I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Category: Humor

  • no Thank You Notes this year, instead…


    My friend Linda texted me to please not send a thank you note to her for her gifts this year because we are family – no notes necessary. I had to laugh when I read the text because of my relationship to my mother Granny Selma and her obsession with thank you notes.

    When I was growing up in the 1950s and 1960s my mother was very big on manners, etiquette, making sure we did the “right” thing in every social situation. She felt being from a small town did not justify inappropriate behavior – ever. We might not have money, but she insisted we have manners.

    She was a stickler for a thank you note for EVERYTHING. Not just gifts, parties, meals, gatherings, visits…no sirree. If you sent us a Christmas card, my mother wrote you a Thank You note. Well, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but maybe not.

    Those notes included family, too. If I gave my folks a gift, for Christmas, I got a thank you note. If they gave me a gift, she expected a thank you note. And not one the next month. She wanted that note in her hands within a week.

    So imagine my surprise in the last few years of her life when she still had her right mind that she began saying, Now let’s don’t write each other thank you notes this year. What? Did I hear that correctly? NO THANK YOU NOTES for the YEAR! Sacrilege. I should have suspected she was on the verge of something horrible right that minute.

    This year I have had a Birthday/Anniversary week with multiple gifts, dinners, lunches, and cards from a host of friends who have celebrated with me and Pretty during the past several days and I have fought the urge to write each of you individual notes a la Granny Selma.

    Instead, I took pictures of many of the cards I received and am writing a very personal Thank You via cyberspace. I very much appreciate each of you – and you know who you are. We’re family.

  • Ministers of Happiness


    Today is Easter Sunday, and I tried very hard to come up with an Easter recollection to complement my deep reservoir of Thanksgiving memories which flow from me like rivers to oceans or even my Christmas memories which aren’t quite up to Thanksgiving levels but still trickle in through little streams of consciousness. The best I had was clothes…and music.

    I can visualize frilly pink Easter dresses, white lacy Easter bonnets, snug-fitting white Easter gloves, shiny white Easter shoes and a matching white Bible to carry to church. I had won the white Bible the summer before during Vacation Bible School as a reward for memorizing the most scripture verses in my class. My name was engraved in gold letters which stood out nicely against the white leather Bible.

    The dress was home-made by my paternal grandmother Ma who tortured me with fittings several times before the actual final inspection was made and the dress approved to her satisfaction. She and my mother coordinated the remainder of the ensemble with a great deal of whispering behind my back because they wanted to avoid the exasperated facial expressions I made whenever they brought up the subject of the Easter “outfit.” Horrors – please don’t talk about that.

    The Easter outfit was like a Halloween costume to me. I might as well have been dressed in a white cowboy hat wearing a black Lone Ranger mask sitting astride my stick-horse yelling Hi, ho, Silver, Away periodically during the congregational singing at our Southern Baptist church. Instead, I was sitting demurely between my grandmother and granddaddy singing Up from the Grave He Arose. As a matter of fact, I definitely would have preferred The Lone Ranger look over the Easter outfit.

    But I had to wear the clothes to hear the music, and I loved the music even then. The old rugged cross was exchanged for a crown, because he lived I could live forever, just as I was without one plea I came because his blood was shed for me, I lifted up my heart to sing hosanna, hosanna to the king because of the amazing grace that found me when I was blind and could not see. The hymns had 18th. century harmony which I knew nothing about at the time I learned to sing them, but that lack of composition understanding didn’t interfere with my love of the experience.

    Even the sermon on Easter Sunday morning was hopeful – once you got over the nasty business of the crucifixion – the minister was so happy about the resurrection. Really, he seemed to me to be more joyful at Easter than he was at Christmas when the tidings of great joy were proclaimed by the angels.

    My first Easter Sunday was the day I was born on April 21, 1946, which makes this one my 71st.  Unbelievable.  Where does time really go. I miss my family and the singing at the little church today. I don’t miss the Easter outfit.

    Although it isn’t my birthday, I am going to make an Easter wish. My wish for all of us today in the midst of a world that is fraught with monumental uncertainties is that we become ministers of happiness founded on our own good health, good relationships, erasing inequalities where we can, creating trust in our communities and standing against injustice whenever we witness it. One by one, as the saying goes.

    Resurrect hope today.

     

     

  • Experience the Power of a G.I.R.L.!


    Sunday afternoon, the 9th. of April, 2017 was an absolutely gorgeous spring day in downtown Columbia, South Carolina. The weather was perfect with temperatures in the mid 70s and cloudless blue skies. It was a great day to be outdoors which is where thousands of people gathered on Main Street to celebrate the good times of bringing the NCAA Women’s Basketball Championship trophy home to the University of South Carolina with a ticker-tape parade minus the ticker-tape.

    Yahoo – we party!! Pretty and I were there as were our Gay Boys Basketball Buddies and #1 Fan Gamecock Matt. Without realizing where we were sitting, Pretty plopped our small folding chairs right next to a local TV news team which was covering the parade so not only did we have great seats, we also were interviewed by a TV newsman and once again made local news. (That interview can be viewed on social media if anyone is curious.)

    We watched every car carrying VIPs,  every motorcycle, a live rooster (Sir Spur, the Gamecock) riding in a small driver-less motorized vehicle, a deputy sheriff on a real big horse, A’ja Wilson’s DJ brother playing festive music, dancing troupes, Cocky the Gamecock mascot and tons of floats – green ones, red ones, silver ones, gold ones – truly any color imaginable in the midst of a caravan of colors as they passed by us on Main Street which was their route to the State Capitol grounds for the closing ceremonies.

    I love a parade – Pretty will vouch for me. I just love a parade. But I particularly love a parade that celebrates women and their achievements. I took 129 pictures at the parade and worked on them last night while Pretty was talking on her cell phone with the Apple Help person for two hours trying to figure out how to make her Mac happy again. Poor Pretty.

    As I cropped and re-cropped the images, I was struck by the power these basketball heroes gave to the little girls, teenage girls, grown-up women and yes, even us eat-up-with-elderly older women as we celebrated their victories in one grand final gesture of appreciation.

    If I could, I would put all of these images in my post today, but alas, I know that’s asking for a lot of attention which won’t happen. So, as a compromise, I’m choosing my favorites.

    The G.I.R.L. Power float

    Bring the babies, too – even when they nod off

    It’s a Family Affair

    (photo courtesy of Pretty)

    Dancing in the streets

    Women on motorcycles – 

    rev ’em up, Sisters!

    I spy Cocky!!

    Gamecock Legend Sheila Foster is jubilant… 

     other basketball alumni enjoy the ride with her

    Our Heroes: The Stars of the Show

    Kaela Davis, A’ja Wilson and Allisha Gray

    These girls and the team made basketball history

    Coach Dawn Staley high above the crowds

    where a true basketball Queen belongs

    along with the Team that made her the Queen

    I’m afraid I was too short to see the action on the Capitol steps as the parade came to an end, but that was okay. I found my sights away from the stage.

    This little girl had a bird’s eye view

    This one did, too

    a Pretty face in the crowd

    taking a break to tie her shoes

    a teenager tweeting her pics

    an older woman rode her bike to celebrate

    Gamecock colors – complete with pom poms

    These girls are champions, too

     Which one of these girls will be our next Congresswoman, Olympic medalist, astronaut, teacher, preacher, policewoman, Forbes 500 CEO, President of the United States? The mind races with the possibilities for their futures…and for ours…because we’ve experienced the magic of G.I.R.L. power today.

    Whew! We are exhausted – time for us to ease on down the road to Casa de Canterbury where we should be p-a-c-k-i-n-g instead of partying. Oh, well. You only go around once.

    Go Gamecocks!!

    Pretty and our parade chairs heading home

    it’s a wrap for this unforgettable season 

     

  • Somewhere Over the Rainbow


    “Hey, Dorothy? What’s up?”

    “I’m off to see the Man in the White House because I’m lost and can’t find my Auntie Michele,” said Dorothy. “Do I know you?”

    “Yeah, you know me. I’m Silas Crow. I sit on the back row of your English class and make strange noises.”

    “Oh, of course. The notorious Silas Crow. You don’t have a brain in your head,” said Dorothy.

    “I know, I know. That’s what I’ve been told. Do you think the Man in the White House could give me a brain?” asked Silas Crow.

    “Tra-la, tra-la. You are welcome to come with me and find out. The Man in the White House is supposed to be very wise.”

    Dorothy and Silas Crow began to walk together. They walked and walked.

    “Hey, Dudes, take a hike. Get outta my space. Where you going?”

    “We’re off to see the Man in the White House,” replied Silas Crow. “Dorothy told me the Man was very wise and could give me a brain.”

    “Oh, she did, did she? Well, this is where you little numskulls took a wrong turn,” growled Tim Mann who took a menacing step toward Dorothy and Silas Crow.

    Dorothy looked straight at Tim Mann and said, “Looks like someone has no heart. Shame on you for being so mean. Silas Crow may not be very bright, but at least he’s not a bully like you. If you go with us, maybe the Man in the White House could give you a heart.”

    Silas Crow nodded vigorously. “You need an attitude adjustment, Dude.”

    Tim Mann rolled his eyes but then studied the two standing before him.  Finally, he shook his head and thought, maybe I need new friends.

    “Let’s roll before I change my mind,” he snapped.

    “Tra-la, tra-la,” said Dorothy. “We are off to see the Man in the White House who is supposed to have a very big heart.”

    By and by the trio came upon a very large grey dog with huge floppy ears. He was sitting in the middle of their path, staring at them out of one blue eye and one brown one. He looked quite ferocious. Dorothy, Silas Crow and Tim Mann stopped in their tracks.

    Dorothy was the first to regain her composure and whistled for the dog to come to her. The dog bolted in the opposite direction.

    “Fraidy Dog, Fraidy Dog,” mocked Tim Mann who had no heart.

    Silas Crow joined in the chant because he had no brain.

    Dorothy gave them an icy stare and called after the frightened animal, “Please come back and go with us. We are going to see the Man in the White House – maybe he could give you courage.”

    As the group turned to resume their journey, the cowardly dog followed a few paces behind.

    “Tra-la, tra-la,” sang Dorothy happily. “We are off to see the brave, kind, wise Man in the White House who will give Fraidy Dog courage, Tim Mann a new heart, Silas Crow a new brain and me a map to find my way home to Auntie Michele.”

    The little foursome traveled far and wide, thither and yon, until finally one day they reached the White House. Much to everyone’s surprise, the White House was surrounded by a very high fence and armed guards at the gate. Silas Crow, Tim Mann, and Fraidy Dog looked at Dorothy.

    Not to be outdone, Dorothy boldly approached one of the guards and asked, “Excuse me, kind sir, but we have come a long way to speak with the Man in the White House. Do you know where he is?”

    The guard shrugged and said, “You might try MahRahLahgo.”

    Dorothy woke up.

     

  • The Hereafter – Grimes County Style


    Changing flowers in Fairview Cemetery today

    for Granny Selma’s parents

    and for my dad, mom and their parents

    (my friend Tinabeth came to help)

    Tinabeth trimmed the crepe myrtles…

    while I arranged the flowers

    (and Pretty took pictures)

    Spike and Charly ran so fast that the 

    Hounds couldn’t catch ’em

    Hey, where are our names?

    The view from our family plot is truly fair

    When Pretty and I got to the cemetery this morning, there was a note under a stone at our grave that read Sheila, here’s my phone number. Call me. It was signed by Warren Wood and dated 03-28-17. I picked up my cell phone and gave him a call.

    Warren was one of my favorite people when I was growing up. He lived up the dirt road from us, played basketball on my dad’s high school team, and usually sat with me every Friday night at the Richards Cafe where his mother made the best hamburgers ever. I called him, and he said he was still in the area at his house in Anderson and would meet me at the cemetery – which he did. I hadn’t seen Warren in 60 years, but we have kept in contact since my first book Deep in the Heart was published in 2007. Wow. Such a great visit.

    His parents are near mine

    Being in the old familiar places with old familiar friends was a highlight of our trip to Montgomery and Grimes Counties for the past two days, but tomorrow it’s time to say goodbye to family and friends once more as we turn north toward Dallas and our Final Four destination.

    Go Gamecocks!!!