Weekly Stories

small acts of compassion

I see Ed pushing his grocery cart through the lumps of icy snow left along the sidewalk just outside my house. He looks wet and chilled and his face is understandably bunched up into a dirty laundry knot of miserable. I call out – “Ed! How you doing?” – happy to see him after so many months (he was the fellow who helped me move in and then shared with me one of his beers) He stops, looks at me, startled, then nothing registers except annoyance. He keeps going, slightly shielding his cart from me as though I might steal…

intense sensitivity to sound

Last night I was around music that was so overwhelming it made us all jump right out of our seats at one point. It was part of a two hour performance. The sounds were necessarily overwhelming for what they were trying to achieve and largely dissonant and disorienting. It very effectively gave me a glimpse into what it might be to have intense sensitivity to sound that some with ASD have – the whole point. After the show I needed to go sit in a dark place alone for a while. I didn’t understand how others could mingle around and…

the perfect kettle

Bill left us today and he’s on his way back home after opening a big complicated show and working himself into a blinky scruff dreaming of his tropical getaway. He was gentle and kind and easy as pie to be around. My old dog preferred to sleep on Bill’s rug, not mine. The cat came in for many a cuddle. Animals are a good judge of character. As he shuffled out the door with his bags, he gave Nora a high five and me – he handed me – a kettle. First of all, he has already overpaid me for…

matryoshka

I crawl along the dark suburban streets of Delta, squinting to see the address and notice Alexei waving his arms all jumping jacks with a smile, his living room lit up like a stage in the dark snowy night. This must be the place. Alexei is my Russian translator and he’s originally from one of my favourite cities in the world: St Petersburg. He’s invited Nora and I over to meet his wife and to read some of his translation to me. He opens the large door and greets us. We are late, of course, but we bring cupcakes and…

selective memory

The biggest thing to report is a bubble bath wherein a ping pong match was played with paddles and a ball and much splashing. It was a squishy fit but Nora said, “Probably I will be too old to ever ask you to have a bath with me again, so…now’s your chance.” She had a bubble wand and potion in a vial and blew big glossy globes that hung in the air like late summer can linger…quite glorious…and the bubbles would make a soft landing on our slippery limbs and shiver there, waiting, just waiting to pop. I hope I…

it

I forgot about “it”. “It” always comes. No use waiting for “it”, I don’t know what “it” is or when it will decide to arrive. The only way to prepare for “it” is to be healthy, have an updated resume and live life with open eyes. My history will prove that “it” always comes. I have seen this wide open year as a worrisome failure somehow on my part. I must be doing something wrong. I’ve been very unkind to me. The things I’ve said I would not say to my worst enemy. Why? Why do I get all military…

Valentines prowl

It’s Valentines Day and a full juicy sexy moon dangles over the city of Vancouver all decked out in her diamonds tonight. The evening is so warm, I don’t even need a jacket. I am on the phone with a dear friend who has a new delicious lover and she went on and on, insisting that I should get one. He will come. The liquor store is full of people who are either getting laid or getting drunk and a musician plays out on the sidewalk beside his skulky pit bull, “don’t worry about a thing, cuz every little thing’s…

happ day Valentines

I should really get to bed but this Valentine’s Day feels a bit like Christmas. And it isn’t just the sugar rush. I am excited to greet tomorrow. I keep thinking of people in my life I absolutely love. There are so many. This recounting started as part of my remembrance – yesterday – thinking about how many dear friends came to our side during hard times. But I think it was making all those damn cookies that did it. Nora made cards for everyone in her class and I baked over fifty sugar hearts. After she went to bed,…

Stella

Dear daughter, Six years ago today you were born. Six years old. That would be grade one. You’d be printing out your letters and sounding our your words, counting on your fingers and hoping for a treat in your lunch kit. You’d be tagging behind your big sister out on the playground and asking for a push. You’d be squabbling over toys and breaking off the ends of Nora’s pencils and teasing the cat. You’d be asking to walk the dog, you’d be falling on your skates, you’d be drawing stars beside your name: “Stella. Stella. Stella for star.” My…

four Bs of love

The Jane Austen Marriage manual does not start with the four Bs of love: 1) beer 2) back rub 3) barbecue 4) blowjob. No, the Jane Austen Marriage Manual’s quote on the back says something akin to “for every woman who wishes a Mr Darcy would sweep them off their feet and pay for all their credit cards.” The Jane Austen Marriage Manuel is for women who have no IDEA how to be married, will never BE married, or are about to be DIVORCED. I am sad to see this drivel on my Texan in Yaletown’s shelf today as I…

Lucia Frangione