Weekly Stories

have Joy

A great woman hovered above the glassy city as fifteen thousand marched below. With a keen eye for theatre and an understanding of audience, she knew this was a very good show. What an excellent day to die. The world is in many hands and she could let hers go. The heavens, in response, offered the universal symbol of hope, a rainbow, that stretched its spectrum over the crowd and out to the sea. She breathed her last and folded herself into that sky, into the colours closest to joy. This is what I saw in my head when I…

the eggplant is not afraid

The children stare at me in the pool because I have bright pink athletic tape across my shoulder for support, thanks to my inventive RMT, Michael. Apparently there’s an upper body muscular disaster going on from years of maid work that causes me chest pain. I’m not allowed to swim with my arms so I do a bunch of paddling, like a wingless duck, and then submerge into the hot tub. Middle-age is just plain sexy, all the time. Oh good! The adorable woman sits beside me and leans her back into a jet and closes her eyes with bliss….

ritual loyalty sacrifice

I fly through the aisles at the Bay, plucking everything off the shelf remotely Christmassy and sixty percent off. I have half an hour to find something before I get groceries, bake pies, clean the house and get my kid. I pull something pleasing over my hips, “yes, this will do”. To be honest, we’re quite exhausted this year. Why can’t I do what I used to do? I’m getting older…Scott has been pulling a lot of extra shifts and I’ve been doing a show. Today he worked until six while I wrapped the last of the presents and whipped…

unpretentious Christmas party

I chuckle over the Italian breadsticks I place on the laden table. Do I tell the host: when she bends over to baste the turkey in the oven, her short skirt rides up and her entire bum in tights can be seen? She pops back up, buoyant and smiling and asks if anyone wants more Riesling. Nope. Not gonna bring it up. it’s part of the whole experience and quite frankly, she might not even care. When I look around, I figure nobody else would either. They’re busy hooting over a pair of knitted gloves in the shape of sharks…

Felicia’s

After our stumble through of the play today…I got in my car, exhausted, and set out on a mission for comfort. For me this meant a plate of hand rolled gnocchi that I didn’t have to make myself. Felicia’s, just one block east of Nanaimo, on Hastings, was the answer. Felicia speaks to me in half Italian and half English, much like my Zia Cinzella did: just enough for me to follow what she’s saying and the rest, well I should know anyway with a name like Frangione. The restaurant itself is crazy awesome eccentric. There is a tiki…

choosing money over family for Thanksgiving

I chose money over family this week, maybe for the first time in my life. Consciously, anyway. It was a bit of an experiment. I don’t feel smart or responsible or pleased that I took a job instead of going on vacation to see my family this Thanksgiving. I feel depraved. It happened very quickly. I did six auditions this week and i wasn’t getting callbacks, which I know is just a roll of the dice, but my pride will also tell you I usually get called back for SOMETHING. By the end of that string of opportunities the dates…

Why is there a Hole in your Donut?

Two boys trot down the sidewalk towards me. They are ahead of other kids who are still spilling out of the red brick school house and racing to the playground to play soccer. Little and big are heading home. Blue back pack, red back pack, solemn round cheeks still chubby. Identical jet black hair cuts, no nonsense. Their close cropped fringes completely disregard any Justin Bieber side sweep and all Anime heroes. These brothers have serious hair and serious faces. Little is maybe seven and big is maybe nine. The eldest boy takes a very quick peek once they pass…

culling friends

I am up at 2am tonight thinking once again about that friend who has decided to stop talking to me entirely. It’s been about two years now. I’ve known her since she was a chubby cheeked toddler. I can still see her in her pink snowsuit. We could always pick up right where we left off. I don’t think it’s personal. She just – can’t. I miss her terribly. No one is like her. She is magnificent. I anguish over not knowing how to do anything about her pain. I pray. I send out a little hello once in a…

normal woman

I hear a man say to another on the ferry over coffee, “Yeah, she got knocked up and then became a normal woman. Had three kids.” Normal woman? Hm. What is that? I wonder if that woman is glad to now be thought of as normal or disappointed in herself, or lying, or finally feeling at home? His statement seems particularly bewildering because I just came from “ze” queer as F@#$K at the Fringe. It’s a one person show written by my dear and brave Lunicke: a deeply personal, complicated, painful, fascinating and very hilarious journey through the wild world…

Privileged Parsnip: white and wealthy

“Ooh this one’s hot!” says one turnip bum to her husband while entering the tranquility of the outdoor spa steam pool in her black frilly bathing suit that a saleswoman said was slimming. She continues, unabashedly breaking the silence with her nasal drivel, “When Carol said that to me, I just didn’t know what to do. You know I’ve tried to be nice but this really – (blah blah blah blah)” She continues jabbering for another five minutes straight. The people around her don’t say anything, they just sort of glide away, like good long suffering Canadian mermaids. I seethe,…

Lucia Frangione