March 21, 1907
Dear Luke, I hope you are behaving yourself. You see what can happen if you don’t. Please come home soon. Your wife, Bessie
by sheila morris
March 21, 1907
Dear Luke, I hope you are behaving yourself. You see what can happen if you don’t. Please come home soon. Your wife, Bessie
Saints and Sinners Literary Festival, here we come – this week. Unbelievable. I submitted my short story last summer with low expectations of winning the Tennessee Williams Fiction Prize because I have never been recognized as a fiction writer, but lo and behold, my story The Gods are Stacked against Us became a finalist in the contest which meant it will be included in the SAS Anthology for 2017 which, in turn, meant an invitation to read at the festival this month.
So Pretty and I will be off to New Orleans like a herd of turtles in a matter of days. What an odd time to leave in the middle of moving out of Casa de Canterbury to Casa de Cardinal, someone might think (and someone would be correct). The vicissitudes of life aren’t always coordinated properly, as my daddy used to say when he waxed eloquently about them, and he should have known that if anyone did since he died right in the middle of them at age 51.
I will participate with four other writers on a panel called Home is Where the Art Is, or Is It? to discuss the impact our homes have on our work…I’m really looking forward to talking about the importance of time and place to me in my work. Plus, I’ll have an opportunity to read an excerpt from my short story during a reading session along with eight other finalists.
The festival brings together leading poets, authors and other literati notables in the LGBTQ community – I recognize many of their names and writing from years of reading and adulation and will now have the opportunity to meet and greet them over cocktails and heavy hors d’oeuvres on Bourbon Street Friday evening.
I’m trying to prepare myself to talk about literary things without sounding too “un-literary.” Let’s see…
Where did you study writing, and how does that affect your writing style?
That’s a tough one. I’ve had two writing classes. The first was a business communications class at UT Austin in 1966 that focused on how to write a good business letter with an emphasis on brevity – say more with less was the mantra. Be direct – no adverbs, a few adjectives here and there, but mostly noun, verb combo and a simple Dear Sir or Madam beginning with a Sincerely yours ending. Cut and dry. No horsing around. No nonsense.
My second writing class was in 2006 at Midlands Technical College for a six-week Monday-night adult learning class that focused on the basic elements of fiction writing. My accomplishment was a story I called Payday Someday which turned out to be the first chapter of my first book Deep in the Heart. Nonfiction actually, but hey, nothing’s perfect.
Hm. I think I’ll skip that question and move on to Why do you write?
I write because I can’t keep myself from writing. I write because I can speak for those who have no voice and continue the fight for fairness and respect I’ve always believed in. I write because Pretty, my Aunt Lucille and a host of people, some known, some unknown love to read what I write. I write because I hope, along with many other aging Baby Boomers, to have a legacy – that my words will survive me.
Okay. Way too heavy for cocktail party conversation. Skip that one, too.
Let’s try Hi how are you? Where are you from?
Now that’s a complicated question. I was born and raised in rural Grimes County, Texas…
Eyes are rolling. People walking away. Clearly small talk not my strength.
Pretty, can I get you another diet coke??
March 17, 1907
Dear Luke, I miss you so much and am doing all the chores while you are away. Please come home soon. I love you always, your wife Bessie P.S. It’s okay by me if you vote.
If winter comes, can spring be far behind? Yes, apparently it can be far, far behind in 2017 because today is the ides of March and our high temperature at Casa de Canterbury is supposed to be 47 degrees this afternoon. We had a low of 25 this morning and while we are grateful to avoid the blizzards of our amigos in the northeast and certainly don’t want to complain, I is cold…you is cold…we is all cold in the sunny South just a few days short of official spring. Brr…we are sending our hope for spring weather to everyone in the northeast who is shivering and shoveling snow today.
As the moving days get closer, I find more and more hidden treasures in my office that create more and more indecision. To keep or not to keep. That is the question. Where on earth do I put these memories…
Red paced, Chelsea panted…
Annie and Ollie contemplated the meaning of life
in the spring of 2011 in our back yard
Welcome to Forest Hills from the magnificent
trees at the corner of Canterbury and Westminster.
We will miss them.
Manning Avenue behind Casa de Canterbury
Casa de Canterbury – the intersection of two worlds
Lyon Street Community on Manning –
Forest Hills on Canterbury Road
We will miss our neighbors in both worlds.
Oh my, the azaleas and dogwoods
are incredible in the spring
Pretty and I are still trying to figure out what to do with our Casa de Canterbury marker – unfortunately, our next house number is not 2501. Other than that small detail, we could carry it with us to Casa de Cardinal. (What’s with this “C” thing?)
Spring is my favorite time of the year – next to fall – because it’s the time when new life bursts on the scene, green becomes a real color again, hope springs eternal for a fresh start; which is exactly what Pretty, Spike, Charly and I are about to have as we leave Casa de Canterbury after eight awesome years. We leave with a bucket list of memories, hope for the future and gratitude for the opportunity to once again move on…stronger together.
Casa de Cardinal – our new home
our knees are doing a happy dance!
Stay tuned for more updates.
Once upon a time on the corner of Canterbury and Manning in a city called Columbia lived a family of two lesbians and their dogs.
And the family was happy in their home which they called Casa de Canterbury because one of their dogs (The Red Man) spoke fluent Spanish.
For years and years the old woman Slow and Pretty and their dogs lived in the casa which saw seasons come and go because that is the way seasons act.
The old woman Slow got slower and slower as her knees rebelled whenever she climbed or came down the 14 steps connecting the first and second levels of the casa. Even Pretty’s younger knees grew so angry with her she had to get a new one in 2016, but that really didn’t help her very much and didn’t help Slow at all.
And so it became clear to Slow and Pretty they had to leave Casa de Canterbury for…what? new digs. So that is what they are going to do. They are moving west across the Congaree, Saluda and Broad rivers closer to Texas – but not much – to West Columbia, South Carolina, which is not to be confused with where Slow went to high school: West Columbia, Texas. How weird is that? Let’s hope she isn’t confused by this coincidence.
As the family says goodbye to Casa de Canterbury, they invite you to take a little trip down memory lane with them through a few of the seasons at their casa over the next several posts. Enjoy.
First day of summer, 2016
one of Pretty’s bottle trees
Charly’s first summer at Casa de Canterbury
First figs of the season
also possibly the last – the tree was never prolific
Summer flowers
a rose is a rose is a rose…by any other name
Charly listens to the sounds of summer
perfect place to cool off in summer heat
so, so hot out there
(summer, 2012)
did somebody say HOT?
back yard in the summer of 2012
tres amigos brave the heat
Stay tuned for fall. Summer, fall, winter, spring.
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