"Greek Teas"

  

            When we lived in Dover, Delaware, Mom and her friends gathered most mornings for coffee and gossip. Each woman served from lovely china sets that included coffee pots that matched their cups and saucers. Mrs. Hurley, who was born and raised in Wales, always steeped a cup of tea for me. Her hospitality warmed my five-year-old soul as much as the savory brews.

            By the time I was nine, my mother purchased all kinds of teas for me to try. Her favorite, Constant Comment, always resided in the pantry. Sometimes she prepared a black tea as dark as coffee and laced with milk and sugar. She picked up different mint teas and green teas that stayed light with gentle flavors. My love of teapots sprouted when we moved to Illinois and became entwined with my passion for tisanes.

            My delight with teas and teapots makes me an easy person to shop for when it comes to my birthdays, Christmases or anniversaries. Finding teas from other countries to bring to me became a quest for my husband and son. The internet and Amazon opened up a plethora of options with them researching the health benefits of various infusions. Their passion for all things Greek led them to discover their most recent gift to me: Greek Mountain Tea, Diktamos, and a Greek herbal cocktail of Marjoram, Sage and Diktamos. These ancient teas medicinal benefits include relieving respiratory infections, easing stomach and digestive problems, and lessening rheumatism. If you want antioxidants, just steep a cup each day. They’ve become a family favorite already.

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

           

 

           

                    

"His Way"

 

pseudo intellectualism     

demanding attention with parasitic tenacity   

irrational and illogical   

he vomits     

anger   

spewing intolerance and injustice under the guise of patriotism   

he infects and incites   

taking pleasure in belittling   

priding himself on accomplishments borne by breaking others   

he kills   

hope   

in the hearts of those he can’t love   

demeaning those who need because he cannot give   

 Copyright 2012 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 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"O.C.D. and Me"

            I understand the need to have things in order. Organization reduces my anxiety, keeps my edges smooth if a day becomes particularly frazzling. Some of my compulsiveness became honed during the years Dad spent in the Air Force. White glove inspections are not a myth. I remember before one move, Mom spent days spit polishing the wood floors and scrubbing the bath tub and sinks immediately after every use. Then she hired a cleaning service to come through our quarters for one final cleaning.

            That upbringing remains part of my nature to this day. When I tackle our home, I utilize a top to bottom method that stretches from the tops of doorways to the woodwork near each floor. A sister-in-law commented once that my walls never had any smudges from my son or his constant parade of friends. I told her that I wiped down our walls every week. She shook her head in disbelief that I’d incorporated that into a regular routine.

            All drawers in the house adhere to a strict discipline. My closet, too, reflects my quirky neatness. I arrange my clothing by type: pants, tops and dresses. Then I tidy everything by length and color. Finally, my around the house clothing gets isolated from my work clothing. If I’m going to splash bleach on anything, it’ll be something old. When I taught full time, I once picked up a note being passed between two girls. It said, “Ms. Chapman may be a bitch, but she has cool shoes!” At that time, my shoe collection had its own little cubby that stayed ordered by season, heel height, and color. Retirement means I’ve minimized my shoes down to the basics that I arrange by season and color.

            In recent years, I think because my work week varies from school to school, I’ve developed a technique of making certain I never leave anything behind. This method focused upon my tote, and originally I used it before leaving a campus. This year, I do the ritual before leaving the house each morning and before leaving work each afternoon. I preform the routine diligently and sequentially about 15 minutes before I leave: Phone-zipped into one compartment. Lunch bag and water bottle. Journal. Calendar. Spiral. Book. Every item in its space. Then I zip up the bag and set it onto my bed in the morning or the floor next to my feet at the school. Right before I leave, I unzip and do one more check. I believe this procedure keeps me from leaving anything behind that I may need once I change locations. It keeps my anxiety lower to know I won’t have to make unnecessary trips back to a campus.  

            My habits allow me to spend less energy on searching for a missing pair of shoes or getting to work without my phone. For me, a little O.C.D. goes a long way!

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 

     

"A Dog's Life"

 

Koi with Baby

            Koi’s sharp yip reverberates through the front window while his tiny body bounces with anticipation of my arrival. My fumble of key in lock frustrates him into a body slam against the door. Upon opening the door, this little dog doesn’t jump against my legs. Instead, he dashes toward the family room, scoops one of his stuffed toys into his mouth, and zooms into the master bedroom. I drop my purse and tote and immediately give chase. Koi’s keep-away game rockets us back into the family room in a mad circle around the coffee table. Then I dash behind him in a loop back into the bedroom where he sails onto the bed, leaps back to the floor, and whips around the corner just ahead of my grasp. One final maneuver on my part, and I capture the toy from his mouth, pop open the back screened door, and hurtle the toy into the back yard. Koi propels himself over the threshold, scoops the toy back into his mouth, and slows down enough to pee on his favorite bush before following me to my swing.

            We linger under the tree. Sometimes I read. Other times I talk to my sister or brother. Koi barks at Calico Sal, the patched cat from across the street, or he rubs noses with the dog next door. Sometimes, he sits closer to my feet, his toy resting between his paws until I signal that it’s time to go inside.

            I love that Koi lives a pampered life of belly rubs and walks to the park. His little heart knows with certainty that the big black box in the kitchen holds deliciousness (chunks of cheese). He never doubts the invitation onto our bed each night where he’ll cuddle as he snoozes. Security and safety shelter him each day. He lives a splendid dog’s life.

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Competition"

            My in-laws thrive on an antagonistic, competitive dynamic that leaves me confused and emotionally battered. Their monthly gatherings, usually doused with alcohol, disintegrate into hostile clashes whenever they are confronted with anyone or anything that doesn’t mesh with their clannish worldview.

            I desperately attempted to fit into their tribe for many years. I endured their barbed comments, cruel exclusions, and open hostility because I convinced myself that all I had to do was somehow be “better” to gain acceptance. In my mind, if I could figure out the rules to their game, I would help my husband and son improve their relationship within the family. In hindsight, my constant anger, bitterness, and pain caused damage, too.  It took extensive soul searching on my part, along with a million arguments with my husband, to finally admit that I would never, ever belong.

            During the last forty years, my response to the dysfunction varied depending upon my own mental and emotional health. I now pick and choose very carefully which holidays and events to attend, and I no longer take on guilt because I don’t try to improve relationships anymore. Most of the time, I believe that no one in the family even notices that I’ve disengaged from their turmoil and drama. They remain focused on their latest level of rivalry, like how many homes they own or the type of airplane they fly. Although they gather habitually, I don’t think they really like one another. Their connection stems from rivalry that fosters enmity. They are linked more by competition than affection.

            They play a sad game.

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Positive Energy"

                Technology brings us possibilities. I sit at a keyboard, blank page before me, and write down my thoughts and beliefs knowing that I will transmit my ideas around the world with one click. What will I say? Who will I reach? What impact will I have?

                The wall technology builds between us allows invisibility. Through this anonymous distance, I can wound. I can easily divide humanity into otherness. Will I denigrate? Put down and pull apart? Can I spew out cruelty? Chip away and minimize the hopes and dreams of another?     

                Or will I stay true to my inner core? Can I thrive by crafting kindness? Can I blossom because I grow towards gentleness and grace? Every day I deliberately decide to nurture and nourish. I hone down my words to a spiritual force of positive

energy.

 Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman