October, my season of terror. Days are getting shorter, leaves piling up in the yard, frost on the pumpkin. But that’s not the problem. What’s plaguing me is what plagues me every October: the advent of them miniature candy bars. Snickers, Milky Ways, Butterfingers, they’re like crack cocaine to me. ‘Cause candy is love, baby, and I want me some love! Ida, I say to myself, don’t buy them until Halloween Day. And I start out strong, I really do. But then, oh-oh, there’s a bowl of candy corn at book group, or a bunch of small boxes on the counter at the dry cleaners. Or I’m at a birthday party where they’re serving chocolate …

Is it too early to switch over my clothes? Time for flannel sheets? I don’t know! One minute, I’m eyeing that cable knit sweater. The next, it’s seventy-five degrees. Same goes for that batch of soup I made on Thursday when it was cool, rainy and gray. Then, I had to freeze it because it got warm and muggy. Early fall is funny like that. But, I don’t really mind it all that much. Heck, I’ll take every scrap of warm weather I can get! We haven’t had a hard frost yet, so gardens are still sporting some of their late summer blooms, with a few potted mums thrown in for good measure. The trees …

Lately, Charlie’s been driving me crazy with all his aches and pains. Actually, it’s not the aches and pains, because I get it, we’re old. It’s the fact that he won’t do anything about ’em. And when I gently suggest he maybe take a Tylanol and call the doctor to see what’s what, we end up with a shoot the messenger situation. I’m worried about him and want to strangle him, all at the same time. I’ll let him complain to you for a change. Write What You Know I’ve heard ’em say, “Write what you know” OK, I’ll give it a go: My ingrown toenail, let’s start there A daily source of my despair …

Have you ever been driving around, pass a house and think, I wonder if they’re having a yard sale, or if that’s just how they live. Or someone walks by you at the mall and you’re like, Geez, Louise, are they wearing perfume or is that bug dope. There are entire days where I just wonder around in my head. I wonder what I’ll make for supper. I wonder if I have time to clean to bathroom before I leave for work. I see a dog with their head stuck out of a car window, wind whipping and I wonder what they’re thinking. When I wonder what Charlie’s thinking, I’ll ask him and more often …

During the summer, when I’d find myself talking to someone with the sniffles, and I’d ask, “Are you sick?” “No, it’s just allergies. They’re wicked bad this year.” And I’d breathe a sigh of relief, because you know what? I don’t have time to get sick. I mean, who does? But now we’re heading into the fall, my friends, and that means cold and flu season will be here before you know it. Throw in Covid, RSV and whatever new creeping crud is on the horizon, we need to be considerate of others. I’m begging you, if you’re sick, stay home! You’ll get better quicker if you take care of yourself, and you won’t be …

Alas, the end of summer is upon us. But to be honest, we’ve been feeling it up here in Mahoosuc Mills for a couple of weeks now. Though it heats up during the day, there’s a definate nip in the air, once the sun goes down. “Good sleeping weather,” Charlie calls it. In the evening, I make sure to close all the windows (except in the bedroom), so it’s not too chilly in the house, come morning. And our first shipment of mums has arrived at the A&P. I haven’t surrendered to buying any yet, but it’s only a matter of time. The Moose Megantic High football team is running drills down to the field. …

Along with this blog, I started writing a “Dear Ida” column in the Moose Megantic Gazette awhile back. I know! Wicking fun. I thought I’d share this letter with you because it’s a classic. It’s already been in the paper, but in case you missed it, here it is: Dear Ida, My wife don’t think I’m sexy no more. What do I do? Concerned in Calais Here’s what I said: Dear Concerned Who do I look like? Dr. Ruth? I’m short, but not that short! You want to know how to get your sexy back? Well, let’s see. A man vacuuming, that’s sexy. (Am I right, ladies?) A man snoring away in his Barcalounger? Mm, …

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 …

Here’s a story of misspent youth, courtesy of Charlie. Physics 101 We saw it all happen, my friend Bud and me From the booth where we sat at the ol’ Busy Bee Waiting we were, for the rest of the boys We heard, of a sudden, this terrible noise Almost as if we were hearing a fight This pickup pulled up to our one traffic light With rock music blarin’, speakers all blown And some jackass yellin’ he’s “bad to the bone” Bangin’ the beat on the side of his door Then hootin’ and hollerin’, yellin’ some more “Who is this clown?” says Bud with a frown The notorious Whitey Junior By that I mean …

So I go into Cumby’s to pick up a Cow Tail. (For those of you who’ve led a sheltered life, that’s a caramel candy.) It was a reward for .…..well, I can’t remember what right now, but I know I deserved it at the time. I just love them things! Anyhoo, behind the counter is this guy from away whose  name is Guy. That’s what it says on his name tag. I’ve seen him there before, but don’t know hardly nothing about him. See, his demeanor doesn’t exactly invite conversation. He must be about my age, I’m guessing: glasses, gray hair and mustache. Big chain around his neck that must have had a gold finish …