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 …

Charlie and me went for a massage last Saturday. Yes, you read that right. Charlie got a massage, and not by me. By a guy named Michael. Let me start at the beginning. For Christmas, our niece Caitlin gave us each a gift certificate for a one hour massage. She knows how much I love being pampered, no question about that, but it was a kind of outside the box choice for Charlie. He would have been happy with one of them Hickory Farms sausage and cheese gift box type deals. God love her, Caitlin’s heart is in the right place. She knew work had been tense for Charlie what with all the layoffs down …

It’s finally spring here in Mahoosuc Mills, and you know what that means? Spring cleaning, of course. I’m not saying I go hog wild like my mother and grandmother, taking apart each room of the house, but it’s good to do a deep cleaning every now and then. In preparation for this ritual, I bought a new vacuum cleaner head. The old one had seen better days. Finally, the lever that switches back and forth from “carpet” to “floor” broke, and it was permanently stuck on “carpet.” Hard to get good suction going on a wood floor, I’ll tell ya. It’s sad how excited I was about getting my new vacuum cleaner head, but hey, …

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 snorin’ in his Barcalounger. Scamp’s with me in the kitchen, dozin’ on his doggie bed. I’m putterin’ around, minding my own business, when all of a sudden, I feel one comin’ on. You know what I mean. Nobody ‘cept 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 fallin’ out of his chair. “Don’t know,” I yell. “Must be a car backfiring.” Could have been …

Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day, and so I thought shine the spotlight on my sweetheart in this week’s blog. Charlie and me have been together for over forty years, and he can still surprise me. Like when he started writing poetry. One day he saw a blue tarp stuck a tree, and the next thing you know, he’s the the default poet laureate of Mahoosuc Mills. Here’s that first poem, the one that started it all. Blue Tarp in a Tree Drivin’ along, what did I see? A big, blue tarp, up in a tree How did it get there? I thought to myself That’s not the work of some mischievous elf It was right around Whitey’s, …

A kitchen faucet is something that you use a lot, right? So when it’s running slow, it can be a real pain in the patootie. There you are, wanting a cup of tea, and it takes forever get enough water in the teapot. I mean, you have time to take a nap. It may be irritating to me, but poor Charlie sees that slow running faucet as his own personal failure as a husband. He’ll take this annoyance for so long, then it reaches a tipping point, and off he goes to Petey’s Plumbing with the problem piece. That’s the end of the faucet that you can screw off and it has a little screen …