"45"

Out and about one sunny day   
I tripped over alternative facts   
And fell into the rabbit hole   
I plunged into an Orwellian nightmare   
Where ignorance was strength   
And a pompous idiot—   
Who reflected reality with a narcissistic mirror—   
Targeted the well-read man with censorship   
My breathing labored as the weight of corrupt lies    
Constricted my lungs   
While I struggled to climb out of the pit   
To seek sunlight and truth   
His lunacy became the norm   
And my intellectualism was cursed into damnation   

Copyright 2017 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman Orwell

"Under Construction"

  

An engineering feat
Endless miles of concrete
Tower in expectation
Growth, growth, growth, growth, growth
Tons of debris dumped behind screens of decency
Profit and progress mangled and molded into prophecy
More is only more
Underneath everything rises the desperate stench of fear
Too much, too little, too late to matter
Under night’s protection push onward and upward
Pretending sustainability is wrapped into the core
Change is good
Until it isn’t 

 

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Old Lady Hands"

 

 

            This morning, I stretched catlike before getting out of bed. From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed my left hand. An old lady’s hand. When did that happen? My mental “picture” of myself froze itself at age 35 years old.

            I knew this duality of self would happen. One time Dad quipped that he found himself looking at his reflection in a window with a confused, “Who’s that old man?” before he realized it was him! Mom, too, once quipped while getting her hair cut that the older woman before her didn’t match what she saw when she closed her eyes.

            Most of the time, I don’t see the added weight my body carries or the crinkles fanning out from my eyes. This morning, however, my old lady hands shocked me into my own 66 year-old body with enough force that I had to document my realization. Sagging boobs, wrinkled knees, and crepey neck mark my daily reality.

            Of course . . . if I don’t wear my glasses? I’m back to 35!

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman       

“More Time”

 

            "Sabrina: More isn't always better, Linus. Sometimes it's just more." 

 

            One of my favorite scripts is the play Sabrina Fair by Samuel A. Taylor. Every year, I re-center myself with either the Bogart/Hepburn/Holden 1954 version or the Ford/Ormond/Kinnear 1995 adaptation. I don’t over analyze why this play takes a special place in my heart. Sometimes, things just are a certain way, and you embrace the enchantment.

            When Julia Ormond’s Sabrina reminds Linus “Sometimes it’s just more”, my soul resonates. So many people I know have bogged themselves into the quagmire that more must be better, and spend a tremendously horrendous amount of time, energy, and funds into pursuing the  “Next Best” while their become entrapped in misery. None of their possessions—houses, cars, airplanes, boats—matter.

            My best friend from high school died a couple of months ago from early onset Alzheimer’s while another cherished soul lost her battle with cancer the other day. I struggle with wishing there had been “more” for them. More time for them to sing. More time for them to laugh. More time for them to love. More time for them to be.

  

Mary Edmondson Poarch

           

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Growing Optimism”

 

Past yard with more green by hose!

            My best therapy occurs in the garden. Watering by hand sends me into Zen tranquility. Finding the treasures planted by birds and squirrels allows me to nurture. I propagate and procreate with cautious hope that new clippings will survive. Over the last few years, our weather swings from brutally freezing winters to the drought driven days of summer.

            This year, my usual Morning Glories never wrapped themselves around the post out back. My Mountain Laurel barely carried a blossom. The heady aroma of honeysuckle doesn’t entice butterflies or bees since not a single bloom drapes down the vine. So far, my sunflower garden has halved its size, and my sage’s purple splendor remains dormant.

             One section of yard, near the faucet and hose, never regained its ground cover. Every morning, I dance and leap over the area once I’ve watered it in an attempt to avoid making the section into a tragic spot of mud. Yesterday, I decided to rob the remaining square stepping stones from behind our defunct hot tub. I created a path to avoid the mud. Next, I planted the creeping phlox we salvaged from Walmart’s discount section last spring. I also had three different pots of suffering mint that needed to go into the ground.

            With diligence and care, this area may become a favorite spot of flowers and flavors!

Stepping stones to new spots

Greenhouse floor

 

Avoiding mud!

Hopeful mint!

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman  

"Looking for Answers"

           Ever wish for the power to see into the future? Ever long for the ability to know ahead of time if the path you’ve set out on will take you where you really want to go?

        In my twenties, I set out on a journey with David that meant we selected a trail and forged ahead no matter what barrier blocked our journey. During the first years, we struggled with meeting basic necessities. Like most people, our twenties meant scrounging for every penny just to make it through each month. I remember evaluating everything by gallons of milk or gas. Did we need to go to a movie? That would be “spending” three gallons of milk on entertainment. How much did I want that new top? It would cost me the same as a tank of gas to go see my family. By being budget conscious and frugal, we pulled together enough money to purchase our home, but it wasn’t easy. Our next goal, having a child, proved an unexpected challenge, too. While many of our friends and family members seemed to pop out babies with great ease, we found ourselves looking for the answers to infertility. The answer we found, adoption, led us onto the wonderful path of parenthood.

        In our thirties, David had the opportunity to start his own business and work from our home. We couldn’t turn down the chance of having one parent at home at all times. The freelance business brought its own trials. Clients loved to send contracts with short turnarounds on completing the work, but then they bogged down the payment process. Sometimes a project’s payment wouldn’t come in for more than two months. If we’d had a crystal ball that could have predicted the shortcomings and obstacles of self-employment, would David have attempted his business? Even with hindsight on the difficulties we faced, we probably would have made the same choices because the benefits of having a parent at home outweighed the uncertainties of sporadic income.

       Every decision we made as a couple, we made with the goal of keeping our family strong. Many times, life piled seemingly insurmountable obstacles on the trail before us. Often, we plowed forward blindly on the pure faith that if we put family first we couldn’t get off track. Sometimes onlookers from the sidelines catcalled and jeered, trying to steer us into another direction. They’d throw large bricks of doubt directly in front of us that made us lose our footing and momentum. Eventually, we learned to block out the noise of the faceless crowd and kept true to our trek.
        

         I thought, foolishly, that I’d eventually hit an age where everything would fall into place. Where the wisdom of my years and experience would mean I wouldn’t flounder on this winding trail of life. However, questions still plague my days and nights. Obstructions make me pause and second guess myself. I find that I’m still trying to divine the future as I take another loop along the path. My soul searching illuminates the road just far enough ahead for me to know that keeping family whole and strong will secure safe passage.

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Absurdity and Corruption"

  

Ideologues idolized—
Seductive sirens
luring loyalty
mandating mores
destroying diversity
wrangling words
fostering falsehoods
designing doubts
customizing confusion
sanctioning skepticism
fanning fears
attracting absurdity
civilizing corruption

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Little Roses”

 

            What is my special treat from the grocery store? Flowers. We enter our local HEB from one set of doors to purchase groceries. Our route swings us by the plants and cut flowers at the end of our shopping. A quick evaluation of our cart to judge whether I’m in budget or not means I may indulge in either cut flowers or a small plant. The mini roses often draw my attention. First, their inexpensive price tag means the experiment to keep them alive won’t break the bank.  In the past, I’ve repotted the little roses and successfully moved them to spots outside. Currently, I have one that has survived for almost a year. It’s not blooming yet, but I’m hopeful it’ll hang in there long enough to bloom again.

            I feel absolutely spoiled when a dozen roses end up in our cart. Sometimes, the store has my ultimate favorite—yellow. More often, red or pink bouquets add splashes of color to our practical grocery purchases. I try to take the time not only to “smell the roses” but to preserve them through my photography.  

 

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

             

“Storms Ahead”

            Some months, I worry that I may need to return to substitute teaching to allow us to build a vacation fund or bank away enough money to remodel the bathrooms and update the kitchen. Then I remember how illness traveled with me as I went from classroom to classroom, school to school. Frankly, as I get older I don’t know if my body can take the pummeling various viruses battered through me. Would the extra money be worth exposing my health to illnesses that settle in my chest for weeks at a time?

            Frankly, a trip to the beach or mountains, to another city or another country doesn’t entice me to return to work. Although the house needs sprucing up here-and-there, everything works. No reason to gut a room if it also means picking up a bug that also guts me!

            My determination to remain fully retired took a punch last week when my husband’s company announced another round of layoffs happening soon. Our goal has been for him work until he’s 70 to pull in the highest Social Security benefit possible. If he ends up unemployed at 67, will his retirement income be enough?

            We frantically crunched all of the numbers, remembering that we’d have to pick up all of his medical insurance, and realized one or both of us would still need to work at least part-time, or begin tapping into our retirement funds earlier than we predicted.

            How can this be?

            Over the next few weeks, we’ll see how the dust settles. With luck, his position will remain untouched during this round of cuts. He’ll get to his goal of three more years with this company, and I won’t get thrown back to work.

            For now, we’re on alert for possible storms ahead.

 Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

           

               

 

Rain on the Rooftop"

  

Rain on the rooftop, a Texas lullaby   
Thunder a distant heartbeat, wind a crooning sigh   
Watch the windows weep as lightning cuts the sky   
Clouds roll and tumble, carry raindrops on a ride   
Trees cleanse their dusty leaves—shake off Summer’s dry   
Droplets form to puddles, and rivers start to fly   
Mother Earth’s cracked face smiles and laughs in reply   
To rain on the rooftop, a Texas lullaby   

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“What?”

 

            My hearing issues with tinnitus span decades of “that’s the way it is” acceptance. A few years ago, large groups and noisy classrooms meant I guessed at words and phrases unless the speaker stood straight before me. Frankly, once I stepped away from crowded rooms, I stopped noticing the decline in my hearing ability.

            Until this last year, that is. When I sit in the back seat of the car, any conversations from up front dodge back to me with uncertainty. At first, I excused my inability to discern conversations because music played around us, and my family members faced forward. Explanations I chimed to myself to avoid the inevitable. The other day, I begged my husband to repeat numbers to me as we worked our monthly budget. “Was that a five? Or a nine?” If he doesn’t turn to face me directly, I’ll have to ask again.

            I know that’s clearly a sign that things have changed more than I’d like to admit.  I need to have a long talk with my physician during my annual exam this summer. I can convince myself that not having to ask “What?” a billion times a day will add quality to my life. If hearing aids become my newest dip into elderly fashion, I will embrace them with cool self-confidence. After all, it’s still better than all of those years I wore braces!

 

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

             

“Pissing Contest”

 

Hard and broken men

Boys encouraged to only win
            even if they cheat
as teens their acid words begin
            wrapped in bold deceit
first wives selected as breeders
            preference for a son
second wives are ego feeders
            to the  Golden One
third wives enhance affluence
            and erase aging fears
not one person can influence
             their lying veneers 
Mamma loves the neediest best
            if he loves her most
her attention is a contest
            won by lying boasts
Daddy hungers for bragging rights
            on their gaudy stuff
he binds his praise to dark, not light
            can there be enough
as adults they hate each other
            and they still compete
to demoralize each brother
            to spoil and defeat
           
 
Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
  

"Ghost"

 Time pauses   

            when I dream of you   

                        Reversing—   

                                    pulling me back through years   

            until I hear   

                        your booming laughter ricochet     

            You appear before me   

            I embrace your solidity   

                        catch a whiff of Old Spice,   

                                    pipe tobacco   

            My tiny hand clutches yours   

            I am your child   

                       again   

                                    looking up into your deep brown eyes   

            You swing me up   

                        high onto your shoulders   

            I pat your chin—rough, unshaven   

                        Suddenly   

                                    We stand in my front yard   

                                                hugging goodbyes   

                                                promising another visit   

            Plans cancelled by death   

Time pauses   

            when I dream of you   

                        Reversing—   

                                    pulling me back through years   

            until I stand   

                        alone in the night   

            Suffering under the weight of grief   

            Conjuring you with my heartbreak   

                        your voice rises with enthusiasm   

                                    strengthens with determination     

            We argue politics   

            We agree to disagree   

                        again  

                                    looking into your deep brown eyes    

            You vanish   

                        leaving me sorrowful   

            Regretting silly squabbles   

                        Suddenly   

                                    I stand alone   

                                                searching for you     

                                                listening for your essence   

            Knowing you are gone forever  

May 1999

 

"Father's Day"

 

Edna and Karl Abrams--1950s

            Words don’t come easily on days like today. I miss my father every day, but Father’s Day pushes his absence into the forefront. On days like today, I wish for Dad’s boisterous voice booming through the house as he prepares his first cup of coffee for the day. I long for a whiff of his Old Spice scenting the room. I yearn for another hug and kiss where his morning stubble scratches my cheek. I need one more corny joke that makes me groan and roll my eyes. I want to argue once again about those hot subjects of politics, religion, sex and money!
            So on days like today, words don’t flow as easily. My heart feels heavy, the hurt still painful even though this marks the tenth Father’s Day without Dad. Many of you celebrate today with your fathers. I hope you cherish the conversations you share and enjoy the time together. For those of you who mark today without your fathers, may your memories be sweet, kind, and loving.

Karl Abrams-retirement from Galveston County Sheriff's Department 1992

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Teapots and Faeries—Part Two”

Newest addition!

 

            Recently, I relocated my faery collection into the living room and kitchen instead of the family room. Because the statues had resided so long in one location, they’d shifted in my attention to background noise. New locations, spreading faeries throughout two rooms instead of one, attracts visitors' eyes, too. Our front window showcases several figurines that anyone walking up to the door can see. By drawing this collection forward, I’ve ended up adding to them with an outside faerie in the front garden.

             The ripple down from moving my faeries into the kitchen resulted in my teapot collection, which continues to grow annually, to find new locations. I have some favorites that I use when sipping tea in the mornings, and others stay perched in spots just for display.

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

“A Barnes and Noble Triumph”

 

            My faith in mankind tripled yesterday with the overflowing crowds at our new Barnes and Noble in Selma, at The Forum. Our Wednesday tradition of dinner out led us to one of our favorite spots, Papouli's Greek Grill. When we had difficulty finding a parking spot, I remembered that the book store’s Grand Opening was scheduled for June 12^th. We decided to walk over after dinner, not really anticipating just how large the crowd would be.

            Entering the bookstore, I couldn’t believe how many people milled around everywhere. Excited children pulled parents from one section to another while nonchalant teens browsed in clusters of three or four, attempting to carry an air of disinterest that evaporated as they moved through the store.

            People weren’t just window shopping. Lines snaked at each check-out station with the wait to make purchases taking about thirty minutes. Standing in line, joy filled me as I watched families stack book after book on the counters. Some added puzzles and Lego sets to their pile. For thirteen years, our area of San Antonio has longed for a bookstore. Yesterday, I witnessed the quenching of that thirst.

 

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

“Small Triumphs”

  

            These last few weeks add up to nothing super big or important happening. While some family and friends make life altering moves, I find myself happily relishing the smallest changes that don’t ripple to anyone else but myself.

            My first glory came when I finally found the perfect pair of sandals! My favorite sandals, from now long gone Payless Shoes, tore irreparably. I searched in frustration for replacements. Not too easy. Unlike most people, I cannot stand sandals that thong between my toes. Because I really walk in them, I need something with a back strap. I’ve tripped and twisted my knees enough over the years to know that I need a shoe that stays on my foot.

            As soon as stores started putting sandals out, I began my hunt. At this point in my life, a perfect pair of shoes can’t cost too much! One day, I swung by the Walmart racks. To be honest, I didn’t think I’d find anything. But then, there they were! Dangling from a hook, with crisscross straps over the top and a Velcro back strip to fasten them to my foot, the perfect shoe hung. I whipped off my heavy Skechers and slipped a piece of heaven onto my feet. Their unexpected cushiness coupled with the back strap’s security made my purchase decision an easy one. Added to their attraction? A $20.00 price tag!  Every week, I check out Walmart for these same shoes in other colors, but tan seems to be their only hue. I will purchase a couple more pair, even if they are exactly the same, because next summer they may not exist!

            My other small victory came when I mentioned that we need to find a bench for the front yard. Koi, now a wobbly fifteen-years-old, sometimes meanders to the mailbox to “check the mail” for us. During his younger years, he’d rush about marking bushes, edging onto our neighbor’s yards, and would dash back inside with a tempting call of “Cheese, cheese!” to lure him back. Although he still wants to do his daily venture out front, his slow pace means whoever watches him will be outside for a bit longer. A small bench would allow him to idle and dawdle.

            I started keeping watch for a bench to set under the Red Oak tree. We have plenty of places locally, plus a quick online search found us several possibilities that wouldn’t dint my budget. On a run to Academy, we spotted some lawn chairs on sale that we could also cluster under the tree. Going to the rear of the store to find more chairs, I spotted the perfect little blue metal bench. Comfortable, even without a cushion and something I can easily paint different colors if I want.  The best, small triumph? A marked down price of $30.00! I danced out of the store in excitement!   

 

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Nightmare Smash-up”

            Last night, I found myself trapped on I10 in a van driven by the principal from Abbot Elementary. The quirky faculty sitting all around me, we protested in unison against the cars that ensnared the vehicle and prevented forward movement. Frustration fomented and fumed because there was nowhere to go, no exit ahead. My brain dragged out my personal experience of Hurricane Rita’s 2005 nightmare where we spent more than twenty-four hours in stopped traffic watching our gas gauges dipping lower with our anxiety shooting higher.

            Slapping the alarm clock to silence this morning, I woke up puzzled by this peculiar dream. Then I remembered the real nightmare created in Texas by our malicious Governor Abbott as he viciously ties public school spending into his pet private school voucher program. Texas public school districts face millions of dollars in deficits even when the State has the largest surplus of funds in state history. Abbott insists that school districts caused their own problems with mismanagement of funds.

            Before I went to sleep last night, I read the struggles of Judson ISD board members as they face a $32 million dollar deficit, and no way to continue with pay incentives they implemented in the 2023-2024 budget without bleeding more red. Districts also have to fulfill House Bill 3, Texas’s response to the Uvalde slaughter, to force districts to implement new guards and security standards with inadequate funding from the State.

            Internalizing the no win scenarios from the most recent news facing Texas public schools put me back onto I10 blocked into the far left lane. Now that I’m awake, I recall the panic I felt when I got out of my car to chat with my brother and son trapped in traffic directly behind me. My mother, already overdue for her medications, went into a Huntington’s disease tirade as we discussed our options. With nothing to lose, I knocked on the windows of the cars immediately in front and behind us in the next lane, begging for help from the drivers to squeeze their vehicles forward, or back, just enough for us to maneuver into the lane. Once our two car caravan settled into the middle lane, I repeated my plea with the next set of drivers, who edged just enough for us to move over and ahead again. We snaked ourselves to an exit in this way—one car at a time cooperating—until we steered of the stalled interstate and onto an access road.

            This solution to forward movement may be the only choice for Texas public schools. One person at a time: one parent, one faculty, one district needs to pressure by voting against a governor that implements slash-and-burn policies.

      Vote.

      VOTE.

      VOTE!

  

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman