“Absurdity and Corruption”

Ideologues idolized—

Seductive sirens

luring loyalty

mandating mores

destroying diversity

wrangling words

fostering falsehoods

designing doubts

customizing confusion

sanctioning skepticism

fanning fears

attracting absurdity

civilizing corruption

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Generosity Versus Stinginess”

            Recently, I’ve concluded people fall into two general categories—generous and stingy. Don’t judge me as simplistic or naïve with this dichotomy, but think about it. Generous people give freely. They volunteer their time to programs and individuals without thought. They open their homes and their hearts to stray cats or displaced teenagers. They shelter the feelings of their friends with consistent care. They lavish the world with their open spirits and unguarded natures. Generous souls give before being asked. They intuit problems and spontaneously offer help. They never expect anything in return for their kindness, and they often downplay their deeds. These compassionate people share their experiences and their expertise, but don’t feel offended if their advice gets left instead of taken. These thoughtful people view the world with hope and want to help others not because it gives them bragging rights, not because it’s an obligation, not because they’re forced into it, not because it makes them take a superior role—but because they believe it in the rightness of giving. Generosity doesn’t come with a dollar bill attached since many of these people give themselves.

            The opposite type of person idolizes Scrooge. Stingy people withhold everything. I wonder if they’re constantly constipated! Their lives certainly reflect their selfish natures. These people become exclusive instead of inclusive. Fearful of “outsiders” that offer differences, they cling to mirror images of themselves. They do not tolerate variations in religions, customs, values or status. These people share, but only with strings attached. They want something in return—affection, approval, acclamation, adoration. They become offended if their advice and experiences are ignored, and abandon anyone who doesn’t grovel in supplication like an orphan from Oliver Twist. These people give money freely if they can make certain their generosity receives ample recognition. They sincerely believe that people who are less fortunate “get what they deserve.”

            Relationships begin with sharing. You give bits and pieces of yourself to another person to create a bond. Relationships require reciprocation. I share. You share. You share. I share. If the other person hoards feelings, reveals falsehoods, or only takes and never gives; the opportunity for closeness fades and dies. Even a generous heart cannot give forever without nourishment.

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Father’s Day”



Edna and Karl Abrams--1950s

            Words don’t come easily on days like today. I miss my father every day, but Father’s Day pushes his absence into the forefront. On days like today, I wish for Dad’s boisterous voice booming through the house as he prepares his first cup of coffee for the day. I long for a whiff of his Old Spice scenting the room. I yearn for another hug and kiss where his morning stubble scratches my cheek. I need one more corny joke that makes me roll my eyes and groan. I want to argue once again about those hot subjects of politics, religion, sex and money!
            So on days like today, words don’t flow as easily. My heart feels heavy, the hurt still painful even though this marks the tenth Father’s Day without Dad. Many of you celebrate today with your fathers. I hope you cherish the conversations you share and enjoy the time together. For those of you who mark today without your fathers, may your memories be sweet, kind, and loving.

Karl Abrams-retirement from Galveston County Sheriff's Department 1992

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“A Walk in the Park”

Live Oak City Park--Spring 2010

            On Wednesday, I donned my new pair of walking/running shoes and headed out the door before the blacktop started to blister with heat. My goal? Thirty minutes to myself that I’m carving out of the mornings while David prepares for work. He offered to tend to Mom’s morning needs while I’m out. The first day, I returned in triumph. I ran the entire way to the park without a single complaint from a very old knee injury. The new shoes make a huge difference in how I distribute my weight. Yesterday, I felt as jubilant as my knee took another short run. However, when I came back home, Bridget caught a whiff of the park on my shoes and clothes. She looked hurt and disappointed that I didn’t include her on my walk. Today, when I perched on the bed to tie my shoes, she danced around my feet, leapt upon the bed, and gave me a lathering lick. Her sleek black body pressed against me while her expression said, “Walk! Walk! Walk! Walk! Walk!”

            My original plan, to have time to myself each morning before the day begins, evaporated when I realized that Bridget, too, has had to make adjustments over the last couple of years. Her status of “Only Dog” changed when Koi joined our household eighteen months ago. Then her daily walks vanished seven months ago when Mom moved in with us. I realized that she needed some special time, too. Koi began barking incessantly when he heard me tell Bridget to get her leash. It didn’t take him but a second to realize that we girls were having an outing. Bridget scrambled out the front door so quickly that I barely latched it behind us.

            We ran the entire way to the park. One good thing about walking with Bridget—the pace she keeps. I kicked up my heart rate in no time. Now, when I go to the park alone, I stay on the road. When I have Bridget with me, we head cut across the drainage ditch and head straight for the trails. Today we took our shorter route by ducking under the trees, coming up on a trail, skirting the outer edge of the park, clamoring over the small bridge, and meandering around the lake’s edge.

            Bridget paused only a few times on our trek. First, she stood at attention when we came upon six deer chomping breakfast. Next, she stilled when three cottontail rabbits scurried ahead of us and dove for cover into the brittle brush. She pointed at the two tanned and muscular men playing disc golf, and she sniffed butts with the weenie dog over by the lake. The entire walk Bridget hit the zone—that place of doggy bliss where head sways gently as nose enjoys every familiar scent while searching for something new.

            Today, I couldn’t help but notice the effects of the drought upon the park. The grass looks burnt and brittle, the ground cracked and hardened like old leather, and the lake pulled back from her shores. Every tree seemed to protest the heat and dryness. Only the lily pads appeared happy as they floated in the shade. A loan fisherman cast his line from the pier, but I bet he won’t get a bite because the fish hunker near the center of the lake where the water’s coolest. In my mind’s eye, I visualized the greener days at our park and hope the prospect of rain appears on our horizon sooner, rather than later.

            Before I realized it, Bridget and I hit the pavement and our route home began. Tonight, my brother arrives. Tomorrow, David and Koi will join Bridget and me as we take another walk in the park.

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Chapter Three”

            A few months ago, I began writing another novel. My first novel reprimands me daily from the wicker stool upon which she perches. She’s a strong piece (as first books go) with no purpose other than entertaining a reader. She’s not meant to change the world or make a statement about the mysteries of life. She evolved out of a dream, months of research, and commitment to completion. For years, the first draft collected dust in a box. I pulled the box open last summer and began the revising and editing process. I printed two copies of the new draft and handed one to a friend a couple of months ago. The other draft, sitting always within my peripheral vision, awaits input from another friend. If my dedication to my craft ruled my life, I’d make certain to deliver this copy sooner rather than later. But . . .

            In the meantime, I’ve started my second novel. This one has more import and weight. I whipped out the first two chapters with relative ease. The setting, characters and conflict established themselves almost magically. They are good people facing a seemingly insurmountable crisis with grace and dignity. I know they will prevail—if I can ever get the time to write beyond Chapter Three! To write a chapter takes longer than the quick fifteen minute blog entries I throw together each day. To finish Chapter Three, I need an uninterrupted block of time. Eventually, I’ll have an evening or an entire weekend open. By that time, I’ll be so familiar with the plot and descriptions within this next chapter that putting the words to the page will be effortless. For now, I’m satisfied with writing in my head.

The Golden Bracelet by Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

   

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman