Along with this blog, I started writing a “Dear Ida” column in the Moose Megantic Gazette awhile back. I know! Wicking fun. I thought I’d share this letter with you because it’s a classic. It’s already been in the paper, but in case you missed it, here it is: Dear Ida, My wife don’t think I’m sexy no more. What do I do? Concerned in Calais Here’s what I said: Dear Concerned Who do I look like? Dr. Ruth? I’m short, but not that short! You want to know how to get your sexy back? Well, let’s see. A man vacuuming, that’s sexy. (Am I right, ladies?) A man snoring away in his Barcalounger? Mm, …

I was at my doctor’s office, talking to her about some digestive problems I’ve been having lately, and she says to me, “You know, Ida, the older you get, the more your body becomes like a nun’s.” That caught me off guard at first, but I pondered it and she kind of has a point. After a certain age, there’s just a lot less margin for error. Gotta somehow keep yourself pure. But tell me, where’s the fun in that? It seems like this happens overnight. But if you stop and think about it, you realize that’s not really true. Our bodies have been trying to get our attention, but we haven’t been taking the …

Here’s a story of misspent youth, courtesy of Charlie. Physics 101 We saw it all happen, my friend Bud and me From the booth where we sat at the ol’ Busy Bee Waiting we were, for the rest of the boys We heard, of a sudden, this terrible noise Almost as if we were hearing a fight This pickup pulled up to our one traffic light With rock music blarin’, speakers all blown And some jackass yellin’ he’s “bad to the bone” Bangin’ the beat on the side of his door Then hootin’ and hollerin’, yellin’ some more “Who is this clown?” says Bud with a frown The notorious Whitey Junior By that I mean …

So I go into Cumby’s to pick up a Cow Tail. (For those of you who’ve led a sheltered life, that’s a caramel candy.) It was a reward for .…..well, I can’t remember what right now, but I know I deserved it at the time. I just love them things! Anyhoo, behind the counter is this guy from away whose  name is Guy. That’s what it says on his name tag. I’ve seen him there before, but don’t know hardly nothing about him. See, his demeanor doesn’t exactly invite conversation. He must be about my age, I’m guessing: glasses, gray hair and mustache. Big chain around his neck that must have had a gold finish …