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 …

The Women Who Run With the Moose went to see the Downton Abbey movie last week. You bet we did! For some reason, Charlie had no interest in it. You might not think it’d be me and the girls cup of tea, either, but we’re big fans. Didn’t start out that way when Betty first suggested we watch it together. But you know what? Downton Abbey’s kind of like Moxie. You might not like it straight off, but hang in there long enough, and it starts to grow on you. Before you know it, you can’t get enough. We were all a little bummed out when the television show ended. I mean, the way we …

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 …

Charlie and Scamp have a special bond. I think it’s a guy thing. I’ll let Charlie tell you about it. I Stepped In It  I stepped in it the other day Not too fresh, I’m glad to say Scamp and I were on our beat When we heard chatter up the street And knew exactly who we’d meet Joanne and Kim, out on their walk Man, those gals know how to talk! “Hi!” says I, and flash a smile Though I’m knowing, all the while, That I had landed on a pile  Of something gushy underfoot “Oh,” says Kim, “Your dog’s so cute The way he likes to sniff your boot!”  “That he does,” I …