My father passed away last Tuesday. He was two months shy of his 90th birthday. We knew it was coming for a few days. Irene and me were visiting, just been there an hour when it happened. Dad was in some sort of twilight place. He wasn’t really with us, but he hadn’t totally left either. Irene and me were laughing about something, and Dad just stopped breathing. The whole thing was so peaceful, not even a sigh. The last thing he heard was us laughing. We’re sad, of course, but relieved and grateful, too. I thought I’d take this week’s blog to remember Dad at his best by sharing a couple quick stories. I …

My sister, Irene, and me visit our dad down to Mahoosuc Green three to four times a week. Sometimes we go together, but most times we go separately. You know, so he gets more visits. Mahoosuc Green is our senior living facility in town. Their tag line is, “Experience your finest senior moments with us.” That may have been true when Dad was in independent living. Not so much when it comes to assisted living and memory care. That’s no fault of Mahoosuc Green. It’s just how things are. As my friend Shirley says, “Getting old ain’t for sissies.” See, Dad has dementia. Though he still recognizes us, thank God! There’s always this moment at …

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. …

Well, Thanksgiving has come and gone again. Thanksgiving is bittersweet for me. It was my mom’s favorite holiday, so it’s not the same without her fussing around the kitchen, getting everything just right. It’s been nineteen years since she passed, and lately I’ve been really missing her. Don’t know why. Maybe it’s because dad’s pushing 90 and fading. He’s no longer the guy with the stories and the quick come back at the table. Now, we have a portable ramp to get him into the house in a wheelchair. It’s nice he can still be included, but it’s stressful getting him into and outta the car. To be honest, nowadays Thanksgiving just seems like a …

Cora had a face lift. We took her to the groomer and got rid of the frou-frou poodle cut that was weighing her down. Off with the pom-pom! The fly-away ears. Now, she looks like our dog. The puppy cut takes years off, in my opinion. She’ll be eleven on August 8, but if you see her from a distance, prancing along on our walk, you’d think she was five years younger. The grey hair is a giveaway, of course. Happens to the best of us! ‘Course, the closest I’ve come to seeing how much grey hair I have was at the beginning of Covid. Frankly, I was shocked! But, thanks to an emergency color …

Before Scamp passed, I whispered in his ear, “Scamp, send us the perfect dog at the perfect time.” And he did. Charlie and me picked Cora up a week ago yesterday. The owners are moving to a condo and can’t take her with them. I felt real bad for them, but happy for us at the same time. Cora’s name was Courtney, but that was a non-starter for Charlie. He goes, “I ain’t walking no dog named Courtney.” Thank goodness for the Google. There were lots of tips on there for changing your dog’s name. We figured Cora was pretty close. Plus, it really suits her. She’s such a sweet, smart girl! We wanted a …

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 …

I went to see my Dad the other day. Afterwards, my sister Irene texted me. She asked, “How’s the old guy?” I answered, “Do you mean our dad, my husband, or the dog?” I told Charlie what I said, and he didn’t think my snappy remark was as funny as Irene and me did. Actually, Dad is in a little bounce right now. I think they must have gotten his blood sugar more under control. All of a sudden, he’s talking in complete sentences and is a little more with it. He’s even laughing a bit. Sure, Dad still thinks the trellis is a truck, and a typical visit is basically the same conversation three …

I was looking through old photo albums the other day, when I come across this Halloween gem. I don’t know what Irene and me were supposed to be, but it must have been some cold and crappy out. Check out the winter coats and boots. If you look close, you can see Irene has a knit hat on behind her cat mask. Maybe that’s why she’s holding it up, instead of wearing it. (That mask was probably a tight fit with the hat on.) I think I see the hint of a hood behind my mask. And what’s up with Irene’s cape, with the dancing circus dogs on it? My biggest concern when I look …

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. …