Lucia Frangione

I sit in my jammies for half the quiet lovely snowy day and write and write and write. It is a glorious egghead Saturday. My old dog and I circle the hood to stretch our legs and shake fuzz balls from our brains and I marvel at how fascinated he is, anew, by the smells along McLean. My kitten’s new favourite game is knocking my keys off my desk while I write. Scares the hell out of me every time. If she could speak English, her first word would be “gotcha”. There’s been a shift in my writing. I’m sure…

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It is snowing in Vancouver and my old man Husky cross, Tartuffe, remembers his puppyhood. I haven’t seen him trot in months. Today, he actually gamboles across the field towards a frisky shepherd. He leaps! His old arthritic legs stiff and airborne. They don’t look sore or lame, they look hipster disengaged: a teenager too cool to use the handlebars. He looks back at me, knowing I must be impressed, his hooded blue eyes saying that singular ubiquitous word with many meanings: “Dude!” At the end of the field, lovers are building a snowman, giggling as only the young and…

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Ooh I have to rant. It is becoming increasingly difficult for me to understand how someone can call themselves a Christian and feel justified in calling homosexuality a sin when it isn’t in the Bible. Every single reference misquoted in the Bible from Genesis to Revelations is specifically about pagan temple male prostitution, the abuse of young boys in certain rituals and practices, orgies and promiscuity within a marriage. All of these examples make sense to me and I agree: all those scenarios are likely to bring someone harm. At the very least: these Biblical references are suspect. Are we…

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Today I was back with Cross Fit Charlie and did many jocular things including a bunch of forty pounder dead lifts. We worked out while a class was going on. I observed my betters. They’re certainly strong. Yoga women all have an elastic slender shiny skin quality to them. Cross Fit women all look like they play rugby and drink guinness. Is this the look I’m going for? Right. I’m not going for a look. I’m going for a life. Nora went to school today with her hair braided and her teacher in the know. Then she went to her…

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A little pal Nora had a sleepover with has lice. We just found out. The poor mother sent out a mortified email. The Dad immediately shaved his head. Nora was at school when I read the email and I called the receptionist and she assured me there was no need to pull her out. They’d watch for an itchy scalp. I told Michael, he didn’t seem worried either. Okay. I’m not a spaz Mom. Lice like red heads best anyway. Right? I checked my own head haphazardly and then had to buzz off and clean a wealthy New Zealander’s apartment….

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My Uncle, like a father to me, got bad test results pointing to a cancer spread, likely fatal. I can’t even go there. There are just some people you cannot lose. Well, it turns out there was a mix up with the test results. They’re wrong. They’re not his. He’s fine. He was giddy on the phone! We are flooded with relief. How can that be? Within a few hours I open up my messages and a dear friend posts a picture of her handsome partner of – what – three decades? He’s leaping barefoot and brown legged along some…

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I have been taught to write around tension and explore conflict. I am  with my family at my mother’s house and there is simply nothing but kindness and peace, well behaved children and an incredible mountain view. Doesn’t make for great reading, does it? But it sure makes for good living. I’ll be back on Monday with more stories, unless somehow my family starts acting up, then I’ll write sooner.

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“I don’t have a single Exceeding Expectations! I lost my E in reading! I don’t understand, Miss Ikeda told me I was one of the best readers in the whole class, I have lots of expression! I’m fast, I’m clear, I understand. I’m doing everything I POSSIBLY can! How did I lose my E?!” Nora bursts into big splashy hot tears in the back seat of the car after looking over her report card. She is eight years old. I sigh and I do her the respect of not dismissing her deep disappointment. And I most certainly do not clarify…

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We have tried every trick in the book to oust the mice and it just isn’t happening. I see at least one rodent a day and it’s never ever a dead one. Pest control have been in here twice, a carpenter covered holes around pipes, I’ve put in a number of delicacies in a number of rotating traps, we have sticky boxes that the mice wisely avoid and poison that is also avoided. My walls are supported, in part, by steel wool…and still…we are over run. Nora and I have picked out a Craigslist kitten. It’s a black and white…

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Oh Great Sadness. How long have you been nipping at my heels and how long have I been running from you? I had a good think today, cleaning out someone else’s kitchen drain. (there’s a reason I chose a job cleaning up other people’s messes) I’ve been running from you, Great Sadness, for probably nine years. When Dad died the day before my first year wedding anniversary, while I was six months pregnant. I couldn’t face you then. I was afraid you’d seep into the baby. I had to wait to grieve. Normally I am strong and take you head…

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