This weekend was our Mahoosuc Mills Down Home Holiday Festival. It’s always the second weekend of December, and people come from all over to experience our down home holiday fun. The St. Hyacinth’s Christmas Bazaar is part of the festival, and The Women Who Run With the Moose have a table down there where we sell crafts. It’s the second most popular booth at the Christmas Bazaar, if I do say so myself. The first is still the Blessed Bling Boutique. They rake it in. For some reason, the whole thing crept up on us this year. I think it’s because Thanksgiving was so late, and then we had that storm last week. Usually we …

This week, winter arrived in Mahoosuc Mills, and not in a good way. The bad news is we got a major dumping of snow. The good news? You don’t have to finish raking your yard. Poor Charlie, one day he was rushing to put the garden to bed and two days later he was snow blowing. But that’s life, right? It’s darn near impossible to get it all done, and that’s okay. Blow It Off ‘Til Spring Got the deck chairs in And the table put away Never brushed the grill But that’s OK I’m afraid I couldn’t Get to everything Gonna have to just Blow it off ‘til spring I never quite finished Rakin’ …

Well, Thanksgiving has come and gone again. I had a hard time wrapping my head around it this year. See, Thanksgiving was always my mom’s favorite holiday, so it’s not the same without her fussing around the kitchen, getting everything just right. It’s been fifteen years since she passed, and lately I’ve been really missing her. Don’t know why. Maybe because dad’s pushing 87 and fading. He’s still with us, sure, but his world is getting smaller by the day and with it, his interest in, well, life, too. He’s no longer the guy with the stories and the quick come back at the table. To be honest, nowadays Thanksgiving just seems like a problem …

The poet of Mahoosuc Mills strikes again. Boots Need Waxing Boots need waxin’ once a year ‘Specially if you’re hunting deer Any decent goo will do “Moose snot” is what we call it, here It kind of looks like that to us. To use it, you don’t have to fuss: Brush your boots off to begin, Then gob it on and rub it in Your huntin’ day will not be blotted If your boots are good and snotted Mine were not when we set out And I went on my own to scout  These tracks that started leading me Around this big, blown-over tree On down a hill with rocks and such And through this …

All of a sudden, I’m hearing this commotion in the bathroom. Sounds like Charlie’s trying to find something. “Hey, Ida!” “Yeah?” “You seen my nose hair clipper?” “Your what?” “You know, that thing I use to trim my nose hair.” “Where is it usually?” “Top drawer.” Nose hair clipper. I can kind of see it in my mind, this heavy, pewter-colored thing, looks kind of like a medieval torture device. “You mean that industrial strength roto-rooter I bought you a few years back?” “Yeah, that. Can’t find it.” Oh, no, I’m thinking. I can picture the thing now, in a plastic tray nestled between five or six lipsticks, all in crap colors, make you look …

As I talked about in my blog from a while back, my dad finds that one of the hardest parts of being in Mahoosuc Green (our senior living facility here in Mahoosuc Mills) is that the women won’t leave the men alone. Dad had a real bee in his bonnet about this when we visited him on Sunday. So much so, it inspired Charlie to write a poem. Down to The Home Sunday, we went and we saw Ida’s dad Down to the Home, and though he was glad One little matter did not make him cheerful Boy, did we ever get us an earful! “Why,” he asked, “do women insist On taking things over? …

Sad to say, yard sale season is just about at an end for this year, but there are still bargains to be had. I was out browsing around the area with Dottie last weekend, seeing if we could score some last minute deals. She’s always looking for stuff for up to their camp. “You mind if I bring Scamp?” I ask. Scamp’s our little dog. Cute as a button, if I do say so myself. “Nah, bring him along.” Scamp just loves being part of the pack. He’s happy to go anywhere, anytime. And you know what? The little bugger is a great negotiating tool. Softens up even the most tight fisted seller. If I’m …

I’m kind of embarrassed to put this out there. It’s just not the kind of thing you talk about in public. But I need some help here. I can not get the stink out of Charlie’s washcloths. I’ve googled the hell out of this one and nothing works. I’ve soaked them in vinegar which supposedly does the trick on sports bras. (Personally, I only have a passing acquaintance with sports bras seeing as I don’t like to work out hard enough to break a sweat.) I even tried boiling the darn things, but that was just too home on the prairie for me. I’m at the point where I’m thinking about buying a stack of …

Last Friday was the anniversary of my mother’s death. Fifteen years! I can’t believe it. It seems like only yesterday and at the same time, a million years ago. My mom lived with cancer on and off for four and a half years. And boy, oh, boy, that last one was tough. I like roller coaster rides and all, but at the fair. Not so much at home. Her dying wasn’t scary, like you’d think. It was a natural thing. Beautiful, in a stark sort of way. And the hospice people were great! What a wonderful organization. The nurses, social workers, chaplain and volunteers just couldn’t have been nicer. They were there when we needed …

I love food. No secret about that. I love eating it, of course, but I also like looking at pictures of food in magazines, cookbooks, facebook, Pinterest, billboards, you name it. I call this food porn. You know what I’m talking about! In my humble opinion, food always tastes best when you didn’t cook it yourself. What makes book group fun? The books? No. The idle chit chat? Maybe. But where’s the food? Then there’s going out to eat. What’s not to like about that? First off, you got your cocktails and bread basket, and if you’re lucky, some herbed butter. Or in an Italian restaurant: focaccia and olive oil. Then you get to pour …