Tuesday, May 24, 2022
"Our Children Kill Each Other"
Tuesday, March 15, 2022
“Run Silent”
In the past, my need
to fill the page whenever tragedy struck either close to home or in distant
locations meant my thoughts on everything turned up in my blog. Then the
January 6th attack on the United States Capitol broke something in
me. COVID-19 exploded in the homes of both family and friends, and I only
recorded its impact in my personal journal, with no desire to blog again. The
vital lifeline blogging provided during Mom’s endless battle with Huntington’s
disease became less necessary. I didn’t feel the need to write about the
troubles that everyone around me also experienced firsthand.
On February 24th,
Russia began a brutal attack on Ukraine. I retreated into books and spent
massive hours raking leaves and hauling rocks from our back yard to the front.
Our television sets normally remain silent during the day, and my preference to
read the news over seeing and hearing it means usually our home runs silent for
the majority of each day. Yet, this today the news drives my morning, as it
has daily since the war began.
Helplessness accompanies
me as I toil in my yards. Spring’s promise of rebirth hides under the leaves.
As I clear each area, green draws my eyes to life’s eternal potential. I
treasure my safe shelter.
| Escaping war news |
| Hauling rocks, raking leaves |
Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
Friday, February 18, 2022
“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
Thursday, February 17, 2022
“Morning Musings”
| Deer in the morning at the park |
| My son and nephew in 1988 |
| Feeding the ducks in 1988 |
With today’s trek, my
mind slipped back to all of the times we’ve enjoyed our local park. Passing the
mother with her pre-school kids playing on the equipment shot me back to
walking my son to the park in his red, wooden wagon. As I looped around the
pond, ducks and geese stirred to see if I carried any treats with me. The park
now has trails that are paved or graveled in areas that in the past bore feet
hardened tracks. When I stood atop the dam today, I saw the past views overlaid
with the present.
Gratitude fills me that we have this lovely place to hike. I love that the playgrounds and baseball and soccer fields get daily use. Disc golf enthusiasts and dog walkers join in with those who fish in the lake. The park’s past, present, and future mingle in my mind as I walked today.
Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
| Spring wildflowers at the park |
Tuesday, February 15, 2022
“Losing Louise”
| Aunt Louise in 1949! |
Every few months, I
contacted my Aunt Louise. Sometimes it’s a quick letter posted with a nice
card. Most of the time, it’s a phone call. If there’s any kind of weather
system heading to any corner of Texas, she’d initiate the contact to make
certain none of her Texas relatives had blown or floated away. I often called
her around Mom’s birthday in January and her own birthday in July. Over the
past year, my calls to Aunt Louise became a series of messages left on her
answering machine. Sometimes it was full, but most of the time I could leave
requests that she call me. Around her birthday, I decided to send a letter
because I worried about her health as she was 94. When the letter came back
with addressee unknown, I decided to contact my cousin in Illinois since he often
visited Aunt Louise. My aunt lived in a retirement area that allowed her to
move from independent living in an apartment to assisted living and nursing
care if needed. I thought she must have shifted to a higher care facility
without anyone contacting me.
Reaching my cousin,
though, proved difficult. His landline, in a home he’d lived in for more than sixty
years, was disconnected. I did a quick online search and found his obituary for
August 2020. I later learned he died of COVID-19. I tracked down his son, who I’ve not seen
since we were very young children, to learn that he could access Aunt Louise’s
information once he finished moving into his dad’s home. This was during the
summer of 2021, and I let it ride because grief laced every word my cousin
spoke. He assured me that he’d get Aunt Louise’s new contact information to me.
In December, I
received a phone call from someone I didn’t know. He stated that he’s the
executor of Aunt Louise’s estate, and she’d died in November. He asked for my
email information and cell number, which I gave him. He requested contact information
for my siblings, too. He sent a few emails with information on the VA cemetery
and the estate sale he’s having next week. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I
received an anxious call from my cousin’s daughter because she hadn’t reached
Aunt Louise and hit a block when talking with the nursing home personnel. She
only had my number because I’d left it with her brother. She had more frequent
contact with my aunt and was upset because no one from the facility had
contacted her about Aunt Louise’s death. As she was executor of the estate, she
was really worried when I told her someone else had contacted me! I learned
quickly that she’s a focused and fiercely loyal advocate for Aunt Louise. She
made phone calls and sent emails, demanded to see the will that this other man
claimed to have, and let me know that he’s legitimate. She let me know that Aunt Louise left money in
a trust, but I worry more about tracking down any photographs and personal
items that found their way to storage. This weekend, there will be a sale of
her household goods, and the executor of her estate assured me that he’d hunt
for family photographs and send them on to me. We have so little from Mom’s
childhood and teen years because she spent nine years in foster care. Maybe
Aunt Louise had a box of memories and mementos that will allow us to find both
her and Mom again.
Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman