"273 Days"

 

 

            May 2020 found me with a knee injury after I did a slip-n-slide and to the ground dive while mopping the kitchen floor. I bounced up from the twist and fall, cleaned up the bucket of water slopped everywhere, and continued on with my routines for several days. I washed the cars. I raked leaves. I walked a thirty minutes a day up and down our hilly neighborhood. During one of those strolls, my left knee snapped in protest. I kept my weight off of it, iced it for days, wrapped it for compression, raised it up “just so” and had it examined by my doctor’s PA two weeks later. She checked it thoroughly; approved of the leg brace I wore into the appointment, and gave me slow, specific rehabilitation guidelines that I followed obsessively.

            My goal, to get back onto my feet again, took months of incrementally pushing my knee forward. Once it was totally back to pain free movement, I returned to life pre-knee injury. Eventually, my daily walk included a hike up the steepest hill in our neighborhood. My self-challenge, to scale the slope five days in a row, proved my downfall when my other knee fizzled out midway up the hill. By the time I hobbled home, my right knee doubled its size, swollen and painful. RICE again for almost two weeks, and then my new doctor checked my right knee. He listened to how I’d rehabbed my left knee and approved of my methodology. Again, the process to regain my knee’s usage without pain took many months with daily goals adjusting gradually. At first, I couldn’t exercise every day without my knee puffing up or nagging me with a hint of discomfort. I would alternate using the recumbent bike with short walks at the park. Eventually, I rehabbed well enough to walk to our park and home again every single day.

            Biking and walking, walking and biking through my days. During the last month, I’ve added dancing to my routine. Dancing stresses knees differently, and I waited a long time to add it back into my life. Waking up today, I checked my exercise progress on my Fitness read-out: 273 days under my Longest Move Streak!

            My challenge for this next year (other than remembering to don my watch) will include dancing more to favorite songs and walking longer distances. Days on the bike, I can nudge the resistance up to reach a new goal.

 

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman    

"Going to Seed"

 

            We don’t mow our yard every week, and when we do cut the grass, we have our mower set to the highest level possible. Unlike our neighbors who labor continually in their yards, we take a careless approach to the lawn itself.
            We let our grass go to seed.
            All of the negative connotations of neglect seem insignificant because we’ve learned that grasses need to reseed. The long drought we’ve seen over these last couple of years means patches of our lawns have shriveled up. With this year’s rain comes relief, and the only way to reestablish section of our yard is to let it go to seed.
            I love walking through dew drenched grass in the mornings as I check the gardens and pond. The gossamer fibers tickle my feet. Later in the day, sunlight polarizes the hue of the grass, crisping the greens into sharpness. By evening, a slight breeze kicks up, and the seedy fingers of grass hula dance.
 
Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
           

 
 

"Some Days"

 

            Some days, I long to write. My mind yearns to sit with pen clenched in fingers as I translate all the visions in my head into images spilling across the page. Or I spend endless hours with my laptop, creating new worlds peopled by my limitless imagination. I focus on a single meaning and play with a multitude of words until I find just the right combination of syllable. I fill page after page with my heart and soul, and still find more to say. I feel free. I feel young. I feel weightless. I am possibilities.

            Some days, I long to sing. I throw back my head and belt out a song with rapturous abandon. I scale through octaves like a diva. My voice becomes a mockingbird that imitates any singer my spirit desires. I croon lullabies and wail the blues. I feel powerful. I feel bold. I feel ecstasy. I am possibilities.



Belly Dancer by David Chapman

             Some days, I long to dance. I pirouette across the kitchen as I head out the door. I step-shuffle-step-step to the car. I shimmy as I drive to the store. In the parking lot, I perform perfect fan kicks over the grocery cart before I belly dance down the aisles. I feel daring. I feel vivacious. I feel sexy. I am possibilities!

Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Knees”

            In high school, I danced on the drill team during half-times. Our sadistic sponsor forced stretching and exercising workouts on us that make today’s PT specialists fume over the casual negligence of our young bodies. Vivid memories haunt me of the hard gym floor pressing into my chest as my partner sat on my back to force my muscles to stretch, stretch, and stretch. One position required us to fold back our knee on the floor, place the other leg straight ahead, and roll down with hands extended to touch our chests to the extended leg. Then we’d shift to the bended knee to pressure it into the ground. If the stretch wasn’t low enough, my partner pushed against my lower back, or sometimes even sat on me to hold me in place.

            No matter what injuries my knees sustained in adulthood, like falling down stairs at work, or slipping and twisting while mopping the kitchen floor, I know every twinge in my knees as I’ve aged began with this torture rendered in high school.

            In 2020, my abused left knee gave out while I was walking and required extremely slow, painstaking rehabilitation that I did following a PAs instructions. I never needed steroid shots. Tylenol Arthritis took care of my pain. My life changed dramatically as I let my knee recover. At first I couldn’t walk around our backyard without stopping. Stairs became a one-step-at-a-time process. After months, I returned to walking to the park. Within a year, I challenged myself with treks up “Suicide Hill” in our neighborhood. Then, I blew out my right knee by a combination of walking and raking leaves. Back to slow and steady rehab.

            During the time of my second knee recovery, we decided to get a stationary exercise bike. With my left knee, I found getting on the bike at the gym provided a safe way to get my heart rate up while not stressing my knees. Purchasing our own bike put my therapy steps away and removed the barriers of gym clothes and gym hours. At first, my knees protested even on the lowest resistance settings and with only fifteen minutes of riding. Now they sing through thirty minutes daily without nagging at me.

            My relationship with the bike is a love/hate one. I dread the thirty minute spin, but love that I can now walk up and down stairs effortlessly. I resent the push against the pedals, but enjoy the satisfaction of sweat. I resent the routine, but understand the need. I envision myself at age 80 with my resistance up and my heartrate low! 

   

 

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

             

"Broadway Musicals"

 From Sabrina (1995)

Linus Larrabee: And I want tickets to whatever Broadway show nobody can get tickets to.
[Mack looks inquisitively at him]
Linus Larrabee: I know, I seldom go to the theatre.
Mack: Seldom?
Linus Larrabee: So, I'm not a theatre buff.
Mack: Buff? The most difficult tickets to get will be for a Broadway musical.
Linus Larrabee: [distractedly] Okay.
Mack: That means that the performers will periodically dance about and burst into song.

    I sit before a blank computer screen, listening to “OOOOOOOOO—klahoma” trill from the television in the family room. My mind’s eye displays cowboys jumping from the front porch, grabbing a beautiful partner, and swirling around until the final “okay!” My head bobs to the beat, my toes tap out the rhythm, and my torso sways in my swivel desk chair as song fills the air.

         

          I love musicals. All of them. Every year, I promise myself that we’ll get season tickets for the shows that come to San Antonio, and every year something happens to prevent the purchase. While I’ve only seen a couple of live shows, I know I’d never be disappointed by any performance.

         Sometimes I like to imagine real life as a musical. What dance choreography would I break into as I sashay through my chores? I see the perfect fan kick arcing over the washer, a step-ball-change leap through the kitchen with a final pirouette en dedans as I dust a ceiling fan.  

         My imagination runs wild with a terrific musical number dancing and singing up and down the aisles of HEB. As I move through each lane, more and more shoppers join in as we rumba by the dog food and boogie by the bagels. I belt out a tribute to avocados and croon a love song to Ben & Jerry’s. The entire number ends with a Rockette style chorus line as I twirl out the door and over to my car where a line of tapping bagboys load my groceries to trumpeting fanfare.

         While Linus Larrabee may not approve of people who “periodically dance about and burst into song,” I think I would love to live such a life!

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

        

“Too Fast

 

            Lesson learned over the past few days: Knee recovery just took a major hit.

 

            For three consecutive days, I pedaled on the recumbent bike or danced around the house with uninhibited glee. I completed thirty minutes of exercise nirvana that set my heartrate high and left my skin glistening with satisfactory perspiration. My bebopper body boogied from room-to-room with abandon. And although the bike’s resistance level stayed on ONE, I cycled for thirty minutes without pause.

            Three days of triumph plummeted to dismay yesterday when I attempted to walk into the backyard to start my gardening goals. My pesky right knee shot a brief stab of pain just under the cap. I looked down, noticed puffiness, and altered my yardwork plans immediately.

            A return to a reclining repose, elevation with pillows, and ice packs administered hourly means this morning my leg looks normal. I’m tempted to resume yesterday’s plans of hours spent raking leaves, trimming dead limbs, and fertilizing the gardens. Then I remember that my knee’s warning needs to shift my focus to slowing down for another day.

            I still have a difficult time realizing that altering my daily schedule impacts no one but me! Being fully retired means gardening really can wait for tomorrow. Wednesday wrestling with wash? I can shift the chore to any weekday without causing a rift in Time.

            Instead of pushing my knee into action today, I plan on watching old episodes of Monk as I participate in another round of rest and recline. Consecutive days of exercise may shift into the future. Whenever I chance exerting my knee again, I’ll keep in mind that I did too much too fast.

Slow and steady will really win this race!

 

Copyright 2023 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

                 

 

 

“Coming Late to Tech”

 

            While everyone around me updated phones with each configuration of the devices, I held on to my iPhone 4 with tight resolution because it still worked. The more phones cost, the more I convinced myself that I could wait. My trusty iPhone 4 never failed me, but in 2021 my son convinced me that it was time to rejoin the world with newer tech. I welcomed an iPhone SE that I basically used exactly like my old, limited phone—calls to my family, texts to friends and family, and very few apps all neatly arranged into categories like SOCIAL, PRODUCTIVITY, or ENTERTAINMENT. Basically, I hummed along the same phone usage as I had for the previous dozen years, except for the camera. I fell in love the convenience of having a decent camera that fit in my pocket or purse.

            Fortunately, my son pushes me onto new tech that forces me to stretch into different areas. For last Christmas, he purchased a pair of AirPods for my long neighborhood walks, which I took with nature as my background beat. Each morning, I’d select from YouTube favorite musicians that put pep into my pace. He also gifted me with an iWatch 9.3.1 for my birthday.

            Learning how to use the watch proved more of a challenge. On one of my first walks, I unknowingly swiped at or tapped onto the little green walking person and accidentally recorded that walk with all this wonderful data. When I tried to replicate gathering the information for my walk the next day, the tech defeated me. Once I arrived home, with watch in hand, I farted around until I saw the option for LIST. 

            “I love lists,” I thought. Selecting that option made all of those small icons that crowed my watch face change into a respectable and manageable list that let me discover WORKOUT. Dancing around the bedroom with excitement, I saw the option for “Outdoor Walk” and selected it. I never ventured beyond that choice.

            Another overworked knee (too many times up the steepest neighborhood hill accompanied by sweeping leaves from the house front) meant nursing the injury and not returning to my daily walks. Our family Christmas gift, an exercise bike, came to the rescue to help me get back into healthy knee shape. The first time on it, I wore my watch and left it on the “Outdoor Walk” option. I felt pretty silly when I scrolled further down the options and found both “Cycle” choices. Yesterday, though, I ventured down the choices on my WORKOUT option and discovered “Dance”.

            With AirPods in place and Nickelback blasting, I danced from room to room for thirty minutes! I pulled into muscle memory for old drill team routines. 3 Doors Down and I swirled and pumped. Evanescence accompanied me though adding small weights to my spins and twirls.

            This new tech allows me to have accountability for my exercise goals, but it also adds an element of fun. I don’t know what today will bring, but I fill thankful that this new tech becomes part of my daily routine.

 

Copyright 2023 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

"Rain Dance"

rain dancing on a hot July evening       

just before sunset the sky opened       

tinsel streaks sparkling       

we dashed outside with devilish grins        

heads thrown back in supplication       

arms akimbo       

knees bent like chickens’ legs      

an ancient dance of guffaws and belly laughs        

twirling in the rain with mouths open     

hearts wide       

Copyright 1999 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman