“It Takes a Village"

            Texas summers drag long and hot by August, with hurricanes brewing in the Gulf, eyes stayed glued to the coastline. With family living in League City and Bay City, as well as parts of Houston itself, we all pay attention to every tropical depression that tracks into the area. Often, the storms swing towards Louisiana. Sometimes they veer more south. Occasionally, the Houston area gets pounded with winds and rain that results in devastating flooding. My family members switch off on responses to hurricanes. Some years, they evacuate to San Antonio while the next storm they ride out at home.

            After the February freeze and its devastation, all eyes followed every weather event that neared the coastline. Frankly, no one could emotionally handle another hit to any family members. My sister weathered surgery to her vocal cords that left her unable to speak for weeks on end. My brother, with his house finally complete, dealt with his ancient washer deciding to die. Being in another city, I feel helpless when troubles knock on my siblings’ doors. It turned out that I could select new appliances for my brother, purchased them at my local Home Depot, and arranged long distance, for them to be delivered.

            August’s heat smacked other friends and family members with mental health issues. No easy fix of pulling out a credit card and sending a new item to their homes. I had no repair kit for the friend whose drug use had escalated to her having difficulty differentiating between reality and her hallucinating haze. Although I encouraged her to continue with her therapy, and to be honest with her drug usage to her doctor, I left after visits feeling depleted and defeated. I witnessed another woman’s battle with Borderline Personality Disorder deteriorate with every phone conversation, email and text. My mantra with her also became, “Keep in therapy. Keep in therapy.”  I want to help these friends, but their “villages” need to include professionals to help them heal.

            Our backyard refuged me through the boiling August days. Each day started with hose in hand to slay the heat. As I watered each plant or bush, I’d run through the troubles of various village members: surgeries, appliances mishaps, anxiety, depression, loss of hope and loneliness. I realized that I cannot fix every problem, but I can be part of the village to offer support and love.

Copyright Elizabeth Abrams Chpaman 2022

 

“Super Spreader Shower”

             Our incredible caution with avoiding COVID-19 meant limiting activities even after vaccination. If a restaurant’s tables appeared too crowded, we either did take-out, or we found a less crowded place to eat. With a year of reduced spending behind us, I vowed to keep within our new tight budget by designating each month a merchandise category. April turned into auto repair month, May meant painting two rooms, June was Paul’s birthday month, and July’s focus zeroed in on finding a new phone for me, getting our vision checked, and getting our dog to the vet.

            Each of these goals occurred safely. The store where we went to replace my ancient iPhone 4 limited the number of people in the area. We signed in, waited minimally, and transacted the entire process with only a few other people around us. Our optometrist’s office had us stay in our car and text them upon arrival. Other than his personnel, no other patients sat in the waiting room. Koi’s vet followed a similar protocol. I called when I pulled into the parking lot and their technician came out to lead an extremely reluctant Koi into the building. The vet called me as he ran through Koi’s physical. Koi’s nagging cough turned out to be the beginnings of tracheal collapse. He explained the treatment, sent out all of the instruction (along with the bill). The contact between me and his aide proved so minimal that I always felt safe.

            On July 8^th, we received an email invitation to one of our nephew’s baby shower. To accommodate some of us who approached COVID-19 with caution, the party would occur outside by the pool. I need to explain that most of the people in attendance had ignored every warning about COVID-19 with many of them falling ill to the virus within the first few months. These separate house-holds still vacationed together, and they celebrated holidays in a large group. They politicized mask wearing and vaccinations, believing in many of the conspiracy theories that fester uncontrolled throughout our country.

            For us, the threat of infection from this gathering made us reluctant to attend. We knew that at least fifty people would attend. My doctor, who happened to call a few days before the baby shower, advised us to keep our masks on at all times, even if we stayed outside. She warned, “Delta’s a devil!”  

            July 24^th found us ostracized by the family members who didn’t believe in masks and vaccinations, which turned out to be a lucky for us. Those guests who were vaccinated didn’t wear masks. I told them about my doctor’s warning, but some responded like it was exaggerated. They falsely believed that vaccination provided a shield, not understanding that you still need masks and distancing! By July 28^th we received notification that our nephew’s stepfather, unable to breathe, had landed in the ER and ICU. He died in December after an extremely long, brutal battle. A few days later, word came out of the eight other people also infected. Fortunately, because they were vaccinated, their cases were mild.

 

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

"June Storms"

Before the storm

 

            Thunderstorms roll into San Antonio rarely during the long, hot summers. Wind thrashes tree branches, clouds darken to silvery gray, and lightning strikes shake the ground. Sometimes descending without warning, these fast-moving storms dump deluges that flashflood our neighborhoods. Other times, they swirl and spin in place providing a spectacular show.

Copyright Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Emergence”

 

Before  new color choice

After new color!

First cabin trip in years!

            Full vaccinations freed us. Wearing our preferred masks, in May we ventured to stores and our favorite restaurants. We invented “Linner”—eating out in that space of time between lunch and dinner (2:30-4:00), which meant fewer people unmasked around us. We lingered in Home Depot on several occasions to select the perfect paints for a couple of rooms. We traveled to League City to purchase a new television set for my brother, who had survived without TV since February. By the end of May, we trekked to our cabin in Leakey with vaccinated family. 

            Our diligence in following the scientific and medical community recommendations translated in our household remaining COVID-19 free after more than a year. Being a household of a writers, musicians, and artists, our “natural” tendency for introversion allowed us to transition into restricting when and where we went (while masked) without qualms. For some people, their positions as essential workers forced them to deal with the situation, and the virus, daily. For many friends and family members, the thought of giving up a vacation or family gathering proved unbearable. We watched COVID-19 strike down young and old, well and unwell. Those who followed guidelines fell ill as well as those who claimed their “rights” meant they could do as they pleased. Some people suffered severely and were hospitalized. Some still struggle with permanent damage to their lungs or hearts. Some walked away with no long term impact on their health. Some died.

            For our household, our shift back into social gatherings never slipped back into pre-pandemic contact. By the end of May, we wearied of criticism because we still “wore Pampers” on our faces. Fatigue over battling anti-vaxxers and anti-maskers made us retreat back into our words, music and art.

Copyright Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 2022

“April’s Fool"

I kneel in awe each spring 

 Worshiping nature’s rebirth 

Stomach flattening to Earth’s coolness 

My lens captures the first blush of blossoms 

The constancy of nature 

Makes me an April’s Fool 

Trespassing over field and farm 

 For one perfect shot

Copyright Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 2022

“March and Anxiety”

February's freeze 

Snow and ice in February

            I wrestled with Sunday Night Anxiety for many years when I taught. I paced the house snarling at anyone who crossed my field of vision. Some evenings I cried because I didn’t want to go to work the next day. Once I retired, this overblown unease retreated into the background, resurfacing for “special” occasions like doing income taxes or handling unexpected car malfunctions. Worry dogged me whenever Perfection’s crown slipped. Making simple mistakes drove me crazy, even when no one else knew about my blunder.

            Waltzing with worry meant I weighed my thought processes constantly whenever stress strode into my day. With COVID-19 looming daily in the background, I meticulously measured my “Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!” warnings. By March of 2021, getting all of us vaccinated motived my days. I strategized an attack that resulted in booking appointments for both my husband and me within the first days of our eligibility. Beginning midnight of the designated date, I rotated through Walgreens, CVS, Walmart, HEB, and the UT Health sites in fifteen minute intervals. This technique worked again the next week when my son’s age group gained eligibility. By the end of March, all three of us had received the first shot of Pfizer.

            Other Life ripples resolved during March, too. Our 2019 income taxes, buried under a pile of unprocessed forms at the IRS, finally got processed. Our rough-running car came out of its repair running like new. Our yard and gardens, frozen into submission in February, reemerged with subtle hope.

March's Hope

Rebirth and Regrowth

 

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“February Freeze”

            The ice and snow that froze Texas into place in mid-February of 2021 skipped over our house snuggled safely among a police station, fire station, and hospital. Survivor’s guilt blanked my days as I watched family and friends struggle with rolling black-outs, or even losing electricity for several days.

            Before the storm hit, I fretted over the phone with my sister over our brother, Charles, driving to work in his ancient car because he’d never driven on snow or ice before. Finally, I called him and talked him into going into work ahead of the storm. The hospital has given him a room or cot in the past when hurricanes swirl in the Gulf. I begged him to see if they would let him stay one night.

            When he called to let me know he would go in well before the bad weather hit, I reminded him to leave water running in his kitchen and bathroom sinks. He laughed since my sister had just given him the exact same instructions.

            None of us predicted that the freezing temperatures would cascade the entire state into a collapsing grid nightmare that plummeted households and businesses into darkness and cold for many days.

            Charles didn’t return to his house for a couple of days, and when he did, it was to find the pipe in his master bathroom had burst. The water cascaded down from the ceiling, with the deluge flooding almost every room in his home. He ran next door and a neighbor helped him turn off the water. Then he made a frantic call to my sister, as both she and her husband were already fully vaccinated for COVID-19 and live about ninety minutes away. My sister reached me (my phone service was spotty due to the storm) to get the name of the plumber my brother uses. She left urgent messages on his voicemail, texts, and email! Her diligence paid off because the plumber had Charles second on his list. The burst pipe was replaced within days.

            My sister also found a general contractor who ripped out the saturated carpet within a few days. This contractor went through the house with expert care, itemized every repair, and sent a detailed report to the insurance company. Within days, my brother knew how much money he’d receive. He and the contractor spent a couple of days selecting new tile floors, vanities for the bathroom and other odds-n-ends to reassemble my brother’s home.

            The speed in getting Charles’s house repaired ground to a halt since thousands of homes and businesses in Texas overloaded lumber yards and home improvement stores with orders. Something as common as sheetrock became a backordered item that didn’t appear until April. Eventually, and slowly, the contractor healed Charles’s damaged home.

            Last night, Charles called to chat about the freezing temperatures that aim our way again. His joked that his new tile floors can handle any water that may come his way!

 

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman