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 …

A few weeks ago, my niece Caitlin called me up and asked if she could come over. “Needed my advice about something.” I could tell she was upset. “Sure, dear, I’m here. Come on over. I’ll heat up some water for tea, and have my Certified Maine Life Guide Magic Moose Antlers at the ready!” “Thanks, Aunt Ida.” Poor Caitlin said this with a little hitch in her voice, like she was trying not to cry. Charlie looks up from his paper. “What’s up?” “Oh, that was Caitlin. She’s coming over in about an hour for some girl talk.” “Trouble in paradise?” “That’s what I’m guessing.” Charlie downs the rest of his coffee, and gets …

The longer I’m married, the more I realized that sometimes, men and women have completely different ways of looking at things. Like a few years ago, out of the blue, Charlie says to me, “Ida, you know what we need?” “A complete kitchen make-over?”  “Smaller.”  “Hmm, I don’t know. A set of Fiesta ware?”  “No, a boot brush?” “A boot brush?” “You know, put it by the door? Has a brush on top? You wipe your boots on it before coming into the house.” “Oh, I’ve seen those. You mean like a little porcupine, with a brush on its back?” “Well, I don’t know about a porcupine. Just your basic boot brush.” “OK, Charlie, I’ll …

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 …