Putting stuff you don’t need or want in your yard with a “Free” sign on it is a useful idea. One person’s trash is another’s treasure, right? Works best if you put it out on a Saturday morning when folks are driving around, running errands. If no one snatches it up by nightfall, put it in the shed and try again the next day. But here’s the deal: if it’s still there by the end of Sunday, nobody is going to take it. Nobody! You tried and now you have to do the right thing. Bring it to Goodwill or the dump. Donate it to Restore. I don’t care. But for the love of God, …

One day a while back, I was at the Rite Aid picking up a few things. Seems like I’m in there every other day. I mean, if they didn’t see me for a week, they’d probably send me a get well card. Anyhoo, I have a little list of things to get, and on that list, second from the bottom, was “L-Glutamine.” Yes, I thought, that’s definitely my handwriting. But I had no recollection whatsoever of writing it, and no idea what the hell it does. I must have read about L-Glutamine somewhere in a magazine and thought it would be good for me, so I bought it. When I got home, I searched through …

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 …

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 …

The poet laureate of Mahoosuc Mills strikes again, and who could blame him. If Shakespeare had had the pleasure of partaking in one of Babes homemade, fresh from the oven, maple glazed donuts, I’m sure he’d have written a sonnet about it. Thankfully, Charlie stepped in to fill the gap. Here’s his latest. Maple Glazed Doughnut Down to the mill, If you punch in early, ‘Round about ten Your stomach gets squirrel-ly Someone’s elected To go, make it hasty And bring us all back Some coffee and pastry Muffins, of course, Are a popular pick And danish are usually Polished off quick The guys all have favorites They never outgrow, For me, it’s the Maple …

Boy, I’ll tell ya, things are always changing down to the transfer station! So much so, it’s hard to keep it all straight, one week to another. They take #1 and #2 plastic, but #5? One week yes, the next week no. Keep the plastic caps on the bottles? No, now you’re supposed to take ‘em off and put ‘em over there. I secretly wonder if, late at night, they don’t have a good laugh at our expense, as they mix all the recycling together and toss it into the compactor. Pretty cynical, I know, but the thought has crossed my mind. Oh, it’s just too much rigmarole for me. But Charlie, thank God, he …

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. …

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 …

Charlie’s latest brings to mind so many thoughts. Take a gander, then I’ll share ‘em with you. Look Up and Be Proud Grandpa once told me “Look up and be proud! Distinguishable From the rest of the crowd” But each time I did, Wouldn’t you know, I’d stumble or trip Over something below A rake or a pail Or the root of a tree A crusty old dog That I didn’t see There’s always some obstacle Down on the ground That is the reason I’ve always looked down My posture, I know, Has taken a hit Best thing for me? Find somewhere to sit Where I’m out of range Of things I could trip on …

I had the pleasure of sitting beside Snowdell Holden’s sister, Trudy, at the bean supper Saturday night. Trudy lives in Portland, but spends the summer up to her camp on Scoodic Lake. She’d driven over for the weekend. Like Snowdell, Trudy’s a pistol. Just turned 89, and doesn’t look a day over 79, which is quite a compliment when you’re pushing 90. Over beans, biscuits, cole slaw, hot dogs, not to mention the mac and cheese that somehow wandered onto my plate, we got to talking about Trudy’s life, like you do. Trudy’s a retired nurse, mother of five with eleven grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. She’s been a widow for going on twenty years now. …