Putting stuff you don’t need or want in your yard with a “Free” sign on it is a useful idea. One person’s trash is another’s treasure, right? Works best if you put it out on a Saturday morning when folks are driving around, running errands. If no one snatches it up by nightfall, put it in the shed and try again the next day. But here’s the deal: if it’s still there by the end of Sunday, nobody is going to take it. Nobody! You tried and now you have to do the right thing. Bring it to Goodwill or the dump. Donate it to Restore. I don’t care. But for the love of God, …

Boy, I’ll tell ya, things are always changing down to the transfer station! So much so, it’s hard to keep it all straight, one week to another. They take #1 and #2 plastic, but #5? One week yes, the next week no. Keep the plastic caps on the bottles? No, now you’re supposed to take ‘em off and put ‘em over there. I secretly wonder if, late at night, they don’t have a good laugh at our expense, as they mix all the recycling together and toss it into the compactor. Pretty cynical, I know, but the thought has crossed my mind. Oh, it’s just too much rigmarole for me. But Charlie, thank God, he …

I had the pleasure of sitting beside Snowdell Holden’s sister, Trudy, at the bean supper Saturday night. Trudy lives in Portland, but spends the summer up to her camp on Scoodic Lake. She’d driven over for the weekend. Like Snowdell, Trudy’s a pistol. Just turned 89, and doesn’t look a day over 79, which is quite a compliment when you’re pushing 90. Over beans, biscuits, cole slaw, hot dogs, not to mention the mac and cheese that somehow wandered onto my plate, we got to talking about Trudy’s life, like you do. Trudy’s a retired nurse, mother of five with eleven grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. She’s been a widow for going on twenty years now. …

I love food. No secret about that. I love eating it, of course, but I also like looking at pictures of food in magazines,  cookbooks, Facebook, Pinterest, billboards, you name it. I call this food porn. You know what I’m talking about! In my humble opinion, food always tastes best when you didn’t cook it yourself. What makes book group fun? The books? No. The idle chit chat? Maybe. But where’s the food? Then there’s going out to eat. What’s not to like about that? First off, you got your cocktails and bread basket, and if you’re lucky, some herbed butter. Or in an Italian restaurant: focaccia and olive oil. Then you get to pour …

It’s that time of year again where squirrels and drivers do si do. You have to keep an eagle eye out because an excited squirrel and a distracted driver is not a good combo. Not for the squirrel, certainly, but not you, either. Remember back in 2018 (I looked it up) where it was crazy how many dead squirrels were on the road? I guess there was a bumper crop of acorns the year before, so there were more little squirrels that year. All the young squirrels were leaving the nest about the same time, and apparently they weren’t taught to look both ways before crossing the road. This year’s squirrel population seems about normal, …

 I know I probably shouldn’t be complaining about this. I mean, just look at the temperatures in other parts of the country. Still, I can’t remember ever being this cranky hot. We’re in Maine for God sakes! It’s not supposed to be this hot for this long. We’re not equipped to handle it. It’s like when some place down south gets an inch of snow, and it puts a monkey wrench in everything. That’s what it feels like here in Mahoosuc Mills. Everybody’s discombobulated. Charlie and me have air-conditioning in our bedroom, of course, but the rest of the house never really cools down. And humid! My makeup seems to slide around on my face. …

Charlie come home from work the other day, and I could tell straight off, he had some sort of bee in his bonnet. “What’s a matter?” I ask. “I’m gonna mow the lawn ‘fore supper,” he says, storming out the door and letting it slam behind him. “OK. Sounds good.” Now, in the early years of our marriage, I’d try to get Charlie to tell me what was bothering him. I’d hug him, you know, wanting to make things better. Frankly, all that did was make him feel smothered. Then, I’d end up as miffed as he was. Nowadays, I give him a wide berth, let him work through whatever it is at his own …

So I’m walking along with my dog, Cora, minding my own beeswax when this happens. It’s early, about 6:45, a beautiful morning. Birds are singing, sun is shining, the scent of new mown grass in the air. Then I see something sitting on a mailbox up ahead. It’s too big to be a squirrel and not the right color. And why is it not moving? What the heck? As I get closer, it comes into focus. It’s a monkey. Not just any monkey either. It’s a creepy monkey. A creepy monkey with real fur, perched up on that mailbox like it’s been just waiting for me. Now when you walk most every day in the …

The Women Who Run With the Moose got together for our girls night on Thursday. Betty was hosting and she was serving nachos and these skinny watermelon margaritas. Oh, they were wicked tasty! Right from the get go, us girls were talking a mile a minute, per usual. Hard to get a word in edgewise, but I managed. “So last Saturday, I was at the baked bean supper down to the Congo Church,” I begin, “and who do I run into but Eleanor Purdy.” Celeste goes, “That old gal must be pushing ninety.” “Eighty-eight next week, she told me. Heck, she pretty much announced it to everyone there. Still lives at home. Well, she was …

So, I’m working checkout at the A&P, right? When I hear this conversation out of the corner of my ear: two women, voices lowered, talking fast in an urgent sort way. I mean, who wouldn’t listen in? “He wakes me up every morning at 5:00.” “Every morning?” “Like clockwork. I don’t mind it so much on weekdays. I have to be up for work, anyways. But, it’s the weekends, too.” “You think he’d let you sleep in at least one morning.” “Nope. He just won’t give it a rest. At first I thought it was kind of cute, you know? But frankly, it’s wearing me down!” “I don’t blame you. Not every morning.” Well, my …