to her immediately: “Fat shaming? I thought it was interesting information (as I am always looking to lose a few and, most importantly, live healthier). I am truly sorry if that is how you took it, Cheryl. Erin.”
 
Here’s how she responded: “You may have been sharing it for the information, but even in your reply ‘always looking to lose a few’ in addition to the smiling woman in the photo and corresponding emphasis on Thin in the headline really says to me that if I am fat, I am not doing life right.”
 
Her comment was followed by a post from another Ocean 98.5 listener who said she found it helpful, as she’s already lost 30 pounds and she’s actively trying to lose, too. So that calmed me down a bit. Up until I read Sabrina’s comment, I was wondering if I should take down the article. Instead, I posted that I wished Prevention had worded their headline differently, but still found the information interesting and hoped other listeners would, too.
 
Then I took a breath and remembered my old mantra, the one that had to stand me in good stead while I was fielding emails or calls from people who either misheard or misinterpreted what I had said on the air. That happens: people are driving, hair dryers are whining or the shower is pelting and things – even tones of voice – can get lost in the noise. That mantra? I can’t be responsible for what you hear, only for what I say. 
 
Before I discussed the Prevention tips on air, I said, “Maybe you’re like me and getting reacquainted with your Fitness Pal app again after letting things go over the holidays.” In no way did I say, “Hey sisters, it’s time for everybody to buckle down and lose some weight!” I wouldn’t say it to my OWN sisters, never mind listeners; I know what an emotional minefield talking about body issues is. I’ve steered clear of it for a good long time, mostly because of my own love/hate issues with food. 
 
Overthinking it later, it occured to me that talking about foods that you can eat to achieve weight goals is no more incendiary than giving tips on safe driving. If someone infers that I’m calling them a bad or unsafe driver, then that’s their interpretation. Do I wish Prevention hadn’t used the word “thin” in their headline? Yes. But is it what made me click on the article when I saw it on Twitter to begin with? Also, yes.
 
I hate ticking off listeners. Maybe I’ll stick to talking about This Is Us. It returns to TV next Tuesday.