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Canada, My Canada

Although I had not yet finished the work that needed to be done on the new album, I returned to Florida in December of 2012 to escape the Canadian winter. While getting settled in Palm Beach the previous year, I had been introduced by my film producer friend, Gene Mascardelli, to a smart and charming woman who ran estates, including those of Mariah Carey and Rush Limbaugh, and who was occasionally a private chef for celebrities, including Sean Connery. She helped organize my furniture and clothes, unpacked all my boxes, painted my house, and even stood in for me by completing an online driving course I had been required to take after inadvertently running a red light! The woman had been tremendously valuable in myriad ways, and before long we were chatting away as though we had known each other for years.

My sister and mother came down for the holidays, and we spent a happy Christmas day at my new friend’s Palm Beach Lakes home with her elderly mother and three orange cats. She had prepared a feast for us and regaled us with colourful stories, including one about her grandmother, who had survived the Titanic disaster. My mother was impressed, yet she later commented, “Liona, she is too perfect to be real.”

How could I have known that I was to be duped into lending money, supposedly to prevent their home eviction, to someone I had treated as a friend? I eventually recognized all the red flags, and my neighbours reported that she’d had associates of hers staying overnight in my house while I was away. The friendship came to a sad end, and I realized that many of the stories she had told me had been fabricated, including that of the Titanic. I, who had trusted her with the keys to my house, felt deceived and used, and this time there would be no clever astrological inventions to recover my considerable losses. Her deception hurt me much more profoundly than the loss of the money. Mother’s instincts, as usual, had been correct. Trying to be generous to someone I naively trusted had once again come back to bite me.

Fortunately, I am quite sociable, and I soon recovered from the awful sense of betrayal I had felt in the pit of my stomach. I was introduced to Skira, a classy and lively lady a decade my senior, who became a loyal and true friend. She had heartbreaking stories to tell about her family’s harrowing escape during the Second World War. The daughter of a Lithuanian baron and baroness, Skira never flaunted her title, even though I had sometimes heard her called “the baroness on the bicycle” in reference to her daily pedalling to the supermarket. Together we attended many cultural events, and I was introduced to the theatre guild, the society doyennes, the local characters and the political movers and shakers.

Another friend, Olivia Newton-John, was building a house in Jupiter Inlet with her new husband, John Easterling, and I watched the place develop from the basic framework into a beautiful yellow house. When I stayed with them a couple of times, Olivia and I shared our latest music, sang some folk songs together, waxed nostalgic about our former lives in California, and went clothes shopping at the local mall. Her happy life would be literally shaken to its foundations, however, when a year later, for reasons unknown her, her contractor blew himself to pieces in her living room, causing much grief for my heartbroken friends.

I too had a bad surprise when I learned that Edgar Kaiser Jr., the billionaire tycoon who had met me in Brasilia in 1977 and pursued me for a while with private jets and jewellery, had bled to death alone in a hotel room in Toronto after bladder surgery. What a tragic end to my songwriter friend, whose lovely gift of a hand-carved cherrywood music stand remains my most treasured possession. Sadly the beautiful love song he once wrote for me and sang accompanied by his guitar must have vanished when he passed away.

I occasionally participated in the glamorous social world that defines Palm Beach. For fun I attended a couple of dinners at the snooty Everglades Club, and a few society balls and concerts at Donald Trump’s magnificent palace, Mar-a-Lago, that had been built in the twenties by heiress and socialite Marjorie Merriweather Post. At the American Cancer Society ball, I ran into David Foster, Rod Stewart, and Rod’s strikingly tall wife, Penny, with whom I danced a couple of numbers. Somehow at Mar-a-Lago I always ended up chatting with “The Donald,” but back then I never would have guessed that a few years later he would somehow get himself elected U.S. president!

I had quite a busy social schedule, but a couple of friends, thinking that I might be lonely living alone, arranged dinner dates with two eligible Palm Beach bachelors. Both asked to see me again but, as the saying goes, “no cigar.” I had more fun taking myself off to performances and lectures at the Kravis Center or Society of the Four Arts, an active cultural centre located a five-minute stroll from my house.

I decided to trade in my gold Lexus for an efficient Kia Rio that fit more comfortably into my garage, and it became the perfect vehicle for errands and local forays across the bridge. I named my little black car “Tamarindo,” after a street in West Palm, and became quite attached to it, feeling no envy toward the matrons and tycoons manipulating their gas-guzzling Cadillacs, Lincoln Continentals, and Rolls-Royces around town.

In the early mornings I often biked along the marina, and in the late evenings I walked alone down to the ocean, passing through the romantic little vias off Worth Avenue that had been designed by architect Addison Mizner in the early 1900s to imitate the courtyards and walkways of Venice, Italy. Even the sounds of their names were enchanting to me: Via Amore, Via Parigi, Via Flora.

Frequently when I was out walking, ideas for songs would come floating into my head. One afternoon I returned from a marina stroll with the waltz-time song “Little Towns” in my head. The song expresses gratitude to all the small towns I have performed in over the course of my career. If it were not for all those towns, and the wonderful people who had given me such memories and bought my recordings over the years, I never would have been able to afford the luxury of a house in Palm Beach. I excitedly recorded a demo of “Little Towns” in Garage Band, a free music program on my Mac.

I felt sure that Canada’s iconic storyteller Stuart McLean would play this song on his national radio show, The Vinyl Cafe on the CBC, but a few years later he and his producer ignored my entire album, in spite of my going to meet them, twice sending them CDs, and having a friendly email exchange encouraging them to introduce my Canada-inspired songs to Stuart’s fans across the country. I know that all those tens of thousands of people who drove so many snowy miles to hear me in the small towns of Canada and America would have truly appreciated this particular song that, with love and gratitude, was dedicated to them. Even though Evanov stations, like Jewel, and Moses Znaimer’s radio stations often play me, it hurt me that time after time our national station, CBC, has ignored rather than welcomed my Canadian content.

In the U.S. my videos are still frequently broadcast on the Classic Arts Showcase, and the New York–based National Guitar Museum, which is dedicated to preserving and promoting the legacy of the guitar, requested a guitar as well as some of my concert memorabilia for their exhibits. I was delighted to hear that they chose my performance of Tárrega’s “Gran Jota de Concierto” as the very first thing visitors get to see on display upon entering the museum. All types of guitars and genres of music — from rock to jazz and world music to classical — are represented in the museum, and I was pleased that they asked me to join their Board of Advisers.

Perhaps artists are taken for granted in their homeland and respected more if they leave, but I had decided to come back to Canada, and I do not regret it.

• • •

Once again, during my Palm Beach winter of 2012, Peter and I were enjoying working long distance as we had when I lived in Connecticut. We realized that a few years earlier our complex musical projects would never have been possible, as they now depended heavily upon the internet and our ability to easily exchange large music files. Thanks to technology, we were able to collaborate in arranging and producing music even though we were separated by thousands of miles.

Another song that came to me in an inspired moment was “Song of the Arctic.” It describes the melting of the ice and the tragic consequences for the environment and animal life. Determined to add a phrase in the Inuktitut language, I made several calls to towns in the Canadian Arctic and finally located an Inuit woman, Jesse Lyall, in Campbell Bay, Nunavut, who was willing to help me. She offered me the phrase I had sought and taught me how to pronounce it.

When I explained that I was calling from Florida, she was speechless. “It’s forty-two degrees below zero here,” she told me. Wow, and I was sitting in shorts in the shade of my patio looking at palm trees!

We exchanged photos, and to my delight she emailed me the quintessential image of an Arctic woman peeking out from the biggest furry parka I had ever seen. Apparently, it was sewn together using furs of muskrat, fox, and wolverine, and lined with silk. My Inuit gal was picture perfect!

The phrase she taught me,“Nunami ingumaktut,” expresses profound sadness for the lands of the Arctic people. To match her expressive words I chose an unexpected harmonic shift followed by a series of minor chords to create a sombre mood. I had faith that Peter would create a haunting orchestration to enhance this section, which began “Arctic silence, Arctic white, Arctic stillness, Arctic night” — simple words, but with the ominous spaces between the notes that Peter added, you could almost feel the Arctic landscape I was trying to depict.

When my pen pal Prince Philip eventually heard an early version of this song, he wrote me a letter telling me, “The only significant threat to the future of the earth is the human population.” He believes the melting of the polar ice caps is the result of the earth’s natural cycles, and is not caused by man, as I had implied in the song. I tend to disagree, as would, I believe, his son Prince Charles, but I was not about to argue with the most special of all princes, who had always been so supportive of my music.

A year later, when I heard his friend Lord Monckton give a lecture at Moses Znaimer’s Idea City that attempted to debunk the concept of man’s role in climate change, I presumed to understand why Prince Philip took this stance. But one only has to look at the scientific facts and graphic images from space to see why I still believe that the two of them are profoundly misguided.

• • •

My next idea was to create a special piece dedicated to Quebec, where I had performed many concerts and where I had always found the people particularly responsive to my music. I remembered some of the rhythmic spoon playing I had heard from the rural lumberjacks at the country estate of Paul Desmarais and sat down one afternoon to capture the sound using the guitar “tambora” effect. I hoped my original music “À Mes Beaux Souvenirs” evoked the special spirit I had felt while in La Belle Province.

I decided to weave into it some nostalgic threads with the addition of two well-known children’s chansons, and I was delighted when the Toronto French School choir agreed to let Peter and me come and record them. Toward the end we auditioned some of the adorable little girls and chose one to sing the short solo fade out of “Au claire de la lune.”

The result was, I thought, a fitting tribute to a wonderful part of Canada. Although some Westerners might prefer it if Quebec were to leave Canada, since for decades some elements there have given the rest of Canada headaches with their séparatiste convictions, I believe that Quebec has enriched our country in immeasurable ways.

I have so many memories of the province — as a child emigrating to Canada I made a crayon drawing of the quaint rural towns I saw along the banks of the St. Lawrence River, a drawing that won me first prize in the ship’s art competition. I also remember the province’s great cities — Montreal and Quebec — and also its smaller ones, such as Sherbrooke and Trois Rivières, the place that helped launch my career when I took first prize for guitar in the Canadian Music Competition. I can recall those dusty little music study huts scattered in the woods at Jeunesses Musicales where I first studied with Maestro Alexandre Lagoya, the hum of fierce mosquitos, the beautiful countryside, and of course the summer lakes and trails through the Gatineau woods where Pierre Trudeau and I had sometimes romped with his three young sons and other times frolicked naked like carefree nymphs and satyrs.

With all of these happy memories in mind, I was anxious to record my musical tribute to Quebec. So I was particularly excited when, through a connection made thanks to my friend Naomi, Quebec heartthrob, Daniel Lavoie, agreed to sing a short melody for this new piece of mine. He also agreed to accompany me on the choruses of an autobiographical song I had written about Canada drawing me back home again after living so many years away. I gingerly asked if he might also consider contributing some spoken words in French at the end. Daniel has a most seductive voice, which conjured memories of my special boyfriend who ran Canada for almost two decades. Aware of my delight in languages, Pierre used to whisper sweet nothings en français during our intimate times together. I wasn’t sure Daniel would agree to speak the words, but thankfully he did and I think that even if a listener cannot understand one word of French, the message is clear. What a nerve I had! I more or less wrote myself a love letter from my store box of memories, and then asked the gorgeous singer and composer of “Ils s’aiment,” one of the hit songs of Quebec in the seventies, to record it for me!

I am pretty sure that my four French lovers — Alexandre Lagoya, Claude Emanuelli, Yves Chatelain, and Pierre Trudeau — must have listened to Daniel’s voice back then. But all have vanished from my life, two even from this earth. One had read me Le Petit Prince by candlelight, one had sung me Charles Trenet’s “La mer” while driving me in his “Deux Chevaux” through Provence, one had recited the poetry of Teilhard de Chardin and Baudelaire, and that first rogue had seduced me into losing my virginity at twenty-two by recounting his guitar career adventures in accented French tinged with Egyptian and Greek. Being the romantic that I am, I’m not sure which language I love more, Spanish or French, but to me there is nothing more seductive than one of those languages whispered sotto voce, and although I have never experienced it, in spite of seven trips to Venice, I’m pretty sure that for me Italian would be just as enticing, given the right setting!

Alors, merci, Daniel, for adding your singing and spoken voice to my two songs, and for making women swoon when you sing your French love songs that all of us can now see in videos thanks to the internet.

• • •

Another distinct region of Canada for which I have always had a strong nostalgic connection, even though I have never lived there, is the Maritimes and Newfoundland. From hiking the Cabot Trail to touring the provinces and staying in quaint bed and breakfasts in Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, and New Brunswick, to playing in fishing villages such as Grand Bank and even visiting the French island colonies of Saint Pierre and Miquelon, I have a special cache of memories associated with this beautiful part of Canada. For my tribute, I wrote an intro using a folky guitar pattern followed by a Celtic-flavoured original theme that led into a three-verse, spoken poetic section, beginning, “Barnacled boats rocking side by side, kissed by the mists and the briny tide, show me the way to return once more to that wind swept Maritime shore.” I called it “Maritimes Remembered,” and knew I would love performing this piece live in concert.

• • •

In addition to the music I was composing for my Canadiana album, I wrote a catchy chorus to a song my friend Lili Fournier had suggested be called “We Are the Women of the World.” I had never co-written a song before, but I decided to ask Joanne Perica if she would like to contribute since we had often talked about collaborating. Joanne came up with a lovely verse melody and the lyrics to verse one; I wrote the words for verse two and for a bridge melody she composed. Lili was delighted with the resulting song, an anthem for women’s rights that I hope will one day be used to inspire women around the world.

• • •

In March of 2012, after a couple of much-appreciated months back in sunny Palm Beach, Michael and I headed west for a concert tour of Alberta and British Columbia. It was a particular thrill for me when the legendary country singer Ian Tyson came to sit amid the audience in Turner Valley. I fondly remembered the songs he had recorded with his lovely wife, Sylvia, when they were a duo and famous for such country-folk classics as “Four Strong Winds.”

Michael and I continued our tour, playing a handful of dates in British Columbia, and on the return flight home I composed a song in waltz time called “Living My Life Alone.” It became one of our favourites and, as with my “Waltz Nostalgique,” listeners can probably detect the influence of Leonard Cohen’s “Take This Waltz” in the orchestration.

When my label first heard my lyrics, they were surprised that I had chosen to write so revealingly about my life, but I believe that as a songwriter honesty always produces the best lyrics.

When singing this song live, I often dedicate it to all the single people in the audience. After all, so many of us never expect to be living alone … not me, not my mother, nor my many divorced or widowed girlfriends, nor the single men I know who have also experienced deaths, separations, and losses as the years creep on.

So who would have thought that by this time

I’d still have no place to call home

Who would have thought that by this time

I’d be living my life alone

After all the romances and courtships and dances

I’d still have no love of my own

No it’s not what it seemed, not the way I had dreamed

To be living my life alone

• • •

Finding the right partner presents a challenge at any age. My feeling is that often a partner works well for a certain chapter in one’s life, but not for another. Of course, those who find their soulmates early on and are able to maintain love through all the family years until their senior days … well, in some ways they are indeed fortunate. But on the other hand, they might look with envy upon a life such as mine, with its change and variety, and its lack of responsibility. For somebody such as myself, who has had such an intense career and many men who have loved me over the years, it has not been easy to find a partner who did not eventually become resentful of my career. I think that it is much less challenging for a male performer to find a supportive wife than it is for a successful woman to find a supportive husband.

I look at Sarah Brightman, Joan Baez, Carly Simon, and so many other female artists who have entered their sixties alone. In a life dominated by a career, it is not always that simple to find that last great love — unless you happen to be Barbra Streisand, who somehow seems to have defied the odds! Although I have been without a loving husband, I did have a wonderful musical soul mate in Peter Bond and a guitar partner in Michael Savona, who each made recording and touring so enjoyable.

More concerts in Canada were booked and promoted by my sister’s good friend and former partner, Jimmy Prevost, whom we consider to be part of our extended Boyd family. Playing once again in the familiar Ontario towns made me feel as if I were in a time warp; although, of course, the different nature of the concerts that I was now giving made everything seem fresh. Happily, our new repertoire of songs seemed to strike a chord with my audiences, many of whom I’m sure were surprised to see me singing as well as playing my guitar. I invited Michael to contribute a couple of solos, and we added my spoken poem “Oh Guitar” while he accompanied me with Albeniz’s “Zambra Granadina.”

In June of 2012, through my friend Shaun Pilot, Michael and I were booked a concert in Anaheim, California, which provided me a great excuse to visit my former home again, have drinks with Jack and Maggy, see my beloved cat, Muffin, and catch up with several of my L.A. girlfriends. We stayed a couple of nights at the art-filled Hollywood home of my generous actress friend Mara New, where her husband serenaded us with Beethoven and Schumann on his grand piano, and then took us to hear a recital by a Russian virtuoso pianist he had discovered.

I did a test run of “We Are the Women of the World” while we were out in California and accompanied the colourful Agape church choir on my guitar. Rickie, the wife of charismatic New Age minister Dr. Michael Beckwith, was the soloist. What a thrill to hear everyone singing the words and melodies that Joanne and I had written two years previously.

That same month I flew down to Palm Beach to record with my girlfriend Olivia Newton-John, who had offered to sing harmony with me on “Canadian Summer Dreams.” This song would never have been written had not my sister, Vivien, expressed concern that so much of my new Canadian repertoire seemed to have been inspired by images of winter … from “Song of the Arctic” to “Aurora Borealis” to “Little Towns.”

“How about a summery cottage song to balance it out?” she had suggested.

I instantly visualized barbecues, marshmallows, biting bugs, and highway traffic jams. I shook my head, but within a few days “Canadian Summer Dreams” was born, a four-verse poetic song that I think captures the unique beauty of our Canadian summer cottage experiences.

…. With family and friends we loved it all

Listening to the loons and the wild geese call

The beaver dam, the pond, the waterfall

In those sun-kissed summer days we had it all

When I played it to Olivia, she told me she heard right away where her vocals would fit, and I was thrilled to pieces that her lovely voice would be immortalized in my song.

I had flown Peter down with me to record her and booked Echo Beach Studios in Jupiter so that it would be convenient. Before the recording session Olivia invited us both over to her house, where she made us one of her famous “cuppas” — strong British tea with milk and delicious Manuka honey. Waiting for the tea to brew, the two of us started singing the song together in her kitchen as Peter looked on smiling. How lucky I was to have such a talented girlfriend! Olivia only needed one or two takes for each section where she joined me in harmony, and when she decided to add improvised vamps to the end of the song, Peter and I had goosebumps listening to her sing it live in the studio. Her vocals were perfection!

• • •

Michael and I made a brief appearance at Idea City, Moses Znaimer’s stimulating week of intellectual lectures, concerts, and parties that he had modelled after the American TED Talks, and in July we played a most enjoyable concert in my old Toronto neighbourhood of the 80s at the Beaches Jazz festival while people sat picnicking on blankets. In August I was invited to perform as part of the 1812 celebrations in Fort Henry in Kingston, Ontario, where Michael and I played as guest soloists with the Kingston Symphony, something I had not done in years! This time it was not Rodrigo or Vivaldi, but four selections from my album, The Return … To Canada with Love that Mark Lalama had orchestrated for two guitars and voice.

• • •

The Lieutenant-Governor of Ontario, David Onley, invited me to perform a song and presented me with the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee Medal at Roy Thomson Hall, a lovely surprise and a moving ceremony, complete with bagpipes, a military band, and Aboriginal dancers. I had asked my mother to accompany me, and she enjoyed meeting many of the dignitaries in attendance, including Canada’s Governor General, David Johnston, who personally pinned the medal on my dress. Six months later, in February of 2013, I was flown up from Florida, as I, along with several well-known Canadians, had been invited back to the same venue, but this time to present the medals. My Palm Beach friends chuckled upon learning that I had hit the worst storm of the year in Toronto and that my return would be delayed.

“Remember to stay down here next February!” they reprimanded.

The benefits of a winter in Florida were reinforced for me by Prince Philip. He wrote me a letter saying that he envied my being in Palm Beach as Britain was suffering a miserable February, due to persistent icy winds from Scandinavia and Russia. Yes, I was indeed lucky to have my balmy Florida retreat to escape to.

• • •

It was now time to resume work on my Canadiana album. Many songs were complete, and I needed to see if various singers would be willing to add a line or two to my anthemic number, “Canada, My Canada.”

I had first thought to offer the opening line to Canada’s internationally renowned singer-songwriter Gordon Lightfoot. I felt that, as it was Gordon who had first encouraged me to write my own music and who had taken me on tour all those years ago, it was only fitting for me to honour him in this way. After all, I only needed him to sing eleven words.

I suggested that I could come with Peter anytime, anywhere, and pay for a studio of his choice if he preferred. I gently asked him on three different occasions, and every time he turned me down, the last time sounding a tad irritated. It was obvious that I had caught him at a bad time and was becoming a nuisance, so I apologized and decided to sing the first line myself. I imagine Gordon feared it might trigger additional requests from singers who would all love to do a duo with our Canadian legend.

Yet how many people, apart from his band, had done a hundred concerts with him, I pondered? There was only me, and by the end of all those shows I could recite the lyrics to almost all his songs. I shall always adore Gordon for his unique talent and for the kindness he showed to me in the seventies, so I forgave him, but I couldn’t help feel disappointed, as even singing just one short line together would have been the perfect way to complete a lifetime friendship. If I could peer then into the future, I would see what an amazing man was to eventually sing that first line with me, and also how thrilled dear Gordon would be when he heard a tribute song to him that I wrote and recorded in 2016, simply called “Lightfoot.”

While chatting with Moses at last year’s Idea City about the patriotic song I had written, I sought his advice. He suggested I speak to Jann Arden, one of Canada’s gutsiest, most humorous, and well-loved singers, who had also been a guest at the conference.

Jann had apparently enjoyed my performance, and after I told her about the song I had written for Canada, she listened to my demo and agreed to lend her voice to the chorus and the line Peter and I had chosen from one of the verses: “from far and wide we fought, we cried, we came and made a choice.” Jann kindly suggested a local Calgary studio, which I booked, and the engineer sent us her recorded tracks.

My good friend Dan Hill also agreed to contribute to the song. Hot and sweaty from cycling the Lake Ontario bike trails over to Zolis Audio, Dan, who in 1977 had penned the lyrics to the monster hit “Sometimes When We Touch,” sang the choruses to “Thank You for Bringing Me Home” as well as the second line on “Canada, My Canada”: “the mighty forests add their voice with mystic majesty.”

Little Maria Aragon, the youngster Lady Gaga discovered through her YouTube videos, was in town for a fundraiser and contributed her sweet voice as together we sang, “Let’s sing as one and harmonize our many different themes,” and Divine Brown’s powerful soul-style vocals belted out “and build the greatest nation for our children and our dreams.”

Randy Bachman, the singer and guitar player of BTO and the Guess Who fame, agreed to sing, “Our people are a symphony, a multicultured voice,” and Mark Masri, known for his mellifluous vocals, harmonized beneath Randy and contributed a line to the bridge section. Ron MacLean of CBC’s Hockey Night in Canada, whom I had met in the first-class lounge along with his sidekick, Don Cherry, came bounding into the studio, full of energy, with his line, “From the rocky Western shore, to the coast of Labrador,” well-rehearsed and the chorus memorized. Ron even brought along two bottles of wine that he autographed with a silver pen for Peter and me.

How very thoughtful of him, I mused, as so many artists tend to take the producer or engineer for granted.

Richard Margison, Canada’s leading operatic tenor, later harmonized with Ron and added his own powerful voice to the last line of the bridge and the final chorus. Eleanor McCain’s crystal-clear soprano blended beautifully with mine in the choruses, and with John McDermott’s, as together they sang, “From the cities to the mines, to the misty Maritimes.”

Robert Pilon, who was famous for his roles in Les Misérables and Phantom of the Opera, contributed his special vocal colour to mine as he sang, “I hear the rhythm in the wings of wild geese as they fly.”

At Peter Soumalias’s Walk of Fame dinner I was able to corral a large group of retired hockey players from Team Canada of 1972, the heroes who had beaten the Russians and made Canada erupt with joy. “Tears Are Not Enough” had featured a hockey team, and it seemed a smart move to add some legendary players from the ’72 Summit Series to my own song. The good-natured fellows stood in a semicircle while I held up my lyrics, written largely on cardboard, and Peter, assisted by Jim Zolis, recorded the blend of their mostly untrained voices line by line to add to the last chorus.

A few months later Michael and I performed at the Hockey Alumni dinner in Toronto, and I sat beside Ron MacLean, who appeared to be idolized by all in attendance, including many famous players.

Serena Ryder, a very popular singer-songwriter and bouncy pigtailed brunette, generously came in with her manager, Sandy, and added her sonorous voice to “and music in the rocky mountains reaching for the sky.” I invited francophone Michel Bérubé, whom I had heard live in concert, to sing, “From the coves of Come By Chance to Quebec, la belle province,” and he and Divine were able to add some subtle, improvised “vamps,” which intensified the emotion at the end of the song.

The exceptional Etobicoke School of the Arts choir, directed by Trish Warnock, sang their hearts out for me in the choruses. They were a most fitting choice of choir, I thought, since Etobicoke had played such a significant role in my life. I chose three talented string players who had won the Canadian Music Competition to record the instrumental bridge — Alyssa Delbaere-Sawchuk played the viola solo, Emma Meinrenken the violin solo, and Danton Delbaere-Sawchuk the cello part.

• • •

Peter originally travelled to St. Catharines to work with Mark Lalama on the orchestral parts. Ron Korb had added his flute, and now with all the voices singing along with mine, and my classical guitar of course, we had a proudly patriotic song that I hoped school kids and choirs would learn for years to come.

Productions like “Canada, My Canada” never happen overnight, but I was glad that we had made the extra effort. I had even been lent the famous Six String Nation steel guitar, “Voyageur,” to add some zing to the opening riffs and choruses. The story of how this guitar was created from pieces of Canadiana — wood from Pierre Trudeau’s canoe paddle, from the deck of the Bluenose, and from Wayne Gretzky’s hockey stick, a moose antler used in a native ceremony up in Heron Bay on Lake Superior, bits of muskox, whale, and walrus, copper from roof of the Library of Parliament — is itself an epic tale, and there is a book about it, thanks to the passion of its creator, Jowi Taylor.

A year later, when “Canada, My Canada” was all but finished, I started to obsess about adding another voice to support my own in the opening line. Which singer had the right type of voice and attitude?

Nobody seemed right, apart from Lightfoot, but I suddenly realized that there was one perfect person I hadn’t yet considered: Chris Hadfield, the astronaut, a true Canadian hero, and a fine singer and guitarist. Chris had walked in space and excited millions of young people about the universe through his poetic tweets from the International Space Station, where he lived for almost six months. Chris had insisted upon taking his guitar with him into space and singing David Bowie’s “Space Oddity” live from the station.

Chris is an amazing scientist and pioneer, a man of whom we Canadians should feel very proud. It was only later upon reading his autobiography that I realized how much he and his wife and family had actually sacrificed for his career, and how challenging and nerve-wracking it had all been at times.

I sent a letter off to the Canadian Space Centre, not really expecting to hear back, but a few weeks later I received a “Hi Liona, this is Chris” telephone call. To my delight, he was familiar with my music, and in spite of his exhausting bookings he generously agreed to join me on the opening line as well as singing the last line of verse two. Juggling all our crazy schedules, Peter and I were able to record him in a studio in Sarnia using Skype. I discovered that Chris is not only a true hero, but also a real sweetheart!

How had I ever pulled off such a coup to have all these renowned singers contribute to my song, and gratis, too? I felt immensely honoured that they had all chosen to join me. Peter and I hugged each other when we heard the final blend of voices blasting from the big speakers at Zolis. We had somehow manifested my dream patriotic song. I felt proud that without any manager, grants, or loans, I had been able to create a patriotic song that I hoped Canadians could be proud of.

• • •

The fact that to this day I have not heard “Canada, My Canada” played once on the CBC, our national radio station, saddens me to no end, particularly because Universal had assured me that the station would be all over it the minute the song was sent to them. Does it make me cynical and disappointed? Yes, indeed, it does, and it makes me feel let down by the audience I hoped would celebrate such a song and the huge effort I personally invested to make it happen. Could it be that the intentional folky style, featuring my guitar, is no longer be hip enough for Canadian radio? Gordon Lightfoot, who no doubt influenced me when I wrote this song, told me he loved the whole The Return … to Canada with Love album. I hope he noticed how part of my chorus melody pays tribute to his own immortal “Canadian Railroad Trilogy.”

Despite my disappointment that radio stations appear to have practically ignored “Canada, My Canada,” I am extremely grateful to all the wonderful singers who contributed to it, and I hope that one day this song, my gift to my country, will not be forgotten. I am grateful to the thousands of people who have bought and downloaded the album, and who have enjoyed my performances, but I wonder if they have ever called a radio station to request it be played. I think we Canadians have a much more apathetic attitude than Americans, who love to celebrate their country. Stompin’ Tom, a much loved and authentic Canadian country performer, was so right to reprimand us all, as he believed fervently that Canada should sing her own praises and not feel apologetic about expressing our own brand of patriotism. He had even gone so far as to ship back his six Juno Awards as a protest against their habit of favouring American artists over Canadians, and often paying them ten times what they offered homegrown performers. I only learned too late that Tom was unwell, and I regret that I did not take time to track down the passionate Canadian who had given me my start in the recording business.

• • •

As December of 2013 rolled around, I once again returned to my tropical paradise of Palm Beach, and for the second time my sister and mother came to spend Christmas with me after a Caribbean cruise they had enjoyed together.

How many more Christmases would we be able to share? I wondered. Remembering the two that I had spent alone, I composed a wistful Enya-like song in waltz time, titled “Alone on Christmas Day,” and promptly recorded a demo to email Peter. Unfortunately, far too many people do spend Christmas Day alone and often not by choice, as had been my case. This particular song I dedicated to them.

The muse also inspired me to write a folky style song called “People Who Care for the Animals,” referencing several of my heroes who have championed animal welfare: Tippi Hedren, whom I had met years earlier at her Californian animal sanctuary, Shambala; Madeleine Pickens, who rescued thousands of wild mustangs; and Wayne Pacelle, who runs the Humane Society of the United States. If only we humans could be more compassionate to the needs of other species that we share the planet with. I have always believed that we should not exploit and abuse them the way we do for our own ends. I have such great respect and admiration for the tens of thousands of courageous people around the world who are tirelessly fighting to save and protect animals, educating and enlightening humanity and changing laws. It is an overwhelming and often thankless task, and this song is dedicated to all of them.

I refined and edited the long poem I had written called “The Cat Who Played Guitar,” and hoped I could one day find the right children’s book publisher to bring the story to life. Back in Los Angeles I had spent days producing an unbelievably realistic cover image of Muffin sitting on a tiny Mexican chair holding in his paws a miniature guitar from Sevilla. In the photo my very cooperative kitty is wearing the diamond-buttoned black velvet tuxedo that my dress designer, Gilles Savard, had created for him. Jack and Maggy were thrilled that I planned to immortalize the beautiful feline we had all loved so much. Just short of his twentieth birthday our poor Muffin was put to sleep as his lungs had finally given out. He was the most precious animal I had ever known, and Maggy told me that Jack was inconsolable.

Another song that came to me in a moment of inspiration was “I Should Have Met You Many Years Ago.” When she heard the narrative of my country-style lyrics, my mother excitedly asked me whom I had met, but I had to shake my head and explain that it was drawn purely from my imagination. As usual Peter and I were exchanging demos every few days and continuing to enjoy our creative musical collaborations. I had no idea if these pieces would end up on a future album, but when the ideas flowed, I had to immediately seize them and transform them into songs. I absolutely loved the writing process: coming up with the perfect lyrics to fit my melody, or vice-versa, and then creating interesting guitar sections, which usually felt as though they were composing themselves and just needed to be scribbled out in my messy notation.

My next song writing inspiration resulted in a Leonard Cohen–style ballad whose chorus line I had spotted on the Church of the Redeemer billboard at Bloor and Avenue Road in Toronto. “There is no remedy for love but to love more” had struck me as a rather profound statement, but even better as a great chorus to a future song! Little did I realize that it would also provide me with the title for my second autobiography. Discovering that it was a famous quote by philosopher Henry David Thoreau made the phrase even more intriguing. Finally, in the quiet of my little house, I had time to let the lyrics and music flow. Although this song does not express my own philosophy or my personal experiences with love, I imagine that people who have been stung much more than I have by Cupid’s arrows might identify with the cynical personification of love as a manipulating temptress.

On one of my peaceful Palm Beach evenings, the muse gifted me with “Nothing’s as Cruel as Time,” a piece that many women “of a certain age” will relate to, and that I jokingly referred to as “my cougar song.” But, although the song is semi-autobiographical, no young man has yet “claimed what remained of my heart.”

And finally that season, after reading so much about the tragic consequences of global warming, I composed “A Prayer for Planet Earth,” which I consider to be the sister song to my earlier “Song for the Arctic.” I hope that some of the many organizations trying to bring awareness about the plight of our earth might be able to use it in a way and that it might help educate us about what irreversible devastation we humans are causing to our precious planet. Some perceptive listeners familiar with Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” might catch Peter’s subtle nod to this masterpiece in the orchestration he created for the bridge section of my song.