Lucia Frangione

After a big beautiful swim at the lake, we decide a fire is a great idea as the sun sets and the full moon rises over the mountain ridge. Mom, Mini and Nora all hunch by the fire pit and patiently roast their marshmallows to the point of fluffy browned opulent expansion. The white puffs are so heavy with their own lusciousness they dare to languorously slide right off the stick and into the sweet quick fire. Mouse and I go for broke. We poke the mallow way too close, light its head on fire, blow it off, stick it…

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My Mom is helping out with her church’s vacation Bible school and has made about a hundred and twenty rice crispy squares with little cinnamon crucifix’s on them. Like anything my Mom does, they are aesthetically perfect. At first I thought, “awww that’s so adorable!” And then I thought, “Why is that adorable?! That’s a man dying from torture on those rice crispy squares, that’s snap crackle pop Jesus!” And it got a bit creepy for about five seconds. And then I went back to being pleased again. Why? Hard to explain. It’s sort of like sugar skulls to me….

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My kitchen sink clogs today, right before I head out of town. This is not the sort of thing I’ve ever had to take care of. I had a landlord, I had a husband, I had a handyman downstairs. Now I’m it, unless I hire. The house is mine. And so is whatever is stuck in my pipes. Do I need a tool? Do I need chemicals? I don’t want to do that. Resigned I get online to see what accommodating handy person might be on chat that I could ask. Instead, I get my friend Anita posting me a…

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My head is full of so many moments I am not ready to write about. All the things that make the best stories. And isn’t that like life? I am never ready for the first snow. Never ready for the big new job, never ready for a child, never ready for death, never ready for love. It hits and I blink, take a big breath, and plunge in. Rarely do I shut my eyes and wait for it to pass me by. I had a dream last night that I was walking along a frozen river and I heard the…

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As I reach to wipe the bathroom taps, Lila Downs wailing on my headphones, I notice my cleavage moves when I flex my pecs – from a firm line to a sideways open smile. So I do what anyone would naturally do: I lip sync the rest of Paloma Negra by bust. Who knew my boobs spoke Spanish? They’re damn good. And as they sing, I muse, “Something like this on Youtube could potentially generate more income than all my royalties put together.” My phone binkybinks. Incoming message. I gasp. It’s my boss. I immediately straighten (as if she could…

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I am on the sixteenth floor of a high rise overlooking Stanley Park and musing about the constant disappointment of Toronto. Theatre books just announced it is closing. A couple of weeks ago I got a phone call from a presumptuous Toronto AD who spent my time explaining to me how “theatre in Canada works”. Not realizing I have already successfully toured this show…Meanwhile their theatre is shrinking this year to the size of a dead man’s walnut. Vancouver is raining and she is charging me far too much mortgage for my two bedroom apartment but she never disappoints me. I…

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I pace my garden like a tiger in a cage around and around the potted plants. I gaze at the dark drip-droppy trees, their slippery limbs reach their fingers up up up in throws of cooling ecstasy, gently scratching their delicate branches down the back of the moon. I hate libido and I love it. It makes me ridiculous and it makes me great. I think back to when I first felt this feline way. I was on a twin star Honda motorcycle. Thirteen. My arms and legs wrapped themselves around Danny Thomas: a Marlboro man in the making. I…

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The dragons are snapping at spiders in the garden and the cat’s got a brand new tail. You’d never know a couple of months ago it was chopped off in the door jam. She doesn’t mind the new length. She darts it around proudly. It’s a bob. It’s French. She bounds over the fence, spayed, and ready for adventure. As I wait in the coffee shop I see a discarded Province has an article on “Rushing Woman’s Syndrome”. I am off to meet a dear friend who is selling Arbonne. I have been thinking about it all week: the business opportunity…

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Colleen smiles smartly. Her eyes are brilliant, backlit blue. I love this woman. I knew her way back before she was a visual artist. Before she even had a crush on any fellow of Cambridge. Before she gained a notoriety far beyond being a cousin of Marilyn Monroe’s. She was remarkable before she was remarkable. A vibrant spirit. She sculpts whale bones, she captures the inner landscapes of the body, she collects the dead leaves of extremely rare plants, grinds them down into an ink paste and renders their form fresh: resurrection. She swings easily between those who collect data…

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Today I wear my first stethoscope. This is a right of passage. All I need is a cop and a lawyer role and I can die knowing I have completed the Canadian actor trifecta. On this particular TV show there are a lot of new actors and non-union, so there is a bit of anxiety in the green room about proving one’s legitimacy to each other and putting up a front of confidence. I sit quietly in the corner and let a woman with lip injections go on for quite a stretch about working “all across the USA” and her…

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