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. …

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’ …

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 …

Bud’s the first of our little group to retire. Worked for Gagne’s & Sons Heating and Cooling for what? Thirty plus years, I guess. That’s dirty work, repairing furnaces and the like. Plus, you get called out at all hours, day and night. Weekends, too, don’t matter the weather. And unless you’re doing an annual cleaning, the people you’re dealing with are usually real upset. I mean, it’s ten degrees out, and no heat. They’re all bundled up, seeing their breath inside the house, and Bud’s gotta be the one who tells ‘em their furnace is shot. No fun. Once he hit sixty-five, Bud was outta there. When he started talking about retiring, I says …

I’ve heard that rich people find it kind of tacky to talk about money. But for the rest of us, well, we gotta. I’m not saying you need to be hashing it over morning, noon and night, but you and your spouse do need to be on the same page in this department. Otherwise, it can be the one thing that does you in. I learned this the hard way when Charlie and me first got married. Neither of us were making much money. I was working down to the A&P, of course, and Charlie was at the mill. He’s a foreman there now, but he started out at the bottom doing odd jobs. We …

With all that’s going on in the country, it seems like we’ve forgotten some basic things we were taught as a kid. What happened to common courtesy? I miss it! So the other day, I’m on the phone with this catalogue company (I had a question about sizing, but that’s another blog). I pressed 2 and 1 and they launch into the usual spiel. “You’re a valuable customer, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah . . . The next available representative will be with you in a moment.” And I say, “Thank you!” It’s a recording, for God’s sake! I continue listening to a touching rendition of “Yesterday,” when I hear, “Your call is important to …

As you probably know by now, me and my friends, Celeste, Rita, Betty, Dot and Shirley (or the Women Who Run with the Moose, as we call ourselves) get together once a week for a little girlfriend time. Been doing this since Moby Dick was a minnow. God, we have some laughs! Like last week, we buzz on over to the all-you-can-eat-buffet down to the Hukilau Polynesian Restaurant. We just love going there. It’s so, I don’t know, exotic. We order our usual: a couple of pupu platters, then on to the buffet for egg rolls, fried rice, lo mien, and some kind of meat on sticks (we don’t ask questions). The girls split a …

I was talking to my sister, Irene, the other day. “What do you have planned for this weekend, ‘Reeney?” “Nothing!” she replies, a big smile on her face. “Jimbo’s off snowmobiling up to Presque Isle, so I have the whole weekend to myself.” “Oh, that sounds heavenly! What’re you gonna do?” “A whole bunch of nothing, Ida. Binge watch something on Netflix, maybe. Give myself a facial and mani-pedi, if I have the energy. Catch up on my People magazines.” “You’re killing me! And on the menu?” “Haute cuisine. Popcorn and Junior Mints. That’s as far as I got.” “That’s a good start. And let me just say for the record, I am totally jealous!” …

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 in his …