Erin's Journals

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. 

Just a thought… 1990 is 30 years ago. When I think “30 years ago” I think of 1970. [Eric Alper, @thatericalper on Twitter]

Isn’t that the truth??? Add a couple of years to that and you get how I feel when I realize that 32 years ago today, with light snow falling outside the charming St. George Street Baptist Church house chapel in downtown Toronto, Rob and I laughed and sang through our wedding ceremony.

I remember our vows to this day and we repeat them every year; the “fulfillment as an individual” line far more often:

Rob, I take you as my husband.

I pledge to share my life openly with you

And speak the truth to you in love.

I promise to honour and tenderly care for you

And to encourage your own fulfillment as an individual

Through all the changes in our lives.

At 5:00 pm in that cramped chapel, since torn down, Rob said his version of the vows first; when my turn came, I blanked out because of nerves, then laughed, turned to our friends and family and blurted, “What he said.” It got the desired laughter, then I concentrated. With Rob mouthing some of the words to me, I said my vows.

We didn’t write those words; we found them in a booklet given to us by the husband and wife minister team (he a Baptist, she a Mennonite) who married us. Had I written them, they’d have rhymed and probably sounded like something from Dr. Seuss. Or a limerick!

There once was a young gal named Erin

Whose life Rob considered worth sharin’.

After not too much thought

They’re tying the knot…

And a fake diamond ring she’s now wearin’!

Yeah, no. Thank goodness that never occurred to me. (And yes, the ring was a cubic zirconia ’til we could afford the real thing.)

We sang together and to each other, something that is said to be a “no-no” in wedding planners’ circles and basically every other circle, come to think of it. Our moms lit candles on a little altar and for a short moment set a decoration we’d placed there on fire.

We broke French bread and drank Manischewitz wine, while the men wore grey with “dusty rose” accents. Ah yes, pink. There’s a colour that hasn’t made a return to wedding wear in the ensuing 32 years! But that’s how we did it.

(One other fashion note: along with his rose tie and cummerbund, Rob surprised me by wearing a jacket with long white tails, an homage to the Beatles’ tuxes in Magical Mystery Tour.) He looked lovely, even though he’d shaved off his beard and few of the gathered had seen him without one!

The wedding was a small affair due to the size limit of the chapel (48 seats), the reception was held in the larger City Hall Room at the Sheraton, chosen so that the TTC could be used in inclement weather and by drinking guests.

We offered a cash bar, something I’ve regretted that we had to do because we didn’t want to go into debt. We also knew that with our friends all being from radio, we’d be paying it off for a verrrrry long time!

Our bandmates/friends provided the rock and roll music, but there was a price: our first dance as husband and wife was hijacked when the lead singer came out in a dress and jumped Rob while another member sang “My Wife the Dancer” (about a stripper, no less). Later, I got up and sang a few times with my sisters while Rob took his rightful place as bass player.

It was an unusual and (for us, at least) unforgettable day. Fortunately, our friends weren’t the type to expect anything less – or more – from us. The day was a reflection of our relationship, our shared love of music and performing, and our extremely off-kilter senses of humour.

And that’s how we’ve gotten to today, 32 years down the road.

(taken on AmaWaterways in 2019; email gerry@newwavetravel.net for details on the last cabins for this year’s Thanksgiving on the Rhine with Mike Cooper, Rob and me…and many other really great people!)

Yes, laughter has been everything to us. We’ve laughed on our best days, and almost all of our hardest ones. We’ve striven to find the humour in even the worst moments, and we can almost always look back with a joke or a smile – even about the dusty rose cummerbunds and the crazy woman singing “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” in her wedding dress with her three sisters.

We raised a loving and lovely, musical, Beatles-mad child and we adored her, she loved us, and no soft words were left unsaid. She was our lifelong gift to each other and we cherish her memory.

We rose, we rise, we remember, we laugh, we love. And we look forward: to a bright horizon, hopefully many more years together, and a full life that would make our Lauren proud. How very lucky we are, in so many ways!

Just a thought… Buying flowers is not just a way to bring home beauty. It’s an expression that better days are coming. It’s a defiant finger in the face of those naysayers who would have you believe your fortunes will never improve. [Pearl Cleage]

This will be one of those blogs to which some more cynical people might say, “First world problems.” (Luckily, they don’t come here, right?) I happen to want to write today about the sweet things in life, and one of those is flowers. What nicer image to conjure on a February day?

On this, the eve of Valentine’s Day, I couldn’t help but notice this week that an entire section of our local grocery store was just filled with the sweet aroma of roses. What a lovely sensory treat to stand with my eyes shut, taking in that snippet of springtime amidst the chaos of carts and consumers! A simple pleasure, free for the taking.

Maybe you’re like me and find it hard to buy flowers. Before my sisters arrived this week, I chose a bargain bouquet and added a few single stems to embellish it, choosing not to go for the more expensive collections: those over 15 dollars.

Poor Rob braces himself when I turn towards the flower section of the store. He knows that they’re something I hate to buy for myself, and therefore feels guilty for not picking them up for me more often. He knows that I love them.

I’ll gush over a few sunny, colourful blooms every day that they adorn a table, and then keep them far longer than I should. Petals and sad sprinkles of pollen softly fall from their perches; I carefully pluck away the saddest ones until only a few, even sadder survivors finally lose the last of their beauty. Then they, too, are relegated to the garbage.

Perhaps it’s saying that good-bye that makes buying flowers so hard: their demise is inevitable and their longevity is at the mercy of the store or the florist, as well as our own careful eye. It’s one of those true luxury purchases: there’s nothing practical about buying flowers. It just feels good.

So often we deprive ourselves of so many of the little things in life. My love/hate relationship with good chocolate or the occasional dessert gets in the way of my enjoyment of them, then I often remind myself of the ladies on the Titanic who said, “Oh, no, I just couldn’t!” when the pastry cart went by.

Why don’t we treat ourselves – and I’m not just talking about food loaded with calories – with more self love and a lot less guilt? Are not flowers some of the most beautiful gifts from the gods? Are they not just a sparkle of brightness when we’re feeling down or just simply want to feel better?

Some will wish that on Valentine’s Day their sweetheart would get them a bouquet; others will scoff at the prices (from wholesalers, I’m told, and not from the vendors from whom you purchase them) and the pressure that comes with feeling that you should buy them, or should receive them.

Maybe you’ll take a page from Rob’s and my playbook: after all of these years of a wedding anniversary coming in the days just following February 14th (by design, I might add), we eschew the manufactured romance of Valentine’s Day.

I don’t look down at anyone who chooses to brighten a winter’s day by taking the opportunity to tell someone that they love them, but here’s what we do: when we’re passing a card store or that section of the grocer’s, we pick out a card that we would buy each other, hand it to the other to read, say “thank you” and put the card back (sorry Hallmark and Carlton). If it’s truly the thought that counts, then we’ve shared our sentiments.

And as for flowers? I love a quote above. I’ll pick up flowers next time someone comes to visit so that we can all enjoy them.

Have a lovely weekend and I’ll be back Tuesday. Your presence here is a gift to me, always.

Just a thought… Once you overcome the one-inch tall barrier of subtitles, you will be introduced to so many more amazing films. [Bong Joon-ho]

Well, the Oscars 2020 are history and just a few notes: seeing Bong Joon-ho win for Best Director was everything. And then to take BEST PICTURE? How glad I was to be wrong about that prediction in last Thursday’s journal! It‘s the first non-English-speaking film to win that honour and I’m telling you that if you’re the least bit curious, don’t be put off by subtitles!

It’s a film like none you’ve ever seen. A twisty-turny-hold-onto-your-seat movie event and as I’ve said before, it’s kept us thinking long after Molly has cleaned up the popcorn bits that fell into my bra and onto the closet floor.

All in all, I thought the Oscars 2020 show was fantastic. Of course, I’m in the Pacific time zone, where bedtime is much less of a factor. But anyway, have another sip of coffee or tea and read on.

There were fewer tributes to the “magic” of movies than usual; less of the past and more efforts to pull the show and the Academy into the present. Eminem? Okay…it struck me as unusual, having him perform at the Oscars, until I remembered that “Lose Yourself” was the first rap song to take home a Best Original Song statuette. 

Billie Eilish delivered “Yesterday” beautifully for the In Memoriam section (which I thought sped through photos too quickly). She’s a wickedly talented young woman and it was great to see her and her brother gain an even wider audience last night; two weeks ago she won five Grammys, so she’s no stranger to lovers of pop music, but it never hurts to stretch her potential audience a bit.

Tonight I’m introducing all three sisters to Jojo Rabbit, having seen Judy on the weekend with Cindy, #2 of 4, who arrived Friday. Having the four sisters together this week is kind of a big deal; we haven’t ever been on a mini vacay together, so we’ve rent a larger car (ours sits two comfortably, three if the person in the back seat folds up quietly like a garment bag) and have a few small adventures planned.

And I do mean small. For Heather (#1) and Leslie (#4), a road trip to LA is their idea of a good time: go and stand in line and attend a Dr. Phil taping or a game show, which is something they did years ago. Me? I’d rather shave my head with a cheese grater and sit within spitting distance of Trump at a makeup table. So, yeah – since only Rob and I are are licensed on the cars in our garage, we’ll be staying put.

I haven’t asked if a jigsaw puzzle is their idea of a good time, but I’m going to lay it out there (literally). I ordered and received this last week.

I got this idea when I was in recovery last summer. In the sitting room, there was a table with about a thousand puzzle pieces placed upon it. One young woman would work on it quietly and laboriously, and on the night before she was to go home, we all joined her to finish it. (Appropriately enough for our surroundings and those of us in it, there were pieces missing.)

Doing a puzzle is not just old-fashioned, it can be a great diversion from other distractions, like the TV and other devices that take us away from the company around us. It builds a spirit of cooperation and teamwork.

What does that have to do with four sisters? I think it could prove a lovely way to get us just to sit and talk. No alcohol needed to lubricate an honest chat. To have deeper conversations than we might over dinner or sitting by a pool.

Of course, that’s just one idea and, honestly, I’m not sure who will be into it, if anyone. Tomorrow, I have a surprise planned for the ladies that includes a phone call and group session with a friend of mine who’s a medium. I’ve talked with Cyndi about a half-dozen or so times in the past and recorded, then transcribed our conversations. She’s very good at plucking names and messages from wherever she goes and since tomorrow marks the birthday of Leslie’s late son Michael, it just seems fitting.

Well, friend, that’s it from here today. Have yourself a great week and I’ll be back with you on Thursday. Feel free to add any of your favourite moments from last night on my Facebook page and thanks for coming by!