I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Author: Sheila Morris

  • ’til the river runs dry


    I will sail my vessel ‘til the river runs dry.

                Like a bird upon the wind, these waters are my sky.

                I’ll never reach my destination if I never try,

                So I will sail my vessel ‘til the river runs dry.

    Garth Brooks’s lyrics sing a song of determination that begins with his all-important first step of getting into the boat with a sense of purpose and working as hard as he can to keep the vessel from tipping over in heavy winds.

    Whether our rivers are real or imaginary, it is sometimes difficult to keep sailing our vessels in the right direction to achieve the long-term results we strive for as individuals, as families – and even as a nation.

    Carl Bernstein (of Bernstein and Woodward in the Nixon years) says we Americans live today in the midst of a cold civil war. Garth Brooks might say that sailing our vessel of democracy has gotten much more difficult as heavy winds blow against it with more suspicions of each other in every news cycle.

    Discernment of truth is ridiculed. Harsh rhetoric – whether true or not – is applauded and considered to be shaking things up that should have been shaken up a long time ago in Washington. Our vessel of democracy tilts too far leeward or too far windward with politics to the left or right that create schisms which have become as wide as the Grand Canyon.

    Earth to America: your vessel is in trouble and in danger of sinking.

    The passion we feel to protect and preserve our families must be the same passion we feel to protect and preserve our democratic ideals. A small wind of individual apathy toward basic civic responsibilities such as voting can become a hurricane force when it is multiplied by millions who have lost faith in their institutions and the people who are in charge of them.

    All of us are in the same boat with the same basic needs for clean air to breathe, food to eat, pure water to drink,  affordable popcorn at the movies…well, maybe popcorn is a bridge too far…

    We must each do our part to ensure the waters of kindness, compassion, respect for our differences, celebration of our shared humanity – like birds upon the wind, these waters are our skies and we will sail our vessels as individuals, as families and as a nation ’til the river runs dry.

     

  • and may you have no more sorrow


    This is a special post for our friends who live very far away from us in New York. They have lost a precious member of their family, an adorable little dog named Butterfly, this weekend. She succumbed to many health issues and passed away in her mother’s arms.

    If we lived close to them, we would be at their home tonight to mourn with them as they sit shiva – we would be bringing them a bite to eat and a treat for Butterfly’s sister Cricket who is the inspiration for The Cricket Pages, the blog that introduced us to their family.

    Every weekend I looked forward to Rachel’s posts that always included Cricket and Butterfly’s antics – sometimes funny, sometimes more serious – but always entertaining.

    I will miss Butterfly from now on. I hope she and The Red Man get to meet somewhere and swap stories.

    May God comfort you among the other mourners of Zion and Jerusalem and may you have no more sorrow.

     

  • Spike speaks


    Hello. My name is Spike, and I don’t ever get to say anything in cyberspace. It’s not that I don’t have something to say. It’s just that nobody ever asks me what I think.

    And I think plenty. That’s what I do best. Think. In this family thinking is a lost art and talking occupies center stage. Talking, in my opinion, is overrated.

    For example, nobody has ever asked me my opinion on summer. In my opinion, summer is hot.

    I don’t get the pool thing…

    Normally I enjoy a refreshing dip in water, but this water ain’t right. It smells funny. I don’t trust any water that smells funny.

    So take me back, country roads, to the place I belong which is inside my air conditioned house…where I can think in peace and quiet…

    but not always in solitude…

    Oh, well. You can’t have everything, if you stop to think about it.

     

     

     

  • the mickey mouse club


    Who’s the leader of the Club that’s made for you and me…

    M-I-C     K- E- Y

    M-O-U-S-E

    I’ve made the mistake of watching the Senate as it goes through the histrionics of repealing the Affordable Care Act for the gazillionth. time. Yesterday, I had the nagging suspicion I had seen this played out somewhere else before.

    Attention, Baby Boomers from the 1950s. Sing along with me.

    If you can remember the fun and games afternoons with Mickey and the gang,

    you have a great memory

    we had our clubhouse –

    just like the US Senate has today

    our Head Mouseketeer Jimmie was a

    lot more fun than the new

    Senate Head Mouseketeer Mitch

    If only our Senators were as congenial as Mickey and Minnie, I wonder what could get done?

     We need more women in the new Senate Club

    The new Senate Club represents

    the best interests of all the people in the country,

    wouldn’t you think?

    sigh…Disney was a deal-maker, too…

    And now it’s time to say goodbye to all our fam-i- ly

    M-I-C see you real soon

    K-E-Y   why? because we like you!

    M-O-U-S-E

    Most of these Senators can remember the Mickey Mouse Club of yesteryear – maybe some of them were even card-carrying members like me – but they’ve forgotten Head Mouseketeer Jimmie’s admonitions to treat each other with respect and kindness. The new Club thrives on disrespect and meanness. The new Head Mouseketeer Mitch has gotten lost in a wilderness of wheeling and dealing that will cost many Americans the opportunity for adequate health care.

    Pretty is one of those Americans who has health insurance through the Affordable Care Act and will have none if it’s repealed. Multiply that by 32 million lives. I can’t. I can’t even imagine the ultimate price for the possibilities being discussed on the floor of the Senate today.

    Maybe that’s why I’ve resorted to tunes from the years when my best friends were Spin and Marty.

    P.S. The views expressed today in no way reflect the views of Mickey and Minnie Mouse or any of the Mouseketeers pictured. The pictures are copyrighted by the Disney Company more than 60 years ago.

     

     

  • From One Mother to Another – WWII


    On May 29, 1945 my mom Selma and my dad Glenn eloped to get married by a justice of the peace in Magnolia, Texas. Magnolia was a small town 30 miles south of the even smaller town of Richards where they had grown up and gone to public school together. I’m not sure how they decided on Magnolia unless they had set out for Houston which was another 60 miles down the road – and couldn’t wait.

    They eloped practically the day my father returned from England after flying 32 bombing missions over Germany as a navigator on a B-25 bomber. He had volunteered to enlist in the army soon after graduating from high school, gone to officer training school in the Army Air Corps, served in the 8th Air Force in England, received the Air Medal of Honor, was honorably discharged, came home to the rural Grimes County, Texas home he had left and married the woman he loved. She was 18 – he was 21.

    My father had a brother, Ray, who was two years older than he was. My Uncle Ray also enlisted in the Army as soon as he finished high school. Even though the brothers had been separated for two years, they both were amazed to find themselves stationed together with the 8th Air Force in England. Ray loaded the bombs in the planes on the ground, and Glenn dropped the bombs from the air.

    Ray and Glenn’s mother, my grandmother Betha Day Robinson Morris, kept this letter dated August 16, 1945 from a mother written to her from another mother in Doncaster, England. Apparently Betha’s sons had spent quite a bit of time in her home while they were stationed across the Pond during the war. Glenn was home and already married before Ray’s tour was over.

    16 -8 – 45

    Dear Mrs. Morris,

    Many thanks for your letter. I was very pleased you appreciated my letter. I expect you have Ray home now.  We do miss him but let’s thank god the whole war is over & our boys won’t have to face that Pacific. I dreaded hearing that any of the U.S.A. boys who stayed with me would have to face that ordeal. Fancy Glynn being with you when my letter arrived. I could just imagine him saying that about the Yorkshire pudding. Yes Mrs. Morris my dear son arrived home safely & we’ve had a lovely 10 days with him. We had his coming home party last Saturday & what a party. Ray will tell you what a lively house this is like your own. I didn’t know what to do when the telegram came saying he had landed in England. I laughed & cried together so I know your feelings when that great big son of yours arrives. He’s a great guy. We’ve got his photo on the piano. I often talk to him. Pleased to hear you have 3 children. We only have 2 boys and my grandson who really is a beautiful child. I’ll send you some snaps when we can obtain some films for the camera. He’s so proud of his dear daddy. Ask Glynn to send me a picture of his wife. She sounds a jolly good sort of a girl. We get very few American Boys here now. I see a few was over for J.V. Days & everybody went mad. Tell Ray the Market Tavern was crowded. When we got in, you couldn’t get out again. My son who works there was tired out. What beer they sold & we was all dancing in the Market too. Give Ray this message from Shelia “She sends her regards to him & if she wasn’t marrying Nash, he stood the second chance.” She’s a sweet kid. I’ll enclose you the recipe for Yorkshire pudding  it’s really good. With roast, beef, mutton, or pork. We very seldom have a dinner without in England. As it’s very tasty with onions cooked. Let’s hope you make a success of it. It needs a lot of Beeting (sp.) up. Well dear space is short and time marches on. Give my love to my two Boys from their Limey Mum.

         So I’ll say cheerio. 

              Sincerely yours

                          E.Hughes

             Regards from all the young at heart to Ray & Glynn

    Sender’s name and address: E. Hughes, L.L. Christ Church Rd, Doncaster, England.

    P.S. I can only imagine my grandmother’s strictly tee-totaling Southern Baptist self as she read the part about the Market Tavern, beer and dancing. Oh my god.

    P.S.P.S. Family lore always attributed my name Sheila to a girl in England. There is truth to that story apparently. My middle name Rae was my daddy’s attempt to feminize his brother’s name. So I guess I might have been named Betha Day instead of Sheila Rae had it not been for WWII.

    Cheerio