“I Didn’t Change”

 
Our innocence inspired our idealism
We whispered wishes and whimsy
As twilight tended our Truths
Bound by brilliance and bounty
Our friendship found fertile fields
To nurture our natural naiveté
I missed his misanthropic manipulations
Excused your endless empty explanations
So subtle sorrow surrounded us
 

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 

"Slipping into Fall"

 

 

            This time last week, a “cold” front forced me to rummage through the old oak toy box that sits at the foot of our bed, trying to locate a pair of sweatpants. I relished the idea of swapping out my fall and winter clothes, folded neatly in the chest, with my spring and summer clothing hanging in my closet.

            Usually, this annual exchange signals my belief in the arrival of fall to central Texas. Anyone familiar with the weather in our area knows that summer starts in April and lingers through October. We have two “springs”—the one that thaws everything in February and teases our flowers to bloom in March, and the one that comes right before autumn’s birth. The second spring rejuvenates our yards and gardens with another round of blossoms triggered by the return of rain into the area once the hundred degree temperatures creep back to the lower 90s.

            After that round of rain and bloom, a front ushers in fall with a blast from the north that lowers temperatures at night into the 40s, or maybe even dipping into the first frost of the season. I celebrate this shift in weather by throwing open all of the windows. Our twenty-year-old air conditioner sighs in relief!

            I take my morning juice or cup of tea outside and sit at the bistro table. Overhead, the sky aches in pure blue. The breeze, slight and cool, carries children’s laughter. To honor the shift in weather, I’ve donned a soft robe and slippers for my feet. Up north, weather changes dramatically. I remember definite demarcations signaling each new season. In central Texas, our endlessly long summers invade into the other seasons, whittling them down to only a few precious weeks. And so I like to savor the cooler days and nights, pay tribute to them with my ceremonial clothing switch-out and log fires in the backyard pit.

 

 

 

 

Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Holiday Nesting"

            Conversations in my house shift from topic to topic at lightning speed. Often, I catch myself thinking, “Oh, I need to blog about that!” or “This will make a wonderful posting!” Yesterday, a chat with my son led us into the minds of women and holiday decorations. You see, he’s of the opinion that men wouldn’t miss spider webs strategically spun by the bushes out front or placemats that change with the passing of each season. He theorizes that men don’t care if wreaths adorn the front doors or if snowmen dance with penguins across the table top.
 

            And so I thought, “Is he right?”

            If I didn’t haul out the Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas or Easter decorations, would those celebrations go by unnoticed by my husband and son? Am I the driving force behind special meals and activities for the holidays?

            I have many women friends rejoicing in “All That Is Christmas.” They started shopping for gifts weeks ago, and report everything’s tidily wrapped and hidden away. Others set out to enjoy marathon holiday movies by recording every sappy Christmas movie on Hallmark. One friend spends day after day decorating every room in her house with different Christmas themes, and another places trees in almost every room. She spends hours and hours decorating each one.
 

 

            The tête-à-tête with my son brought home the importance of home for many of us. We long to adorn our trees and arrange them by a window to share with our neighbors and friends. We trim and garnish, embellish and festoon our homes inside and out. Indeed, we delight in holiday nesting.

 

 Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Christmas Cactus Care"

 

 

            For my birthday last year, I received a lovely Christmas cactus. I’ve admired the pretty plants for many years and have even given them to friends and family for gifts. To be honest, though, I did very little research on how to keep this little jewel blooming. My spring and summer found me focused on the large jade (also a Christmas gift) that became root bound in a too small pot. The jade barely survived its trauma, and its small salvaged leaves still need attentive care.
            As Thanksgiving nears, I wondered why my Christmas cactus’s lush green leaves didn’t have a single bud to hint at the blossoms it bore last year. A quick round of research led me to the amazing find that my small plant needs twelve to fourteen hours of darkness! Its perch in my bathroom, surrounded by subtle light all day long, would never become dark enough. The large, ceiling high windows that brighten our living room, kitchen, and family room means those rooms never go to pitch. A quick inspection of each room left me with the small area we converted years ago that’s now used for art projects. I found an old metal folding chair, draped an even older kitchen towel to drape over it, and created the perfect nightly perch for my Christmas cactus.
             Each evening, I carry my cactus into this inky pitch. I know that the time spent in darkness should be closer to six weeks than the four I have before Christmas arrives, but I’ll be happy to see blossoms whenever they appear. A huge part of me wonders if this new ritual becomes my daily reminder that my own sense of loss and despair, my own hours enveloped within darkness, will result in my own resilience and growth.

Into the darkness

           

 

Hopeful daily perch

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Being Prepared”

 

First, temporary location

New location in back of yard

 

            In February we picked up a small greenhouse to help our plants weather through the colder days of our usually mild winters. It protected Aloe Vera, Pothos and Jade and various outdoor plants that don’t like temperatures below 60°. We added heat lamps for the coldest nights, and the shelter stayed surprisingly warm. When March rolled in, we moved the portable structure into a new place under our neighbor’s tree where it became a potting area along with a crafting area for projects requiring paints or stains. Gradually, the space filled with odd-n-ends of gardening like empty pots and a dozen glass vases used for rooting plants. I even tossed in several broken down boxes to use to protect the ground whenever I repainted our outdoor tables and planters.

            This week I woke up to a nip in the air that reminded me to check forecasts for the rest of the month. This November’s highs hug into the 80s still, but cooler days and colder nights will appear soon. I realized on Tuesday that it was time to attack the greenhouse mess and begin shifting my more temperature sensitive plants into its warmth.

            I accomplished this task on my own, intentionally longing to fill my days with grunt labor that placed me away from the troubles our world faces. I found a new, temporary location for the cardboard needed for painting our bistro set. Careful not to break anything, I placed the glass rooting vases into a bin that’s far safer than the spot on the greenhouse floor. I lugged all of the unused pots behind the shelter to where I can access them easily if I need to repot anything this winter. I examined all of the plants, added soil to some, and shifted the most temperature sensitive ones onto shelves.

            As each plant found a spot, I noted which ones remain outside, now too large to haul into the greenhouse. Last year I experimented with several types of frost blankets and found one brand that worked well for me and my garden. They stay stored in a bin, available for easy access. This week, I will group together the larger collection of Aloe Vera under the Live Oak tree and swathe them when the nights’ temperatures drop, and uncover them for the warmer days. As we move into colder days, I’ll cluster more of my outdoor potted plants together and nestle them under more frost blankets that are easy to pull back on sunny days.

            Shifting into a new season reminds me of the importance of being prepared. I’ve guided my days with the saying, “Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.” This winter’s preparations may fall short, but I like to think we’ll stay snug and warm and hopeful as we move through this season.

Messy!

Shifting plants 

Filling up quickly

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman