Lucia Frangione

We’re going to get a bunny this week. We are prepping like we would for the arrival of a new baby. This isn’t a phase as I thought it might be. Nora has wanted a bunny for years now. I guess the bunny fixation started with me. I call Nora “Bunny” affectionately, named after her great grandmother, Bunny Brackney. (She married an Aris but gee, I love that alliteration: Bunny Brackney.) Nora has spent hours watching youtube videos on rabbit care and has sheets of notes she goes over with me. She’s making a bunny “mobile” to bat around, and…

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I happened to be in a conversation with some artists this week who are far more worldly than me. We talked about what is happening in Canada right now: the changes to the Canada Council funding model, the steps towards diversity, the dynamic in Quebec. I mostly listened because I really don’t know much beyond my backyard anymore. I used to be much more involved in the national scene when I was touring No Exit, on certain national boards, flying around seeing new plays, scouting for Talon books, and dating idiots from the east.  There was talk about the Booker…

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Fellow lifts his arms up for a stretch and his shirt rides up just enough to show off some male cleavage, as my friend Carmen Paterson calls it. Fellow, an RMT, says a little warily, “ahem. That’s the inguinal crease…why….?” He knows I’m writing. He’s getting used to me saying slightly embarrassing things. We’re both getting back to our “fighting weight”. I got chubby post operation; he put on a bit because of my cooking, he says. I swished around today in my little black suit that is getting loose on me now, high heels and red lips and a…

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I get to the track meet field and my daughter is covered in band aids. The girl who passed her the baton in the relay  also passed her a left foot and tripped her and she went sprawling along the gravel, bits of rock and dirt grinding into her leg. “And then what did you do?” I ask. “Well, Mom, I got up and started running!” “Atta girl!” They’re up for another relay now, she’s second to get the baton for a 100 m leg. She makes a clean grab and runs like hell with her long thin scratched up…

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As I scrub the mildew off the top of the greenhouse, perched on a tippy ladder, the soapy warm green water runs down the front of my shirt and trickles onto my grubby knees. I don’t mind. It feels good to tackle this property one corner at a time. I grin and think, “Isn’t it nice that no critic is going to come around and write about my green house’s structure and form? Isn’t it a relief that a jury of peers aren’t comparing my green house to other’s? Isn’t it fantastic that I don’t have to write a grant…

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I went to Alberta last week and squeezed in a visit with my dear friend, Bina. I met her through Anita a few years back and what a gift it is when good people introduce me to good people. Bina is a wonder. As I get older and evermore fatigued by my own thin skin, I have a great appreciation for those who are pragmatic. Pragmatism is my new favourite quality in people. My brother is pragmatic. My husband is pragmatic. My Karen and my Maki are pragmatic and I’ll tell you, they keep the world turning around and they…

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Killarney Lake loop is a woodland 5km, my newest and fastest friend as I collect my ten thousand steps. I pass babbling brooks with red legged frogs, slender spring blue dragon flies, a tree that oddly flung off a long piece of bark, draping it over a lower limb, ready for a coniferous skinny dip. I pass a broody young man with headphones. Two old ladies in turquoise and pink leisure wear. Three young mothers all dewy with sweat, their babies in backpacks, bobbing their downy heads. Then, for the next hour, I trek entirely alone. Earlier in the week…

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A tug boat chugs its way across the sound and everyone is still asleep except for me and the dog. I spy on him from the balcony. He’s a different creature here on the island. So bristly snorty and happy. He is carefully navigating his way down a grassy slope, blind, deaf and pretty much at peace with his limitations. His tail wags as he approaches the beauty berry. “Well, hello old friend, I think I’ll piss on you. Just in case the squirrels have forgotten: you belong to me.” My mother-in-law is here: a well read, sharp, gregarious and…

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Today I had the privilege of spending time with a woman who is dying. I brought a blanket made of faux fur and spread it over her skin and bones. Seeing the corner of it, and rather delusional right now, she whispered, excited as a small child, “Oh, do you see the fawn?!” Where? “Right there beside me, all curled up. Oh touch it!” And she gently caressed the bundle of blanket beside her and cooed to it. “Oh, oh, so precious you are…”  and clucked her tongue as though to a baby. “He’s winking at me! Can you believe…

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One could say that tap is the geek of the dance world. The children learn the names of their great grandparent’s heroes: Shirley Temple, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, Bunny Briggs and Ernest Brownie Brown. There is no hip hop sneer, no gratuitous jazzy pelvis thrust, no solemn Brisé volé. It’s generally smiles smiles smiles and often suspenders and funny caps and adorable little flouncy skirts that all harken back to an earlier more innocent time. And I love it that my girl loves it. I watch the rehearsal. This is her first year in competitive tap. This is her first…

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