“Find My . . .”

                                                                              

“Where’s my watch?” Panic flooded through me when I noted my naked wrist. I glanced into the clean clothes piled on my bed, lifting and shifting in careless desperation. I backtracked into the bathroom, glancing at the countertop where I place it when bathing. Nothing.

Not too concerned yet, I attacked the mound of sheets in the laundry room, as it would’ve been a possible hiding place. Closing my eyes, I visualized whipping them from the dryer. Finding nothing, I got on my knees to search the floor while listening to the load tossing in the drum. Hearing nothing, I popped open the door, dragged out the nearly dry towels, and searched frantically through them. Nothing. I eyed the washer, hitting the spin on its cycle as I watched, and shot out a silent prayer that it wasn’t in that load. It wasn’t.

By this time, I recruited my husband to help with the search when he asked the obvious question, “Have you checked Find My with your phone?”

Of course, I hadn’t. I grabbed my phone and queried, “Siri, find my watch” with confidence its location would be revealed immediately. Nothing. As I’d never used this app before, I noticed it had a PLAY SOUND option, which I tapped. Still nothing.

Shaken, I convinced myself that I may have lost it outside. I’d watered both yards and rewrapped three hoses. My watch band could have caught on one and slipped off without me noticing. Phone in hand, I retraced my morning routine feeling dread as I found absolutely nothing again.

My anxiety notched up with each silent minute with my phone in hand. With absolute certainty I knew I’d set my watch on pause while at the park doing the weight machines, but maybe it dropped into my KAVU pack when I’d taken out water. Returning inside, I inspected it quickly. Nothing. 

“Could I have lost it on that last stretch of my walk?” I mumbled to myself as I  pulled on sandals and retraced my morning route. 

Eyes scanning the ground before me, I walked all the way to the park. Nothing. Discouraged and defeated, I called my husband to retrieve me there as I could’t muster the energy to climb the final hill near our house. 

Once home, I decided to retrace my movements one more time while my husband insisted on taking my phone with him on another park pass. 

I sat on the bed, reached inside the black bin before me, and lifted out each item.

My watch hid under the final piece I withdrew!

Relief flooded through me, and then a wave of foolishness to realize that the first moment I’d noticed my missing watch was the very place it lay hidden.

But another problem surfaced. Why hadn’t my app revealed my phone immediately as it never left the room? I’d thought that the Find My app had loaded automatically when I’d replaced my watch in December. It hadn’t. At the moment, our attempts to remove the old watch and add the new one have failed although we’ve gone through one step-by-step process after another. I suspect I may have to reset my watch, which I refuse to do as I prefer to leave my watch history alone. I joked that if I misplace it again, I’ll just have to buy a new one!

Copyright 2026 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

IOUNIO's "Invisible"! The perfect piece to listen to today!

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"A Forgotten Load"

            Upon entering the laundry room this morning, dismay accompanied me as I noted unfolded towels in the basket. I’d totally forgotten to fold them on Wednesday! Panic knocked my pulse up a beat as I shot a glance at the washer to see if I’d left a load of wet clothes in the machine. I don’t do this often, but there’s nothing worse than damp clothes sitting for several days. Fortunately, the drum gleamed in emptiness. My next response, of course, was to check the dryer for a load. Today, a set of sheets tangled inside—dried. What a relief! Occasionally, I’ve left wet clothes in both appliances, which ripples down into a wash-redo.  
            I take comfort in the fact that many loads of laundry remain forgotten by other people. My lapse in memory doesn’t indicate anything more serious than absent-mindedness caused by a busy day or interruption in routine. The proof for the commonality of forgotten loads rests with the option on all machines: FRESHEN UP.
 

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman    

 

"Life's Bloopers"

         Different people respond to stress in different ways. I hurt myself. I turn into this blundering, woebegone Charlie Chaplin who bumps and bumbles through the day. I fall up the stairs, tumble out of chairs, or ram into pieces of furniture. I spend a great deal of time looking at my bruised body and mumbling, “Where did that come from?” I don’t know why I have this response to stress, but it’s dogged me as long as I can remember.

         I can spend an afternoon showing off various scars that testify to the clumsiness that plagues my life when my mind spins with preoccupation. Anything that generates heat becomes my enemy. When calm, I can iron without worry, but the moment tension enters into the room, the iron finds a way to fall against my arm, or I manage to “press” one of my fingers. A little strain in my life means I must avoid the curling iron unless I want to display my warrior markings.

         About a month ago, I strained my left arm. The day-in-day-out repositioning of Mom tugged at my shoulder muscles and irritated my elbow joint. I’ve taken care to rest whenever possible, iced down the sore muscles, and resorted to Tylenol (or wine) whenever the discomfort peaked into the pain zone. My care paid off, too. Each day I’ve ached less and enjoyed more movement.

 

         Pulling myself off the injured list proved extremely short-lived. Yesterday, hands submerged in warm sudsy bubbles, I absentmindedly washed dishes. My attention drifted to gazing outside the window instead of paying attention to my task. I sensed David leaving something on the counter, but didn’t pull from my wanderings enough to register the fact that he’d set a pan, hot from the stove, into the pile. Needless to say, I will soon have another scar to brag about.

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

 

 

 

"Tone of Voice"

 I’m okay, fine   
she whispers without eye contact   
I’ve got it handled   
Don’t worry   
He misses the hollowness of her words   
overlooks her subtle cues—   
her Woman Speak   
She tucks her feet onto the couch,   
pulls herself into a tight ball under a red throw   
stares at the television without seeing   
sighing deeply    
Oblivious, he flips the channel     
to his station   
assuming—   
all’s right   
content to listen to her words   
instead of her tone of voice   
Her annoyance and sadness battle across her features   
surreptitiously, she wipes her silent tears   
waits for him to notice her heaviness   
His attention rivets on the game   
its motion mesmerizes him   
takes him away and isolates her   
She grabs hold of anger over sorrow   
indignation throws her off the couch   
propels her into their bedroom   
fuels the door slam   
He sits with bewilderment   
lost     
Cautiously, he approaches the closed door   
tentatively tapping   
Can I do something?   
No. I’m okay, fine     
I’ve got it handled   
Don’t worry   
He opens the door anyway   
pulls her into his arms   
In tenderness, he wipes the tears from her face   
We’ll handle it   
he soothes and reassures with understanding   

David Chapman-artist

Copyright 2011 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

 

 

 

"I Worry"

            Over the years, I’ve learned to channel my tendency to fret about every little nuance of life into major areas. It’s a sanity strategy that allows me to let the less important things “go” while satisfying my personal psychological need to control whatever I can. This Five Point Focus means I spend my energy on the bigger needs and wants for myself and my family. I thought I’d share these with my readers.

Money: 
            How much debt is too much?
            Should I work extra to get ahead?
            When will I feel financially safe?
Time:
            Am I spending enough time doing what I want?
            Will I make time to travel?
            Will I run out of time to accomplish my Want To list?
Health:
            Will I continue to be creative?
            Will my energy stay stable as I age?
            Will I remain accident/illness free?
Family:
            Are my siblings healthy, happy, and secure?
            Will my husband and son continue with their creative ambitions?
            Can we stay focused on the end goal for as many years as it 

            takes?

Right choices:
            Will the decision to stay in our neighborhood continue to be

             a good one?

            Will the new shift toward self-employment earn enough?
            Can I change the path I’m on as I get even older?  

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman  

           

"I Want to Give You the World"

 

I want to give you the world 

with its promise    

with its pleasure    

with its plenitude  

I want to give you the world     

without the doubts   

without the debt  

without the desperation    

I want to give you the world  

with its splendor  

with its sunrises 

with its surprises   

I want to give you the world    

without the worry     

without the weaknesses    

without the wantonness  

I want to give you the world   

with its hope    

with its humor     

with its happiness    

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Depression”

Depression descended,

without warning,

unusually ugly.

Souls search

fervently forward

denying destitution.

An answer

no one knows

silently sounds.

Copyright 1985 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman