“Heartbreak and Horror”

            Right now, my throat tightens to fight back tears as today’s events play out. Only it isn’t some kind of game. It isn’t a distant country. It isn’t someone else’s home or problem.

            This reality is our problem caused by angry, gutless people who cultishly defended a sociopath. He twisted and manipulated with ease all of the weakest points within our society. He and his enablers stoked the discontent of racists and misogynists and fanned their smoldering embers of distrust into flames of “righteous” outrage. He had no substance. He relied on smoke and mirrors—magic tricks that never hold up in the light of day.

            In horror, I watch the evacuation of members of the House and Senate. I listen, dumbstruck, as reports come through that key people responsible for the function of our government have been swept away to safety. A woman, trying to break into one of the chambers holding congressmen, was shot. I celebrate her death. Consequences are a bitch.

            There’s no control over the Capitol right now because we have no leadership. We have a want-to-be dictator. The full measures of our legal system need to come after Trump, all of his enablers, the followers. White House officials huddle in their offices and wait for Trump to give a longer, stronger statement than a few inept tweets. 

            Biden, the President Elect, supplies a need our resident narcissist cannot fulfill. Biden renounces the insurrection and rejects the selfish interests of the anarchy and chaos spawned by Trump’s insistence that our election was fraud-filled. His call for Trump to step up will set a tone for Trump to stop the siege. “The words of a President matter.”

            However, we all know that Trump is incapable of doing what is best for anyone but himself. Instead of showing leadership, he posts a short Twitter video that continues his lies about a “landslide election” that was “stolen” and although the election was taken away from him, his followers, and the country, they should “go home in peace.” He doesn’t denounce the mob rule that spews throughout D.C. screaming, “This is Civil War!” An unstable despot-wannabe grabs hold of conspiracy theories, making them true and real while undermining evidence and data by shouting louder than anyone else, “Fake!”

           

            The optimist in me stays glued to our reconvened Congress’s speeches, and the heartbreak weighs heavily on me. Some determined words bring me hope. I listen for those who will change the horror of today into honor for tomorrow.

Copyright 2021 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 

"Falling for Fall"

 

            

    The leaves burn against a white sky, shivering as autumn sneaks into central Texas. I watch and wait for that perfect day when the red oak’s foliage pulses with one last burst of color before turning brown, floating down to blanket our yard against winter’s frosts. My lens captures the last blossoms of fall’s false spring. Frozen in each frame Nature’s decline.

                                                                                                         

                                                          

                                                                                                   

Copyright 2021 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

"iPhone 4"

 

            In the early spring of 2020, I dropped by our local Sprint store to eyeball new phones with the idea of replacing my phone as a Christmas gift from my husband and son. We budget for high dollar purchases, and although Christmas was ten months away, it would take us that long to put aside a chunk of money for something new and fancy!

            “How can I help you?” The young salesman honed onto us the moment we crossed the threshold.

            “I need to look at new phones to get an idea of prices.”

            “Let me get your information, and we’ll see if you’re eligible for a new phone under your plan.”

            I snickered. My son rolled his eyes. We love watching the response of clerks when they check our information.

            “You want to replace--- an iPhone 4?” The other two phones on our account are relatively new.

            “Yes.”

            “A 4?”

            “Yep.”

            “Do you have it with you?”

            I pull the phone out of my purse pocket.

            “Does it work?” A little incredulity enters his voice.

            “Of course.”

            Awe and wonder enter his eyes. “Can I hold it?”

            I hand him my phone.

            “Claire!” he calls out to one of his coworkers. “Look at this! An iPhone 4 that’s still working!”

            “Are you serious? Let me hold it!”

            My jaw dropped as the two passed my phone back and forth, discussing the novelty of its smaller size and reduced capacity along with the wonder that it still held a charge. Unknowingly, I’d brought in an artifact that delighted these two, very young employees.

            While they delighted over my museum piece, I checked out the newest phones available and tried not to pass out over the prices. I mumbled to myself repeatedly, “It’s not just a phone. It’s a computer. You’re buying a computer that lets you talk to people. It’s a computer more than a phone.”

            I narrowed down the possible phone to replace my artifact, made certain my son knew which one would best suit my needs, and returned to the counter to collect my phone as it had traveled to the back of the store for more personnel’s amazed admiration.

            “Did you decide on a new phone?” our first clerk asked.

            “Yes. It’s for a gift. For later. Someone will be back.” I held out my hand to retrieve my phone. The young man seemed reluctant to let the old thing go. “Thanks for your help.”

            “No! Thank you! We’ll be talking about this all day!”

 

Copyright 2021 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 

       

 

 

"In a Fishbowl"

            Months ago I stepped out of my busy life and entered a protected zone. I had no responsibility beyond staying home and staying well. For the first time in my life, I found myself pausing in place—in a fishbowl.

            I had plenty of food. My light was filtered and gentle. The water was clear and clean. I felt safe, secure and sheltered. This illusion drew me into complacency. The glass distorted my worldview and left me floating without danger while the world beyond me crashed and burned.

            Within my fishbowl, I drifted through the days, my vision focused on the tragedies and losses playing out beyond my transparent shield. It was easy to lull myself into a false serenity that one day, life’s normalcy would return.

            Going back, though, to “before” is self-deception. I’ve learned that once I leave this insulated world, I will need to find new and different goals for myself.

 

Copyright 2021 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman