Hard to tell what goes on in other people’s marriages, but sometimes you wonder. Can’t help it. There’s this couple from away that Charlie and me see when we’re out and about. They’ve only been in town a couple of years. We don’t know them and I haven’t been able to dig up much info. I think they pretty much keep themselves to themselves. Charlie and me have nicknamed them Fred and Ethel. About the only time we see them is when they’re out walking or riding their bikes. We’ve never once had just a Fred or just an Ethel sighting. Nope, it’s Fred and Ethel together, and Fred is always smiling. Ethel is friendly …

Sunday, Charlie and me were taking a late morning walk. It’s been hard for Cora and us to get motivated early in the morning what with the frigid temps. We all needed a little exercise and truth be told, we were hoping work off some of the bacon and Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls we had for breakfast. So, we’re walking ‘round our neighborhood, past a little wooded lot, when Orrin Libby pops out from behind some trees. Orrin must be in his late seventies, I’m guessing, and he has the walking thing down. He takes a jaunt downtown, about three miles ‘round trip, every morning to pick up the paper. Rain, snow, hot or cold, he’s …

Ladies, you know how you can ask, then bug and, I’ll admit it, nag your husband to do something? Then all of a sudden, he does it at the least convenient time possible! Like when the hand towel rack in our guest bath had gotten kind of rickety and I put it on Charlie’s honey do list. There it stayed for, oh, six months. Then on the day I’m hosting my book group’s annual cookie swap, Charlie decides to fix it. Seriously! And of course, it’s not an easy tighten a screw solution. No siree bob, we’re talking drilling, and patching holes and maybe a little touch up paint and why move the throw rug …

We all know I love Christmas, there’s not double about that. But sometimes you can have too much of a good thing. ‘Course it would help if stores didn’t start putting out their Christmas stuff before Halloween. I say, let Tom Turkey have his day. No decorations up before Thanksgiving. That way it stays special. Still, my holiday spirit is shining bright. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for Charlie. He’s not as big on Christmas as I am to begin with. I know, that’s hard to believe. Sure, he had fun playing Santa at the Down Home Holiday Festival a couple weekends ago. But right now, he’s run outta ho, ho, ho’s. He’ll rally …

Yup, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. The Phinneys got their crèche set up across the street, and Whitey Hebert’s plugged in his tree. ‘Course, it’s easy for him because he leaves the lights up all year ‘round, and that middle strand is still out. Don’t get me started! Mahoosuc Mills is gearing up for our Down Home Holiday Festival. Used to be the Down Home Christmas Festival, but we are now politically correct. The St. Hyacinth’s Christmas Bazaar is part of the Festival. I guess we should change it to “Holiday Bazaar,” but hey, we’re Catholics. Who are we kidding? The Women Who Run With the Moose have a table down to …

“Charlie, a hoodie’s like cargo pants, only for your top half.” By the look on Charlie’s face I realized I’d said that out loud. To be fair, it was the day after my Covid booster, and I was feeling a little under the weather. My true feelings just come out. I hate Charlie’s hoodie! It’s okay working around the yard or going to the transfer station or Agway. Fine. But not when we go out to breakfast or a bean supper. I’d tried being subtle, but Charlie wasn’t picking up on my hints. We’ll be going down to the Brew Ha Ha for a bite to eat, and I go, “How about putting on that …

The other day I says to Charlie, “We gotta put the grill in the shed for the winter.” Now, I have no intention of doing this myself. It’s the kind of chore Charlie usually does (after I remind him). We both know that by “we,” I mean “him. It’s the same “we” that comes into play when I say, “Boy, that recycling’s sure piling up. About time we made a trip down to the transfer station.” Or, “We oughta sure up that bottom step on the deck, don’t you think? Maybe put up a new railing?” It’s the royal “we. I got to thinking about it, asking myself if this is a two way street …

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 …

In my book, The Sweet Life, I have a whole chapter devoted to sex. Hey, it’s a book about love and marriage, so it had to be done. Doesn’t quite have the same pizzazz as when we were younger, but it’s not half bad. I’m no Dr. Ruth (I’m short, but not that short), but bottom line: I’m a firm believer in doing whatever you need to do in order to do it. I’ll spare you the details. Oh, and fantasize all you want about whoever you want, but just don’t act on it. My friend Rita learned this the hard way. Rita works down to Smitty’s Hardware, which is owned by her husband, Smitty. …

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 …