I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Category: Lesbian Literary

  • The Fabulous Huss Brothers – and How They Grew


    My head is spinning from the realization that today is the first day of June, 2017. The first five months of this year have evaporated into thin air – I sometimes feel like I’ve been on the Scrambler which was the only ride I ever ventured to ride at the State Fair which I made every effort to avoid on an annual basis. My insides became outsides during the interminable twists and turns at such high velocities they made me stumble with dizziness when I finally was allowed to remove the bar and exit the small metal prison box. I had survived the Scrambler one more time.

    I feel that same sense of relief at the end of the first five months of 2017. Moving is not for the faint of heart or body, a whirlwind trip south to New Orleans for the Saints and Sinners Literary Festival, the Final Four with an historic National Championship with our women’s basketball team, birthdays, good anniversaries, sad anniversaries, and finally the death of a cousin who took a part of my childhood with him. Enough already. I have been “scrambled.”

    Pretty and I were relaxing at a pool party/ cookout at the home of our gay boys basketball buddies this past weekend. I was chatting with fellow blogger Mar-la-ti-dah (check out her blog sometime – she’s fun!) when she asked me about the Fabulous Huss Brothers from Worsham Street in Texas. She’s not the first person to inquire about those little guys who brought me such joy while I was there. I’m always happy when people are interested in the brothers Huss.

    As the fickle finger of fate would have it, my friend Becky sent me pictures of her three sons this week so I am updating their profiles for everyone with the new images. Enjoy!

    Baby George is now 4 

    (with rescue dog Carolina)

    Oldest brother Oscar is 8

    and proudly holds a giant craw fish from their tank

    Dwight is in the middle at age 6

    with the sweetest smile for a soccer player

    Every Texas family loves a bluebonnets picture!

    This one was on my Mother’s Day card from the boys. It’s a picture that makes me smile but also gives me hope for the future in these tumultuous times. I love the Fabulous Huss Brothers and miss their daily afternoon visits as well as the porch chats with their mother and the other Little Women of Worsham Street. It’ll be no time until we see them again.

     

  • William “Bill” Chester Powell (April 26, 1947 – May 25, 2017)


    My cousin Bill died yesterday following a battle with his own body for almost eight years. He was 70 years old.

    I spoke with his mother Eloise this morning about my admiration for the courage Bill had displayed throughout his confinement as well as his wife Donna’s steadfast support while she helped her husband through the difficult activities of daily living. Eloise said simply, Bill was a trooper.

    Yes. Not all troopers are in the armed services.

    This weekend is Memorial Day, and I am immeasurably grateful for every soldier who serves today to protect our country from harm. I appreciate their families, their personal sacrifices, and the bravery required to face our enemies at home and abroad. These enemies multiply even as we alienate our friends and struggle to identify ever-changing battlefields. In the midst of a chaotic world our military personnel are asked to protect and defend us with their own lives if necessary. Thankful seems like such a small word for what our soldiers do, but thankful is how I feel.

    My cousin Bill had a very real foe in his war with his health, but he won’t get a medal or ribbon for his valor. Instead, in the end he was surrounded by the love of his family and the hope that he will be remembered as a good man who refused to surrender during a very long haul. A worthy legacy.

    my cousin Boybaby swinging

    with his sister Frances pushing him,

    me climbing the ladder, and Bill trying to ignore us 

    playing on a swing set at my home in Richards, Texas

    circa 1952

    only children Bill and me at a family reunion

    Bill’s maternal grandfather was my paternal grandmother’s brother, and his maternal grandmother was my paternal grandfather’s sister – sometimes our reunions were confusing, but our families were close and loved each other.

    I will miss Bill. Rest in peace, cousin.

  • you’re a liar and the truth ain’t in you


    Whew. Moving requires much more focus and energy than I remembered. It’s like trying to fill this all-consuming time capsule with the horrible transition stories just waiting to be buried in the back yard and dug up in two years when we hopefully will be finished with this insanity.

    And speaking of insanity. I’ve watched the news on my new over-sized TV less frequently in the last few weeks due to capturing the time capsule horrors in real life, but today I got up early while Pretty slept and I decided to resume my daily morning news update. I have to admit I was intrigued by the intrigue of the James Comey firing earlier this week.

    My go-to coverage from Morning Joe on MSNBC didn’t disappoint. Mika watched in her usual silence as Morning Joe ranted and raved with various political expert guests regarding their feelings about the unorthodox untimely long distance removal of the FBI Director James Comey three days ago. The consensus was, as has apparently been the pattern for this administration in its early days according to the experts, someone(s) was lying about something. Calling for a special prosecutor in the matter of Russian interference in the 2016 United States election process to include the timing of the Comey firing was a no-brainer, said the talking heads.

    Today I decided to heed the advice of former President Obama who suggested we might all get along better if we branched out in what we watched for news. I said farewell to Morning Joe with their segment on the Russian diplomats’ visit to the Oval Office yesterday because I was stunned that their pictures came from Russian journalists since no American news reporters had been invited. A presidential visit to Russia in July to meet with Putin had evidently been one of the topics of discussion in this meeting. I shook my head, thought Seriously? Now?, and changed to CNN.

    Ah, CNN…more Comey discussion. Excellent. Fresh perspectives. Not so much. Why was Comey fired?  The CNN reporter was full of answers. Subsequent revelations indicated Director Comey had recently asked for more resources to pursue the Russian investigation and the possible Trump campaign connection which might have signaled the complex case was about to receive increased attention by the FBI.

    The more likely answer, however, according to the CNN reporter was that James Comey’s testimony in a Senate hearing recently hit DT’s “sweet spot” which was any question related to the integrity of the 2016 election. Comey at one point during the hearing had stated he had become “mildly nauseous at the thought that he might have changed the outcome of the election to Trump.” Okay. Game over. You’re fired.

    Time to change the channel again. This time I switched to Fox News where a segment on the Comey firing was squeezed in between an interview with Dr. Martin Luther King’s niece regarding the demonstration at the historically black college Bethune Cookman graduation against guest speaker Education Secretary Betsy DeVos (a protest Dr. King’s niece opposed) and an interview with Hollywood actor Dwayne Johnson who is considering running for President in 2020.

    In the Fox Comey segment, their reporter was at a Tastee Diner in Bethesda, Maryland. He was questioning 4 male coaches who were having breakfast together before they went to work. One of the coaches responded to the reporter’s question about his feelings on the Comey firing by saying everyone needs to trust the President’s judgment in all matters. He went on to say that the mainstream media “makes me sick to my stomach.” Wow. Quite a statement to chew over with the guys having a cup of coffee at the Tastee Diner on a weekday morning.

    Cut back to the anchors for Fox News who thought the Diner interview had been hilarious and by the way, don’t you just love the way males have so much fun together, you know, the male bonding thing.  How did we go from James Comey to male bonding is fun…I’m not sure. But I’d heard way too much about James Comey for one day.

    At this point I turned the TV to the Tennis Channel to watch live action at the Madrid Open which turned out to be less of a distraction than I’d hoped. My mind took off in a different direction with each serve, forehand, backhand, volley or overhead smash. Get out of my head.

    Mainstream media. Whack. Freedom of the press. Whack. Free speech. Whack. Freedom of the press again. Whack. Tweet: Mainstream media = fake news. Whack. MSM = elite news. Whack. Whack. Whack.

    I needed a reality check so I turned off the TV and looked up the First Amendment to the United States Constitution – the one that guarantees fundamental rights for us in this country.

    “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press, or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.”

    That’s right. Now I remember. I have the right to petition for a “redress of grievances” and I believe grievances in the form of lies are running rampant in this administration. Today I have taken action by signing two petitions asking for an independent review of not only the actions of this week but prior 2016  election campaign tampering with our democratic process.

    This reminds me of a time during a dark thunderstorm of deception, cover-ups and corruption in the Nixon administration which threatened the cornerstones of our democracy. Truth was ultimately uncovered and our democracy survived the betrayals and humiliation revealed in the highest levels of our federal government. The President left in disgrace.

    I was sitting in a hospital room with my daddy in 1974 while we watched President Nixon leave the White House. My daddy turned to me and said, “You know, some people are just liars, and the truth ain’t in them.”

    I hear the rumblings of thunder in the distance and see the dark clouds gathering once again over our country, but I know without a doubt that the truth will always keep us free.

  • 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.

  • …and this is my wife Pretty…


    Today is April 24th., and it is the 1st. year anniversary of our legal marriage. This anniversary seems like a Michael Reames icing on a cake or a Dick Hubbard pineapple fried pie which he has now managed to make exactly like my memories of the ones my grandmother made when I was a child being rewarded for what she believed to be good behavior.

    Somewhere in that youthful childhood I must have done something good because Pretty has been the main course for me for the past sixteen years  – a main course that’s been full of fun, love and extra spice. Laughter has been the secret ingredient that’s sprinkled liberally over every dish we serve in our home, and it’s my personal recipe for whatever ails all of us.

    True confessions are good for the soul, though, so I have to admit that once in a rare while I have to remind Pretty I was just trying to be funny to which she has occasionally said during the past sixteen years, “there’s no demand for being funny.” I’m sure she’s just kidding.

    The past year of legal married life has been almost indistinguishable to me from the first fifteen years with a couple of exceptions. “Married – filing jointly” for our 2016 income tax returns, for example, was a noticeable difference that was relatively easy and uneventful for us but produced additional work for our tax preparer. I had several emotions going on during the preparation process, but I know for sure pride was one of them. We were no longer “single” taxpayers filing two separate returns. Our family was legal, legit; and we had the tax returns to prove it.

    There is a word that Pretty and I have struggled with during the past year, however. Both of us struggle, and we know it because we’ve talked about it. The word is “wife.”

    For some reason that word does not roll easily off my tongue, and I don’t know for sure what the problem is. This is my wife Pretty. How hard can that be? This is my wife Slo. Again, not easy. We’ve said this is my “partner” for so long that it’s become a habitual word for us. “Wife” is not our norm.

    But this past week Pretty and I were at our new house reviewing the situation when we discovered two pieces of mail in our mailbox that belonged to our neighbor who happened to be outside in his back yard. Like a good neighbor, Pretty walked over to give him the mail.

    “I’m Bob,” he said when she handed the mail to him. “And that’s my wife Cynthia inside the house.”

    “I’m Teresa,” Pretty said. “And that’s my wife Sheila over there in the car.”

    Score one for Pretty, and welcome to the neighborhood. The legally married lesbians are moving in – which isn’t nearly as good for property values as having the gays move in – but it’ll have to do for now.

    Happy Anniversary, Pretty. You’re simply the best.