“Repair, Repaint, Replace, Rehang"

Annual Spring chores weave through my weeks. Some, like raking and bagging leaves, take many days and have a high reward feedback. Nothing feels better than toning my muscles while raking, bending, and hauling away winter’s debris. Sitting on the ground, planting bulbs or standing over fresh soil scattering flower seeds shifts me into a waiting game. What will push through the ground? Will this new plant enjoy the spot I’ve found for it?

Over the years, I’ve grown to love caring for my mother’s outdoor wind chime collection. When we traveled together after Dad died, Mom began seeking out wind chimes as a souveunir for our adventures. Many of them hung inside her apartment and assisted living room. Those indoor chimes found a spot in my sister’s kitchen. The outdoor ones hung in our Mountain Laurel bush by our front door. Occasionally, I added my own to the collection. Every year since Mom’s death, I’ve cared for them.

The other day, I removed all of the wind chimes to inspect which ones could be repaired and repainted. One of the newer ones, topped with cardinals, had rusted beyond repair. I cut off the parts with an eye of scalvaging pieces for repairing missing parts of other chimes. As the hot tub’s tarp will be replaced soon, I decided to use it as my painting surface. Selecting paint colors gets narrowed into only a few options as I love using whatever supply remains in our bins from the leftovers of other art projects. This added layer of challenge turns into unexpected color choices each year, but it means nothing goes to waste in our art supplies. 

Adding a new wind chime to my collection became extremely easy as I found the perfect fairy perched by the moon to suspend in the bush.  Her position in the Mountain Laurel  rippled into shifting all of the others into slightly different spots. I spent as much time rehanging each one as I did in repairing them. 

This ritual, “repair, repaint, replace, rehang” sets the tone for everything I do in my life. As the world batters me and my relationships, I keep keenly focused on what can be repaired and restored. I have shifted some friendships into new places, rehanging them by tucking them to secure places. They still impact my life, but a little distance gives me the ability to find new people that bring me joy. 

Copyright 2026 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

Repair

Repaint

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"Five Dollar Fern"

2020

 
            A Mother’s Day gift many years ago of three five dollar ferns growing in hanging baskets has become a repot tradition to mark the passage of yet another year. This year, two of the ferns bump up into five gallon pots. The third fern, accidentally overwatered last year by someone helping with the garden, almost didn’t survive. Now significantly smaller, it remains in the same pot from two years ago with fresh soil, and the hope it’ll catch up to the others. In the past, they wintered inside in the family room nestled next to light from the sliding door. This last year found them in our small greenhouse until the temperatures dropped into the twenties.

2023

            As the years pass, I notice that while my ferns hold on resiliently, other plants and bushes in our yard and garden have fallen prey to unexpected ice storms and endlessly hot, dry summers. This week a prediction of 104° marks a mid-May day. How can this be? The ferns, sheltered under a tree and given extra water, won’t be harmed, but heat will scorch the new clover I’m trying to establish in the yards. I’ll make certain to place this year’s five dollar plants (Mexican Heather and Orange Lantana) into shaded areas with extra dollops of water added to their soil to make certain they don’t get scorched before they are established. Wish us luck!

2025

March 2026 

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

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"Background Noise"

  

            Sometimes, when I sit down to write, I’ve no idea what words will appear on the page. My diligence to my craft means I put pen to paper every day (or in this case fingers to keyboard) and simply write. Many of my journal entries recount mundane trivialities of a simple life, some dip into a distant past while others slip into a hopeful future. My thoughts may focus on something currently in the news, but it’s just as likely for me to focus on the fact that it’s Friday—again.

            Then those days come where I shove aside all of the ideas that pulse in the forefront of my attention and spend time concentrating on sighs, the impatient pant of the dog laying at my feet, the distant drone of the dryer as it whubs—background noise that lets me transcend the ordinary.

            Then I hear the words whispering to my subconscious. Soft. Seductive. Evasive. A whiff of perfume that lingers in an empty room. And I hold my breath, fearful that the slightest movement would frighten my words into flight. Send them scurrying back and deeper into darkness.

            So I hunker down on my haunches, hand held outstretched with palm open in supplication. I practice patience. Wait motionlessly, head cocked to the side so I can perceive the words surrounded by heartbeats.

Copyright 2014 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

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"Wants VS Needs"

         I’ve read some pretty mean comments on social media recently. Insulting words lashing out, sometimes with no obvious reason for the inflammatory temper tantrums. Suddenly, a conversational steam turns ugly. I sit dumbfounded as I read through cruel, malicious responses from people I thought to be reasonable—and nice.

         Most of the time, I try to understand both sides of the issue. If I weigh in (many times I bite my tongue and keep away from my keyboard), I attempt to find factual support for the issue at hand. Sometimes I balance myself onto a middle ground. Occasionally, I respond with well thought out deliberation. Fortunately, I have a blog wherein I can pull together longer reflections.

         In my dream-state last night, I mulled through this-n-that in an effort to distill recent events into some kind of cohesive theory that applies to a bigger picture, and I tossed-n-turned myself into a dichotomy of wants versus needs.

         Many people state belief systems as though they are needs. They need to follow their religious doctrines.  They need to spank their children—and everyone else’s, too. They need to defund programs like education and welfare. They need to take care of their own—even if that means making decisions that harm others. They need to own guns. They need to stop abortion. They need to segregate themselves way from minorities. They need to prepare for Armageddon.

          Whenever these people speak out, they truly feel that these things are essential requirements for their safety and happiness—for their duty to family, or church, or country. Their insistence that things are needs lends a level of urgency and unreasonable panic to their daily lives. When they feel that these needs are threatened, they respond with illogical anger and boiling hostility. They view their world as always threatened by someone else encroaching upon or diminishing their basic needs and rights. It must be rough living with so much distress and disharmony.

         I wish I could wave a magic wand over these people and shift their mindset to the fact that all of these things are wants, and not needs, because the urgency and fear shifts dramatically with this worldview.

Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

IOUNIO's "Freedom" 

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"Flight at Night"

                The scorching sun’s rays baked the dry earth, and every animal sought the comfort of shade. Every shadowed spot sheltered a fury creature. Every overhang protected beasts, large and small, from the blaze. Only with the setting of the sun did the animals find relief. Only when Apollo guided his chariot toward the western horizon did any dare to move. The drought dragged on day after day, and eventually the protecting leaves curled and dried.

                Two small creatures, who loved the sun’s gentler warmth from before the drought, spent each evening and night on a quest for Mount Olympus. They toiled through the darkness even though they couldn’t see clearly. They traveled under moonlight using the stars as their guides. For these creatures, the night became a friend.

                Eventually, the fury animals climbed onto the highest point of Mount Olympus. They went straight to Demeter, goddess of grains and crops.

                “Demeter?” one of the diminutive creatures clicked in its tiny voice. “Why have you allowed Apollo to ride his chariot so closely to the earth? All of the animals and plants suffer under the hot beams of the sun’s rays.”

                Demeter looked sadly upon the pocket-sized mammals. “I miss my daughter, Persephone. I may only visit her once a year, so I miss her with all my heart.”

                “But Demeter, all the animals and plants count upon you to keep the earth growing green! We suffer cruelly under this drought. You are a mighty goddess. Can you not set aside your feelings for a while and take care of us? We, too, are your children.”

                Now Demeter felt guilty when she realized she’d let her own grief cause harm to the plants and animals under her care. But she also resented the two little creatures that came to her. They had no right to tell her how to do her duties!

                “I will go to Apollo and tell him he travels too closely to the earth,” Demeter said, and then she continued sternly, “but I am upset that you two creatures believe you can tell me, a goddess, how to do my job! Such insolence cannot go unpunished!” Demeter glared at the two little animals with passion. “Your punishment will be never to see the sun again! You will scurry through the night like lost children.” With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the tiny fur balls.

                The small animals’ eyes welled with tears, for they truly loved the soft sunshine when it caressed their fur. They know the moonlight and stars had befriended them on their journey, but their eyes strained in the dimness. They knew night contained unseen predators, so fear filled their hearts.

                Aphrodite and Dionysus sensed t heir despair. They took pity upon these creatures and appeared before them as they scurried away from Mount Olympus.

David Chapman-artist

                Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty, reached the animals first. “Friends,” she said softly,” it is not fair that you should be punished because you wanted to help all of the animals and plants. I cannot undo what Demeter has set into motion. I can ease your sorrow, though.” Aphrodite leaned down and picked up the two animals, cupping them gently in her hands. She caressed their front legs, and they turned into skin-covered wings! She blew softly into their ears, and their ears grew sensitive sound collectors. “With these wings,” Aphrodite explained, “you can soar through the night. You can dance from star to star. With these ears you can hear the smallest sound. You can locate food and sense danger.”

                Aphrodite handed the animals to the god, Dionysus. His jolly smile warmed the animals’ hearts. They knew they were safe in his hands. He grinned broadly and announced for all the gods t hear, “These creatures of the night will fly from flower to flower. They will pollinate my grapes to help me create the best of wines. They will feed upon insects that harm the crops. They will become the friends of all that grow and bloom.”

                Dionysus gently tossed the creatures into the air. They stretched their skin-covered wings in experimentation and began their first flight. They flitted through the night air with a feeling of exuberance because the hands of the other gods had softened Demeter’s punishment.

                So now, when the sun sets in the west, and evenings’ glow begins to descend, when the cooling breeze caresses the earth, the descendants of these two animals fill the sky like black fluttering clouds. They pollinate flowers; they protect crops by eating harmful insects; they sing in high pitched clicks only their sensitive ears hear; and they dance in the moonlight under the stars. 

David Chapman-artist

David Chapman-artist

David Chapman-artist

Copyright 2007 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

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