Went down to the Wally Mart with my friend Celina the other evening. Since her husband Henry died, we try to get together once a month or so and do something. Celina was looking for a new lipstick, and I was acting as her beauty consultant, you know, providing moral support. Plus, I’m always up for a little browsing.
Spent the weekend up to Dot and Tommy’s camp on Moose Megantic Lake. It was just Dot and Tommy, of course, Charlie and me, and Shirley and Junior. Rita had to work down to Smitty’s hardware. She runs the store with her husband, Smitty. Betty and Pat were off golfing in Bethel, I think. And Celeste and Bud were visiting their grandkids in Veazie.
The 19th annual Antique Tractor and Engine Show took place up to the Bouchard Brother’s Farm last weekend. Hoo, boy! Charlie was like a kid, he was so jacked up.
“Three more days ‘til the tractor show, Ida!”
I finally managed to clean the house this weekend. It was rugged, what with the heat and humidity, but I just couldn’t stand it anymore. It was making me even crankier than I was before: beyond cranky! Enough already! Can’t do nothing about the heat, but I can clean the house. Even though it’s not as hot as it was last week, let me tell you, I was sweating buckets by the time I finished. But I took a shower, changed into some dry clothes, popped open an ice-cold Moxie and my spirits improved considerably.
I can’t remember ever being this cranky hot. I know, last week I was feeling all nostalgic about hot summer days, fishing with Grampy Gilbert, but this is too much! We’re in Maine, for God sakes! It’s not supposed to be this hot for this long. We’re not equipped to handle it. It’s like when some place down south gets an inch of snow, and it puts a monkey wrench in everything. That’s what it feels like here in Mahoosuc Mills. Everybody’s discombobulated.
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about my grandfather, Frederick Gilbert. Maybe it’s because school’s out, and we’ve been having that lazy kind of summer weather. The kind of weather where it’s pushing 70 degrees when you wake up in the morning, and you just know it’s gonna be a scorcher.
Days like these, Grampy and me would go fishing. I’d set my alarm for 5 a.m., my fishing clothes all laid out the night before. He’d drive up in his battered old pickup, I’d grab my gear, my lunch bag, and off we’d go.
You ever take a vacation, come home and think, It’s just not worth it? You’re out there getting all rested up, having a great time with your husband, eating good food, joking around. Then you get home, and wham! Zero to sixty: doing laundry, returning emails, calling people back, menu planning, grocery shopping, and trying to resuscitate the hanging plant outside the front door. Oh, and apparently the power went out while you were gone, and all the clocks need to be reset. Phew!
Well, it’s been a little over a year since we got our little dog Scamp from Poodle Rescue, and I just want to report how much our little guy has blossomed. It’s amazing! Why, I can’t remember the last time he destroyed one of his doggie toys. (Granted, we know better than to give him one of them soft toys. That’s just asking for trouble!) Scamp hasn’t chewed up any socks or slippers lately, either. Course, we’ve gotten better at picking them up off the floor.
You ever had a dessert that’s so good, you find yourself dreaming about it the next day, maybe even weeks after? So good that you stand there, staring into space, as you re-live each tasty bite? You start neglecting other desserts, desserts that you’ve had a long and happy relationship with, in favor of the flat-out lust you feel for this dreamy new confection. If that’s the case, my friends, you’ve found what I refer to as an erotic dessert.
Have you ever given blood? It’s one of them real feel-good things to do. My Dad’s done it for years, so you’d think I’d have followed suit. But somehow, I just never have. I’m not squeamish or nothing, it just never quite made it to the front burner.
But a while back, I saw this story on television about a man who had donated blood his whole life, as often as he could. He was a real geezer now, but over the years, they figured he’d donated gallons of blood. Imagine!