“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’ve been missing my mom a lot lately. Some of it has to do with the fact that it’s October, her birthday month. It’s also the anniversary of her death, in a couple of weeks. But it’s more than that. Missing is strange, isn’t it? I can go days or even weeks without thinking of my mom, then I see her handwriting on a recipe, and bang! There she is. Or I watch a little girl, all dolled up for her first day of school, holding her mom’s hand, and I think, “I miss you, Mom.” I used to get a little pang of envy whenever I’d see my friend Rita scoring a piece of …

I sure have missed yard sales this summer. You know, I miss going to them and I miss having them. ‘Cause as I’ve said before, if you go to a lot of yard sales, you gotta have a yard sale every now and then to get rid of the stuff you bought at the other yard sales. I miss catching up with folks, discovering treasures and dickering over prices. I miss turning clutter into cash. It’s never that much, of course, but it feels like found money. I’ve seen a few people braving it and doing a yard sale anyways, despite the global pandemic. Now, that’s hard core! But I haven’t been motivated to attend. …

This week, I got to see my dad in person for the first time in over a hundred days. Now that was a big deal. Luckily, they haven’t had any Covid-19 cases at Mahoosuc Green, our senior living facility. They’ve been smart about it and shut the place down early. Even packages of homemade goodies weren’t allowed. Still aren’t. And yes, I’d had a few window visits with dad, but those just made me more lonesome. Him, too, I think. I had to cat burgle myself through the shrubs to dad’s window and put my hands up to the glass so I could see him better. We weren’t allowed to open the window, of course, …

“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 …

My Christmas decorations were put away weeks ago now. The only thing I keep out for the winter are a pair of children’s snowshoes, though I do take the little red bows off. I like having them around. They were my mother’s when she was a kid, handmade by her uncle, Octave Pease. The webbing is made from the hide of a deer he shot himself. Octave: now there was a character. He come from a big family, I don’t know how many brothers and sisters. And they were all liars. You should have heard them when they’d get together. One would start to tell a story, and they’d all try to out do each …

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 …

Charlie and me went to the Woodsmen’s Competition down to Bouchard’s Farm this weekend. I thought it would be fun for us to check it out. Logging is part of my heritage, after all. My grandfather, George, was a lumberjack most of his life. Legend has it, he could cut three chord of wood per day with a buck saw, and drop a tree so it landed just where he wanted it, every time. Don’t know what George would have made of the whole thing. You know, people competing against each other, splitting, cutting, and chopping wood. Jobs my grandfather was probably glad to see the back side of when he finally quit doing ‘em. …