Weekly Stories

cube van girl

On my way into Vancouver a little red vespa pulls up in front of me. A man in his sixties is driving and he has one of those cool brown leather helmets. When his pants hitch up, they reveal beautiful bright blue striped socks. I want to yell out the window, “your socks give me joy!” Everything is winking at me today, who am I kidding? I just drove over the magnificent Lion’s Gate Bridge and through Stanley park all lush and green and sprinkled with young people who all seem to be laughing. The little girl beside me (I’ve…

savouring peach pie

Tonight I made a peach pie I could confidently serve to the jury of Chopped, the queen of England, or the ghost of my grandfather who always said “Bring on the pie” at the end of every meal. I made a peach pie that Bruce Springsteen would write a ballad about and the chorus would include high plaintive keening. I made a peach pie that made me twenty six again in a white sundress when that man crossed the street to give me a single rose for no reason other than I was twenty six and wearing a white sundress….

The Lion’s Den Cafe

Out from an audition and eager for a spot of lunch before getting on the 2:20pm ferry, I pull into a line of restaurants around Fraser and Kingsway, surely one of them has to be open. Los Cuervos, closed, the Savio Volpe, closed, the gluten free – a bakery only, tiny little cafe maybe Jamaican? not fond of jerks, the coffee place pretentious, Les Faux Bourgeois, closed. I pedal back to the Jamaican joint. It’s full, that’s a good sign: the Lion’s Den Cafe. I peek at their menu: Caribbean Japanese food. Well, never heard of that before, must try….

maybe an island

While in the drudgy vehicle parade loading onto the ferry I see a local boy by the pedestrian walkway. He’s eighteen and sporting a new lower half of the chin beard. He’s Robert Sean Leonard with Downs. I often see him on the ferry heading off to high school. On his way home, he sometimes hangs with the other kids and sometimes he’s found a stray traveler to talk to. Always male. He’s usually smiling, chatting away. But today, he’s on dry land. Oh yes. He’s right in front of the “Welcome to Bowen” sign in a dark tasteful hoodie…

pina colada boys

Three young men sit beside me on the patio talking about IT in their button down shirts and their semi casual light coloured pants, having a bite after work. All three of them have all manner of grooming very well attended to: the beards are closely clipped, the hair slicked back, hands are immaculate. These men are single, ringless, and smelling like soapy spice. All in their mid twenties I suspect. I smirk to myself, “Next up in conversation will be Trump or hockey” but no. The fellow on the end starts talking about his girlfriend. “…she lives with her…

when do I stop being a chauffeur?

I iron out the crinkles in my daughter’s crinoline. I am at my ex-husband’s. He’s away. We’re prepping for the big night at his house. I painted these walls. They haven’t changed. I think this colour was called French vanilla. I stare at pictures of his stern relatives from generations past. They’ve dropped off my tree but I can see my daughter’s eyes in that great grandmother. I still love these kitchen tiles. I picked them almost entirely because they were named aubergine. It is my daughter’s finale dance recital tonight. She is in five numbers. She’s the youngest in…

honey

I pull down stars late into the evening. I dismantle a galaxy; it has long since lost its shine. Some tender Mom or Dad had meticulously placed each celestial being on the ceiling once upon a time, to help their baby sleep. “The night is not so dark, little one. There is is always a star to wish upon.” It takes me quite a while to pry the loving gesture out of the stucco’ed sky. I demolish planets and comets and feel like a malevolent god. Out the open window down the street under the moon and mewing through the…

Give Way: a dreadful last day in Roma and a surprisingly lovely time in Gatwick and now home

It is 5am and I am up to walk my old dog. Not bad. My clock is only off by two hours. I slip on my sandals and they still have sand in them from Gavitella beach. The moon is high in the sky as old Tartuffe and I stroll around sleepy Little Italy. I am delighted to see that tulips are just coming out now, the cherry blossoms are in full matrimony and the rhodos haven’t popped. My children are sleeping. I am tempted to peek at them both, having missed them muchly. But being teens, this isn’t the…

Praiano: the path of the Gods

Rough hewn Crosses along the path invited me to think this must be a “stations of the cross” sort of camino. I reverently approached the marble carving near the stairs. Instead of seeing the Christ enduring Roman torture, I saw…two pigs copulating…with…a man trapped underneath? This is either an extreme take on the prodigal son or this is also the path of other deities. The hike from Bomerano to Positano up and across the mountainous cliffs of the Amalfi coast is called The Path of the Gods: Sentiero deli dei. It takes the average person about three and a half…

Praiano – a walk to Torre a Mare and other heavenly things

I’ve been listening to some soft spoken Italiana singing “Hotel California” as I watch the sun set settle itself all pink and sexy over Positano. I am on my last sip of limoncello after a lobster linguini and a terrific little hike. I am suddenly pulled into the past and into the deepness of a feeling when the Italiana is replaced with Kate Bush. What?! Kate Bush?! Did I listen to anyone else in the nineties? Amazing the feelings that can come with music. It doesn’t matter that I’m 47. It doesn’t matter that I’m in Italy. Kate sings and…

Lucia Frangione