Erin's Journals

Just a thought… We’ll be in the mountains, getting lost and feeling found. [John Muir]

Today for so many, it’s back to…everything. Here, it’s back to us.

As September gets rolling and Rob’s hockey calendar soon fills up (even at 71, a goalie’s work is never done) I felt a sense of panic that we hadn’t gone away together this summer to see more of the beauty that surrounds us.

Yes, I had my travels: to Kelowna in June to visit with Dad, and then back there to central BC to spend time with sister Leslie in a yurt. Last week I returned from a brief trip to Ottawa where I was asked to spend time with the kids while their folks went away; Colin’s championship baseball game (which his team won after barely squeaking into the playoffs) changed all the plans and everyone stayed home. I ended up feeling more in the way than of use, but I soaked in every minute with the little ones that I possibly could. And thanks again to Porter, it was a seamless trip.

Oh, and I have an INCREDIBLE small world story to tell you on this Thursday’s Gracefully and Frankly episode – it’ll be Ep. 142. Be sure to subscribe wherever you listen to podcasts (or just Google how to listen) and you won’t miss it. And, of course, it’s free.

With summer in its waning weeks, Rob and I got busy booking a last-minute road trip and it begins today! Please do drop by my Facebook page for pics and updates. Today we are on the 8 am ferry to the mainland, then go on to Kelowna and stay overnight at little sister Leslie’s house.

Tomorrow we drive past where we yurted (if that’s a word) in Sicamous and on to Revelstoke, on the BC/Alberta border. We’re booked into a cabin there – Rob, Dot, Livi and me – for two nights of resting and exploring the mountains and the area, and then we’ll be heading to Kananaskis, the gorgeous area that is east of Canmore and nestled in some of the most picturesque places on Earth. You can BET I’ll be filling my phone with shots, and sharing some with you, too.

We’ll hit Revelstoke again on our way back to the ferry next week, and stay another night there before one night in Merritt and back home by ferry on Tuesday evening. I’m looking forward to reconnecting in different locales with Rob, who I sensed wasn’t quite ready for the tenting experience. But next year, for sure – and right here on the island!

So, my friend, after a gently-paced summer with picture perfect weather here in Sidney, BC (and stressing over a house that still hasn’t sold…sigh) we are setting our maps for EV chargers, and heading to the province of my birth, Alberta. Ideologically (i.e. book bannings and paying for vaccines) I don’t recognize it anymore, but my heart yearns for the Rockies and the splendid sights around which I spent my summers with my rural Albertan grandparents.

I won’t be taking Dad’s ashes or headstone yet; 2025 is not yet engraved on it, so it’ll mean another road trip back to Alberta. I’m grateful to have a reason to look forward to one. May your week be good, and a special “coffee mugs up” to former teachers, bus drivers and all educational employees (plus crossing guards!) who are breathing a grateful sigh today to be sleeping in as I do every single day.

Just a thought… Be tolerant with others and strict with yourself. [Marcus Aurelius]

Hello from a relieved Vancouver Island! Apart from a few disgruntled campers and cranky brides, I’m pretty sure nearly everyone is thrilled that the atmospheric river has brought us all back from a fiery brink. It’s a true gift at this time when so many provinces are either fighting fires or living in fear of flames, smoke and the destruction that comes with them. So let’s hear it for the rain!

I got some good news last week and I am not going to evangelize or lecture here; I’m just going to tell you a story that has a very happy ending for me, and could for you, too.

About three years ago, when it seemed (like the rest of a post-lockdown world) nothing was in our control – as if it ever is – I decided to do something about my weight. I chose a method of eating (keto) that has been controversial to some, and does not agree with everyone. Because it requires higher fat consumption, it can mess with cholesterol or important organs (like kidneys).

I keep a close eye on those levels, both HDL (the “happy” cholesterol, thus the H) and LDL (the “lousy” one). After my bloodwork was done recently, I sweated for a few days over the red flags that the website showed on my cholesterol levels.

Last time I had my blood checked – about two years ago – my lousy levels were at 3.5. Yikes.

This time, though, was a different story. And I can tell you with 100% certainty that the only change I’ve made from the 3.5 to my current reading of 3.13 is this: walking. Turns out those red flags were because my happy (HDL) levels were up and, coupled with the LDL changes, it was all good news according to my doctor.

Back on New Year’s 2025, yes the same time I said I was going to be a little easier on myself (bahahaha), I decided I was going to follow the stoics like Aurelius, quoted above, and move my butt more.

I track my steps daily, striving for 6000, walking with my AirPods in and a good podcast playing. Getting up and pacing the condo when I’m on a long phone call. Taking the long way, parking far from store entrances. Getting in the last 200 steps of the day while my electric toothbrush does its thing (definitely my strangest trait). Walking around the kitchen island while the coffee maker chugs out its blessed brew. Those little things. (Note: I am fully mindful that not everyone has mobility, agility or the ability to walk much at all. To you I apologize if this comes off as ableist. That is not my intention.)

Those daily steps for the first eight months of this year have made all the difference. Of course, we hear that exercise, even something as gentle as walking, can lower your cholesterol. But I’m here to tell you that it is absolutely true!

That news made my week, and has quite literally put a spring in my step. Hearing that the “10,000 steps” target was one arbitrarily chosen by fitness folks, as they figured people couldn’t remember something like six or seven thousand, further steeled my resolve to do my best. I set my own goal. Initially it was 7000 and some days if I didn’t make it, I beat myself up. So 6000 it is – and then I feel like Rocky at the top of the stairs when I check in on my sobriety app at night and add my steps.

I wanted to share this because I don’t think in my entire 62 years I’ve seen such black and white (or perhaps red) proof of something working. Yes, the keto helped me achieve and hold my weight goal. But if I was setting the stage for a heart attack, what good would that be? Do coffins come in long and slim?

Oh, and one other thing: when I was being tested prior to getting cataract surgery on both eyes this summer, nurse Susie told me, “You have the blood pressure of a teenager.”

I almost proposed to her on the spot.

There you go. They say a journey of a thousand miles starts with one step and I’m here as living proof to you that, yes, it makes a difference. Find a podcast you like (may I suggest gracefullyandfrankly.com) with stories that make any walk interesting. Dress for whatever weather is in the forecast that day. Make sure you have good shoes or support. Wear a tensor bandage if you have sore joints (I can suggest something for that: SierraSil, ahem) but know that walking now could add years to your life. Sure, it may not be the best part of our lives, but it can sure be better!

Just a thought… Whenever you feel uncomfortable, instead of retreating back into your old comfort zone, pat yourself on the back and say, “I must be growing,” and continue moving forward. [T. Harv Eker]

Whoo – so much to catch you up on this week! Now, if you listened to Gracefully and Frankly last week, you may know some of my stories (including losing my weighted blanket ’cause I put it in carry-on) but here you’ll get pictures, too. And if you do listen to my podcast with former Toronto broadcaster Lisa Brandt, thank you. If you don’t, you’re missing out on a half-hour of weekly discussion between two Queenagers on things that affect us and, more importantly, you. So give it a whirl!

Of course, we couldn’t do the show without support from our sponsors sierrasil.com (the Canadian natural anti-inflammatory my Rob, Lisa, Derek and our dogs have used for years) or envypillow.com (the women-run company that sells quality and unique pillows, sheets and other sleep accessories that make your life and ours so much better). Even flying, I took mine with me for the comforts of home in a yurt on the mainland, near Vernon, BC!

My sister Leslie and I had a three-night stay in a glampsite on a lovely king-sized bed, and I can honestly say that although I went in with a lot of trepidation (outdoor toilet? Yikes!) I hated to leave and can’t wait to do it again. I’ve been looking at sites to take Rob in early September before he gets back into hockey. Here are a few shots of the inside.

We slept so well that after the first morning awakening at 11 am I had to set an alarm. So, Leslie out-slept me and I was the one going out and boiling water on the barbecue and making coffee with the ground beans Rob had blended for me before I left home. It was delicious, and can I say that the chef’s kiss on the whole experience was only slapping at bugs once.

We toured the area and found a beach with gentle access to put in our inflatable paddleboards on the Sunday of the long weekend. Mostly we paddled gently, tethered by ankle rings to each other, but I did attempt to get up on the board a few times, without success. My next possible yurt stay is near a pond, so I’ll have better luck there, methinks. If not, the frogs will be in for a good laugh.

The best memories were made on that trip: getting ice cream at a dairy, dropping in to any working bathrooms we passed, so as to stave off outhouse visits, laughing with my sister as we attempted (in vain) to powder dip her nails, and just sharing stories. I can’t believe she doesn’t remember getting stung by a bee on her girl parts during an outhouse visit when we went camping as kids; I’ve remembered it ever since. Well, friend, I can assure you: she’ll remember it now from my telling!

I didn’t completely “unplug” as we had cell service and a few battery chargers, but we did enjoy a lot of time of just relaxing, unwinding and being together. We had a lot of privacy, the weather was great during the day, with dramatic thunderstorms and downpours at night (such a glorious experience in a big canvas yurt!) and our dinners of glammed-down charcuterie were perfection.

We laughed every time I threatened to take a picture of her peeing in a large plastic potato salad tub (and she returned the threats) but it reminded us of sleeping in our grandparents’ basement where the pee pail was a life saver in the night!

There’s something so freeing about trying things that scare you – and yes, I did have a lot of trepidation about the entire experience, assuaged only by the knowledge that Les had been camping a few times already this summer – and coming out even better in the end.

Plus there’s the added bonus of coming home to a husband and dogs who missed you, hot showers and a flush toilet, plus that glorious coffee Rob makes. There’s no place like home, but sometimes you have to venture outside it to grow. Have a great week and thanks for sharing the adventure!

Just a thought… The hardest thing to do is leaving your comfort zone. But you have to let go of the life you’re familiar with and take the risk to live the life you dream about. [T. Arigo]

I’ve always thought of this long August weekend as sort of a re-set, on par with Labour Day and the “back to” everything that we feel. It’s like a gut check: what have you not done this summer that you hoped to do? As we know, life is short and it has far too few sweet summer days. So I’m diving in – and I promise you will be hearing details about it!

As you read this, I’m in an area with no power to fire up a laptop, little/no cell service and, yes, no indoor plumbing. A bidet is out…unless I’m surprised by a rogue sprinkler system. But I DID bring my own toilet paper.

Don’t send a SWAT team, I haven’t been kidnapped. I’m doing something I haven’t done since I was in my 20s when my boyfriend and I would go to Tobermory in Ontario, or even down to the Keys in Florida: I am camping!

Okay, you might call it glamping, but I will beg to differ. Here’s how this came to be.

A month or so ago, I decided to fly in and surprise my sister on a special occasion last Thursday. Somewhere between booking my flight and arriving at Kelowna International Airport, I thought Les and I should just have a girls’ getaway.

I looked at hotels (what few rooms were available) and hated the price tag for three nights. Leslie’s been camping of late with her husband and grandson and really enjoying it, so I asked her what she thought of the two of us “roughing it” for a few nights.

Once she cleaned up the coffee she’d spit out and caught her breath, she sent me an app that lists campgrounds, cabins and so on that we could choose from. Pickings were slim at our late date, but I found a yurt in Sicamous, about a two-hour drive from her place, that looked bearable nice. Here’s what our accommodations look like from the website. And the nightly rate is about half what a hotel room would be. I guess the discount comes with not having electricity or plumbing!

The money that might have been saved on accommodations was spent renting a car big enough for a campstove, cooler and all of the things needed for the three nights. As you read this, we’ll be packing up and heading back to WiFi, warm showers and all of the comforts to which we’re so accustomed.

I look forward to making a mental list of the things we take for granted every day. But more than that, I’m really hoping that by today, Leslie and I will have made some good memories, had fun on paddle boards, not been eaten alive, and enjoyed some meaningful time together.

That, or we may never speak to each other again.

How I, the woman who travels with my enVy pillow, a weighted blanket, air fryer, Nespresso, Sodastream and pillow speaker, will have managed in the wilderness for three nights is going to be a story in itself and I promise that even if I don’t, you will have lots of fun reading (and listening this Thursday to Gracefully and Frankly).

I feel a little like Lisa Douglas on the old Green Acres TV show, but with ball caps instead of ball gowns, ear plugs rather than earrings, and eye drops rather than eyeliner. The lacy peignoir set stays at home.

Memories in the woods with my sister? Priceless.

Talk to you Thursday!

Just a thought… Oh! I have breached the surly bonds of earth… put out my hand and touched the face of God. [John Gillespie Magee, “High Flight”]

Our sweet smiling dad took his final breath this morning. After a few days of steadily declining health, the man who taught me more about accepting what life sends us than anyone else ran his checklist one last time and ascended into whatever level of the stratosphere he’d set his altimeter for the other side.

Don Davis had much to be proud of in his life, although he often reminded us, if we got too full of ourselves, to “get off your ego trip.” A high-ranking military man to the core, fitting in was better than standing out, but if you tried to go above and beyond, you’d better be humble in the process.

He lived his life joyfully, seeing the world through his career, saving money and spending carefully. Wait – maybe that was Mom pinching pennies. Come to think of it, after she died in 2012, there was no one to tell him not to buy the latest Apple or Bose product, all the better to listen to his beloved barbershop music or the marches to which he would walk daily to maintain his fitness.

Although he dabbled in guitar in his youth, it wasn’t until he retired that Dad dove headlong into lessons for clarinet and saxophone. He bought whatever instrument caught his fancy, and even paid an exorbitant amount for a tiny soundproof studio for his retirement home unit so as not to disturb others. We kept asking, “Dad, WHEN IS THE GIG?”

My three sisters and I were surrounded by instruments and lessons as we grew up. Music was as much a part of this newer branch of the family tree as the ever-present moving vans: Dad served 26 years in the Canadian Armed Forces flying jets, 707s and later serving as Squadron Leader at CFB Trenton (C-130 Hercules).

When he was shuffled to desk duty, Dad checked with the tower (Mom), switched runways and flew commercially, achieving chief pilot status at Worldways and flying hulking L-1011 charter planes, where he quickly earned the respect and affection of “his girls” (yes, we corrected him on that – and often!) and the rest of the flight crew.

In fact, just last month I heard from a former flight attendant on Dad’s crew, confirming what we already knew: Dad was a much-loved and caring man. Still, it was nice to hear it from someone outside the family!

He laughed easily, sang often and parented as well as he could, given his frequent absences. How frequent? I was conceived on a visit home from his posting on the Defence Early Warning (DEW) Line up in the Arctic!

When he was home, he’d come up with ways to save on taxes like starting a hobby farm of sorts, buying dozens of rabbits and a few horses and goats…and then head off in his diesel Jetta to the airport for another flight, leaving Mom literally in the muck. God, it’s a wonder she didn’t drink, being in menopause with teenaged girls at home. Or maybe that’s why he flew so often?

His loving daughters like to think that Dad had much to be proud of in us, but there’s a “get off your ego trip” story Rob and I will laugh about for the rest of our lives.

In the early spring of 2015, Rogers invited some of their better known personalities and their dads to come to a ball game and be interviewed for pieces to run later, during the Father’s Day Blue Jays game telecast. But once Dad was mic’d up and ready to go, and they asked why he was proud of me, his response was that he was equally proud of all four of his girls. Silence.

I guess I didn’t warn him they’d ask about me and I doubt the video even made it onto the broadcast, but we DID have a wonderful time. And yes, was I humbled!

The last decade of Dad’s life was a hard one to witness (especially for younger sister Leslie who nursed him at her home for as long as she could) as his brilliant mind disappeared into the dense cloud of dementia.

On our final group visit to him in June, all four sisters celebrated his 92^nd birthday with singing, gifts and a cake. He seemed to enjoy us being there and knew our names (L-R Cindy, Erin, Leslie, Heather).

But we all left with a sense of wishing he would be allowed to go peacefully and soon. We also departed with a deepening determination to set some kind of pact or will that allows us to go before we reach the stage at which we found our dear ol’ Dad.

Today we all get our wish for Dad and he is dancing with the woman he knew when they were both pre-elementary school: the one he grew up with and, once she’d graduated nursing school and he from University of Alberta, eventually married. They got to raising a family right away, learning that the Catholic “rhythm” method of birth control was not exactly reliable. Eight years and four daughters later, they were done.

We all strove hard to make our mom and dad proud, all four of us sisters. Goodness knows, he made us proud. A loving father, husband, son, brother, dad, grandfather and great-grandfather, we are overwhelmed with gratitude beyond all measure to have had him steering our lives.

In a last exchange as he lay sleeping yesterday, my sister held up her phone and we told him gently the same words he said to us on the nights he was home to tuck us in: “Now, turn over and go to sleep.”

As he did this one last time, I love to imagine Dad and Mom – him in his military dress kit tuxedo and her in a gown she likely sewed herself – reunited in some celestial ball room. Mom’s father is leading the small dance band, and the last song of the night is “Now is the Hour,” Grandad’s signature closing number. They were always meant to be together in this and every other life, and it brings me joy that their wait has finally come to an end.

“I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you.”