I can’t believe it’s the end of August! No way, no how! I don’t care how hot or muggy it’s been, I do not want summer to end. I do not want to see a mum or apple cider or apples in general, unless they’re in a pie at someone’s cookout. I, for one, have not forgotten what a bear last winter was, and I want to hang on to the sunshine, the smell of Coppertone, fresh-cut grass and the feel of a warm breeze on my skin as long as I possibly can. It seemed like it went by in a blink of an eye, didn’t it? That’s what happens when you’re busy. This …

Boy, I’ll tell ya, things are always changin’ down to the transfer station! So much so, it’s hard to keep it all straight, one week to another. They take #1 and #2 plastic, but #5? One week yes, the next week no. Keep the plastic caps on the bottles? No, now you’re supposed to take ‘em off and put ‘em over there. I secretly wonder if, late at night, they don’t have a good laugh at our expense, as they mix all the recycling together and toss it into the compactor. Pretty cynical, I know, but the thought has crossed my mind. Oh, it’s just too much rigmarole for me. But Charlie, thank God, he …

We celebrated Betty’s birthday last weekend with a party over to her house. The whole gang was there. Beautiful day for a cookout, too, and hangin’ out by the pool. So Monday afternoon, Betty gives me a ring. “Oh good, Ida, you’re there.” “Far as I can tell,” I says. “What’s up?” “You wouldn’t believe what just happened.” “Try me.” “Well, this morning I had to call the plumber ‘cause our half bath downstairs was, well, havin’ issues.” “I noticed somethin’ was funky with that toilet, on Saturday. It’s always like that when you have company, isn’t it? If it isn’t the toilet, it’s the garbage disposal backin’ up or the dishwasher starts actin’ wonky, …

Well, we had an incident up to Dot and Tommy’s camp this weekend that was wicked embarrassing. It’s really Charlie’s story to tell, so I’ll let him. After all, he is, by default, the Poet Laureate of Mahoosuc Mills. Stinkfoot, by Charlie LeClair Sunday, Ida, me and Scamp We’re up to Dot and Tommy’s camp All the gang were comin’, too Tommy planned a barbeque His plans, alas, were all in vain When darn, if it began to rain “Bring the food in!” Tommy cried And we were forced to move inside There we ate, and all was well ‘til some of them complained of smell I thought the hubbub was excessive But soon the …

This week, I stopped by Wicked Good Stuff, our little thrift shop in town, to drop off a few of things. I mean, how many mugs with logos do you really need? I also donated a  pasta maker I got a some Yankee Swap a few years back. Never did figure out how to use it. Plus, hello, you can get the fresh stuff already made down to the A&P, so why bother? I also threw in a pair of black sandals with bows that were so cute, but honey, every friggin’ time I wore ‘em it felt like I was part of some sort of an ancient foot binding ritual. Pure torture! It always …