Erin's Journals

Just a thought… There is no need to explain good intentions. The ones that love you understand and the ones that hate you have no relevancy. [Kushandwizdom.com]

You can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

It’s quite a story today so I’ll leap in. Get a coffee and get ready. I told you on September 1^st that our dear friend Mira turned 97. My birthday promise was to take her to an opera. And not just any production: one of the biggies.

I knew she loved them, but Mira hasn’t been to one since moving here from Europe and the Middle East some 40 years ago.

Bizet’s Carmen is, of course, a most famous opera: a fiery young woman wraps men around her finger and then, because it’s opera, dies. We were SO excited.

Our original matinee performance was postponed because of a cast member’s illness, so we went on Thursday evening instead. As Rob drove us, Mira talked excitedly all the way downtown about the story, her favourite operas, what to expect and to listen for.

We made our way to rather cramped seats in the century-old Royal Victoria Theatre,

Mira and I felt crowded on both sides, but we settled in, masks on, and enjoyed the first act. Then, just as the second began, Mira lowered her mask and said quietly, breathlessly, “I feel sick. I need to leave.” She tried to insist that I stay – as if I’d let my little friend make her way, cane in hand, up the darkened aisle to get to the lobby!

With whispered apologies, I cleared a path past the people in our row, got to the lobby and got her seated in some soft armchairs hustled to us by the amazing staff. Then Mira’s hands began to shake violently and she could not catch her breath. In between holding her hands and trying to calm her, to steady the cup of water she sipped from, I Googled the symptoms. Answer: anxiety or panic attack. I suggested this to Mira and she responded in short, gasps, “No. Not panic.” Well, whatever it was, it was not good. I called Rob and told him to come quickly; we were taking her to the hospital.

He arrived in ten minutes, and we began our interminable ride, not to the nearest hospital, but the one closest to Mira’s home, at her insistence. Then – oh, no – we had to get off the highway; just ahead of us, at least 10 police vehicles, lights flashing, entered and took up all three lanes. I texted Brooke and asked her to try to learn what was going on and, although she could find no explanation, we knew it wasn’t good and got off at the nearest exit. That meant taking a dark, winding and foggy road. When Mira asked, “How much longer?” we started to think we chose the wrong hospital.

Finally we pulled up to the ER. A helpful commissionaire grabbed a wheelchair and I burst into the entrance in full breathless TV drama mode. “I’ve got a 97-year-old woman having difficulty breathing, experiencing uncontrolled shaking!”

Except that, after being on fast-forward, everything suddenly slowed to a crawl. “Health card number?” “Patient’s name?” “Contact person?” and on and on. From then on, the phrase “hurry up and wait” kept ringing in my ears.

Mira was helped up onto a gurney and covered with three warm flannel blankets. I pulled a chair up next to her. We were two of about 25 people in the ER; more than a few were young athletes who seemed to have sports injuries.

At 9:30 the waiting really began. In the next three-plus hours, we were seen by a nurse twice. At one point, I asked a nurse if Mira could please get some oxygen or anything to help her breathe. I was told I’d have to wait until a doctor saw her. I was also asked by another woman writhing on a gurney if I could please ask a nurse to see her because she was in a bad way. I did; no one came by. For all I know, my message to the same person I asked about oxygen was never relayed.

In the meantime, Rob had been taken home by our son-in-law, who lives nearby, in order to get another car so he could leave me one in which to get myself home. Rob returned with a drink and snack for me, a charger for my phone and a change of shoes. Yes, my poor slippers gave out while I was running around and I felt like Cinderella after midnight.

Finally (or so I thought), at 12:40 am we were brought into a small private room in the ER. There, Mira and I got her into a hospital gown and I wrapped her up warmly again. And as she refused to sleep, we talked.

We chatted about what she thinks the afterlife will be. We talked about religion in general. I asked how her Jewish husband wasn’t discovered in the German work camp in which they both met, when Mira was a teen. We talked about those years. We chuckled over her dear late husband’s sense of humour…how her told her the longest period in a woman’s life is the ten years between the ages of 39 and 40.

We laughed. She rested. She tried to catch her breath. And we waited. She made me try on her jacket (sure that I was cold, lol) and gave me her pearls to wear for safekeeping.

Blood was taken; an ECG done. Everyone could not have been kinder.

Then, at 3:10 am I inadvertently seemed to figure out how to get the doctor to come: I went out to add more time to my parking. When I returned, after running from one locked door to another, I was buzzed in and found that the doctor was now with Mira. He said they could find nothing amiss in her tests. No after effects of the bronchitis she’d suffered earlier this year; nothing on which they could pin these scary symptoms.

By now, Mira just wanted to go home. I helped her dress and then ran out to get the car.

Luckily, the fog had lifted and we were the only people on the highway at 3:50 am. I told her it was like this when I drove to work all those years.

When we got Mira to her apartment, she wouldn’t let me tuck her in, never mind stay overnight; a fiercely independent and, shall we say, sweetly stubborn woman, she had a short but restful night. We were both in nap mode all day Friday.

For now, that’s our story.

How Carmen had an early and awful ending for us both. She kept saying how sorry she was; all the while I’m thinking, Jeez, Davis, you’ve almost killed this woman. What were you thinking?

When we talked about it the next day, she said her sons were not at all upset with me for taking her to the opera. She felt totally up for it and had looked forward to it for weeks! But it does seem that it was just so much for her. And no wonder. So many people close by, after years of near isolation.

It was an unforgettable girls’ night out, for all the wrong reasons. I won’t forgive myself as gracefully as she has forgiven me, but Mira’s words thanking me for caring for her during those terrifying hours will stay with me too. I mean, since I caused it all, you’re welcome?

You take it easy and I’ll be back with you here Monday. And don’t forget to ask Google or Alexa to play Drift with Erin Davis sleep stories and I promise you sweet dreams with a short new folk tale on the way for you tomorrow from India.

Just a thought… Enjoy yourself. It’s later than you think. [Socrates (or an old ad for Labatt’s 50 ale)]

You can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

Welcome in. First, thank you for your heartfelt messages about my puppy love confession here last week. Almost to a person on social media, you were compassionate and had some helpful suggestions on Facebook to help ease this longing. Every one of them was appreciated. Oh, by the way, no cats are in our future; they’ve shared our lives in the past, but a family member has allergies. So on we go. Besides, as Rob reminds me, I have travels next month for work and then time away from BC’s wet winter in February.

Speaking of wet, when many Canadians think of Victoria, or Vancouver for that matter, they think rain, right? Wrong. Look at our forecast for this week.

It’s been glorious here in the westernmost part of the country this month. The weather on Vancouver Island has been unseasonably warm and sunny for weeks now with forecasts of sunshine and 20C or more in many areas, day after day. Up island in Gold River, it was 28 on the weekend, which is hot for summer here, never mind the second half of October.

Everything is crispy and dry and it’s hard to really be in the moment and enjoy the top-down days in our little MINI, when we know that something is terribly wrong. How can these days of blue skies and convertibles feel wonderful and awful at the same time?

Fire fears are real; yesterday we awoke to smoke (from Washington state, we believe) so thick we had to close out the beautiful temperatures from our home. We can only hope that people obey the fervent requests not to have fireworks or bonfires on Halloween, which are a thing out here. Of course, there’s always someone. It’s human nature, I guess. Seize the day and all that. Halloween only comes once a year, I’m sure they would say. But how long does it take to rebuild your life if your neighbourhood burns to the ground? And here in BC we’ve seen plenty of that.

You know me; I like to keep things positive. But I pity the people who warn us, who must feel like Cassandra of Greek mythology. She was given the gift of being able to predict the future (including disasters) but was also cursed with never being believed. Or as we call her today: a scientist.

So what do we do? We don’t give up. It’s the same reason why Rob and I are going to get our bivalent vaccine today. It won’t completely protect us from the new immune-resistant variants that are coming our way, but it may ease the effects if we catch Covid a second time. And if we’re really lucky, we’ll get a flu shot today too. Collect the whole set!

As in all things, we change what we can, we protect ourselves and our loved ones to the best of our ability, and we listen to warnings and to science, which focuses on facts, not opinions. Like the good scientists at NASA. I smiled at the recent success of the space agency shooting an asteroid out of its orbit, a dry run should one ever be on a course to destroy Earth. Why worry about a big ol’ rock coming our way when we’re doing such a good job of destroying Earth ourselves? Always worrying about outsiders taking their jobs!

Anyway, I hope this second half of October is good to you, whatever it brings. Me? I’m going to do my best to make the most of these warm and smoky days, remembering that we had a super soggy spring through June, and hope that perhaps Mother Nature is just making it up to us. Yes, that’s it – isn’t it?

Just a thought… Love: the heart wants what it wants. It doesn’t seek other people’s opinions; sometimes not even your own. [Steve Maraboli]

You can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

I have a confession to make. Almost daily, I scroll through the internet looking for the dog who will fill a hole in my heart. I do it on the downlow like an adultery-seeking spouse; I do it in bed after Rob has fallen asleep. And I know that I shouldn’t.

You see, on my birthday two weeks ago, what I hoped with all my heart was that my gift would be Rob changing his mind and saying we would try once more to bring a dog into our lives. That did not happen and although I didn’t express disappointment, we did have harsh words when Rob told me to just stop hoping. It was not in the cards for us.

Pepper and Molly, who graced us with joy for 17 and 15 years respectively, were, for us, the perfect dogs (that is, once Pepper stopped chewing every stick of furniture and even brand new California shutters). They were our companions, sleep buddies, and sources of great joy and comfort. Some of our best memories of Lauren also include Pepper and Molly.

Almost two years ago, which was two months after saying good-bye to our sweet Molly, I picked up a dog my sister had vetted for me (so t0 speak) little Rosie.

Although Rob was not all in, we thought we could do this, training a puppy again. I took virtual obedience classes (Covid, of course) and did my best; Rob did as well. But the problem, you see, wasn’t Rosie; it is almost never the animal, but their human. I have taken to sleeping in like it’s my job – sort of the reverse of the three decades when getting up in the dark actually was my job.

When little Rosie wanted to pee at the crack of dawn (we didn’t successfully crate train her, so she slept with us as Pepper and Molly did) it was Rob who got up and took her out, again and again. I thought it was lovely that he was doing this, but he came to resent it. A simmering, seething husband is something I’ve never had to live with, but it became a regular thing. We became miserable.

There’s another reason why we had the friction between us: that same month that Rosie entered our lives, so did two podcasts; a few weeks later, a third. Suddenly I was chained to a chair writing or in my studio recording. One time, as Rob tried to keep Rosie quiet during an interview I was doing, she literally pooped in his lap. That was a fun day.

So eventually, as our marriage found itself with a rift in it bigger than one we’d ever had in over 30 years – one of resentment – I acquiesced and we found Rosie a new home. I get occasional updates and her new mom adores her, walks her, takes her on play dates and does all the things a young dog loves. I admit that compared to her, I was not a good dog mom.

But, why do I wish so badly to do it again? Why do I surf dog sites like I’m looking for a date? Why am I ignoring Rob’s wishes because of what I so desperately desire? A shrink might say I want Pepper and Molly. I know I can’t have my child back; am I trying to replace what I can and mend my heart where it’s possible?

I wish I could tell you. I miss the soft furry body in bed next to mine. The sniffles and snorts. The cuddles and the sweetness, the company and the kisses. But if I have to choose between getting those from a dog or my Rob, the choice is clear. I only wish I didn’t have to make it.

Have a great week – I’ll be back with you Monday. And a very Happy 8^th Birthday to our sweet grandson Colin.

Every day we are grateful for the Thanksgiving season gift that is this kind, smart, boisterous and funny boy.

Just a thought… As you get older, the questions come down to about two or three. How long? And what do I do with the time I’ve got left? [David Bowie]

You can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

Wow – seems like forever since we were last here together, but of course we’ve stayed in touch on Facebook and Instagram. Thank you for that.

A week ago today I turned 60.

Now, I didn’t post about it, but some folks made a point of mentioning it, and thank you. We didn’t let the milestone just slip by: Rob and I took advantage of some rare flexibility in our calendar and booked nine days away on a Hawaiian island, less than six hours from us on a direct flight out of Vancouver, having taken the ferry to get there rather than leaving from our home airport in Victoria and possibly missing a connecting flight. We wore our masks almost every minute we were in public, and managed to come home from our quiet, private place without Covid. Unlike our last trip, which is still haunting us.

I cleansed myself spiritually on my Big 6-0 with an ocean baptism; after gazing at it for a week, I walked into the warm Pacific and let the waves roll over me.

I dried off and came back to the house with sand everywhere – and I mean everywhere – but it was worth it. Later that evening we had our one dinner out of the entire trip. The view was as memorable as our meal…

…and after Rob and I had enjoyed the open air dining, we learned my sisters and Dad had arranged to pick up the check and tip from afar through the restaurant’s Maître-d’, so that was a lovely surprise!

As the sun set on my fifties in the most serene way possible, and I swear to you this was with no filters…

…I haven’t yet decided how I feel about this new decade, but like anything I’ve never tried, I approach it with a bit of trepidation and lots of optimism (because I have to) and with the perspective of knowing how my dad would love to be turning 60 again, and remembering how many people did not and will not get the chance to see this decade themselves.

I spoke yesterday with Jeanne Beker, who you may have heard is battling breast cancer. She’s in great spirits and really optimistic about the treatments available, thanks to events like yesterday’s CIBC Run for the Cure. But the Fashion TV icon, journalist and inspiration told me that her 60s were her best decade yet. And she’s hoping her 70s turn around fast.

I often ask the question, “How old would you be, if you didn’t know how old you are?” I would say 42. My health is fantastic except for some long Covid fatigue and faintness and heart rate spikes that hit when I exert myself at all. Talking to my doctor this week about it, but I am not slowing down: I’m still doing three podcasts and was delighted on my birthday to learn that my labour of love, our Drift with Erin Davis sleep stories, just marked their 100,000^th download. Tomorrow’s drop is Rip Van Winkle: There’s a Nap For That.

Oh, and we’re working on another fun chatty podcast in the months ahead that I’m excited to be doing with my soul sister Lisa Brandt; we’ll keep you posted. On the home front, I’m also revelling in grandparenting. I mean, who wouldn’t?

And so, in addition to coming home to birthday celebrations (Jane’s last Friday and Colin’s next week) plus Thanksgiving on Monday, I am surrounded by gratitude – for the memories, the opportunities, the joys and, yes, even the challenges. How would we know to appreciate the gifts without them, right?

And I do. I’ll be back here with you next Tuesday. As David Bowie also said, “I don’t know where I’m going from here, but I promise not to bore you.” Deal?

Just a thought… By all these lovely tokens September days are here, with summer’s best of weather and autumn’s best of cheer. [Helen Hunt Jackson]

As usual, you can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

This Thursday marks the autumnal equinox: First Day of Fall.

My memories of this past summer are those of children and hours and days spent with dearest friends, of family togetherness and weather that turned sweetly perfect in July and carried on into August and rolled into September here on Vancouver Island.

The season began with a good-bye to one well-used and much-loved MINI convertible…

…and hello to another less-used but now equally loved…

… all with weather so perfect for having the top down, I added to my visor collection just to enjoy every minute.

One of our very proudest moments as grandparents came this past summer: when Colin, who’s turning eight in a few weeks, finally got the swing of balancing and pedalling a bike with no training wheels. This has been a project in the making for some two years on-and-off and now that he’s really got the hang of it, he feels like he’s flying.

Later that night, I tried to tell him that there’s a saying that goes, “It’s just like riding a bicycle,” meaning, it’s something that once you learn it, it’s a skill you never forget. Then I added, “You’ll always remember your Grandude teaching you how to ride a bike….”

He didn’t quite agree. “Oh, I don’t think so…I mean I’m seven now, so when I’m, like, 99?”

I answered, “I’m pretty sure you will. You’ll remember that it was your Grandude and you’ll think that maybe it was in your schoolyard and parking lot…you’ll remember that school’s name. You may not recall which summer it was, but you’ll remember your Grandude. I promise.”

He’s a wonderful teacher, my Rob. For example, he’ll likely teach Colin and Jane to use his sewing machine long before I show them how to bake (at least I can make a pretty good focaccia…) and he has always been the one to walk me through technology like shooting a blog, editing, adding pictures and so on. While I have learned other tech on my own, especially during Covid when I discovered how to make things like this:

I’m always grateful for a teacher who is patient, kind and most of all understanding when I have to get up and walk away because my frustration with myself and my computer skills have brought on a hot flash.

Rob will tell you I have taught him a few things, too, but for the life of me, I can’t tell you any. Probably patience, and when to turn off his hearing aids surreptitiously.

But what I’ve taught him – that’s not important. It’s what we teach our children and our grandchildren: the necessary lessons in bike riding, swimming, hitting a baseball, sinking a basketball, and above all, remembering always to think of the feelings of others. To put yourself in their shoes. To be kind.

We weren’t perfect parents, but we sure tried our best. We raised a child who was empathetic, wise beyond her years, gentle, funny, sarcastic and sensitive. She was a peacemaker and sounding board among her friends and co-workers.

And while there’s so much I do miss about our daughter, we know enough to make the most of everything we do have around us now: the love of family and the joy of knowing that Jane (soon to be three) will one day be riding in that school lot, too. And maybe that will be a memory of us also, and of one glorious summer, whenever it comes.

Have a beautiful week. I won’t have a journal for you here next week as Rob and I are going away and I promised to park my laptop (okay, just a little bit) but I’ll be with you on Facebook if you want to come by. And of course, Drift with Erin Davis sleep stories if you want the latest snooze. (Not news, snooze.)

Thank you. Happy Fall. Talk to you in October.