B.B. Boudreau

Novelist | Singer

The Great American Sweet Spot

Is this you? Born between WWII and 1990, some semblance of white middle class, educated beyond middle/high school, house owner, car owner (maybe multiple), steady job, possibly retirement plans in place. Then you–and I–hit the Sweet Spot. This is not intended to brag, shame, or judge. It could be a slap on the forehead, the…

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What do I do? A blend of Zen and Ferocity

We’re all used to COVID by now. I read back through my terrified entries about washing groceries, avoiding any contact with people besides my husband, and fighting my terror of touching anything that doesn’t exist within the walls of my own house. No one has been here, and the house looks like it wouldn’t be…

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Taking a Lesson from Japan

I recently watched a report on the BBC, which is becoming more and more our choice for news, particularly during this COVID pandemic. Every other news station has become, well, something other than news.The report was about mask wearing in Japan. A view of the pedestrians emerging from Shinagawa Station in Tokyo was remarkable. The…

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Birthday Plans?

The plan was to throw a 140th Birthday Celebration for our 60th and 80th birthdays, which happen to land only three days apart.  We had originally planned to rent the Gloucester Fraternity Club and invite everyone we knew. After all, we only turn 140 once. The club booked and we were beginning to make plans…

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Options

The new news is that now we are encouraged to wear masks. Even though Mr. Big in the White House claims he will not. I think Darwin himself would not argue with that decision. Our normally free existence has become a sci-fi movie. I remember just recently (pre-COVID) walking down the street and trying to…

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Return to the Source

Last Day of March. Most of my garden has been cleaned. Only the edges of the driveway remain cocooned in last year’s leaves, a heavy blanket that resists the rake. Those shielding leaves take their job seriously, layering perfectly in alternate patterns, allowing the spring rain to percolate through. When the emerging shoots are finally…

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Holding Hands

We’re in our 25th year of marriage, which sounds impossible to start with. Al was 55 when we got married in Zaire, so even if we try to deny the passage of time, he is in that undesirable “elderly” category. That category was undesirable even before this virus. And though some information on COVID-19 has…

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My Invisible Hero

My mother is nearly absent from the memory book of my first ten years. Only a few episodes remain in my subconscious film strip. Two stand-outs occurred when I was about six years old. One was when she whisked me to the sink to whack my back, dislodging the nasty morsel of melon lodged in…

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We Need Help

I have discovered in life that when you are in difficulty, there are all kinds of blessings that pop up from nowhere to provide respite. You simply have to anticipate them and recognize them. There were facts and fears coursing through my head the first days that Mom was living with us. I had never…

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Settling In

I jumped out of bed (more like groaned; remember, this was just months after my back surgery) the first day Mom lived with us. We were taking care of Mom! This was the ultimate gift to a parent, and right when she needed me most. I was the dutiful daughter. We would make our home…

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