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Unruly, easily distracted the textbook clichés. By age 11, I had tuned everyone out—at least those who didn't genuinely seem interested in what I had to say. Fortunately, we had horses, which were unquestionably my saving grace. The barn was my safe place. My brothers and I grew up in a time when books, not television, fueled our imaginations. Our mother ensured that we had plenty of reading material, including a huge atlas from National Geographic and subscriptions to Life magazine, which had published a series of hardcover books. I wore those pages thin. I was fascinated by Northern Africa, Egypt, Rome, and Greece.

 

One of my favourite spots to ride was perched high on a hill; the winds of the Great Lakes had shaped that area into a mini desert. There, I would run my horses, Rocky or Sadie, at a full gallop and pretend I was a warrior queen. One day, out of the blue, as I played in my imaginary world, I envisioned myself singing in front of thousands of people on a stage. Our little northern town had a peak population of about 3,500, including the mining camps. That waking dream marked the beginning of a love affair that would shape the rest of my life.

 

"Are Rock'in and Rollers  born, or are they made?"

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