So get this: I’m standing at my register at the A&P last Friday afternoon, staring into space, when a nice-looking fella from away comes up and asks me where the canned beans are.
“Aisle 3,” I tell him. “Right-hand side, quarter of the way down.”
“Thank you, Miss,” he says, smiling. Then, I swear, he winks at me. Winks! It took me by surprise, so I giggled. Couldn’t believe it! It just came out.
I was just catching my breath when the front door opened. It was my boss, pushing grocery carts.
The other day, I saw Charlie at the mirror in the bathroom, checking out the hair in his ears and nose. “Time to get out the router rooter, dear,” I says.
“Very funny!” he replies. Then I hear him mutter under his breath, “If I could only get it to grow like this on my head.”
Isn’t aging wonderful?
Last weekend, I’m poking around the Catholic Thrift Shop in the basement of Saint Hyacinth’s, looking for some old board games for a craft project we’re working on. The “we” in this case are me and my friends Celeste, Rita, Betty, Dot, and Shirley, a.k.a. the Women Who Run With the Moose. The craft project? Sorry, I’m sworn to secrecy! Be on the lookout for it at the next Holiday Bazaar.
This week, the Women Who Run with the Moose (me and my friends Celeste, Rita, Betty, Dot and Shirley), took a class in CPR. I know, first Zumba, then CPR. What next?
See, we’d been talking about us girls needing some kind of cause to get behind. “What’s wrong with Zumba?” Rita asked.
“Doesn’t count,” Shirley replied. “It’s too much fun,”.
Well, I’m having a hard time concentrating on my blog this morning because my house needs cleaning. I mean the “I can’t die today because if anyone saw the state of my house, I’d die” kind of dirty. I’ve been just flat-out busy and housekeeping got away from me, and now it’s driving me crazy!
When I see folks splitting and stacking wood this time of year, it always makes me think of my dad. Back when he was a kid, they did all their cooking and heating with wood, and he spent most of his childhood splitting, stacking, and hauling wood, to hear him tell it. He swore he’d never do it again, so we didn’t have a wood stove growing up. And Charlie and me don’t either, though we have a generator, in case the power goes out.
You’ve heard of the cha-cha and the rumba, right? Well, this week the Women Who Run With the Moose (me and my friends Celeste, Rita, Betty, Dot, and Shirley) took our first Zumba class.
In the adult ed flyer, it says, “Zumba is the latest, hottest Latin dance exercise craze.” Then, the big selling point: “No matter what your fitness level, you can enjoy this class. The hour will fly by!”
Just as the tourists leave, and I thought things would be settling down at the A&P, Rose Thibideau gets out of rehab. Not your Betty Ford kind of rehab. I’m talking about the rehab wing of Mahoosuc Green, the Senior Living Facility where my Dad is.
He’s not in the rehab section, though. Dad bought in a few years after our mother died, and has the cutest little apartment there.
Well, Labor Day has come and gone, and it’s time to get serious about thinking about my weight. I’m not saying I’m going to do anything about it just now, but I am going to start thinking about it.
When he first arrived from Poodle Rescue, Scamp seemed like such a shy, little dog. Charlie and me found it kind of odd for a puppy to be so quiet, so well behaved: no accidents on the carpet, no chewing on the furniture. He just watched us from his bed, getting the lay of the land.