Saturday, July 9, 2011

“Hidden Feelings”

There are feelings here that can’t be hidden any longer.
Forever trying to force them down, I find they’re growing stronger.
Is this a tentative friendship, or the clumsy lover’s dreams?
Am I experiencing love; is that what this confusion means?
I’m lonely when you’re gone, and resigned when you are here
because you’re always far away, even when you’re near.
I can’t tell where desire ends and where the lovin’ starts.
Is this what the fairy tales mean when one gives away one’s heart?
I want to touch you softly, to talk with you and to share.
I want to say a simple phrase, just “Darlin’ I do care.”
I'm not asking for eternity; I’m just hoping for one day.
For I need a chance to show to you the feelings I’ve hidden away.

Copyright 1977 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Friday, July 8, 2011

“Over the Fence”


Dixie trying to get Paul to throw her Frisbee

Dixie at 8 weeks
            Years ago, the boys next door would vault over the cyclone fence that we have on one side of our property to play with our dog, Dixie. They’d dash around the yard, trailing a toddling Paul behind them, waving an old blanket to entice Dixie into the chase. An athletic dog, Dixie would zoom in sharp spins around the boys, gather momentum, and make wild leaps through the air. As she grabbed the blanket, she’d twist in the wind, torquing her body and sending the boys tumbling across the grass. Dixie loved her Frisbee. She learned how to throw it herself, sailing it prettily from one corner of the yard to the other. Occasionally, it would float over the fence and land in the yard next door. A good problem solver, Dixie never wasted time with futile barking at the Frisbee. Instead, she’d come straight to one of us; hit us with her paw until we did the “What Dixie? What do you want? Show us?” routine. She’d bound back out the door, taking us straight to the fence.
            The back part of our fence separates our yard from the elementary school in our neighborhood. Over the years, we’ve returned home to find basketballs, dodge balls, baseballs, and footballs all labeled with the proud school name. Sometimes, the teachers would send a couple of the kids to our house to pick up the balls. Most of the time, we’d get home from work and place the balls on the other side of the fence, tucked up by our gate so the students would find them waiting the next morning. In all the years we’ve lived here, we’ve only had trouble twice with students kicking down fence boards. Most of the time, the children respect this wooden boundary.
Hackberry Trees!
            On one side of our back yard, two Hackberry trees decided to take root on the neighboring property. For years a rental house, no one ever cut the trees down, and they’ve pushed against the wooden fence, causing it to have a permanent wave. One of these days, we’ll pull this fence down and zigzag a new fence around the trees. New neighbors purchased the house and filled their backyard with rose gardens and trellised nooks, and they want to help us build benches that wrap the trees. We’d take one; they’d take another.
Koi smooching with Sarah
            Now-a-days, we don’t have boys climbing over the side fence, and remodeling at the school shifted the playground to where balls no longer fly over the back fence. However, conversations do float across these borders. I chat with my neighbor about her new grandson (maybe someday he’ll scale the fence), her husband’s recovery from his stroke, or the latest adventures of Koi and her small dog, Sarah. My neighbor on the other side, a chef by profession, delights in sharing many of his favorite dishes. Occasionally, he’ll pass plates of food over the fence, which definitely beats the balls we used to get.   
  
Favorite place to chat over the fence!



Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Thursday, July 7, 2011

"Ping!"





            The small silver service bell sits right next to my mother’s bed, allowing her to shift in the night to strike it with ease. Right next to the bell stands the baby monitor. It transports the metallic “ping” into our bedroom. “Ping” resonates through our house during the midnight hour. “Ping” sounds along with the doves right as dawn breaks. “Ping” nags us into movement at half hour intervals before the alarm ever rings. “Ping” demands immediate attention day or night.
            Some days, I toy with the idea of removing the small bell from its stand. I picture it escaping from its perch, tumbling to the floor, and hiding among the bed ruffles. Other days, I visualize myself, hammer in hand, and a wicked grimace on my face as I pulverize, with utter satisfaction, the small bell because I can no longer bear to hear the insistent “ping, ping, ping, ping!” On days like today, when I’m rested and Mom’s content, I recognize the importance of the “ping” for it represents her continued ability to communicate her needs. As much as the demanding little bell sometimes irritates me, I know its silence will come with great sadness.  


Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

“Ugly Clothes”






            I’ve decided our societal woes reflect in our ugly clothes. Or maybe it’s the other way around? Anyway, the women’s fashion trend to bare all and show more correlates with the growing tendency to bare all and show more in other aspects of our lives. I suppose if you’re willing to display cleavage and pierced belly buttons, it’s not too difficult to display personal affairs. We revel in the anorexic displays of our movie stars and models as we scour the Internet and television for the exposed bones of these celebrities’ shortcomings and private relationships. I look at fashions from previous time periods—long, flowing gowns with layers of decorum, and note that the privacy of previous generations extended beyond dressing habits. Perhaps we opened Pandora’s box and when skirts shimmied up the thigh, bathing suites shrunk down to thongs, and underwear became optional.

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman


Tuesday, July 5, 2011

“Mush Brain”

Mush brain plagues my life tonight
Muddled thoughts flitter left and right
No awesome philosophies
Just jumbled and meshed harmonies
Flights of fancy tether down
Tremendous insights run aground
Imagination is rust
Creativity dries to dust
Mush brain plagues my life tonight
Leaves me hopelessly without sight

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman