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Copyright 2023 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
This morning, I stretched catlike before getting out of bed. From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed my left hand. An old lady’s hand. When did that happen? My mental “picture” of myself froze itself at age 35 years old.
I knew this duality of self would happen. One time Dad quipped that he found himself looking at his reflection in a window with a confused, “Who’s that old man?” before he realized it was him! Mom, too, once quipped while getting her hair cut that the older woman before her didn’t match what she saw when she closed her eyes.
Most of the time, I don’t see the added weight my body carries or the crinkles fanning out from my eyes. This morning, however, my old lady hands shocked me into my own 66 year-old body with enough force that I had to document my realization. Sagging boobs, wrinkled knees, and crepey neck mark my daily reality.
Of course . . . if I don’t wear my glasses? I’m back to 35!
Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
Time pauses
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| February 2026 |
My Canon Rebel T1i, a hand-me-down from my son after he moved onto higher skilled cameras, steadied my life and hand from the moment I first looked through its aperture into a world I could control. Its presence provided protection from social situations I dreaded. My Rebel and I marched together at protests, hung out at tense in-law gatherings, and joyfully recorded life around me. My parents didn’t own cameras. Growing up, we had an occasional snap shot from the instamatics or polarize one-shot cameras that faded faster than my memories. The stilted school photographs marked each year like the line some families etch into a hidden doorway. The first camera we purchased as a couple, a used Pentax K 1000, passed between us with an ease married people share over the years. It wasn’t my camera. My Rebel was mine alone.
Last summer, my old friend began hesitating on shots. The first time I noticed it, we sweltered in the zoo’s butterfly house. I convinced myself that nothing could perform in that high heat and humidity. The problem occurred so infrequently that I lulled myself into believing that nothing was wrong with it. When my son took it out and about for a few minutes, it performed perfectly. However, he logged it into his heart that I may have to retire my best friend and gently suggested that I start looking for another camera. My resistance, quick and stubborn, snapped at him. I couldn’t bare another loss. This last year of grief (friends, family, pets) made me reject another change. I wouldn’t let go of my Rebel, a secure and predictable weight around my neck.
In February, a box arrived with my name on the label. Having ordered nothing, I puzzled over its contents as my son urged scissors into my hands to open it up. Knowing I’d never seek to replace my old camera, he decided he’d gift me another Canon, just as he had so many years ago. For the first time ever, I own a brand new camera! With shaking hands, I set aside bubble wrap and plucked out the box of my new best friend, a Rebel T7.
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| April 2026 |
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| May 2026 |
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| June 2026 |
Copyright 2026 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
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IOUNIO's "Freedom"
