Rena Godfrey

It’s the first snowstorm of the season, but the weather doesn’t seem to stop 150 people from coming out to cheer on their friends and family at Toronto’s legendary Silver Dollar Room. Music by the Eagles, Peter Frampton and Bob Seger roars through the crowd. The vibe is electric, the musicians are playing their hearts out, and clearly this isn’t any ordinary gig. The musicians are actually regular folk – marketing executives, lawyers, scientists, architects and bankers – enrolled in a10 week course with The League of Rock (LOR), an adult rock music program. Participants have been gearing up and rehearsing for this big night- the final showcase- since they first joined.

Founded and conceived in 2006, by entrepreneur, Terry Moshenberg, the LOR has catered to over 650 participants who play an instrument or sing, and offers members a place in a band, a series of workshops and music coaching. Moshenberg started the LOR because he felt that adults, in general, often overlook their own passions and creativity. “ We, as parents, foster our kids’ interests, by signing them up for hockey, ballet, or soccer, and tend to put our needs in a box. Everyone deserves the ability to continually explore and enrich their lives ”, Moshenberg explains. In addition to the Toronto location, LOR has chapters in Montreal, Ottawa, Vancouver, New York and Chicago. The LOR provides the microphones, drums kits and PA systems at all locations, and members also get to record their very own CD in a professional recording studio.

Somewhere in the Israeli Negev Desert, it’s 2 a.m. and I am cocooned in a damp quick-dry towel, desperately trying to fall asleep in my jeep, despite the howling sound of animals nearby.

I feel like howling, too. I’m at my wit’s end after listening to my teammate snore like a freight train for hours, in the confines of our tent. I’m shivering. My stomach is in knots as if it’s my first day of junior high school. The other women on the trip are already bonding and having fun, little cliques are starting to surface. I feel left out despite my overly friendly and probably overdone efforts.

Most of all, I don’t think I can make it through Desert Queen, a weeklong women’s jeep expedition in the Israeli desert. I manage to get cell reception and call my hubby crying, hoping he will magically helicopter me out of this mess I’ve gotten myself into. I finally calm down when my 17-year-old daughter gets on the phone and assures me that I will indeed survive.