I learned about integrity early on by observing life in Mahoosuc Mills. Back then, people made deals with a handshake. You gave your word, and that was good enough. Some folks still do business that way. See, when you live in a small town, it’s important to protect your reputation ’cause people have long memories. My Grampy Gilbert taught me the value of giving my word when I was a young whippersnapper. I was reminded of this last weekend when I was straightening out our storage shed, and I come upon his old fishing creel tucked way in back. Beautiful thing. I opened the lid, and inside was a blood oath he made me sign …

As you get older, things are not always as you remember ‘em. If you remember ‘em at all! That was the topic of conversation last week when the Women Who Run With the Moose got together for our regular girls night out. Betty was hosting, and she was serving these watermelon margaritas, which, to be honest, are kind of an acquired taste. Luckily, after half a glass, you don’t really care! Plus, they’re garnished with melon balls, so they qualify as a fruit, right? Celeste says, “Remember how I told you that Bud and me were thinking about buying a couple of bikes? You know, it was something we used to do as teenagers, ride …

A mild winter in Maine? I’m all in. I’m sure we’ll get some big storms eventually, but I’m content right now with rain and the occasional light snow. 20 degrees one day and 45 the next. When I think back to my winters as a kid, it seemed like we had big piles of snow for months. Maybe the snow banks just looked bigger because I was smaller. Found this picture from the olden days. See my expression. Even then I didn’t look all that excited about snow. Charlie seems to hanker more for a real winter than me. He misses ice fishing and snowmobiling. Hard to believe he misses plowing, snow blowing, roof raking …

It started with this thought, I miss the smell of wet wool. And as it happens when you get to be a certain age, all of a sudden I was transported back to my childhood. I don’t know if I’ve told you this story before or not, but hey, if you’re like me, you probably don’t remember either. I miss the smell of wet wool. In a world before polar fleece, that’s what winters smelled like in Maine. Wet wool, wood smoke and beans slow cooking all day Saturday. Beans cooking still smell like love to me. And wet wool. From the mittens and hats Nana made for us and the socks that Meme knit. …

Got together with the Women Who Run With the Moose last week for our usual girls night. Dottie was hosting. The menu consisted of a big salad, mac and cheese, and Pumpkin Spice Martinis. Yowza! For dessert, we had leftover Halloween candy. I had to buy my contribution, of course, because someone (not Charlie) ate all ours. We talked about how kids just don’t trick or treat like they used to? “Too be fair,” I says, “it’s probably hard to wear a mask with a helmet on.” That got the girls going. Shirley made one of them kitty litter cakes for her Halloween party at work. What a hoot! You ever seen one? Well, check …

Saturday, my husband come back from the Transfer Station, chuckling. “What is it, Charlie?” “It was classic, Ida. Just classic.” There’s something about that place that gives Charlie a thrill. He always looks so happy loading up the truck with trash and recycling, and heading off into the morning mist. The allure is lost on me, but Charlie’s love affair with the Transfer Station gives me some time alone to putter ‘round before I head off for my weekly appointment with Pasty down to Hair Affair. So, I guess, in a roundabout way, I’m fond of the Transfer Station, too! Remember when the Transfer Station was the dump? Back in the days before cable TV, …

Yesterday, I made a batch of my Grandmother’s molasses cookies, and boy, they sure look beautiful, if I do say so myself. Just like I remember. I have Grammy’s recipe written in her shaky hand on white (now yellow) lined paper. The thing even has Grammy’s molasses stains on it. My mother had it laminated for me years ago, and I’ve used it so much it’s starting to separate along the edges. The thing I like most about this recipe is that in the margin at the top of the page, over “Old Fashioned Drop Molasses Cookies,” my Grandmother has written, “My best.” Underlined, with a period, not an exclamation mark. It was a truth …

Saturday afternoon, I was out walking Scamp around the neighborhood when I heard this little girl shriek with delight. I turned my head, like you do, and that’s when I saw it: a young Dad, holding his daughter over his head, helping her fly. And just like that, I was her, that little girl, looking down at my strong Dad, laughing eyes filled with love. Then, in a blink of an eye, I remembered back to that morning, me sitting with my dad, now a confused old man with sad eyes. I’m holding his hand, and he’s saying, “I don’t know. I just don’t know what’s going on.” And I’m thinking, Neither do I Dad. …

The day morning, I was walking Scamp. We’d had rain the night before, but the morning was crisp and bright, about 50 degrees out. We’re strolling around a little neighborhood nearby, and Scamp is sniffing things more than usual. A rain like that really brings out the smells, doesn’t it? Even I’m grooving on it, the grass, the flowers. Coming towards us is a mom with her two sons, probably about 8 and 10. She’s doing some sort of season averaging with her clothing. She has on this polar fleece pullover and a down vest and cropped leggings and flip flops. Winter + Summer = Spring, right? Meanwhile, I’m in LL Bean pants with a …

Well, I just had my last performance of 2020, and what a year it’s been. Thanks for sticking with my on this journey! I had a big day yesterday, and am too pooped to write much, so I thought I’d share some video clips from “A Very Ida Christmas!” We filmed ’em a few years back. Enjoy! Ho, ho, ho, and all that jazz! That’s it for now. Catch you on the flip side!