Charlie’s On a Roll

I don’t know what’s gotten into Charlie. You’d think he’d be tired from all that snowblowing, roof raking and shoveling, but he keeps cranking out one poem after another. I guess he has more time than usual to think while he’s moving all that snow around. We’re almost through February folks. Hang in there. Construction’s Afoot Listen, you hear ’em? Right through the wall? Tat-a-tat-tat Is their tireless call Construction’s afoot Up there in the trees Woodpeckers turning them Into Swiss cheese Look at the damage Those woodpeckers do! Some of them holes, You can see through! “Tat-a-tat-tat,” They hammer away, Building their nests On a cold winter’s day That limb to the right? All …

The Joy of House Projects

Every house project takes at least two, three, four times longer than you think it’s going to. The box that says “all parts included” is lying. You dive into repairing that little bit of rot outside the front door and discover it’s the tip of the iceberg. And don’t even get me going on window treatments and paint chips! Experience has taught me that if Charlie’s going to be attempting one of these little chores, it’s best if I’m out of the house. So Saturday, when Charlie announced he was going to install our new bathroom blind, I skedaddled down to the Busy Bee. There I met up with Irene for a little sister time. …

Charlie’s Fall

A few nights ago, Charlie got up to go to the bathroom, per usual. I heard him make a little sound. My eyes spring open in time to see Charlie (or the outline of him ’cause it was dark) wobble and down he went, flat on his face. It scared the bejesus outta me. I spring up. Charlie was moaning. Took both of us to get him vertical, and it weren’t pretty. He had to hold onto the bed for support. “Charlie, you need to sit for a bit before you stand up.” “Ida, I know I’m supposed to do that, but my bladder has other ideas.” I’ll let him tell you about it.  Low …

Octave Pease & the First Snowmobile

When my sister Irene and me were kids, we had these little wooden snow scoops with our names painted on them that were made special just for us by our uncle, Octave Pease. They were just like our Dad’s, only a third the size, and we used to help him shovel the driveway. Which means we just got in the way, and made more of a mess for him to clean up! Octave: now there was a character. He come from a big family, I don’t know how many brothers and sisters. Octave never set foot in a school room, but he was smart as a whip. The kind of fella that could do anything …