Erin's Journals

Just a thought… Santa Claus is anyone who loves another and seeks to make them happy; who gives himself by thought or word or deed in every gift that he bestows. [Author Unknown]

Ah, welcome in. For years, I had the honour of sharing Christmas Eve with you, through our show on CHFI on the 24^th from 6pm until midnight. One year, in fact, the ratings actually showed that 1 of every 2 radios turned on in the GTA was tuned in to our show. It was a joy and truly an honour to share such a wonderful time and a not-so-silent night with you.

So last year I wrote a story that is part of a game. Maybe you’ll want to watch the video version of this with your friends or family and follow along. You can watch it on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

Just make sure there are more than two people and that everyone starts with a small present in hand, one that could go to anyone. When you hear the word ‘right’ (whether it’s spelled R-I-G-H-T or sounds like it) you pass to the right, and same with the word ‘left.’ Only one spelling of that one. Here we go.

THE STORY OF THE WRIGHT BROTHERS’ CHRISTMAS

BY ERIN DAVIS

(and if you’re playing correctly, you just passed that gift to the person on your right, because I said the brothers’ name. Got it? Good. Let’s go.)

ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE WERE TWO BROTHERS. ORVILLE WRIGHT AND WILBUR WRIGHT. THEY LIVED IN KITTY HAWK, NORTH CAROLINA, RIGHT NEAR RALEIGH. ORVILLE AND WILBUR NEVER LEFT HOME – THEY STAYED IN KITTY HAWK AND WANTED TO FLY.

HOW COULD THAT BE RIGHT? PREVIOUS TRIES LEFT THOSE FLYING MACHINES IN PIECES ON THE GROUND.

BUT THE BOYS HAD THE RIGHT STUFF. SO, PEOPLE LEFT IT TO THEM. AFTER ALL, WHAT RIGHT DID ANYONE HAVE TO SAY THAT THEY COULDN’T FLY – RIGHT?

THE WRIGHT BROTHERS BUILT AN AIRPLANE WITH PARTS LEFT OVER FROM THEIR TRACTOR – AND EVEN USED A SURFBOARD FOR THE RIGHT WING. WHAT?

ON A CHILLY DECEMBER 24TH, RIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, ORVILLE AND WILBUR GOT INTO THEIR PLANE. A PRIEST WHO WAS WORRIED CAME AND GAVE THEM LAST RITES. BUT THEY SAID, “OH GOODNESS, FATHER, WE’LL BE ALL RIGHT! BESIDES, WE HAVEN’T EVEN LEFT YET!”

THEY STARTED THEIR PLANE AND, DESPITE THE COLD, IT BEGAN RIGHT AWAY. THEY FLEW A LITTLE TO THE LEFT, AND THEN A LITTLE TO THE LEFT AGAIN…AND THEN UP AND DOWN AND THEN…TO THE LEFT. “UH-OH,” SAID WILBUR, “THIS AIN’T RIGHT.” SO THEN THEY TRIED TO STRAIGHTEN UP AND FLY RIGHT, BUT INSTEAD, THE PLANE JUST KEPT GOING UP – UP – UP!

AS THE WRIGHT BROTHERS STARTED TO PANIC, THEIR PLANE CONTINUED ITS ASCENT. UP OVER ROOFTOPS, UP THROUGH THE CLOUDS.

‘TIL ALL OF A SUDDEN, OVER THE WHIRR OF THE LITTLE PLANE’S STRUGGLING PROPELLERS, THE WRIGHT BROTHERS COULD HEAR A SOUND. WAIT, THOUGHT WILBUR, THAT CAN’T BE RIGHT!

“DO YOU HEAR BELLS?” ASKED ORVILLE?

THEY DID! THEY LOOKED ABOVE THEM, THEY LOOKED TO THE RIGHT…THEY LOOKED BELOW AND THEN THEY LOOKED TO THE LEFT…AND WHAT SHOULD THEY SEE, RIGHT THERE BESIDE THEM?

NONE OTHER THAN THE BIG MAN HIMSELF: SANTA CLAUS, AND A MAGICAL SLEIGH BEING PULLED BY EIGHT REINDEER!

“HEY!” SHOUTED SANTA. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?

IT’S MY TURN TO FLY – YOU HAVEN’T THE GEAR!

YOU LAND THAT PLANE RIGHT NOW, BEFORE YOU CRASH BADLY – “

“OKAY,” SAID THE WRIGHT BROTHERS, NODDING QUITE SADLY.

“WE DON’T KNOW THE WAY – I GUESS WE DID GOOF…”

AND SANTA SAID, “FOLLOW! I’LL LAND ON YOUR ROOF!”

SO THAT’S WHAT THEY DID, AND THEY PURSUED THE SLEIGH, LED BY RUDOLPH’S GLOWING RED NOSE. DOWN, DOWN, THEY WENT. TURNING LEFT AND LEFT AGAIN…UNTIL RIGHT BELOW THEM WAS THEIR HOUSE.

SANTA AND HIS REINDEER LANDED AND QUICKLY LEFT THEIR PRESENTS, THEN FLEW OFF INTO THE NIGHT SKY. ORVILLE AND WILBUR WRIGHT PUT THAT LITTLE PLANE DOWN GENTLY ON A SNOW-COVERED FARM FIELD RIGHT NEXT TO THEIR HOUSE.

“ALL RIGHT!” THEY EXCLAIMED AS THEY CLIMBED FROM THE PLANE AND LEFT IT BEHIND TO RUN INSIDE AND SEE WHAT SANTA HAD LEFT.

FOR ORVILLE, A PAIR OF FLYING GOGGLES AND A STICK OF RIGHT GUARD DEODORANT…FOR WILBUR, A BASEBALL GLOVE SO HE COULD PLAY LEFT FIELD COME SPRING.

AND RIGHT UNDER THE TREE, THE BEST GIFT OF ALL?

SANTA LEFT THEM A MAP AND A NOTE: “PLEASE DON’T FALL!”

AND AS THE BOYS HUGGED, FOR THEY REALLY WERE TIGHT,

THEY CRIED “MERRY CHRISTMAS” TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD RIGHT!

A lovely holiday season to you and yours from Rob and me, and from our whole family.

The story is over, so hold onto your lot,

No passing, no sassing – open up what you got!

Just a thought… Breathe. Let go. And remind yourself that this very moment is the only one you have for sure. [Oprah Winfrey]

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

As we get set for the Winter solstice – a change of seasons, longer days on the horizon and, of course, Christmas, Kwanzaa, New Year’s and so much more just days away – we find ourselves in a sort of limbo. Last year at this time, we were in our bubbles and today, we’re back in them, as we gather cautiously, keeping in mind not only those who can’t be with us, but also those who won’t be, if we’re not careful enough. Not the cheeriest of sentiments on which to begin the week, but here we are.

HO HO Here we go. We’re going to the world-famous Butchart Gardens (pictured above) for their annual Christmas light display tomorrow. I can’t wait to see Colin and Jane’s faces, but I think Phil and Brooke are going to be wowed as well.

So I have a special game, something I wrote that’s fun to play that I’ll bring to you here in Thursday’s journal so you can see and play it too. But today, a different sort of pre-Christmas wish for you.

Like you may have been, I’ve been scurrying around trying to find just the right pans for little whipped cheesecakes I’m going to endeavour to make, and loving the idea of preparing gravy in advance by baking and spicing wings a few days early, thanks to a recipe from the internet.

Oh, and we’re doing something completely different this year: having a turkey dinner Christmas Eve and then replaying it Christmas night with different side dishes, including – get this – stuffing waffles. You top them with gravy, mashed potatoes, even turkey and cranberries, and voilà. The recipe from the Food Network is here.

So my resolution for 2022 is to make use of new cookware and get comfortable in the kitchen. It may not go perfectly, but it’ll be progress.

And as I posted last week, as a wise person once said, “Progress, Not Perfection,” right? So on that note, a poem I found (author unknown) from the website of Amy Rees Anderson, who wrote, “What Awesome Looks Like.”

This is pretty awesome, too, so here we go, and it’s called “‘Tis the Days Before Christmas.”

‘Tis the days before Christmas, we’re all going nuts;
With so much to do, there’s no ifs, ands or buts.
Buy presents, hang tree lights, pop cards in the mail,
Send gift packs, thread popcorn, find turkeys on sale.

Decorations need stringing up all through the house.
And you haven’t a clue what to buy for your spouse.
School concerts, receptions, open houses with friends,
Long lineups, short tempers, tying up the loose ends.

With all our mad dashing, we’re reeling from shock;
Let’s stop for a minute and really take stock.
It’s crassly commercial, the cynical say;
If that’s true, that’s our fault – it’s us and not they.

Take time for yourself – though hard as that seems?
Enjoy your kids’ laughter, excitement and dreams.
Take a moment out now, don’t get overly riled,
Instead make an angel in snow with your child.

The shortbread can wait, and so can the tree;
What’s important to feel is a child’s sense of glee.
The holidays aren’t about push, rush and shove;
They’re for friendship and sharing and family love.

Hear the bells, feel the warmth, light up with the glow
Of a message first sent to us so long ago:
Peace, love and goodwill, and hope burning bright.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Well, we can hope, can’t we? I’ll be back Thursday with a very special journal that’s a whole lot of fun for you and your friends, family – whoever you’re gathering with this year, so safely. So gratefully. As I am for you here: always grateful.

Just a thought… I can’t decide if people who wear pajamas in public have given up or are living life to its fullest. [Author Unknown]

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

First of all, thanks if you answered my call to please rate my podcast Drift with Erin Davis. You don’t have to be an Apple device user, and you can do it. The better the ratings for the podcast series, the easier it is for people to find these sleep stories; the more people who listen, the easier it is for the folks at Frequency Podcasts to sell it and then it’ll all be free, eventually. I hope.

This week’s story is Louisa May Alcott’s beautiful A Christmas Dream. I loved doing this one. And if you’re wondering how to listen to a podcast, it’s so easy even I figured it out. Here’s a link to a quick video to help you out.

And have I shown you this?

It’s a pillow speaker. Plug it into your device and listen ’til you fall asleep. It’s flat, fits into your pillowcase and is comfortable enough to sleep on. Great idea if you get an Amazon gift card or something for Christmas and then we can Drift off together! Just Google them and look for the reviews; that’s how we made our choice.

Speaking of Christmas, we had a terrific time in Kelowna, just as I predicted in my rocking chair journal here on Monday. The flights were smooth, short and on time, and more than that I cannot ask. Leslie just loved her Christmas in Heaven lamp and we had a great big teary hug. But here’s the truly amazing part.

When Brooke made this, she found a little red arm chair at Michael’s (named appropriately enough).

And look at this. Here is Leslie’s son Michael in almost an identical chair as a toddler. I mean, how on earth could Brooke have guessed?

How wild is that? By the way, at your request, Brooke is considering making these through the year for you to have next Christmas. If you want to enquire, email me. 

So I have to tell you something that is so Erin and Rob that I may well laugh about this every time the door bell rings.

It’s about 3 pm on Monday. I’m still in my buffalo check red PJs, having edited and written and puttered for most of the day. Have I mentioned I love my jammies?

The doorbell rings. I skitter to the bathroom and even though Rob has a toothbrush in his mouth, I ask him to answer the door, since I can’t let anyone see my in my pajamas at that hour.

He goes, and there stand our 90-something-year-old neighbours, Lou and Alan, holding a beautiful orchid as a gift to us, and a jar of homemade blackberry jelly for Colin, who loves it. (We had dropped off a poinsettia to Alan last week for Christmas.)

By the way, do you pronounce the second “i” in poinsettia? I always feel like I’m on Downton Abbey. “Oh look, Robert, Mary brought us a poinsettia!”

Where was I? Ah yes. I’m in the bathroom wondering how to make myself presentable, so I put a hair towel on and my bathrobe, put water on my face and run out to the door, so they’d think I was in the shower. We had a quick chat as they kept their safe distance, and then said our Happy Christmases (Allan is British, like so many in the Victoria area) and closed the door.

As I congratulated myself on my clever little ruse, Rob says, “That would have been brilliant…if I hadn’t told them you weren’t coming to the door because you were in your PJs.”

I said, “NO YOU DIDN’T!” and he said sheepishly, “Maybe…?”

And then we shared a great big laugh.

People who know us understand that we work on different kinds of hours doing goodness-knows-what in front of a microphone or a camera in this house, but still, I know that there’s a fair bit of judgment, especially among our parents’ generation, that comes with someone who wears her sleep clothes (or, as I call them, my work attire) for an entire day.

I was well and truly busted. And that, my friend, is the story of my life in a nut shell. Five years since that magical last broadcast at Casa Loma, I’m embracing the sleep, the night-owl hours, reading, writing, working in PJs and all of the wonderful, busy, messiness of our lives. It’s as good as it gets.

Have a great weekend and I’ll be back with you on Monday. 

Just a thought… Do things for people not because of who they are or what they do in return, but because of who you are. [Harold S. Kushner]

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

I do hope you had a good weekend. I’m going to predict I did because when I brought a journal to you last Thursday I said, “I’ll talk to you Monday after a weekend in Kelowna with my dad and two sisters.”

Kelowna is a flight to the mainland; it’s about an hour from YYJ to YLW, but December being the month it is, and us expecting really high winds and Kelowna getting rain and snow, I thought: what if I don’t get in on Sunday evening in time to shoot and post a new journal?

So I thought I would do a new journal now before we leave. It’s nice and quiet where I’m writing; Rob’s at hockey, and I wanted to take the time to share with you here. (By the way, I am hopefully getting a new camera for Christmas to reduce the blur factor).

But I wanted to show you something special. I gave it to my sister this weekend so I’m not spoiling anything by telling you about it now. It’s something that Brooke made for us (I’m not regifting!) and I loved it so much that I asked her to make one for my younger sister Leslie. You see, she lost her son four years ago in a murder in Kelowna which has yet to be solved, adding just another layer of pain for her.

Brooke made this for Rob and for me. It’s a lantern that she has decorated and when you open it, there’s a picture of Lauren in a tiny chair. It has battery-operated lights in the top decoration and it’s simply lovely, as you can see:

The theme of it is Christmas in Heaven and there’s a poem printed on the outside.

Yes they will. No matter how our traditions change – whether it’s the location, or a new tree or some ornaments on it that don’t come out every year anymore, they are still there. In our hearts, there’s that empty chair, but always always always a place in the Christmas traditions for the ones who are not here.

And so with that I will tell you – again a prediction – that we had a wonderful Christmas celebration. Have a beautiful day, a lovely week and thank you so much for spending time here. It means a lot.

Just a thought… Do the best you can until you know better. When you know better, do better. [Maya Angelou]

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

So, I got in deep deep trouble among some people on Monday. I’m not here to whine or complain; just to point out how carefully we all tread these days.

I am politically correct, in what I hope is the best possible interpretation of those two words that so many people use as a weapon of disgust. I go out of my way not to offend anyone, to include everyone and to try to stay up on all of the changes in our languages. I read the articles on the most mispronounced words and how language and meaning change.

I’ve even read a piece this week in The Atlantic that suggests that when we acknowledge the Indigenous lands on which we stand, or have our events, or in whatever circumstances we use the statements of gratitude, it’s actually just moral exhibition. Okay, that’s one I’ll read and consider. And maybe look again at my stance. I just don’t know.

That’s what I do – what I think we do – and following Maya Angelou’s gentle directions, try to be better.

But on Monday, I wanted to acknowledge a national day of remembrance for the 14 victims of the horrific massacre that took place in 1989 at Ecole Polytechnique. In being extremely careful about my terminology, I copied the wording from a post on a union website from last year that said, in short, that these women were murdered simply because of their gender.

And that, my friend, was my mistake. I took at face value a post from a credible source. But it wasn’t based on these women’s gender, it was based on their sex. And there is a difference, I was reminded in the firmest and foulest of terms on Monday (actually Sunday night when I posted and later checked before going to sleep).

I was accused by one poster (often retweeted) of adding to the violence of that day. I was told I “obviously didn’t remember,” which was really ridiculous in that I was on the air doing news that next morning on CHFI. I even had to fend off the worst reaction from a male co-worker, reacting to my sadness and shock by saying, “Who cares?” This is something I’ve never told anyone before now, because the story wasn’t about me. So this criticism Sunday night was personal.

No, the tweets were not an attack by a madman with a gun – and I am pretty sure that I can say he was a man – but I was deeply disturbed by the way that my tweet was tagged by several very angry people who had a cause, presumably from a transgender point of view, that I was not aware of. Gender and sex are not interchangeable in our current terminology.

Even the OCAD University website used these words: “The 14 women were killed in a gender-based act of violence.”

I’m aware now. I was to the point of thinking I would never again acknowledge the December 6^th attack, lest I add the worst kind of distraction to a day of remembrance about 14 innocent women whose lives were taken because of their sex. Because they were women.

When I apologized and took down the tweet, then I was questioned in the least gentle of terms as to why I had taken it down. There was no pleasing anyone, except for the initial group of infuriated tweeters who said, “Fair play. She’s apologized.”

Look, this isn’t me. But I remember that Twitter doesn’t take into account the…account. Who I am. What I stand for and how I try to protect and give a voice to those who don’t have my platform and followers, when I can.

I’ll be careful but never careful enough, it seems. In AA there’s a motto that goes “Progress, Not Perfection.” I’m angry that I trusted some site’s presumably careful terminology because I didn’t know better. But I’m angrier because I was taken to the public square and hanged before I got a chance even to say what it was that I meant or knew.

Educate me, by all means. Help me to learn the ways that you can be acknowledged and aided in your cause, but by attacking and name-calling and trying to cancel me and still my voice, you are not helping me, and certainly not helping your case. You turned a day in which 14 women were murdered into your cause. And as much as we all need our eyes opened, there has got to be a better way. If you scream at me, I will not listen. And then how do I learn?

Have a gentle weekend. I’ll be in Kelowna visiting my dad and sisters for an early Christmas.