we must never come to this store again

Once upon a time somewhere along the supply chain for my bupropion med which I have taken for years to treat free-floating anxiety (that turned into specific anxiety during the Agent Orange previous administration in the USA), well, this med was exchanged for a kind of wellbutrin commonly prescribed to assist tobacco addicts in their war against nicotine. Fun fact: I have never used tobacco in any form with the exception of a few puffs of marijuana here and there. More there than here actually plus I rarely inhaled.

Last week when Pretty dropped by the pharmacy to pick up a couple of meds for me, the pharmacist in charge said she couldn’t release one of them until she spoke with me via the phone. This of course irritated Pretty who had vowed several times to never darken the door of this particular establishment because of obstacles to what should be a simple action. I prepaid online and was notified the meds were ready for pickup so I assured Pretty when she got out of the grannymobile this would be quick, simple, fast, easy. Said with a smile and thumbs up gesture.

Not so fast, my friend. Pretty returned to our car without the meds. Her facial expression when she opened the driver’s side door told me who sat between our two granddaughters that were in their car seats in the middle row of seats that Pretty was not happy. She proceeded to let us all know just how unhappy she was with the pharmacy; this was absolutely the last time she would be trying to deal with my meds. Why couldn’t I answer my cell phone when the pharmacist called me just a few minutes before? Because my cell phone was on the floorboard of the passenger side of the front seats and I was sitting in the second row between our two granddaughters to make sure they weren’t kidnapped while she went to the store for me. Not good enough. Pretty continued her rage, rage against the dying of the light or the ridiculous rules of the pharmacy. Take your pick.

At this point our recently turned three year old Ella joined in Pretty’s harangue to say in her most authoritative voice, “Teresa, we must never come to this store again. I am never getting anything in there. Let’s leave now and go to the playground.”

Pretty and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. LOL, as the current saying goes. Pretty was Nana to Ella in the everyday vicissitudes of life, but lately when she really wanted to have an impact on the conversation, Ella addressed her as Teresa – which was fine with us since that was her name.

What did we do then? What could we do? Pretty drove out of the parking lot and took us to the playground. It was a beautiful day to be outdoors, and the perfect weather continued for Ella’s birthday party this past weekend.

Lost in thought, overwhelmed by Birthday Party Number Three

(Thankfully pharmacy incident two days before forgotten)

Pony rides, hay ride, balloons –

everyone was here to celebrate with me


Turning Three is HUGE – thank goodness for friends!

Nana holding baby sister Molly –

Gigi points to another birthday in January

I have no words to express the happiness these little girls have brought to Pretty and me these last three years. The old adage time flies when you’re having fun must have been spoken first by a grandmother who suddenly realized her grandchild was three years old having a party with her friends and family, having conversations on her own, occasionally eating a Cheeto which her mother had thoughtfully provided for everyone since it was Ella’s favorite food group.

Bless these precious girls, bless all the little children of the world, bless the parents who love and care for them, bless everyone in their lives who offer encouragement and hope for their future happiness.

Slava Ukraini. For the children.


P.S. I did call the pharmacist who asked me how my anxiety was doing these days since I’d been taking the wrong meds for the past six months. My anxiety is in direct proportion to my worry about my country’s mid-term elections in November, the state of our democracy, the war in Ukraine and a recurrence of Covid. Other than that, I have none. I still don’t smoke, I added. I picked up my meds the next day.

About Sheila Morris

Sheila Morris is a personal historian, essayist with humorist tendencies, lesbian activist, truth seeker and speaker in the tradition of other female Texas storytellers including her paternal grandmother. In December, 2017, the University of South Carolina Press published her collection of first-person accounts of a few of the people primarily responsible for the development of LGBTQ organizations in South Carolina. Southern Perspectives on the Queer Movement: Committed to Home will resonate with everyone interested in LGBTQ history in the South during the tumultuous times from the AIDS pandemic to marriage equality. She has published five nonfiction books including two memoirs, an essay compilation and two collections of her favorite blogs from I'll Call It Like I See It. Her first book, Deep in the Heart: A Memoir of Love and Longing received a Golden Crown Literary Society Award in 2008. Her writings have been included in various anthologies - most recently the 2017 Saints and Sinners Literary Magazine. Her latest book, Four Ticket Ride, was released in January, 2019. She is a displaced Texan living in South Carolina with her wife Teresa Williams and their dogs Spike, Charly and Carl. She is also Naynay to her two granddaughters Ella and Molly James who light up her life for real. Born in rural Grimes County, Texas in 1946 her Texas roots still run wide and deep.
This entry was posted in family life, Humor, Lesbian Literary, Life, Personal, photography, politics, Random, Reflections, Slice of Life, The Way Life Is, The Way Life Should Be and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

15 Responses to we must never come to this store again

  1. Wayside Artist says:

    This is another one of those times I’m at a loss for words, so I’ll leave it at: Out of the mouths of babes!

    No. I’m not done. Pony rides at a birthday party? I’m sure I didn’t have ponies when I turned three. I’d have remembered that. I’ve never been so taken in!!

    Enjoy the girls, autumn, and the right meds. I won’t rest easy until after the election and probably not then.

    Love to you and Pretty.
    Slava Ukraini! 🌻

    Liked by 2 people

    • Ann, you would have so loved to see the children on the ponies. They all enjoyed, but one little girl waited to get on the horse she loved the most – she was probably the smallest little girl at the party – Hispanic – her mother spoke Spanish to her about the horses. She finally got to ride the one she wanted! You would have loved to see her face on that horse! Joyful.
      Pretty found the place and recommended it to Caroline who really did the place up right…a grand time. A long way from growing up in Richards, Texas but same love from grandmothers…
      Love to you, my dear friend


  2. Luanne says:

    Such fun with the girls, especially Ella!!! And she is such a personality!
    So glad you have the kids to keep you young–or at least laughing haha.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. cindy knoke says:

    What lovely little girls! Happy Birthday Ella!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Looks like they all had a ball at the party!

    Liked by 1 person

    • It was a place called Fox Farm a little distance from the city – lots of animals for the children to pet, a wondrous old fashioned hayride, horses to ride, topped off with birthday cake and balloons…I try so hard not to feel guilty. The kids were great – had a ball for sure!!


  5. The wrong meds…OMG! Thank goodness for grandchildren & ponies

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Nothing like a birthday party, pony rides, balloons, and Cheetos–not to mention Ella’s sweet face–to help you and Pretty forget about the pharmacy hassles, our country’s challenges, and the sadness throughout our world, at least for a moment. We all need more than a little bit of that these days.
    ~Birdie Blue and Tallulah Bee

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.