Yes, you read that right. I’m referring to Patsy down to Hair Affair. Was I ever singing hosannas the day she finally opened back up, let me tell you! Getting my hair cut and styled made me feel like myself again. Let’s just say, for me anyways, Patsy had some damage control to do. See, I’d attempted cutting my own hair while watching a tutorial on YouTube, but it wasn’t near as easy as the gal made it out to be. Or maybe I was just distracted by her lips. It looked like she’d been stung by a bee, but I think it was the kind of thing she paid money for. Yikes! I’d touched …

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. Once he hit sixty-five, Bud was outta there. Celeste could have retired with him. She was a school secretary. Worked her way up from elementary school to the superintendent’s office, and she had enough time in. But she worked an extra year instead. She explained it this way, “If I …

Couple weeks ago, Charlie nicely volunteered to go down to the A&P on Tuesday morning and pick up some basics, meaning toilet paper. They let the employees (and their families) shop before the store opens on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I just happen to know that on Monday nights a certain much in demand paper product just might be delivered. It’s been stressful for us cashiers on the front lines of this thing, day in and day out, and I just couldn’t wrap my head around going to the A&P when I’m not working. So Charlie stepped up to the plate, like he does. Marriage is all about team work, right? It was the day …

The other day, I was chatting with Charlie at supper, like you do. We’re catching up on our day, what happened at work, all that. I was telling him about running into Claudia Peavey down to the A&P. I’ve told you about Claudia and her husband Kurt before. Charlie and me refer to them as the “Yeah, but’s.” Meaning, don’t matter what you say to them, they’ll “yeah, but” you. For example, I say, “Hi, Claudia. Beautiful day out there, isn’t it?” And Claudia replies, “Yeah, but, it’s supposed to rain tomorrow.” You know the drill. So Charlie says to me, “What’s up with Claudia’s eyebrows?” Charlie asks me questions like this all the time. …

Big day on Wednesday: Charlie’s birthday. Me, I always try to take my birthday off from work, but Charlie doesn’t. “Ida,” he says, “after a certain age, it’s just another day. I don’t want to think about it.” My feeling is, a birthday is cause for celebration, especially after a certain age. I’m on the back nine, as my golfer friend Betty says. Meaning, I’ve lived more of my life than I have left. So I say make the most of it. Heck, why confine yourself to just one day? Celebrate the whole month! Anyhoo, Charlie doesn’t make a big deal of his birthday. Still, I like to make it special. We get up earlier …

An incident happened this weekend I’m not proud of. In fact, I’m a little embarrassed to share it with you. But hey, it’s just us, right? So, picture this: it’s late Sunday morning. Charlie’s snoring in his Barcalounger. Scamp’s with me in the kitchen, dozing on his doggie bed. I’m puttering around, minding my own business, when all of a sudden, I feel one coming on. You know what I mean. Nobody except the dog is near, so I just let ‘er rip: long, loud and unapologetic. A real twenty-one gun salute. “What’s that?” Charlie yelps, nearly falling out of his chair. “Don’t know,” I yell. “Must be a car backfiring.” Could have been my …

Part of a happy marriage, in my opinion, is knowing what you’re good at and doing it. I’m a big fan of division of labor. Forcing Charlie to clean the house with me would be hell for both of us. And truth be told, I have no interest in going to the dump, mowing the lawn, or (God forbid!) snow blowing. We’ve just kind of negotiated and specialized over the years, and now we’re in a rhythm with it. Here’s Charlie’s take on this. I Do the Dishes Our kitchen is tiny There’s no room for two So when Ida’s cooking She tells me to shoo Me in the way Is not what she wishes …

Phew! New Years, the last of our three big holiday hurdles. Frankly, I’m partied out, and am feeling about as stuffed as a Thanksgiving turkey. So tomorrow night, Charlie and me are taking a time out, doing a quiet evening at home. I’m gonna broil a couple of steaks, whip up some twice-baked potatoes (with blue cheese and bacon, of course) and make maple-glazed carrots. For dessert, I’ve made one of Charlie’s favorites: cream puffs with chocolate icing. Don’t tell him. It’s a surprise! For post dinner recreation, we plan on kicking back in our Barcalounger love seat with Scamp between us, watching “Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve With Ryan Seacrest.” Kind of trips …

The poet of Mahoosuc Mills strikes again. Boots Need Waxing Boots need waxin’ once a year ‘Specially if you’re hunting deer Any decent goo will do “Moose snot” is what we call it, here It kind of looks like that to us. To use it, you don’t have to fuss: Brush your boots off to begin, Then gob it on and rub it in Your huntin’ day will not be blotted If your boots are good and snotted Mine were not when we set out And I went on my own to scout  These tracks that started leading me Around this big, blown-over tree On down a hill with rocks and such And through this …

All of a sudden, I’m hearing this commotion in the bathroom. Sounds like Charlie’s trying to find something. “Hey, Ida!” “Yeah?” “You seen my nose hair clipper?” “Your what?” “You know, that thing I use to trim my nose hair.” “Where is it usually?” “Top drawer.” Nose hair clipper. I can kind of see it in my mind, this heavy, pewter-colored thing, looks kind of like a medieval torture device. “You mean that industrial strength roto-rooter I bought you a few years back?” “Yeah, that. Can’t find it.” Oh, no, I’m thinking. I can picture the thing now, in a plastic tray nestled between five or six lipsticks, all in crap colors, make you look …