Part 5- Grapes of Confusion – Faith, Culture & the Evolving Pour

When my life made a radical change, I definitely curbed the alcohol. Shortly after I left my first marriage, I walked away from the country music business, and slowly slid into the Christian music scene. I just naturally thought that drinking was not something the 'church' approved of, and I was on my journey of becoming a squeaky clean new person.

Let’s not even get into my immediate family gatherings. Pretty much all full-fledged—although not self-admitted—alcohol dependents. I often wondered how my sister justified Baileys in her morning coffee, tomato juice in her beer with lunch, and a homemade paralyzer before hopping in the car to head out for the evening. That was just what I saw during the times when I was home for summer visits. I was left puzzled—was this her regular routine, or was it somehow connected to my being there? An excuse to loosen up? To keep the buzz going? Either way, it left me uneasy. 

Part of me questioned whether I was being judgmental—too sensitive, maybe even too self-righteous. But another part of me, the part that had started noticing how much I monitored other people’s drinks—and my own—was quietly alarmed. It was like I’d walked into a play where everyone knew their lines except me. And instead of feeling at home, I felt like a visitor on the edge of something I couldn’t quite name, but I felt it in my gut. Something was off. Something had always been off.

After several years of cutting back—I mean waaaay back—my husband and I rarely brought booze in the house. (Although we did smoke weed… until that came to an end as well. Get the book, and you’ll learn the details!)

But then I started noticing something. Some of our good Christian friends were indulging quite a bit in the grape and the hops. Not like my previous rock-'n-roll life, however some even making it a daily practice. It was... let’s just say, more contained. But it was there.

With each new church we attended or I sang at, I noticed that what was once taboo had become a whole lot more normalized. Not quite Oktoberfest-at-the-Catholic-church-window-painting level (yes, I saw it with my own eyes—that stunned me), but enough to raise an eyebrow. Apparently, the Catholics took Jesus turning water into wine a lot more literally than we ever did. For them, it felt less like a miracle and more like a ministry. I half expected to see a stained-glass Jesus raising a stein with the words “To your health!” in Latin underneath. Meanwhile, in some of my circles, we were still trying to decide if serving decaf in the fellowship hall was slipping down a dangerous slope. I couldn’t help but wonder—was I uptight? Or was everyone else just buzzed enough not to care?

Eventually, my new husband and I joined the ranks of the Christian partakers. We enjoyed fun cocktails,  always wine with dinners, and the occasional craft beer—okay, several. I do love a good IPA!

But where I really noticed something shifting was during the years I was caregiving for my elderly mother-in-law with dementia. After long days that tested every ounce of my patience—and in between, flying across the USA to do speaking and music events—I was burning out. I was emotionally tapped, spiritually depleted, and physically running on fumes. That’s when red wine became my close friend. Not in a wild, party-girl way—just a steady, reliable ritual to take the edge off. It helped me unwind, helped me push through, helped me feel like I could keep the motor running. I told myself I could take it or leave it, but if I’m being honest… even I didn’t believe that line anymore.

So many choices. So many reasons. So little guilt. Until the reasons started sounding more like excuses—and the ritual started feeling more like a need. But I started to ask myself—when does a glass of wine become a crutch? When does the celebration become sedation? Should I be pouring that glass of Cab-Sab while cooking dinner – alone? And really enjoying it?

I wasn’t downing shots at the bar anymore, but I also wasn’t completely free. Alcohol had become more sophisticated, more socially acceptable, more “grown-up”—but at the end of the day, it was still playing the same role it always had: a numbing agent, a social mask, a quiet escape.

I wanted something more. I wanted to live wide awake—not slightly blurred. I wanted peace that wasn’t poured into a glass, and joy that didn’t need to be uncorked. And once again, I found myself re-evaluating this complicated relationship with alcohol—this time not from a place of rebellion or religion, but from a desire to be whole. Fully present. Fully myself.

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Author’s Note:

Faith, family, and fitting in—they each played a role in how I saw alcohol and my own worth. This part of the journey wasn’t loud or wild—it was quiet and confusing.

If you’ve ever tried to make sense of your values while juggling contradictions all around you, you’re not alone.

My memoir shares how I learned to stop performing for love—and start living in truth.

Reason to Sing is my raw, redemptive story available on Amazon and Audible (Click here)

Part 4 – The Music Biz and the Never - Ending Happy Hour

In the music business, dodging alcohol is about as likely as finding a needle in a haystack—blindfolded. Bars, nightclubs, casinos (yes, I played a stint in Nevada), and giant country music festivals sponsored by the biggest beer companies on the planet: booze was always the guest of honour.

The hard part? I wasn’t just performing—I was working the crowd, keeping them dancing and cheering. Happy patrons bought me drinks. Venue owners and managers bought me drinks. By my last set, I was often “half in the bag” — which is just industry code for “still rocking it, but with a little extra wobble.”

My go-to poison? Grand Marnier. Fancy, smooth, and deceptively strong. And when you’re 5’2½” and about 115 pounds soaking wet, a couple of those and I was feeling the party fast.

But the real kicker? After the show, it was practically a job requirement to keep the celebration going—whether clinking glasses with the owner or winding down back at the hotel. Booze became the official currency for celebrating every milestone, big or small, and every excuse in between.

Juno Awards (the equivalent of the Grammy Awards in Canada,) Country Music Week, after-parties that stretched into the wee hours. Liquid lunches with record execs and publishing honchos that were less about business and more about “bonding.” This was the culture, and I was a loyal, card-carrying member of the party brigade.

And the Canadian Armed Forces tours? Let’s just say those came with their own brand of wild stories. As for the extramarital affairs? Spoiler: they were all alcohol-fueled. Yep, that’s in the book too.

But beneath the bright lights and blurry nights, the drinking was more than fun—it became a way to numb the pain as my marriage grew more abusive. I wasn’t just Kelita the star on stage—I was a woman desperate to find love and acceptance for me, not the persona the world saw.

Sometimes the escape hatch feels like the only door you have. But eventually, you have to find the courage to open it.

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Author’s Note:
This chapter shines a light on a season of my life that was thrilling, successful… and quietly unraveling. The stage lights were bright, but behind them, I was hurting and hiding.

If any part of you has used success, social status, or celebration to mask real pain, I hope this resonated.

There’s more to the story—how I found healing and reclaimed my identity beyond the applause. It's all in my memoir Reason to Sing – An Inspiring Journey Overcoming Trauma, Abuse, and Betrayal 

Available on Amazon and Audible. 👉 [Click here)

Ray Sawyer of Dr Hook and yours truly on tour together

Part 3 – Higher Learning, Lower Standards: The University Years

I escaped my mean stepfather and moved 2200 miles away to begin university life. My first few days were met with Frosh week activities and let’s just say I can’t remember much of the pub crawl in downtown Toronto. I think I met half the busload, but I couldn’t tell you a single name the next day. Drinking was how you lowered your inhibitions to meet and mingle with all the new students. The barriers were being broken down nearly overnight as all the other first-year students who had fled their small towns and parents’ rules were now free to fly. And fly we did!

There were pubs everywhere on campus and most social activities were centered around drinking and getting drunk. It was the way of life. Mix that with large doses of weed and hash and—well—need I say more? I was partying like there was no tomorrow.

As I matured into 2nd, 3rd, and 4th year, house parties became the norm. Magnums of wine were consumed before, during, and after dinner. And beer? Heck, we’d even drive five hours from Toronto to Montreal with a 24-pack and a bag of weed to get us there in time for Montreal bagels at the crack of dawn — honestly, the only thing remotely wholesome about a wild road trip powered by booze and pot.

The discos were popular, so at least at those I could dance some of the booze off. I would have to say drinking was pretty much a daily occurrence during those four years. Well—except for when the hangover was so brutal you just couldn’t function. Some of those early morning classes were pure torture. 

What started as a way to fit in and be part of the crowd eventually became another form of escape. My young marriage was already facing emotional abuse, which was only made worse when my husband drank. Drinking dulled the pain, but it didn’t solve a thing. Turns out booze makes a lousy therapist.

And yes, there’s a chapter in my memoir that details a moment where the party nearly turned deadly—a combination of alcohol, weed, and cocaine that left me on the edge. A night I barely made it through.

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Author’s Note:
University gave me new freedoms—but also new ways to numb what still hurt underneath. Maybe you’ve been there too.

This chapter in my story isn’t just about the wild nights—it’s about how the pain followed me, no matter how far I ran. I share it all in my memoir, Reason to Sing – An Inspiring Journey Overcoming Trauma, Abuse, and Betrayal.

Because healing doesn’t begin with pretending—it starts with telling the truth.

👉 Available on Amazon and Audible (Click here) 

University taught me some new games!

Part 2 - Escape in a Slurpee Cup – Teenage Years

 

I began indulging in some serious drinking by Grade 8—around the age of 14, to the best of my knowledge. “Serious” might be a stretch, but at the time, it felt grown-up and dangerous. We’d make jungle juice—this dubious, barely drinkable concoction pulled from someone’s parents’ liquor cabinet. It was so detestable that if you dared show any sign of disdain, you’d get the side-eye from your crew. So, we all bravely sucked it down like it was the nectar of the gods, even though it tasted like a chemistry class gone sideways.

We'd hide behind the 7-Eleven with large Slurpee cups and guzzle it down. The goal was to be drunk in 15 minutes, because curfew was 11 p.m., and we had to make it an early night. We’d wander the streets of our neighborhood laughing too loud, or take shelter in a friend’s basement, grateful for their absent parents and a warm place to ride out the wave. We’d lie low long enough to sober up—at least partially—so we could stumble home without being obvious.

I'm grateful now that my stepfather was a deep sleeper. He rarely heard me come in, which is probably part of the reason I kept obeying the curfew. That, and the fact that he was mean. I didn’t dare break the rules—I just bent the truth around them. Honestly, his snoring was so loud it probably drowned out any creaky floorboards, doors, or even teenage guilt. I figured if I could slip past the chainsaw in the hallway, I was golden.

Looking back, it’s clear to me now: this was how I coped. The laughter, the sneaking around, the buzz that numbed my body just enough—all of it helped me manage the pain and trauma I carried in my young life. Drinking became the escape hatch no one knew I needed. It wasn’t about partying. It was about disappearing for a while.

And sometimes, those disappearances led me into danger I couldn’t see coming.

There’s a chapter in my memoir that recounts one such moment—an encounter that came frighteningly close to date rape, fueled by alcohol, vulnerability, and my desperate need to be seen. It’s hard to tell stories like that. But I believe we need to. Because too many of us have stories like that.

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Author’s Note:

Some of us grew up too fast. Some of us disappeared before anyone even knew we were hurting.

If this chapter of my story brings something up for you, please know you’re not alone. I explore these early years of coping and survival more fully in my memoir Reason to Sing – An Inspiring Journey Overcoming Trauma, Abuse, and Betrayal.

It’s okay to revisit the past—especially when it leads to healing.

👉 Available on Amazon and Audible (Click here)

Me and one of my best drinking companions!

Part 1 - Innocence and Secrets – Alcohol in My Childhood

My first sip of alcohol was likely from a stubby brown bottle of beer—either handed to me by my father to curb my curiosity, or taken in secret when no one was watching. In those early years, alcohol wasn’t exactly a fixture in our home, but it wasn’t entirely absent either. 

A keg of beer would appear when the branding crew wrapped up their weekend work on the cattle. My mother kept a bottle of Mogan David wine tucked away—deep purple and sweet—but I only recall it making an appearance once or twice. There was homemade chokecherry wine brewed in the basement at one point, though I don’t think anyone actually drank it. By the time it was ready, it had basically turned to vinegar. It wasn’t part of daily life—more like a forgotten experiment that quietly fizzled out. 

But there was something else—a silence that held more weight than the few drinks we ever saw. Years later, when we were moving from the homestead, my two older brothers found something tucked away in a storage loft only reachable by a ladder. Dozens of empty vodka bottles. An army of them. All hidden. All drained. All his. 

I only learned about that discovery after my father’s suicide—an event I am 100% certain was influenced, if not hastened, by alcohol. 

I also remember my father always carrying a little box of Sen-Sen—those weird little black licorice breath mints which later came in a red and gold foil pouch.  As a kid, I loved them just as much as he did. Now I realize it was probably his way of masking the faint but unmistakable vodka smell. Vodka doesn’t have a strong scent like some liquors; it’s more like rubbing alcohol with a twist. Those mints must have been a small comfort to him—a little sweet relief in the middle of something much harder. I loved those Sen-Sen myself, probably because they were tied up in that complicated mix of love, pain, and quiet desperation. 

Looking back, alcohol wasn’t a celebration for me; it was wrapped in curiosity, secrecy, and a big dollop of quiet grief. It was less about drinking and more about the invisible family stories we never talked about. And for my dad, it was a coping mechanism that eventually became too heavy to carry. 

Author’s Note:

This is where it began—not just my curiosity with alcohol, but my journey of uncovering family secrets and silent grief. If this part of my story speaks to something in you, I invite you to read more in my memoir, Reason to Sing – An Inspiring Journey Overcoming Trauma, Abuse, and Betrayal. It’s not about blame. It’s about breaking the silence. 👉 Available on Amazon and Audible –
Click here

That's me on the right

80 Things I Learned While Caring for My Aging Loved One

As I cared for my elderly mother-in-law over the course of several years, I kept a list.

At first it was practical — things I had to learn on the fly. But over time, it became something much deeper… a mirror reflecting who I was becoming. A more patient woman. A more present one. A more compassionate one.

I realized: healing doesn’t end when the pain is behind you. Healing continues — in how you show up for others.

If you’ve read my book Reason to Sing, you know that my story is about surviving trauma, heartbreak, and deep loss… and slowly finding my voice again. But caregiving became a continuation of that healing — a sacred journey that softened me, grounded me, and stretched me in ways I never expected.

Here are 80 things I learned while caring for my aging loved one. Some are practical. Some are emotional. Some might make you laugh. Some might make you cry. But all of them are true.

Compassion, Connection & Communication

1. Patience. Patience. Patience.

2. Slow down — rushing only confuses or overwhelms them.

3. Speak louder and slower — especially in noisy places.

4. Always notice the elderly around you in public — they're often invisible to others.

5. Alzheimer's doesn't erase humanity — only memory.

6. All aging people deserve our empathy and gentleness.

7. Sit close, make eye contact, speak clearly.

8. Learn to meet them where they are, not where you wish they were.

9. Use music, photos, and familiar things to spark connection.

10. They remember how you make them feel, even when they forget your name.

Everyday Practicalities of Senior Care

11. Choose smaller stores — the overstimulation of big ones is too much.

12. Meals and meds on time bring peace.

13. Managing their food, clothes, and comfort is a full-time job.

14. Organize quietly — tidying without asking feels less invasive.

15. Schedule appointments well in advance — transportation is half the battle.

16. Keep a binder or file of all health and medication info.

17. Know the names and numbers of their pharmacy and doctors.

18. Prepay for things like foot care and haircuts to keep them consistent.

19. Watch their hygiene — it's one of the first things to slip.

20. Introducing a walker or mobility aid? Expect resistance, but persist kindly.

Medical, Systems & Surprises

21. UTIs can cause extreme confusion — it’s not always dementia.

22. Incontinence is common — and often unspoken.

23. Artificial joints require antibiotics before dental visits.

24. Know your province’s Pharmacare or drug assistance programs.

25. Dehydration is rampant — most seniors avoid water.

26. Some seniors stop eating when they feel ignored.

27. There are doctors who specialize in geriatrics — find one.

28. Alzheimer’s symptoms can be amplified by medication side effects.

29. Family members may disagree about “what’s best” — get on the same page early.

30. Secure power of attorney, a will, and health directives before memory loss progresses.

Emotional Truths Caregivers Learn the Hard Way

31. You can feel love, resentment, guilt, and pride — all in one day.

32. Caregiver burnout is real — rest is essential, not optional.

33. It’s okay to grieve them before they’re gone.

34. Some days will break your heart.

35. Other days will surprise you with joy.

36. You’re not selfish for needing help.

37. You’re not a bad daughter/partner if you can’t do it all.

38. Some people will disappear from your life — others will step up beautifully.

39. You must forgive yourself for not being perfect.

40. Caring for someone doesn’t mean losing yourself.

Understanding Dementia & Aging

41. Arguing rarely works — just go along when you can.

42. They may repeat themselves — a hundred times. Let them.

43. Long-term memory often survives even when the short-term doesn’t.

44. Alzheimer’s patients sometimes believe you are the confused one.

45. They might say shocking things — filters fade.

46. They may lash out when they’re scared — not because they don’t love you.

47. They still want to have fun.

48. They’re still sexual beings — yes, really.

49. They gossip and form cliques, just like in high school!

50. They often think “everyone else is old” — not them.

Joyful Moments & Unexpected Gifts

51. They love old songs — they remember every lyric.

52. A photo album can brighten a whole day.

53. Music unites people when words fail.

54. Parties and celebrations still matter — don’t skip birthdays.

55. They love being included, even just in the conversation.

56. They can still be silly, flirty, and hilarious.

57. Spiritual connection is deeply meaningful, even in late stages.

58. The right audiobook or movie can open a whole window.

59. They don’t want to be babied — they want to be honoured.

60. They may have dementia, but they are not stupid.

Systems, Residences & Financial Realities

61. Tour multiple residences — they’re not all equal.

62. Ask about hidden costs — foot care, cable, meds, etc.

63. Moving across provinces is stressful for a senior — plan thoroughly.

64. Social programs vary by region — find what’s local.

65. Many seniors feel they’ve “lost everything” when they leave their home.

66. Downsizing belongings can feel like erasing their identity — go slowly.

67. Don’t assume they want to be in a facility — talk it through.

68. Ask for help with transportation, government forms, and home care applications.

Connection, Legacy & Letting Go

69. They long to share their stories — be a good listener.

70. Their wisdom is hard-earned — honour it.

71. They still want to feel useful.

72. A grandchild’s visit can change everything.

73. They remember what love feels like — always.

74. They want to pass something on — a recipe, a tradition, a blessing.

75. If they ask about a lost loved one, they may be grieving them again for the first time.

76. Even in decline, there are glimmers of beauty and clarity.

77. It is an honour to care for someone in this season of life.

78. You are modeling to your children how love behaves.

79. This experience will change you — in painful and beautiful ways.

80. In the end, all they really want… is to be loved.

If you’re walking this road right now, may you feel seen, strengthened, and a little less alone. There is beauty even here. You are not alone.

                                                       Miss Kitty, as I fondly called her.