“First Communion”

 

            

        Religious rites and rituals take on different meanings for non-believers raised within a faith. When my mother, a Protestant, married my father, a Catholic, she signed papers that all of their children would be raised within the Catholic faith. As she knew very little about Catholicism, she signed the forms required without reservations.

            My parents lived at McGuire AFB when my sister took her first Communion. Her attire, almost nun-like with a long, simple dress and veil represented simplicity and purity. By the time of my first Communion, my parents had moved to Dover AFB in Delaware. I don’t know if different priests or churches have different policies, but my dress of frivolous frills with a stiff crinoline slip, white patent leather shoes, and short veil made with a headband of flowers didn’t look plain or pure. I can remember my mother worrying about the cost of an outfit that would only be worn once. I still see my sister’s deep brown eyes rimming when she saw the fancy dress and hear her murmured comment about how modest her dress had been just a few years.

                Many years have passed since that religious passage. As an adult, I’ve moved to atheism. Although family members know my husband, son and I have stepped away from all religious beliefs, they sometimes forget exactly what that means. One sister-in-law took my son to mass with her kids after a Saturday night sleepover. He was probably about seven or eight, the age at which he should have already had his first Communion.

            My son came home from his first experience with mass all excited, chattering, “Mom, we got in a long line. Everyone did this with their hands.” He folded his hands as though in prayer. “Then this man up front, the one who did all of the talking before? He gave me this cracker! It tasted really good because we hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. I wanted another one, but he only gave people one. If I get to go to church again with my cousins, will I get more crackers?”

            When I called my sister-in-law to remind her that my son hadn’t been baptized nor had a first Communion, she belly laughed and exclaimed, “Well, he just skipped a step or two! I don’t think I’ll get into trouble, but I definitely won’t tell my priest!”

           

Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

              

“September’s Spring”

 

            My love for Texas begins and ends with springtime. Wildflowers swathe farmer’s fields, vacant plots of land, and every roadway across the entire state. Nothing comes near to the beauty of meadows crowded with bluebonnets, Indian Blankets and Black-eyed Susan’s. Nature combines just the right amounts of rain and mild temperatures to create perfection.

            My second favorite time of year comes in September. The horrendously hot and dry days of July and August explode into fierce thunderstorms that usher in drops in the temperature. Out in the Gulf of Mexico, tropical storms and hurricanes brew. When they make landfall, their bands of rain push into our region to create a second spring.

           

Our yards and gardens honor us with blossoms one more time.

 

Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Only Dog"

 

        

        Want to push someone’s buttons? Tell them you don’t intend on getting any more pets! When our Sassy Cat died several years ago, family members immediately began pressuring us to adopt another cat.
            One niece attempted the guilt trip first. “You should be ashamed of yourself for not getting another cat. Look at all of the kittens and strays available! You could be protecting them. Saving them!”
            When I explained, “It’s too heartbreaking to lose a pet.”
            Her claws came out, “I have no respect for people who don’t adopt pets. You can’t be a good person if you don’t get a new cat or kitten!”
            This particular niece always seemed to have a pet ill or dying, and constantly replaced them. She often also had four or five cats and multiple dogs in her household all at once. In contrast, our pets lived long, healthy and full lives. Our cats each lived at least twelve years while our dogs for more than fourteen. I tried to explain to her about really loving these unique personalities, and I told her that their part in our family couldn’t be filled like replacing a broken toy. 

            Every day, I post on Facebook delightful pictures of puppies, kittens, dogs and cats available at our Live Oak Animal Control center without even the slightest temptation to bring home another family pet. However, our decision to shift to a pet free family continues to this day. Padme (Princess I’m a Dolly Kitty) left us few years after Sassy.  Our beautiful Bridget died two years ago right around Christmas. I don’t let people guilt me into another pet. Our pack may be small, yet Koi seem fine with being an only dog.

 

Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

“Reading Habits”

            Whenever my book stack on my nightstand dwindles to two books, anxiety creeps into my day. In the past, I’d peruse local stores for paperbacks from any author. I use these less expensive choices to try writers unknown to me. We have The Book Rack, too. A small store snuggled into an ancient strip mall down by Randolph AFB. This shop sells and trades. I always have enough credit that often I pay a few dollars for half-a-dozen books. Binge reading all of the books by an author is one of the advantages of shopping in small shop because they specialize in carrying all of the writings from as many authors as possible. We have, too, a small public library. After the pandemic, I plan on volunteering there since I won’t be working any more.

            My son, our designated shopper, problem solved the issue of grabbing books for me. Whenever he enters our local HEB, he snaps a quick photo of their books and sends the picture to me. I’ve read several new novelists and returned to a few old favorites over the last few months. I delighted in The Andromeda Evolution, based on Michael Crichton’s notes and given life by Daniel H. Wilson. Paul also brought home The Guardians by John Grisham, an old favorite.

            One day an unexpected package arrived from a friend in Atlanta. She sent two books that she thought I’d enjoy. I chuckled in amusement over one title, as I had already read it. She definitely knows what I like to read. I am reading the other novel right now by a new-to-me author, Andrew Mayne. Yesterday, two more books arrived: Too Much and Never Enough-How My Family Created the World’s Most Dangerous Man, by Mary L. Trump, PhD. and the ever hilarious latest Janet Evanovich adventure with Stephanie Plum.

            Unlike many readers, I read only one piece at a time. I have friends and relatives reading multiple novels, biographies, and non-fiction tomes simultaneously. The thought of juggling multiple works throws me back to my college years where reading for pleasure almost met its death!  I linger over passages and marvel at unexpected nuances of characters. Sometimes, the writer in me steps back in awe at the perfection of one single word. In my mind, I believe reading one piece at a time gives homage to that author’s craft.

 

Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“A Little OCD?”

            Sometimes, I pretend my quirks of organization keep our home running smoothly, but I suspect my husband and son view my penchant for orderliness as tremendously irksome. Right now, the kitchen desk sports hand sanitizer sprays lined in a militarily precise row. Next to them, a black box contains a pair of rubber gloves, three “back-up” face masks, and the four thick masks that we all prefer. Those masks, washed in hot water after every use, get rotated into the box to prevent us from overusing any one mask since they are identical. There’s been tons of joking that having a pandemic gives me a valid excuse for my love affair with bleach!

            This period of pause is the longest I’ve ever gone without working or being a caregiver. It allows me to indulge my need for tidiness. At the beginning of the year, we got rid of our ancient, heavy bedroom furniture and picked up something functional that feeds into my growing need for simple lines. Imagine my delight when I found wonderful fabric bins that fit our drawers perfectly. I Marie Kondo-ed everything! Folding clothes, once a ho-hum chore, now delights me. Everything has its place because there is a place for everything.

            I blissfully structure other things in my daily life. Do I hunt for keys? Never! My house keys reside in their own separate pouch that gets tucked into a zipped section of my purse. Naturally, I buy purses with similar features to keep searching for anything in my purse to a minimum. Other women do that, right?

            When I leave the house for the day, my routine never strays. I make certain my tote contains the necessary items for the day. Pens, journal, book, water, lunch. I check the bag twice before zipping it up and heading out the door. Before returning home at the end of each day, I repeat the process twice. I figure a little time with upfront coordination saves me time. If something gets left behind, that means trip backtracking. OCD, or efficient use of time? You decide.

             

Copyright Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 

 

 

             

 

 

“Assimilate and Accommodate”

 

            Early on in the COVID-19 shutdown, I participated in the COVID Research Team, Ferkauf Graduate School of Psychology at Yeshiva University study. The initial in-depth survey covered many different aspects of how I handle life events that predated COVID-19’s initial impact. A month later, another survey appeared in my email for me to relate the continuing impact of the virus on my life. This follow-up delved into changes in my personal behavioral patterns, variations in our economic status, and even differences in how much I thought about the virus as it rolled through our country. Another survey appeared at the three month mark and asked very fine-tuned questions about more specific aspects of my life and family as we continue on this uncharted path.

            The researchers probe various qualities on how I process problems and manage the different world in which we all now live. The psychologist that I am, I appreciate the multileveled purity of each questionnaire. When I participate in each response, I take my time. Usually able to block out music or television in the background, these surveys require focused attention to each weighed response. I want my answers to be accurate and true to honestly represent my experiences with COVID-19 as it impacts my life and the lives of family and friends.

            Taking part in this study reminded me of the importance of critical thinking. For some of us, being able to assimilate and accommodate information comes naturally. Back in early January, my curiosity led me to reading about SARS-CoV-2 in several journals. I began tracking the virus using data provided by different sites and finally began using www.worldometers.com for daily information. I understood early on that COVID-19 would develop into a nightmare because it’s easily transmitted, infects many asymptomatically, and has a mild or moderate impact on most of its hosts. That type of virus lulls people into falsely believing it is “no big deal” when in reality (because it’s so easily transmitted from person-to-person), it will do exactly as nature designed it to do. During the past nine months, I’ve continued to hunt down peer reviewed research to enable me to make educated decisions about our daily life.

            Some of those choices will have long-term impacts. I quit my part-time job as a substitute teacher. Returning into a classroom doesn’t make sense. If I contracted COVID-19, I could end up seriously ill and possibly hospitalized, which would result in enormous bills from employment with a job that pays $12.50 an hour! I will NEVER go anywhere without wearing a mask until there’s a vaccine in place. Because we have a “designated shopper” for groceries, I haven’t entered a store since March. At first there wasn’t data on how long COVID-19 remained on surfaces. I disinfected everything that came into the house: groceries, take-out containers, mail, shoes. More data has allowed me to shift to a more relaxed approach. I no longer drown our mail with Lysol spray! I don’t feel anxious. I don’t battle depression. Instead, I have confidence that science will do what it does best. My choices over the next year to eighteen months will come from gathering information provided through reliable research.

            In the meantime, I await the next installment of the survey on how COVID-19 has touched my life. I can report that twelve of my in-laws (who don’t follow science) have been infected. I can state that my husband’s department will work remotely even after the pandemic (amazing how some companies are finding that option really can work), and I can state with confidence that for me, knowledge is power.

 Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

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