Erin's Journals

Just a thought… Believe that all things are mentionable and also manageable. [Mr. Rogers]

Hello! Welcome to another week that is quite likely to feel like a month. We can do this.

To the most important things first: we’ve counted our toilet paper rolls and there are six. We’ll be fine. When we moved in three years ago we installed a bidet attachment in our bathroom, so that cuts down on paper use a whole lot.

I’ve been reluctant to tell you I have a bidet because that may well be TMI and might also subject us to judgment, but we’ve had them now the past four places we’ve lived. To some it sounds overly posh, but for many people (like in Japan) it’s as normal as having a sink. So there you go (just not in the sink).

Got a handy person in your house? You can order them online or get them at your big box hardware store. The heated seat is a lovely option, too. Saves having to get your servants to warm it for you first, as they used to do back in the day of stone toilets, like the ones we saw in Turkey on a trip a few years back. (You remember travel, don’t you?) 

As our travels ended and for obvious reasons, we didn’t bring booze home from California. Although Rob doesn’t have an allergy to alcohol like I do, he’s stayed solid in his support for me. I encourage him to imbibe when he wants, but he doesn’t want. But we did bring this.

Look at that low price! We bought it last year so that I could refill my little purse hand-sani for a trip to Vegas (whose strip was DARK Friday night for the first time since JFK’s assassination). Who knew this bottle would be more precious than Grey Goose vodka?

Speaking of which, there are lots of online meetings for those who are finding sobriety challenging these days. Now, more than ever, we need connection. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought well, maybe, but then I remember a million reasons NOT to drink, not the very least of which is that it compromises your immune system. Hugely.

I’m really tired of the constant tweets and memes about drinking. I get it. I haven’t lost my sense of humour (as you see by my posts). People want to escape and have an end-of-the-world party in their house every single day (that is, if they’re not stupidly having friends over)! But for God’s sake, it’s tough enough dealing with the everyday stress and anxiety.

I won’t, but I want to say Stop freaking tweeting about your wine/tequila/coronavirus cocktails and panicking over whether liquor stores are essential services. Some of us are just trying to get through this one day at a time.

I had a bit of an anxiety meltdown Saturday trying to find a store to deliver groceries; every one that has pickup (which we can’t do til the 2nd of April anyway – if we venture out then among the COVIDiots who refuse to take precautions) or delivery is several days’ wait.

Yesterday we got two angel drop-offs: Nancy and husband Charles from Sidney brought us five full bags from the grocery store. Right down to my Cadbury mini eggs! I could have cried. And then, there at our door were my aunt and uncle, who dropped off some flash-frozen fish they caught in northern BC last year. OMG! Halibut and chips tonight!

And just as I write this, another friend has offered to do our next grocery run. How lucky we are! We’ve offered the same to our neighbours who are in their 80s/90s and hope to be able to help them when we’re out and about. We all have to do our part and stay safe, keep a distance and yet build connections.

It hasn’t escaped our attention that knowing so very few people where we live (or at least knowing them well enough to ask for help or to expect an offer of it) has not been a good thing for us AT ALL. I always thought that if one of us was left here alone (permanently) we’d have few people to lean on.

Of course, I don’t think a pandemic figured into any of our “worst-case scenarios.” This is going to change a lot of people for good, and hopefully for the better.

I’ll be back here with you tomorrow, and thank you again.

Just a thought… In times of great stress or adversity, it’s always best to keep yourself busy, to plow your anger and your energy into something positive. [Lee Iacocca]

Anger? Nope. Energy? Oh yes!

This is day three of our self-imposed (and extremely necessary) isolation. It’s making my blood boil to read about people coming home from their vacations or winters down south and heading straight to the grocery store. My niece in Kelowna is one of those working to keep stores stocked. Can some people not think beyond themselves – ever?

One bit of wisdom I read said “Don’t act as if you have the virus; act as if I do.”

My angel friends here learned that a woman they had lunch with three weeks ago has tested positive for the coronavirus. She contracted it after they got together, so they’re in the clear (and since we were with them in California in the days right afterwards, so are we), but it simply drives home the fact that this is everywhere – including among us. People who should be self-distancing, and still are not, are playing with fire. And that’s people of ALL ages.

So….what are you up to? I’m keeping busy, while also spending too much time each day reporting bots on Twitter. (I guess this is where the anger, to which Mr. Iacocca’s quote refers, could come in.) They’re often easy to spot: they defend the orange Dear Leader, insult the media who are trying to get correct information to the people he’s lying to, and have a very recent Twitter join date.

The lazier ones of the estimated 30 MILLION bots out there also have no picture (unless they’ve lifted one from a real person out there somewhere) and their handles are followed by a string of numbers. That’s not to say that everyone without a pic and with just a bunch of digits is a bot; I’m talking about the automated spam accounts on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and pretty much everywhere else, many of them created simply to disseminate lies.

I report and/or block them immediately but the spread of misinformation and your basic Faux News talking points – especially in these particularly perilous times – is infuriating.

Sure, there are those who believe Trump never said it was a hoax, didn’t downplay it from the get-go (as in two months ago when he got intelligence briefings) and is spouting hope and optimism instead of the doom and gloom of reality. He lies as often as he sniffs, and that – as you know – is a lot. And the daily attack-the-press conferences are simply rehashes of whatever he’s seen on Faux the night before or that morning.

Can all of this really be happening?

Anyway…back to being online, we’ve had time to do some searching and it appears that we can’t get groceries unless we call upon the kindness of friends or family: the stores that deliver are showing no openings for at least 9 days, which is pretty close to when our self-isolation ends (if we come out of it; who knows what the situation will be in a fortnight?).

Our freezer is full but I’m missing produce in a big way. Luckily our supply of snacks was limited to a half tub of frozen yogurt and some stale rice cakes. Last night we had quinoa that expired in 2015 (don’t ask me why we moved it with us in 2016 to BC). But at least it appears we won’t be gaining weight these two weeks. Thank goodness our angel Nancy is bringing us a few more supplies today. 

If you’re like me, you find part of the challenge is staying active without breaking self-isolation. How? Well, on Friday I logged 10,000+ steps on my FitBit (thanks, in part, to two lengthy phone calls). I walk while I talk and it’s a great way to add steps; when I sound a little breathy, I explain to people what I’m doing and to this point (at least as far as I know) no one has taken offence. At least I hope not.

Then I sat my butt down, wrote and recorded the script to go around an interview I did with marketing guru Terry O’Reilly for an upcoming podcast series for the Canadian Real Estate Association. So we got that got done. (I’ll let you know when it’s up so you can enjoy it; we’ve done it especially so that it’s not only of interest to realtors.)

Oh, and we binge-watched the entire second season of Barry on HBO on Friday evening. I think that was enough for the first day, don’t you?

You have a gentle Sunday – ours includes FaceTime with our sweet boy and his family who are safe and sheltered in Ottawa. I’ll be back with another journal tomorrow. Glad you’re here – glad we are together.

Just a thought… Your most unhappy customers are your greatest source of learning. [Bill Gates]

I don’t think I’ve ever done a Saturday journal. So let’s make it a good one. Or at least try!

First off, some observations from that travel day Thursday that I couldn’t fit into yesterday’s journal. And that was what happened on the Calgary to Victoria leg of the trip.

We boarded our plane in Palm Springs (which had carried just three passengers on the southern leg from Calgary) and were handed sanitizing wipes. A great welcome, to be sure! Seeing flight attendants wearing gloves, picking up trash with more frequency and so on, it came as a glaring contradiction when, on the shorter leg, there was none of that.

Even though many of us were transferring from international flights – as was obvious from the red, peeling skin and the straw sun hats – the domestic part of our trip was treated with no more precautions than any other flight we’d been on in our lives. No gloves, no wipes, no nothing.

I watched with interest (and a little horror, I’ll be honest) as a passenger who didn’t drink the bottled water offered to her in premium seating handed it back to the flight attendant, who kindly offered it to another passenger. That is EXACTLY how the virus gets passed. But there you go.

In response to an email yesterday from WestJet asking about our experience, I made careful note of the fact that the domestic trip we took had none of the overt precautions among passengers (gloves and wipes) that we had seen on the PSP to YYC leg.

It felt a little cruel to be complaining, with the impending layoffs of so many of the truly wonderful people at WestJet. But I had to point it out for the flights and passengers in days to come. And I can only hope they’ll extend the extra care to domestic flights that we were shown on the one out of the US. But why wasn’t it done?

The sense of humour among our terrific flight crew was still intact, even though I’m sure they knew that the ax was coming down soon, bringing thousands of layoffs. The woman on the mic forgot the First Officer’s name and laughed about it; later I told her I understood why she was stressed, and quoted this joke.

Not so funny, but something that made me smile in remembering it happened at Calgary Airport. We were sitting on a bench waiting for our luggage, so we could go through customs and prove that Molly had had her shots before we caught our Victoria flight. An older woman with sun-bleached hair, flip flops and a big frown plunked down on the bench with a tired sigh.

I asked where she was headed and she told me Alberta was her home. They were driving to Strathmore after she and her husband had collected their luggage, she explained. I said we were coming from California, which had just gone on lockdown, and she leaned over to me and told me what Justin Trudeau had done wrong: he hadn’t closed the borders soon enough.

I murmured something about WHO and diplomatic ties and she realized she wasn’t going to get the response out of me that she expected. (To be honest, I’ve been less consumed with Canada’s response than horrified by the US response – or lack thereof – that I’d been immersed in for the past several weeks.)

During the one-hour flight to Victoria, I found myself smiling. I hadn’t stood in my native province even thirty minutes before someone gave me their negative opinion of the PM. Sigh. It’s exactly the way it was when I was a kid in Alberta – only a different Trudeau.

So I knew I was home. And never have I felt more grateful to call this place home in my entire life.

Especially when this was the view that greeted us in our backyard yesterday. (I shot it quickly when DIL Brooke asked how it felt to be home. This summed it up, perfectly.)

I’ll be back with you here tomorrow. We Can Do This.

Just a thought… Walk as if you are kissing the earth with your feet. [Thich Nhat Hanh]

We’re home. It’s fitting that it’s the first full day of spring, too: a new beginning in the midst of so much darkness.

Yesterday was a long day but an easy one; somehow the dread that had been building up over the eight days of awaiting a flight managed to far overshadow what actually transpired.

We left the house at 2 pm, Rob, Molly and I, driven in a cab to the airport by a lovely man named Alejandro. With no lineup at check in or in the TSA pre-checked line, we sailed through security to the outside waiting area of beautiful little Palm Springs International. It was eerily quiet.

For three hours, interrupted only by PA announcements and the sound of planes leaving and landing, we enjoyed light breezes and, contrary to the forecast we’d heard, some filtered sunshine.

There’s a pet spot for our little fur babies, and a lovely open-air waiting area where we didn’t have to crowd in with fellow travelers to await our flight. And best of all, we could see this glorious sight: our plane coming in.

The 2-hour-40-minute flight to Calgary was uneventful – surprisingly so. We weren’t screened for any illness in Palm Springs (at the gate or elsewhere) which came as a surprise. We were greeted on our plane by a flight attendant dispensing hand wipes and everyone proceeded to turn ours into the cleanest flight anywhere. We were handed a COVID-19 information sheet upon landing in Canada

Our fellow passengers seemed remarkably chill: only a few face masks, presumably being worn either by those who are ill or particularly vulnerable. Garbage was collected from passengers more frequently than usual, we were told, and that was really the only ever-so-slight difference (that we saw).

We landed in Calgary just as Molly had gotten to the end of her rope. She was grumbly for most of the trip, not enjoying being confined in her carrier one little bit.

A brief respite came as we were allowed to walk her on her leash from customs to our next gate, then back she went into her carrier. It was only her third time flying and we can only hope she’s around for another one, perhaps in November?

We landed in Calgary to a ping on my phone and a message from my BC friend Nancy (that angel I spoke of here last week) and the words, “OMG you got out just in time!” and this headline:

The governor of California has taken the huge step of locking down the state: telling people to stay home, and only essential services like gas stations, grocery and convenience stores, pharmacies, food banks and delivery restaurants will remain open.

California, with its 40 million residents – a state more populous than all of Canada, is the first in the U.S. to do so (as of this writing).

Look, our “worst case scenario” was a lot easier than many people’s: if we hadn’t been able to leave, we have a place to stay there and wouldn’t have been terribly inconvenienced. After all, I’d been self-isolating for 10 days anyway.

But here’s the thing: medical insurance could be yanked away from Canadians abroad who were told to go home and didn’t (or so we hear). Please look this up if you want more details; different companies are handling this in various ways.

One fellow Rob was playing hockey with says that some travel insurance coverage doesn’t extend to pandemics! Who reads all of that small print????

Anyway, we’re home. It only felt for a moment like we’d caught the last helicopter out of Vietnam and then I put things into perspective (which I find myself doing at a lot these days, as do we all).

We landed at around midnight, climbed into a cab with a very nice driver who was surprisingly civil to us after having waited for hours for a fare, only to find we were just a $12 ride from home. We gave him a nice tip. He told us that this was his last shift; he’s quitting. (I don’t think it was us!)

My heart goes out to him. Hard times are getting even harder.

I offered my condolences to the friendly and lovely WestJet men and women who helped us find our way around the Calgary airport last night. I could see long faces on the few Air Canada people working late into the night; the layoffs are coming fast and furious.

Our thoughts are with everyone being affected by the COVID-19 pandemic. Is there anyone who will not be touched by this tragedy?

We’re grateful to be home and we’ll take everything as it comes, as everyone just has to.

But a funny thing happened at Calgary Airport and I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. Yes, let’s do weekend journals, too. Thank you for your warm thoughts and I send you mine. Please stay well, safe and sane. We need each other.

Just a thought… If you know you’re going home, the journey is never too hard. [Angela Wood]

Oh, it’s Thursday. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I haven’t counted down to a day like this since Christmases of the past. We’re going home today and I think I may try to take some pictures of our travels – it’s going to be a long haul – and cry tears of relief once they’re up and posted. It’ll mean we’re home.

There may even be a video. I don’t know how much time at the Calgary airport we’ll have to kill, and how the internet will be. But these are small-picture things.

The fridge is as empty as it can be and our home’s caretaker (she visits regularly during the summer months) will take with her anything that we couldn’t consume. I’ve watered the plants, taken a picture of the contents of the bathroom medicine cabinets and drawers (so I remember what not to bring down in the fall), and I think we’ve got this all figured out.

The forecast calls for rain here in the Coachella Valley today and I was so looking forward to sitting outside at Palm Springs International Airport while awaiting our flight, away from our fellow travelers for as long as we can be, until we are called to board.

PSP is one of those rare airports (in our experience) where we can be outdoors in an enclosed area after going through security, to enjoy the last bits of fine weather and fresh-ish air. We’ll figure it out, but I know Molly won’t want to be in her carrier one minute longer than she has to be, poor old gal.

We’ve already mapped out where the doggie relief area is for her at Calgary airport; when we get there tonight we have almost two hours to catch our connector to Victoria. Hopefully, with customs, screening and whatever awaits us, it won’t be cutting things too close. But hey – if we have to sleep in an airport or find a hotel to take the three of us, we’ll live. That’s all big picture.

To that end, as we dig out our coats, zip up and lock our suitcases and point ourselves back to our home and native land, I thought I’d share this with you. Kathy B. sent it to me and this piece really puts everything into the right focus. May it bring you peace.

I’ll be back with you either tomorrow or on the weekend – if not here, then definitely on Facebook. Thank you for your kind wishes through all of this.

Here we go.