Let’s admit it. We had been warned. “Puppies are just like babies,” friends said. “At your age, a puppy will wear both of you out,” our kids told us. They chew. They make messes. They need so much attention.

We lost our beloved 11-1/2 year old Boxer in September 2016. Over the next nine months as we grieved, we also managed to convince everyone, including each other and ourselves, that we weren’t anywhere ready for another dog. We were enjoying the freedom from having to be home on time. We didn’t miss the muddy paw prints, the dog toys strewn about, and our car no longer boasted a full coat of dog hair on the seats and the floor.

There were no streaky nose prints on the car windows or on the French doors at home. There was no annoying barking at the mailman and any friend or foe who came near our home.  There were no stray dog toys and bones tripping us up, and no more slippery water sploshes on the kitchen floor.

Yet, we missed the u-shaped, body-shivering hellos that greeting our every homecoming. We yearned for the warm, solid presence of a beloved dog at our feet in bed. We were even nostalgic for the leggy-cuddles – those that caused us to cry “uncle” and retreat to the love seat across the room – alone, without the furry friend who had pushed us off the couch.

One day this past June, a friend hinted that there might be some sweet puppies we would like to meet in New Bedford. They were eight-week old Boxers, a comical, loyal breed we knew so well. We convinced ourselves that we were only curious. We were “only looking,” we claimed. With six young grandchildren in our home for holidays and vacations, we were reluctant to rescue a grown dog who might take months or years to learn to trust. Yet, for obvious reasons, we were not so sure about a puppy, either.

Once a snub-nosed runt-of-the-litter puppy stared into my eyes, licked my fingers, nuzzled my chin, and curled up on my lap, I was smitten. Logic, resolve, and a window-shopping-fantasy ended right there. My husband Gerry knew it was love at first sight and sighed deeply, while at the same time secretly smiling. This new puppy we named Oreo (for the slice of white that appeared like the frosting in an Oreo cookie) came to live with us that week.

Several days later, reality set in. Our soft, cuddly puppy nipped at our grandchildren’s heels and grabbed them by the back of their heads, nibbling on their hair, knocking them over with all 12 pounds of his effervescent love. He stole the socks right off my feet and my knitting from the coffee table. He piddled and chewed and tripped us with every step we took. Those first few months I was sure he would never grow out of every stage he suddenly was in. He seemed to gain a half-a-pound a day, outgrowing every bed, leash and harness before we even got the credit card bill.

We crate trained. We downloaded the WAG app and arranged dog walkers like UBER rides.  We met other four-legged friends and their owners, praying that our puppy would wear himself out in a half-hour of before-suppertime play. We scolded, we praised, we admonished. We sighed.

We had, after all, been warned about puppies.

At nearly eight months, Oreo’s energy is unbounded. He peers from his crate when we walk through to door, as if to say “Hey! Thanks for coming back.” He sits, he stays. He gives one paw and “the other.” He makes his presence known on every couch and bed when he rests his grateful, heavy head on our cold and tired calves. His dog walkers call him the King of Norwood as he greets every person, dog, leaf and stick with enthusiastic attention. He still manages to steal a knitting needle here and there, run off gleefully with my socks.  Left alone, he can’t be trusted not to gnaw a chair leg or pillow, mistaking them for one of his dozens of toys. He will endlessly play fetch in and out of the house and up and down the halls and stairs.

One of our puppy guidebooks suggested that there are no bad puppies, just bad humans. While this advice might be brutal and unwelcome, it is most likely true. Dogs who mess in the house need a more regular schedule of being let outside. Dogs who chew need toys and exercise. Dogs who nip need stern training.

Oreo is either dog-walked up to an hour every day while we are at work or he spends the full day in doggie daycare and arrives home too exhausted to eat dinner. During the Thanksgiving holiday, we realized we needed to add “vigorous walk” to Oreos’ vacation schedule, too.

Fortunately, the south coast where we spend our holidays boasts many dog-friendly walking trails, off-season beaches and cranberry bogs. We’ve found countless resources online and on sites such as the Trustees of Reservations, Buzzard’s Bay Coalition and the Sippican Land Trust. When we venture further out for day trips to stretch Oreo’s legs and save our furniture, socks, and my knitting projects, we’ll take along some books like Best Hikes with Dogs Boston and Beyond by Jenna Ringelheim, Best Hikes with Dogs in New Hampshire and Vermont by Lisa Densmore, Doggin’ Massachusetts by Dog Gelbert, and Dog-Friendly New England by Trisha Blanchet.

Last week, when we weren’t watching, Oreo chewed a 3” triangular piece off a hand-painted, one-of-a-kind stool that sits in our back utility hall. I fought mightily to stifle my aggravation. He’s only a puppy, I groaned.

Last Sunday I nestled down on the couch with Oreo and re-watched Marley and Me, the 2008 film version of John Grogan’s book about his beloved Golden Retriever. Sobbing at the end of the film, I tightly held Oreo, all legs, massive paws and broad chest. I wondered how we, too, had ended up with the world’s worst dog – who we love with all our hearts.

Charlotte Canelli is the library director of the Morrill Memorial Library in Norwood, Massachusetts. Read Charlotte’s column in the November 30, 2017 edition of the Norwood Transcript and Bulletin.

The United States is a diverse country. We are a culturally, intellectually, and religiously diverse people, and our regional foods reflect that. Every state, and even every city can lay claim to its own slice of American culinary culture. Buffalo, NY contributed the chicken wings that are so popular on game day, Philadelphia is all about the cheese steak, and it is hard to think of Chicago without thinking of deep dish pizza. While New England may not have a dish as popular as the buffalo wing or as iconic as Texas barbeque, a surprising number of amazing foods have roots right in our own back yard.

I started thinking about this when I saw a new book sitting on one of my co-worker’s desks awaiting processing. “Fluff: The Sticky Sweet Story of an American Icon” by Mimi Graney chronicles the story of the fluffy marshmallow spread that has been a lunchbox hit for decades. After reading this entertaining history and running to the store to purchase a jar of the marshmallow-y goodness I was seriously craving, I came to think of other things that are regional favorites.

Naturally, my mind went straight to what many people consider to be the Commonwealth’s most recognizable treat: Boston cream pie. While this “pie” might be the official dessert of Massachusetts (yes, Massachusetts has a state dessert), I don’t find it to be terribly representative of classic New England food culture. As Brook Dojny explains in “The New England Cookbook : 350 Recipes from Town and Country, Land and Sea, Hearth and Home,” New England cooking has been shaped not only by the native peoples that have inhabited this land for countless generations, but also by the multitude of immigrants that found their ways to our rocky shores, and even by geography itself.
Quintessential New England recipes are hearty and filling. They use easily available ingredients, largely from local sources, and are rarely fussy or overly complicated. Some prime examples of this are baked beans, chowders, Johnny cakes, steamed seafood, and the fruit cobblers and pies that are so prevalent on our tables.

Speaking of desserts (mostly), “The New England Orchard Cookbook : Harvesting Dishes & Desserts from the Region’s Bounty” by Linda Beaulieu was another recent find that solved a problem common to many Bay State families this time of year. We were positively drowning in a glut of apples after an apple picking outing with my husband, sister, and niece. Even with four enthusiastic apple eaters, we had barely made a dent into our haul weeks later. While I had to order this book from another library in the Minuteman Library Network, it was well worth the wait. Part travel guide, part agricultural history lesson, and part cookbook, this book did not disappoint. In no time, we had reduced our apple stock- without getting sick of them!

While most New Englanders can agree that an old fashioned apple pie is delicious, there are many traditional dishes that folks love or just love to hate. Moxie soda (love), brown bread from a can (love), Necco Wafers (love, especially the clove flavor), clam chowder (hate), and even good old marshmallow Fluff (love). Regardless of whether you think Indian pudding is delicious or horrible, mealy sludge, I think we can all agree that New England has a lot to offer when comes to filling our bellies.

Read Alli Palmgren’s column in the November 23, 2017 edition of the Norwood Transcript and Bulletin. Alli is the Technology Librarian at the Morrill Memorial Library.

My family is big on wordplay—the sillier the better. Whether it’s deliberately mispronouncing or making up words for comic effect (only to us), overusing idioms (beating a dead horse), or simply quoting dumb movie lines, we delight in linguistic levity. As our Commander-in-Chief might tweet, “It’s just sad!” No doubt, but entertaining nonetheless.

My ex-husband and I had a thing for Monty Python and Charles Dickens–“that’s Dikkens with two K’s, the well-known Dutch author.” Certain catch phrases, like this one from the Monty Python Bookshop sketch, still make me smile. If I was feeling particularly sorry for myself, my former spouse would call me Mrs. Gummidge—the “lone lorn creetur’” in David Copperfield who “everythink goes contrary with.” The name stuck.

It wasn’t all fun and games, however. As a high school English teacher, his students’ misuse of the mother tongue was no joke. Those who committed the egregious sin of spelling “a lot” as one word received an automatic “F”. Harsh? Perhaps. But if they gave a rat’s…I mean, if they cared a fig about their GPAs I bet they made that mistake only once.

Our kids are forever quoting dialogue from favorite films–Old School, Airplane!, Wedding Crashers, and Groundhog Day top the list. Before I left to visit my youngest while she was studying in Paris, her sister in San Francisco texted me, “Bring me back something French.” Seriously? I hadn’t planned on buying any souvenirs, plus my carry-on was already crammed to capacity.

“Mom,” another daughter explained patiently, “it’s a quote from Home Alone.”

If you wish to showcase your talent for reciting random movie lines, there’s no shortage of material at the Morrill Memorial Library.

A font of hyperbole, my mother was renowned in the family for her own quotes. Spending time at the shore with Mom was no day at the beach. As we trudged from the parking lot to the water one afternoon she complained, “This beach has too much sand!” Eyeing the cot on which she was to sleep during a weekend visit, she muttered, “Prisoners sleep on thicker mattresses than this.” And the last time she saw her bearded grandson, the Christmas before she died, she told him, “You look terrible!” Mom did not mince words–or beat around the bush.

I may have said “I’ll eat my hat!” once or twice myself, and I’m especially keen on “colder than a witch’s…” er, you get my drift. If idioms tickle your fancy as well, give this one a whirl–I’m Not Hanging Noodles on Your Ears and Other Intriguing Idioms from Around the World by Jag Bhalla. (That’s a new one on me, too.)

But back to my maternal parent. Regarding her youngest grandchild, who Mom believed showed particular promise: “At least she’s not going to grow up to be just a librarian.” Ouch. My daughter enjoys her job in TV news but once admitted that her dream was to be an archivist (read: librarian who likes old stuff). Have you heard the expression, “turning over in her grave”?

No stranger to the pun himself, my partner called his own mother Cleopatra, Queen of Denial. Desperate for a girl after having produced three sons, she called her fourth child Mary for the first few days. The baby’s name was in fact Bill.

I may be just a librarian but my real passion is copy-editing. Put a red pen and the written word within my reach and I’m as happy as a clam at high tide. Knowing my penchant for proofreading, my boss presented me with this laminated keepsake: “My life is a constant battle between wanting to correct grammar and wanting to have friends.” While I usually manage to bite my tongue, it requires a Herculean effort to refrain from fixing typos in the margins of whatever book I’m reading. Were it not for the shame of getting caught defacing library property…

Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night prevents me and my partner from playing along with Jeopardy every night with our favorite host, Alex…Trebek! The only categories in which I have a snowball’s chance in… well, of distinguishing myself, are those relating to language. “Proverbially Speaking” was a walk in the park, and I nailed “Words that Begin and End with N.” It’s extremely satisfying when I shout out the right answer, or rather question. Except that when I don’t, the correct response often gets drowned out in all the excitement.

I suspect this homegrown word game may never be ready for prime time. When someone uses a vaguely erudite or multi-syllabic word in conversation, the other will respond by saying basically the same thing minus the big words. For example, after a wedding we’d attended my friend commented, “Wasn’t the bride absolutely radiant?” Me: “Yeah, and she looked pretty darn good, too.” Upon hearing someone recently described as indigent, I couldn’t help remarking, “He probably didn’t have a ton of money, either.” I engage in this terribly witty repartee with just two people–my significant other and his ex-wife. It’s our way of poking a bit of fun at each other for using a ten-dollar word.

To learn the proper usage of “its” versus “it’s” or “me,” “myself,” and “I,” Strunk and White (The Elements of Style) are your go-to guys.  But if you want to dig deeper and enjoy a few chuckles in the bargain, check out Lynn Truss’s British bestseller, Eats, Shoots & Leaves—the Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation. Another humorous read for the serious word buff is Between You & Me: Confessions of a Comma Queen by Mary Norris, who chronicles her long career at The New Yorker and shares amusing anecdotes and helpful tips. I also really liked Kory Stamper’s Word by Word: the Secret Life of Dictionaries–a wonderfully irreverent inside look at the life of a lexicographer.

Regardless of your particular quest, make haste to your local library. And if you don’t find the holy grail of linguistic treasures, or whatever it is you seek, I’ll eat my hat.

April Cushing is the Adult and Information Services Supervisor at the Morrill Memorial Library in Norwood, Mass. Read April’s column in the November 9th edition of the Norwood Transcript & Bulletin.

“Don’t worry, all the hauntings here are friendly,” the curator reassured us at the start of the tour. He felt the need to offer this calming statement because we were just about to be led on a paranormal ghost tour of the Fairbanks House Historical Site in Dedham, MA. The date was Friday October 13^th.

Dear readers, your reaction to the idea of a ghost tour of the oldest timber frame structure in North America on the night of Friday the thirteenth is probably similar to the reaction of my friends when I suggested it. For some strange reason, this was the date with the largest block of unreserved tickets – go figure. The tour was very interesting, and I highly recommend it for anyone looking for an evening with a bit of seasonal atmosphere, a lot of history, and a large dollop of local flavor.

Personally, I love haunted history tours. I will go with friends to a ghoulish jump-out-and-say-boo haunted house every few years, but I will visit macabre historic locations any time of the year, and especially during Fall. From the Lizzie Borden house to Salem to the oldest graveyards in the country, New England has a lot to offer those looking for spooky entertainment. If you’re looking for ideas of local haunted treasures, check out “Haunted New England: A Devilish View of the Yankee Past” by Mary Eastman and Mary Bolté, or the ever popular “Weird Massachusetts” by Jeff Belanger. For thrill and chill seekers looking for something off the beaten path, I also recommend the website www.AtlasObscura.com, “the definitive guide to the world’s wondrous and curious places.”

Or, perhaps you’re more of an armchair explorer? There’s nothing quite like cracking open a scary novel, or better yet a nonfiction book about haunted places and first-hand paranormal accounts, all alone on a dark chilly night, candle lit, the house creaking in far-flung corners…then in your room…then right behind you! Author Colin Dickey is also fascinated with our nation’s ghosts and where to find them. His recent book, “Ghostland: An American History in Haunted Places,” chronicles his treks to suss out not only some of our most haunted locations, but also how we continue to live with and in these spaces. What stories do we tell ourselves about these ghosts and spaces, how do these stories change in the telling, and how can these ghost stories inform our understanding of our own history?

Why are we entertained by hauntings, monsters, curses, paranormal activity, and the undead? These are all things that, by rights, we should run screaming from every time. Yet culturally and as individuals we are fascinated by death and the dark to the point of seeking it out for entertainment. Literally millions of people spend countless hours and billions of dollars every year scaring themselves. We can’t seem to get enough of horror and the things that go “bump” in the night.

According to Walter Kendrick, author of “The Thrill of Fear: 250 Years of Scary Entertainment,” horror has been part of moral and religious instruction for millennia, but has only been seen as a form of entertainment for about the last 250 years. Fans of the Lore Podcast by Aaron Mahnke, author of the new book “The World of Lore,” will agree that scary stories have long served as cautionary tales and to explain the things in life that can’t otherwise be explained. Two books in particular tackle the question of monsters and the human psyche: “On Monsters: An Unnatural History of our Worst Fears” by Stephen Asma, and “Monsters in America: Our Historical Obsession with the Hideous and the Haunting” by W. Scott Poole. Monsters have compelled and repelled us for centuries, embodying our deepest vulnerabilities and anxieties while also representing the obscure unknown beyond our safe, rational thoughts. For a more in-depth discussion of one of the most famous creatures in literature, Frankenstein’s monster, check out “The Lady and Her Monsters: A Tale of Dissections, Real-life Dr. Frankensteins, and the Creation of Mary Shelley’s Masterpieces,” by Roseanne Montillo.

So how is it we can find fun in horror? Kendrick points out that the growth of horror as entertainment has “paralleled the almost total removal from most Western experience of the aftereffects of death, leaving them to cavort in the imagination.” Ah-ha. When there’s room for our imaginations to play, we will be entertained. In Western culture, horror and the supernatural really came into their own as entertainment in the Victorian era. According to Simone Natale in her new book, “Supernatural Entertainments: Victorian Spiritualism and the Rise of Modern Media Culture,” cultural fascination with the macabre was strongly tied to the rise of the media entertainment industry in the nineteenth century, including print media and photography.

Once established as a genre for popular consumption, horror has been nearly unshakeable in film and literature. Tastes and trends have certainly evolved over time, from Gothic vampires to stranger slashers to the unquiet undead to unstoppable cyborgs. In his book, “The Horror of It All: One Moviegoer’s Love Affair with Masked Maniacs, Frightened Virgins, and the Living Dead,” author Adam Rockoff discusses our obsession with horrific tales played out on the big screen, and how trends in horror have shifted with our changing culture.

Whether your tastes lie with books, audiobooks, or movies, the library has you covered for thrills, chills, and horror – and just in time for Halloween! Our horror novels are interfiled with the rest of fiction, but feel free to check with a library staff member to help locate books by your favorite authors. Hoopla Digital has a plethora of ebooks, audiobooks, movies, and TV specials about horror, paranormal investigations, and more, all available for instant streaming and download. Be afraid, dear readers. Be very afraid.

Liz Reed is an Adult and Information Services Librarian at the Morrill Memorial Library in Norwood, Massachusetts. Read Liz’s column in the October 26th issue of the Norwood Transcript and Bulletin.

Now that it’s summer–the traditional wedding season–I find myself wondering each weekend about all the brave souls who’ll be tying the proverbial knot, for better or worse. I always hope the sun will shine, literally and figuratively, on these happy couples whom I don’t even know.

Of course if I do know them I’m even more invested in the weather, especially if I’m going to their wedding. Sure, I hope their special day is superlative, but a small part of me longs for just a touch of drama to add to the happily-ever-after ambiance. The sole exception to this sentiment is if either the bride or groom shares some of my DNA.

I went to a lovely wedding recently in Nantucket. The setting on the deck of the Dreamland Theater overlooking the sailboat-studded harbor was picture perfect. The whole affair, soup to nuts, seemed to go off without a hitch (pardon the pun). The truth was, prior to the big day the bride’s divorced parents bickered non-stop, and she herself insisted on changing the venue three weeks out. The only obvious glitch occurred when the minister proclaimed, “I now pronounce you Mr. and M…” whereupon he stopped short, having caught the bride’s unmistakable glare. She was, evidently, keeping her surname.  “Oops, I guess I should have checked on this earlier,” he admitted as the guests chuckled in sympathy.

I had a full 15 months to fret over the forecast for my daughter’s outdoor ceremony on the Maine coast. Weather.com tortured me daily for two weeks with a different meteorological prediction for September 12. Not content to leave such a crucial factor to chance, I took a page from my former colleague’s wedding playbook. Her son and daughter had each exchanged vows under clear, 70-degree skies—in March and November. So two nights before my child’s nuptials, I dutifully hung the borrowed string of rosary beads on my patio and said a quick prayer.  Another equally superstitious librarian here recently did the same. The success rate so far is 100 percent.

All weddings are wonderful in their own way. I’ve probably been to a dozen in the last couple of years, with four more on the calendar. They’re so full of joy, of promise, of fabulous food and drink. My weakness is the passed hors d’oeuvres. You know, the mini seafood rolls, the tenderloin on toast, the bacon-wrapped anything. I count on the others being so busy munching and mingling that they fail to notice the frequency with which I tackle the servers as they emerge from the kitchen.

I enjoy weddings vicariously as well. Another coworker told me she was glad she remembered to put her Swiss Army Knife in her purse as she dressed for her best friend’s wedding. It came in decidedly handy for detaching the bride’s blusher veil, which remained stubbornly attached to her headpiece after the ceremony. I can just picture my colleague whipping out her trusty knife prior to the photo shoot to save the day. This woman takes her bridesmaid role seriously. You might want to think twice, however, before including her in your wedding party. The couples in nearly every wedding she’s been in have parted company, and all but one of her bridesmaids’ marriages has gone belly up.

While I might welcome a little comic relief on occasion, I wouldn’t wish this next scenario on anyone. My sister’s neighbor saw on TV that a fire had broken out at a popular wedding locale on the Connecticut River. Anticipating her own daughter’s happy day in two months’ time, she tried to imagine the horror of discovering that your dream wedding had, well, gone up in smoke.  She didn’t have to imagine for long; the smoldering castle was slated to be her child’s wedding venue as well.

You don’t have to be taking the plunge yourself to get in the spirit of the season. The library has a multitude of DVDs on the subject of matrimony: “The Wedding Singer,” “The Wedding Planner, “Margot at the Wedding,” “My Best Friend’s Wedding,” “Four Weddings and a Funeral,” “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” (1 & 2), and my personal favorite, “Wedding Crashers” (“Maaaaa!” “What is she doing back there? I never know what she’s doing!”). No list, of course, would be complete without including “Bridesmaids” or “The Hangover.”

But if you’re seeking more than mere entertainment, browse the 392 section of the stacks for practical advice on wedding planning. There’s something for everyone, from “Groomology—What Every (Smart) Groom Needs to Know Before the Wedding” and “Green Weddings—Planning Your Eco-Friendly Celebration” to the lavishly illustrated “The Knot: Outdoor Weddings,” chock full of “fresh ideas for events in gardens, vineyards, beaches, mountains, and more.”

Three books on the shelf particularly caught my eye. Even if you’re not a southern dame from the Mississippi Delta, as are authors Gayden Metcalfe and Charlotte Hays, how can you resist at least skimming through the hilarious “Somebody is Going to Die if Lilly Beth Doesn’t Catch that Bouquet”? For another humorous—and poignant—pick, check out Jenn Doll’s “Save the Date.” The subtitle, “the occasional mortifications of a serial wedding guest,” says it all. The one that really spoke to me, however, was “It’s Her Wedding but I’ll Cry if I Want To” by Leslie Milk. I wish I’d seen this one two years ago.

My own marriage, sadly, did not endure, but hope springs eternal. The man in my life and I have known each other for 30 years and have been together going on 13.  Meanwhile, both our exes, I’m pleased to report, are happily remarried—though not to each other.

Clearly, we’re hesitant to rush headlong into anything. But if and when I do say “I do” for the second time, two things are certain: I know who I won’t be asking to be a bridesmaid, and as soon as the date is set, I’m putting another reserve on those rosary beads.

April Cushing is the Adult and Information Services Supervisor at the Morrill Memorial Library in Norwood, Mass. Read April’s column in the July 27th edition of the Norwood Transcript & Bulletin.