"Indulged or Spoiled?"

A coin flip—

            Indulged

                        with

                                    nourishment

                                                attention

                                                            opportunity

                                                                        freedom

OR

            Spoiled

                        by

                                    coddling

                                                yielding

                                                            pandering

                                                                        capitulating

            Indulged

                        with

                                    comfort

                                                ease

                                                            safety

                                                                        certainty

OR

            Spoiled

                        by

                                    luxury

                                                indifference

                                                            idleness

                                                                        privilege

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

                                                                       

“Brainstorming List”

            Several years ago, my well of topic ideas dried up. Practically overnight, I found myself floundering for something—anything—to write about. In desperation, I sent out an impassioned plea to my friends and family on Facebook to PM me suggestions for possible blog posts. The more people responded, the more inspired I grew. I grabbed a new spiral notebook and listed topic after topic. Whenever I find myself thirsty for something different, I turn to this list.

            Every time I buy a new spiral for my drafting and crafting, I devote the first page to that brainstorming list. Most of the time, life presents me with plenty of material. Occasionally, I peruse the list, select one item, write about the subject, and cross it off my list.

            This week my substituting work landed me with classes that need a “warm body” in the room. The students, attached to Chromebooks, ask me for a bathroom pass and leave me to my own devices. Out of boredom, I tugged out my trusty spiral the other day and skimmed my list for inspiration. “Dirty Clothes” caught my eye. The next thing I knew, I crafted a fun poem for my blog. Since I’ve been on the same campus with a similar job all week, I’ve returned to my list daily. I’ve entertained myself by writing on ten different topics using a combination of poetry and personal narratives.

             I feel accomplished and satisfied each time I scratch words off the list.

            In the very back of my mind, a little nagging worry chirps, “What if you use the all?”

            I smile. I’ll do like I did so many years ago and ask friends and family to help me with a brainstorming list!

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Wildflower Tradition"

            During our first year of marriage, David and I invested our limited funds into two sleek, 10-speed bicycles and a used Pentax 35mm camera. Both purchases provided us with endless, low budget possibilities. With our bicycles, we could explore the entire San Antonio area by either heading into town or riding to the outskirts. If we had a little money, we rode down to the San Antonio Zoo, purchased two tickets to spend the day on hunting the perfect shot of a snow leopard or howler monkey. On weekends when we were truly penniless, we traveled to parks or headed down Loop 1604 to duck under I10 and loop through small towns like St. Hedwig. We took our camera everywhere. At that time, every click of the camera cost money for developing photographs. We diligently wrote down F-stops and ISO numbers in a small notebook as a record to compare to the final print. We strove to make every click of that camera count.

            One March morning, we biked over to St. Hedwig and discovered vast fields of spring wildflowers. I remember kneeling down into the dew drenched grass to take my first shot. That picture started an annual tradition for us. We broadened our journey when we shifted to driving our car. We welcomed a digital Cannon Rebel Ti into our lives. It took months before I embraced the freedom of firing off as many shots as I wanted after so many years of hoarding my film, but I grew to love the abandon I feel on these new creative quests.

            Once I began blogging, my tradition of taking wildflower pictures shifted to sharing the results with not only friends and family, but with readers from Europe, Australia, and even Asia.

This year, we did our usual trek to St. Hedwig and to our Live Oak Park. However, we added a new location to our tradition with Wildseed Farms in Fredericksburg, Texas. (https://www.wildseedfarms.com/)

            I think you’ll love the newest flowers that I can now share!

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Reject"

            REJECT. REJECT. REJECT. REJECT.

            What a powerful word in my world as a substitute teacher. Every day, hundreds of job openings appear at the website used by many school districts. The district I work with the most has a few high schools, a handful of middle schools, and double digit elementary schools. Many of the elementary schools tuck themselves into neighborhoods too far away from my personal guideline—no schools more than ten minutes from my home. This door-to-door time frame puts a restriction on my Type A personality. Otherwise, I’d scurry from one side of our district to another on a daily basis.

            I could go into the parameters on the substitute website and block the campuses with a longer drive, but I don’t. It empowers me to REJECT the job notices from those more distant schools. Like most people, many things in our lives slip out of our control. I must work. However, I finally get to pick when, where, and how often I work. Hitting REJECT reaffirms my ability to determine the course of my days. During my last year or two of substitute work, I decided to shift mainly to elementary schools. That change translates into more REJECT presses. More power to me.

Every day I weigh my options and then have an additional strength—ACCEPT!

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

"Passwords"

            In the not so distant past, I hated generating passwords for my endless accounts. I fumbled to come up with something that I could remember, that would flow from the tips of my fingers over a keyboard effortlessly. I have many friends who use generators, but I dragged my feet over going that route.

            My latest technique for creating passwords stems from my use of obscure things only I will know, like the name of my best friend’s third grade crush. I morph “Jeff” to something like J3ff3rd1966IL? In my way of thinking, I can remember Jeff, third grade and the year I was in that grade coupled with the state I lived in at that time. Right? The question mark makes me stop and think on whether this is the right combination before I hit ENTER. For me, generating a new password changed from a tedious exercise to something fun. Need another new password? How about my second grade teacher? MsWh!t3@Dov3r! (Ms. White at Dover). 

            Occasionally, I generate something that trips my fingers up too much, but usually the end result means I hold within my head more passwords than ever before!

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Competition"

            My in-laws thrive on an antagonistic, competitive dynamic that leaves me confused and emotionally battered. Their monthly gatherings, usually doused with alcohol, disintegrate into hostile clashes whenever they are confronted with anyone or anything that doesn’t mesh with their clannish worldview.

I desperately attempted to fit into their tribe for many years. I endured their barbed comments, cruel exclusions, and open hostility because I convinced myself that all I had to do was somehow be “better” to gain acceptance. In my mind, if I could figure out the rules to their game, I would help my husband and son improve their relationship within the family. In hindsight, my constant anger, bitterness, and pain caused damage, too.  It took extensive soul searching on my part, along with a million arguments with my husband, to finally admit that I would never, ever belong.

During the last forty years, my response to the dysfunction varied depending upon my own mental and emotional health. I now pick and choose very carefully which holidays and events to attend, and I no longer take on guilt because I don’t try to improve relationships anymore. Most of the time, I believe that no one in the family even notices that I’ve disengaged from their turmoil and drama. They remain focused on their latest level of rivalry, like how many homes they own or the type of airplane they fly. Although they gather habitually, I don’t think they really like one another. Their connection stems from rivalry that fosters enmity. They are linked more by competition than affection.

They play a sad game.  

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman