Erin's Journals

Just a thought… I’m beginning to think “hindsight is 20/20” was some kind of message from a future time traveler that we all misunderstood. [Victoria Guida]

And welcome to the last two days of the first half of a year we’ll never forget. For most, we’ve seen months fraught with anxiety, isolation, fear, loneliness and sadness. That was us, too, until recent weeks brought a sudden upswing in our spirits and outlook with some good news. I can only wish the same for you.

I’m off to the airport today for the first time since we flew home in a panic from California nearly 3 1/2 months ago. I’ll be boarding a plane so small that the practice of isolation (which is now being lifted on Air Canada and Westjet, as you’ve undoubtedly heard) isn’t even an issue: this Pacific Coastal flight has one seat on each side of the plane and carries 17 passengers total! But I’ll definitely be wearing one of the two masks I had made by a nice lady I found locally on Facebook in different fabrics of my choice. I’ll be happy to wear it for the 65-minute flight from Victoria to Kelowna!

I’m heading to the mainland to spend the better part of three days visiting with my dad, whom I haven’t seen in person in a year, and sharing some sister time with two of my three siblings. Oh, and tomorrow I mark a big day: my 12-step “birthday” of one year.

After racking up 10 years of sobriety until we moved here, it feels strange to be celebrating with the traditional cake and kudos, but here we are. For everyone who knows what I’m talking about, I salute every single day you’ve not picked up. And thank you to every person who helped me get here.

That’s not to say that it’s been easy; even after spending those weeks and money getting my head straight in rehab last summer, I sometimes imagine how it would feel to “take the edge off” when I’m extremely stressed. You and I can be honest about that. Friday was a prime example of exactly that kind of day.

10 days earlier, Phil, Brooke and Colin had purchased WestJet seats so they could fly here July 24th to begin their new lives. This was under the previously-enforced seat spacing guidelines, so a ticket for Jane (who’ll be almost 10 months old by then) wasn’t necessary; she’d be strapped in her carseat in the mandated empty seat between Brooke and Phil, or one of her parents and her brother. They didn’t have the option of purchasing her seat, so they had her booked as a lap passenger, which many parents of infants do.

Then the change came into effect on Friday and here’s where it gets messy: when Phil contacted WestJet, he was told he could purchase that seat in their row of three in economy, but for $1024 – not business or plus or whatever it’s called – which is roughly twice the price he’d paid for each seat just over a week earlier. When Phil raised the unfairness of the price hike, the man on the phone (who was just following company policy) said, “Sorry, that’s the price.”

I took to my own Facebook page that evening to express my dismay and, yes, anger with a company to which we’ve been loyal over the years for changing the rules midstream at such an a huge added expense. Heck, if you’ve read Mourning Has Broken you know how grateful we were to their personnel for the compassion they showed us when we were making our way home from the remote show in Jamaica that fateful May day of 2015. So I love WestJet.

I followed up the post with what is likely a more effective way of communicating our situation: an email to a member of management. I’m hoping they’ll see our side of the situation and offer us that middle seat at the same price as the others we purchased. We’re not trying to get anything for free, especially in light of the way that the people of Westjet and so many other companies – big and small – have suffered in the past four months. Just fairness. I’ll keep you posted.

In the meantime, I’ll continue to pop into FB daily plus Twitter and Instagram to share messages from now until my next journal on Thursday, which I hope will include pictures from some long-awaited family time.

Please have a very Happy Canada Day. Of course, we’re a long way from perfect as a nation and there are enough people echoing American-flavoured sentiments here in this country to spark fear in my heart for our future, but I’ll always be grateful to have been born in this glorious, beautiful and bountiful land. I’ve been fortunate to obtain enough passport stamps to know that truly there is no place like home, like our Canada.

Let’s continue to listen instead of talking, consider instead of shouting, support instead of ignoring and work together as the one great nation that we are in order to fulfill the dreams, not simply of each of us, but of all of us.

Tous Ensembles.

Just a thought… Good news is rare these days, and every glittering ounce of it should be cherished and hoarded and worshipped and fondled like a priceless diamond. [Hunter S. Thompson]

Four weeks tomorrow is Christmas. I know you think it’s six months away – and you’d be right – but in our case, July 24 is the day that our Ottawa family arrives, suitcases in hand, bleary-eyed and stressed after two long flights from Ottawa to Calgary and then on to Victoria. We’ll tuck them into their beds for what we hope will be a long night of rest and recuperation and then a whole new life begins: the banana bunch reunited.

Right now, as we spin in this dance of joyful realization that this is actually happening, it’s a Facebook frenzy: messaging, buying and arranging pickups for this and that. They’re with us for a week when they arrive, so we need some things that won’t be here until the movers bring their cargo from Ottawa. This puzzle box contains a lot of pieces and I’m sure a few are wedged between couch cushions right now, but we can do this!

Yesterday I wasn’t so sure: I left $165 in the mailbox of a woman from whom I was buying something, then remembered Brooke had offered her $150. So I shouted to Rob from the car, “Get $15 out of the mailbox!” and then when I messaged the woman that the money was there, Brooke messaged me telling me she’d already paid her via e-transfer! Of course, that was in an earlier message, but do you think I can keep all of these transactions straight?

My brain has gone from about 20 km/h to 200 and I’m having trouble keeping up, as you can plainly read. Yes, I keep lists and all, but when things are all happening on a social media platform I rarely use, it’s challenging.

Now, to some of your questions. And can I say first that I was just floored by the excitement and kindness that you sent through various messaging platforms? Please note that some of my emails are going into people’s spam folders (we know not why) and I don’t answer direct messages on Insta or FB because I just can’t keep up with them all. If you write to me through this website, I can virtually guarantee I’ll respond in as timely a manner as this Vitamix of a schedule we’ve jumped into allows.

You wondered where they’re moving to – and I think I said in the video that they’ve purchased in a neighbourhood that’s a six-minute drive from our house. There are beautiful parks, a large grocery store, a Shoppers, a branch of their bank and the best pizza we’ve found locally, all within 1000 steps (yes, I walked it, because, well, that’s me). Some asked about jobs and so on for Phil and Brooke; those are things that will be determined in good time. Right now it’s all about getting the little family of four here with sanity (mostly) intact for us all.

A few asked if we’d be spending winters in the US anymore – and the answer is a hard “ah, hell naw.” We weren’t expecting to go this year anyway, given the vicious upwards turn of COVID cases in our own Riverside County, CA; getting health insurance would probably be tougher than winning the Powerball. And with our commitment to Brooke and Phil to be there for them and the children, we are happy to sacrifice our little piece of paradise to make this dream a reality. Nothing will ever be more important to us than doing whatever we can for this family. Nothing.

So it’s going on the market – furnished right down to the cutlery and whatever is in the cupboards! Our agent down there will gather up the few personal items we had and ship them to us. (When I started doing the Canadian Real Estate Association podcasts this year, I couldn’t have imagined just how many house transactions 2020 would hold!)

As I keep telling Brooke, who’s busy packing up a house with two little ones, purging from Phil’s last move after a catastrophic house flood, and working with him to get 1000 things settled before they leave one province for another, this will ALL work out. We need to take a moment every few hours, sit down, plant our feet on the floor to ground ourselves and just breathe. Good thing we can remind each other of the importance of stilling our minds, even for a short while!

So that’s where we are for today. On Monday I’m heading to Kelowna; it’s a happy trip and I’ll fill you in more in our next journal, also Monday.

In the meantime, have a safe and happy weekend, please wear a mask when you’re out and thank you again for sharing our massively good news this week!

Just a thought… Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly. [Langston Hughes]

Well, hello there. It seems only fitting that on the day Lauren was wed seven years ago – one of the happiest of our lives – I am sharing with you news that has lifted our hearts into the stratosphere. Rob and I are feeling the most deeply fulfilled, the most overly joyful that we have since before that day five years ago that Lauren left us, her baby son and her husband in her sleep.

I had planned to tell the news here today to you first. But when I was in conversation Friday evening with Kevin Frankish on his Kevin’s Isolators show, he asked me what was keeping me joyful and grateful. And I just couldn’t sit there and lie!

So here it is: the announcement of the dream we didn’t dare to dream, coming true. (I should warn you that the video is five-and-a-half minutes long and will use quite a bit of data, so you might want to make sure you’re on wi-fi.)

By the way, Kevin made the little hummingbird graphic at the end using a video Barbara Cassells sent me. Barbara shared her own story of losing her son Nathan for me to include in Mourning Has Broken: Love, Loss and Reclaiming Joy. She caught a beautiful moment with my book and a real hummingbird. Don’t miss it – and thank you, sweet Barbara!

Of course, there are more details to come as our shaky exuberance subsides a bit and things come into focus.

I’ll have a fresh journal for you here Thursday.

Just a thought… Parenthood: it’s about guiding the next generation and forgiving the last. [Peter Krause]

Where to begin? I know it’s just been since Monday that I’ve written but I keep collecting mental Post-It notes about stuff to share with you.

First of all, before I forget, I’m going to be joining my friend and former Breakfast Television host Kevin Frankish for his live show online at 7 pm tomorrow. Put it in your calendar now (who knows when Friday actually is, right?) because it promises to be interesting. Kevin has posted a survey that you can do here that takes about one minute. In it, he’s asking about the transition out of self-isolation and how you feel about life as it’s about to unfold.

Then join us tomorrow at 7pm either on Facebook or on Twitter @kevinfrankish and feel free to comment as the show goes on. I’ll try to watch my phone at the same time as I’m on camera (from my computer) with Kevin so I can see what you’re asking and what you have to say.

I couldn’t have done this next Monday after my long-awaited hair appointment, right? Ah, such is life: it’s not always perfect, but can be cut short at any minute. In the case of my hair, that’s a good thing!

The whole to-mask-or-not-to-mask thing is making me crazy. We went into Canadian Tire and probably about half of us (but none of the staff) were wearing them. At the grocery store, though, only about one in ten was.

That could be because the island has had no new cases in a month or so, or just that people figure that the worst is over. But I keep looking at southern states (especially Florida) where people have been saying “I’ve got my rights!” and gathering in close proximity with plenty of other folks, none of whom is masking up. And the COVID numbers are growing exponentially.

I know it’s human nature to look for life to go on; nothing lasts forever and we have to continue to go about our lives – especially those who are having difficulty feeding their families or making rent. But there’s a much bigger, much more troubling picture that’s becoming clearer by the day.

Yes, the marches and protests are important – vital, even – but so is protecting yourself when you do so. I can’t imagine the frustration of the healthcare workers who were thinking they could return home to their families and not worry about infecting them. They must be asking, “How do we get the message across?”

Then I see messages on other people’s FB pages, etc. where posters are saying that they’re not wearing masks because the government (including our own) is telling them to. For them, like toddlers being told not to stick their fingers in electrical sockets, it’s not for their own good – it’s a challenge. Okay then, take your chances. I’m not ready to, just yet.

A woman posted on my FB page last week that she read that masks are ineffective anyway. I asked her to cite her source and, unless I’ve missed it, she didn’t, after saying she would. This is why it’s vitally important that we all consider the sources for our information.

An awful lot of people out there have motives that you can’t even imagine. There will be some trying to make sure the pandemic continues so that the American election can’t be held this fall; they’re the same ones who are so vocally opposed to mail-in ballots. As I say, a lot of big picture concerns are at play here. Please be safe.

And finally, Father’s Day is this Sunday. Rob got himself a new floor cleaner (we were fascinated by an infomercial that just kept going and going during one of our Forensic Files episodes). So that’s exciting, I guess.

Our floors here are a manufactured hardwood that are in deep grey/almost black and show every single dog hair, dust bunny and crumb. Trying to stay ahead of them all has been a daily challenge, but we’re not doing much else these days. If we ever do have company, I hope they’ll consider our offer to eat off the floors.

My own father seems to be failing since his fall. He’s still sporting some dark bruises around his eyes and, worse, his short term memory has taken a hit as well. Dad’s getting us a little worried and one of the sisterhood is talking with his doctor today about possibly recommending he stop driving. It’s a huge, possibly hurtful step to take with a parent who loves his freedom and his car, but for the good of his beloved passenger and everyone else on the road – as well as Dad himself – we think it’s time. We’d never forgive ourselves if the worst happened and we hadn’t tried.

Yes, parenting is hard, but as so many have attested during these times of separation from elderly parents, so is being a responsible offspring. For those who still have a dad with us instead of watching over us, I hope that you’re able to connect in some way this weekend.

It’s sort of a non-day in our house, but as our bonds strengthen with Brooke (whose own dad has passed) and Phil (who’s close with his own), we can remember that a father’s job never really ends: it morphs and moves to fit into the lives of those who will always welcome extra love, compassion, support and encouragement.

I’ll talk to you tomorrow evening online (hope you can make it) and be back with you here on Monday.

Just a thought… One person caring about another represents life’s greatest value. [Jim Rohn]

Well, how was your weekend? Mine was overflowing with bliss. I’ll fill you in on the details one day soon – not my story to tell – but let me switch lanes on you and take you back to last Thursday.

First of all, it was so kind of a number of people to send good wishes; really, it wasn’t as big a deal as I thought. As I went in for my procedure, I wasn’t the least bit nervous and was approaching it from two standpoints: participant/observer and someone to bring a laugh or two to whomever I happened to encounter.

So I got to our little Saanich Peninsula hospital right on time at 11 am. After answering the usual COVID questions, I was given a fresh mask and placed on a sensibly-distanced stool against the wall to wait. There I sat for about 45 minutes, scrolling my iPhone, watching the battery percentage start to drop a lot more quickly than I would have liked, and being a “patient patient.” (Which word/meaning came first, do you think?)

A very friendly nurse named Laurie came to get me. As we walked, we chatted. She seemed like someone I’d like to have a coffee with, but honestly, these days, that could be nearly anyone. I probably came off as just a bit goofy, out on a day pass and just happy to chat with someone to whom I’m not married, you know? I think you do.

She walked with me to a large room divided into curtained-off cubicles in which a few people were lying on gurneys, recovering or preparing for whatever brought them there that day.

We discussed what I was to leave on (socks were okay, which was too bad, because I’d worn sandals) and I bundled up my clothing, put it in a nice clean plastic bag which will be handy for dirty clothes if we ever travel again. Once I was comfy on my gurney, gown on the right way and ready to roll, I was offered a nice warm flannel sheet/blanket. There’s 5 stars on YELP right there. But when they ask if I’d like to accompany my imaginary review with a picture, should I use this one?

Oh, goodness. When Colin was shown it by his mommy he said, “Does Grama have COVID?” Thankfully, the answer is no. But how interesting that the question popped into his head. These are the times in which we live: seeing what I figured was just a fun shot, a five-year-old’s first thought was of a pandemic. Wow.

The wait was long – probably the better part of another hour – as lunch shifts changed and they tried to find the anesthesiologist. (Cat napping, perhaps?) Once my time in the OR came, I was wheeled by a nice fellow named Brad (Gary? Grad?) to my destination, but not before I passed by four health care givers standing chatting in the hall. “Boob job – coming through!” I called out, and they laughed. (I don’t think that’s a thing at this hospital, by the way.) It’s a good sound to hear, that laughter; I’m sure there are so many patients and staff who are just so stressed (and rightfully so) within those walls, day in and day out.

So I got to the OR and shimmied from the gurney to the table. Then we waited for Doctor Sleep (not his real name, although I did have a procedure once at North York General where the anesthesiologist was named Dr. Knapp).

They couldn’t find him in the usual places (I asked if one was the bar) and then I suggested someone just hit me a few times on the head and we’d get this done ourselves. When he finally arrived he was cheery and friendly; once he’d inserted the IV needle he said, “That’s where you say it was the best one you’ve ever had…” and I retorted, “Oh, I gave up using that line years ago.” I’m not sure he meant the double entendre, but if you think I’m letting someone throw a big ol’ softball like that across the plate and I’m not swinging at it, you don’t know me!

Oxygen mask on, magic juices flowing, out I went. I thought I’d be gone for hours and was surprised to wake up on my gurney again in the recovery room just an hour or so after I left it. Darn. What kind of a deep sleep was that? I do recall my first words after coming to: “I was fighting with someone on Twitter.” (Whoa. The person who dragged me on Instagram for not mentioning Black Lives Matter on that particular platform really got in my head, I guess.)

Rob picked me up at 2:30 and, once home, my only pain came from a sore throat that I believe had to do with the oxygen mask that I was wearing. I caught up on some TV, ate chips (so, obviously, my throat wasn’t that painful, was it?) and just relaxed for the day. And that is the whole story of my trip to the hospital. Oh yes, and I did hear the word “benign” when I was still waking up, so while I wasn’t concerned, that’s something that is always good to hear.

I’ll never stop being grateful for our health care system. Are there problems with it? Of course. Long waits, an imperfect system. But just reading about a Seattle man who fought to come out of the other side of COVID, only to face a $1.1 million medical bill, makes me practically want to kiss the Canadian soil I was born on. Staying healthy and not taxing the system for which I am taxed will always be my aim, but oh, I’m grateful to have this level of care at my fingertips, or whatever body part may be in need of it.

Finally, a big thank you to the women and men who take such good care of us – from the volunteers to every single person whose lives have been even more challenging these past several months. May they always know our gratitude and be compensated accordingly, if that’s even possible.

Please do your best to stay healthy and I’ll be back with you here on Thursday. I’m returning to a pace in journals that will mean a little better mental health for yours truly, but I will post daily messages at my Facebook page, and you’re always welcome to drop me a line there or here. Thank you for understanding, as always, and we’ll talk again soon.