Erin's Journals

Just a thought… Easter is meant to be a symbol of hope, renewal and new life. [Janine Di Giovanni]

A very Happy Easter to you on this blessed Sunday.

Every day that we are safe and healthy is, in fact, a blessed one, but this day shines a light on fact that, as Anne Lamott so beautifully put it, we can dance again, but with a limp.

Here’s to dancing, with or without your Easter bonnet. Here’s to recognizing the signs of spring and knowing in our hearts that like the seasons, this, too, shall pass. Rob and I were remarking yesterday how grateful we are that this didn’t hit us in November when nature seems so muted and sad.

With the hope that comes with spring, we imagine re-emerging or returning to our lives stronger and with more gratitude for the things we took for granted just a month ago. The quick trips to a bountifully-stocked store for something we need, without obsessing over how long the lines will be or whether or not our makeshift masks will help keep us and others safe.

The joy of hugging and holding those people we love and miss so dearly, more with each passing day. But especially today when we should be sharing a meal of celebration.

The simple pleasure of sitting on a bench and watching the ducks going about their daily lives.

Rob and I walk for half an hour each day as Molly checks her pee-mails and does her thing (she’s in this picture down to the right just waiting for our walk to resume).

We wave to passersby out for their daily exercise and smile at people whose faces we’ve never seen before. We keep our distance, go home and find ways to keep busy.

But on those walks, the displays of nature in her glory – the sweet cloying smells of hyacinth and trees blooming in baby shower pinks – keep us grounded and remind us of the beauty that survives within us and without us (to paraphrase George Harrison).

We cherish the sunny optimism of daffodils, the raucous reds of bushes we’ve yet to identify and the various pleasing scents that waft on the gentle spring breeze. And we stop to wonder at a tree whose branches seem barely strong enough to eventually bear huge blooms, but which, for now, appear to be adorned with the brightest Easter eggs we’ve ever seen.

These are our gifts, the not-so-hidden eggs we discover anew each day in searching for ways to shift our thoughts away from what we don’t have, and instead silently and steadily list the things we have been given.

On this Easter Sunday I wish you renewed hope with the reminder that we can do this.

And with thanks, I’ll be back with you here tomorrow.

Just a thought… Deep conversations with the right person are priceless. [Author unknown]

I hope that this day finds you with a peaceful heart, a warm cup of whatever wakes you up or soothes your mind, and some time to share with me.

A little while back, before the world turned upside down, I was invited to talk with a man I think you may know and remember from his work nationally on CBC television and radio. He’s found a new calling – quite literally – as an ordained spiritual director and host of the podcast “Not That Kind of Rabbi.”

As we find ourselves in this holiest of weeks on many religious calendars (with Ramadan beginning April 23rd), I thought I’d wait until today to share with you our talk.

I’ve had the chance to sit down with Ralph before in what seems a different life: I was hosting my television show on Rogers and he was a guest. But this was like no other interview in which I’ve taken part: we delved into the spiritual, the reality of life after loss and so very much more. Ralph is a kind, intelligent, giving and compassionate host and it was my honour to share this time with him.

So settle in, grab a cup of whatever soothes your soul and enjoy this episode. I certainly did. I literally had to sit and catch my breath to ground myself when it was done. I hope you get as much out of my talk with Ralph as we did.

I’ll be back with you tomorrow with a tree that mother nature has adorned in a very special way for Easter.

Just a thought… If there is one thing that is constant in this world, it is the power of music. [Josh Groban]

It’s Good Friday and on this holy day for so very many, we bow our heads for a few moments in thanks. For sacrifice. For suffering in the name of others, – something we’re seeing all around us as those people who work to keep a wobbly world turning as best it can give all they have to lighten the load of those of us fortunate enough only to be tasked with staying in and staying safe. And for faith.

We reflect on the teachings of our past, the beliefs we hold now and the strength we’re being called upon to find within ourselves. These days, it is easier to put ourselves in the shoes of others – those for whom we may have barely spared a thought in the past.

Those who are alone – all the time.

Those who live with the uncertainty of where their next meal or place to sleep is going to be.

Those who suffer through anxiety and addiction, who live in their own personal hell day after day, and who are so often shunted to the sidelines as we go about our daily lives. So busy. So centered on ourselves.

If the teachings of holy books have crossed your mind more than usual during this past month, perhaps they have been thoughts of kindness, of sharing, of treating others how we ourselves would want to be treated. The simple act of remembering and connecting with those who want to hear our voices or simply know they’re being remembered has been appreciated more than we ever could have imagined.

And as the calendar blurs and one anticipated event after another gets a big black line drawn through it, we focus not on what’s going on outside our lives, but within them. On those we cherish. Those we miss. Those who need our thoughts and care more than ever before.

Jesus said, “This is my commandment: that you love one another as I have loved you.” (John 15:12)

And on this day, we are reminded more than ever of the importance of kindness. So it’s perfect that I have this beautiful piece to share with you. On February 5th, Jann Arden paid a visit to Doane Uschool, a registered charitable organization, to record a cover of the song “Try a Little Kindness” made famous by Glen Campbell.

Here’s a link. Take a moment to watch Jann and 165 of these beautiful students. I promise that it’ll raise your spirits and maybe even raise some money for their kids’ music charity.

Smile and sing along as I did and take in the bright hope that emanates from each of these children’s faces. Maybe you’ll be inspired to make a little donation – or music – of your own. And I’ll be back with you tomorrow.

Just a thought… Let your hopes, not your hurts, shape your future. [R. Schuller]

What is time anymore? The days blend together, punctuated by meals and rituals as simple as brushing one’s teeth or watching something on the PVR or TV. In these days of uncertainty, fear, sadness and anger, we cling to the things that give life some kind of order as the world continues to turn. Yes, there are things to be optimistic about. Still we wait. We shelter. We try to stay connected, stay apart.

It stunned me Tuesday when a friend said it was exactly a month since she’d left after visiting us at our California home. A month? Surely she meant a year. It was a stark reminder of just how recently life was normal. And we ask, when will we be back to taking things for granted?

Because human nature being what it is, we will. As sure as store shelves will once again be home to a sea of white paper rolls, we’ll find ourselves complaining about having to go out to yet another holiday gathering, or wishing we could have one weekend where we didn’t have to get dressed.

All we can do is stay in the present moment – as uncertain as it is – instead of waiting and wondering. When can we make plans again? What happens to wedding dates and long-anticipated gatherings? When will we once again hold those we love in our arms?

So many questions about the future that sometimes it’s best to stay in the present. To cherish whatever it is that we have – and sometimes that’s just our good health, a commodity that we have all cherished in varying degrees, but that we are coming to appreciate more than ever.

But we can also look back and appreciate the memories. Like the ones from a year ago this week when we were enjoying these glorious sights during tulip time in and around Amsterdam.

The memories we made during those precious days were so spectacular that immediately many who shared them with us wanted to do it again. After all, how often do we get a chance to have a do-over in this life; a chance as adults to come to the end of a wonderful ride and then line up to take it again? Far too rarely. And so it was that last summer, plans started to form to do another riverboat cruise through Europe. Cabins were filling, travel plans made. And then this.

In the big picture, one person’s or one group’s hopes to reunite, see other countries and make new memories don’t really matter. Not when simply journeying to the grocery store can be a huge outing.

It’s a huge dichotomy. Yes, in many ways it’s easier to take things one day at a time. But if there’s anything Rob and I (and Mike, for that matter) have learned through the process of mourning and continuing to reclaim joy, it’s that we have to have something to look forward to. And so we go on.

If you are part of that group that is planning to go with us in October for Thanksgiving on the Rhine, you undoubtedly have questions. So I hope you’ve registered for this afternoon’s webinar with my former radio partner and forever good friend Mike Cooper, co-host for the AMA Waterways river cruise from Switzerland to The Netherlands.

A lot of people – us included – have questions about what might be happening this fall. Although they have no crystal ball, we will be asking Gerry and Neil, who have hosted webinars in the past, a lot of questions from people who have booked to share a special week with Mike and me.

It feels strange even to be thinking about going on a trip and the last thing I want to do is consider leaving home right now, except for necessities, a dog walk or a drop-and-dash for a neighbour. But if information is power, in these times when (if you’re like me) you’re feeling pretty helpless, I’m thinking just jolting my thought process for a little while today will help to pull me out of whatever it is that’s sitting on my chest these days.

I’ll be back with you here tomorrow.

Just a thought… From every wound there is a scar, and every scar tells a story. A story that says “I have survived.” Turn your wounds into wisdom. [Craig Scott]

I’d like to begin today with a heartfelt Passover wish for those who are celebrating, but especially to folks who are missing beloved family at their table tonight. I’m hearing of Seders being held via Zoom and wish all a chag Pesach samech. 

In this corner of the world, the lovely food exchange continues: yesterday, as delivered fresh homemade turkey noodle vegetable soup to two separate sets of friends in Sidney, plus another container for our elderly neighbours next door. The gorgeous daffodils you’ll see below are from that couple – such a beautiful exchange!

I’ll confess to a shiver of dread when, after I’d dropped it off before a dog walk, I saw an ambulance pass slowly through our neighbourhood when we returned. Honestly, my cooking is not lethal.

The soup was pretty awesome and what’s best about it is sharing it. Because that’s what they’ve done for us, whether it was meals in BC (before coronavirus), dinners delivered or picking up groceries. How I love being able at least to pop out and drop off, have a quick top-down drive in the MINI and come back safe and sound.

I did share something a few weeks back on a Facebook Live chat with Kevin Frankish that I’ve been regretting ever since. Deeply regretting. Like keeping-me-awake-at-night regretting. So, I’m going to go back to my Catholic roots (as opposed to the dark ones I’m seeing daily in the mirror) and confess, hoping that whoever listens above us or reads here below will hear me.

Kevin Frankish and I were talking about – what else – the COVID-19 virus and the anxiety that it’s causing. I admitted to being as anxious as everyone else, but then I said, “I’m not afraid of dying; it means I’ll see our daughter.” At the time, I meant that. I really am not afraid of death if it reunites our souls.

But this past weekend, as our hearts leapt at the joys of sharing Facetime with our Ottawa family and opening a card they’d sent; as we basked for hours in the sweet pleasure those moments brought, I was hit upside the head with a revelation. No, I do not want to go.

I don’t want to catch a virus, get hit by one of the few buses running these days, or fall down the stairs after tripping on a dog toy. I want to stay around for a while. I can’t leave Colin and miss seeing who this beautiful, funny, sensitive boy grows up to be. I can’t reneg on a promise that we made to watch over him and make sure he becomes the man Lauren would have been proud of, something of which we’re already assured in the steady loving hands of Phil and Brooke. And little Jane’s journey is just beginning!

I’m not sure what made me say what I did; a false bravado, perhaps, or a bit of a fatalistic whim that I’d been pondering for days and then said aloud?

Because I did say those words to someone other than Rob, and I realized partway through the time with Kevin that, yes, our family in Ottawa was watching, those words just sounded wrong. Flat-out wrong.

I want to be here for them – and I know that Lauren will wait. After all, a lifetime here on earth is hardly but a blink of an eye in the universe. And besides, I have an inauguration to watch in January.

You didn’t think I’d forgotten that thing, did you?

Tomorrow: got afternoon plans? I thought not. Come back here to find out what’s in store.