“Indulgence”

            My new doctor challenged me with a weight loss goal and the simple instructions: WALK. An easy challenge for most people, but anyone with problem knees understands the intricacies of this task. Back at the beginning of the pandemic, enjoying my unexpected time off, I overused and injured my left knee. Two weeks of RICE followed by a PA’s examination and the warning to rehab very, very slowly and carefully meant I avoided further injury and didn’t need any follow-up treatment.

            I celebrated my vaccination by renewing my gym membership. It took a few weeks of trying different times to discover the perfect period for me to exercise without too many other people around. My goal to be heart healthy couldn’t ignore COVID-19.  

            At first, my knee hummed at me with irritation if I hit the treadmill for longer than fifteen minutes. After a frustrated six weeks, I shifted to the bicycle. I came home triumphant when, day after day, my knee handled thirty minutes at Level 1 without protest. I noted improvement in other ways. The first time I attempted to walk through a local mall, my knee demanded rest about half-way into the circuit. By Christmas, I wove effortlessly through the crowds. Of course, around this time, COVID’S Omicron burst onto the scene causing me to backburner a return to the gym.

            Two weeks ago, I drove to our park and tested myself with a 1.3 mile loop over the park’s dam. For three days, I found other paths that looped around the area. In the past, I would have walked to the park, too. That dare I didn’t attempt until yesterday. After reading a few articles on the benefits of walking, I realized that confining myself to thirty minutes hedged me in to trying for a quicker pace. For me, allowing myself a full sixty minutes of nothing but “ME” time turned into a luxury of day dreaming and birdsong listening. With my mind set on spending an entire hour on my journey, the hurry shifted emotionally to an indulgence.

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 

“A Roof Over Our Heads”

Original house front

Original houose back

       Originally, our house sat at a smidgeon above 1,000 square feet, a common size for homes in the mid-1960s. Although smaller than the house we rented for a year, it appeared massive in contrast to the one bedroom apartments we lived in for the first few years of marriage. It offered a large, functional kitchen. Our one miniscule bathroom had plenty of storage. We had a room set aside for a studio and a spare bedroom for guests!

          We’d resided in the house for six years before our son came into our lives. By his sixth birthday, my frustration with the lack of space led to two options: move or add on. We spent weekends patrolling new neighborhoods and going through Open House sales pitches. The areas and homes we liked, we couldn’t afford. However, we did get some excellent ideas for doing a major addition to our home. Drawing various sketches, eventually we found ourselves hunting for a remodeler to add on a family room, new master bedroom and bathroom. When a hail storm ravaged our old roof, we pushed into remodel mode with the idea of having the addition done along with a total roof replacement. It didn’t take us long to find a contractor. By the end of 1994, we “moved” into our new home!

Addition in progress

             A mere twenty-seven years later, we again faced an old roof. We saved every penny. I researched the average cost for roofs in San Antonio. I did a Facebook query, “Who’s got a good roofer?” From those suggestions and my own research, I contacted four companies in September to get bids. The bids looked fairly similar until a representative from one company asked if the other proposals included entirely new decking for our original structure as our city had changed the plywood requirements. None of the others had done so. At that time, a sheet of plywood approached $70 a pop. That shot up the other bids immediately. A quick calculation from that manager showed us short on our savings. I told him I wanted to hire his company, but needed time to save. He didn’t push. He didn’t suggest his company finance. He handed me extra business cards, said if our existing roof gave us any problems over the next few months, he’d send out a repair crew to patch things.

            One major side effect of the pandemic turns out to be we don’t spend money on anything but groceries and take-out once a week. With October came an extra paycheck and a bonus! I placed the call to Tomlin Roofing Professionals. Within days, we had a final bid and contract signed, and a promise for replacement in February or March because their crew was booked that far out.

            Then a week ago, an unexpected cancellation pushed our roof onto the company’s schedule! By 8 AM on January 5^th, the team started removing our old shingles. They stripped down everything and replaced the plywood decking on the 1968 portion of our home. The city inspector did his job quickly. The workers finished with every stray nail collected within two days. A final check by the manager, and a check from us, means we now have a roof over our heads. This time for 50 years!

 

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

             

               

“Very Stress-mas!”

            In recent years, our Christmas celebrations honed down to a few items under the tree for each of us, and our traditional Eggs Benedict with mimosas brunch (I’ve perfected the timing for hollandaise sauce). We open simple gifts that hover between necessity and desire. The first year of the pandemic, we stayed home and stayed safe. With everyone vaccinated and boosted, this last Christmas meant my brother would journey to San Antonio once again. This four hour feat worried all of us since Charles’s 2005 Ford Focus’s 255,000 odometer ticked “doom, doom, doom” with every trip he took. Without my brother’s knowledge, we’d cleared some debt and planned on purchasing our own new car in the first months of 2022 with the idea of gifting him our own, six-year-old Focus.

            Naturally, even the best strategies snarl when serendipity saunters onto the scene. I’d forgotten to warn Charles of all of the new construction on the main highway heading to our house that required an earlier exit for him. Laughter tinged his voice when he called to say he’d missed the turn-off and was parked in the hospital’s lot. Although he’d ridden as a passenger many times over the years from the hospital to our house, he didn’t know the route and asked if I could swing by for him to follow me home. I apologized profusely once I pulled up next to his car because I’d forgotten to warn him about the road changes.

            He jumped into his car. I jumped into mine. Another vehicle needed to pass, and I pulled ahead in the lot, waiting for Charles to follow me. I waited. His car didn’t move. I waited. He got out of his car. I waited. He waved me back. His dilapidated car didn’t sigh, or clunk, or click when he tried to start it. I called David. The three of us puttered under the hood, jumped the battery (ran to get another one), but death gripped this ancient, worn-out beast. I watched Charles in amazement as he went around to the back passenger door, leaned across the back seat to open the back driver’s side door. He sped around the rear of the car, opened the back door wider, leaned into the front driver’s side, and popped that front door open. In dismay, I realized that the exterior handle of his driver’s door hung in pieces. We called our dealer, walking distance from the hospital, to see about a tow. No trucks available. No mechanics available to work on the car until after the first week of January. The dealer referred us to another shop and tow service. No one answered our any of the messages. Charles unloaded his bag and the gifts he had for us, and we abandoned the car for the night. If Charles hadn’t missed the exit, his car would’ve expired in front of our house. He wouldn’t have tried to start it until December 26^th. In a round-about way, missing the exit gave us more and different options.

Charles's Focus DOA

Charles's old Focus

Old and unsafe!

            In the mid-80s, we owned and fiercely loved a Bronco II. I danced in delight when Ford released information about their newest Bronco and Bronco Sport. Difficult to come by, I lurked on various dealer websites almost daily in hopes of finding a Bronco Sport to test drive. My original intension was to order one in early 2022. With Charles needing a car immediately, finding a Bronco Sport—the Big Bend edition because of the rough-and-tough interior mats, full-sized spare with the tow package, fog lights, and air conditioner control for the back passengers.

            Our son’s sweeping internet searches found two possibilities in a 50 mile radius from our house. He called to set up appointments with the two, far-flung dealerships for us to test drive during the afternoon of Christmas Eve.

            Christmas Eve morning found us entering our credit union as soon as the doors opened. They escorted us into a small room where we went through the process of applying for a car loan through a teller in Corpus Christi! Within 35 minutes, we walked out with a voucher that could cover purchasing the vehicle even if we didn’t do a trade-in or deposit. The original plan called for doing both, but we’d just scheduled to have our roof replaced and hadn’t confirmed the final amount. I didn’t want to dip into those funds if we found a Bronco Sport.

            Excited anticipation kicked into high gear the moment we saw the car on the lot. The test drive sold us. The sticker price rested perfectly within our budget. The sales person left to draw up initial paperwork. A glance at my phone confirmed that it wasn’t even noon. Then shock and anger hit when the dealer attempted to add $4,000 over the sticker price because this Bronco Sport was only one of two in San Antonio. My son, who was with us, took the paper from me, looked at it and handed it back as he told us to leave the dealership. My son’s business acumen shifted in high gear as he began negotiating a bottom line amount. The manager turned down his first counter-offer and came back with another one that my son rejected. Within minutes, it became apparent to the manager that we’d leave if they didn’t match the amount my son stipulated. More papers. More signatures. More waiting until we finally drove off with our new car! From the moment we entered our credit union until we drove from the dealership lot, only five hours had passed.

            Christmas Day, we opened gifts and fixed our traditional brunch. Charles took his “new” Focus for a spin and sat in amazed wonder. He has a car with doors that open and close, a windshield that’s not spider-webbed with cracks, a steering wheel that’s not disintegrating, and an engine that hums. He has a vehicle that’s safe and reliable. Our unexpected Christmas stress ended with triumph for all of us.

 

Charle's "new" Focus!

Our new Bronco Sport!

New Bronco Sport!

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 

           

 

“Comfort Zones”

 

August 15, 1981 Garner State Park

            Like many young couples starting out, we didn’t have much money the first years of our marriage. We started out with school loan debt and old cars that constantly needed repairs. Our “vacations” consisted of day trips around San Antonio.

August 1, 1981

           

            On August 15, 1981, we did our first road trip down FM 337 and discovered Garner State Park. Within a few years, my parents bought twenty-six acres off of the same farm road, but just beyond Leakey, Texas. For Mom and Dad, this natural retreat became their place to plan and dream. After Dad died, grief tangled our visits so much that Mom often wanted to leave after only a few hours. The ghosts of them in their 60s haunted her too much for us to stay that long.

Garner State Park 1981

            When our Escape Hybrid needed expensive repairs, we purchased a car that didn’t have high enough clearance to get us over the often ungraded road. Some family members told us that they’d loan us an SUV whenever we needed to make a run, but that offer proved hollow, and three years passed between our last cabin trip to one in May. Although someone had broken into it during our long absence, no damage was done and nothing was stolen.

Liz 1981

            In November, family invited us to return to Garner State Park to enjoy their new camper. Since David had to work, I almost turned down the invitation. Then I thought of all my wonderful memories of road trips down FM 337.

            Returning to my comfort zone restored my spirit. We even made a side trip, 35 minutes down the road, to check out our cabin in the woods. On Christmas Eve, we purchased a new Bronco Sport, and a return to making spontaneous trips down FM 337!

 

Garmer State Park November 2021

Garner State Park November 2021

Liz Chapman at Garner State Park November 2021

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Plans and More Plans”

overthinking

list making

best case scenarios

worst possible tragedies imagined

journaling predictions for infinite tomorrows

fluctuating daily between certainty and self-doubt

juggling multiple dependent  lives with limited reserves

 

nurturing

visions dreamt

viewpoints expanded outward

selflessly sheltering the weakest

returning to ritual’s comforting grace

strengthening spirit by dancing with fire

embracing obligations with the tenacity of hope

 

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

 

 

“Bumps and Butterflies

          One side effect of staying home to stay safe meant my workout at the gym disappeared over night. At first, I relied on long, daily walks through my neighborhood. A slip while mopping, a strain while raking, a stress while climbing a ladder, and misstep down a crooked sidewalk left me with a knee injury that sidelined any efforts to exercise for months. Although my weight didn’t skyrocket, my blood pressure did! At my annual checkup, it spiked into the dreaded Red Zone for the first time in my life. The PA prescribed medication while advising me to get my own blood pressure monitor. I picked up the machine and the new prescription within an hour.

            For the first time in my life, I found myself needing to return to the doctor’s office more than once within a year. This office, situated across town, had become a nightmare of traffic over the last thirty years. My high anxiety over safely driving to the office meant I’d found an alternate route, snaking through back streets once I made it down I35. Returning home, though, didn’t have a less stressful course. In August, it took me two hours to get home from a follow-up appointment because of an accident ahead of me.

            In September, I became the accident! Coming down I35 N, I decided to move from the center lane to the left lane. I checked to the left and saw a vehicle well behind me. With turn signal flashing, I shifted into the lane. I was totally in the lane when the car that was well behind me PUSHED into me. It was the strangest feeling. I thought, “Have I been hit?” Checked my rear view, and saw a red truck stopped behind me. I moved more to the left shoulder and stepped out of my car to see the driver of the red truck standing next to his car.

            I checked my car and could see no damage, but his front bumper, right around his dealer plates, showed minor damage.

            “Are you okay?” I asked the very young driver. “Didn’t you see my turn signal?”

            “Yes, but it didn’t hit me,” he replied.

            Another truck had struck the red one from behind. I circled around to talk to that driver, who said, “We were going about 70 MPH. I just couldn’t stop it time.” His truck’s front along with the other driver’s rear showed damage.

            The young driver returned to his car, ear to his phone. I knocked on his window and asked if he was calling 911 to report the accident, and he said he wasn’t. I placed the call. As I hadn’t been involved in a traffic accident in many, many years, I had no idea that I’d get texted instructions of what to do next .While we waited, I took pictures of all of the cars.  When the directions came I followed them exactly—made certain no one had injuries, told both drivers that we had to move to the opposite road shoulder where it was safer after making certain their trucks would move. We snaked across the interstate and waited for the police to arrive.

            The officer’s first question to me was why I had called in the accident as he saw no obvious damage to my car. I explained how after I was fully in the lane, the red truck pushed against my back bumper. He got on his knees to examine my rear bumper carefully and pointed out a small blemish that I’d overlooked. By the time the officer arrived, the young driver’s parents were on the scene. The officer handled taking statements from them, too. Eventually, he returned my license and insurance information to me and sent me on my way.

            I called my insurance company immediately, stating that I wasn’t hurt and the car wasn’t damaged, but I’d been hit from behind.  They took my statement and opened a file. Within days, I received calls from the insurance company of the other drivers (both happened to have the same company). One agent asked if I happened to take pictures of each vehicle, which I had and I sent them out immediately. A few days later I received calls from two different agents (each one representing both of the other drivers) to state that the accident was caused by their drivers, but as I had no injury and was making no damage claim, they were closing out my file. A day or two later, I received forms of what to do if I decided to do any repair to the slight damage.

            I heaved a sigh of relief to put this bump behind me. And then my insurance company called to notify me that the red truck driver had an attorney and was filing for personal injury and stating that I made an unsafe lane change. I stated the facts of the entire lane change and figured the ordeal was totally behind me until this week, when my company said that the attorney was still trying to make a claim against me. I asked, “How can I be held responsible when I was hit from behind?” The answer was that the other driver claimed that I cut him off. My representative asked if I had pictures from the scene, which I sent to her immediately. The physical evidence obviously shows I was established in the lane when hit from behind. My wish is that the next contact from my company is that the attorney’s dropping the claim against me.

            To avoid the route to the doctor’s office for my December appointment, I changed doctors to one walking distance from my house. He guided us through Mom’s Huntington’s disease and death, and returning to his office as a patient settled my across town driving dread.

            To cope with the background of worry that fretted my days while giving statements multiple times to various agents, I reached for my camera. Outside, I recaptured calmness with blossoms and butterflies.

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman