Erin's Journals

Just a thought… Our biggest problems as human beings is knowing that we don’t know. [Virginia Satir]

Welcome to a brand new week. Grab that second coffee or tea, as you may just feel a little bit behind the ol’ 8 ball, having missed an hour’s sleep over the weekend.

I know that back in the days of my pre-dawn alarms going off, it took me about a week for my body clock to adjust, like taking something that’s already upside down and then shaking it around a bit – and that’s what I got.

I’m so grateful for the uninterrupted sleep I get after 30-plus years of those rude awakenings, and for the rest of my life, I will continue to say a silent thank you when the room is lit naturally when I awaken.

Still, we set an alarm yesterday so as not to miss our weekly video chat with Colin and his mom and dad (with the occasional cameo appearance from his beautiful baby sister). We’re already planning activities for our May visit and are quite literally counting the days.

Three years in, this is what reWirement is about now for Rob and for me: having joyful things to anticipate with excitement. Looking ahead instead of looking back; trying to make that “opportunity meets preparedness” saying come true and just waiting for a bit of luck to put it all in motion.

Maybe making that happen by doing dozens of auditions for voice over jobs every day, working on an interview-based podcast for a real estate association that launches next month and mulling over prospects for speaking engagements.

(Some good news there: I’m signed on a trial basis with Speakers’ Spotlight, Canada’s largest booking agency, in hopes that that turns into a long-term thing. I’m also in talks with another one as we endeavour to spread the book’s message of optimism and deciding what direction your life takes after a huge chasm breaks open.)

We can hope. We can wish. But sometimes we need our angels to come in and sprinkle their magic: those people who believe in you, aren’t afraid to hear the words “no, thanks” and then try again. I want to tell you about my friend from Vancouver Island, Nancy Wood.

She’s the person in my life who gently pushes from behind, saying, “What have you got to lose? You can do this!” The person with the voice we should always be hearing in our own heads anyway.

Nancy has reached out to a Palm Springs area library that does some amazing reading events (Rob and I tried to attend one a few weeks ago, but it was full of library patrons who’d gotten there first). So, at her behest and after she made e-introductions, we dropped off the only soft cover version of Mourning Has Broken that I have.

A box of them awaits in BC, but for now, I had just the one and I hope it’s found a good home and that I’ll be speaking at the Rancho Mirage Public Library next fall.

Nancy has also reached out to the organizers of Michelle Obama’s speech in Victoria at the end of this month, suggesting my talk for an “opening act” if you will. As you might expect, we got that dreaded two-word response, but I did put on my big girl Spanx and follow up with an offer of the code for the Youtube video of the 30 minute version of that speech. To that, I got crickets – no response at all – but I guess that’s to be expected.

It’s a lot to ask someone to watch a video and perhaps we need a shorter version. I’m new at this. And, God, I hate asking people to take time out of their day for something. I knew that feeling when I was in radio and I felt an obligation to do what they asked. But this is the real world, where people have their own agendas and, if I’m not part of them, then that’s that.

This self-promotion stuff is hard. I share the odd picture or post on social media when people send me shots of my book in stores, like this one:

(Thank you so much for this!) But I hear a voice in my head saying, What, this again? The other voice says, Well, honey, if you don’t promote it, who else will? and while the two battle it out, I just click SEND. Who knows what other angels – the Nancys out there – will see them and think, Hmm…maybe we should talk with her and hear what she has to say? We can always hope, right?

What it comes down to is this: I’m searching for a purpose. That thing in life to make me feel like you once did – full of direction and fire and excitement and butterflies. That thing that makes you know you’re doing what you’re put on this tiny blue dot to do. Getting back on that race horse.

I don’t think I was ready for this feeling to sink in, to be honest. I’m in that deeply uncomfortable place of not knowing, and while the universe keeps telling me to be patient, my mind has the horses all lined in the starting gate, bucking and twitching and ready to go.

When is the next race and where will it take me? And will that gate open again?

Perhaps the answer is this: appreciate the beauty of the day and be grateful for the life that brought me to where I am today – whether the words “and they’re off!” are ever heard again.

I can try.

Have a beautiful day. And if you’re looking for me, I’ll be the terrified, unusually tall jockey with the number 8 on her silks, Depends in her breeches and riding a horse called Angel. (Thanks, Nancy!)

Just a thought… It’s what you learn after you know it all that counts. [Harry S. Truman]

There are a lot of things I don’t understand; the internet has only just taught me how many things. Used to be you could say something and be pretty sure that you were right. Now there are people who are more than willing to call you on it. And I’m grateful. I love to learn. Here are two examples.

First: a word. I have been known to use the word “empathic” a lot, especially in my keynote speech, Reclaiming Joy (a video version of which is now available upon request for those wishing to hear it in person and possibly book me to speak).

The context is that I used to consider myself empathic, but after losing Lauren, my heart was blown wide open to so…much…more understanding, sympathy and empathy to those who suffer. It’s a good thing. A happy side-effect to an awful event.

But I hear a lot of people use the word “empathetic” and I wondered: have I been wrong all along? Or is it one of those things that’s just evolved in our language and I’m holding on for the wrong reasons?

Thank you to @ToriBarron13 who gave me what I think is the perfect explanation:

So, while I’m not an empath, I can be empathetic. And I’ll be changing the way I use that word from now on. Thanks, Twitter!

Now to this.

I’ve been visiting a lot of public places lately. As I tweeted a while back, my super power is flushing toilets that have been left unflushed.

To date, I can happily tell you that nothing has jumped out of the bowl to eat my arm. I think that people are careless because we’re so used to self-flushing commodes now, and many just get up and go, after they’ve sat down and gone. It doesn’t trouble me. I’m not five years old.

But then we get to these things. (It’s a picture from the internet because I haven’t wanted anyone to hear the sound of my phone taking a picture in a bathroom stall.)

The automatic seat cover that whirrrrrs with the touch of a button (or better yet, without the touch of a button) to replace one bit of plasticky film with another. I have about a million questions about these things, but I’m going to start with just a handful.

1. WHY?

2. WHYYY?

3. Do you change the cover before you go, after you go, or both?

4. Is there some kind of etiquette?

5. Do these things supposedly prevent disease, pregnancy or pee and flush splashes from the previous occupant from getting on your bum and legs?

6. Did anyone in history ever get a disease on their bum and legs that came from a toilet seat?

7. And finally….WHHHHYYYYYY?

Do you use an automatic cover when you encounter it? How about those tissue paper ones? And again, why? Do you use them at home? Do you have someone who comes and wipes the seat for you before you go? How about after?

I just don’t get this. There’s too much being flushed into our sewage systems that doesn’t belong there; I’m looking at you, so-called “flushable wipes” and those who toss their dental floss down there, too, effectively crippling water treatment plant equipment like a dense rope around the prop of a ship.

I’m not judging and once someone can explain the ins and outs (if you will) of these toilet seat covers, I think I’ll have a little more understanding the next time I encounter those automatic plasticky seat sheets and the paper ones that are just tossed and, yes, often not flushed – something else I witness when I push open the door of a public restroom’s stall to exercise my super power.

Again, so many things I don’t know. YES there are bigger issues today and this is the classic “First World Problem.” But forgive me, friend, I just had to get that off of my…chest.

And yes, I know, wash your hands. As I tweeted yesterday, I promise not to touch my face 77 times a day if you promise to compliment me on my new goatee.

Just a thought… We live in a world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open. [Jawaharial Nehru]

Welcome to March! What a wonderful thing it is to have visitors: they make us go out and see our own surroundings, and take little trips that we so often don’t make without an “excuse.” (How many Torontonians have visited Niagara Falls without out-of-town guests?) Life is so much more interesting when we live it as sightseers. And we did just that on Saturday.

A few minutes’ drive from our home is a place called Sunnylands, in nearby Rancho Mirage. Built in the 1960s by Walter and Leonore Annenberg, of TV Guide and other publications’ fame, the sprawling 200-acre estate has hosted every US president since it opened (except LBJ and Trump) for social as well as state visits and casual conferences.

For this reason, Sunnylands has been dubbed “Camp David of the West.” Built with hospitality in mind, the home, with its 9-hole golf course, pool and myriad dining and sitting rooms, is a post-modern design marvel of its time, but not out of date.

When you enter Sunnylands – free for those wishing to walk, do Tai Chi or yoga on the lawn or just enjoy the peaceful vistas – you are immediately taken with openness and views of the visitors’ centre.

Works of Canadian Indigenous father and son Stan and Jason Hunt (from our home of Vancouver Island) are on display for a limited time. And they’re spectacular.

We also enjoyed the painting and sculptures of musician, producer and business mogul Herb Alpert (of Tijuana Brass and A&M records fame). We had no idea the man was as talented with a brush and his hands as he is with a trumpet.

Prior to our house tour (a $49 per person ticket that is worth every cent and which is best purchased in advance) we watched a film about Sunnylands’ history, as well as the couple’s philanthropy and support of the arts, then enjoyed a walk through surrounding gardens, and their early pre-spring blooms.

Our guests (or is it hosts, since they booked and paid for our tickets?), Rob and I joined three other people and boarded a shuttle for a fact-filled and fascinating tour of the actual 25,000 square foot Annenberg home. A circular drive, accented by a replica of a pillar from Chichen Itza, provides the perfect appetizer for the feast behind two massive doors.

Tourists are prohibited from taking pictures inside the home for security purposes, since it continues to play host to world and business leaders on a regular basis. But here are shots of the home’s foyer and living room, from sunnylands.org and The Wall Street Journal, respectively.

A sharp eye may spot the Eve statue in the centre of the photo below; yes, it’s a Rodin original. The walls are lined with copies of the Annenbergs’ Picassos, Van Goghs and Monets, currently on loan to galleries. But there’s plenty to admire, just the same.

Outdoors, a pool situated to take advantage of golf and mountain views invites guests to take a dip. Just not us. We were not to touch or sit upon anything in or outside of the house – and I get that. It would take one person with gum on their pants or moisturizer on their hands to ruin an overstuffed chair or such priceless treasures as centuries-old sculptures or hand-painted sunflower curtains.

We toured the kitchens, Mrs. Annenberg’s bedroom, a few of the guest suites (all of which are named for cheery colours) and the vast rooms set up for entertaining groups, both large and intimate.

From Frank Sinatra and Barbara Marx (whose wedding was held in front of the fireplace in the living room pictured above) to Bob Hope, Gregory Peck and Kirk Douglas, countless celebrities have enjoyed Sunnylands’ hospitality.

Queen Elizabeth, Prince Philip and Princes Charles are among royalty who’ve paid a visit; every US president from Richard Nixon to Barack Obama (for whom a 90″ TV was brought in so he could follow March Madness basketball action) has stayed a night or two, or even longer.

One could spend a day simply perusing the photos in the office/library where Ronald Reagan watched Mikael Gorbachev’s televised announcement to the US people about the dismantling of the Berlin Wall. Holiday cards from the world’s who’s who are kept on display.

Elsewhere, the specially-branded golf balls of those luminaries whose shots ended up in lakes have also been preserved for posterity! Rather than play nine, I’d rather just watch the fun from this pool, thanks.

Today, the estate of the late ambassadors – they are to date the only couple to have both served their country in the role – is managed by a board and foundation that includes the Annenbergs’ surviving children, and which continues to donate huge amounts of money to worthy causes.

Closed for more than half of the year to the public, the estate plays host to think tanks and conferences meant to bring leaders of opposing parties and differing views together to work out their differences for the betterment of the world.

Sunnylands: a beautiful cause, a beautiful space and a beautiful day spent with friends enjoying a true gem of the Coachella Valley.

I’ll be back Thursday.

Just a Thought… When I read about the evils of drinking, I gave up reading. [Henny Youngman]

Oh, but don’t give up yet, ’cause this is one story I’m really not sure how to tell you. I can guarantee that I wouldn’t tell it on the air; there are people who would not listen carefully to hear the details and jump to judgment – including about me and how I handled the situation. I, myself, haven’t quite figured out why I laugh about the whole thing – and there are plenty of people who wouldn’t. But here we go.

It was the January night I was making my connection from Toronto to Ottawa, after a long but smooth flight from Palm Springs. After a three hour layover, I finally got in line to board the short flight to see Phil, Brooke, Colin and Jane.

In that lineup was a man in his mid-thirties who was clearly “altered.” At first I thought it was pot, so low-key and cheerful was he, but then I remembered we were in an airport and it wasn’t likely. He didn’t reek of alcohol, but he sure was on something.

The conversation started when he joked about being in the very back of the plane, and I pointed out that there were still a few rows behind him, so it could be worse. I was in 25, he was in 26. He laughed and we continued to chat.

When I boarded, because I’m so used to Rob pointing the way, I got into the wrong row and sat down by the window. Then along comes Jesse (that’s what I’m calling him because he looked like Aaron Paul’s character from Breaking Bad) and sits next to me.

That’s when I realized I was in the wrong row, but the lady who was supposed to be in that seat, recognizing my new seatmate as that guy who was gently weaving in line at the terminal, laughed and said she’d stay where she was in MY seat, thanks.

(I thought me pushing to switch with her would make it obvious to Jesse that I was trying to get away from him. Quite the opposite: I had a pretty good idea that I could handle whatever was going to come.)

Just as he had been in line, he was super friendly and as the flight took off and ascended, he told me that he had been up for some 24 hours and was on his way home for a short visit before heading back to northern Alberta to work.

As the plane leveled off, I pulled out my iPad, put on one of my headphones and opened the first season of Twilight Zone. Well, hadn’t Jesse seen every single one of the shows? An uber-fan of the series, he started excitedly filling me in on the best episodes, the stories behind them and so on. Not wishing to seem rude, I listened to him and didn’t end up watching any of them.

Then, as the conversation continued, he took my right hand and held it up to look at it. And a thought occurred to me: at any moment, he’s going to put it in his lap.

I shook off that crazy notion. After all, I probably have 20 years on him and there’s no way he would be looking to hook up with me in any way, shape or form. At least twice I took my hand back, gently, from his.

I know how booze affects people: some get nasty, some get soft, some get happy and others get horny. It’s just a thing, and I tend to have a lot of compassion for addicts after learning so much about myself and my fellow residents in rehab last summer.

And no, my hand never visited Lapland.

Our conversation migrated towards treatment and addiction; he’d been in, too, in Alberta, but said, “It wasn’t for me…” (which I’d guessed). As the brief flight neared its merciful end, he leaned over and said, “I’m going to ask you something.”

Cue Scooby Doo: “Ruh-roh.”

After we landed in Ottawa, I took my sweet time gathering up my wires, devices and so on, to let him get out ahead of me. Nice try. At the end of the walkway as I emerged into the terminal, he was standing there. And he asked me if I would kiss him.

“Well,” I said in as kind and firm a tone as I could register, “that’s not going to happen. But I hope you have a nice stay with your girlfriend.” (Yes, a girlfriend came up in conversation on that flight.) He mumbled something and fumbled to get his carry-on together as I turned away and headed solo to the luggage carousel. We didn’t talk again.

At home with Brooke and Phil that night, I laughed as I told them the whole story, adding, “Yep – turns out I’ve still got it!” (which was exactly Rob’s response when I phoned him as I waited for my suitcase). Really, that’s all I could do.

Some people reading this may be upset at the liberties he took – or that I even allowed him to take – in touching my hand, and so on. Did I ask for that later invitation to a kiss? Of course not.

I don’t accept any responsibility for the actions taken by this guy; I was being friendly to him in the lineup to board and I didn’t tell him to stop talking to me on the flight or snatch my hand back.

In retrospect, I think a little bit of me was wary of what can happen when someone in an altered state is riled. I didn’t for a moment think that was likely, but I’m deeply averse to creating a scene.

You have to know that if I thought I was being harassed, assaulted or endangered in any way, I’d have made that scene. I’d have summoned the flight attendant and put a stop to it, or (more likely) just said something to Jesse directly. I can take care of myself and most definitely would have, if I thought the situation merited it.

I’m pretty sure of one thing: I’m sharing with you something that I bet he doesn’t even remember. I hope he gets help before too much time passes and he gets himself into real trouble with someone who’s not quite so patient or who packs a mean punch. But my travels with Jesse were reminder #219 of why I’m grateful not to wake up in the morning and wonder if I did anything cringe worthy.

Take good care of yourself and I’ll be back with you Monday.

Just a thought… If you must play, decide upon three things at the start: the rules of the game, the stakes, and the quitting time. [Chinese Proverb]

Hello my friend; I hope you had a great weekend! We’re getting ready for company – a favourite couple of ours is coming on Wednesday – with plans already firmed up for tours, a writers’ fest, dinners out and more.

If you’re like me, guests are always a really good excuse to get cleaning. And this place needs cleaning. The fine desert sand that makes its way into the house causes any dark furniture to look perpetually dusty. So I either have to clean…or stop wearing my glasses. 

I just know this is a judgment-free zone, so I couldn’t wait to tell you what happened on Thursday night. 

You may recall me mentioning either in the journal or on social media that our anniversary (20/02/2020) was loaded with four twos and that we should have gone to Vegas! Okay, that was neither a reality nor a possibility; we’ve done our trip with Cooper and we didn’t need to spend/enjoy/waste any more money.

So we stayed home and worked to earn little bits here and there. I churned out about 15 auditions (we subscribe to a site that posts jobs, rates etc. to thousands of potential voice over artists around the globe) recording, editing, sending and crossing my fingers, while Rob went to hockey.

When he got home, we finished up more auditions (yes, I’m a little obsessed) and then cleaned up quickly to go to dinner at a place called Roy’s Hawaiian. Part of a chain, it offers up quality seafood and other dishes, all with either an island or Japanese flavour. 

When we’d finished our meal, seemingly surrounded by other couples also married on February 20th, we said, “Now what?”

I reminded Rob of the date and so, with little encouragement, he pointed the car towards one of about six local casinos, choosing that which had been fairly friendly to us in the past. (“Fairly friendly” means breaking even when you walk out. Yes, that’s practically a win when you’ve spent a few hours playing nickel poker). 

Being a Thursday, the place wasn’t overly busy, offering us plenty of options to play within our price range. Filled with optimism because of the date, I sat down at a machine, played several hands and…nothing substantial. Goodbye $20 bill.

I moved down one machine; same result. This definitely wasn’t going as planned! Rob, meantime, played his nickels more slowly and carefully and was rewarded with small payments and better luck than I had.

Eventually, we got up and moved to another couple of side-by-side nickel machines elsewhere in the casino. Okay, remember those twos? So did I; figuring that if I was going to go for them, I would have to play Deuces Wild. Not my favourite game (if the twos don’t turn up, you’re rarely going to win), but I thought I’d give it a go. And then, about 20 hands in, this happened.

I emitted a high-pitched “Oh!” as I was DEALT FOUR DEUCES on the bottom line. Which, I can tell you, rarely happens. And there were multipliers in play. Which also (for me) never happens. 

5000 nickels – $250 dollars – started tallying up in my little readout, the numbers soaring on the screen as though I was filling an SUV at a gas pump. I watched them incredulously as Rob hugged me and laughed.

We cashed out, got out and went home, although I awoke the Friday with what I can only describe as an adrenalin hangover…and a great memory to add to the stories from that date over our lives together.

20/02/2020. Four twos, four deuces. Dealt. The only person I texted with the picture you see above was our buddy Mike Cooper, who had a suitably obscene (and hilarious) response that I’ll spare you here.

Being the cautious, regretful person I am when it comes to gambling, I will never have a hand pay (one that requires an attendant to peel off bills for me). And do you know what? That’s okay. Because, as is always the case in life, it’s not the big wins, but the memorable moments that matter.

Have some of both and I’ll be back with you here Thursday. I think it’s about time to tell you about the guy on the airplane who was making his moves.