Anna Spargo-Ryan – Page 24 – Anna Spargo-Ryan

Author: Anna Spargo-Ryan

Panic stations!

Yesterday, Senator Mary Jo Fisher resigned to focus on her mental health. If there's one thing I can really get behind, it's spending time focusing on mental health. If I could afford it, I would spend pretty much all my time focusing on my mental


A man’s job

The oak door swung open, and a frantic man charged into the office. "Jack! Jack! My child is sick! The school just called me, I have to go pick her up immediately!" Until then, it had just been a normal day. At his desk, Jack head whipped


Paul McCartney’s fixing my hole

Dad came around today while Michael was cutting a hole in the wall, and began to sing (my dad has a song for every occasion, he's a proper dad like that). I must have been four, because we moved just as I started school. Dad had


A picture says … my grandfather’s hands

I wrote this post for Kelly Exeter's "A picture says", because she is an angel. My grandfather had ugly hands. They were swollen with diabetes like red balloons and etched with scars from farm machinery. Three of his fingertips were missing. He told me he cut one


I cannot braid

Turns out I don't know how to braid hair. For some reason, I thought I did. I have a hazy memory of sitting on the floor in my dad's study, pushing old pantyhose into something resembling a braid. Maybe we were just eating biscuits though,


A little book question

I've been tearing emotional shreds off myself working on this book idea of late. I love doing it, but as primarily a features and general shitty rambling writer, I'm struggling with the structure of it and could use your help. Rather than being a book of


The yellow kite

When I was a little girl, I had a yellow kite with a Carebear on it. I don't remember it, but there are dozens of photos of dad and I playing with it in the backyard. Me and the kite. Him and the kite. Me


Father’s Day.

It was Father’s Day. I hadn’t seen my children since Thursday, a fact that my parents were kind enough to remind me of every few minutes. The text messages were to the point: if you were a real mother, you would stay with him; if


Willies and balls (adult content)

The kids' playroom looks like an elephant shat paper and textas, so it's clean out time. I'm one of those tragic parents who keeps every scrap of paper my children have ever breathed on, so I have been thorough in my sorting the wheat from