“Propagation Progress"

Swedish Ivy growing strong!

 

            Two weeks ago, I pinched back Swedish Ivy, Pothos and jade to add to my outdoor plants. The Swedish Ivy, floating in a mason jar doused daily with morning light, grew quickly. I moved it yesterday into its own hanging basket. As the “momma” plant’s growth during the same period dangled new tendrils, I harvested them for another round of rooting in water.
            My Pothos sits on the dining room table where I check it daily for roots to signal they need transplanting into soil. I predict these cuttings will need into next week before they get their own pot. Grandmother’s crystal vase, which I use constantly for propagating Pothos, will receive a new clipping after I transfer its Pothos into soil today.
            The jade, pinched back and allowed to form a callus, sits outside already in tiny new pots. Establishing these transplants takes more time as jade has a slow growing attitude. However, my original plants show healthy progress with new, small promising buds.

Slow growing jade shows progress!

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Family Gatherings"

          My siblings and I talk weekly. The habit, established years ago when you paid for a long distance phone call by the minute, resists change. I usually contact my sister during the week. We chat about family and friends. Although each of us have only met the other’s friends a few times, over the years the life events of these people weave into our conversations. We spend time discussing world events and allergy seasons. We share with one another the grind of our jobs (both retired teachers who now substitute to keep out of trouble.) My sister lives in a small Texas town and participates in her church, political party events, and the “this-n-that activities” of her community. We divide our worries and our woes and multiply our joys. These phone calls ebb and flow with a life of their own. Sometimes they last only a few minutes. Other days we drain our phone batteries.

          In contrast, talks with my brother have slipped into such predictability that variations bring unexpected pleasure. I call my brother during the weekend. We enjoy a little contest on who will call first on Saturday without it being too early. These tête-à-têtes time out to fifteen minutes, give or take. My brother loves following weather, so a hurricane in the Atlantic will swirl us into a longer conversation. If I need to download a problem, he offers a sympathetic and non-judgmental ear. If he faces car trouble or a plumbing problem, we’ll figure out a way to fix the situation. As he is single, he sometimes needs another pair of hands to handle household challenges, but I know he’ll never ask for help. Every few months, I suggest that I visit. Sometimes my sister will rendezvous with us. Sometimes my husband and son will make the trip with me. All of us feel it’s important to help my brother maintain the family home.

          Getting to spend weekends or holidays with my siblings always proves a challenge. My sister and brother-in-law spread their holidays in several directions:  their son, daughter-in-law and grandkids; my brother-in-laws siblings; my brother; and my family. Many holiday choices are dictated by my brother’s work hours. If he has consecutive days off, he’ll head for San Antonio. Often times, he only gets a single day at Thanksgiving or Christmas, and so he’ll make the shorter two hour drive to my sister’s house. It isn’t unusual for them to have Stouffer’s Lasagna as a Thanksgiving meal. When my brother has more days off and decides to come to San Antonio, we celebrate the event will special holiday treats and trimmings.

          Over the last few years, my sister and her husband have tied themselves to their town because of responsibilities for one of their community obligations. My brother-in-law runs the local KC hall, and someone almost always uses it on Thanksgiving. His responsibilities include inspecting the hall after the event. This year, my sister convinced him to delegate some of his duties. She called yesterday with the wonderful news that, although they wouldn’t make it up for Thanksgiving Day, they’d arrive on Friday morning! My nephew and his wife and kids have other plans, and so they won’t be adding to our holiday, but we like that different branches on our family tree begin their traditions with family and friends.

          During this week, television sitcoms revel in the mishaps and mayhem of dysfunctional families gathering for Thanksgiving. I appreciate the humor mixed within the discord, but feel especially blessed that our holiday will embrace a laidback air of “adulting” with shopping during the day and nice dinners and drinks in the evenings. 

Copyright 2016 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

"The Ride"

 http://www.seattlepi.com/ The World's Steepest Roller Coaster   

We stand together, our eyes fixated on the ride ahead     

The interminable line snakes before us, but we enter anyway     

Attracted by the lure of excitement and risk     

Waiting with false patience for our future,     

we sing, tell stories, people watch—       

Pushing aside insecurities and fears with jokes         

One step forward, one step forward, one step forward     

until we stand at the gateway     

We feel the ground tremor, hear the hiss of breaks     

Too late to turn back now, too late for second thoughts     

The harness clamps us into space     

bare feet dangle, trying to find purchase in the sky     

We trust technology,     

shove aside panic; focus upon anticipation and thrill     

Velocity throws us headlong     

We twist, turn—upside down, sideways, backwards     

Screams and laughter bend with the momentum     

Our muscles constrict in tension     

Our stomachs slide into our throats     

Our heads explode with pressure        

But there’s no getting off this ride     

We have to see it through     

Eyes clenched tightly closed while fingers grip the bars     

we survive the first onslaught and prepare for the second     

Uncontrollable laughter bubbles out—      

floats on the manufactured winds of speed     

Peaking eyes open, we see the end is near     

Triumph whoops     

Fists punch air     

Teasing each other over our doubts,     

we regain footing on the platform       

where we dance with victory,     

we celebrate our survival     

Overlooking headaches and nausea,     

we look for the entrance of the next ride     

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman