"The Reason for the Season"

 

Showering those you love with acceptance       

Holding tenderness within your heart       

Surrounding yourself with kindred spirits       

Collecting diversity to honor and cherish       

Fostering creativity, individuality       

Nurturing peace, grace, dignity       

Protecting humanity       

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Too Much of a Good Thing”

 

            Last winter I followed the advice of leaving leaves coating our front yard instead of raking them. The wisdom holds that leaves add nutrients back into the soil. Leaves protect plants with a layer of warmth should ice or snow cover the ground. Leaves provide homes for insects and snails.

            No one warned me that too many leaves on our very small front yard could kill the grasses and ground cover buried below. My Horseherb’s tiny flowers never returned once I raked the leaves. Large patches of clover mixed within the grass remained bare all spring. My front yard unexpectedly contained bald spots that sent me on a search for answers. Eventually, I learned that too many leaves can smother a yard. Many people mow and mulch, but we don’t have a power lawn mower anymore!

            This week, I will return to my annual routine of raking and bagging leaves. Fallen leaves will adorn my small gardens to protect those plants, but the remainder of the ground will be leaf free to let sunshine and rain nurture the natural grasses and ground covers that survived my experiment. With luck, returning to my roots will result in a pretty front lawn this spring.

Enough to protect the garden!

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"The Places We've Been"

 

            Over the years, we’ve taken about seven or eight vacations. When David worked as a freelance illustrator, we often couldn’t take trips because we couldn’t absorb the loss of a one week or two week’s pay on top of the cost of a vacation. Many people take for granted the paid vacation time they receive from companies; but for the self-employed, it’s an entirely different story. With our family escapes coming years apart, David never liked returning to a place we’d already stayed. A couple of times we visited friends, but most of our excursions took us to some place new to all of us. Sometimes, we stayed in Texas to enjoy local outings at Renaissance fairs, or we ventured to Galveston or Padre to worship sand and sun. A week at Big Bend National Park remains one of my favorite memories, and we fell in love with the town of Gonzales with its marvelous homes and quaint shops.

            When money and time synched up, we ventured far from home. We took Paul to Washington, D.C. to see Fonzie’s jacket and the Washington Monument, dipped into Virginia for rollercoaster rides and walks along battlefields. A trip to Georgia to stay with friends found us climbing Stone Mountain. We journeyed to San Francisco for cable cars, Height Ashbury, The Exploratorium, and Chinatown. Our stay in Seattle found us at museums one day, the Pike Place Market the next. We delighted in rolling in several feet of snow on Mount Rainier. Last year, David and I finally took our honeymoon with a trip to Ireland!

            I don’t know exactly when we began commemorating our vacations with decorations for our Christmas tree. On one trip, we longed to have some little token of our travels that didn’t cost too much and wouldn’t break on the return trip. Somehow, we settled upon an ornament. We thought it the perfect souvenir because we knew we’d take a moment to relive our trip each year as we adorned our tree. We’ve had to create some unusual mementos since we took several trips during the summer months when stores didn’t have Christmas ornaments on their shelves. The search for the ideal keepsake often became a family quest as each of us sought the finest reminder of our travels.

Copyright Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 2011

           

"Brainstorming List"

 

            Several years ago, my well of topic ideas dried up. Practically overnight, I found myself floundering for something—anything—to write about. In desperation, I sent out an impassioned plea to my friends and family on Facebook to PM me suggestions for possible blog posts. The more people responded, the more inspired I grew. I grabbed a new spiral notebook and listed topic after topic. Whenever I find myself thirsty for something different, I turn to this list.

            Every time I buy a new spiral for my drafting and crafting, I devote the first page to that brainstorming list. Most of the time, life presents me with plenty of material. Occasionally, I peruse the list, select one item, write about the subject, and cross it off my list.

            This week my substituting work landed me with classes that need a “warm body” in the room. The students, attached to Chromebooks, ask me for a bathroom pass and leave me to my own devices. Out of boredom, I tugged out my trusty spiral the other day and skimmed my list for inspiration. “Dirty Clothes” caught my eye. The next thing I knew, I crafted a fun poem for my blog. Since I’ve been on the same campus with a similar job all week, I’ve returned to my list daily. I’ve entertained myself by writing on ten different topics using a combination of poetry and personal narratives.

             I feel accomplished and satisfied each time I scratch words off the list.

           In the very back of my mind, a little nagging worry chirps, “What if you use the all?”

            I smile. I’ll do like I did so many years ago and ask friends and family to help me with a brainstorming list!

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Stubborn Koi”

 

            The end of February found me rushing Koi to the vet when blood appeared in his urine. Since his incontinence demands that he don a wrap while inside, I spotted the red tinge immediately. His vet examined him, captured a clean urine sample, ran blood tests and sent us on our way. A phone call a several days later cheered me up as all of the tests came back with a healthy dog. The blood, which only happened once, could’ve been either Koi passing a bladder stone or it could have been the first sign of bladder cancer. Further tests lay out of my financial ability. His vet sent the results home with instructions to bring him back in if he declined or had more bleeding.

            In July, Koi flew effortlessly through his annual physical. His good health let us know that bladder cancer wasn’t the diagnosis. His wraps, blood free since the one time in February, reassured all of us. When the vet flipped Koi onto his back and palpitated away in search of anything, Koi didn’t even flinch. We left confident that he had passed a bladder stone six months before.

            The week of Thanksgiving, Koi’s behavior changed. He’d come into the room on his way to the back door and freeze in place. He’d ignore my verbal inquiries, and physically nudging him to continue walking to the door shifted to having to carrying him outside. He’d stand in one place straining to urinate. Thanksgiving night, he vomit, and his bowls changed to diarrhea. The next day, his straining continued with vomiting and diarrhea for a second day. I pulled him off of food and encouraged him to drink water. My resolution to get him to the vet on Monday, though, changed when he woke up Saturday hungry and energetic. He displayed absolutely no problem with urinating outside. He wanted to piddle around the backyard with me and play with his toys inside.

            I suspected he’d passed a bladder stone, and fretted myself into worry that there could be more and worse ones that could block him totally. When I called the vet to talk to someone, the tech thought that Koi was already on prescribed food and suggested I come in to pick up more. Upon my arrival, she realized that he wasn’t on prescription food. A quick conference with our vet resulted in Koi being scheduled for a check in three weeks following the diet shift instead of me bringing him by the next day for a physical to change to the medicated food.

            Leaving with Hill’s Prescription Diet Urinary Care C/D in cans, I resolved to help fifteen-year-old Koi to better health. Following the online instructions, Koi began transitioning from his beloved kibble (he only eats one favorite along with a half can of chicken in the evenings). The first two days went well enough as the wet food mixed into his kibble without him caring. The second pair of days, he still tolerated the change. The more the diet food took over his portions, the less he wanted to eat. When we reached 100%, I’d already gone through all of the online suggestions—heating it, adding warm water to it, putting it in a different bowl, different location, treating it like a reward treat. Koi ignored the food and drank tons of water instead. We even left the house for four hours with the food out, thinking that maybe hunger would drive him to eat if we weren’t around. No luck.

            Koi, it became apparent, would fast for days before eating his special food. Logic led me to conclude that Koi would outwait me. I called the vet on Koi’s 32^nd hour of starvation and left the message that I was returning him to his previous kibble and evening kibble/chicken blend. I promised to take him in immediately if he displayed the same changes I had noted for passing a bladder stone, and we cancelled the appointment for next week since he’s off of the new diet. I must admit, my admiration for this splendid, stubborn dog grew over the past few weeks.       

Stubborn Koi--December 20, 2024

"Work Ethic"

       Many years ago, I attended a birthday party where for entertainment a woman read our fortunes. I stood in fascination as she described the lives and futures of various friends and family members. I could barely wait for my turn.
            The woman did her card shuffle and looked at me with a sad smile. “You work,” she said softly.
           “Yes,” I responded and waited for her to reveal some future travels or adventures as she had for everyone else.
            She shook her head and glanced down at her cards again. “No. That’s all I see. You work. You work all the time. There’s nothing else that I see.”
            Tears blinded my eyes as I moved off to the side for her to take the next person in line. I rounded up my husband, son, and his friend and told them I wanted to leave. I couldn’t get into the car fast enough. Sobs shook me the second I closed the car’s door.
            “What’s wrong?” my husband asked.
           “You heard what that woman said,” my words drowned by tears. “She saw nothing but work.”
            That casual observation by a party entertainer punched me in the gut because it resounded with truth.
            At that time, I taught high school English. I slipped into my classroom an hour early every morning and stayed almost as long most days. My evenings and weekends involved chipping away at an endless mountain of essays, journals, and projects that never dwindled no matter how many hours I graded. With the time that remained to my day, I did house and yard work. Rarely did I do anything just for pleasure.
            Amazement filled me if I heard about friends taking off for evenings or weekends with “the girls.” How did they find the time? How could they simply leave their jobs and households for a few days at the beach? Guilt over spending that much money and time on myself would make the intended respite stressful for me. In my mind, I’d fret over all the stuff I wasn’t getting done.
            Over the years, I don’t think I’ve learned how to play without donning a layer of guilt like a second skin. For the last two days, I’ve had no substitute jobs because the openings have been at high schools, middle schools, or schools that are too far from my home. This year, I limited myself to only doing elementary schools within a ten minute drive from my house. I grab jobs at the high school campus that’s walking distance from my house, too. Yesterday, when nothing opened up, I convinced myself that the budget hit wasn’t too bad. I changed out of my work clothes and found my rattiest t-shirt and oldest pair of shorts. I headed out to the back yard and did three hours of yard work. In other words, I worked.
            With today off, it means a harder hit to my extra income. I almost talked myself into taking a slot at a middle school where I could possibly have a totally rotten day. I battled back and forth on the importance of the $78.65 I’ll net VS the Middle School Madness of students in May. I decided to stay home for a second day, but feel guilty about not taking that slot.
             As I sit at keyboard, my mind drifts to the hedges out front. My work ethic primly points out, “You should use today to trim those bushes.”
            Another voice, distant and faint, echoes in my memory. “You work. You work.”
            Maybe today I’ll step away from my overdeveloped sense of responsibility and enjoy an unexpected and unplanned day off—and do nothing at all.

Watching acorns grow!

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman  

             
           

"Deer in the Headlight"

            Defiantly, her eyes locked with mine. Not a ripple of concern in her stance or glance as she faced me while my heart shifted to a faster syncopation. My headlights mirrored from her pupils for a second before she dismissed me. Casually, she crossed the road with the confidence that no harm would befall her.

            My foot, stamped to the brake, eased off to crawl my car forward. The predawn shadows complicated my search of the path from which the doe had unexpectedly emerged. No fawns follower her, and I cruised up to 20 MPH.

            As I rounded the corner, our small neighborhood herd waited in edgy anticipation by its morning feeding spot. Daily, an elderly retired man dumped buckets of dried corn from the back of his pickup truck. In long ago conversation, he’d told me that he needed to know someone counted on him being somewhere each day. With his wife’s death, his retirement had turned to unexpected loneliness that he filled by caring for these deer. This morning five deer awaited his arrival.

            My thoughts drifted from the doe to an old man’s loneliness as I edged onward into my day.

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Wants VS Needs"

 

         I’ve read some pretty mean comments on social media recently. Insulting words lashing out, sometimes with no obvious reason for the inflammatory temper tantrums. Suddenly, a conversational steam turns ugly. I sit dumbfounded as I read through cruel, malicious responses from people I thought to be reasonable—and nice.

         Most of the time, I try to understand both sides of the issue. If I weigh in (many times I bite my tongue and keep away from my keyboard), I attempt to find factual support for the issue at hand. Sometimes I balance myself onto a middle ground. Occasionally, I respond with well thought out deliberation. Fortunately, I have a blog wherein I can pull together longer reflections.

         In my dream-state last night, I mulled through this-n-that in an effort to distill recent events into some kind of cohesive theory that applies to a bigger picture, and I tossed-n-turned myself into a dichotomy of wants versus needs.

         Many people state belief systems as though they are needs. They need to follow their religious doctrines.  They need to spank their children—and everyone else’s, too. They need to defund programs like education and welfare. They need to take care of their own—even if that means making decisions that harm others. They need to own guns. They need to stop abortion. They need to segregate themselves way from minorities. They need to prepare for Armageddon.

          Whenever these people speak out, they truly feel that these things are essential requirements for their safety and happiness—for their duty to family, or church, or country. Their insistence that things are needs lends a level of urgency and unreasonable panic to their daily lives. When they feel that these needs are threatened, they respond with illogical anger and boiling hostility. They view their world as always threatened by someone else encroaching upon or diminishing their basic needs and rights. It must be rough living with so much distress and disharmony.

         I wish I could wave a magic wand over these people and shift their mindset to the fact that all of these things are wants, and not needs, because the urgency and fear shifts dramatically with this worldview.

Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Incredible Inflatables

            For older neighborhoods like ours, finding space for anything proves problematic. Our house, built in the mid-1960s, originally paced out as a 1,000 square foot three bed, one bath, and a one car garage home. Typical for the time period, the builder designed about seven different floorplans with some including one more bedroom, bathroom and a luxurious two car garage. To optimize our cottage, we converted our garage into half storage on the garage door end and a permanent wall that gave us another room originally used for an office. Nice bi-fold doors separated the laundry and pantry from the office. Many of our neighbors have done a similar change, and some have sacrificed their garage completely.

            Since our backyards stretch to comfortable sizes, outdoor storage sheds, ranging from utilitarian to She Sheds, grew throughout the area. We opted to go with an addition to the back and planted a hot tub and gardens instead of a shed. Eventually, we relied upon renting additional storage, especially once Mom moved into our home.

            Our purge through storage units, both attics, and our half-garage area ate up years of “Keep, Give Away, Toss” until last year found me tackling the garage once more time and replacing old containers with neat, matching, reinforced bins. Everything now has its own place, but there’s absolutely no room for more unless I enforce my rule “One thing in, a like thing out.”

I’ve turned away from adding outside, holiday decorations because they are often wooden or metal and always bulky.

            Until a last year when the cost of inflatable decorations dropped onto shelves in At Home, Home Depot, and Walmart! One sturdy, stackable bin can hold several Halloween decorations, a Thanksgiving turkey, and a Christmas snowman and Christmas cactus! Within the box we have two projectors and all of the necessary extension cords, too.  And there’s room for more! We hope to add to the collection with uniquely incredible holiday choices each year.

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 

"Changing Leaves"

          Running around the past few days on Christmas shopping errands, awe stopped me in my tracks. Our Red Oak and our neighbor’s Arizona Ash decided to don bright, contrasting reds and yellows. My husband’s iPhone and my old trusty Canon captured this brilliant moment.

            Enjoy!

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman    

"My Debt Exchange Program"

         Opening an old spiral in search of blank paper, I stumbled upon budgetary goals from several years ago. Column after column of monthly earning and spending that optimistically dwindled my debt on multiple cards while it built a savings buffer for taxes and unforeseen catastrophes.

         I chuckled to realize that my current debts and assets reads almost exactly the same as where I stood two years ago.

         Have I remained still? When analyzing the red, I noted that my final BALANCE DUE hadn’t nudged at all!

         I’d get discouraged if I didn’t applaud the achievements of my budgeting. Although it appears I’m running in place, in reality I’ve used paid down debt to repair, renovate and replace.

         All of those tallied columns and hopeful projections remind me of the importance of planning. My two steps forward, one step back approach to life would probably frustrate most people, but I can appreciate my accounting accomplishments.

Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman