Saturday, May 25, 2024

“Too Hot”

 

            For the last couple of years, we’ve headed to our cabin in Leakey during the longer Memorial Day weekend as a way to celebrate our anniversary a week late. Our plans to go this weekend stopped dead with the weather report for an entire hunk of Texas—HEAT ADVISORY!




            Heading into the hills with the goal of hiking, weed-eating the overgrown grassy areas surrounding the small building, and collecting rocks and shoveling gravel to bring back home for landscaping doesn’t appeal to me at all with temperatures sweltering between 108°-111°.

            In 2022, a severe hail storm battered our cabin during this same weekend! We “saved” our Bronco with every cushion and quilt in the building. We’d never experienced such a severe storm in Leakey in May.




     


            So for today, we’ll spend inside on Arrakis, binging on both parts of Dune. 


Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman   

 


Friday, May 24, 2024

“From Behind the Glass”




Forehead pressed against the pain
with Vision blurred by labored breath        
I push against cold resistance—
on the outside once again
Within sight
Yet out of reach
My desperation weeps
I cannot change
            your heartbreak
I cannot challenge Time—
            Unless I shatter through the glass
                        scarring myself
            to protect you


Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Thursday, May 23, 2024

“Finding My Voice Again”


            My way to hold onto sanity in a crazy world? Writing. My thoughts flow across the page, whether with pen to paper or fingers flying across the keyboard. Pages fill with my life observations, a narrow slice of my reality as I share bits and pieces of myself to some unknown audience. Sometimes a poem evolves, sometimes a story surfaces. Often, my thoughts and feelings, displayed over a once blank page, leave me puzzled

.

            Did I think that?

            Did I write that?

            Even when I didn’t think I had something to say, words would scatter across the page.

 

            For more than a year, the thought of writing, and sharing those words, burdened me. I realized recently that the January 6 United States Capitol attack silenced me, not immediately, but slowly as the stages of grief tangled up in relationships with family and friends. What do I take away from the friend who waved her hands skyward, praying for my soul to be saved, while she still supports a malevolent tyrant? Did I do mental bargaining with myself that this bond, now more than thirty years strong, could survive my disillusionment? Where do I go with the family members who scorn science and turn away from facts? My wallowing in anger at them changes nothing. They now reveal who and what they’ve been all along: selfish, mean, clannish, narcissists.

 

            Regaining my voice has happened slowly. The first step came with a public library card. Each visit, I select a favorite author, a totally “new-to-me” writer, and two pieces of non-fiction. My non-fiction tethers me back to my roots of in Psychology, enlarges my knowledge of physics or economics, and provides a new, better understandings of how we got to this point in history. I took another step by making certain those places I loved visiting before my years of caregiving became destinations again, like our local museums and the zoo. During the lockdown, my camera opened a view to the small details of life, and I continue focusing on my need to link photography with words.

 

            My voice comes out now because I have to write again.

 



Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman