Charlie come up with a doozy this week, an anthem of sorts. It’s part confession, part bragging, and not a word of it is true. Right! Think: semi-truck with a cracked muffler.  I Snore  I snore, I know Everyone has told me so I sputter, I snort Not a very glowing report I tried elevatin’ Our old box spring Squirt something up my nose But it doesn’t do a thing I snore, so what? I wish that I could keep my mouth shut But I can’t, I’ve tried Even though I sleep on my side I wake up all alone My wife got up at four She fled to the couch Couldn’t take it anymore …

What’s Duffer Brain? Well, I’ll tell you in this short video teaser for my performances of “I Married an Alien!“ this weekend at The Footlights Theatre in Falmouth, ME.

Here’s a little video teaser for my upcoming shows at The Footlight Theatre in Falmouth. I’ll be there doing I Married an Alien! March 30 & 31 at 7:30.  

As many of you know, I just love yard sales. I love going to them and I love having them. Because the thing is, if you go to a lot of yard sales, you have to have a yard sale every once and a while to get rid of all the stuff you bought at the other yard sales. Yard sales bring back memories, some good and some not so good. Like last summer during our yard sale, I had a flashback to our worst Christmas ever. I am referring to Christmas 2000, the year of Big Mouth Billy Bass. You remember them, don’t you? That fish mounted on a plaque? It looks normal enough …

Is it a guy thing, or is it just my husband? Charlie, who is usually pretty level headed, can get so “busy” doing stuff that common sense flies out the window. He’ll say to me, “Man, I’ve had a headache all day.”  “Did you take anything for it?” “Nope.” “Why not?” “Too busy.” Yup. Stopping what he’s doing in the yard, coming inside,  popping a couple of pills, then going back too work (which would take all of five minutes) is just too much multi-tasking for him. It’s ridiculous! Then there was the incident last winter, after one of the big snow storms, I noticed it seemed to take Charlie forever to snow blow the …

Ida Leclair talks about what to do when you get trapped by a nonstop talker.

This weekend, we celebrated Labor Day with a party up to Dot and Tommy’s camp. The usual gang was there. Late yesterday morning, Charlie and me and Celeste and Bud went out in some kayaks they have up there. We all looked pretty good paddling around, kind of athletic really. But after an hour or so of sitting in one position, you best avert your eyes when it comes time to get out of them boats. Holy Walter Brennan, Batman!  Ain’t aging wonderful? Last week, I walked by the bathroom and glimpsed Charlie in there checking out the hair in his ears and nose. “Time to get out the router rooter, dear,” I says. “Very …

Along with this blog, I started writing a “Dear Ida” column in the Moose Megantic Gazette awhile back. I know! Wicking fun. I thought I’d share this letter with you because it’s a classic. It’s already been in the paper, but in case you missed it, here it is:  Dear Ida, My wife don’t think I’m sexy no more. What do I do? Concerned in Calais   Here’s what I said:  Dear Concerned,      Who do I look like? Dr. Ruth? I’m short, but not that short!       You want to know how to get your sexy back? Well, let’s see. A man vacuuming, that’s sexy. (Am I right, ladies?) A man snoring away …

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 …

This week’s blog appears in my book, The Sweet Life, but it bears repeating. ‘Tis the season. Up ‘til the economy tanked, “staycation” wasn’t even a word. There’s a reason for that. See how only half the word resembles “vacation”? That’s a hint as to the outcome of most staycations. At best, they’re kind of like a vacation. At worse, they’re more like a week spent in the Gulag. Charlie and me learned this the hard way a few years back. We’d never taken a staycation, so we thought we’d give it a try. We even made a plan, well kind of. We’d scrape and repaint the deck the first weekend, ‘cause it needed it …