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? …

I’m kind of embarrassed to put this out there. It’s just not the kind of thing you talk about in public. But I need some help here. I can not get the stink out of Charlie’s washcloths. I’ve googled the hell out of this one and nothing works. I’ve soaked them in vinegar which supposedly does the trick on sports bras. (Personally, I only have a passing acquaintance with sports bras seeing as I don’t like to work out hard enough to break a sweat.) I even tried boiling the darn things, but that was just too home on the prairie for me. I’m at the point where I’m thinking about buying a stack of …

Charlie and Scamp have a special bond. I think it’s a guy thing. I’ll let Charlie tell you about it. I Stepped In It  I stepped in it the other day Not too fresh, I’m glad to say Scamp and I were on our beat When we heard chatter up the street And knew exactly who we’d meet Joanne and Kim, out on their walk Man, those gals know how to talk! “Hi!” says I, and flash a smile Though I’m knowing, all the while, That I had landed on a pile  Of something gushy underfoot “Oh,” says Kim, “Your dog’s so cute The way he likes to sniff your boot!”  “That he does,” I …

Charlie has joined the crowd of folks talking about the hot weather. But you know what? As complaining goes, poetry is a pretty fancy way of doing it. My hubby’s a keeper! “Don’t You Find This Summer Hot?”  Don’t you find this summer hot? I don’t feel like doin’ squat! Too hot for chores or barbequein’ None of that I feel like doin’  Getting’ up and goin’ fishin’? Nope, a cool one’s what I’m wishin’ For, Presto! Right here in my hand A beer to steer me to the stands Of Fenway, wouldn’t that be grand? To be up there with all the fans? Shy of that, I’ll sit here sippin’ On my ice cold, …

Last week, I shared Charlie’s poem about our good neighbor, Gus, who was kind enough to loan Charlie his mower while ours was in the shop. The adventure continued when the part came in, but Agway didn’t have time to install it. They figured they wouldn’t get to our mower for at least a few more weeks, so Charlie thought maybe he could install it himself. They gave him a demonstration on how to do it and everything. But you know what? Charlie’s getting wise in his old age. I’ll let him tell you about it.  Keep My Name on Your List  It’s height of the season, you know how it’s goin’: About every week, …

About this time every year, we get ants in our house. Can’t figure out how they get in. Not big carpenter ants, which gross me out, and would have me calling the exterminator for lickity split. Our ants come in phases: first little ants, then tiny ants, then medium sized ants. Just when one size disappears, another kind takes it’s place. We buy them little ant traps, and those eventually do the trick. But when they’re here, ants sure are a nuisance. Here’s Charlie’s ode to ants. Our Uninvited Critters Well, I feel compelled to write About our sorry, little plight When spring is lovely as can be And suddenly we start to see Ants! …

Since getting his new hip, Charlie’s been on half time down to the mill. Having all that free time on his hands has turned him into a poetry writing fool. Here’s his latest. I Got a New Hip I got a new hip I’m a happy guy Got the big thumbs up From a fella drivin’ by I’m walkin’ down the street Not lookin’ at my feet Shoe laces, I can tie ‘em Maybe on the second try Wear clodhoppers so I don’t slip I got a new hip I got a new hip Man, alive I can walk up stairs, hey, I can even drive! (Automatic, of course, But it’s better than a horse) …

Charlie’s on the mend from his hip replacement. Every day he gets better and better. It’s a marvel to see him bend down and put on his socks by himself. He’s doing physical therapy a couple times a day, plus he takes a short walk. Without Scamp, of course. That’s because Scamp can be a little unpredictable, especially when he sees another dog. He only weighs fourteen pounds, but that four on the floor is a powerful thing. The hardest part for Charlie is the nighttime. Especially at the beginning. He just couldn’t get comfortable. No position seemed to work, so he dreamed a lot. I’ll let him tell you all about it.  The Dreams …

Here in the LeClair household, we’re counting down to Charlie’s hip replacement one week from today. We’ve had it scheduled since last fall. That’s when Charlie finally wrapped his head around the fact he had to deal with it because his bum hip was starting to get in the way of doing things he liked to do. He’s been limping for awhile, but I knew he had to come around to it on his own. So, I didn’t push. Once he mentioned it though, I made an appointment right away. You wait too long with this stuff and your whole body gets outta whack. Before you know it, your good hip is now bad hip, …

Winter brings it’s own sort of challenges. Some of these are big like the Polar Vortex. And some are small. Take for example those pesky cracks, mostly on your thumbs, that no amount of moisturizer seems to prevent or cure. Even when they’re tiny, that can keep you up at night throbbing away. Charlie wrote a poem about one of these little irritations. Not big enough to actually do anything about except complain. Gotta admit though, doing it in a poem is classy.  I’ll Get To It One Of These Days  There’s a nail head that catches my shovel, it seems Whenever it snows on the deck And then I think, Oh, what the heck …