This week’s blog appears in my book, The Sweet Life, but it bears repeating. ‘Tis the season. 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, ‘cause it needed it …

Ran into Franny Ward down to the A&P the other day. She was standing in the express lane looking happy as a clam. I was about to go on break anyway, so I shut of my register light and went over to say hi.  Along with me and a handful of others, Franny is one of the Saturday morning regulars with Patsy down to Hair Affair. It’s always the same bunch of women, reading the same magazines, under the same hairdryers, dishing about celebrities and locals alike. We are equal opportunity gossipers. Did you see that movie “Steel Magnolias?” It’s kind of like that, only with snow or black flies. I call us the Sturdy …

I haven’t always been the best sleeper, and Charlie’s snoring doesn’t help. Menopause, either. Though to be honest, I crossed that bridge a long time ago, so technically, I’m post-menopause, which sounds like I’m just this side of dead. Anyhoo, that’s how I’ve been sleeping lately, like the dead, and it’s blissful. Why the improvement? I’d say it’s a combo platter of a few things. First and foremost, Charlie started doing a couple hits of nasal spray before he goes to bed, and it’s made all the difference in the world. His snoring has ratcheted down to a soft purr. I know it’s the nasal spray because during the day when he’s dozing in the …

Last weekend, guess what we did. Hung out with our cousins up to Claudette and Roger’s camp. We try to do this once a year, just for the heck of it. What a hoot! Sure, some things have changed. Instead of talking about work, it’s all about when we plan to retire, how long we’re going to try to wait to collect Social Security. Instead of our kids, we talk about aging parents and grand kids. Instead of envelopes of loose photos, we take turns squintin’ at our smart phones, trying to find that great shot we just have to share. We travel more. We drink less alcohol and more decaf.  But some things stay …

In my book, The Sweet Life, I have a whole chapter devoted to sex. Hey, it’s a book about love and marriage, so it had to be done. Doesn’t quite have the same pizzazz as when we were younger, but it’s not half bad. I’m no Dr. Ruth (I’m short, but not that short), but bottom line: I’m a firm believer in doing whatever you need to do in order to do it. I’ll spare you the details. Oh, and fantasize all you want about whoever you want, but just don’t act on it. My friend Rita learned this the hard way. Rita works down to Smitty’s Hardware, which is owned by her husband, Smitty. …

I hope you had a nice weekend, because mine was a friggin’ marathon of errand running and house cleaning with an evening of canasta, a bean supper and an ice cream social thrown in for good measure. You know what? I’m kinda looking forward to getting back to work today, to rest up! Friday night, we went over to Nicole and Bobby Francoeur’s place to play canasta. They’re a nice couple, but as I’ve told you before, I’m not much for game playing. It just…I don’t know, I find it kind of boring. So I end up medicating myself with the nachos and peanut M&M’s, which, to be honest, leave me a little cranky. Still, …

Me and the Dairy Queen have a love/hate relationship. All summer long I love it, and the rest of the year I take its name. Let’s just say my skinny jeans and the Peanut Buster Parfait are like Patty Duke and her cousin. They’re never seen in the same room at the same time. In the spring when the DQ opens, I start off with the Peanut Buster Parfait right out of the gate because, you know, I missed that delightful mix of vanilla soft serve, hot fudge sauce, and peanuts. It’s a sweet and salty taste sensation, and I enjoy every bite.  Then I scale it back. When Charlie and me ride over to …

Charlie and me went for a massage last Saturday. Yes, you read that right. Charlie got a massage, and not by me. By a guy named Michael. Let me start at the beginning. For Christmas, our niece Caitlin gave us each a gift certificate for a one hour massage. She knows how much I love being pampered, no question about that, but it was a kind of outside the box choice for Charlie. He would have been happy with one of them Hickory Farms sausage and cheese gift box type deals. God love her, Caitlin’s heart is in the right place. She knew work had been tense for Charlie what with all the layoffs down …

I was looking through my book, The Sweet Life, the other day. This is not something I do on a regular basis. I don’t sit around the double-wide thinking, Wow! I got a few minutes to spare. I think I’ll check out some of the brilliant things I said in my book. No siree, Bob. I’m writing a new show that’s based on the book (it’ll debut in September) and so part of the job is going through the book and deciding what stories would be fun to share on stage, up close and personal. Can’t wait!  Anyhoo, with all that’s going on in the country, on TV, heck our town meeting right here in …

Charlie’s been enjoying this spring as much as I have. We’re both filled with energy. I’ve always wondered why folks don’t do spring cleaning in the winter when there’s nothing going on. But, you know, winter is a time for hibernating, and spring is all about getting things done. Charlie’s been working in the yard, clearing away blow down, and raking up the leaves that we got too sick of dealing with last fall. And last week, it was time to mow the lawn, a sure sign that summer is around the corner. Not surprisingly, he wrote a poem about it. First Mow of the Season First pull, mower started! That, to me, is poetry …