Erin's Journals

Just a thought… May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house. [George Carlin] (and yes, I checked to make sure this really is one of his pearls of wisdom, unlike so many that make the rounds!)

My own “knives” were “out” when I got a suspicious phone call the other day and I’ll tell you about it in a moment. But first to the movies: if you’re looking for an update on the old reliable “whodunit” genre of film, complete with twists, turns, eye-popping scenery like, oh, Daniel Craig as the lead investigator, and a great cast, I recommend Knives Out.

In a nutshell, Christopher Plummer’s character, a hugely successful author, is found dead in his study in what appears to have been a suicide – or was it? Only one person knows for sure, or do they?

It is, as one writer smarter than I put it, “Agatha Christie for the Trump Age” and don’t take that in a bad way. The one-percenters are at each other’s jugulars for almost the entire time; who will get the estate?

It’s billed as a comedy, but the laughs are more wry than of the belly variety. Good adult fun with Star Wars: The Last Jedi director Rian Johnson at the helm, and Golden Globe noms to boot! (We won’t miss them January 5th, hosted for the 5th time by the wonderfully irreverent Ricky Gervais.)

Now, to the phone scam I mentioned here Monday. I’m sitting writing when I see a call coming in and it’s a number from Guelph.

In the split second it took me to think it over, I couldn’t rule out knowing this person, so I decided to answer. After a lengthy pause, there was a garbled message from “Service Canada” saying that my Social Insurance Number was being suspended for some reason. Okay, I thought, I’ll bite.

As the message implored, I hit the #1 on my keypad. After one short ring, someone in a busy call office filled with voices and noise in the background answered, “Service Canada….”

I said, “Hello, what is Service Canada?” After a moment, he asked me to repeat myself, so I did.

Then he responded haltingly, “You don’t know what Service Canada is?”

I answered, “No, and neither do you – you’re not even IN Canada, you lying a**hole!”

Well, that did it: he responded with a flurry of expletives that started with an “F-you!” and he got to “Mother Fu…” – before I hung up.

That felt good for about ten seconds. And then I thought, Uh oh – what if that really was Service Canada and that man had a thick accent because he’s new to this country? Did he swear at me for coming off as racist? Did I actually attack someone who is working for the Canadian Government?

Before I got into too much of a cold sweat, I looked up the phone number: 226-500-4649. There was nothing on the internet to suggest that it was suspicious. Oh jeez. What had I done?

I called the number and – surprise, surprise – a recording told me that it was not in service. So that answered that for me: my suspicions were correct.

Next time (although Rob urges me not to get into it with these people out of fear of harassment – even though I block the number immediately) I am going to put on my most desperate “little old lady” voice and plead out of fear for them to help me and not to suspend my number – or whatever it is these nefarious boneheads are threatening to do.

If I’m lucky, Rob’s phone will be nearby and I can record the entire exchange. And I promise to share it with you, but you may not like some of my language, as you can probably already tell!

And now, if I can have a little privacy, I shall remove my fightin’ pants. They do feel good, though…almost as good as my jammies. Have a great weekend and I’ll be back with you on Monday.

Just a thought… People don’t buy because what you do is awesome. People buy because it makes them feel awesome. [Tara Gentile]

Welcome to a brand new week. And thank you to Carol for sending a pic of my book at Chapters Indigo in Ajax…

And to Diane for this shot from her local Scarborough Shoppers Drug Mart. I don’t take these for granted, not for one minute. Each one gives me a bit of a thrill, and is just a reminder of the incredible road that has been 2019.

Last week we listed a couch for sale that we no longer want. That little tidbit will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me; couches tend to have a lifespan of under five years in my presence. We carted two heavy mechanized pieces all the way from Ontario only to sell them cheap in Victoria; goodness knows my friends have inherited couches many times through the years.

However, in my defence, I have one sister who moves houses with about the same regularity, so I don’t feel so bad about trading out a couch every few years!

So here it is. We put the white two-piece leather sectional on Craigslist on Tuesday night and by Wednesday we had three responses: one from Sergio who wanted to come sometime in the morning hours. I told him mornings were good for us. Aaaaaand…*crickets from Sergio*.

Rob heard from Kyle, who couldn’t get the couch this week but would check with us next week to find out if it was still available. Okay, so that was a definite maybe.

Then Rob received an email saying that this third person was out of town but if we’d add another $25 to the price, he’d come and get it when he came back. A HARD no to that one! We didn’t even follow up to see how this person figured that that financial transaction was going to go down.

I remember well when the sister I mentioned above was trying to sell a piano and she heard from scammer after scammer saying that they were buying it for a relative but would send the money once it was picked up. OH YEAH, pull my other leg. Or better yet, pull my finger….

Then Friday came and we had not one or two but four interested inquiries. What to do? We heard back from Sergio (our message had gone into his spam folder) and it turns out he and his wife were interested! They saw it on Saturday and on Sunday we said good-bye to our sectional about one hour before the new one was delivered. Talking about timing; thank you, Craigslist!

Rob was reluctant to list it there as we’ve heard of so many scams, dead leads and ways to be hung out to dry: the most common we experienced over the years was people coming by with less money than the ad asked (and no intention to pay full price or go to an ATM). But we made it clear on the phone that we were not budging and we weren’t going to go lower. We did, and here’s why.

When the couple arrived, they were lovely: he’s an architect, she works in a well-known local restaurant, one we’ve been tempted to visit when company comes. So some insider information was handy! We talked about flights to Mexico, where they’re from and where my sister resides, and had a nice visit while measurements were taken, and so on.

When we came to the price, Rob reiterated that we were firm, as we had several potential buyers. But then you come to the “bird in the hand” (and purchasers in your house) position and you weigh your options.

Also, from what I know of shopping in other countries including Mexico, I had formed the idea that with them coming from a country where bartering is an art form, it would be almost an insult to this couple not to offer a lower price.

To give them a sense of accomplishment knowing that, not only did they get a piece of furniture they desired, but that they’d been able to get a better price for it than we’d asked. I think that’s a win/win; as much as I hate bartering, it seemed like the right thing to do, given to whom we were selling.

Half an hour after pick-up, they sent a picture of it in their home and it looks just perfect. Wonderful. Why can’t every transaction be this warm and fuzzy?

I’m not sure if the Craigslist climate is one that comes with an expectation of lowering your price (especially when the “bird in the hand” shows up with fewer bills in his feet than you were asking) but I think we did the right thing. It all worked out – both sides were happy and who can ask for more than that?

Have a great day and we’ll be back with you on Thursday with a journal about putting on my fighting pants for a scammer’s call. Turns out I packed and brought them with me, and it’s a good thing, although HE might not think so!

Just a thought… Once you realize you deserve a bright future, letting go of your dark past is the best choice you will ever make. [Roy T. Bennett]

Rain in the desert. Rain, rain, rain. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining: I know it’s not the nasty precipitation that so many journal readers in Southern Ontario have had to endure the last week or so, but I’m just saying it in case you think I’m down here basking in the California sunshine when I could be staying in the Victoria area at home, getting rained on there! At least it assuages my guilt a little bit, for what that’s worth!

Why guilt, I wonder? Did I ever begrudge my parents’ trips to a spot in Florida when they were empty nesters and Dad had retired? No. Was I envious when my folks, who later moved to BC, decided they’d stay in Palm Springs for the winters to be in the sun and close to one of my sisters? Oh heck no. I figured they worked for it, took no tropical vacations (and we weren’t like the “rich families” who got to go to Disney World) when we were kids, and deserved to kick back and escape Canadian winters.

To be honest with you, the guilty pleasure that I indulge in most often is sleep. That most basic, most necessary and most appreciated element of our lives that so many of us either can’t fit in, or choose to put on the back burner while doing things that are seemingly so much more important.

Every morning – every single morning – that I awoke at 3:15 or 3:45 am (depending on if we were leaving our house near Georgina or the apartment downtown), I counted the hours until I’d be back in bed for a nap. And once I’d decided to leave the radio life, I began counting the days.

If I awaken in the wee small hours, I say a silent prayer of thanks for the opportunity not to have to get up for the day, or to set an alarm. When Rob pads into the room with a tray of coffee or I open my eyes to a lighted room and see him and Molly softly dozing beside me, I take a moment to count our blessings.

I also awaken grateful not to have a hangover; there were too many days of dull aches and regrets to count, and every morning with a clear head is one that I don’t take for granted. Some evenings are a challenge (or were at first) but the mornings are a blessing.

I wish that the upcoming softcover edition of Mourning Has Broken included an extra chapter on the year that followed the book’s publication back in February. I have been thinking a lot about 2019 – perhaps it’s with all of the best-of lists and years-in-review already showing up in my inbox – and wondering who else this year went from the bestsellers’ list to a rehab program. But that addition wasn’t requested of me and I didn’t suggest it.

My own struggle is to reinvent myself in 2020. To continue to try to gain traction as an inspirational speaker, sharing the message of the book and the perspectives on loss and joy that have come to me as a result. The invitations to talk to groups pro bono (or close to it) have been coming in, but if I’m not flying to that area for a paid engagement, it just puts us in the red, and that’s not what we’re aiming for.

And so, as my counsellor reminds me to “let go and let God” on the road ahead, I continue to hold myself open to whatever it is the universe has in store next.

Patience has never been my strong point; at 17 I was raring to go in this world of radio and at 18, before my second year of college, my parents and professor had to sit me down and talk me out of taking a first news job in Grande Prairie, Alberta. Thankfully – but with a lot of disappointment – I listened to their advice.

Ottawa, Windsor and Toronto awaited in the next two years; how lucky I was to have hit a time in radio where doors were opening for women, rather than 30 years later when trap doors are swallowing up many radio employees, both newbies and veterans.

As I read my weekly Broadcast Dialogue newsletter and watch the firings and (so-called) layoffs in the industry I loved so much, I wonder if Lauren would have been among the countless casualties at her radio station in Ottawa?

Would she have been moved to the protective custody of the morning show at 580 CFRA? Or perhaps, having been let go (as I was from Windsor), would she have mirrored my story and found her way to Toronto, where we all could have lived in close proximity?

I try not to think about any of those “what ifs,” but as I head off to sleep at night – to dream of her and our lives that should have been, uninterrupted by three alarms going off – it’s impossible not to wonder.

It doesn’t make me sad, it just makes me wonder. I have to trust in my Higher Power guiding us through whatever’s ahead in the new year, named so optimistically 2020 for the clarity of vision that I hold with hope, in my heart.

Have a lovely weekend and I’ll be back with you Monday.

Just a thought… Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent. [Victor Hugo]

Like many homes after a long four-day weekend stateside, ours is unusually quiet today: Lisa and Derek have hit the road back towards San Francisco and fly out of the “City by the Bay” early tomorrow.

They’re toting with them 86 addressed envelopes, each holding a letter and a label (some from HarperCollins, others – more generic ones – I purchased at Staples simply because I didn’t bring enough down to California with me; forgive me if they don’t all bear the HC logo) for those folks buying copies of Mourning Has Broken for people on their gift lists this year. I’m so glad I could find a way to personalize them and I hope that they are well received.

By the way, if you do receive one of those labels/book plates, I’d be grateful for a review on Amazon.ca or Goodreads or wherever it is that you purchased my book, if that’s applicable.

It warms my heart to think that this labour of love, which has occupied such a huge part of our lives for the past three years, but especially 2019, will find its way into more hands this Christmas. It’s all about spreading hope and healing. What lies ahead, I have absolutely no idea, but that’s a journal for another day.

Words just don’t do the trick when I tell you what a wonderful week we had with our friends. I shared with you some of our many activities and outings here last Thursday, but the best part of all was simply spending time with them.

Emptying pot after pot of Rob’s spectacularly robust coffee each morning. Lounging in our PJs early at night and bingeing the Apple+ TV series The Morning Show starring Jennifer Aniston and Reese Witherspoon. (Boy, is it powerful and exciting! If you had any doubts about Ms. Aniston’s abilities as an actress, this performance puts them aside for good.)

Talking for hours on end about freelance voice work, mutual acquaintances and our hopes for the year ahead. Going to a few 12-step meetings (my first since arriving down here). I haven’t found “my people” here yet, but the first moves have been made, helped by finding out that Lisa and Derek have friends who literally live just around the corner from our house, and making casual plans to actually meet some folks, also expat Canadians.

Meantime, this is the view that bade Lisa and Derek farewell as they left our city (and its famous wind turbines). Palm Springs perfection, as tweeted by @lisambrandt.

There was no Black Friday shopping for any of our bunch here; I’m averse to crowds, especially when we don’t really need anything. I’m also having a hard time tuning out the Christmas music pumped relentlessly into some of the stores, like my new fav, Stein Mart.

With radio stations changing formats, you have a choice (and a great many listeners choose CHFI, bless you). People love to offer up when they think the station should change over: some suggest the day after American Thanksgiving (which makes no sense for a Canadian station), others say December 1st, and still others protest loudly that they will never come back, which also makes no sense.

Punishing oneself to punish the station? I get that a lot of people feel passionately about their radio station, and that’s what I always loved about CHFI listeners; after all, they – you – saved my career at least once. But it’s a programming tradition that has been adhered to for well over a decade now, and people now know 98.1 as their Christmas Music Station.

I did want to clarify what I meant with that tweet last week:

If you find yourself in a place perusing the merch and it’s one loud (and often not especially well-done) Christmas song after another, it’s painful to have to find a way to tune out the ones that make you sad, which so many of them do for us now. Obviously, like everyone does with their favourite station, I have the choice to turn away, which I did last year: I put down a pile of clothes that I was ready to try on and simply walked out before the sadness morphed into actual tears.

I tweeted something to that effect on Wednesday last week and it elicited a big response. But I worried (’cause that’s my super power) that my comments were misconstrued as taking a shot at my former radio home. I will always be loyal to CHFI and the people there who had my back when I needed it most; I was just feeling blue and having a Loo day. They do come and go, as anyone who is familiar with grief knows.

It was during that blue Loo day that Lisa and I were indulging in a little hunting and pecking of the shopping variety last week. During a walk through downtown Palm Springs, we came across some beautiful wings that had been painted on a wall. Lisa took a few shots of me, I played around with a filter or two, and here’s what we ended up with. They sum up the ups and downs of going on after the events that have brought us here.

Have a gentle first few days of December and I’ll be back here with you Thursday. Sending hugs and warm thoughts – yes, I follow what the weather’s doing.

Just a thought… Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom. [Marcel Proust]

It’s Thanksgiving Day down here in the U. S. of A. so I’ll begin by saying how grateful I am that you are here. And also that my husband doesn’t watch football. Nor does my company (at least while they’re with us). Hallelujah!

Yes, I’m grateful that my dear pal Lisa Brandt and her husband Derek Botten, who hail from the London, Ontario area, have been with us for a week. They’ve visited us in Palm Springs before, so we found ourselves trying to dig in a little deeper and find things we hadn’t done and share things we hadn’t already seen.

We started with a show we’ve been excited about for months: it had us decked out in feather boas that Lisa brought with her, purchased especially for this night and left with the folks at the theatre: Randy Rainbow live on stage!

It’s a uniquely 21st-century kind of experience: going to see a man perform songs backed up on a huge screen by the same videos of him that brought Randy to our attention and made us big fans. (Just Google Randy Rainbow and you’ll be taken to any of his many hilarious and extremely well-produced videos skewering Trump and his circle of psychotic sycophants.)

Over the 75-minute show we were treated to his greatest hits, some banter between his challenging and brilliantly-worded song parodies and the magic of watching a four-piece band matching up with incredible precision the video that was running behind them.

Randy was sassy and sharp, and I have the feeling that we’re just seeing the beginning of what’s going to be an extremely interesting career. (We eschewed the chance to buy higher-priced “meet ‘n’ greet” tickets; I didn’t want to risk not loving him in person, if that makes any sense?)

Last night Lisa and Derek treated us to an evening at the Purple Room, a dinner lounge where folklore has it the Rat Pack got its start as a concept and then a real act that became part of showbiz history. We’d been before, but enjoyed getting the chance to introduce them to the place.

Our host, owner Michael Holmes, fronts a jazz trio and performs with ease and warmth. We had a terrific time again – so grateful that my aunt and uncle gave us a gift certificate to try the place last year! Can’t wait to share the experience with Mike Cooper when he comes in late December.

Even though the weather has taken a turn for the rainier, we did take advantage of the sunshine while we had it and not all of our entertainment was indoors: we took a short hike to Indian Canyon under blue skies and gentle 21 degree temperatures, and enjoyed sights like this. It is indeed a special place.

We’re not doing turkey or any of that today; instead, we’ll head to a nearby theatre and take in a movie. Just as Charlie Brown would have us believe the pilgrims did, we’ll be eating popcorn on Thanksgiving – which I think is not only appropriate, but pretty much takes care of preparing another meal while we’re at it!

I hope you have a terrific weekend. Oh, and contrary to what the Mango Mussolini slurred at his rally on Tuesday night (the night before inexplicably tweeting a picture of his head on Sylvester Stallone’s 1970s body), there’s no “war” down here on Thanksgiving – something he saw on Faux News. The only war, so far, is on logic, truth and anything that makes any sense anymore (and other things I keep to myself…mostly)! Just breathe and we’ll be back Monday.