“My Christmas Wish List”

           
            Last year, I set my heart on the best Christmas gift for me—bins to reorganize all of our holiday decorations! It took me weeks to move Easter, Halloween, Fall, and Christmas items into the sturdy, stackable boxes. Every time I step into our garage I feel pride that our oldest, most delicate pieces reside in safety.
            This year, I’m continuing my request for Christmas to be either small, or practical, or both. Over this last year, the artists residing in our home produced new paintings, sculpts, and odds-n-ends that required reorganizing our wall art and finding spots on existing shelves while purchasing a few new small pieces of furniture. Guests to our home “ooohh” and “aaahh” softly over every piece as they move from room to room. To be frank, I’ve felt a little envy that not a single room contained my own photography!
            My Christmas gift request became simple. I want my own creative elements on display, too! I spent days selecting just the right pictures to print. When shopping, I suggest swinging by Hobby Lobby, Michaels, At Home, Target and Walmart to search for perfect frames that still keep within our holiday budget.
            During this time, my husband mentioned to us that he’s been looking for a small color printer and suggested that would be the perfect gift for him this year. A little research and luck added and Epson to his work area last weekend. One quick color test, and we knew putting out the various print sizes I desired would take only minutes!  
            Once I remembered the wicker chest in our bedroom contained old picture frames, we shifted into our reuse and refurbish mode. A quick spray of fast drying black paint slicked some old wooden frames into a more modern look. Within a few hours, a bouquet of flowers adorned the walls between the kitchen and dining room. For the moment, I have room for another row of images on one side, and another section designated for my work.
            That means, I need to make certain to use this next year in search of small adventures with my ever reliable Cannon Rebel T1! What a wonderful way to enter this next year—spotting the wonders of nature, capturing just the right shot, and displaying it at home.
 

New photos displayed!

Future display area!!

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman  

"Springboards"

         When I taught my students writing, coming up with ideas on a topic generated by some “person” out in Test World became a challenge. Eventually, I drilled my students with timed writings. With this strategy, they had five minutes to write on a topic I randomly selected. They had to write the entire five minutes. When the timer sounded, they stopped writing, but not a second before then. At that point, the kids would count up their words and chart the number onto a personal graph they kept at the back of their journals. My goal to create a way for students to overcome the blank page quickly became a favorite activity in class.

         The springboards I used varied tremendously over the years. I spent hours culling quotations from favorite authors, psychologists, scientists, and philosophers. I saw possibilities in song lyrics, comic strips, and scripts from television or movies. Current events always opened doors to possible topics. As each class built its own private history, sometimes an inside joke or allusion fostered different spins on topics.

         I grew to view everything as a possible way to generate ideas for my students. A bag of buttons found at Hobby Lobby meant each student received a “special” button. I’d walk around the room, randomly placing a button on each desk.

         “You are this button. What is your story? How did you end up on this desk? What is your life like?”

         Another time, I’d pull laminated posters out, pair my students off, and have them spend five minutes discussing the picture or painting. Talking about the picture first helped my other language students verbalize their descriptions and always paid off once they started writing. After a short chat, the kids would write, trying to come up with something about the art that would impress their partner.

         Music lyrics (and the songs themselves) generated another avenue for writing springboards. I’d give the kids a few minutes to read through a song, and then I’d play the song in a repetitious loop while my students wrote something about the piece. Some students would focus on a specific line, or even a word. Others created writing on the lyric’s theme. Still others responded to the memory the song triggered. I never tired of the differences that surfaced with this type of assignment. Variety made grading so much easier, too!

         Every trip to Target, Wal-Mart, Hobby Lobby and Garden Ridge Pottery meant a quick search for writing springboards. Little silk butterflies, mini pompoms, jingle bells, and goo-goo eyes all became topic generators. I’d fill film canisters with different herbs and spices. Sniff, taste and write! Often, my students surprised me by their limited experiences with different things. A bag of colorful pipe cleaners led to a wonderful discussion about pipes, the smell of pipe tobacco, and my own memories of my father’s cherry blend.

         Now that I spend part of my day as an author, I find myself tapping into a well of springboards. I jot down a list of possibilities in a spiral that’s never too far from reach. So far, I haven’t run dry on topic ideas, but when that happens, I’ll peruse the aisles of my favorite craft store, find a musical group I’ve never listened to, or take a taste of something totally new.  

Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“One Step Forward. Two . . .”

 

            Many months have passed since my last musings. I often think, “I need to write about this” or “Maybe I should record THAT”. Yet nothing propels me to my keyboard. The more time passes, the more often I self-censor ideas. “This really isn’t my story” pushes me into stepping away from the commentary swirling around in my brain.

            Before Christmas, we traveled to my sister’s home for an extremely small family gift exchange. My husband and I joined my sister, brother-in-law, and brother for one brief afternoon. As all of us felt well, no one did any COVID-19 testing. Within the first hour of our visit, my brother asked if there were any allergens in the air. His eyes started burning, and he asked for a hot cub of tea to ease his throat that suddenly had a tickle. His symptoms, absent when he joined our gathering, manifested quickly but looked like his typical allergy reaction to something in the air. We spent less than five hours together, with an open window close by, but that’s all it took for me to pick up the virus and eventually pass it on to my own small household. Fortunately, all of us are vaccinated and boosted. After a few days of misery, we all recovered well enough to return to our usual daily routines.

            For me, that meant increasing my walking goals. In June of 2020, I slipped while mopping the floor and slightly twisted my left knee. I gave it little thought as I continued with my daily walks through our neighborhood, until one morning when I took one step too many, heard a pop, and stepped into excruciating pain. RICE for seventy-two hours, plus another seventy-two using heat saved my knee. When my doctor’s PA examined it around day ten, she pronounced it on the road to recovery and gave me exercises to utilize to regain strength and motion. She said my knee definitely had arthritis in it, told me to “be careful” in my rehab and remember that it could happen again.

            Recovery crawled at a slow and steady pace. At first, I couldn’t even walk my entire back yard to water it without giving my knee a break. By the fall, I could walk to the corner of our street and back. I changed doctors and the goal of walking thirty minutes a day became my new focus. January of 2022 found my pace so slow that I’d drive to our park, hit the smooth sidewalks there for an entire hour. By June, I could walk to the park from our house. My pace picked up, too. I began walking different areas of our neighborhood. The hardest route, walking up “Suicide Hill” became my choice for once a week. My knee handled these challenges without a complaint!

            Moving into this January, I fixated on the idea of going up that steep incline for an entire week without shifting to a different direction. On day seven, I felt triumphant! Up the hill in record time, around the block to hit the hill by the elementary school, and then pushing the final stretch to home all in my half-hour goal. Approaching our home, I noticed our neighbor had removed all of the leaves from the front of his house. I dashed inside, grabbed a broom, and cleared the leaves from our front, too, forgetting that the motion that first injured my left knee was the side-to-side sweep of a mop.

            By the afternoon, my entire right leg muscles screamed for a hot soak in the tub followed by a slathering of Bengay Maximum. The next morning my leg didn’t scream, but I decided to spend my thirty minutes spinning on the recumbent bike we purchased just before Christmas. No problems. On Friday morning, with temperatures dipping pretty cold, I decided another round on the bike would keep me at my exercise goal. No problem with my right leg muscles at all.

            We decided to eat lunch out, walk over to the gym to cancel our membership, and run more errands. Heading toward Target, I felt my pace slow down as we entered the store. No pain or discomfort anywhere. I simply couldn’t keep up with my husband and son. Swinging to Hobby Lobby to spend a gift card, my steps slowed even more. Still, nothing hurt. I just shifted into a lower gear as we walked.

            Once home, I headed to our bedroom to put some mail into the drawer and took ONE STEP TOO MANY.

            This time, my right knee popped loudly with pain firing fiercely! Our bed, a couple of steps behind me became unreachable without help. I called out for aid. My husband and son guided me into bed, removed my shoes, and propped up pillows. We began RICE immediately. This time, our quick action means my right knee’s recovering at a faster pace. I’m not going to be heading up “Suicide Hill” anytime soon, but I’m able to move around the house pain free today!  

Shoes waiting for my next walk!

 

 

Copyright 2023 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

“Preaching or Teaching?”

 

            Over the last few years, the zealous beliefs of many of my friends means I find myself scratching my head in bewilderment and mumbling, “Really???” And then I tend to pull back, step aside, and look at not only what someone has said on any given day, but at how that person lives.

            The “preachers” I shift into the column of “grain of salt” because I doubt their sincerity. They spend so much time proclaiming their views and sermonizing from their hilltops that they rarely recognize their hypocrisy. This is the woman who posts a daily devotional on her status up-date on Facebook but whose own relatives no longer speak to her. This is the man that proclaims his undying devotion to his faith while he lies to his co-workers and steals from his company. This is the woman who asks friends to pray for her or her family because they need a new car or money for a vacation. These are the people who always ask for more while they give less. And they never see the flaws within themselves while they function by spreading fear and misinformation.        

            I find myself avoiding this type of person more and more. At a younger age, I’d try to engage someone like this in a debate of ideas, but time and experience have taught me that extremists yell loudly and insult freely—both things I like to avoid in my milder middle age.

            I have other friends who have deep and profound faith. Not all of them believe in the same religious doctrines, and some don’t believe in any religion at all; yet they embrace a spirituality that cultivates certainty and calmness. This is the woman who shares her beliefs not because she’s expecting to convert anyone, but because she allows friends to see her flaws within her life in the hope that others will find strength by her example. This is the man who questions the canons of his childhood as he survives a divorce and learns to redefine himself and his role as a single parent. His quest takes him onto a different path and leads him to a new creed. This is the woman who spent her childhood and early adult years mired in a religion that piled guilt upon her for every wrong thought or deed. She shares her journey for finding peace within her heart—and passing it on to others. These are the “teachers” in my life.

            And although I don’t embrace the same beliefs as these friends, I never feel their criticism. They never react to me with hostility. They don’t expect me to change who I am or what I believe to match their viewpoints. They don’t define our relationship by forcing me to fit into their round holes.

            So I find myself puzzling over these two types of believers—the Preachers and the Teachers. Both types profess great faith and use their religions to guide their daily lives. Yet, one grates upon me until I sometimes feel raw and bleeding. With the other, I see the nurturing that comes from their convictions. I understand the reasons behind their need to believe because it makes them better people.

 

Copyright 2014 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Springboards”

         When I taught my students writing, coming up with ideas on a topic generated by some “person” out in Test World became a challenge. Eventually, I drilled my students with timed writings. With this strategy, they had five minutes to write on a topic I randomly selected. They had to write the entire five minutes. When the timer sounded, they stopped writing, but not a second before then. At that point, the kids would count up their words and chart the number onto a personal graph they kept at the back of their journals. My goal to create a way for students to overcome the blank page quickly became a favorite activity in class.

         The springboards I used varied tremendously over the years. I spent hours culling quotations from favorite authors, psychologists, scientists, and philosophers. I saw possibilities in song lyrics, comic strips, and scripts from television or movies. Current events always opened doors to possible topics. As each class built its own private history, sometimes an inside joke or allusion fostered different spins on topics.

         I grew to view everything as a possible way to generate ideas for my students. A bag of buttons found at Hobby Lobby meant each student received a “special” button. I’d walk around the room, randomly placing a button on each desk.

         “You are this button. What is your story? How did you end up on this desk? What is your life like?”

         Another time, I’d pull laminated posters out, pair my students off, and have them spend five minutes discussing the picture or painting. Talking about the picture first helped my other language students verbalize their descriptions and always paid off once they started writing. After a short chat, the kids would write, trying to come up with something about the art that would impress their partner.

         Music lyrics (and the songs themselves) generated another avenue for writing springboards. I’d give the kids a few minutes to read through a song, and then I’d play the song in a repetitious loop while my students wrote something about the piece. Some students would focus on a specific line, or even a word. Others created writing on the lyric’s theme. Still others responded to the memory the song triggered. I never tired of the differences that surfaced with this type of assignment. Variety made grading so much easier, too!

         Every trip to Target, Wal-Mart, Hobby Lobby and Garden Ridge Pottery meant a quick search for writing springboards. Little silk butterflies, mini pompoms, jingle bells, and goo-goo eyes all became topic generators. I’d fill film canisters with different herbs and spices. Sniff, taste and write! Often, my students surprised me by their limited experiences with different things. A bag of colorful pipe cleaners led to a wonderful discussion about pipes, the smell of pipe tobacco, and my own memories of my father’s cherry blend.

         Now that I spend part of my day as an author, I find myself tapping into a well of springboards. I jot down a list of possibilities in a spiral that’s never too far from reach. So far, I haven’t run dry on topic ideas, but when that happens, I’ll peruse the aisles of my favorite craft store, find a musical group I’ve never listened to, or take a taste of something totally new.  

Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman