"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

 

“Pruning to Propagate”

 

            Earlier this week, I spotted a Swedish Ivy at HEB that dangled possibilities before me. Years ago, these plants filled hanging baskets that adorned our back redwood lattice. Draping with Spider Plants and Boston ferns, their delicate glossy scalloped leaves contrasted to the spikey Spider’s hardiness. They sport a soft white or mauve flower each spring and fall. Of course, I added the ivy to my grocery purchases and found a nice spot for this piece of memory in the front yard. As they propagate easily, all I need is one to begin a new line of a forgotten favorite. A few clippings placed into a Mason jar of water, and roots will sprout soon.

            Inside, my three Pothos dragged down to the floor. Winter’s unrelenting freezes showed no mercy to the ones housed in our small greenhouse, and outside only three or four pots now sprout in resilient defiance. Instead of cut flowers adorning the dining room table, the promise of more Pothos baskets sits in filtered light.

            My Jade became leggy over the last few weeks. I lopped them off and have their cuttings set aside to cure. All of the Jade will shift outside to take advantage of our longer and hotter days and more sunlight to spur their growth. My troubles with Jade come from ignorance on my part, but this year my research should result in new growth for old plants and new plants that thrive.

            My focus on nurturing each of these plants stems from a need to control something in the world around me. Every day, something new becomes endangered as our current regime slices brutally through our democratic rights. Propaganda’s incessant wail forces me to retreat to my garden where I can prune to propagate promises for tomorrow.
 
Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman               

"Our Moral Obligation"

 

Write, write, write! Call attention to the FELON in the White House

         Another round of presidential misogyny left me fuming for a few days. A horde of angry responses snarled and gnashed their fangs within my mind. Yet I stayed away from keyboard. Not because I wanted to reign in my words, but because I fought for just the right order and organization to my thoughts.

         My little blog posts won’t change anything.

   The president’s deeply rooted personality disorder won’t miraculously disappear because I wish it so. There’s no magic. Not even the fervent prayers of the multitudinous faithful will rescue us from this current mess.

       Instead, we have to watch every day and wait for this man to stop skirting around social inappropriateness and actually break a law. A “biggy” that really matters. In the meantime, we summon every ounce of patience as investigations into obstruction of justice play out. Our gut tells us that this may not take that long; but whenever it happens, it may still be too late.

      And so, why do I write? Why do I pass along every article I read about this administration? What do I hope to accomplish?

         A moral obligation.

        A moral obligation to speak out every time an injustice occurs.

        A moral obligation to share facts and data that become obscured by ignorance—or even worse, a political agenda that seeks profit over prosperity.

        A moral obligation to pass along documented and referenced research about the administration’s desire for authoritarianism.

         A moral obligation to protect our right to vote.

         A moral obligation to voice dissent.

         A moral obligation to stand with our free press.

        A moral obligation to address the absurdities of this president and to yell, “THIS IS NOT NORMAL!”

        

      And that’s it. The bottom line. My moral obligation compels me to educate everyone I can with the understanding that we must stand together to fight against this abnormality.

Copyright 2017 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman  

   

"A Bully"

 

“If you don’t like the real world, invent your own.” Rachel Maddow, October 5, 2012.

 

A bully

Hands clenched

Chin thrust

Legs spread wide

A stance ready for assault

Pummeling reason with illogical fists

Blow after blow

Lie after lie

Kicking the fallen

Feeding off of fear

 

Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Practice Grace”

            Every day, our national news spotlights an ugly side of our country. Too many people in power who want to kill rational thinking by directing attention to fears to control our dialogues. Their rhetoric feed negative and dreadful constructs. Daily, they drone on and on against diversity in thought and deed. They expertly played a long game by infiltrating local school boards and subverting local communities. Their grass roots movement now bears malignant, poisonous fruit. The end result indoctrinated entire sections of our culture to fear and hate.

            Yesterday, I briefly visited a family member whose husband died in December from COVID-19. He believed the propaganda that COVID-19 was nothing worse than the flu. He spouted their words about masking blocking his individual rights. He refused vaccination even when his wife and children received their own shots. He believed their cancerous disinformation. His COVID-19 battle started in July, with months of hospitalization and then a shift to a rehabilitation facility. When his insurance ran out, he came home to die.

            All I could think of on my walk home was that he’d been killed by dangerous opinions. How did we get to this point as a society?

            We stumbled somehow onto a path that doesn’t practice grace. We’re mired in muck that no longer allows for kindness, mercy or decency. I don’t know how to wash away the filth.

 

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman