Erin's Journals

Just a thought… A heart without dreams is like a bird without feathers. [Suzy Kassem]

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

If you follow me on my public Facebook page – and thank you for that – you know that yesterday I was saying…”Um, what do you think I should journal about tomorrow?” and there were a few suggestions ranging from complaints about curbside food pick-up to gardening to a few others, like how I put a video journal together.

Nothing hit home, so let me tell you what’s going on in my life.

And I think I may have a confession today, paired with a question: just what is a workaholic?

I know I’m prone to addictions; it came to light when I bit my nails as a child and into my teens, which I have read is a sign of an addictive personality. When I start something, I really get into it – and I have hundreds of dollars’ worth of beads in cases in the basement from a jewelry-making venture 20 years ago to prove it – and, of course, from drinking to smoking to loving my video poker, that trait comes through in my personality loud and clear.

But long ago when I was working or thinking about the radio show every single waking hour, Rob told me I was a workaholic. He wasn’t being accusatory, it was just a fact of life and who I was. The show had to be the best it could be every single day; the saying was “you’re only as good as your last show” and I lived that. Fortunately, it didn’t mess with our family or our marriage, and because of that drive, we have a comfortable retirement.

Wait – retirement? Not quite. I am very pleased to bring you up to speed, as much as I’m allowed to mention right now, about the next big project in my life. I’m not talking about the Facebook Live on April 27^th with Yvonne from Home Equity Bank; that’s some work/pleasure I do on the side for a company that I trust and believe in.

It’s not the volunteering, we continue to do that. And it’s not the grandparenting, the role that Rob and I have taken on, along with watching over Colin’s little family, as we have been doing since July of last year. Those are all important elements.

But here’s the news. Thanks to a lot of hard work that is keeping me up until 2 am while I record and edit, sweat over a getting just the right microphone and try to get the read and sound just “so” – something that is literally giving me headaches with the stress – I have a dream coming true. And it has to do with dreams. And sleep. And rest and stories.

It’s a culmination of my one of the lines that has driven me in my life: “Tell me a story.” I would say it to Rob at night, but he’d be asleep before he could get halfway through one of his tales of the day’s adventures, while I was still wide awake.

It was a mantra when we’d be relating on the air something that had happened that we thought listeners might relate to – because the stories could never be just about me, it had to have a “has this ever happened to YOU?” element to it.

“Tell me a story” is what drives me here, too. I mean, how do you keep people coming back here for 18 years or watching a video journal past the 30-second mark? It has to be something that interests you. Not just me, ’cause who the hell wants that?

Coming, before this summer, is a brand new podcast that you’ll be able to get on your favourite major podcast platform and it’s going to be – wait for it – sleep stories. Fairy tales. Original takes on old stories or even stories that have been newly written just for you.

They’ll be told with a little bit of hand-picked music, in a soft and relaxing way – stories you can fall asleep to and a few interviews for the daylight hours that have to do with sleep: how to get a child to bed, how to interpret your dreams, which essential oils can help you drift off.

I’ll soon be able to tell you the name of it and show you the artwork and all of that exciting stuff, but I swear it’s filling every waking hour of my life these days – and nights – ironically keeping me from the bed that I hope you’ll be in when you listen.

So that’s my news. Again, I’ll tell you more when I can, but for those who’ve commented that they find my voice relaxing, well, this is for you. It’s also for me. It’s my dream job, this podcast, and I can’t wait to bring you along. And if one more podcast (this is my third going right now, but the first that’s all from me, with a big hand from Rob) makes me a workaholic, then I always was anyway.

I am looking just to get all of this creativity and passion out of me and into people who want it. To help make lives a little better, while also enriching mine (and I don’t mean financially, ’cause that’s a long way off). It’s living life fully, with joy, and remembering that while I want to help you sleep, I can catch up on mine when this is up and running. I’m so glad to be able to share this with you. And I’ll be back with you here on Monday!

Just a thought… I don’t know if God is a sports fan or not but I know one thing: he loves a good comeback. [Lane Kiffin]

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

There’s a story line in the NBC series This is Us in which the family is tied together by memories of dad Jack’s love for the NFL Steelers. That didn’t resonate with me: my dad would watch the occasional CFL game and a hockey matchup on Saturday night (’cause it was on) but I don’t think I ever knew what team he cheered for.

A lot changed when I grew up and was on the radio on CKLW in Windsor/Detroit when the Tigers went on their tear to win the World Series in 1984. The next year, I was in Toronto and, of course, the late 80s and early 90s were THE time to be a Jays fan, and oh, I had a front seat on that bandwagon. I even got to sing anthems at the games and so did Lauren.

Of course, Rob was a huge Jays fan, too, but he had another, more harmful addiction. He could remember when the Maple Leafs last won a Stanley Cup; I couldn’t and didn’t care.

When Rob and I became became parents, Lauren was raised on the Jays and the Leafs. And as grandparents, well, we’ve really ramped up fandom. Colin has his own little Jays jersey (although it’s Donaldson, darn it) and a safer no-name Leafs jersey. He and Grandude watch the games on those lucky days when our schedule with him coincides with the Leafs’. They even have a little dance when the “Torontos” (as Colin calls them) score: they run around the family room and kitchen, shout “change direction!” and run some more. Quiet as the boys try to be, our tenants downstairs undoubtedly know the score without checking their devices. 

But here’s where the worry comes in: Colin hasn’t yet watched a game with Grandude in which the Leafs have lost. And yes, we know that’s coming, but we’ve had to tell him that the act of putting on his jersey, and Grandude his Leafs PJ bottoms and Jersey, doesn’t guarantee a win. We only wish it did.

Any fan indulges in magical thinking; it’s what keeps us coming back year after year, or staying to watch that third period or last three innings when your team is trailing terribly. But this whole wonderful experience of immersing (indoctrinating?) Colin into the world of being a sports fan reminded me that some of my favourite family memories – whether it was Mom moving Thanksgiving dinners to accommodate Jays’ playoff games, my grandmother having a crush on Cito Gaston (I put a poster of him up in her room), or now Grandude calling Colin after a 4pm Pacific Leafs’ win – sports can be just another couple of patches on our family quilt. Sure, it’s frivolous, but it’s fun. It’s connecting. It makes memories. 

Now, what KIND of memories? That’s the question. Goodness knows, as Toronto fans, we know from heartbreak, but that’s part of the whole ride, isn’t it? The jersey label says tear absorbent. But for now? When everything else is upside-down, having teams to cheer just feels…normal. And what more can we really hope for these days, right?

Just a thought… There are two responsibilities in life: to accept conditions as they exist, or accept the responsibility for changing them. [Denis Waitley]

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

Okay – let’s talk stress.

Because I know that many people who visit here are based in my old home province of Ontario, I am watching the news and following what’s happening with the latest lockdown. People are angry. Some are angry that they can’t go to the mall; others are angry because people want to go to the mall and shouldn’t. Okay, as of today, that changes. They just can’t.

I was preparing for a speech I’m giving later this month – virtually, of course – and re-reading the writings of Dr. Viktor Frankl last night. He was a psychiatrist and neurologist who was brilliant from the get-go. At the age of three he decided he wanted to be a doctor, and this Viennese child, before he was even out of his teens, sent one of his papers on finding meaning in life to Dr. Sigmund Freud. Imagine his awe when Freud himself asked permission to publish the paper.

Dr. Frankl was taken to the Nazi concentration camps and lost his entire family – including his wife – to the horrors of the Holocaust. (Only a sister who had fled to Australia survived; Viktor himself had been offered an immigration Visa to the US in 1940, but seeing what the future held in his home country of Austria, couldn’t leave his parents.)

Why am I bringing up Dr. Frankl? Besides the fact that he wrote one of the best books I’ve ever read, Man’s Search for Meaning, about his observations and work in the camps to help those who had just arrived to adjust and hopefully to survive if they could, he had some wisdom that applies to us all, even today. Especially today.

One of his lessons is that the people who did manage to make it out of those hell holes alive were the ones who had found reasons to live. I know that sounds simplistic – believe me, he puts it better than I do – but in his pre-war work with troubled teens, work that actually eradicated suicides in students who had gotten bad grades and proved his efforts effective, he asked “Why do you not commit suicide?” And when the students or whomever he was treating (later suicidal women) answered, then he grabbed on to those things that his patients or the students said, and helped them focus on what gave their life meaning.

We’re all going through a great deal right now – our dreams are filled with fears and anxiety, according to a recent U of T study – but I’m going to ask you to consider the things that make your life worth living.

We have to. We’re going to get through this, once the shots get into arms and hopefully people recognize that with freedom comes responsibility – another of Dr. Frankl’s tenets. We had the freedom to go to malls, and many people went. So, no responsibility. Confession: we did it too (although the malls here are a whole different scene than, say, Yorkdale). But maybe the people who insisted on lining up outside IKEA last weekend should take a moment to see inside an ICU instead. No cute Swedish names, just a lot of suffering among patients and staff alike.

We have to do better. Keep looking for your meaning. And if your reason to live is a new phone (why we went out – duh) or a big family gathering, try to picture when you won’t be able to connect with the people you love on that phone or at that table. Because if we don’t focus on our responsibilities instead of our freedoms, we’re not going to see the other side of this.

And now I’ll go back to chewing through my night guard. Yeah, I’m anxious too; you are not alone. Please take care and I’ll be back with you on Monday.

Just a thought… There are so few surprises left in life. We’ve gotten so addicted to knowing. It’s the Google generation. We want the answer to everything right now! [Ryan Reynolds]

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

Well, here we are on a Tuesday that feels like a Monday that feels like 2020, that feels like…well, I’m glad you’re here.

We had a great weekend as Rob’s birthday coincided with Easter Sunday for the first time since 1999 and maybe the last in his lifetime, who knows? There were cards and presents, dinner and cake and more cake – a blueberry upside-down one from our dear friends and a cherry loaf from my lovely aunt and uncle, both safely dropped at the front door. (Not thrown, but dropped; that’s not why the first cake was upside-down.)

All of these celebrations had Rob reminiscing: in years past we’ve taken off to Vegas for his birthdays but, of course, that’s not a thing. But I wanted to share with you today a story of surprises, of secrets and just enough fun to take your mind off lockdowns and full shopping malls, empty schools and everything that’s enough to make you just lose it. So here goes.

The year was 2004 – Rob’s 50^th birthday – and we wanted to do something special. So we booked a night in Niagara-on-the-Lake for a sleepover. Now, I had this whole thing planned above and beyond a hotel stay, and helping me to pull it off was my big sister Heather, who lived with us at the time while taking one of her many gemmology courses.

As planned, Lauren called Rob on the morning of April 4^th to wish him a happy birthday and to lament that she wasn’t celebrating with him. So I suggested maybe we meet at Thorncliffe Bowlerama and play a few games.

When we got there, Rob was floored to find that the place was decked out for a party: food, lots of friends from many facets of our lives: radio and our bandmates, some of the best pals you could ever have, from the decades we made music with Generations, including the three Blue Jays songs you can still find in remainder bins on CD or even cassette.

I announced there would be prizes for first, second and third place. I was confident that Rob, being a pretty good bowler, was assured to win, because the first place prize was the biggest surprise of the day.

But it almost went sideways when our friend Peter proved to be a good bowler too. As it came down to the final frame, it wasn’t clear whether he would win, or Rob would.

Then, when the scores lit up on the fuzzy TV screens, I was relieved – and you’ll know why in a moment – to find out that the birthday boy had indeed come out victorious.

As we opened the prizes, we got to First, and Rob opened a leather wallet. (Okay, it was a fanny pack – a nice one, okay, not puffy, but dark brown, flat and pretty cool for the time, I thought) and he reacted with enthusiasm as he unwrapped it.

Then he saw what was inside. An airline ticket. My sister Heather cheered, “Look at the date! Look at the date!” and it was right there: April 4^th. That day.

I had surprised him with a trip to Las Vegas, just the two of us, and we were leaving that evening! Thanks to time zones, I even managed to add a few hours to his birthday that year. We had a terrific time and it’s the year he always looks back on as the best surprise ever. We didn’t win big (we don’t bet big, so it’s not a possibility) but we had a blast, paper-thin walls at the Monte Carlo and drunk barfy guy in next room notwithstanding.

Rob spent the whole trip shaking his head in disbelief, while also expressing some worry about how sneaky his wife was – something neither of us had ever considered before. But he also wondered how I managed to pull it off. Frankly, so do I. Now our banking is so intertwined, so electronic, so in his hands, that there is absolutely NO WAY I could pull it off. How I did it then is a mystery, but Heather must have helped.

Oh, and I also kept reminding him that he was lucky he beat Peter on the lanes, ’cause Pete and I would have had a good time, too!

Have a good day and here’s to surprises of the best sort. They’ll come again. We’ll travel again. We’ll indulge in carefree fun again with friends and, even in the case of Vegas, strangers, or the lovely ladies of the morning who, at 4 am, came up to Rob at a machine and said, “Hey sweetie…looking for company?”

Aw, bless them, he was only playing nickels. ‘Cause that’s how we roll: five nickels and ten pins at a time. Thanks for coming by and I’ll be back with you here on Thursday.

Just a thought… Let us be thankful for the fools. But for them, the rest of us could not succeed. [Mark Twain]

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

Well, here we are, the first day of April. No “April Fool’s Day” here; I have to read enough tweets from people who have absolutely no scientific knowledge and who probably couldn’t spell “scientific knowledge” if they were challenged to, expounding daily on a global pandemic. So, yeah, I’ll pass. And Mr. Twain: maybe those fools are the ones who are preventing us from succeeding? Hmmm….

Hey, if you listen to Toronto radio and woke up thinking you were dreaming when you heard Mike Cooper back on the morning show on CHFI, you know by now, since he’s been doing it for a week, that yes, my favourite radio guy is back in the saddle again. He’s filling in during Darren’s absence and just doing a fantastic job, having a great time and making life joyful again for Maureen, Ian, Gord and Christine. I mean, how great is it that after five years off mornings, Mike can just slide in and feel like he hasn’t missed a step? Talk about a natural. I’m just so happy for them all.

Mike isn’t one to look back or to dwell on the past and I’ve taken a page from him in terms of my career. Sure, there were lots of wonderful moments, but it’s the overall picture, the one that has been painted in bright colours of laughter and framed in a great big heart, that I cherish most.

So it was with a sense of dread that I was tasked with finding pictures from my early radio years. You see, after a year’s delay, this May, yours truly is being inducted into the Canadian Broadcast and Music Industry Hall of Fame. It’ll be virtual and I’ll be recording an acceptance, which is a bummer, but of course I’m still grateful. For one thing, I won’t have to find out if I can walk in heels. For another, I don’t need to get nervous about remembering people’s names or screwing up a speech.

But these last few weeks, I’ve been stuck in a time machine, going through piles of photos from our lives stacked and crammed carelessly into torn boxes that have moved from basements to garages in houses and cottages over the past 30-some years. Yes, there were a ton of family pictures (some of those felt like a gut punch), but I tried to hurry past them.

I was searching among the clippings and magazines, pictures preceding my time at CHFI, which began in 1988. But there just aren’t any of me at CFRA in Ottawa, CKLW in Windsor or CKO in Toronto, the stations whose people and experiences helped this chipmunk-cheeked newscaster grow into who I eventually became.

After hours of dusty delving, I finally found three pictures in – of all places – photo albums, whose plastic sleeves are yellow with age. Those three will have to do.

You see, like my friend Mike Cooper, these days, we’re more about making memories, instead of looking back. Of course, there’s a time for appreciation and reflection, but that’s for someone else to do. Me? I’m looking forward – to celebrating our son-in-law Phil’s birthday today and Rob’s birthday, which coincides with Easter Sunday, this weekend.

Whatever you’re doing, may the bunny be good to you, may your heart be full and may you make some memories of your own. Even if they’re just of the chocolate-covered variety this year. Happy Easter and I’ll have a new journal for you on Tuesday of next week after the holiday Monday.