Weekly Stories

45

The woman dressed like a dentist, sitting on a park bench while her daughter plays on the swing, the woman who is trying to not weep behind a tree so her daughter doesn’t see? That would be me. Happy birthday. I just got dumped. I’m forty five. At the stroke of midnight. And despite how it looks on the outside, I am doing just fine. Because unlike a few years ago where I would have wondered what’s wrong with me, this time I just thought, “What a dork, to pass up a woman like me.” So. Things are improving. And…

protest song

When was the last time I heard a crowd of people singing? The Giant’s game. Doris’ funeral. Christmas eve… Gentle voices lift into the air, whimsical, breathy, songs of liberation. Pete Seeger tribute. He wrote these words originally in a thunder of protest against the Vietnam war and now we’re singing them under dappled leaves waving in flowy summer linen like one of Martha Stewart’s gentle reminders. “there’s one thing I must confess, bring them home, bring them home. I’m not really a pacifist. Bring them home, bring them home…” Sometimes the cry for love is a shout. Sometimes it…

Jericho Beach

The sky is all soft and baby blushy pink as the sun sets over Jericho, the gentle beach. The folk fest tents are tabernacle set, waiting for the magic to descend on the weekend. The Born Ruffians. Joan Baez. I walk along the trail with a friend who is currently deciding between a life in France, the USA or Canada. He touches my shoulder to see the silver cityscape twinkling. Delicate tinsel Vancouver town. His first choice. And my choice of twenty-five years. He asks me how I deal with the price of housing. “It creates simplicity by…

S’mores and RRSPs

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…

snap crackle pop Jesus

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….

becoming the man you always wanted to marry

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…

A fragment of Michelle

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…

Paloma Negra

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…

Oddball

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…

the first motorbike ride

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…

Lucia Frangione

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