Lucia Frangione

Michael walks through the door with Nora, back from Christmas holidays in Ontario. “Hey, I was thinkin’” he says, “You wanna move to Toronto?” “No.” He laughs, “Come on, I got a lot of old friends there, it’s cheaper to live-” “Barely.” “And there’s more work.” “Think, Nora, Mommy could buy a house in Pickering!” And that ends that conversation. Nora wraps her arms gingerly around Franken-Mommy and it is so good to see her sweet little face. She is holding a doll that looks freakishly like a mini her who doesn’t blink. The doll is called Mikayla, but I…

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As I yelp I look up and see my great big tall Fellow crouched near the door jam with a look of abject horror on his face. You know something gross is going on when you freak out a fireman. The Dr. is pulling a live serpent out of my belly! How can removing a tube be more painful than pushing an 8 pound baby through my cervix? I don’t know. But it is. Or maybe we just forget. Yeah. That’s probably it. We forget. Nature’s way of suckering us into procreation. Anyway, I won’t forget this. And I won’t…

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My belly button is going to change tomorrow. Not a big deal. (So, if surgery is not a big deal, why have I not told anybody about it?) I guess I’m embarrassed. It’s a herniated homely little annoying thing. And yet, it’s disturbing to disrupt it. I’ve always had this belly button. It is going to be very strange to look down and see an altered knot. And they do have to slice me open like a boiled egg and dig in there and sew things up. I was so very cool about it all until now, 3am, where I…

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I have an orphan’s turkey dinner to whip up. I should really start on my tarts. My house is one big mountain of wrapping paper, gift receipts, grocery bags and unpacked suitcases. My old dog has done his daily barf, but that’s okay. He hasn’t died on me yet and that’s what counts. And my cat came home, finally, at 6am, her little saucy bell ringing as she hopped down from the fence. She is conked out beside me from all her carousing. I’m a little sleepy from getting up early to wish Nora a merry Christmas in Toronto. Thump…

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As I drive Nora to the airport with her Dad, “All of me”, starts to play. “..I love your curves and all your edges, all your perfect imperfections…” “Who is this?” He asks. “I can’t remember off hand, isn’t it the same guy who sings “Stay with me”?” “No, that’s Sam Smith. It’s my favourite.” He says quietly. And don’t those two songs sum up how we would have loved to be loved and we failed? The rain falls against the windshield as I drive up to the drop off. I spy my daughter in the rear view mirror. She…

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Lisa Ravensbergen and I only hike in the rain. Today we hit the drippy green grey endowment lands in our wickables. Shortly in, we hadn’t even finished discussing our kids, a flock of golden-crowned kinglets fluttered down in front of us. They are so tiny, at first I think it is a shower of rain drops. We both gasp and stop, still as statues, as the yellow striped fluffballs pick at the path with delicate temerity. (No, Lucia. Not temerity. Temerity isn’t timid. It means confidence. I wonder if it will change its meaning over time to sound more like…

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Fellow and I are looking at real estate. What could a future hold? There is a beautiful house out of our price range but it is so lovely inside I have to drive by. I knew it would be in an industrial area starting to gentrify. But…I did not expect it to be sandwiched tightly between a flop house on the right with boarded up windows and a glaring skull beside the door saying “cry no tears here” and a huge ramshackle shop with black curtains on the left called “Satan’s Hollow.” The back alley is covered in graffiti, broken…

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Around the baby Jesus sit a huddle of squirmy dog eared children dressed as rodents and livestock, their head mics shorting out and all their clever antics and memorization flying out the window. One boy is inexplicably dressed all in red with red pointy ears. Maybe he is supposed to be a squirrel? He looks like satan peering down at the baby Jesus, leering over the cradle. I cannot stop chuckling. My Fellow whispers to me in his best demonic voice, “See you in 33 years, sucker.” All the children are bewildered and befuddled except for camel 2: a tall…

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I am trying to make mouse costumes for the church pageant tomorrow (ears and a nose) and instead, it looks like Penis Face. Merry Christmas, baby Jesus. I would never normally volunteer to make costumes, sewing is not my strong suit. However, one of our kids was cast as a mouse and they didn’t have a costume in storage. This child was traveling with the other parent, missed a rehearsal, wants to quit. It’s discouraging for a tween to be cast as a rodent with a nest of squeaky children who are five and under. It does not bolster one…

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We drive along the Rideau canal in my brother’s racy red sports car. “Do you ever see our step mother anymore?” “No.” For a variety of reasons this is understandable. I haven’t seen her in years, though I have nothing but good feelings towards her. It’s complicated. I wonder if that’s what the children will say about me someday. Then I wonder why I wonder that. “I guess the Rideau isn’t ready for skating?” “Not yet.” I peer through the snowy trees towards the water, still rolling a dark snaky torrent under the bridge. Both sides of the Rideau extend…

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