Weekly Stories

Valentine’s Dance

I amble towards the sweet little brick school house and expect the usual flounce of scrappy ringlets to bound down the stairs begging for a playdate or another twenty minutes in the park…but today…she glides. She has the most serene expression I’ve ever seen. It’s pure ecstasy of Santa Theresa d’Avila. I don’t want to interrupt her rapture. She glides past me, a grade three vapour of delight, even her huge backpack seems weightless. She radiates homeworklessness. But more than that… “You seem…well…” I say. My eight year old daughter sighs, eyes dreamy, all hazel heavenwards. “Mom, I have never…

Art that is more than Fine

I experienced some fine art this week that made me tired and cynical. So tired and cynical I haven’t felt like writing today. I know, like any selfish critic, I could use my words to mock the work instead of analyze it. Art is an easy target because it stands in front of us naked. Shooting down art is like shooting puppies in a basket. That said, we want fine art to be identifiably “fine” if it is going to get a government grant, public donated resources and my ticket money. The trick is, who defines “fine”? I’ve been on…

Town Hall Meeting

I decide to go to a town hall meeting tonight. The only reason I am taking time out of my busy busy life right now, with three scripts due by the end of January, is because a nice rather handsome fellow asked me if I was going, since it was about the film industry. And I never make time to connect with people outside of my circle. I should. I should make an effort. So, I write to tell him “I’ll go!” Of course, you know how this story goes…I rush dinner to put effort into looking effortlessly beautiful and…he…

Bile

My new naturopath is German. I will call her Dr. Hildegaard von Stingen, and I’m telling you, that is not an exaggeration. She is wiry and strong and likely in her sixties. Urbane ethically sound clothing, cut beautifully simple. Sharp white hair. Aquiline nose. Efficient with all her movements. She asks my name and I get the impression that’s about as personal as she wants to get. “Why are you here?” When I start in explaining my elimination diet and suspected allergies and chronic skin irritation she interrupts me. “And how is the self diagnosis going?” (subtext: you are a…

striving for best ex wife ever

If one can’t be the best wife ever…one can aspire to be the best ex-wife ever. When I met Michael I knew I wanted him to be part of my family. If you know him, you know why. He’s an incredible guy and a terrific Dad. I am so grateful. Of course we have a whole history that is private. That is tragic. But unbelievably, we’ve come through the other side as loving supportive respectful co-parents who genuinely like each other. It could have gone another way. We could have easily decided to hold a grudge and feel justified in…

first communion

Writing and prayer have always meant the same thing to me. When I was a little girl and things got dark or lonely or frightening, I would line up words like a little boy might line up toy soldiers, and I would build a beautiful fortress with them. I’d create a “better place”. I’d make dreams come true. And I always took care to give myself a lead role and a terrific costume. Nothing has changed. I was largely unchurched growing up. Perhaps that is why I’ve never felt the need to rebel against my faith because it was never…

passive income

I went to see my retirement plan last night. (play royalties). A community theatre is performing Holy Mo in Langley this week and I bring Nora and one of her pals from school. It is wonderful to share part of my history with my daughter. She turns to her friend before the lights go out and says, “Trust me, you’re going to laugh your head off. My Mom is a super good writer.” They dash to the front row, centre, out of my reach. I am a bit nervous, they’re only 8. But they sit still as statues during the…

the age of letters

I think of the Victorian era as the age of letters, of poets, of the romantic writers. But I see the birth of this again. Have you noticed? Every other person is a writer. They have a blog, a website, witty twitties. Or they film. Or they record their own music. I’m not sure what propelled so many people to write beautifully in the eighteen hundreds. What made it suddenly fashionable to be articulate? Did people feel the need to immortalize themselves during times of great war? Part of it, simplified, was finding the divine in nature, turning away from…

Terrifying Women

Sometimes women terrify me. Tonight was such a night. My lovely smart broker, I’ll call her Cherub, (because she has the face of one), invited me to a night about “women and money”. For her sake, I will not name the company that hosted this event. I will say that she had never been to one, she knew it came with a steak dinner, free booze and valet parking at Gotham steak house, what’s not to love? She even said I could invite a friend. My dear friend Sandra volunteered to come along, if nothing else, so we could have…

privacy

The other day I noticed I had inadvertently posted all my personal photos that were on my computer onto Facebook for the general public’s viewing pleasure. Pictures of my family and friends they didn’t give permission to post, endless pictures of my daughter, embarrassingly personal photos only meant for one or two people to see, unflattering shots that I hadn’t bothered to trash, the “before and after” exercise regiment pictures…oh oh oh I shudder at the thought. They went all the way back to my wedding. If anyone wanted to creep me, they had plenty of material to wade through….

Lucia Frangione