Christmas 2017

Merry Christmas, everyone! Check it out (here).

 

Brontosaurus Ribs for Christmas

Mrs. Chatterbox and I have gotten smarter when it comes to ordering meat from the butcher. Check it out (here).

 

After Christmas Miracle

Sometimes, Christmas miracles happen after Christmas. Read about it (here).

 

Grandma's Holiday Apple Pies

At Christmas I received a tasty gift just for me when I was a kid. Read about it (here).

Framed

Most people like Impressionist paintings, but you might not have ever seen one if not for this fellow. Read about him (here).

 

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas Everyone! Read about it (here).

Trojan Christmas

 

I was going through photographs looking for something suitable for a Christmas post and I landed on these two pictures, taken on our trip to Troy several years back. Check them out (here).

Mrs. Gonsalves' Last Christmas

When I was a kid I remember one Christmas when I was upset by something said to me by the senior member of my family. Read about it (here).

An After Christmas Miracle

The mall was choked with shoppers returning Christmas presents and looking for end of year deals. My sister had gifted me an unsuitable sweater and I’d come to return it.I found something at the mall far more useful than a sweater. Check it out (here.)

 

Mrs. Claus in Old Town

Several days ago I was bored and struggling to generate enthusiasm for the Holidays. I found the spirit of Christmas in an unusual place. Read about it (here).

 

Waiting For Santa

 

 This illustration was the companion piece to the Hanukkah picture I painted and posted the day after Thanksgiving. Both were commissioned for a greeting card company, but I can’t remember which one. Click (here) to see the entire illustration.

A Favorite Christmas Ornament

 

This is the time of year when boxes of Christmas tree trim are plucked from the garage, dusted off and brought inside. If you’re like me and have been married a long time, those boxes are sure to contain an interesting ornament or two, particularly if you have children or grandchildren. My favorite Christmas decoration was made by our son CJ when he was seven or eight. It wasn’t intended as a Christmas ornament. Check it out (here).

Her Last Christmas

 

Christmas is that time of year when the pull of my ethnic background is the strongest. Dad’s folks weren’t anything in particular but Mom’s parents were Portuguese and her side of the family always won the weird relative contest. Read just how weird it got here.

Note: If you haven’t yet joined the new Chubby Chatterbox because you aren’t pleased or familiar with Google+ or Networked Blogs, there’s a third widget that’s been added to ChubbyChatterbox. All you need to do is submit your e-mail address on the blog page and then follow the simple instructions on a site called Blogtrottr. Be sure to add my NEW URL (chubbychatterbox.com) and not the old one  I’m told this is extremely uncomplicated and I hope some of you will give this a try and let me know how it works.

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The Running of the Grunion

  

Update: Grandma Chatterbox is still in the hospital after her surgery and will probably be released in a day or two. I’ve been busy trying to arrange home care for her and haven’t been able to write or respond to many of your posts. If you haven’t heard from me please know that I look forward to catching up with my reading as soon as I can. In the meantime, here’s one of my favorite posts from last year.  

Note: If you haven’t yet joined the new Chubby Chatterbox because you aren’t pleased or familiar with Google+ or Networked Blogs, there’s a third widget that’s been added to Chubby Chatterbox. All you need to do is submit your e-mail address on the blog page and then follow the simple instructions on a site called Blogtrottr. I’m told this is extremely uncomplicated and I hope some of you will give this a try and let me know how it works.

CC

The Deal Breaker on Becoming Jewish

  

     

Now that it’s Hanukkah I’m reposting a story from my memoir The Kid In the Kaleidoscope, a true tale about my decision to become Jewish when I was ten, and how I questioned my decision when I found out about the deal breaker….

Note: If you haven’t yet joined the new Chubby Chatterbox (Here) because you aren’t pleased or familiar with Google+ or Networked Blogs, there’s a third widget that’s been added to Chubby Chatterbox. It’s called Blogtrottr and all you need to do is submit your e-mail address and then follow the simple instructions. I’m told this is extremely uncomplicated and I hope some of you will give this a try and let me know how it works.

CC

What To Give An Eighty Year Old Man

I was cleaning out my chest of drawers the other day and I came upon a pair of pajamas, still in their package. I don’t wear pajamas. Mrs. Chatterbox and I had purchased these as a Christmas present for my dad. He passed away unexpectedly five years ago. Mom was finally cleaning out his things and had been about to donate the PJs to the Goodwill when I grabbed them as a memento.

My parents seldom celebrated special events or holidays, and they hadn’t exchanged gifts in years. Dad had long since given up buying anything for Mom, who was as difficult to please as he was easy. But Mom and Dad received copious gifts after moving to Portland to be near us in their so-called golden years because Mrs. Chatterbox is an ardent gift giver.

Still, Dad was difficult to buy gifts for, not that he was difficult to please; he loved everything. A jar of apricot jam, a CD of Patsy Cline’s greatest hits or a vintage aviation jacket; he was as excited as a bear handed a picnic basket. It became a challenge to find gifts he wanted or could use. Eventually, we ran out of ideas. The year we bought Dad pajamas he was in desperate need of new ones. His current PJs had been reduced to threads and Mom didn’t shop much anymore. It’s a well-known fact that men don’t buy pajamas for themselves, especially eighty year old guys.

So Mrs. C. and I went to Macy’s and bought him a new pair. On Christmas morning his face lit up when he opened the package, careful not to rip the paper or damage the bows. “Just what I wanted,” he’d exclaimed, as if receiving a vintage ’68 Mustang GT 390 Fastback.

Weeks passed and I finally got around to asking Dad if he was enjoying his new pajamas.

“I sure am,” he said. “They’re wonderful.”

But one evening I dropped by their apartment unexpectedly (it was only 6:45 and not even dark outside) and caught Dad in his old PJs. “Why aren’t you wearing your new pajamas?” I asked.

He hemmed and hawed for a moment before admitting, “I’m saving the new ones for a special occasion.”

I couldn’t hold back my laughter. Exactly what sort of special pajama-related occasion was my eighty year old father waiting for? Did my shy dad have a secret fantasy? Was he expecting a call from Hugh Hefner inviting him to the Playboy Mansion?

Dad never wore the pajamas we bought for him. Mom says he took them out of his drawer and looked at them occasionally, but he always claimed they were too good for everyday use. Now, when I think of Dad I imagine him wearing them in heaven. No longer shy, he’s looking sharp in a playboy mansion in the sky.