"The Places We've Been"

 

            Over the years, we’ve taken about seven or eight vacations. When David worked as a freelance illustrator, we often couldn’t take trips because we couldn’t absorb the loss of a one week or two week’s pay on top of the cost of a vacation. Many people take for granted the paid vacation time they receive from companies; but for the self-employed, it’s an entirely different story. With our family escapes coming years apart, David never liked returning to a place we’d already stayed. A couple of times we visited friends, but most of our excursions took us to some place new to all of us. Sometimes, we stayed in Texas to enjoy local outings at Renaissance fairs, or we ventured to Galveston or Padre to worship sand and sun. A week at Big Bend National Park remains one of my favorite memories, and we fell in love with the town of Gonzales with its marvelous homes and quaint shops.

            When money and time synched up, we ventured far from home. We took Paul to Washington, D.C. to see Fonzie’s jacket and the Washington Monument, dipped into Virginia for rollercoaster rides and walks along battlefields. A trip to Georgia to stay with friends found us climbing Stone Mountain. We journeyed to San Francisco for cable cars, Height Ashbury, The Exploratorium, and Chinatown. Our stay in Seattle found us at museums one day, the Pike Place Market the next. We delighted in rolling in several feet of snow on Mount Rainier. Last year, David and I finally took our honeymoon with a trip to Ireland!

            I don’t know exactly when we began commemorating our vacations with decorations for our Christmas tree. On one trip, we longed to have some little token of our travels that didn’t cost too much and wouldn’t break on the return trip. Somehow, we settled upon an ornament. We thought it the perfect souvenir because we knew we’d take a moment to relive our trip each year as we adorned our tree. We’ve had to create some unusual mementos since we took several trips during the summer months when stores didn’t have Christmas ornaments on their shelves. The search for the ideal keepsake often became a family quest as each of us sought the finest reminder of our travels.

Copyright Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 2011

           

"Ornaments"

         

          The best part of decorating the tree comes from the delight of rediscovering favorite ornaments each year. I love carefully unpacking those special Christmas tree decorations that hold wonderful memories for us. When I cautiously pull the two white “snow” fairies out of their protective boxes, I re-experience the thrill I felt upon finding them in the store over thirty years ago. Even in the earliest days of our friendship, David and I loved all things fey, so discovering these adornments proved fateful.

         Over the years, my appreciation for Christmas ornaments led to an ever widening search for an addition to the collection. Many friends and family members contributed to our tree, and each year as I find the perfect place for each item, I take a moment to remember the giver of these small presents.
 

         I treasure both the little Asian inspired decorations we found in a box we inherited from David’s grandmother along with the last ornament my father picked out for us before he died.

          I cluster the trio of hand crafted ornaments my aunt made years ago, and find a special place for the lovely and unique snowflakes she fashioned.

 

The small collection of ornaments we made on a rainy and cold afternoon with a five-year-old Paul tug at my heart when I hang them each winter. This year, I cried as I held the delicate cross stitched decorations my mother so lovingly sewed years before her Huntington’s disease symptoms robbed her of so much.

 

  

         Decorating the tree at our house takes an entire day. Partly because we have so many adornments, but mainly because I linger over many of the memories these small embellishments bring forth.

 

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

        

“Santa’s Visit”

 

 

            The Christmas I turned six, we loaded the car and headed from Dover AFB to Danville, Illinois to spend the holidays with my mother’s family. I think my parents wanted everyone to see my brother, Charles, who had just turned six months old. Dad preferred extremely early morning starts, and on this trip he and my mother woke us up around four in the morning. They bundled us into the car with pillows and blankets and encouraged us to go back to sleep. The trip, with stops for breakfast and lunch, would take more than twelve hours. My folks’ tight budget prevented a midpoint stop at a hotel. They played the radio and talked continually to keep my dad alert. Often, they’d have four or five hours of the trip travelled before one of us kids would wake up.

            I remember the excitement I felt when we finally reached Aunt Nellie’s house. She lived in an older Craftsman-styled home. I remember ice and snow covered the yard, but someone had cleared the sidewalk and porch steps to welcome us. Relatives burst from the front door when we pulled alongside the curb, and hugs and kisses pulled us into the front room where a Christmas tree dominated the front corner.

            Aunt Nellie and Uncle Paul directed us into our rooms. They’d borrowed a baby crib from some friends for my brother and situated it in the same room with my parents. Aunt Nellie had cleared her sewing room and snugged a bed under the window. My sister and I would share this room during our visit. This room remained cozily warm because Aunt Nellie always had something cooking in her oven.

 

            Both my sister and I are practically Christmas babies. Her birthday is on the 21^st while mine is on the 26^th. So on Christmas Eve, Aunt Nellie made a huge cake to do a joint celebration, and the entire family gathered around to sing for us. My cousin and his wife brought their baby, and I remember wearing my red ski pants and black boots for pictures on Christmas Eve.

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            Wonderful and magical things happened that Christmas. First, Charles sat for the first time on his own. One moment he was sitting like a little puppy dog, propped up on his hands, and the next he was wobbling with hands in the air, cooing in delight. I remember running into the kitchen to announce this feat, and by the end of our visit, he’d mastered sitting alone.

            But the second magical moment came on Christmas Eve. Paula and I played on our bed in the sewing room. She had on blue ski pants, the type with the band that looped under your foot. I had on red. The bed, in front of a large window, gave us the perfect spot to kick as we watched the blue and red reflections. As we entertained ourselves with our impromptu choreography, someone knocked loudly on the window.

            Santa!

            He stood in all of his glory, just on the other side of a thin pane of glass! His white beard tumbled down his huge belly, and he called our names and laughed merrily. His red suit (complete with hat and boots) stood out against the white snow.

            I remember screaming in delight as my sister and I pressed our faces to the window. We lost sight of him as he disappeared into the back yard.

            The entire family crammed into the little room trying to decipher our babble about seeing Santa Claus. Some of the adults poo-pooed our claims while others went outside to check for footprints, which they found.

            No one ever admitted, even once we were grown, to donning a costume that Christmas Eve. So I have to believe that we really did have a visit from Santa.

 

 

Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Recharging Batteries”

         This morning, as I plugged my cell phone into an outlet, I found myself wishing that I could recharge my batteries as easily. Today’s Monday, and fatigue rolled out of bed with me this morning. Often people counsel me, “take care of yourself” while I take care of my mother, but it’s a difficult task to accomplish. No matter how tired I feel, I still have to tend to my mother’s needs. I rely heavily upon David to help in the mornings (he often gets up after only four or five hours of sleep when she will no longer sleep). Once 8 o’clock arrives, though, I’m on my own until David returns at 6 PM.

         Weekend visits from my siblings help dramatically, but they fly by too quickly to really get much of a break. Both my brother and my sister usually arrive on Friday evenings and leave early Sunday mornings. That only gives us Saturday. Often, we use that free day to accomplish errands that David and I need to do together. Sometimes we pick up Paul and enjoy a nice evening meal at a favorite restaurant. But almost always we spend part of that “day off” still in our home helping with something Mom needs.

         I dream of spending an entire weekend in bed, reading a paperback novel grabbed from the grocery store checkout counter. I snooze whenever I want for as long as I want. When I finally get out of bed, it’s to light scented candles and take a bubble bath without getting dragged out by someone else’s needs and wants. I get to spend as much time as I want swinging in my tree, and I don’t run any errands, cook any meals, make any beds, or deal with anyone’s demands.

         For now, my batteries never get fully recharged. Some days, like today, I start at 40%. I am fortunate because I haven’t dipped into the dangerously drained levels yet because of the aid from my husband. I worry, though, that his batteries need recharging, too. My son, brother, and sister all help frequently and cheerfully, but the block of time they can stay limits my ability to get fully revitalized. Eventually, we’ll need a vacation where we can really plug in and recharge.   

 Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Vicarious Vacations”

           

       

          As summer draws to a close, I must take a moment to thank all of my friends for including me on their travels! Care-giving means we’re limited to infrequent, short weekend trips. Of course, taking a yearly vacation has never been in our budget. We manage a trip once every five to seven years, so being home all summer usually doesn’t bother me. However, you know how it is, once something slips out of your grasp you want it more. Now that I cannot easily pack my bags and take off for a week, I long to do it more than ever!

            This summer I’ve made two remote trips to Hawaii where I’ve strolled along the beaches and celebrated the purity of the ocean. Mountaintop views have left me breathless. After Hawaii, I ventured up the California coastline, stopping in various cities like San Francisco. Venturing northward, my secondhand traveling deposited me in Seattle where I walked through museums. A day trip took me to Mt. Rainier’s snowy peak. From there I wound down the mountain’s snaking roads, stopping for waterfalls and wildlife. My laptop adventures nudged me northward again to cruise the Alaskan coastline. Glaciers and virgin forests, moose and sled dog puppies, pristine vistas and heart-stopping sunsets graced my days. My faraway meandering included excursions into Canada, tours through major cities, “four-wheeling” in Colorado, rides at Disney World, and spending sprees in Las Vegas. I even climbed in the mountains of Peru!

            These vicarious vacations entertained me when my days stretched in tedious repetition. Maybe one day, I’ll get to finally get to amble down a Hawaiian beach. Maybe I’ll revisit San Francisco or Seattle and wind back up the road to Mt. Rainier. Perhaps I’ll make my first trip to Alaska and Canada, or even finally make it to Disney World or Vegas. For now, I’m forever grateful for the photographs and anecdotes shared by all my untethered friends.

A special Thank you for photography provided by: Brenda Allen, Lisa Davis, Espe Garcia, Nona Hall, Suzanne Bellah Kenoyer, Rebecca Robles, Traci Williams

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Budgets?”

            Randomly flipping through television stations the other day, I paused to hear a blonde talking head cheerfully announce her suggestions on how to cut back and budget in today’s economy. Being newly retired, my curiosity became piqued immediately. My retirement check, less than half of my previous income, needs to stretch like Silly Putty—many directions simultaneously! I reasoned this “expert” could, perhaps, give me a few tips on budgeting that I’d overlooked or forgotten.

            The first point this perky reporter suggested made me want to reach through the screen and slap her silly. As she continued down her list, my head almost exploded. One suggestion? When you go out to eat, don’t order mixed drinks with your meal. Instead, drink alcohol at home after an evening out. Now, I don’t know about other people out there on tight budgets, but when I brought home a full paycheck, I couldn’t afford drinks and dinner (it’s one or the other, rarely both). Suddenly, it occurred to me that this woman didn’t realize that people who have low incomes don’t go out to eat at all!

            Another suggestion by this clueless bimbo? Cut back your cable service. Don’t have Showtime or HBO. Again, I thought, “What an idiot!” I have never, ever had these cable services. It’s difficult to cut from you budget items you never could afford at any point in time! The woman went on with suggestions like going to the movies during matinees (I haven’t seen a new release movie at a theater since Star Trek, which I think was in 2009!) Don’t even get me started on her vacation tips (again, we’ve gone as long as ten years between vacations, so there’s not room to save there). 

            Obviously, when people who have money need to “budget” their dollars, they have a lot more wiggle room than someone who’s already scrimping to make it through each month. And the expert’s advice to leave 401K plans alone? Again, really? A person must have money left over at the end of each month to invest. Never part of my reality!

            I spent many years teasing my father and brother for yelling at the T.V. set during football games, but I suddenly understood exactly why they shouted in frustration. I learned, from this financial whiz, that there’s no hope for me.

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman