Last Tuesday, Archie Johnson come into the A&P, per usual. He’s what we affectionately refer to in Mahoosuc Mills as a “mangy old fart.” Lives in a rundown trailer on the edge of town: tires piled in the yard, blue tarps, broken cars on cinder blocks, you name it. I know, sounds like a cliché. But cliché’s come from somewhere. Archie is living proof.

Just a reminder: we are fast approaching the cutoff for all Christmas decorations. Do it now, and avoid the shame of being one of those houses where the crocuses have to nudge aside a deflated, inflatable Santa. Oh, I can get a real bee in my bonnet about this!

Our little dog Scamp and I went back to school this week. I think I told you we took a class right after Charlie and me got him. I mean, he arrived from Poodle Rescue on a Friday, and we started on Monday. Scamp and me hadn’t really bonded yet. I’d call his name, and he’d turn toward me then cock his head, as if to say, “Who the heck are you?”

I miss the smell of wet wool. In a world before polar fleece, that’s what winters smelled like in Maine. Wet wool, wood smoke, and beans slow cooking all day Saturday. Beans cooking still smell like love to me.

Every day, my husband Charlie and me trade off dog walking duties. Usually Charlie takes our puppy Scamp out in the mornings and I do the afternoons. But last Saturday afternoon, we were both hanging around the house, and I thought, 'Wouldn’t it be nice to take a little walk around the block together?' And let me tell you, it was enlightening!

Well, my Christmas decorations are all put away. The only thing I keep out for the winter are a pair of children’s snowshoes, though I do take the little red bows off. I like having them around. They were my mother’s when she was a kid, handmade by her uncle, Octave Pease. The webbing is made from the hide of a deer he shot himself.

One more holiday to go! Then I can turn over a new leaf, try to get my weight back under control and get off the holiday treadmill of shopping and parties and red and green everything. My spanky is exhausted, and frankly, so am I.

On New Years Day, the whole gang, Celeste and Bud, Rita and Smitty, Betty and Pat, Dot and Tommy, Shirley, and Junior and me and Charlie have our traditional brunch at Celeste and Bud’s. It’s a low key affair, just good friends hanging out together, enjoying each other’s company: a great way to kick off the new year.

Christmas Eve, what did you leave out for Santa? Cookies? A sandwich? I love hearing people’s answer to that question. Chocolate? Or even better, what did you feed Santa’s reindeer? Carrots? Apples? When Dot’s husband Tommy was a kid, they’d leave out dog food, which I think is kind of weird. I mean, these reindeer are magical beings! They can fly, for God’s sake!

I’d intended to spend this month writing about Christmas here in Mahoosuc Mills. You know, visions of maple sugar plums and all. But I just need to get something off my chest.

Mahoosuc Mills is just buzzing this week! Everyone’s busy getting ready for our Down Home Holiday Festival. It 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?