Now, as many of you know, a women’s relationship with her hair stylist is a special one, and mine is no exception. It’s a bond born of loyalty, rooted in trust. Heck, no one knows your head like your hair stylist. The way I see it, you’re on a journey together, through the ever changing seas of style. Some storms you weather better than others, but you don’t just jump ship on a whim. Gynecologists come and go, but let’s face it: with hair dressers, you’re in for the long haul. I’ve been going to Pasty since she graduated from Bangor School of Cosmetology and opened Hair Affair some twenty-five years ago. Always on Saturday …

It happened again, like it happens every summer. Charlie was out doing yard work and got stung by yellowjackets. He was trimming a shrub and his ladder must have hit a nest or poked a hole or something and out they came. I was taking a nap and he was working on the other side of the house, so I didn’t hear him yelling. When I got up, I found him dead asleep in the Barcalounger. He was some groggy when he finally woke up. “Charlie, you don’t seem yourself. What’s up?” “Got stung by some yellowjackets. Came it here and went to sleep.” “You didn’t think to tell me?” “No, you were napping.” “Charlie, …

I was out walking around the neighborhood the other day and run into Pearl Plaisted dead-heading her geraniums. “Ida!” she says, “I haven’t seen you all summer. Why don’t you come in for some iced tea, dear?” “No need to twist my arm. I was going to do a little vacuuming, so thanks for rescuing me.” Pearl seemed a little stuck in the “half way up” position, so I give her an assist, and into the house we go. “Hank,” she yells, “you decent? Ida’s here.” We settled into the screened in porch, and got to talking about the big celebration coming up next weekend down to the K of C. Get this: Frank and …

You know how we tend to confide in our hairdresser or bartender? As a cashier down to the A&P, folks tend to confide in me, too, even if they don’t always know they’re doing it. Because checking out a person’s groceries is more intimate than you image. You know who’s drinking a little too much, who has a Doritos habit and who’s addicted to the National Inquirer. You see the same folks once a week, minimum, and you can kind of sense whether they’re feeling their oats or not. So I’m working register 3 per usual, cashing out Roberta “Bobbie” Robbins, making conversation, like you do. “How’s that cute little dog of yours? Blah, blah. …

I’m one of those folks who capture wasps, spiders and even stinkbugs and set them free outside. It’s just how I roll. Charlie’s gets all riled up by squirrels on the bird feeders, but I figure if they’re smart enough to get to the food, let them have a little reward. I like watching the groundhog family in our yard ’round dinner time and this year we have a little gray fox. Ants in the house cross the line, and I do put out those little ant traps. But whatever happens with that happens outta my sight, so it doesn’t seem that bad, right? But there’s something about mice in the kitchen that just doesn’t …

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,  because it needed it wicked bad. Then we’d spend the rest of the week doing little day trips, you know, makin’ …

“What are you making?” asks Charlie. “An apple pie,” I reply. “Mmm! For me?” “No, not just for you! For all of us. Tonight.” “What’s going 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 watching 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 …

As you may already know, back in Mahoosuc Mills, I hang out with the greatest group of gals. The Women Who Run With the Moose we call ourselves: Celeste, Rita, Betty, Dot, Shirley and me. Heck, we’ve been close since even before Charlie and me started dating, so that back a ways. We’ve gone through good times and bad together, and I’ve still got the bridesmaids dresses to prove it. If you were in any doubt, bridesmaids dresses attest to the fact that one style is not flattering on all body types, and there are some colors you should never wear, ever. Trust me. I got around that by dressing my bridesmaids in different color …

We had to say goodbye to Cora two weeks ago tomorrow. Turns out she was ours for just two years. What a sweet, little love bug, and every minute with her was worth all the sadness we’re feeling now. Charlie and me were hoping we’d have her longer. Cora would have been thirteen in August, so not that old for a small dog. But see, she got cancer, and about six months ago we knew it was only a matter of time. Cora died as she lived, with grace, dignity and love. She went downhill quickly, and there was no question it was time. Wanting to please us right ’til the end, like dogs do. …

A good relationship is like your favorite whoopie pie, you know? Sweet, simple and easy. Thing is, what happens when your bakery runs out of the kind of whoopie pie you’ve been enjoying for years? Well, a different flavor can still be good, especially if you’re realistic about your expectations. There’s this gal, Doris, in my book group. She lost her husband Mike a few years back, and just last fall, she started dipping her toe back into the dating pool. Boy, that can’t have been easy. But now she’s seeing a nice fella, Gerry, that she met at church. I run into her the other day down to the Busy Bee. “The weird thing …