A few weeks ago, my niece Caitlin called me up and asked if she could come over. “Needed my advice about something.” I could tell she was upset. “Sure, dear, I’m here. Come on over. I’ll heat up some water for tea, and have my Certified Maine Life Guide Magic Moose Antlers at the ready!” “Thanks, Aunt Ida.” Poor Caitlin said this with a little hitch in her voice, like she was trying not to cry. Charlie looks up from his paper. “What’s up?” “Oh, that was Caitlin. She’s coming over in about an hour for some girl talk.” “Trouble in paradise?” “That’s what I’m guessing.” Charlie downs the rest of his coffee, and gets …

The longer I’m married, the more I realized that sometimes, men and women have completely different ways of looking at things. Like a few years ago, out of the blue, Charlie says to me, “Ida, you know what we need?” “A complete kitchen make-over?”  “Smaller.”  “Hmm, I don’t know. A set of Fiesta ware?”  “No, a boot brush?” “A boot brush?” “You know, put it by the door? Has a brush on top? You wipe your boots on it before coming into the house.” “Oh, I’ve seen those. You mean like a little porcupine, with a brush on its back?” “Well, I don’t know about a porcupine. Just your basic boot brush.” “OK, Charlie, I’ll …

Charlie come up with a doozy this week, an anthem of sorts. It’s part confession, part bragging, and not a word of it is true. Right! Think: semi-truck with a cracked muffler.  I Snore I snore, I know Everyone has told me so I sputter, I snort Not a very glowing report I tried elevatin’ Our old box spring Squirt something up my nose But it doesn’t do a thing I snore, so what? I wish that I could keep my mouth shut But I can’t, I’ve tried Even though I sleep on my side I wake up all alone My wife got up at four She fled to the couch Couldn’t take it anymore …

Bud’s the first of our little group to retire. Worked for Gagne’s & Sons Heating and Cooling for what? Thirty plus years, I guess. That’s dirty work, repairing furnaces and the like. Plus, you get called out at all hours, day and night. Weekends, too, don’t matter the weather. And unless you’re doing an annual cleaning, the people you’re dealing with are usually real upset. I mean, it’s ten degrees out, and no heat. They’re all bundled up, seeing their breath inside the house, and Bud’s gotta be the one who tells ‘em their furnace is shot. No fun. Once he hit sixty-five, Bud was outta there. When he started talking about retiring, I says …