"Wide Foot"

My hunt yesterday for a pair of nice shoes to wear to my 50th high school reunion almost ended with my head exploding like some cartoon character! Trying to keep within a tight budget, I’d already scoured Walmart and Target for simple black pumps in my very typical size 7W. For customer convince, my newly reshuffled Walmart actually clustered all of their Women’s Wide shoes together on one wall! Unfortunately, there were a million of each size but mine. My personal theory is that more women wear sevens than any other size. My broader, wider foot, though, throws an obstacle that limits my selections.  My heart aches for those long ago days of strolling confidently into Payless and emerging with pumps, sandals, and  lacy slip-ons in at least three colors. 

I decided to try finding shoes at Famous Footwear in The Forum. Heading straight to my size, I noted immediately that none of the boxes had W on the labels. Puzzled, I found an older sales clerk and asked for the location of their wide shoes.

“We don’t carry wide shoes,” she began. “What size are you?” I followed her as she began her condescending lecture that women are misled into believing they have wide feet and instead aren’t buying the correct style or toe shape. 

My jaw dropped (again like a cartoon character) as she swept up to my size and began pointing out pumps with pointed toes verses more square ones while claiming it was propaganda that women have wide feet. 

“Prove it!” I snapped. “Prove that I don’t have wide feet!”

She began sweeping through my size, handed me two selections and suggested I try them on while she continued her search. 

Of course, shoe after shoe after shoe WOULDN’T fit. I couldn’t even get my toes past several of her choices. 

After trying on half a dozen pairs, I stood up and snarled, “Don’t ever tell a customer that there’s no such thing as a wide foot. YOU ARE WRONG!” 

  I pushed down my pissed anger, worked it out by walking down to the SKECHERS shop where I’ve devotedly purchased my D’lites year after year. Since I’ve only picked up walking shoes there, I wasn’t certain if I’d find anything dressier for my event. 

When I glanced around, I did’t notice anything at first and asked a smiling young clerk if they had any wide shoes, not realizing that the large sign was right behind me! I couldn’t help but laugh at the wonderful acknowledgement that women who have wide feet do exist!

Although my selection for black pumps was limited, I shifted to a dressy pair of black sandals that had sparkly straps! Sparkle means fancy to my unique fashion sense. Before I left, I also found a pair of comfy black ankle high boots for this winter—all with WIDE proudly placed on the boxes!

Copyright 2026 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

"Five Dollar Fern"

2020

 
            A Mother’s Day gift many years ago of three five dollar ferns growing in hanging baskets has become a repot tradition to mark the passage of yet another year. This year, two of the ferns bump up into five gallon pots. The third fern, accidentally overwatered last year by someone helping with the garden, almost didn’t survive. Now significantly smaller, it remains in the same pot from two years ago with fresh soil, and the hope it’ll catch up to the others. In the past, they wintered inside in the family room nestled next to light from the sliding door. This last year found them in our small greenhouse until the temperatures dropped into the twenties.

2023

            As the years pass, I notice that while my ferns hold on resiliently, other plants and bushes in our yard and garden have fallen prey to unexpected ice storms and endlessly hot, dry summers. This week a prediction of 104° marks a mid-May day. How can this be? The ferns, sheltered under a tree and given extra water, won’t be harmed, but heat will scorch the new clover I’m trying to establish in the yards. I’ll make certain to place this year’s five dollar plants (Mexican Heather and Orange Lantana) into shaded areas with extra dollops of water added to their soil to make certain they don’t get scorched before they are established. Wish us luck!

2025

March 2026 

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

JCMG MUSIC's latest beat becomes the instrumental I'm listening to as I garden. A little "choir vibe" is always fun!

SUPPORT musicians and artists in 5 FREE ways:

LISTENING

LIKING

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“Hibiscus Surprise”

 

 

            A few years ago, I purchased a nearly dead hibiscus from the discount section at Walmart’s garden center. I’ve never tried to grow this plant and reasoned if I could repot it in a larger container with good soil, it would survive. I liked that it had a braid of branches that twined around and kept my fingers crossed that it would survive and bloom.
            Delight flooded me when the first buds formed on one of the small limbs, and I waited impatiently for the first flowers. Eventually a bright red blossom danced in breeze, and two other buds hinted at healthy growth. My attention focused on the luster of the leaves and the number of buds forming, but I didn’t note their hints of color. The best surprise of this woven bush arrived within a few days when different, lovely blooms glowed!  
            This year, my hibiscus continues to surprise us with three different, vibrant colors. I plan on shifting it into a larger pot soon. With care, it will continue to bring brightness to my garden for years to come.

 

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“What I Can Control"

 

            My mornings begin with what I can control. An alarm set for 7:15 AM to remind me to take medications. Rain or shine. Summer or winter. Weekday or weekend. I arise with a routine that sets the tone of my life. I write with pen and paper into my journal or sit before the blank page of my computer for the next hour, maybe two. Some days my thoughts get shared through a poem or personal narrative. Sometimes my private words stay tucked away. My choice on what to publish allows me an element of control.

            By 8:30 each morning, my day shifts outdoors. Rain or shine. Sumer or winter. Weekday or weekend. I section the yards and gardens into concrete, manageable goals that I can accomplish on my own. This spring and summer, I am purchasing new plants and flowers on Monday mornings. My tight budget means I hunt for neglected and reduced items in the garden sections of HEB, Walmart and Home Depot. Each morning I check for growth; and I rejoice with a new tendril, bud, or bloom. My care comforts me and lets me feel as though I have control when a plant grows enough to propagate into another pot.

            Yesterday, I trimmed the hedges out front in anticipation of a larger project—repainting the front porch, back porch and hot tub surround. I know the amount of work required as I’ve done this refresh on my own for years. I will tackle a known entity to allow myself a sense of purpose and control when so many other events in our world spin into chaos. My days with paint brush in hand will allow me to focus on what is right before me.

            I worry that I should do more. I should write more. I should shout loud and clear against this administration that destroys with no intention of rebuilding. I published the link to Project 2025 over and over again. I warned friends and family members month after month about the goals of these people to rape and pillage. Some, even now, smile with smugness as they state, “This is what I voted for!” I cannot control their hatred. I cannot contain their maliciousness.

I cannot change who and what they are. This realization wounds me every single day.        

            

        And so, my energy gets spent on the things I can control. My concentration stays on the people I can protect. My mornings begin at 7:15 AM . . .

   Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“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

"Meet June Cleaver"

 

        

          I watched Leave It to Beaver through the first runs, no TV Land for me. At the time, I saw nothing wrong with June Cleaver’s immaculate appearance each episode. After all, my own mother got up every day, put on make-up and styled her short hair. She never donned a pair of blue jeans, or wore flip flops or tennis shoes. Although she didn’t parade around the neighborhood with a string of pearls around her neck, she always dressed nicely. I don’t know if that’s just the way women presented themselves in public back then, or if it had more to do with the limitations of my mother’s wardrobe.

         As a woman working outside of the home, I’d skim out of panty hose and bra the moment the front door closed behind me. As I pulled off my bra, I pulled on a t-shirt. I never owned any cute tops to wear around the house.  Even in my slimmest days, I preferred shorts or pants with elastic around the waist. During the school year, my after work attire consisted of either the one pair of Levi’s I owned, cotton shorts from Wal-Mart, or sweat pants. The money I spent on clothing went to my work wardrobe. I rarely spent anything beyond the minimum to clothe myself for summers and after work.

         During this summer, I relied upon my old standbys. Most of my shorts and t-shirts date back four or five years. I figure I’ll get one more summer out of them. As the temperatures have dropped, I’ve rummaged through the closet and the old toy chest that rests at the foot of our bed. I have sweat pants that are obscenely faded and ragged, or I have my old “business casual” wardrobe from work—there is nothing in between.

         “You look like June Cleaver,” David commented the other day when he returned from work.

         I glanced in the mirror in disbelief. I wore brown tailored pants and a very nice print top. Without thinking, I’d pulled out the earrings and necklace I’d always worn with the outfit. The drill of throwing on at least a little mascara, blush, and lipstick remains part of my morning routine, and my new short haircut always looks “spiffy.”

         I laughed at David’s comment, but realized that I have stepped into the hausfrau role effortlessly. And, if I have to be compared to a TV mom, I’d rather it be June Cleaver than Rosanne!    

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Small Triumphs”

  

            These last few weeks add up to nothing super big or important happening. While some family and friends make life altering moves, I find myself happily relishing the smallest changes that don’t ripple to anyone else but myself.

            My first glory came when I finally found the perfect pair of sandals! My favorite sandals, from now long gone Payless Shoes, tore irreparably. I searched in frustration for replacements. Not too easy. Unlike most people, I cannot stand sandals that thong between my toes. Because I really walk in them, I need something with a back strap. I’ve tripped and twisted my knees enough over the years to know that I need a shoe that stays on my foot.

            As soon as stores started putting sandals out, I began my hunt. At this point in my life, a perfect pair of shoes can’t cost too much! One day, I swung by the Walmart racks. To be honest, I didn’t think I’d find anything. But then, there they were! Dangling from a hook, with crisscross straps over the top and a Velcro back strip to fasten them to my foot, the perfect shoe hung. I whipped off my heavy Skechers and slipped a piece of heaven onto my feet. Their unexpected cushiness coupled with the back strap’s security made my purchase decision an easy one. Added to their attraction? A $20.00 price tag!  Every week, I check out Walmart for these same shoes in other colors, but tan seems to be their only hue. I will purchase a couple more pair, even if they are exactly the same, because next summer they may not exist!

            My other small victory came when I mentioned that we need to find a bench for the front yard. Koi, now a wobbly fifteen-years-old, sometimes meanders to the mailbox to “check the mail” for us. During his younger years, he’d rush about marking bushes, edging onto our neighbor’s yards, and would dash back inside with a tempting call of “Cheese, cheese!” to lure him back. Although he still wants to do his daily venture out front, his slow pace means whoever watches him will be outside for a bit longer. A small bench would allow him to idle and dawdle.

            I started keeping watch for a bench to set under the Red Oak tree. We have plenty of places locally, plus a quick online search found us several possibilities that wouldn’t dint my budget. On a run to Academy, we spotted some lawn chairs on sale that we could also cluster under the tree. Going to the rear of the store to find more chairs, I spotted the perfect little blue metal bench. Comfortable, even without a cushion and something I can easily paint different colors if I want.  The best, small triumph? A marked down price of $30.00! I danced out of the store in excitement!   

 

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“March and Anxiety”

February's freeze 

Snow and ice in February

            I wrestled with Sunday Night Anxiety for many years when I taught. I paced the house snarling at anyone who crossed my field of vision. Some evenings I cried because I didn’t want to go to work the next day. Once I retired, this overblown unease retreated into the background, resurfacing for “special” occasions like doing income taxes or handling unexpected car malfunctions. Worry dogged me whenever Perfection’s crown slipped. Making simple mistakes drove me crazy, even when no one else knew about my blunder.

            Waltzing with worry meant I weighed my thought processes constantly whenever stress strode into my day. With COVID-19 looming daily in the background, I meticulously measured my “Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!” warnings. By March of 2021, getting all of us vaccinated motived my days. I strategized an attack that resulted in booking appointments for both my husband and me within the first days of our eligibility. Beginning midnight of the designated date, I rotated through Walgreens, CVS, Walmart, HEB, and the UT Health sites in fifteen minute intervals. This technique worked again the next week when my son’s age group gained eligibility. By the end of March, all three of us had received the first shot of Pfizer.

            Other Life ripples resolved during March, too. Our 2019 income taxes, buried under a pile of unprocessed forms at the IRS, finally got processed. Our rough-running car came out of its repair running like new. Our yard and gardens, frozen into submission in February, reemerged with subtle hope.

March's Hope

Rebirth and Regrowth

 

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"The Latest Word"

            Only recently did I realize the reason I barely post in my blog anymore. When I inherited my son’s iBook, it came equipped with TextEdit, a wimpy little word processing program that left me feeling dissatisfied and unfulfilled every time I sat down to type. I hated it so much that I barely explored the options it offered. I needed Word for my words.

            Some days, while at work, I’d try to whip out a brief life observation in Word and mail it to myself to post in my blog later. I slipped back to writing drafts of poems in my Captain America spiral, which I’d quickly transcribe during my lunch break. I felt constricted. Access to Microsoft Word during work hours pulled me away from the late night mental meanderings I indulged in when I had my old laptop. How could I linger over the turn of a phrase when my time narrowed down to fifteen free minutes each day?

            A few days ago, my frustration had me pulling out my ancient HP and setting it up on the kitchen desk. Since it sat idle for more than a year, I’d forgotten my password! Usually, I restrict myself to several passwords with personal-to-me variations. For some reason, none of my typical ones worked. I went through the process of changing to a new one and eventually fired up my old machine. Twenty million updates later, I finally had access to Word!

            But my delight died rapidly when I remembered part of the reason I’d abandoned the laptop was because it heated up and shut down. I sent my husband and son in search of a fan similar to the one I once used, but they called in defeat after searching several local stores.

            “Do you want a copy of Word?” my son asked.

            “I thought it was only subscription,” I answered. “I really don’t want to do that right now.”

            “There’s a copy we can buy right here at Walmart. Do you want it?”

            I didn’t even ask how much!

           

            My main writing project, a novel I set aside eighteen months ago that needs final tweaking before I can begin the last step towards e-publishing, took priority over a new blog entry. Having Word at my fingertips meant that fine-tuning became effortless. I reached my first goal within a few hours on Saturday. I will probably finish editing it this week. I haven’t investigated all of the lovely options available within this Office suite. That’s for another morning or a restless night.

This morning I’ve pampered myself with a blank page in Word. I have found my bliss.

Copyright 2017 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman