January is almost done, thank goodness. My decluttering is kind of stalled, though, because I’ve done all the easy stuff, and all that’s left are big things like tacking my craft room or the catch all closet. But, it’s hard to get motivated. Frankly, I’m kind of overwhelmed just thinking about it. Caitlin, my niece and guru for all things new age-y, says to me the other day, “Aunt Ida, some animals hyphenate for the winter. Maybe we should take our cue from them, and slow down a little. You know, enjoy it.” We were having lunch down to the Busy Bee, and I was tucking into the special of the day: baked macaroni and …

Sunday, Charlie and me were taking a late morning walk. It’s been hard for Cora and us to get motivated early in the morning what with the frigid temps. We all needed a little exercise and truth be told, we were hoping work off some of the bacon and Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls we had for breakfast. So, we’re walking ‘round our neighborhood, past a little wooded lot, when Orrin Libby pops out from behind some trees. Orrin must be in his late seventies, I’m guessing, and he has the walking thing down. He takes a jaunt downtown, about three miles ‘round trip, every morning to pick up the paper. Rain, snow, hot or cold, he’s …

On our morning walk around our neighborhood, Charlie and me see lots of birds: sparrow, blue jays, crows, chickadees, of course, a few hawks and even a robin or two. Canada geese, in season. But every once and awhile we’ll see a Pileated Woodpecker. Not one of them little guys, but the Woody Woodpecker ones. That’s always a treat because they are spectacular looking. I mean, that red! The Pileated is a big bird and, boy, it makes a racket hammering away. You think they’d be easy to see, but they’re not. Most of the time you hear them, but can’t find where they are. Charlie and me must look like idiots, stopped in the …

Now we’re outta quarantine, the world is opening back up for Charlie and me. Getting Covid at Christmas was like doing a “force quit” on my computer. It’s never pretty, but it does clean things up and puts them back in order. It got me off the overeating treadmill of holiday events and has given me a new found appreciation of how good it feels to feel good. Plus, I lost that pesky extra seven pounds that’s been plaguing me. How about that for a Christmas miracle? After the first two days, when I was basically in bed, it was gratitude that got me through. I mean, come on! I’m in a warm, clean house …

Just a shortie (and no recording) today. Santa brought me Covid for Christmas. Soon, Charlie had it, too. It’s the first time for both of us. Hard to believe we went all this time without getting it, but we did. One minute we’re out living our life and then next, we’re disappeared from it. You just know there’s got to be a lesson in there, right? I’ll think more on that and get back to you next week. Happy New Year, everyone!

Ladies, you know how you can ask, then bug and, I’ll admit it, nag your husband to do something? Then all of a sudden, he does it at the least convenient time possible! Like when the hand towel rack in our guest bath had gotten kind of rickety and I put it on Charlie’s honey do list. There it stayed for, oh, six months. Then on the day I’m hosting my book group’s annual cookie swap, Charlie decides to fix it. Seriously! And of course, it’s not an easy tighten a screw solution. No siree bob, we’re talking drilling, and patching holes and maybe a little touch up paint and why move the throw rug …

We all know I love Christmas, there’s not double about that. But sometimes you can have too much of a good thing. ‘Course it would help if stores didn’t start putting out their Christmas stuff before Halloween. I say, let Tom Turkey have his day. No decorations up before Thanksgiving. That way it stays special. Still, my holiday spirit is shining bright. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for Charlie. He’s not as big on Christmas as I am to begin with. I know, that’s hard to believe. Sure, he had fun playing Santa at the Down Home Holiday Festival a couple weekends ago. But right now, he’s run outta ho, ho, ho’s. He’ll rally …

Yup, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. The Phinneys got their crèche set up across the street, and Whitey Hebert’s plugged in his tree. ‘Course, it’s easy for him because he leaves the lights up all year ‘round, and that middle strand is still out. Don’t get me started! Mahoosuc Mills is gearing up for our Down Home Holiday Festival. Used to be the Down Home Christmas Festival, but we are now politically correct. The St. Hyacinth’s Christmas Bazaar is part of the Festival. I guess we should change it to “Holiday Bazaar,” but hey, we’re Catholics. Who are we kidding? The Women Who Run With the Moose have a table down to …

“Charlie, a hoodie’s like cargo pants, only for your top half.” By the look on Charlie’s face I realized I’d said that out loud. To be fair, it was the day after my Covid booster, and I was feeling a little under the weather. My true feelings just come out. I hate Charlie’s hoodie! It’s okay working around the yard or going to the transfer station or Agway. Fine. But not when we go out to breakfast or a bean supper. I’d tried being subtle, but Charlie wasn’t picking up on my hints. We’ll be going down to the Brew Ha Ha for a bite to eat, and I go, “How about putting on that …

The other day I says to Charlie, “We gotta put the grill in the shed for the winter.” Now, I have no intention of doing this myself. It’s the kind of chore Charlie usually does (after I remind him). We both know that by “we,” I mean “him. It’s the same “we” that comes into play when I say, “Boy, that recycling’s sure piling up. About time we made a trip down to the transfer station.” Or, “We oughta sure up that bottom step on the deck, don’t you think? Maybe put up a new railing?” It’s the royal “we. I got to thinking about it, asking myself if this is a two way street …