“Brain Freeze”

            Back when I still worked as a teacher, I often needed incentives to make it through the grueling weeks. Those of you in education know what I mean. Monday would find the kids sluggish from staying up and out all weekend, and any knowledge gained the previous week melted into oblivion the moment the kids left school grounds on Friday. I pulled patience out of my tote every Monday morning and managed to survive the first day back. Of course, Monday’s meant marathon faculty meetings. These gatherings served little purpose. Often the principal wanted to pat himself on the back. Other times, he wanted to deride and denigrate the faculty. Needless to say, by Monday evenings, I dragged home in low spirits.

            Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays filled with events ranging from mundane to X-Files. Seventh grade boys, notoriously squirrelly, moved from chasing each other around the hallways on Tuesdays to assault and battery by Fridays. The girls fluctuated so much in hormone output that they spun out of control from one hour to the next. Within all of this, add district office walk-through to “prove” teachers teach, angry parents screaming because I wouldn’t let their child come to tutoring to do work he refused to do in class, Napoleonic peers demanding praise and attention, and a mandatory _________ (insert: Open House, TAKS Night, Dance duty, PTO, sporting event) that turned the regular ten hour day into a fourteen hour nightmare. Obviously, it became necessary for me to reward myself for each Friday I pulled out of the driveway and headed my car toward work instead of the beach or hill country.

            One Friday morning as I dragged myself to work, my growling stomach led me to the nearest Sonic. I cannot eat much before nine in the morning, so I decided to order something to drink. Vowing to myself to try something that was healthier than a Dr. Pepper, I discovered Cranberry Slushes on the menu. Triumphantly, I ordered a Route 44. I took a cautious first sip and found the cranberry perfectly tart. Once on the road, I swallowed a huge gulp of the icy treat and practically veered off the road in excruciating pain—Brain Freeze. Needles stabbed into my sinuses. My head felt like shrapnel boomeranged within my skull. Inhaling and exhaling rapidly through my nose to pull in warmer air, I managed to regain control of the car. And then I took another huge sip, repeating the painful episode again.

            It makes little sense to me, but I looked forward to treating myself to this torture at the end of horrendous weeks. I believe now that this sadomasochistic ritual paralleled the pleasure/pain elements of working at my middle school. As long as I could still feel and survive a brain freeze, I knew I’d make it through another week.

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Careless Words”

Careless words cast without thought

bristle under my skin

leave me empty

Careless words sucker punch me

demean my life

belittle my dreams

Careless words stated as fact

insult my views

binding me in heartache

Careless words spoken to wound

choke and repress

make me mourn 

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Theme Song”

            Recently, I’ve noted several friends refer to their “theme song.” They have one special melody or lyric that harmonizes with significant events in their lives. I’ve tried to think of my one special piece, but instead I hum out tunes from different periods of my life. In high school, it was Elton John’s “Daniel” playing on my 8-track. In college, I remember singing “Some Day Soon” by Firefall when I studied. After I got married, my music mixed with David’s—Eagles, Beatles, Heart, Billy Joel, Kansas, Yes, Rush. I didn’t listen to any one particular group, let alone have a “theme song” that represented my life at that time.
            The 80s blurred by with us searching out new sounds to counter the airwaves’ disco drone. Always a classical music lover, I remember listening at night to a local station that rasped, gasped, and hissed with poor reception; but I didn’t care. I discovered Jazz during these years, and I revisited all the big bands my parents introduced to me as a child. Never having much money during the early years of our marriage, we carefully picked each album we purchased. By the time our son turned two, he expressed a liking to many of the soundtracks for his favorite movies. We had the music from Beetlejuice, Mary Poppins, and half a dozen Disney animated films providing the beep and the bop to our road trips. Out of all of the songs, I never thought of one, though, as my theme.
            Decades merge with a multitude of musicians flavoring my life. Millions of words from lyrics spice up my thoughts at any given point in time, and I’ll sing a refrain or two out of the blue. I have no new favorite song at the moment that makes me think, “This is me!”  I keep waiting for a piece to tug at my heart or make me wanna dance. In the meantime, I wonder about everyone else out there. What is your special song? What makes it special for you?   

  
Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Ulterior Motives”

Doubt fills my heart when I hear your words—

excuses offered upon the alter

I no longer believe

Cynicism flows within my bloodstream

my hair prickles on the back of my neck—

warning, warning, warning, warning

Caution

Take care

You promise paradise and salvation—

redemption and forgiveness

for my trespasses

as you sin again and again

Proffering your version of God—

distorted through your visions

You raise your voice in righteousness—

indignant with my humanism

you pray for my soul

You—so callous and uncaring

of all suffering

but your own

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Mephistopheles”

           She glides from treasure to treasure—

                        deep emerald capsules,

                                    liquored anise,

                                                flowering poppy,

                                                            Heaven’s Sublime Milk.

Her clawed hand trembles with

            black need—

                        her eyes, radiant

                                    with despair;

Her full, ruby lips parted and cracked.

            She screams

                        a silent, heart

                                    tearing vow;

Plunges the dream quill into the

            pulsating vessel

                        and sighs—as

                                    golden morning

                                                sunshine throbs

Through her aesthetic soul.

            Then, she

                        turns, floating

                                    with Apollo

                                                across the sky,

And closes the door to reality.

Copyright 1976 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“One-hundred Degrees in the Shade”

                  Dust chased us down the road

engulfed the car

swirling like powdered sugar blown from a birthday cake

coating our sandaled feet as we stepped into the furnace

The dogs retreated to bunk bed and chair

anticipating evening’s approach—
a breeze, teasing and seductive

Buffalo grass, brittle reminders of Spring’s bounty

squat in death

Cedars, tipped in brown and rust,

finger summer’s dragon breath in search of moisture

The naked sky, adorned only by a relentless sun

yearned for bird song

Silence, even, languished in the oppressive heat

Live Oaks, gnarled limbs supplicating to the cloudless sky

plead for rain

Wash away the sins of the world

 

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Open House”

                                    

           

           My parents didn’t earn much money when I was young. Not long before Dad died, he found his final military paycheck stub sandwiched between old tax forms. Imagine his amazement when he viewed a monthly income of just over $500. Somehow, my parents never missed a mortgage payment, car payment, or utility bill. They managed to keep three children well fed and well dressed. Of course, my parents invented the stay at home vacation. We never travelled too far from home in order to avoid hotel or motel bills. All of us looked forward to Dad’s vacation time because we got to eat out three meals a day. We visited the missions, toured the zoo, explored Natural Bridge Caverns, and discovered nearby towns like Wimberley or Fredericksburg. My parents showed their creativity in other ways. One of my favorites? Open House Sundays! New home builders often showed homes and offered cookies and Kool-Aid. Sometimes, free hot dogs with all the trimmings lured us into new neighborhoods. I loved touring the model homes. In a way, I felt like I entered giant doll houses. We’d make up stories about the families that “lived” in these homes as we visited imaginary couples and their children. Through all of the “in town” vacations and Sunday Open Houses, I never realized these enabled my parents to give us nearly free outings. Instead, I saw these activities as fun and amusing. To this day, I still love taking day trips to small Texas towns. I don’t do Open Houses on Sunday afternoons, but I enjoy watching home improvement and decorating marathon shows. They are my pot roasts and mashed potatoes!

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman