Weekly Stories

Robert Frost is in the book

I carve a perfect pear and set it down in front of my daughter who, for the first time, is diligently doing her homework without provocation. She is discovering the joy of industry: something hard to teach except by example. I feel the same. My mind is sharp and much was accomplished today. I feel myself returning to normal. I am also resting physically as chided: I did laundry in nice little light loads. I talked for hours on the phone, conversations long over due, with an ice pack on my stitches. I’m pondering a bone to pick. I’d rather…

Epiphany and Venus McFlytrap

I am wearing my “useless” nightie. I have deemed it thus because things keep popping out of it. Fellow says, “Not everything need fall under the servitude of utilitarianism.” He’s working the night shift and I’m all alone with my sexy neckline and my sore stitches. I just came back from seeing Bellaluna Production’s story about the Italian santa, Bafana. She gives out gifts to children January 6th: epiphany. Susan Bertoia made a feisty little strega, flying on her broom. As always with Bellaluna, it was a ridiculous and absolutely compelling evening! And, like every other event I’ve been to…

cat condos and heaven

I have decided to completely rearrange all my furniture, because that’s an excellent thing to do one week after a hernia operation. “You’re doing WHAT?!” Cries Fellow on the phone when I sheepishly tell him I moved the sofa near the patio door. I didn’t LIFT the sofa, I slid it. And then kinda hip checked it into place. No problem. I don’t have the brain to do anything else really and I’m bored. I already downloaded all my CDs and threw them in recycling. (I take copyright very seriously, royalties make up 1/3 of my income) And as I…

the big room

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…

kissin’ don’t last, good cookin’ do

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…

belly button

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…

a surprisingly happy Christmas

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…

the joy and sorrow of Christmas

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…

temerity

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…

paper whites and flop houses

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…

Lucia Frangione