"Chimpanzees and Stardust"

Walden Pond in November www.trekearth.com

 
Drifting for a week down the Concord and Merrimack Rivers
I trailed my fingers in Civil Disobedience,
lingered a month on the banks of Walden Pond
just long enough to transcend
from awkward adolescent into endless possibilities.
I happened upon Patterson and Fouts,
fingers dancing into primate thinking,
and my enchantment with
Words, Mind and Spirit
coalesced.
My heroes slept under star-strewn skies,
witnesses
of Nature and Life,
Tools and Language,
Thought and Reason
diligently uncovering commonalities.
Observers
who took me from the pond’s edge
Through Gombe
Until I found my place in the Universe.
 

Roger Fouts
www.misitprodictions. com

Jane  Goodall
www.ngm.nationalgeographic.com

www.universetoday.com

Copyright Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 2014

"Different Drummer"

            I don’t remember when I learned to march lock step within society’s expectations. I flailed against rules and regulations in early childhood, fought against everyone’s efforts to shove me into a round hole. Adult persistence, Time, and fatigue wore down my share square edges until I fit, too tightly, into the binding expectations of our culture.

            I joined activities at school instead of heading straight home to immerse myself in words. I got a car, a part-time job, a college degree, a marriage license, a career and a mortgage.
Somehow, I found myself part of the system, hacking away at the natural shapes and quirks of students to for them into round holes.

            The Lizzy of my childhood was totally forgotten until a few years ago. Drowning in an isolation from being a caregiver, I pulled out my journals and discovered the adolescent Liz. With joy, I found I liked the optimistic, change-the-world girl who struggled so hard to fit in when she’d rather sprawl on her bed with Thoreau.

Copyright Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 2019

“Downsizing Christmas”

 

            My quest to simplify seeped from not putting up a Christmas tree over into decorating only the dining room table and purchasing just a few holiday gifts.

Only decorations out this year!

            My husband, son and I each picked a couple of items to put on our wish list. As I’d spent months lusting over a second camera lens, my family didn’t think twice about the perfect gift for me. My husband decided to refurbish his old Vox, and my son managed to locate companies that sold the necessary parts to make the guitar look new again. Teddy bear pendants topped my son’s list-again something unique that we found online.

            My siblings proved as easy to shop for since my sister always says, “Nothing,” when I ask her what she wants. And she means it. I will probably send something small through the mail the week after Christmas as an unexpected surprise. My brother, on the other hand, needs and appreciates everything. We often pull together a necessity box that contains items like Tide (which is so expensive), soaps of various scents, his favorite body wash and shampoo, and other household cleansers that tend to eat his grocery budget. These practical items will allow him to spend more of his budget on food. Usually, we also purchase something for my brother that he wants but won’t get for himself. Since he mentioned clothing for this year, and he has to work on Christmas day and the day after, I suggested we go out together on the 27^th on a shopping extravaganza to find the items he wants.

            I handed responsibility for my in-laws’ gifts over to my husband. In the past, I would have handled the shopping for them, but simplifying means stepping away from even this task. My husband found something easily for his sister’s home and ordered it weeks ago. He still hasn’t decided on what to do about his brothers, and stated that if he doesn’t find anything it’s not a big deal. My “old” self would want to jump in and hunt for some kind of present—even if it were a token gift; but this is an assignment for him, not me. Talk about an eye opening experience! Why didn’t I sidestep some of these duties years ago?

            I know paring back Christmas and all of its festivities and traditions won’t turn into a permanent lifestyle change. It has, however, caused me to re-examine many things I do around the holiday season and forced me to hone I on the important ones.

            What about our Christmas breakfast of Eggs Benedict and Mimosas?

            Well—some traditions are just too sacred to mess with . . .

 

Copyright 2014 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Chimpanzees and Stardust”



Walden Pond in November
www.trekearth.com   

Drifting for a week down the Concord and Merrimack Rivers

I trailed my fingers in Civil Disobedience,
lingered a month on the banks of Walden Pond
just long enough to transcend
from awkward adolescent into endless possibilities.

Roger Fouts
www.misitproductions.com 

I happened upon Patterson and Fouts,
fingers dancing into primate thinking,
and my enchantment with
Words, Mind and Spirit
coalesced.



Jane Goodall 
www.ngm.nationalgeographic.com  

My heroes slept under star-strewn skies,

witnesses
of Nature and Life,
Tools and Language,
Thought and Reason
diligently uncovering
commonalities.
Observers
who took me from the pond’s edge
Through Gombe
Until I found my place in the Universe.

www.universetoday.com

Copyright 2014 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Tiny Houses"

Our "Tiny House" in Leakey, Texas

            Recently, a friend brought little, itty-bitty houses to my attention through various postings on Facebook. These tiny houses, and their inhabitants, fascinate me. The first video I watched chronicled a family of three who downsized into hundreds of square feet. Since then, I’ve viewed several other videos on individuals and families making the decision to “Simplify, simplify.” I envy these people who’ve somehow pulled away from their attachments to belongings. I don’t hoard, but I do have collections. Every item carries a specific memory, and although logic tells me that the memory won’t fade if I donate the item, my heart feels otherwise. So when I see others scale down their possessions to simple necessities, I feel awe. I don’t like to think that I define myself by what I own, but I can’t imagine not having my books, teapots, or Christmas ornaments.

Inside our--dining/living/bed areas!

Some people would find these little houses confining, but I understand the womblike comfort of a small space. My enchantment with little rooms goes back to my childhood. No matter where we lived, I always selected the smallest room as my own. I’d pack it with a twin bed, bookcases and desk. I’d put shelves on the walls to take advantage of the vertical areas many people overlook. By candlelight, these rooms felt cozy and calming.

Bath, kitchen, & dining areas!

Every time we go to our cabin in Leakey, I light candles and draw the shades to make the one room cabin welcoming and warm. I daydream about living up there permanently. The one room contains every necessity—kitchen, dining, living, sleeping areas. What else, really, do we need? And if I want space, all I have to do is step outside.

Candlelight and comfort

Logic kicks in eventually, and I realize I’m not ready to walk away from everything forever. Living sparsely for a cluster of days at a time tempts me. I’m charmed by the plainness of our days when I know I can return home. Could I make the change to the degree of these other people? Could I live a home that’s several hundred square feet forever? Is a tiny house in our future?

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"The Cabin"

           Head straight down the Scenic Loop and take a right midway between Leakey and Camp Wood. A gravel road snakes between live oaks, cedars, and mountain laurels. After driving at a crawl over ruts and dry creek beds for about a mile, a cabin hides behind a row of plump cedars.

          The place, constructed from a metal office building, looks unassuming. A huge screened-in porch juts from the front, its lattice now gray with age. Directly in front of the building squats our fire pit where we grill steaks or build s’mores.

           Our hill country place rests on twenty-six acres of solitude. When sitting out front, the whispers of the wind fingering through leaves blend with bird song. No traffic passes by, and even a dragonfly’s wing beating the breeze creates a soft purr.

          Hills tuck the cabin into a protected pocket, and two dry creeks zigzag through the acreage, providing a safe route for spring floods. Trails, worn on the hills and down the gullies by deer and wild boar, offer private paths for the hiker.

           Every visit, we make our way gradually around the perimeter of the property, checking the condition of the fence line. We stop at the pinion pines, pause at the highest summit behind the cabin and remember our first camp snugged among the live oak and mountain laurel. Gratitude floods through me for the legacy of this land. Older memories than my own hide in fossils and formations, revealing the layered evolution of our world.

           For twenty years, my feet have walked the rocky paths. First visits, we pitched tents, living close to the land. Later, the cabin allowed us to ease in luxuries like electricity. Inside, always left ready for the next visit, reside quilted comforts and soft beds. With no television, radio, or cell phone reception, life’s pressures subside within hours of arrival. The seclusion of the cabin nurtures imagination and inspires reflection. It is my Walden Pond.

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Tiny Houses"

Our "Tiny House" in Leakey, Texas

          Recently, a friend brought little, itty-bitty houses to my attention through various postings on Facebook. These tiny houses, and their inhabitants, fascinate me. The first video I watched chronicled a family of three who downsized into hundreds of square feet. Since then, I’ve viewed several other videos on individuals and families making the decision to “Simplify, simplify.” I envy these people who’ve somehow pulled away from their attachments to belongings. I don’t hoard, but I do have collections. Every item carries a specific memory, and although logic tells me that the memory won’t fade if I donate the item, my heart feels otherwise. So when I see others scale down their possessions to simple necessities, I feel awe. I don’t like to think that I define myself by what I own, but I can’t imagine not having my books, teapots, or Christmas ornaments.

Inside our--dining/living/bed areas!

Some people would find these little houses confining, but I understand the womblike comfort of a small space. My enchantment with little rooms goes back to my childhood. No matter where we lived, I always selected the smallest room as my own. I’d pack it with a twin bed, bookcases and desk. I’d put shelves on the walls to take advantage of the vertical areas many people overlook. By candlelight, these rooms felt cozy and calming.



Bath, kitchen, & dining areas!

Every time we go to our cabin in Leakey, I light candles and draw the shades to make the one room cabin welcoming and warm. I daydream about living up there permanently. The one room contains every necessity—kitchen, dining, living, sleeping areas. What else, really, do we need? And if I want space, all I have to do is step outside.

Candlelight and comfort

Logic kicks in eventually, and I realize I’m not ready to walk away from everything forever. Living sparsely for a cluster of days at a time tempts me. I’m charmed by the plainness of our days when I know I can return home. Could I make the change to the degree of these other people? Could I live a home that’s several hundred square feet forever? Is a tiny house in our future?

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman