"Be Kind"

           For many years, I’d jot a list of goals or guidelines onto the final page of my journal. At first, the practicality of these reminders meant I rarely looked at them. “Pay off car” or “Save for a fence” didn’t need a weekly reminder. Gradually the notations gave way to little personal mottos like” Stay in today” or “Laugh every day.” This time around, I wrote the words “Be kind.”
            What a lovely concept, and how sad that I feel the need to prompt myself to give tolerance and understanding when dealing with other people. I often fall short of personal goals, and when I’m stressed and tired, my ability to react with thoughtfulness dwindles to a microscopic mite.
            “Be kind” holds nobleness. If I can dip into patience and sympathy as my initial response to an adverse situation or obnoxious encounter, perhaps I can diffuse negativity in my life.
            “Be kind” nurtures grade and gentleness. If furious frustration flames within me because of someone’s painful thoughtlessness, I should douse it with common courtesy, drown it in goodwill.
            “Be kind” smothers greed, hatred and cruelty under a blanket of consideration, tenderness, and decency. So by following this two word principal, my spirit gains contentment.
 

 

 Copyright 2015 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Ghost"

 Time pauses   

            when I dream of you   

                        Reversing—   

                                    pulling me back through years   

            until I hear   

                        your booming laughter ricochet     

            You appear before me   

            I embrace your solidity   

                        catch a whiff of Old Spice,   

                                    pipe tobacco   

            My tiny hand clutches yours   

            I am your child   

                       again   

                                    looking up into your deep brown eyes   

            You swing me up   

                        high onto your shoulders   

            I pat your chin—rough, unshaven   

                        Suddenly   

                                    We stand in my front yard   

                                                hugging goodbyes   

                                                promising another visit   

            Plans cancelled by death   

Time pauses   

            when I dream of you   

                        Reversing—   

                                    pulling me back through years   

            until I stand   

                        alone in the night   

            Suffering under the weight of grief   

            Conjuring you with my heartbreak   

                        your voice rises with enthusiasm   

                                    strengthens with determination     

            We argue politics   

            We agree to disagree   

                        again  

                                    looking into your deep brown eyes    

            You vanish   

                        leaving me sorrowful   

            Regretting silly squabbles   

                        Suddenly   

                                    I stand alone   

                                                searching for you     

                                                listening for your essence   

            Knowing you are gone forever  

 

"Flaming Liberal"

David Chapman-artist

 

Hair afire   

eyes ablaze      

bleeding heart worn on my sleeve        

believing in changing my world      

one deed at a time        

hands open in kindness    

soul accepting alternatives      

mind embracing the strength of diversity     

 

Hair afire     

eyes ablaze   

bleeding heart worn on my sleeve      

expecting chivalry and honor       

even among the thieves      

hands sustaining the destitute      

soul offering them hope       

mind implementing the strategies of success        

 

Hair afire     

eyes ablaze      

bleeding heart worn on my sleeve     

acknowledging the flaws     

within the order    

hands mending the tears     

soul nursing lost courage      

mind deciphering the woes of our world

      

Hair afire    

eyes ablaze  

bleeding heart worn on my sleeve     

ignoring taunts and insults     

from conformists      

hands reaching for harmony    

soul seeking tolerance     

mind exploring multiple paths for our destiny   

     

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"If You Can't Say Somethin' Nice"

          Remember Thumper’s Rule? My parents singsong of “If you can’t say somethin’ nice, say nothin’ at all” resounded through our household enough that the line from Bambi entrenched itself into my personal philosophy. I admit, this life paradigm proved difficult for me to follow. My too quick and sharp tongue often engages in slicing and dicing a victim before my better, gentler brain kicks into gear. If I make it through the day without saying something caustic or sarcastic, it’s a major victory for me.

            Whenever I start a new journal, I move first to the last page. I write down personal goals that I can easily flip to daily if necessary. My current journal’s final page carries this reminder:  Be generous. Be gracious. Be gentle. 

            During the last few years, I’ve begun to wish everyone adopted this mantra, or one similar to it. Wouldn’t it be grand if our culture sought generosity in how we treated our children, elderly, and impoverished? Imagine if all of us embraced kindness and courtesy as easily as we slip into derision and division; and gentleness grew naturally from each family and sprouted from neighborhood to city to country to world.

           Ugliness taints our daily news. A foul stench wafts through our society that makes me ashamed because I don’t know how to change things. If I contribute to the maliciousness, I mire myself in the hate.

          If I follow Thumper’s Rule, and say nothing at all, my silence implies agreement.

          I must balance my words and write my thoughts in ways that dispute what’s evil while not using vileness to defend humanity. The battle plays out daily in my mind. Be generous. Be gracious. Be gentle.

          Perhaps I need to add one more—Be resolute.

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman  

          

"First Impressions"

David, my husband, didn’t make a good first impression on my parents. As a matter of fact, he dressed so shabbily the first time he came over to their home in League City that I almost didn’t let him into the house.

His shoulder length light brown hair, streaked with blonde highlights from exposure to the summer sun, formed a tangled and windswept halo around his head. His t-shirt, yellowed with age, had no arms and had a chewed collar. I wondered if David had chewed the mangled fabric himself, or if one of his Westies had mistaken the shirt for a dead animal and mauled it.

I almost didn’t want to check out the rest of David’s attire, but my eyes shifted downward on their own accord. His shirt perfectly matched the condition of the bleached cut-offs he wore. Below the ragged hems of his shorts hung frayed front pockets. The back of his cut-offs had no pockets at all, and I fleetingly wondered where he kept his wallet and keys. However, a look at his hands answered that question. He carried a pair of relatively new Converse high tops in his hands, the wallet and keys stuffed inside. In horror, I looked at his bare feet.
 

As my mind wrapped itself around the image David would present to my parents, I heard my mother come up behind me and say, “Well, Lizzy, let him in!”

Over the years, David took quite a bit of teasing about his appearance on that first meeting with my parents. Being gracious and loving people, they set aside their misgivings and looked beyond the rags to find the richness of David’s character.


To this day, David always manages to find his favorite black and orange flower print shirt no matter how deeply I bury it in the back of his closet (I’m thankful he’s up-graded from the tattered white t-shirt). I do manage to keep him in respectable shorts most of the time, but I suspect he’s just humoring me. Although David does wear shoes now, he kicks them off as soon as he crosses the threshold!



David at 58! September 26, 2015

Copyright 2005 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

David didn't change his "look" for the first few years of marriage!

 

 

This is the way I think David would like to dress every day! Oh well . . .

I'll admit, I like garb, too!