The Day Roswell Landed on the Map

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“A glowing disc‑shaped UFO hovering in a dark, misty night sky, shining bright green beams of light onto the ground below.”

Seventy‑nine years ago today, on July 8, 1947, the Roswell Army Air Field casually announced they’d recovered a “flying disc.” Just tossed it into the news like someone found a lost hubcap in the desert.

By the next day, the Army said, “No no, wait — it was a weather balloon.” And that was the moment America collectively raised an eyebrow and said, “Sure it was.”

That tiny headline didn’t just make the local paper — it put Roswell, New Mexico on the map. Before the “crash,” it was a quiet desert town. After the “crash,” it became the Alien Capital of the World, complete with:

  • UFO museums
  • alien‑themed diners
  • green‑skinned mascots
  • and an annual festival that looks like Comic‑Con met Area 51

All because someone typed “flying disc” before their morning coffee.

The whole modern UFO craze — the sightings, the documentaries, the late‑night radio callers, the government cover‑up theories — traces back to that one moment in 1947.

And decades later, The X‑Files summed up the entire Roswell vibe with its iconic slogan:

“I want to believe.”

Roswell still does. Do you?

 

Boogie in the Bogs: A Massachusetts Cranberry Story

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A close-up view of fresh cranberries, glossy and bright red, filling the entire frame.

Sweet Stuff and a Tart Little Legend

We’ve talked about all the sweet things Massachusetts is famous for — cookies, candies, Cambridge’s confectioner’s row, and that little “INN” in Wareham — but there’s one flavor we haven’t touched yet. And honestly? It’s one of my favorites.

Cranberries. The original sweet‑tart.

Fall Means Bog Season

Once fall rolls around, it’s time to boogie in the bogs. The colors turn electric red, the air gets crisp, and every farm stand suddenly smells like cider donuts and chocolate‑covered cranberries. I will happily pig out on those tart little gems until someone pries the bag out of my hands.

Ocean Spray: Born Tart, Raised Bold

Ocean Spray is a cornerstone of Massachusetts life, and its headquarters sit right in Lakeville — practically down the road from me. I’ve always loved their slogan: Born Tart. Raised Bold. It fits the berry and the people who grow it.

The company started with just three maverick farmers who weren’t afraid of bold beginnings. Today, around 700 family growers carry that same spirit forward. That’s a lot of families keeping a very Massachusetts tradition alive.

A Berry With Deep Roots

Cranberries aren’t just a fall decoration or a Thanksgiving side dish. They’re one of the oldest cultivated crops in New England. Native peoples harvested wild cranberries long before colonists arrived, using them for food, medicine, and dyes. When commercial bogs began popping up in the 1800s, Massachusetts quickly became the cranberry capital of the country.

And here’s the fun part: Most of those bogs aren’t on Cape Cod at all. They’re north of the bridges — in Carver, Wareham, Middleboro, Lakeville, and all through southeastern Massachusetts. The Cape gets the fame, but the mainland grows the berries.

How a Bog Works

Cranberry bogs aren’t ponds, and they aren’t fields. They’re a little of both. The vines grow low to the ground, and when harvest time comes, the farmers flood the bog. Cranberries float — which means the berries rise to the surface in a bright red sea. Workers corral them with big booms, scoop them up, and send them off to become juice, sauce, dried snacks, and those chocolate‑covered beauties I love so much.

If you’ve never seen a bog harvest, put it on your fall bucket list. It’s like watching the land turn into a giant bowl of cranberry punch.

Cranberries: A Year‑Round Massachusetts Flavor

Cranberries may be harvested in the fall, but they’re a Massachusetts flavor for all seasons. Summer cookouts, beach days, backyard evenings — cranberries show up everywhere if you let them. Sprinkle a handful into your summer salad and suddenly all those greens have a little bite, a surprise pop of tart flavor that jumps out and wakes the whole bowl up. And one of my favorite summer treats proves it.

A Seasonal Favorite: The Loaded Cranberry Hot Dog

This is the hot dog that says cranberries aren’t just for Thanksgiving — they’re for July, August, and every sunny day in between.

A hot dog in a bun topped with stuffing and cranberry sauce, served in a red‑and‑white checkered basket with bowls of stuffing and cranberry sauce in the background.

Here’s how to build one:

  • Place cooked hot dogs and buns on a platter for serving.
  • Add cranberry sauce into a serving bowl with a spoon.
  • Add gravy into a serving bowl with a spoon.
  • Add stuffing into a serving bowl with a spoon.
  • Build your hot dog by adding stuffing, a spoonful of cranberry sauce, and a drizzle of gravy over the top for a fully loaded summer hot dog.

It’s sweet, savory, tart, bold — and it works shockingly well. Cranberries aren’t just a fall tradition. They’re a Massachusetts tradition, all year long.

 

Some days The Dragon Wins

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A green dragon lounging against a tree in a grassy field, casually using a knight’s lance like a toothpick. Pieces of defeated knight armor are scattered around, with a castle visible in the distance. The dragon looks relaxed and victorious, as if enjoying a quiet moment after winning a battle.

Some Days the Dragon Wins

Retirement is great… until it’s not. Anyone on a fixed income will tell you that making ends meet at the end of each month is the biggest challenge. Us old folks have medical bills you whipper snappers can’t even imagine, plus the aches and pains that remind us we’re still alive. On top of that, we have to watch every penny. Creative accounting becomes a skill set. I’m pretty good at it — but today wasn’t one of those days. Some days the dragon wins.

Everything Hits at Once

Today is grocery shopping day. I like to stock up when things are on sale so I have a freezer full of options on the lean weeks. Today’s list was pretty basic. While I was checking the old cash flow, an alert flew across my phone: Forever stamps are going up to 82¢. What!? Wow. That’s a lot. Almost a dollar just to pay a bill. And of course the only bills I still mail are the medical ones — the ones that make paying online feel like earning a college degree.

And then the rest of the week decided to join the party. Chewy hits on July 10 for $89, and Kitty Poo Club is shipping the same day for another $91. Pet essentials — no negotiating. You can’t delay food, and you certainly can’t run out of litter. That would be the feline version of me running out of toilet paper. Absolutely not happening.

Meanwhile, the Postal Service is raising Forever stamps on July 12. Naturally. Add it to the pile.

Good thing I still have a stash of Christmas Forever stamps from back when they were around 45¢. My tiny inflation win for the week.

Well… it is what it is. At least I stocked up on toilet paper last week.

 

 

Massachusetts: Where the Sweet Stuff Happen

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Five glossy chocolate Junior Mints candies arranged on a white surface, with one cut open to reveal the smooth white mint filling.

With the Fourth of July just passed and everyone enjoying waterfront strolls, cookouts and all the summer traditions, I fell down a fun little rabbit hole this morning — the “Massachusetts Food Hall of Fame.” We all know our big hitters: Toll House cookies born in Whitman, Fig Newtons created in Cambridge, and the cranberry empire that practically defines the state. But here’s one I didn’t expect to add to the list:

Junior Mints are made right here in Massachusetts.

A Minty Massachusetts Surprise

Not invented here — but still produced here, and have been for 75 years. That’s a long time for a candy to stay put.

Back in 1949, the James O. Welch Company released Junior Mints and named them after a popular Broadway show called Junior Miss. Welch was based in Cambridge, and at the time the area was known as Confectioner’s Row.

In the mid‑1940s, more than 65 candy companies operated in Cambridge. Sixty‑five! Today, only one remains — the Junior Mints plant, still tucked into an unassuming building near Central Square.

You’ve probably driven past it without realizing you were passing the birthplace of movie‑theater minty goodness.

The Last Candy Maker Standing

The factory is now owned by Tootsie Roll Industries, who took over the brand in 1993. And despite its quiet little presence, the place is busy: it turns out over 15 million Junior Mints every single day.

They also make Charleston Chews and Sugar Babies, so if you grew up with those in your Halloween bag, there’s a good chance they came from Cambridge too.

Mint Cousins… But Not Related

And yes — even though Junior Mints and York Peppermint Patties look like cousins, they’re not related. York started in Pennsylvania and eventually landed under Hershey. Massachusetts gets the minty chocolate pillow; Pennsylvania gets the minty chocolate puck.

A Sweet Addition to the Massachusetts Legacy

So now, when you’re grabbing snacks for the parade or the fireworks, you can toss a box of Junior Mints into your cart and say you’re supporting local history. Toll House cookies, Fig Newtons, and Junior Mints — three very different treats, all tied to our little corner of New England.

Not bad for a state that’s only 190 miles long. I guess I know where my sweet tooth comes from!

 

 

The Bathroom Scale Chronicles

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Orange tabby cat lying on the floor with one paw resting on a digital bathroom scale.

Banner Expands His Territory

With the feline peace treaty in full effect, Banner has acquired new territory. He has always been the bathroom cat — you know the type. The cat who has to help you pee in the morning, supervise your tooth‑brushing, and guard you while you shower. He’s the cat who naps in the sink like it’s a spa treatment. He even has his own cat brush hanging on the hook by the sink. But with the Feline Accord in place, there’s been a new development.

The Bathroom Scale Takeover

Banner has apparently taken on a new identity: Bathroom Scale Cat. I don’t know what about that cold little square appeals to him, but he’s claimed it like it’s a premium memory‑foam pet bed. He curls up on it, loafs on it, supervises from it. It’s his throne now. I may need to start weighing myself in the kitchen.

And the way he lies on that scale makes getting on the toilet a challenge. He doesn’t budge an inch — maybe flicks his tail or moves his paw a quarter inch, just enough to acknowledge that yes, he sees me, but no, he will not be relocating. The scale is his territory now, and I am merely a visitor.

The Shower Inspection Committee

This morning, he added a twist to his new role.

I turned on the shower, expecting the usual reaction — Banner hears water, Banner vanishes. That’s been the rule for years. But today? He stretched up on his hind legs like a tiny orange meerkat, peeking over the edge of the tub to watch the water come down. Completely fascinated. Tail relaxed, ears forward, eyes wide. The little man was studying it like he’d been appointed Chair of the Shower Inspection Committee.

And of course — of course — this adorable new behavior happened at the exact moment I did not have my phone. Normally I’d grab it and snap a picture, but I was already in the shower, and there was no way I was sprinting naked through the living room with its giant porch sliders just to document Banner’s sudden interest in hydro‑engineering.

Meanwhile, Balboa…

Every household has that one cat who refuses to participate in the plot. In ours, that’s Balboa. While Banner was conducting his water‑flow analysis, Balboa was sound asleep in his kitty condo, completely ignoring the drama. Not a twitch, not a peep, not even a token supervisory glance. Banner was having his scientific breakthrough, and Balboa was deep in REM sleep, dreaming of snacks and absolutely uninterested in bathroom politics.

Proof of Life (Sans Cat)

Cats always pick the funniest moments to be cute — especially the ones you can’t photograph. But I did get pictures afterward: the famous bathroom scale (sans cat) and the porch sliders I was absolutely not streaking past. Proof of the scene, even if Banner’s cameo was unrecorded.

Some moments are meant to be lived, not captured — but I’ll take the ones I can get.