You know you’re old when: you go to bed fine, wake up the next morning, and your back is out. you stand up after sitting for a while, and you have a little Walter Brennan thing going. (If you don’t know who Walter Brennan is, this probably doesn’t apply to you. Yet.) you bend your knees a bit when you sneeze to “protect your back.” you sustain a napping related injury. You know, you wake up, stretch real big, and pull something in your neck. you take a car ride and stop somewhere to go the bathroom, and it takes you all the way to the door to stand up straight. Along with fat migrating …

“My mom’s memory is like a window opening and closing.” That’s what my co-worker Lisa said to me, a few years ago. I thought I knew what she meant, but I didn’t. Not really. Now, I get it. My dad is down to Mahoosuc Green, our senior living facility here in town. He bought in a few years after my mom died, and had the cutest little apartment in the independent living wing, Dirigo Way. But, a few months into lockdown, I got the call, “Ida, we feel your father’s no longer Dirigo Way material.” Ouch! I guess Dad needed a little more help with things. You know, like showering, cueing (reminding him when he’s …

I used to hate getting “Ma’am-ed.” You know what I’m talking about. “Are you ready to order, ma’am?” Sometimes, I’d even say, “Did you just ma’am me?” Being called ma’am is a sign of respect if you live down south. But up north, it just means you’re old. But now, I seem to have progressed to a whole other level. Ma’am has become “dear, “hon” or “Miss.” That’s the one I hate the most. “Miss.” Like I’ve become so elderly, I’ve traveled past ma’am and am back where I started. Charlie’s noticed it, too, but being called “hon” by the gals waiting on him seems to put a bounce in his step. I don’t have …

“Geez Louise,” my dad says to me over the phone. “When is this gonna be over? I feel like I’m under house arrest!” “I know, Dad. But it’s going to be awhile. How are you doing?” “I’m hanging in there. I miss you girls.” This is the same conversation I have with my dad, every day. See, he’s sheltering in place over there to Mahoosuc Green, our senior living facility. They’ve been in lockdown for over three weeks now: no visitors, period. Two weeks ago, they stopped allowing residents into dining room, bringing meals to their apartments. And last week, we got this notice saying no care packages are allowed. Even from Amazon! Then you’ve …

The other day, I was chatting with Charlie at supper, like you do. We’re catching up on our day, what happened at work, all that. I was telling him about running into Claudia Peavey down to the A&P. I’ve told you about Claudia and her husband Kurt before. Charlie and me refer to them as the “Yeah, but’s.” Meaning, don’t matter what you say to them, they’ll “yeah, but” you. For example, I say, “Hi, Claudia. Beautiful day out there, isn’t it?” And Claudia replies, “Yeah, but, it’s supposed to rain tomorrow.” You know the drill. So Charlie says to me, “What’s up with Claudia’s eyebrows?” Charlie asks me questions like this all the time. …

Well, Thanksgiving has come and gone again. I had a hard time wrapping my head around it this year. See, Thanksgiving was always my mom’s favorite holiday, so it’s not the same without her fussing around the kitchen, getting everything just right. It’s been fifteen years since she passed, and lately I’ve been really missing her. Don’t know why. Maybe because dad’s pushing 87 and fading. He’s still with us, sure, but his world is getting smaller by the day and with it, his interest in, well, life, too. He’s no longer the guy with the stories and the quick come back at the table. To be honest, nowadays Thanksgiving just seems like a problem …

As I talked about in my blog from a while back, my dad finds that one of the hardest parts of being in Mahoosuc Green (our senior living facility here in Mahoosuc Mills) is that the women won’t leave the men alone. Dad had a real bee in his bonnet about this when we visited him on Sunday. So much so, it inspired Charlie to write a poem. Down to The Home Sunday, we went and we saw Ida’s dad Down to the Home, and though he was glad One little matter did not make him cheerful Boy, did we ever get us an earful! “Why,” he asked, “do women insist On taking things over? …

Last Friday was the anniversary of my mother’s death. Fifteen years! I can’t believe it. It seems like only yesterday and at the same time, a million years ago. My mom lived with cancer on and off for four and a half years. And boy, oh, boy, that last one was tough. I like roller coaster rides and all, but at the fair. Not so much at home. Her dying wasn’t scary, like you’d think. It was a natural thing. Beautiful, in a stark sort of way. And the hospice people were great! What a wonderful organization. The nurses, social workers, chaplain and volunteers just couldn’t have been nicer. They were there when we needed …

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 …

We’re coming up on a very special anniversary, my friends. That’s right, the death of Elvis Presley. August 16, 1977, a date burned into my memory. That’s when the King relocated to heaven, taking all his talent and charisma with him. Forty-two years later, you know what? I still miss him. What a sexy man! Fat or thin, I don’t care, there was something about Elvis. When I think of him, though, I mostly think of the young Elvis. That first time on Ed Sullivan, oh mister man! We’d never seen anything like him. Even though they only showed him from the waist up, which made it even more tantalizing. Us girls were all a-flutter …