We celebrated Celeste’s birthday last weekend with a party over to Betty’s house. The whole gang was there and we had a wicked good time. So Monday evening, Betty gives me a ring. “Oh good, Ida, you’re there.” “Far as I can tell,” I says. “What’s up?” “You wouldn’t believe what just happened.” “Try me.” “Well, this morning I had to call the plumber because our half bath downstairs was, well, having issues.” “I noticed something was funky with that toilet on Saturday. It’s always like that when you have company, isn’t it? If it isn’t the toilet, it’s the garbage disposal backing up or the dishwasher starts acting wonky, or something.” “Don’t you just …

Thanksgiving was my mother’s favorite holiday, and I come this time of year, I sure do miss her. Holidays are hard when someone you love is no longer here. But every time I get to feeling sad, I know it’s a reminder of how lucky I am to have had such a wonderful woman in my life. I try to hold onto that lucky feeling. It takes the edge off my sad. Let’s talk turkey. Here’s a little section from my book, Finding Your Inner Moose that has to do with the upcoming holday. I have great memories of Thanksgiving, and most of them involve my mother in an apron, doing just about everything. My …

In the next few blogs, I’ll be featuring excerpts from my new book, The Sweet Life: Ida LeClair’s Guide to Love and Marriage which comes out May 19th. Here’s a little something from the third chapter called, “There is no ‘I’ in Team, but Maybe There Should Be.”      Good friendships are an important part of my personal happiness. Yes, Charlie and me are best friends, but I have other best friends, too. I just think it’s unfair to you and your mate to expect them to be your everything. That’s a lot of pressure. Besides, sometimes you just need to talk about your mate with someone to, you know, blow off some steam. …

Ida explores if golfing vacations are good for couples and finds some surprising results.

Ida Leclair gives readers a hilarious play by play on shopping for Spanx.

Fall’s hunting season here in Maine. Bow hunting takes place in October, and come November, they bring out the heavy artillery. So if you’re out walking in the woods, be sure to wear your blaze orange vests, hats and what not. I know, it’s not in my color wheel either, but sometimes you gotta forgo fashion for safety. Why, even our little dog Scamp wears his colors. Got him a blaze orange bandana and vest, and boy, oh boy, does he ever look cunnin.’ Hunting season always makes me think of my Grandfather, Fredrick Gilbert. Grampy was a Registered Maine Guide. Folks from away would come up to Maine to go hunting and fishing, and …

We celebrated Betty’s birthday last weekend with a party over to her house. The whole gang was there. Beautiful day for a cookout, too, and hangin’ out by the pool. So Monday afternoon, Betty gives me a ring. “Oh good, Ida, you’re there.” “Far as I can tell,” I says. “What’s up?” “You wouldn’t believe what just happened.” “Try me.” “Well, this morning I had to call the plumber ‘cause our half bath downstairs was, well, havin’ issues.” “I noticed somethin’ was funky with that toilet, on Saturday. It’s always like that when you have company, isn’t it? If it isn’t the toilet, it’s the garbage disposal backin’ up or the dishwasher starts actin’ wonky, …

Well, we had an incident up to Dot and Tommy’s camp this weekend that was wicked embarrassing. It’s really Charlie’s story to tell, so I’ll let him. After all, he is, by default, the Poet Laureate of Mahoosuc Mills. Stinkfoot, by Charlie LeClair Sunday, Ida, me and Scamp We’re up to Dot and Tommy’s camp All the gang were comin’, too Tommy planned a barbeque His plans, alas, were all in vain When darn, if it began to rain “Bring the food in!” Tommy cried And we were forced to move inside There we ate, and all was well ‘til some of them complained of smell I thought the hubbub was excessive But soon the …

“What are you makin’?” asks Charlie. “An apple pie,” I reply. “Mmm! For me?” “No, not just for you! For all of us. Tonight.” “What’s goin’ on tonight?” “We’re having dinner, remember? With Irene and Jimbo?” “We are? When did this come up?” “A couple of weeks ago. I told you!” “News to me.” “No, it’s not. Where’s your calendar?” Charlie pulls out his dog-eared pocket calendar. “I know it’s in there, Charlie. I remember watchin’ you as you scribbled it in. Probably can’t read your own handwriting.” Charlie fumbles through it. “Oh. Yeah. Guess I should look at it every now and then.” “Might be helpful. Anyhoo, if you want pie, that’s what we’re …

Bud’s the first of our little group to retire. Worked for Gagne’s & Sons Heating and Cooling for what? Thirty plus years, I guess. That’s dirty work, repairing furnaces and the like. Plus, you get called out at all hours, day and night. Weekends, too, don’t matter the weather. And unless you’re doing an annual cleaning, the people you’re dealing with are usually real upset. I mean, it’s ten degrees out, and no heat. They’re all bundled up, seein’ their breath inside the house, and Bud’s gotta be the one who tells ‘em their furnance is shot. No fun. Once he hit sixty-five, Bud was outta there. When he started talkin’ about retiring, I says …