A few weeks ago, my Dad calls me up for a little advice. “Ida,” he says, “a friend of mine wants to sell his condo, and he’s on the third floor. Where does he bury St. Joseph if he doesn’t really have a yard?” “Gee, beats me. Let me do a little research, Dad, and I’ll get back to you.” “Thanks, honey.” You’ve heard of this, right? You want to sell your house, so you bury a statue of St. Joseph upside down in the yard. You do a novena every day for nine days, St. Joseph puts in a word with the Big Guy, and you sell you house lickety-split. We did this when …

Did you give up something for Lent? That used to be a big deal, didn’t it? I don’t think people do it so much, now. Seems the older I get, the harder it is to come up with something to abstain from during Lent. It’s not that I’m so pure. It’s that I’m so boring. All the food stuff I can think of, you know, candy, ice cream, bacon and booze, I shouldn’t be indulging in anyway (though I do). And things like snapping at my husband, cursin’ and being judgmental, well, I should be watching out for those all year long. And giving up sex? Well, that’s a little extreme, don’t you think? Look, …

My Grandmother, Dora Gilbert, used to freeze her garbage. This was in the days before garbage disposals, so there was a lot to freeze. But she didn’t let that intimidate her. For Dora, freezing garbage was more than just a way to keep it from stinking. It was an art form. I can see my grandmother now standing in her immaculate kitchen, a little Franco-American woman with permed gray hair, full make-up, a house dress, nylon stockings, sensible shoes and a bib apron, carefully wrapping her garbage in little foil packets. ‘Course there’s nothing really unusual about freezing garbage. Not in my family, anyway. We all freezes our garbage. Having a garbage disposal doesn’t really …

Last week’s blog and this fall weather has got me thinking about my Grampy Gilbert. As I said last week, he was a registered Maine guide and as you can imagine, he had stories up the ying-yang! Here’s a couple of family favorites: There was the one about the doctors from New York, come up to Maine to go fishing one June. On the phone Grampy says, “I’ll tell you right up front, it’s black fly season up here. Sometime’s the air’s so thick with them p’tit mouche, you can’t see your hand in front of your face. In fact, a swarm of them carried off Mrs. Dugall’s dog last week. No shit! And it …

Charlie came home from work last Friday, and I could tell he was a little thrown off. Usually, I got dinner all set out for him. “What’s up?” he says, staring at me with my coat on and ready to go. “Don’t you remember? Caitlin’s art opening?” “Oh, Jeez…” Clearly, he hadn’t. “Come on, Charlie. It’ll be good for us.” See, my niece Caitlin and her boyfriend Adam are part of this group art show at To Bean or Not to Bean, Mahoosuc Mills’s very own coffee shop and performance space. Just opened up in one of the old mill buildings last fall. I don’t think they’re going to put the Busy Bee out of …

Last weekend, guess what we did? Hung out with our cousins at 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 squinting 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 the …

January may have been long and cold, but God, didn’t it seem like we got a lot of snow in February? Charlie and me tried to make the best of it. I don’t go in for cross country skiing. Too steep a learning curve. But, I love snowshoeing. Well, I come from a long line of snowshoers, so it’s in my blood. I still have my mother’s snowshoes from when she was a kid. They were handmade by her uncle, Octave Pease. The webbing was made from the hide of a deer he shot himself. I get them out every winter for decoration. Octave: now there was a character. He came from a big family, …