“Being Prepared”

 

First, temporary location

New location in back of yard

 

            In February we picked up a small greenhouse to help our plants weather through the colder days of our usually mild winters. It protected Aloe Vera, Pothos and Jade and various outdoor plants that don’t like temperatures below 60°. We added heat lamps for the coldest nights, and the shelter stayed surprisingly warm. When March rolled in, we moved the portable structure into a new place under our neighbor’s tree where it became a potting area along with a crafting area for projects requiring paints or stains. Gradually, the space filled with odd-n-ends of gardening like empty pots and a dozen glass vases used for rooting plants. I even tossed in several broken down boxes to use to protect the ground whenever I repainted our outdoor tables and planters.

            This week I woke up to a nip in the air that reminded me to check forecasts for the rest of the month. This November’s highs hug into the 80s still, but cooler days and colder nights will appear soon. I realized on Tuesday that it was time to attack the greenhouse mess and begin shifting my more temperature sensitive plants into its warmth.

            I accomplished this task on my own, intentionally longing to fill my days with grunt labor that placed me away from the troubles our world faces. I found a new, temporary location for the cardboard needed for painting our bistro set. Careful not to break anything, I placed the glass rooting vases into a bin that’s far safer than the spot on the greenhouse floor. I lugged all of the unused pots behind the shelter to where I can access them easily if I need to repot anything this winter. I examined all of the plants, added soil to some, and shifted the most temperature sensitive ones onto shelves.

            As each plant found a spot, I noted which ones remain outside, now too large to haul into the greenhouse. Last year I experimented with several types of frost blankets and found one brand that worked well for me and my garden. They stay stored in a bin, available for easy access. This week, I will group together the larger collection of Aloe Vera under the Live Oak tree and swathe them when the nights’ temperatures drop, and uncover them for the warmer days. As we move into colder days, I’ll cluster more of my outdoor potted plants together and nestle them under more frost blankets that are easy to pull back on sunny days.

            Shifting into a new season reminds me of the importance of being prepared. I’ve guided my days with the saying, “Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.” This winter’s preparations may fall short, but I like to think we’ll stay snug and warm and hopeful as we move through this season.

Messy!

Shifting plants 

Filling up quickly

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman      

"Control What We Can"

 

            

Before

Old faucet

Old paint

            We began a major project the first week of November because I wanted to tackle something that was totally under my control as we moved into receiving election results. For the last few months, I feared our smallest bathroom would need major work like the tub pulled out and swapped with one of those new walk-in shower units. I fretted that the vanity and countertop needed to be removed along with the faucet. However, I spent a few days with a critical eye to refurbish and repair instead of replace.

            Attacking the vanity with Murphy’s Oil soap followed by Old English dark wood stain and a gloss of Orange Oil revitalized the tired cabinet. I discovered applying petroleum jelly to the countertop, and buffing it with a fiber cloth, made it all look new again! Our corroded faucet would be easy to update with something more stylish. Naturally, the instructions promise of a 30 minute installation morphed into two hours wrestling off the old drain.  Examination of our tub with a critical eye revealed nothing terribly wrong except for striping off the caulk and scrubbing the tub itself with a Pumice stone and spiffing up the tile with a tad of TLC. The toilet required the same diligent attention to look new again!

            The bathroom walls wore a wall treatment we tried a million years ago—a tissue paper technique that withstood the test of time. We decided to repaint the room using the same color of our family room, only using semi-gloss for the added protection. The Celestial Glow’s barely there grey freshened the room in one coat. The shower curtain, a temporary selection until the household artists decide on original work, adds color and movement.

            Repair. Reclaim. Refurbish. Salvage what we can with care.

A barely there grey

Revitalized vanity

Temporary color splash

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

                  

             

"Pet Free"

                In recent months, I’ve fielded questions about getting another dog since Bridget’s death. Many people find it puzzling that our family moves toward the idea of becoming pet-free once Koi (now nine) dies. For so many friends and family members, loving an animal brings constancy and happiness into their daily routines. Pets bless them with unconditional, honest love. Their lives would be less without their dogs or cats (and other animals).

            I can only talk about our own heartbreak each time a pet has died. Because we kept our cats indoors, they each lived over fifteen years. Paul’s dog, Dixie, reached fourteen years while Bridget died after her sixteenth year. We simply don’t think we can survive beginning a journey with another pet and survive the inevitable loss. Our Koi will be an only animal. Since someone’s frequently home, he seems to have adjusted to Bridget’s death. He’s a little ditzy, and I sometimes think he believes she’ll be back soon.

            Once Koi’s gone, we’ll slip into a different life pattern. I know my heart will tug because no little dog anticipates my arrival, nor cats nonchalantly ignore my arrivals. I already miss the weight of Bridget on my feet, or Padme’s flicking tale blocking my access to the keyboard, or Sassy’s tender head butt. I don’t think I’ll ever miss the all-enveloping sorrow of their loss.

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Dixie

Brindle

Sassy

Padme

Bridget

Koi

"If You Can't Say Somethin' Nice"

           Remember Thumper’s Rule? My parents singsong of “If you can’t say somethin’ nice, say nothin’ at all” resounded through our household enough that the line from Bambi entrenched itself into my personal philosophy. I admit, this life paradigm proved difficult for me to follow. My too quick and sharp tongue often engages in slicing and dicing a victim before my better, gentler brain kicks into gear. If I make it through the day without saying something caustic or sarcastic, it’s a major victory for me.

            Whenever I start a new journal, I move first to the last page. I write down personal goals that I can easily flip to daily if necessary. My current journal’s final page carries this reminder:  Be generous. Be gracious. Be gentle. 

            During the last few years, I’ve begun to wish everyone adopted this mantra, or one similar to it. Wouldn’t it be grand if our culture sought generosity in how we treated our children, elderly, and impoverished? Imagine if all of us embraced kindness and courtesy as easily as we slip into derision and division; and gentleness grew naturally from each family and sprouted from neighborhood to city to country to world.

           Ugliness taints our daily news. A foul stench wafts through our society that makes me ashamed because I don’t know how to change things. If I contribute to the maliciousness, I mire myself in the hate.

          If I follow Thumper’s Rule, and say nothing at all, my silence implies agreement.

         I must balance my words and write my thoughts in ways that dispute what’s evil while not using vileness to defend humanity. The battle plays out daily in my mind. Be generous. Be gracious. Be gentle.

          Perhaps I need to add one more—Be resolute.

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman  

          

"Kitty Thoughts"

   

            Delving into a kitty brain takes a unique approach. As a child, our Thomas prowled the neighborhood. His reputation as a big game hunter formed with each bird or mouse he laid upon our doorstep. He wore camouflage of tiger stripes that hid him under bushes and within trees. He never showed his prowess with his claws with my sister or with me. He became a limp rag doll whenever we lugged him around the house and never once took a swipe at us when we shoved him into a toy carriage. Thomas broke our hearts when he strayed away from home. Eventually, a battle scarred ruffian turned up on our doorstep. A hunk of flesh missing from his ear, and his right eye tightly closed. Mom fed him, tried to coax him back into our home, but he roamed off again after a few days.

            Cookie and Junior, devilish litter mates, whirled into our household with Dad’s next assignment. These dervishes swung from curtain, knocked down the cookie jar, and terrorized anything that moved. They swiped at our legs whenever we passed by and sprang out from behind furniture with kamikaze recklessness. Their wild antics entertained us constantly, but their combined wild man capers left Mom ragged. My parents decided to take them to a neighboring farm. I remember letting them take off from my clinging embrace to frolic in the hay.

Brindle

            Beautiful, calm Brindle entered my heart and home during the first years of my marriage. She gracefully embraced every change within our home: a child, a dog. Her innate shyness meant people questioned whether or not we had a cat at all. When visitors arrived, she slipped from the room or watched from under the couch. When we first brought her home from the shelter, she would duck away from sudden movement or loud noises. We suspected her early life abounded with hardships. Our promise to her—an unending love.

One of the few pictures of camera shy Sassy!

Our Sassy cat often shunned my attention. She’d jump onto the couch, but the moment I stroked her back or rubbed her chin, she’d move away. She never behaved that way with my husband or son, which left me heartbroken. Sometimes she didn’t avoid me like the plague. I reveled in her gentle head butts and paw taps that directed my pets to her soft fur. Her Jekyll and Hyde interactions with me puzzled me for many years. Then one momentous day, she sneezed—and sneezed, and sneezed before she moved away from my outstretched hand. I dawned on me that she wasn’t avoiding me after all, but my perfume! The experiment to test my hypothesis proved simple. After I took baths, Sassy adored my attention. If I tried to interact with her with any perfume on, she’d duck and dodge my attention. What a relief to discover that my kitty didn’t dislike me!

Padme

We didn’t expect to come home with another cat, but Padme captured my son’s heart the moment he saw her playing at the pet store. She and her twin tangled together in abandon. Only bringing home one kitten of the pair was difficult, but we’d gone to the pet store for an iguana! Padme grew into a passionately opinionated cat with her long whipping tail expressing disapproval with an arrogant flick. Unlike shy Sassy, Padme demanded attention whenever anyone visited. She’d lounge on the kitchen desk to invite back rubs and chin scratches. Padme never presented a puzzle to anyone. She wanted affection and gave it back freely.  

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman