“Fast Forward”

            Piddling through days requires conscious effort on my part. I frequently remind myself now that I don’t have to schedule every minute of every hour with crossing off an item from my “To Do” list. When I taught, there never seemed to be enough time for everything. I’d head into work extra early, crank up the music, and speed through my morning routine. During my conference periods, grading took priority if I didn’t have any parent conferences scheduled. If I managed to whittle down the pile by one or two classes, reading a book or visiting with another teacher became my reward. For eight years, I never returned straight home after work. Once my mother moved to San Antonio, my after school hours started at her apartment—in the early years we’d visit, later on I’d do her cooking and cleaning; and after she moved to assisted living, I helped her get ready for bed. The second phase of my day started once I finally arrived home. Evening chores demanded attention. I’d learned early on that I resented spending entire weekends doing house work, so I divvied chores onto different evenings.

            Somewhere along the way, I learned how to move into warp drive whenever necessary. In the time it took David to do one chore, I’d run whither and thither accomplishing several things at once. Our joke became that I lived in “Fast Forward” mode while he enjoyed “Still Pause.” With retirement, I’ve found it difficult to move to a slower pace. I tumbled into bed the other morning at 3 AM, woke up the next morning and mentioned that I needed to start the wash. It took a moment for me to realize that I can actually put off doing the laundry for another day. I could blow it off for the entire week if I want!

            Thinking back, I’ve realized that much of my life, I’ve pushed that “Fast Forward” button and zipped so quickly through events that I’ve almost missed them. I spent so much of my youth focusing on the next challenge, or the next expectation, that I rarely paused to enjoy living. My future focused goal setting propelled and compelled me to prepare for tomorrow without allowing me to savor today. My advice to the generation behind me? Don’t rush living. Learn to pause and appreciate success before rushing onto the next quest.   

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Words”

Write for the sake of writing—

the practice and patience of putting

wordafterwordafterwordafterword

Was that the basis of our relationship?

Practice and patience and

wordafterwordafterwordafterword?

When you were with her, did you talk so endlessly?

Did you espouse and spout

wordafterwordafterwordafterword?

Was she expected to believe all you said?

To bob her head like an obedient dog?

So she now writes for the sake of writing—

the practice and patience of putting

wordafterwordafterwordafterword?

Copyright 1985 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Squirrels”

            I believe I’ll remember this summer as the one of the lazy squirrel. My backyard squirrels usually entertain me with their wild aerial act, yet this summer I catch them snoozing in high branches as they try to catch the almost non-existent breeze. In the past, the family of four loved teasing Bridget and Koi with the circular route they take from live oak to back fence to hackberries. Then they made the daring leap from tree to rooftop. They often stopped to chatter at the dogs at this point, their version of “nanna—nanna—boo—boo” that sent the dogs into a frenzy. This summer, though, dogs and squirrels laze in dappled shade in surrender to the heat. A tail may flick to attention, or ears suddenly prick in alertness, but lethargy draws all animals into a drowsy tolerance that will vanish when autumn’s coolness returns.

Bridget watching a squirrel on the roof

            With each day of record breaking temperatures and zero rainfall, I catch myself longing for the beginning of fall. I know the re-energized squirrels will challenge the dogs from tree branch or fence edge once the air cools. They will scurry down into the yard, sneak up to the back door, and incite a riot inside my house as Bridget and Koi scramble out in full attack mode. The squirrels always will escape, of course, because I can stall the dogs just long enough to give the rodents the edge they need.

            For now, though, we survive this stifling, sweltering summer together. I doubt the dogs or squirrels miss their contests of boldness and swiftness as they have mastered the art of living in the moment.

Koi keeping cool by drinking from fountain

 Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

           

“Drought”

This summer’s unrelenting heat means our yards dry a little more each day. I noticed today that several of the bushes out back have dead branches. Nature protects the core, and the peripheral appendages begin to wither. My heart breaks to see this loss.

Loss goes deeper this summer than wilting gardens. I’ve several friends struggling with serious health issues like cancer. I admire the strength they exhibit as they face each day with unbelievable optimism. They handle the new challenges life’s handed them with the unshakable conviction that every thought and effort will bring health back into their lives. For other friends, this summer’s trials come from aging parents needing live-in help, assisted living or nursing home care. Some friends will decide to move in with parents while others will move parents in with them.

            For the generation of our children, we see job opportunities drying up overnight. Imagine spending four years in college, taking out loans to finance this education, and not landing a job up to five or six months later. These adult children find themselves moving back in with their parents as they regroup. Some hold tenaciously to their college part-time jobs because “something is better than nothing.” Those still in school wonder and worry about next year’s opportunities. How long will this economic drought last? Onto this brittle landscape, I watch in frustration as our petty politicians play with matches.

            I know that we need rain. Not a flooding deluge that obliterates everything in its path, but a soft and steady rain—one that brings the sunrise in its wake, one that soaks deeply into the cracked ground, one that cleanses away the dust and cobwebs, one that heals our land.   

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“I Hate Harry Potter”

            There. I said it. Well, I put it in print! I know, I know. I’ve heard over and over again that something must be wrong with my taste because I don’t like the Harry Potter series. It’s not like I haven’t tried, either.

Printable Book Mark!

            When the first book came out, my students sang the praises of the manuscript. Seeing that most of them didn’t choose to read for pleasure, their enthusiasm lured me into the fantasy realm of J. K. Rowling. My personal rule about reading is simple: If I start a book, I finish the book. I’d set this goal when I was twelve, and never broke my record until Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I gave it my best effort, but found the author’s style too redundant and trite. I know! Blaspheme! My peers loved the first and then second novel so much that they formed a club at our high school where students met after school to discuss the books; yet, I couldn’t make it through the first volume. I’d pick it up, read as much as I could in a sitting, and then set it aside. The more everyone raved about the books, the more I tried to find something to like. It was like eating okra. I know okra is good for me, but it makes me gag.

            When the first movie came out, my husband and son convinced me that I’d love it. I remember coming out of the theatre feeling disappointed. I couldn’t figure it out. I love fantasy pieces. I love donning my own garb to attend Renaissance fairs. I love dipping into pretend.  When the second movie in the series hit the movie theatres, I decided to stay home and watch television instead. I helped my son hunt down or make pieces of his costume for opening night, but I had no desire to find out the next installment of these characters.  Later, when I viewed the DVD release of the second film, I fell asleep!

            Over the years, I stopped telling people that I don’t like Harry Potter because it upset them so much. You’d think I’d attacked their political parties or religious beliefs! However, with the release of the final episode in the series, I’ve decided it’s time to come out of the closet. I know many of you will never view me the same after this revelation. I hope, though, that you won’t sever contact with me, and overlook this short-coming.

            And remember, I am a Trekkie.

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman