"The List"

 

            I keep a list of possible writing topics on the front of pages of a spiral notebook. I draft my poetry, personal narratives, and short stories on the remaining pages. When the papers become full of scratched out revisions, I move onto a new spiral. And I transfer the topic list, adding new ideas and deleting the ones that I’ve already tackled.

            My brainstorming list changes gradually. With some notions, I plan to write a story—only to have it evolve into a poem. I’ll mentally outline one concept into a poem, and when I sit down to write a nice narrative develops. A few of my subjects have transferred from spiral to spiral over a couple of years. Uncertain on how to approach these themes, I simply keep them on the list in the hopes that one day my muse will guide me through a dog’s life or how to walk away from lifelong dreams.

            When I cross through an issue on my list, satisfaction fills me. That bold stroke means I’ve accomplished another goal within my writing. Many of my friends who write strive for perfection within each creation. They struggle laboriously over word nuances and prefer to place within their blogs pieces approaching perfection. I admire their tremendous skill as they weave   texts together with flawlessness. My purpose for sharing my writing, though, doesn’t center around hewing brilliance out of a rough diamond, but instead focuses upon practice, practice, practice.

 

 

            Today, I’m pulling out a pretty purple spiral purchased at a sale at Target last week. I will sit down with my favorite pen in hand and transfer my list, and possible add a few more ideas into the mix.  

Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Stay In Today"

          In the past, I loved my ability to plan ahead. Every week at work, I’d prepare a list of goals:  Grade essays (two class sets per day), file student work, call dj for dance, reorganize closet. My list making continued at home. I memorized the grocery store, making my list in order so I could swing through the aisles at warp speed. I jotted down goals for paying off debts and objectives for dropping weight. I projected into the future with a six month, one year, and five year plan. Sometimes, with my vision so focused upon tomorrow, I think I missed some of the delights of the present.

         The turn my life has taken this last fifteen months means I’ve faced the challenge of changing my mindset. Each morning I write down the date in my journal, and then my major goal:  STAY IN TODAY.

         On the surface, this seems a simple target, but for me it’s horrendously difficult. On the days I do well, I find I have infinite patience. I don’t pressure myself under the weight of all of the unknowns of tomorrow. Instead, I focus on stripping the beds, flipping Mom’s pancakes, brushing the dogs’ teeth, and planning dinner. I look at the bills and pay whatever’s in the stack and avoid the worry about what may destroy our budget six months down the road. I doggedly place one foot in front of the other and give myself a mental shake whenever I start to slip beyond today

         When I successfully STAY IN TODAY, I relax. I take a moment to listen to bird call or appreciate the sun as it dapples the back yard. I linger over words when I write. I laugh aloud at Everybody Loves Raymond even if I’ve seen the episode one-hundred times because my mother giggles the antics of Ray. I remember to say, “I love you” and “Thank you” and to cherish the unending support I get from my husband.

         Old habits, though, break down slowly. Last night my mind flitted into tomorrow’s possibilities, and insomnia hit. I’d forgotten that when I delve into “what ifs” I find sleep difficult. My imagination created scenarios of events unfolding over which I’ve limited control. It wove tension into my stomach and pounded uncertainty into my head. I found myself wondering why my inventiveness at night turns to the darkest paths of pessimism. Eventually, I envisioned all of the troubles that may loom ahead, and one-by-one I placed them into a bright yellow box. I sealed the lid tightly and tucked it up on a shelf. Sleep embraced me almost immediately

         And so I find myself feeling sluggish this morning. I’m a little peeved with myself at falling back into my old pattern because trying to project into tomorrow holds too many unknowns and wastes energy that I need now. When I picked up my journal, I neatly placed in the date and bold block letters: STAY IN TODAY!  



I'm learning to "Stop and smell the roses!"
First blossom this year in our back yard

          

Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Plans and More Plans"

 

overthinking

list making

best case scenarios

worst possible tragedies imagined

journaling predictions for infinite tomorrows

fluctuating daily between certainty and self-doubt

juggling multiple dependent  lives with limited reserves

 

nurturing

visions dreamt

viewpoints expanded outward

selflessly sheltering the weakest

returning to ritual’s comforting grace

strengthening spirit by dancing with fire

embracing obligations with the tenacity of hope

 

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

 

 

“The Best Laid Plans”

            I plan. As long as I can remember, I’ve set specific goals that I aim to attain. In my youth, I designed a year plan, a five year plan, and a nebulous “someday” list of possibilities. For years, I’d jot these objectives on the last page of my journals, sometimes including deadline dates. Many of these targets focused on simple things like to pay off a credit card in six months, plant bushes for Mother’s Day, buy a new chair for the living room, or replace the fence. I love that one since it’s been on my lists for the last five years!

            Then the years came where the lists shifted more to living goals: Harmony-not perfection, Count the good days, Listen carefully, Let it go. I imagine this shift came because I never crossed some items off the lists, never reached the goals. Or maybe I came to realize that some of those items never go away. There’s always something to buy or repair around a home. I like to think that my aspirations shifted into making myself a better person.

            During the last couple of years, the lists stopped altogether. I don’t want to remind myself that my washer and dryer approach year twenty-five and should be replaced. Also, I don’t want to shift into the future too far. Many days, I slip into survival mode where making it through the next twenty-four hours with grace and understanding seems enough of a focus for me. Those of you with elderly parents needing care understand this protective move. Planning ahead brings the possibility of too much loss and heartbreak. Instead, I’ve set aside my lists of goals because I know that within the next year, or even as little as six months, every plan could go awry.

My mother and brother

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman