by sheila morris
my favorites in our front yard
temperature on screen porch at 5:00 p.m. yesterday
Have mercy – it’s done turned hot over here in South Carolina for the first day of August in 2024.
I feel a twinge of the vapors coming on…or maybe it’s a case of the Olympic Fever.
“Naynay, I’ve been busy in the pool today so I need you to make sure you clean my tree house before we come back again. It’s really a mess,” said four-year-old granddaughter Ella to me as she handed me her small toy broom with a serious expression before she made a mad dash to keep up with her mother and two-year-old sister Molly who were already at the gate on the way to their car.
The girls, their mother and Pretty had been to the zoo one morning with cousin Caleb and his parents earlier this week, but I couldn’t rally for that fun excursion so I was happy they brought the party to our house in the afternoon. Everyone was trying to keep cool in the triple-digit summer heat.
Ella’s definition of “tree house” puzzling
hope my cleaning passes Ella’s inspection this week
(she was right about one thing: it was messy)
And yet, as I try to live every day in the present, I am a wanderer in the wilderness of my past during the quiet times when the dogs haven’t spied dangers from the mail delivery, Pretty is at work in her antique empire, the granddaughters are busy making new friends at summer camp – just me with the memories of another time and place.
George Patton Morris holding his granddaughter (me) in 1946
Barber Morris, as he was known for more than sixty years, wore a starched white shirt with a carefully selected tie every day of his life until he closed his barber shop in Richards, Texas in the mid 1980s. I thought of him especially this week on his birthday, July 29th., and rummaged through my first baby pictures book to find images of this man I adored until he died in 1987.
George was born in 1898 in Walker County, Texas, the ninth of eleven children born to William James and Margaret Antonio Moore Morris. Maggie Morris (1864-1963) was from Winn Parish, Louisiana and had her first child in 1882 when she was eighteen years old, her last child in 1906 when she was forty-two. Imagine what their family life was like raising eleven children on a small farm in rural southeast Texas at the turn of the twentieth century. Surviving the Great Depression of the 1930s as a widow with the death of her husband in 1927; living through two world wars. I knew my great-grandmother because my grandfather took me to visit her when she came to see her daughters, his sisters Erma, Berniece and Hattie Jane, in Huntsville which was only a half hour from where we lived in Richards. She was a tiny woman, frail, and like my grandfather, not very chatty.
George and his wife Betha holding their granddaughter in 1946
If only I could see my family again…I would ask countless questions I didn’t have sense enough to ask when I was a teenager absorbed with keeping my secret homosexual self safe. Today I’d want to spend the time thanking them for the lives they lived, the sacrifices they made, the foundation they laid that gave me the opportunities I’ve had to live the good life. I am grateful for my precious memories, how they linger, how they ever flood my soul.
Back to the present, though. It’s time to pick up Ella and Molly from summer school camp.
Naynay, can we have ice cream today? You betcha, and your tree house is spotless.
Teresa and I had purchased the house in Montgomery, Texas, in 2010 so I could be closer to my aging mother who was struggling with dementia in a memory care unit in Houston. Her condition had deteriorated significantly during the past four years of her stay there while the long-term care policy critical to our financial stability neared the end of its benefit period in that blazing hot Texas summer of 2011. My mom needed to move to a less expensive place… I had equal parts of fear and dread at the thought of moving her, but I was in a search and rescue mode for a place closer to our Worsham Street home in Montgomery while my wife Teresa kept a busy schedule in her job managing the mercantile department of the Mast General Store a thousand miles away from me in Columbia, South Carolina.
I was in the middle of writing my third nonfiction book, desperately seeking a publisher and/or a literary agent who could locate a publisher for me. You have to build a brand, I was told with every rejection. Red’s Rants and Raves (my first blog on WordPress) wasn’t setting the right tone for my “serious” writing. Seriously? Nobody was more critical of human frailty than The Red Man, our rescued Welsh terrier, but I got the hint.
The premier for my second blog, I‘ll Call It Like I See It, was on August 02, 2011. Nine hundred ninety-nine posts thirteen years later was a number I couldn’t have imagined when I started this amazing ride that began as a solo journey with zero followers. In November of 2011 Shirley Baranowski Cook from my hometown of Richards, Texas became the first email subscriber joined by my cousin Melissa Bech, Worsham Street neighbor Lisa Martin and college roommate Robyn Whyte – all in December of that year. I was no longer alone on the journey.
The cyberspace universe has been magical for me – my readers who are now loyal subscribers and social media followers have become friends whose comments make me laugh when I need a laugh, inspire me to keep going when I wonder if anyone finds me that horrible word for old women with white hair: irrelevant. I developed an Honor Roll of Friends, but I had so many names I was overwhelmed by the numbers and didn’t dare risk overlooking anyone.
Just know that I treasure each of you who has made part or all of this journey with me – I hope you know you made the Honor Roll. If you are in doubt, just ask.
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P.S. In 2012 I’ll Call It Like I See It: A Lesbian Speaks Out was published. The Red Man was delighted and quick to claim credit for giving me my start.
Ella looks chill, Naynay looks tired, Molly looks ferocious
Granddaughters believed Naynay needed a durag with Mickey Mouse ears
Molly asked Mickey Mouse to feed her “baby” plus hold every toy in sight
Ella perks up playing with doll’s pacifier, smiling Naynay still looks tired with Mickey Mouse ears drooping backward, Molly chill with Naynay’s glasses
Stay cool, and please stay tuned.
Pretty celebrates the 4th of July in our pool with granddaughters Ella and Molly, their first cousin Caleb who shares a large blue noodle with special friend Mary Carter while Caleb’s daddy Seth throws a tennis ball to them. Summer pool regulars Saskia and her son Finn shown in the background keep a close eye on four-year-old Ella making the turn from the deep water toward the steps where the action is.
The smile on Pretty a/k/a Nana’s face equals the joy on Ella’s face whether it is the 4th of July or any other day the two of them are able to find water for a swim. Number One Son Drew, the father of our granddaughters, laughed from his lounge chair in the sun where he is the happiest and said, I sure am glad the water craze skipped a generation.
Daughter-in-law Caroline made my day with homemade peach ice cream that was the most delicious EVER; her twin sister Chloe made equally yummy fresh peach cobbler which luckily had leftovers that were “left over” in our refrigerator for tomorrow’s breakfast.
Life is good for us on this 4th of July – my hope is that wherever you are this holiday weekend, you take a moment to reflect upon the sacrifices made by those who went before us to assert our right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness whether it’s in a swimming pool or watching Wimbledon on ESPN+ from the comfort of a favorite recliner.
Charly and Carl are exhausted from entertaining
Please stay tuned.
I'll Call It Like I See It 
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