"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  

          

"The Harpy"

Above all, she soars

Her vicious talons sharp

She swoops

Her wicked claws rip and tear

Into her own children

Cruelly she slices her prey

Ignores their anguished cries

Her evil hunger feeds upon the flesh of her babies

She devours their adoration

Her soul-eating cravings insatiable

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

 

"O.C.D. and Me"

            I understand the need to have things in order. Organization reduces my anxiety, keeps my edges smooth if a day becomes particularly frazzling. Some of my compulsiveness became honed during the years Dad spent in the Air Force. White glove inspections are not a myth. I remember before one move, Mom spent days spit polishing the wood floors and scrubbing the bath tub and sinks immediately after every use. Then she hired a cleaning service to come through our quarters for one final cleaning.

            That upbringing remains part of my nature to this day. When I tackle our home, I utilize a top to bottom method that stretches from the tops of doorways to the woodwork near each floor. A sister-in-law commented once that my walls never had any smudges from my son or his constant parade of friends. I told her that I wiped down our walls every week. She shook her head in disbelief that I’d incorporated that into a regular routine.

            All drawers in the house adhere to a strict discipline. My closet, too, reflects my quirky neatness. I arrange my clothing by type: pants, tops and dresses. Then I tidy everything by length and color. Finally, my around the house clothing gets isolated from my work clothing. If I’m going to splash bleach on anything, it’ll be something old. When I taught full time, I once picked up a note being passed between two girls. It said, “Ms. Chapman may be a bitch, but she has cool shoes!” At that time, my shoe collection had its own little cubby that stayed ordered by season, heel height, and color. Retirement means I’ve minimized my shoes down to the basics that I arrange by season and color.

            In recent years, I think because my work week varies from school to school, I’ve developed a technique of making certain I never leave anything behind. This method focused upon my tote, and originally I used it before leaving a campus. This year, I do the ritual before leaving the house each morning and before leaving work each afternoon. I preform the routine diligently and sequentially about 15 minutes before I leave: Phone-zipped into one compartment. Lunch bag and water bottle. Journal. Calendar. Spiral. Book. Every item in its space. Then I zip up the bag and set it onto my bed in the morning or the floor next to my feet at the school. Right before I leave, I unzip and do one more check. I believe this procedure keeps me from leaving anything behind that I may need once I change locations. It keeps my anxiety lower to know I won’t have to make unnecessary trips back to a campus.  

            My habits allow me to spend less energy on searching for a missing pair of shoes or getting to work without my phone. For me, a little O.C.D. goes a long way!

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 

     

"A Dog's Life"

Koi with Baby

            Koi’s sharp yip reverberates through the front window while his tiny body bounces with anticipation of my arrival. My fumble of key in lock frustrates him into a body slam against the door. Upon opening the door, this little dog doesn’t jump against my legs. Instead, he dashes toward the family room, scoops one of his stuffed toys into his mouth, and zooms into the master bedroom. I drop my purse and tote and immediately give chase. Koi’s keep-away game rockets us back into the family room in a mad circle around the coffee table. Then I dash behind him in a loop back into the bedroom where he sails onto the bed, leaps back to the floor, and whips around the corner just ahead of my grasp. One final maneuver on my part, and I capture the toy from his mouth, pop open the back screened door, and hurtle the toy into the back yard. Koi propels himself over the threshold, scoops the toy back into his mouth, and slows down enough to pee on his favorite bush before following me to my swing.

            We linger under the tree. Sometimes I read. Other times I talk to my sister or brother. Koi barks at Calico Sal, the patched cat from across the street, or he rubs noses with the dog next door. Sometimes, he sits closer to my feet, his toy resting between his paws until I signal that it’s time to go inside.

            I love that Koi lives a pampered life of belly rubs and walks to the park. His little heart knows with certainty that the big black box in the kitchen holds deliciousness (chunks of cheese). He never doubts the invitation onto our bed each night where he’ll cuddle as he snoozes. Security and safety shelter him each day. He lives a splendid dog’s life.

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Not My Story"

            Many days an adventure unwinds that isn’t my story. The events pivot around one of my siblings, my son, my husband, or a very close friend. The lessons learned, though applicable to many, still spur from someone else’s life. As much as I long to write about the journey’s trials and tribulations, I must remind myself, “It’s not my story.”

            If compulsion forces me to write and to share, I get permission from the major role player, or I write poetry about the essence of the experience. I create a short story that fictionalizes and disguises all but the life lesson. In that way, I make the circumstances everyone’s story.

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"New Dark Age"

            Trust your religion and religious leaders more than science, logic and reason. Trust your gut over scientific research and objectively collected data. Trust the story about a friend of a friend’s third cousin over documented and investigative studies. And then—TRUST NO ONE!

            Our slippage into an under-educated population occurred gradually. First, we forced the content of our public schools to dumb down to standardized testing levels. Then an Us VS Them mentality bloomed that tainted legitimate media. Finally, we allowed Christian religious beliefs to seep into public and governmental institutions, to become a litmus test for viable candidates for many elected positions. The message shifted to TRUST NO ONE (unless that person has the same religious views as you).

            So now we find ourselves, as a country, mired in obvious lies and more obscured half-truths that our gullible population cannot unravel. They blindly turn to sources for information that foster more confusion and promote distrust.

            These are the most recent theories I’ve followed. Each one disturbing because they prey upon fear. Fear that someone’s out to take your jobs, undermine your marriage and family, or physically harm someone you love.

THE NEW DARK AGE BELIEFS (in no particular order):

               First, women should have no rights to determine their own reproduction. This includes using any birth control. Women are secondary to men in many faiths, and therefore, deserve lesser pay. They shouldn’t expect respect within the work force. Legal protection for women being abused by men should be limited.

Troubling, isn’t it! We actually have a growing population that believes a woman’s place in in her home, where she may not even be safe.

            Second, all of the “research” on climate change is false. Climate change is a liberal lie to undermine our profitable use of fossil fuels. They have some kind of secret agenda that will wipe out our economy if we turn to reusable energy and protect the air we breathe and water we drink. They have a plot, as yet unknown in details, to subvert the entire course of modern civilization by implementing laws internationally that could begin to contain the destruction of our environment. Many people actually believe that God will step in, wave his magical hand, and wipe away all of the damage we’ve done to the planet.

I cannot fathom why anyone would risk our entire planet just to prove they are right about a possible liberal agenda.

            Third, anyone who’s different from you threatens you, your family and your community. Therefore, anyone immigrating here is suspect of engaging in behaviors ranging from taking your jobs to murdering you and your entire family, as you sleep peacefully in your home. (Thus, you must arm yourself with an arsenal of weapons and ammunition). Anyone who has a difference in sexual orientation must be ostracized. You have a duty to deny this group their rights to job security, medical care, purchasing homes, or even marriage. Many people actually shift blame to current weather disasters to God’s punishment for acceptance of “differences.”

I keep wondering why God punishes all of the “innocent” people, too, through these floods, famines, and other natural disasters.

            Fourth, Big Pharma controls all of our doctors and scientist. Therefore, any program that benefits pharmaceutical companies should be rejected. This belief meshes together the facts and data that these companies have one agenda alone—PROFIT. Therefore, nothing that comes from these companies can be trusted. The latest, of course, is vaccinating our population. Many people believe these companies actually inject cancer causing agents into our systems in order to generate future clients dependent upon medications to survive. Many people believe that by refusing to vaccinate their children, they are protecting them.

I know that pharmaceutical companies drive all decisions by profit, but I also believe that resurgence of diseases like tetanus, measles, and polio far outweigh worry that Big Pharma want to make a buck.

            Fifth, colleges are indoctrination centers that subvert the core religious beliefs of families and undermine the structure of American society.

I will admit that colleges do expose young minds to new worlds. The curriculum should drive students to critical thinking. My worry about colleges stems more from the fact that they are driven by profit instead of aiming for the purer goals of student self-actualization.

            How do we get out of all of this mucked-up thinking? I look to our youth with optimism that they will filter out the lies and filth that my generation’s heaped upon them and create a courageous new world of enlightenment.   

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Different Drummer"

            I don’t remember when I learned to march lock step within society’s expectations. I flailed against rules and regulations in early childhood, fought against everyone’s efforts to shove me into a round hole. Adult persistence, Time, and fatigue wore down my share square edges until I fit, too tightly, into the binding expectations of our culture.

            I joined activities at school instead of heading straight home to immerse myself in words. I got a car, a part-time job, a college degree, a marriage license, a career and a mortgage.
Somehow, I found myself part of the system, hacking away at the natural shapes and quirks of students to for them into round holes.

            The Lizzy of my childhood was totally forgotten until a few years ago. Drowning in an isolation from being a caregiver, I pulled out my journals and discovered the adolescent Liz. With joy, I found I liked the optimistic, change-the-world girl who struggled so hard to fit in when she’d rather sprawl on her bed with Thoreau.

Copyright Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 2019