Weekly Stories

Amsterdam

The sun rises on the tiny historic fishing village of Durgerdam, along the Durgerdammerdijk in Amsterdam-Noord. I have no idea how to pronounce any of it yet, but I’ll try to learn out of respect. The body of water looks like the ocean (and used to be) but now it’s fresh. Eurasian coots bob along the docks and a mute swan, startlingly white and bigger than a goose, glides by moored boats. This softens the two hundred dollar taxi ride to get here last night. Rick warned me: use Uber. But after 24 hours of travel, I was fuzzy headed…

Note to Sitter…

I have a mother hibernating in the back of my fridge. Ah, these eccentricities one doesn’t notice until a stranger plans to stay in the house. “Dear C, the jar contains a scoby” (for the kambucha I keep making that nobody drinks) “It isn’t moldy soup.” What are the daily things we do that she should know about? “Dear C, please place the garbage cans like a barrier across the deck stairs so the f’ing deer don’t come down and eat all my flowers.” What will she expect that we don’t have? “We have a pizzelle press but not a…

Googily Eyes

I pull a Jesus and walk on water. That is, I use my ferry ride to get in some steps by doing laps in the passenger lounge. Goodness there are some adorable kids this afternoon. Two parents have three near identical wiry little girls under the age of five: one with yellow pants, one with the remains of a sucker, one with a tiny toy truck, all with shiny black hair and bright brown eyes. They are laughing, squealing, playing some magical game around the swivel stool by the vending machines. Three sisters. May you always play like this. May…

Maddening, Endearing

Fellow whistles loud and tuneless. It’s a maddening and utterly endearing sound. I love how much he doesn’t care. He plays puppy tug-a-war with one hand and the other works out his weekly schedule on the computer. He’s asked me about something I JUST TOLD HIM five minutes ago. I smile at him, repeat the information as though it were fresh, and tuck my toes next to the fire. Good wife. I have written four short films this week. None of them are masterpieces but all of them are fun with a hit of poignancy. Sums up my career, give…

Orn and Ugh

I need a wee holiday from about fifteen percent of society. Just a week. Before I lose my cool. On top of some pretty unreasonable folks blabbing red faced on social media, we have our own personal Orn and Ugh raising Cain again. Orn is my thorn and Ugh is Fellow’s smug. Doesn’t every family have an Ornery thorn and Ugh-ly Smug? (you are nodding, yes, yes, we do) And if you’re anything like Fellow and me, everyone around you just assumes you’ll handle the nonsense singlehandedly on behalf of the whole because you’re “strong”. Abandonment is a strange compliment….

Tickling Awake

Crows fly east under clouds as thick as a Scottish sweater. I think of Vancouver’s rainy season like a wet blanket: enveloping, comforting, can give you hypothermia. I am driving back from church, still basking in its glow. Just hearing the minister affirm the sanctity of the 2SLGBTQ body every Sunday gives me such hope for humanity. Knowing we are working through the T&R calls to action and finding specific ways to atone and find understanding is healing and vital. Having Mr. and Mr. Singh play for our worship on tabla and sitar was a gift. Nora whispered to me…

Pink Halo

Pink Halos A woman strutted by me today on my way to church. She had striped pants with a vibrant pink, perfectly matching her puffed hair. She was about my age, maybe a bit older, Asian heritage, walking with the authority of a commander, swinging her arms in an excellent hip length jacket. She was so striking, so utterly cool, she made me gasp. Her puffed pink hair was very thin, barely there, like a cloud. I could see the entire shape of her skull through it. But instead of fretting over being quite bald, she wore it like a…

Art: the Antidote to Empathy Fatigue

Loved ones are hanging on for life and hospitals are full of CoVid. Does bone marrow expire? My Uncle needs that transplant. We have several first responders and medical practitioners in the extended family and I don’t think it’s just them with empathy fatigue. I think most of us are exhausted. It’s not that we don’t care, it’s that we can’t care. We’re too tired, too depressed, too angry. Friends keep their texts short with me or don’t reply at all. Once in a while they can muster a visit. I’m the same. I want to say, “Don’t worry, I…

tuft

I wake up at 3am every morning lately and wait. I am not sure what I am waiting for. Reprieve. I sit outside my daughter’s door and listen to the silence. She can sleep tonight at least. Good. I keep vigil. I resist the urge to quietly turn the knob and peek at her sweet peaceful face. Instead I stare at the white panels of her door, firmly shut. She’s painted the other side blue. The colour is on the inside.I do a series of crosswords. I find relief in solving puzzles. If only it were this easy. Koala. Inca….

Lucia Frangione