Weekly Stories

Ed’s Teeth

I’m doing a show at the Flame tonight and this is the story I’m going to tell, it’s from way back August 17, 2013: Today I need to rely on the generosity of others. That’s a rare thing in our society: worshippers of the God of independence and I am an avid disciple. It always surprises me who comes to the rescue. Last week it was the affable lanky and lovely Jeff Gladstone and today it is a tag team of Russell Wallace and Colleen Winton’s boys, Sayer and Gower: handsome well spoken young men who will do the…

what chicken are you?

We have twelve chickens and one handsome white and black rooster called Hubert. Our boy named the rooster. I’m not sure what all the breeds are but we definitely have Leghorns, Plymouth Rocks, Australorps and a lone puffy headed single minded black feathered Araucana who lays blue green eggs. She was the first I named: Beulah. My Fellow’s favourites are the large confident Rhode Island reds. They are burly good natured birds who lay the large dark brown eggs, sometimes double yolkers. My daughter has named one of them Shirley (because she was the first to surely produce eggs for us)…

Aging Dogs on Terminal

The vet isn’t answering the phone so I leave a message with a calm controlled voice. “Hello, my name is Lucia. I am a resident of Bowen island and I have a very old dog.” To my surprise I can’t continue. I sob and pass the cell phone over to my fellow who calmly finishes the message while holding my hand as I sniffle in the background. “Um yes, he’s had a turn for the worse and we’re wondering if you do home visits for euthanizing. We’d like to bury him under our crab-apple tree.” I’ve had Tartuffe for…

a grass hut in Chilliwack

I’m in the Chilliwack leisure centre at a Caribbean themed cafe called the Java Hut, complete with a grass hut roof. It smells like coffee, thai chicken soup and chlorine. There is a Christian music radio station blaring from the speaker and in-between songs of praise and pleas for redemption, a woman with a cultured soothing voice sums up the song’s message with a suggestion to think of people as though they were children, “it will help you forgive them”. I hate unsolicited advice as much as I hate pat answers for life’s complications. Let the song speak for itself….

feeling safe to grow old

Rick is in his Rav, all sharp and salt and pepper this crisp early morning. He matches the landscape. He drives with the precision of a great stage manager. I feel entirely safe. As we glide along the foggy Coquihalla, he asks me what my favourite shows have been over the years. Between the two of us we reminiscence all shiny eyed about the transcendent moments of the past: creative new plays, amazing designs, powerful performances…the best of besotted theatre geeks. This is why he is so damn good at his job. He simply loves it. Loves it. It’s always…

sunny bits

Another rainy dark early morning. Despite my vitamin Ds it’s really starting to get me down. I’m walking with my old dog who is swerving like a sad little wino on welfare Wednesday. I tried giving him a sedative from the vet to help him sleep through the night. He still wakes up. He just walks into walls. Poor little dopey fella. I plod along monotone in the endless monochrome, “rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain”. Up ahead is a neighbour I need to find more understanding for, walking two small yappy dogs I also need to find…

silly stories

My delicates are drying on the dash board heat vent of my car. They flutter at the lacy seams when I pull into the left lane at Nanaimo. There’s been no time for laundry. I am praying, “Please God, give my dog a heart attack.” I slow to 20km for the sharp turn at McGill and my fatigue allows for a couple of tears. The poor old boy has taken a turn for the worse. I bought the small bag of dog food at the grocery store. When can I even fit in the vet? “Oh, God, don’t make me…

1306 at Paul’s

It’s a rare comfort to be able to order the same omelette from the same waiter and sit in the same booth for twenty three years. Paul’s is humming with old timers at 8am and I greet my 1306 with eager glee. I eat the twist of orange first and warm my hands around the cup of coffee. I chuckle over my rye swirl. I think I first came here with Michelle and Don and Rod – maybe even Cheryl. We would have been a good looking bunch of youngsters back in the 90s: Michelle with her wild blonde tangle…

the pragmatic and the poetic living together

Like many of you on the Westcoast, the rainy season gets to me. Knowing it’s coming, I have learned to do kind things for myself ahead of time to make it through. I try to make sure my house has decent lighting, I get out and walk in the rain with my dog regardless, I wear bright colours and bright shoes, I drive a bright coloured car, I buy kale, I live in a brightly coloured home. I avoid any film or TV show that is Swedish…I have people over who make me laugh. My favourite combative move against SAD…

the value of knowing your neighbour’s level of crazy

Four o’clock in the morning and my old dog has to pee. This has been the situation for the past year and a half. I can’t remember the last time I had a good sleep. Having just thrown a big Thanksgiving dinner party I am particularly sluggish at this hour. I roll out of bed with Headpins hair that takes me right back to Darby Mills in the 1980s. I am wearing my husband’s t-shirt and some frilly panties (this detail is important for later). I catch myself in the mirror, bad posture. Not sexy! Not even if I squint….

Lucia Frangione