I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Category: Humor

  • You Don’t Have to Break Up to Wallow


    Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life made its Netflix debut over the Thanksgiving weekend with much fanfare, hoopla and hype as the three leading actresses appeared on every talk show under the sun to promote the four-part mini-series that was supposed to be a panacea for the yearnings of a major contingent of followers who wanted more from the Gilmore women of Stars Hollow and Hartford. The original American TV comedy series ran for seven seasons from 2000 to 2007 and was apparently quite popular and still missed by many.

    Pretty and I were not Gilmore Girls watchers in those first runs; perhaps because we were younger, our relationship was newer, our social life was busier, we were watching Frasier re-runs… or something else I can’t remember. Whatever the reasons, we missed it the first time around. But since we are now seasoned Netflix subscribers and recently finished the gazillion-episode BBC series Doc Martin  and needed a new diversion, we decided to give the Gilmore Girls a whirl.

    We recently started with the first season and are now prepared to spend the rest of our lives watching Loralei and Rory get daily coffee fixes at Luke’s coffee shop because each of the early years had at least a hundred episodes per season. Luckily, we found ourselves growing fond of the characters as we usually do when the writing is good and the actors as good as the script.

    For example, in one of the first season’s episodes this week I was disappointed when teenage Rory’s first true love, Dean the grocery store bag boy, dumped her. Such a cute, sweet boy – young love blossomed, bloomed, bleeped, fizzled, done. And on their three-month anniversary, too. Sigh. What to do? Talk to Mom.

    Mom’s (Lorelei’s) advice to her teenage daughter was priceless: wallow. That’s right. Wallow. Stay in your pajamas all day while you eat pizza and ice cream…don’t put on makeup…don’t shave your legs…sit in a dark room watching old movies like Love Story, An Affair to Remember, Ishtar, Old Yeller and have a good cry. Wallow the day away.

    What’s really amazing about this advice is that I’ve been wallowing minus the crying part and old movies for years without realizing it, and my wallowing has nothing at all to do with my love life. I was born to wallow, and then I had a relapse when I had a real job that required getting out of bed, applying Clinique makeup every morning after my shower, spending a fortune on perms and color to give my straight-as-a-board graying hair curls and blondeness,  getting dressed in appropriate business attire, commuting long distances to an office where I sat in front of a computer screen looking at numbers all day while agonizing over the financial decisions my clients were wrestling with…all in all, a relapse that lasted 40 years.

    But now, I have reclaimed my roots (the silver ones, too), and I wallow almost each day. Some days I never get out of my pajamas, my toothpaste gets more use than my bath soap, I gave up shaving my legs for Lent and didn’t resurrect it for Easter, I only wear makeup for date nights, and my straight short white hair qualifies for the “man’s haircut rate” with my hair stylist.  The longest commute I have is from my upstairs office to the kitchen downstairs. Life is good.

    Writing is the perfect career for wallowing. If Pretty asks me what I’ve been doing when she comes home from surveying her antique empire and finds me still in my pajamas, I can say Oh, I’ve been writing all day – which could or could not be exactly true. Unless you count watching In the Heat of the Night as research. (Ishtar, no thanks.)

    Today is New Year’s Eve, the last day of 2016, the day when many of us will be making our resolutions for 2017. I have started my list with the same one I’ve started with for the past 40 years: I need to lose 10, 15, 20, 25, 30, 35 pounds this year. My, how time flies.

    Hm. I never get past that first one.

    If you are making your list and checking it twice, add a day to wallow once a month. You don’t need to break up a relationship to do it – simply indulge and wallow. Indulge. Wallow. Enjoy.

    Pretty and I wish you a Happy New Year from our home at Casa de Canterbury to yours wherever you are in cyberspace around the world – stay safe, and we’ll look forward to having you hang with us in 2017!

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • Merry Ho-Hum


    And so this is Christmas at Casa de Canterbury…Pretty had to make an unexpected trip to Florida to drive her father to see his brother this week, and Spike and Charly are left with me during the holiday season.

    As you can see, they are not hopeful for Merry Ho, Ho this week without Pretty.

    duke-trip-and-potpourri

    The weather outside is frightful, and my dear, you’re not delightful…whenever did my fun become pain? Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain. Sigh.

    Come home soon, Pretty – we are all struggling without you.

     

  • Today is the First Day of…


    …the rest of your life? Exactly….but today is also the First Day of December which means Christmas music, holiday parties, magical outdoor lighting and indoor decorated trees, Santa sightings, frantic shopping sprees, too many cookies – not enough fiber, too much eggnog – not enough water, too many rum cakes – not enough veggies…too many reindeer – not enough sleighs.

    img_4197

    Annual Cookie Walk in Montgomery, Texas

    Ellen’s busy giving away the farm with her Twelve Days of Christmas, and Pretty is busy wondering why we aren’t in the audience for one of those days. I told her we would make that part of our financial plan for 2017. As a matter of fact, we can make that the cornerstone of our financial plan for next year.

    So clearly in the spirit of the season, the president-elect is tweeting “we the people” our leadership gifts for the next four years.

    On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me

    a partridge in a pear tree –

     a promise to drain the swamp in D. C.

    On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me

    two turtle doves –

    (Breitbart Steve and Reince)

    and a promise to drain the swamp in D.C.

    On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me

    three guys named Mike –

    (Pence, Flynn, Pompeo),

    Breitbart Steve and Reince –

    and a promise to drain the swamp in D.C.

    On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me

    three billionaires and their Goldman Sachs adviser –

    (Betsy, Wilbur, Donald, Steven),

    three guys named Mike,

    Breitbart Steve and Reince,

    and a promise to drain the swamp in D.C.

    On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me

    five Golden Tweets –

    three billionaires and their Goldman Sachs Adviser,

    three guys named Mike,

    Breitbart Steve and Reince,

    and a promise to drain the swamp in D.C.

    Ah, the joys of the holiday season in a presidential election year. I can hear the bells going jingle, jangle – or is that my nerves.

    Party hearty.

     

     

     

  • A Little Good News and Sweet Dreams


    When I was a little tomboy growing up in Grimes County, Texas, which was one of the poorest counties in the rural southeastern Piney Woods side of the state, my dad’s brother, my Uncle Ray who lived in the big city of Houston, was a huge country music fan…and when I say huge, I do mean huge. He was like the most faithful Saturday night radio Grand Ole Opry  and Louisiana Hayride kind of country music fan.

    The rest of my family was luke-warm to what are now considered the country music classics because they were all gospel music folks, snow white Southern Baptist church music kind of folks: quartets, singing conventions on Sunday afternoons with dinner on the grounds, Baptist Hymnal songs played on the organ and piano on Sunday mornings for the congregational singing.

    Out of that place I began to sing solos in the little country church we attended before I could read the words to the songs. My mother taught them to me by repeating the words over and over until I could remember them. Then she would have me stand on a little folding chair on the floor just below the minister’s pulpit on Sunday morning to sing the “special music” for the service while she accompanied me on the piano.

    I could look out on a congregation of maybe 50 people that included my two grandmothers, my dad, my grandfather, and at least two of my uncles…sometimes one more if my Uncle Ray came from Houston for Sunday lunch at my grandmother’s house. They all beamed back at me with love and great appreciation for my singing talents.

    So much so that my Uncle Ray paid me the highest compliment he could give me one Sunday when I graduated to standing without the chair and actually was able to read the words to the music on my own. I must have been around eight years old at the time.

    Sheila Rae, he said, you sing as good as Patsy Cline. You should be on the radio on the Opry or the Louisiana Hayride.

    002

    Well, now this suggestion made quite the impression on my prepubescent self – remember this was in the 1950s before American Idol, Dancing With the Stars, The Voice and reality TV – and that comment sparked my interest in country music that has lasted for the past 60 years. Could I sing as well as Patsy Cline? Clearly not, but I could fall in love with her music.

    In times of trouble and deep distress, therefore, I am more apt to listen to George Jones than I am Hootie and the Blowfish or the new country sound of Darius Rucker. Yesterday I resisted MSNBC, Blue Bloods, In the Heat of the Night, a tennis tournament in Singapore, Ellen and Sharon Osborne… and found myself with the Country Classics. It was good for what ails you.

    010

    Here’s a portion of my playlist…

    That Woman I Had Wrapped Around My Finger

    Came Unwound

    (George Strait)

    A Wound Time Can’t Erase

    (Stonewall Jackson)

    Blue Moon with Heartache

    (Rosanne Cash)

    It’s a Long, Long Way to Georgia

    (Don Gibson)

    If I Miss You Again Tonight

    (Tommy Overstreet)

    Ghost Riders in the Sky

    (Johnny Cash)

    Sweet Dreams

    (Patsy Cline)

    I Met a Friend of Yours Today

    (Mel Street)

    Don’t Fight the Feelings of Love

    (Charley Pride)

    Together Again

    (EmmyLou Harris)

    008

    The Right Combination

    (Dolly Parton and Porter Wagoner)

    A Little Good News

    (Anne Murray)

    007

    I’ll let the titles do the talking.

    Until we meet again, I leave you with this Irish blessing: may all of your troubles be less and your blessings be more and may nothing but happiness come through your door.

     

  • Hang on Spooky, Spooky, Hang on!


    004

    Happy Halloween to all our friends in cyberspace – this was a surprise pumpkin left on our front porch by two very creative Hillary and Halloween supporters, Kati and Sheila Go ( as opposed to Sheila Slo). Thanks to them for the fun – our candle will be glowing for our trick-or-treaters tonight!

    8 days to Election – what can I say except relief is on the way.