When I Was 18

My father's job wrenched me from the stifling boredom of suburban Ottawa and introduced me to international travel: boarding passports, currency exchanges, time zones. En route to Saudi Arabia we stopped in London, where we visited Buckingham Palace, watched the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, shopped at Selfriges, and saw Jesus Christ Superstar in the West End. On our way to the desert we stopped in Switzerland, took the train, and a funiculaire to the little village where Andy and I would be attending boarding school that fall.

When I was 18 we travelled from Riyadh to a camp in the middle of the Saudi Arabian desert. I had a summer job calculating cut and fill over sand dunes for the road my father was helping to build. The rest of the year I attended an international boarding school where I skied the Swiss Alps on gym days, shared girl-talk with my Japanese room-mate, and taught my school-mates to do "the hustle". I vacationed with my family in Greece; we cruised the Adriatic and my father tried (unsuccessfully) to teach me to fox trot.

When I was 18 I fell truly, madly, deeply in love - at least four times.

I can't remember how I felt at the time - whether I would have said I was "happy" - but it was an impressive year.

Enjoyed the Super Bowl half-time show, by-the-way. Loved the gold pom poms.