I was out walking around the neighborhood the other day and run into Pearl Plaisted dead-heading her geraniums. “Ida!” she says, “I haven’t seen you all summer. Why don’t you come in for some iced tea, dear?” “No need to twist my arm. I was going to do a little vacuuming, so thanks for rescuing me.” Pearl seemed a little stuck in the “half way up” position, so I give her an assist, and into the house we go. “Hank,” she yells, “you decent? Ida’s here.” We settled into the screened in porch, and got to talking about the big celebration coming up next weekend down to the K of C. Get this: Frank and …

Charlie and me are going to be on vacation, so no blog post for the next two weeks. I’ll be back on August 26. I bought a new vacuum cleaner head. The old one had seen better days. The lever that switches back and forth from “carpet” to “floor” broke, and it was permanently stuck on “carpet.” Hard to get good suction going on a wood floor. If your husband is anything like Charlie, most likely he has a big, honking lawn mower and snow blower, too, for that matter. Why? Because if you have good equipment, it does a better job in less time. So true! A vacuum is something you use all year …

As you get older, things are not always as you remember ‘em. If you remember ‘em at all! That was the topic of conversation last week when the Women Who Run With the Moose got together for our regular girls night out. Betty was hosting, and she was serving these watermelon margaritas, which, to be honest, are kind of an acquired taste. Luckily, after half a glass, you don’t really care! Plus, they’re garnished with melon balls, so they qualify as a fruit, right? Celeste says, “Remember how I told you that Bud and me were thinking about buying a couple of bikes? You know, it was something we used to do as teenagers, ride …

 “Vacationland.” That’s what it says on our Maine license plate, and it’s true. There are plenty of fun things to do here, year round. We encourage folks from away to come and spend time in the great outdoors, enjoy the sights, eat the local delicacies, drink Moxie, buy stuff. We are willing to share our beautiful State with you, but please remember: be nice to us locals! The sign says “Maine: the way life should be”, not “Just like New Jersey, only prettier.” We’re only half way through July, and us folks here in Mahoosuc Mills are already dangerously close to reaching our limit in the “being nice to rude people” department. Working down to …

You know how we tend to confide in our hairdresser or bartender? As a cashier down to the A&P, folks tend to confide in me, too, even if they don’t always know they’re doing it. Because checking out a person’s groceries is more intimate than you image. You know who’s drinking a little too much, who has a Doritos habit and who’s addicted to the National Inquirer. You see the same folks once a week, minimum, and you can kind of sense whether they’re feeling their oats or not. So I’m working register 3 per usual, cashing out Roberta “Bobbie” Robbins, making conversation, like you do. “How’s that cute little dog of yours? Blah, blah. …

I’m one of those folks who capture wasps, spiders and even stinkbugs and set them free outside. It’s just how I roll. Charlie’s gets all riled up by squirrels on the bird feeders, but I figure if they’re smart enough to get to the food, let them have a little reward. I like watching the groundhog family in our yard ’round dinner time and this year we have a little gray fox. Ants in the house cross the line, and I do put out those little ant traps. But whatever happens with that happens outta my sight, so it doesn’t seem that bad, right? But there’s something about mice in the kitchen that just doesn’t …

Up ‘til the economy tanked, “staycation” wasn’t even a word. There’s a reason for that. See how only half the word resembles “vacation”? That’s a hint as to the outcome of most staycations. At best, they’re kind of like a vacation. At worse, they’re more like a week spent in the Gulag. Charlie and me learned this the hard way a few years back. We’d never taken a staycation, so we thought we’d give it a try. We even made a plan, well kind of. We’d scrape and repaint the deck the first weekend,  because it needed it wicked bad. Then we’d spend the rest of the week doing little day trips, you know, makin’ …

“What are you making?” asks Charlie. “An apple pie,” I reply. “Mmm! For me?” “No, not just for you! For all of us. Tonight.” “What’s going on tonight?” “We’re having dinner, remember? With Irene and Jimbo?” “We are? When did this come up?” “A couple of weeks ago. I told you!” “News to me.” “No, it’s not. Where’s your calendar?” Charlie pulls out his dog-eared pocket calendar. “I know it’s in there, Charlie. I remember watching you as you scribbled it in. Probably can’t read your own handwriting.” Charlie fumbles through it. “Oh. Yeah. Guess I should look at it every now and then.” “Might be helpful. Anyhoo, if you want pie, that’s what we’re …

As you may already know, back in Mahoosuc Mills, I hang out with the greatest group of gals. The Women Who Run With the Moose we call ourselves: Celeste, Rita, Betty, Dot, Shirley and me. Heck, we’ve been close since even before Charlie and me started dating, so that back a ways. We’ve gone through good times and bad together, and I’ve still got the bridesmaids dresses to prove it. If you were in any doubt, bridesmaids dresses attest to the fact that one style is not flattering on all body types, and there are some colors you should never wear, ever. Trust me. I got around that by dressing my bridesmaids in different color …

We had to say goodbye to Cora two weeks ago tomorrow. Turns out she was ours for just two years. What a sweet, little love bug, and every minute with her was worth all the sadness we’re feeling now. Charlie and me were hoping we’d have her longer. Cora would have been thirteen in August, so not that old for a small dog. But see, she got cancer, and about six months ago we knew it was only a matter of time. Cora died as she lived, with grace, dignity and love. She went downhill quickly, and there was no question it was time. Wanting to please us right ’til the end, like dogs do. …