Monday, June 2, 2025

"Patience"

  

Jan 2022
Jan 2022

            A few years ago, my well-loved mother-in-law plants grew seriously ill with root rot. My own neglect, not moving them into larger pots and replacing their soil, coupled with letting someone else water them for a few weeks after my knee injury resulted in near disaster! I hurried out for pots with drainage and soil with nutrients. Sitting outside in the shade of the live oak tree, with hose in hand, I separated out the rotten parts. With optimism, the original plants went into new, better homes and the undamaged rhizomes settled into different containers with new soil.  All of them went onto the front porch with dappled sunlight. From my original two plants, I propagated a total of eight possible survivors. By Christmas, they all looked healthy enough that I gave away two as gifts for my sister.
            Six of the plants remained with me, coming inside during winter freezes to sit crowded around the front window. Each week, I’d rotate them to make certain they’d get enough light. To be honest, they snaked into the background of other plants around the house. When we decided to move all of our pothos plants from water jugs up high in the kitchen to pots out in the back yard, I placed my mother-in-law plants back on the front porch with confidence that they’d thrive, and they did!
            Gardening takes patience. One plant, place inside or outside, may take several years to mature. Serenity becomes my companion whenever I putter in the gardens. My persistence, though, grows slowly with each new propagation.


June 2024


June 2024

Original two plants that suffered root rot now thrive and have six healthy offspring!


June 2025

Six new plants from the original 2!













Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman     

Sunday, June 1, 2025

"Hair. Hair? Hair!"

 

 

            Over the years, my hair and I have engaged in a love/hate relationship. As a child, I wore my hair in a short bang and bob. Not blessed with naturally curly hair like my sister, Mom would torture me with a head full of pin curls at night so my crown of curls would fluff around my face each morning. By the time I’d walk to school, my tendrils would loosen to soft corkscrews. By the end of the day, I’d have a wave. Eventually, the bang and bob gave way to a short, layered “pixie” cut. Barely longer than a boy’s style, this hair style suited my tomboy years perfectly as it required nothing but wash and wear. Sometimes, Mom would take my “sideburns” and tape them over night into a curl. Since no one ever mistook me for a boy, this little whorl became Mom’s attempt to keep me feminine as I wickedly raced through the neighborhood.

            During middle school, I decided to conform with the style of the day—long and straight. Only I had long and wavy. I’d sleep at night with my hair wrapped around juice cans, and on more than one occasion I ironed my tresses. By the end of the day, Texas humidity ruffled its fingers through my locks, and my messy wave returned. By the time I hit my senior year, I embraced my mop and let it grow. If I needed to dress up for a special occasion, I’d pull out the hot rollers and the hairspray; otherwise, I became one with my hair and its unruly nature.

            College found me grabbing the scissors one day in frustration and hacking off all but a few inches of hair.  Immediately, I began growing my hair out again. That became my cycle for my entire adult life. Very short cut, various cuts to disguise that I was growing it out of layers, then finally long hair again. Of course, in the 80s there’s the “big hair” phenomenon of perms and teasing, yet I still stayed focus on my objective.  Whenever the urge did hit me to chop everything off before I’d reached my long hair goal, I’d grab the L’Oreal and thwart my compulsion by changing my hair color



            Eventually, I cycled back to very long hair. I tell myself that it’s convenient because I can ponytail it or French braid it. I can do the “Mary Ellen Walton” trick of twisting it, tying it in a knot and clipping it. I can even achieve my long ago dream of “long and straight,” if I plug in the Chi. Some days, though, I’ll see a friend with a new stylish cut, and my fingers itch to grab the scissors!

                In 2023, I shifted back to a bang and a bob. I insisted to the young woman cutting my hair that I wanted something dramatically different, but she hesistated on cutting my long locks too much, suggesting that I could return in a few weeks for a shorter style.  Basically, I ended up with a variation of my usual cut with it setting on my shoulders, still long enough to pull into a ponytail if I wanted. 

 





             This year, I finally convinced the stylist that short was the best way for me to go. She pulled my long tail up high, stated firmly, "Once this is gone there's no going back!" I laughed and stated firmly, "Cut it all!" 

Shortest cut since I was four-years-old!
2025

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Friday, May 30, 2025

“Slippery When Wet”

 


 

            The promised rain arrived last night and continued through the morning. Jarred out of sleep with blaring weather alerts, I waited for sunrise before heading to the park to document the glory of a deluge. The runoff river flowed as designed with the lake its final destination.
            As my oldest sandals hit a patch of silt, I realized taking pictures there presented a slip-n-slide adventure. “Don’t do anything stupid,” my son’s frequent admonition turned me away from seeking a lake view shot. Instead, I recorded the slick stairs with a mental note, “slippery when wet” and returned home as lightning broke across the sky and thunder tapped against the car.

 


















Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
             

Thursday, May 29, 2025

“After the Rain”

 

            As our area hits another spring of drought, I joyfully celebrate every time rain falls. Sometimes, with camera in hand, I document the clouds rolling in and record a deluge as it descends upon the house. Other times, my lens focuses on what happens after the rain when leaves bud, flowers bloom, and grasses grow overnight.


           

Our downpour the other night reminded me of other sudden storms and begged me to dive back into my photographs from previous springs and summers. Take a walk today and enjoy the world after the rain.

 


















Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Wednesday, May 28, 2025

"Working Weekend"


 
            Life hands many of us solvable problems that eventually settle down. A sore throat that eases after sipping hot tea laced with lemon and honey.  A car repair setting back the budget for several months. A job loss batters you down for years. If you have family and close friends, you rely upon their experiences, emotional support, and sometimes financial help to recover and move forward.
            Over the years, I cannot remember a time when life handed us an obstacle that we had to handle all alone. As isolating as the caregiver years felt, we still had each other to turn to at the end of each day. In recent months, life has plowed into some of my single friends and family members. An unexpected illness, a slow recovery from surgery, or an overwhelmed and overworked emotional pounding pummeled people I love into a pulp. Always reluctant to ask for help, they put out tentative, subtle signs that events have pulled them underwater. Caught up in my own ups and downs, I missed my own brother’s growing need for relief.
            My brother, challenged by both physical and learning differences, structures his day with routines. He spends his life in a “rinse and repeat” cycle. His work requires the same things daily. He buys the same groceries every week. He pays his bills in person and often in cash when he can. He relies on television for entertainment and news. Last winter, he convinced me to skip our usual trips to his house—he was sick with a stomach bug and wanted rest, and then his job, for several months, required overtime that meant working either extra hours or even extra days. He insisted that he was fine, just tired and not up to visitors.
            Eventually, he ran out of excuses to delay our visit, and February found us descending into his darkened home. He hadn’t replaced light bulbs in each room. His clean laundry piled high in his bedroom while dirty laundry took over part of his garage. He had handled getting a new thermostat for his air conditioner, but his car’s ENGINE light warned of trouble. When we tried to shower that night, only ice cold water came out. He’d lived without hot water for many months.
            We sat down and made a list and plowed through most of it together. That’s when his “aloneness” hit home. All of the chores, big or small, fall onto him. With his extended working hours over several months, he simply gave up on tackling anything but keeping his clothes clean. Together, we hung and folded, sorted and tossed. Together, we took his car in for its repairs. Usually, he walks home from the repair shop. What a luxury to have someone there to drive him home! As a family, we swept and mopped his floors, took out an oversized bush near his front door, and stripped and remade all of his beds. One working weekend with three people reset his household chores.
            His bathroom, though, required more work. The bolt holding the toilet in place had stripped. My scrub brush with Barkeeper’s Friend erased the mildew, but all of the caulk needed to be removed and replaced. The popcorn ceiling over his tub flaked, and every fixture showed its age. We broke down this room’s work into three parts: plumber repairing the toilet first for sanitary reasons; new caulk and paint that we can do; replacing all of the fixtures and the hot water heater (plumber again).
            Arriving at the house this last weekend, we found the toilet repaired and the mildew completely gone. I “watered” the ceiling to make the popcorn easier to remove. While my husband sliced through the old stuff, caulked the tub, and repainted the room including a touchup of the tub’s exterior, I partnered with my brother to streamline his linen closet to only the sheets and towels he uses, bagging away old sets of sheets for donations.
            This next week, he will call his plumber to get prices for his hot water heater and possibly updating all of the twenty-year-old fixtures, including the light. If all of this is within the budget, he’ll get things fixed. We discussed the importance of having hot water again being more important than updating the shower head, faucets and lights. We made pledges to one another that he will let us know when things go wrong, but I know there are many things around him that he simply doesn’t notice as needing attention. I left with a new list of “Must Do” already started. However, he had maintained all of the housework we’d helped him with from the previous visit—no clean laundry piled high or dirty laundry stacked in the garage, no un-swept or un-mopped floors. If we keep on a regular schedule to provide extra hands on working weekends, all should be well.   























Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman