I’m tempted to just say “yes” and leave this one at that, because this one is going to look like gloating – but it isn’t meant that way. But the truth is to have a ‘juicy’ past doesn’t mean that you have to have a scandalous one. I don’t have a single notable scandal in my past. It’s true, I’ve dated individuals older and younger than me, I’ve had a few unconventional relationships and my belief system may run contrary to the mainstream – but none of that is ‘scandalous’, unless I were a nun, and I’ve never made any claims on being that.
But if we’re talking ‘juicy’…as in the kind of juicy you want to retell to your kids and grandkids until they get sick of hearing about it and beg you to make up new stories. Yes…that I have, in abundance.
Brace yourself, this one is going to be long…
I was never truly afraid of living. My parents are both in the arts, and I’ve often said that I have one tenth of the coolness factor they do. Were it not for them being my role models, I’m not really certain that I wouldn’t have become an old lady with ten cats. Instead, I grew up hearing how my mother had flown a double inside out loop at sunset, how my dad had played blue-smoke bars with his father when he was younger than I am now and I walked the line of the yellow caution tape keeping out intruders while my parents set up the mortars and racks for the hand-fired high level Canada Day fireworks show (my mother was one of the only working female pyrotechnics in Canada – we were blowing up stuff for a living long before TV made it cool!).
From those beginnings? Did I really have a choice? At 18 I walked across the stage and out of high school and into a 6 month full time theatre contract with my local museum, at the same time that I was working an am-dram show and balancing full time dance classes. I fell in love. I fell out of love. I put myself through two degrees at university. I flew to England alone, tended bar to put myself through college – teaching myself how to pull a decent pint (and if you’re working in Britain there is an art to it), while fending off kind-hearted but annoying advances from the patrons, I learned British slang, I navigated Covent Garden in the rain. I flirted with people on the underground, was very nearly accused of being a pick-pocket ( I most definitely was innocent!) had my picture painted in the most famous square in West End, I bought cheap tickets to west end shows and lived in a garret with a leaky roof. I picnicked at the top of Glastonbury Tor, tossed a penny in Chalice Well and meditated at the centre of Stonehenge. I won a man’s heart with homemade cookies completely by accident (he’s since had to give up dairy, something that I regret because it means I can’t joke about bringing him cookies again someday). I hot-air ballooned over Bath, and landed in a freezing cold field without a gate in the middle of the night as a result. I know how many windows are in Bath Abbey, and I partook of the famous healing waters at the ancient Roman Baths themselves (it tastes like sulphur).
I saw the giant Christmas tree in Trafalgar Square and listened to the orphans sing carols underneath it. I looked upon the Virgin of the Rocks before they took it away for restoration, not to be seen again for years. I cried when I came back to the gallery to find it missing. I got lost in the National Gallery more than once. I held hands with Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens. I screamed myself horse and stomped my feet numb at We Will Rock You.
I heard Big Ben chime the hour, toured the House of Parliament and saw the breathtaking London skyline from the window of the London Eye. I climbed the Lions in Trafalgar Square, ignoring Nelson’s glare from atop his needle. I found out how many people you could fit in a London phone booth (7 if you’re curious).I watched the ravens in the Tower of London and snapped one of the best photographs of Prince Charles completely by accident.
Then I applied for a job I thought I’d never get just because I figured I had nothing to lose. And I got it.
Since then, I’ve touched the pyramids, been humbled by the gaze of the sphinx, felt the cool dust-choked dimness of the tombs of the Valley of the Kings, whispered a prayer at the Temple of Luxor, ridden a camel (twice..and nearly fallen off…twice), and stared into the lapis eyes of King Tut’s mask. I’ve gone off-roading in the deserts of Dubai, tuk-tuk riding in India (“car! Person! COW!!”) and learned how to fold a sari in under ten minutes. I’ve swum in the Amazon, snorkelled in Pago-Pago and Aruba, and fallen in love in the Tahitian rain.
I’ve looked down on the ruins of the USS Arizona, parasailed over the coast of Mexico, walked the silent streets of the city of the dead in Buenos Ares and paid my respects to Eva Peron. I’ve seen the balcony of the Casa Rosada, been seduced by a tango show in the sweltering heat of a Buenos Aires evening, been judged by the eyes of Christ in Rio. I’ve walked the ruins of Port Arthur Penitentiary in Australia and Devil’s Island in French Guinea and listened to the voices there.
I’ve gone horseback riding in the pouring rain in Australia and zip-lined over the coastline of Alaska and Costa-Rica.
I’ve laid my fingertips against the stones of the treasury at Petra. Watched the sun sparkle off the sea of Galilee, had my picture taken at the house of St Peter, seen Mary’s House at the Church of the Annunciation in Nazareth and dipped my fingers in the River Jordan.
I’ve eaten kangaroo, crocodile, rattlesnake, and slurped oysters on the halfshell.
I’ve seen the Haggia Sophia, the Blue Mosque and the Grand Bizarre in Istanbul. I’ve ridden a donkey up the thousands-year old steps of Santorini in Greece. I’ve had lunch in the shadow of the Coliseum in Rome (and very nearly gotten stuck there!), seen the hippodrome, sung under the dome of St Peter’s Basilica (though so quietly no one could hear me), whispered a ritual by the altar of the Pantheon and communed with the spirits of Pompeii. I’ve seen the ruins of the great library at Ephesus in Turkey and the weeping marble of the Parthenon in Greece.
I’ve been to Disneyland California, Paris and Hong Kong.
I’ve felt the serenity of the Buddha’s gaze in Hong Kong and Dule Temple in China. I’ve walked the worn steps of the Great Wall, seen the Leaning Tower of Piza (and figured out how to get there and back on my own.) I’ve sailed on a tall ship past the Sydney Opera House and walked the streets of the Rocks Historical district by night.
I’ve dipped my feet to the ankles in the chill waters of Alaska, watched the salmon running in Ketchikan, and watched the hang-gliders catch the current above the mountains in Juneau. I’ve seen eagles so numerous that they remind you of seagulls for their sheer numbers. I’ve seen a solitary humpback whale breach next to the ship as I made my way to a meeting. I’ve wandered the forest paths in Sitka. I’ve toured at least one historic brothel. I’ve taken the White Pass Railway train up the famous Dead Horse Trail over the BC/Alaska border.
I’ve lashed down furniture for a gale force 7 storm while wearing a skirt. I’ve helped steer a narrow boat up a canal in a Welsh monsoon. I’ve transited the Atlantic three times and the Pacific twice. I’ve crossed both the Bering and the Tasman sea.
I’ve lain on my back on deck and stared up at the full moon and counted the stars. Both by myself and with a crowd of crazy musicians.
I’ve sung in front of three distinct live bands, made two audition reels, and been judged by at least one west end director. I’ve written a novel, a play (thought that never saw the light of day beyond the acting class I wrote it for), and a travel-log (which you are currently reading).
They say that life’s a banquet, and most poor sons-of-bitches are starving to death. Me? I sink my teeth into the next course and drain the wine goblet to the dregs.
I’ve never believed that we only go around once…not since I was a tiny child…but that’s not excuse to not live the life you’re in right this moment to the very fullest that you’re capable of. My mother used to tell me that playing it safe was pointless, because you could just as easily get killed by walking out of your house one morning and getting hit by a bus….having never taken a single risk, or had a single adventure…so why not do something with your life?
So…
I think that all qualifies as ‘juicy’ enough wouldn’t you?
And the most amazing thing?
That might be only about half of it…