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. …

The other day, I noticed I had a missed call on my iphone from my sister Irene. So, I unlock the phone, see if she left a message, when I accidentally facetime her. Oops! I hang up before she answers because it’s first thing in the morning, and frankly, I’m not exactly looking my best. You know those movies where the woman wakes up all tousled and sexy? She rolls over and looks at the guy next to her. “Hi,” he says and flashes that killer grin. And she smiles back and murmurs, “Hi.” Not high on the scale of witty comebacks, but he seems to like it because guess who’s late for work that …

Sunday, we had a birthday brunch for our Dad, over to Irene and Jimbo’s. She made the “Egg Dish” (there’s only one) which is something our mom used to make involving about a dozen eggs, butter, bread, milk and cheese. How can you go wrong with that combination, right? You whip it up the night before, and the next morning it bakes up nice and light. I brought along some fruit salad and cranberry nut bread, and Jimbo fried up a whole mess of bacon. As far as we’re concerned, if there ever was a “the food of the Gods,” bacon is it. Charlie and me picked up Dad from Mahoosuc Green. They had already …

Walker envy. It’s a thing. I know because I’ve seen it down to Mahoosuc Green, where my dad lives. Their motto there is “experience your finest senior moments with us.” Jury’s still out on that one, but I gotta say, it’s a pretty nice place. Dad has a cute little apartment. He eats a meal in the dining room every day and plays “Beano” as he calls it, every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday evening. In March, my dad will turn 86. His days of golfing, bowling, and dating may be behind him, but there’s still a lot of life left in the old duffer. Dad learned the hard way that his walker is his friend …

Last Saturday morning, our household was up earlier than usual. Charlie was going canoeing with the boys for a few days, and Scamp and me were gearing up for our little spouse-cation. I made eggs and toast for Charlie, sending him off in style, then Scamp and me went for a walk. It was going on 5:30 AM by then, and still dark outside. I don my reflective vest and grab the poop light and off we go. One of the things I love about my fourteen pound personal trainer is that he gets me outside and moving every day. This particular morning, it was in the mid-forties: crisp, clear, and blissfully quiet. It feels …

My dad doesn’t have a lot of schooling, but if common sense counts, he’s a pretty smart guy. Kind of a philosopher, really. For example, his take on marriage. “A good marriage is like a good fire; you have to tend it to make it burn bright.” Of course he also said, “Tending a fire is a delicate thing. If you leave it be too long, it’ll go out. But if you put too much wood on it, you’ll smother the flame.” So, I was talking to dad this week, you know, checking in. At eighty-four, he’s slowing down some. He doesn’t play golf or bowl anymore, and he’d stopped doing a lot of activities …

Seems like Charlie and me have been going to more wakes and funerals then we used to. Or we’re hearing about a gal we know just got cancer or a guy who had a heart attack. Kind of shakes you up. So much so, I found myself thinking the other day, if I’m the first one to kick the bucket, I hope Charlie gets out there and finds a lady friend to do stuff with. You know, after the appropriate mourning period. I told him I don’t want much. Just my photo with a couple of votive candles burning 24/7!  At our age, the writing’s on the wall. There’s a 50/50 chance, right? You’re going …

Last weekend, guess what we did. Hung out with our cousins up to Claudette and Roger’s camp. We try to do this once a year, just for the heck of it. What a hoot! Sure, some things have changed. Instead of talking about work, it’s all about when we plan to retire, how long we’re going to try to wait to collect Social Security. Instead of our kids, we talk about aging parents and grand kids. Instead of envelopes of loose photos, we take turns squintin’ at our smart phones, trying to find that great shot we just have to share. We travel more. We drink less alcohol and more decaf.  But some things stay …