By Patricia Chadwick
Forty years of marriage felt like no time at all. Forty years of marriage left so much yet to explore, to share, to learn—together. There was a time in our own American history, when forty years was the life expectancy at birth. From that perspective, forty years was a lifetime. I should be grateful that I had the gift of a forty-year marriage, and I am.
Generally I dedicate my last column of the year to some aspect of Christmas, and its message is meant to be joyous. Those sentiments seem out of reach right now, and so I have turned to my husband for inspiration. John, during the last decade of his life, took up writing, with an ever-growing passion. He was particularly fond of writing military/espionage short stories, many of which were based on a true tale. At this time of year, he wrote about Christmas, sometimes with ribald humor. I hope that one of his jovial pieces, written in December 2021, will put a smile on your face in this merry holiday season.
Christmas in Connecticut
John D. Chadwick©
Because Christmas fell on a Saturday this year and because there would be so many of us, we made the decision to have our family dinner on Sunday the 26th of December at our home. The trouble began early. Around 10 o’clock in the morning, Grandpa set out on foot to CVS for a pack of bubble gum which had replaced chewing tobacco in his life. To be honest, we forgot about him until we heard his labored breathing as he trudged up the walk, pulling a wagon piled high with paper which turned out to be his CVS receipt. We now have a 50% discount on shaving cream, razor blades, eyeglasses, body lotion, prophylactics (small size only), deodorant, toothpaste, dietary supplements, large disposable diapers, pipe cleaners, sunscreen, hand wash, eye scrub, stool softener, and moisturizing cream.
At about this time the telephone rang. It was Uncle Harold and Aunt Isabel calling to say they were in a traffic jam. A truck carrying cooking grease had overturned on the Throgs Neck Bridge and all traffic was being diverted onto the Whitestone Bridge. They were at JFK and hadn’t moved in an hour. Auntie had to go to the bathroom very badly. She wasn’t sure she could hold it. Dad suggested she walk up to the next exit and find a McDonalds. Unknowingly, he had advised her to take the road to the airport which was a mile away. She told us her cell phone was running out of juice; they probably wouldn’t call again.
While the women were preparing the Christmas dinner, the men went into the den to watch the football game. The Giants would be playing the Jets. For the rest of the country this game was a snooze. Before the kickoff, there was an advertisement for a medication to cure Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. You were not to take the medicine if you were pregnant, wished you were pregnant, had thought about being pregnant, your mother had been pregnant, or the children’s gerbil was pregnant. Furthermore, you could experience a serious reaction if you had arthritis, dementia, mumps, typhus fever, heart problems, chicken pox, diphtheria, gonorrhea or a cold. If so, call 911 or go to the nearest hospital.
At this point, the announcer came back saying that first quarter had ended with the score tied and with the Jets on the Giants’ four-yard line. All at once, the TV flickered, the lights went out, and we lost power. Dad was so angry, he left his chair to go to his office to get his shotgun which he was going to use to shoot the TV. With our back-up generator broken, we searched the house but could find only birthday candles. Flashlights would have to do. Fortunately, Mom came in to announce dinner was ready. Unfortunately, in the dark she tripped over Rover’s tail. The turkey slid off the serving platter landing on the gravy boat which overturned spilling the gravy into Uncle Sam’s lap. He leapt back, not realizing he had tucked the tablecloth, and not his napkin, into his trousers. Luckily, the glassware remained upright; however, the cranberry sauce fell onto the new white carpet. Rover stepped in it before running to the kitchen. To no one’s surprise, Mom started to sob. Dad, to his credit, called the Club and made a dinner reservation for us all.
At that very moment, my brother walked through the door breaking the news that he and his girlfriend had called it quits, so he would be having supper with us. Someone called to warn us that the service warranty on our car was about to expire. Dad said it was time for Plan B. Sis reminded him that we already had Medicare. Mom offered to call Joe Namath the next day to check for sure. What more can I say? We’ll see how dinner goes.
