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 Sunday last, we took a break To Dot and Tommy’s, by the lake 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 smell became …

The Women Who Run With the Moose got together for our girls night on Thursday. Betty was hosting and she was serving nachos and these skinny watermelon margaritas. Oh, they were wicked tasty! Right from the get go, us girls were talking a mile a minute, per usual. Hard to get a word in edgewise, but I managed. “So last Saturday, I was at the baked bean supper down to the Congo Church,” I begin, “and who do I run into but Eleanor Purdy.” Celeste goes, “That old gal must be pushing ninety.” “Eighty-eight next week, she told me. Heck, she pretty much announced it to everyone there. Still lives at home. Well, she was …