A MOMENT THAT CHANGED MY LIFE

Today, Sheryl MacKay, the warm and radiant host of CBC Radio's North By Northwest, asked listeners to write in and tell her of a defining moment in their life, and she would read many of those stories, on-air, over the next few weeks. It got me thinking about a defining moment in my life. One that completely changed the trajectory of what very well could have been a simple, anonymous existence in small town, Canada.

As many readers of this blog are aware, before I retired to a quiet life on Vancouver Island, I managed the lives, careers and financial bottom lines of some of the most powerful people in Hollywood – when I wasn't working as an actress, screenwriter or television producer, myself. It all blossomed from a random event that I remain equally grateful for — and embittered by. So, I emailed Sheryl an abbreviated version of this story:

It was 1989, a year into my relationship with a veteran radio & television broadcasting celebrity, ten years my senior. In addition to his Monday to Friday live radio show, in Ontario, my boyfriend (later husband) also voiced and produced radio and TV commercials at the station, for various clients, well after everyone had gone home for the day.

Late one Sunday night, we went to the station, so my boyfriend could go over the new batch of commercial scripts he had to voice, for delivery at 9 AM the next morning.

"Uh-oh," he muttered.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"There are two scripts, here. A conversation between a man and a woman."

I looked at my watch. It was 8:52 PM. "Who can you call at this hour on a Sunday night to come down to the station and spend five minutes talking into a microphone?"

"Nobody," he replied, then, more forcefully: "Which is why you're going to do this with me."

My heart sunk. I'd spent a few years as a stage actress and singer in a pop-rock cover band, but my crippling, mind-numbing stage fright made every performance such an unbearable nightmare, I had to quit.

"Oh, no, I'm not!" I bellowed, my palms already starting to sweat. I inched toward the exit doors. "Find a way to do this without me, cuz...I...I just can't."

What followed was a 30 minute argument – with LOTS of yelling and swearing – that I thought, for sure, would be the end of our relationship. Finally, a promise/bribe of a Dairy Queen banana split after the voice work was done convinced me to go into the sound booth and, after a whiplash-fast course in radio voice acting, I finished the two man-woman commercials, plus another script my boyfriend gave me that was intended for him.

The ads I voiced started airing on radio and television the very next day and were so well-received, I started getting requests to voice more radio and TV commercials, from clients who were willing to pay more for "such a diverse and natural talent."

This random event led to a 30-year career as a professional (and very well-paid) actress, singer, voiceover artist, screenwriter, comic book writer, television producer, celebrity publicist, personal assistant and A-list Hollywood talent manager. I often wonder...what if I had stubbornly stood my ground and refused to help out my boyfriend by doing 5 minutes of voice work in a sound-proof booth?

"Would you like fries with that?"

KJC

I AM MY OWN HARD ACT TO FOLLOW

Since the 1980s, I've had friends, coworkers and employers who understood my value, my talents, education and expertise in many areas, from food service, janitorial and customer service to interior decorating, wardrobe styling, screenwriting and investigative journalism. I strive for perfection in everything I do and the pressure I've put on myself to succeed – at all costs – has, in fact, cost me my health, and my future, as I struggle with the painful, debilitating effects of an incurable disease that is slowly destroying me from the inside out (T2 diabetes).

I try not to say no to anything, any request, from a client:

⨳ You've just had a car accident and you need my help with the police, lawyers, the media, unexpected absence from work and personal issues like paying bills and hiring a physiotherapist to help you get back on your feet? Don't worry, I'll take care of it.

⨳ It's 3AM, you're in a taxi, headed to the airport, and you just remembered you left your laptop on the kitchen counter? No prob. I'll go fetch it and meet you at the departure gate.

⨳ You're throwing a little get-together and need a bartender/server to keep the food and drink flowing 'til 4AM. Yeah...I can do it – but I want the leftovers.

⨳ You need a compassionate, helping hand as you return home from an abortion clinic, plastic surgeon or weeklong jail sentence for DUI? Hey, I've got your back.

⨳ Dropped your wedding ring in a toilet full of puke? OK, ummm, just gimme a second to mentally prepare myself for the plunge.

⨳ Your maid quit? Sure, I can clean your 10,000 square foot home every fucking day until I can hire and train a new one.

⨳ Need help memorizing lines for the blockbuster movie you've just been cast in? Let's get together and act out every bloody fucking scene you're in, over and over and over again, until you know every word. Cuz, y'know, I have no life of my own.

I don't like to let people down, and I greatly value my professional reputation. But I'm sick, now. And what few clients I have left, as I slowly ease into retirement (on disability pension), still expect me to be their beck-and-call-girl. Their rock. Their problem-solver.

The latest example of me leaving – and later returning to – a client because they discovered, much to their dismay, that I am not a superworman who can do everything, solve every problem and ALWAYS be there, no matter what, is really starting to irritate me.

Cut me some slack, man...I'm dyin' over here!

THE ROAD TO DOMESTIC BLISS

One year ago, today, my life changed for the better by the unexpected birth of five precious, little kittens. The road to domestic bliss was a little rocky at first (one kitten tragically died, another was diagnosed with cerebellar hypoplasia) but my love and devotion only grows with each passing day.

I AM A FREAK MAGNET

After work, I got home and parked my car, heading toward the front entrance of my apartment building with a bag of groceries, when I heard a sweet, young voice call out “Hello!” to me. I looked up into the face of an adolescent, blonde-haired boy, waving to me from a third floor balcony.

“Hi, there!” I cheerfully called back, thus launching a 3-minute chat about how he’s 11 years-old, from Arizona, visiting family in Nanaimo for a week, while movers transfer all of their belongings from one side of the hot and dusty state to the other. We talked about the weather, fun things he’s done over the past few days...But I’ve got meat and cheese in my grocery bag, so, I said “I have to go, now. Bye!”

Twenty minutes later, I was just sitting down to a charcuterie platter for lunch, when I heard that same familiar “Hello!” calling through my apartment window.

I got up and went out to my below-grade (basement) apartment patio, to find the boy waving at me, from above.

“Is that your cat?” he asked, gesturing to Maive, sunning herself on the warm cement.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Hey, I remember you,” he chuckled. “You’re that lady I talked to a few minutes ago. Can I come down and play with your cat?”

“Uhhhh...sure. Why not?” I mumbled, with a complete lack of enthusiasm.

So, he came down the stairs to my patio and we started chatting again, while he bent down to pet Maive. His name is Ian, he starts 6th grade in September and he likes snakes, scorpions and spiders – especially tarantulas. He also likes ghosts, and he believes in ghosts because he worships the Holy Ghost.

“Oh, so...you’re a Mormon, then?” I pressed him, recalling news stories and statistics about the big Mormon population in that area of the United States.

“Uh-huh,” he said, proudly.

Remembering that I had a plateful of food waiting for me, I told him I had to go eat lunch.

“Can I come with you?” he asked. “Maybe I can help you clean up your apartment?”

W T F?

“No, sorry,” I muttered, and headed for my patio door, only to find Ian hot on my heels as I stepped back into my living room (FYI, I put my bed in my living room and set up a home office in my bedroom). So, this kid from Arizona was now steps away from my unmade bed, with black sheets and various, uh...playtime accoutrements on it, which I quickly stashed away while he gazed with amazement around my really cool pad.

“I’m an interior decorator,” I informed him, as he scanned my collection of horse head statues, gargoyles, ceremonial daggers, human skull replicas, crystals, tarot cards, framed pictures of friends who’ve played vampires in movies etc...and then he spotted my huge tome on Demonology, Witchcraft and World Mythology on a shelf, just underneath my flat screen TV.

“You read books about demons and witches?” he asked, quite innocently.

Now, those of you who’ve known me for years are fully aware that I’m not a huge fan of kids. I’ve been a nanny to several children but I am under no illusion that I resemble Mary Poppins in any way, shape or form. I tolerate kids because I understand that they are people, too, and they are curious about the world, adventurous and thirsty for knowledge. So, if they ask me a question, I pretty much flat-out tell them the truth, regardless of what tight-assed, close-minded helicopter parents might think is “age appropriate.”

“Yes, I’m a witch,” I replied. “So, I have a lot of books about demons and witches and ghosts and monsters.”

He nodded, matter-of-factly, and urged me to elaborate. So, I opened the book in question and we started talking about Odin, Thor, Zeus, Osiris, Mars, Diana, Aphrodite, Robin Hood, King Arthur, Merlin, Satan, Mephistopheles...going over pictures and diagrams and occult symbols.

Now, thoroughly satisfied that I had tainted Ian’s sweet, innocent and impressionable young mind, I told him he had to go because my lunch was still waiting for me, on the dining table, a few feet away.

“Can’t I stay just a little while longer?” he begged, and stretched out across my bed.

“Oh, no-no-no-no. Sorry, Ian,” I chuckled, trying not to appear panicked, cuz everyone knows it is SO not cool to let some random underaged kid get all comfy on top of your bed.

So, he gave me a quick hug (awkward!) and off he went.

Freaks, man. They just gravitate right to me.

KJC