I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Category: Lesbian Literary

  • PT – I see light at the end of the tunnel, but the train headed toward me today


    Good morning … or afternoon, he said glancing at the clock on the wall, why don’t you come over here and we can talk while we wait?

    I glanced around the usually filled waiting room at the rehab facility to see an elderly man  sitting by himself. He was wearing a Vietnam Veteran cap so I knew he was retired military and probably about my age.The white hair definitely looked like my hair color. His blue jeans did their best to hang in there under the weight of a man whose belly fell over the belt struggling with the blue jeans. I recognized that look and the battle with the jeans because I fought that same battle every day. Yep, we were two old people sitting in a rehab waiting room. Evidently one of us was looking for conversation.

    Sure, I said with what I hoped was an air of conviviality, and sat down in a chair across from him. Not too close but closer than I would normally sit with someone as I waited for my PT trainer to appear  with a wave that signaled I was up next.

    What would you like to talk about? I asked him, expecting a dialogue in which we compared our progress in rehab and complained about how hard it was to get better once you’d had knee replacement surgery or some other body part that was now a foreign object in opposition to our own natural parts that had worn away with age.

    Politics, he said rather abruptly, but seemingly something that popped out of his mouth with no forethought.

    I was stunned. I was on the short side of time with my second knee’s rehab, and I had sat in that same waiting room 44 times during the past six months, and not one time had anyone mentioned the word politics to me. Just my luck – I was ready for the light at the end of the tunnel, and here comes a train.

    Uh, actually I don’t think politics is a good topic for us today, I said with what I hoped was a degree of innocence.

    Why not? he asked.

    Well, I said, as I quickly ran through 40 years of political activism in my mind, I don’t think you and I would be quite on the same page in a political discussion. You see, I’m what’s now referred to as an ancestral Democrat and I’m very aware that this county has only a few of us – I’m guessing only one in this waiting area.

    He thought about that for a second, then frowned. I gave 21 years of my life to the military and another 25 in civil service, he said. I’ve got two types of health insurance – Medicare and another one, and you (pointing a finger at me) have got candidates running around talking about Medicare for all and taking away my health insurance plans. I don’t like that. I don’t want to hear about it.

    First of all,  I said, thank you for your service to our country and I believe you should have any benefits available so I am very happy for your retiree benefits. Some of the Democratic candidates have other ideas for health care so we won’t know until the primaries whose ideas will win the day. He continued to frown.

    Luckily, I was saved at that moment by my PT trainer who brought this man’s wife out from the training area. No wonder we hadn’t talked about rehab – he wasn’t there for his own sake. He had brought his wife who was celebrating her last day in PT.  She hugged my trainer who had already motioned in my direction.

    I saw the train whiz by without incidence as light reappeared at the end of the tunnel. Only four PT sessions left. Get me out of here, Percy.

    Stay tuned.

     

     

     

     

  • quid pro quo? mother goose says hell, no! it’s a shakedown!


    Pretty began today by announcing she wished we turned back the clocks every night. If we did, she continued, she would be out of bed every morning at a respectable hour. That’s hilarious, I said, and laughed.

    Our conversation went downhill from there because I was watching the news, of course, and Pretty tuned in long enough to give her opinion on the latest WSJ/NBC poll which showed 46% of those questioned would vote against Agent Orange in 2020,  34% said they planned to support AO for sure, and 17% said their vote depended on the candidate – to which Pretty added the comment that the 17% were ashamed to say they would vote for AO again. You go, Pretty.  Snap! Pretty really shines when she has that extra hour of sleep.

    Frankly, my dears, our topic shifted from the quid pro quo of Agent Orange that precipitated the formal impeachment proceedings against him this week – the topic of the Sunday morning news programs – to an old Mother Goose Rhymes book published in MCMLIII (1953 for those of you who are struggling with your Roman Numerals) by Platt & Munk Publishers. Now what is the reason for our newfound interest in nursery rhymes?

    Because we have a grandbaby in the nursery, and she apparently is wild about Pretty’s version of Pat A Cake which includes animation and bears slight resemblance to the version in the Mother Goose Rhymes book. But whatever works, right?

    I decided to reacquaint myself with the Mother Goose tales in the book and was pleased to recognize several favorites I could still recite to our new grandbaby.

    Mary had a little lamb,

    Its fleece was white as snow;

    And everywhere that Mary went

    The lamb was sure to go.

    Now that was as easy as the ones about Jack and Jill, Little Boy Blue and Little Jack Horner who sat in a corner and stuck his thumb where he really shouldn’t have. But then I ran across one of the rhymes I’d forgotten.

    There was a crooked man, and

    he went a crooked mile,

    And he found a crooked sixpence

    against a crooked stile;

    He bought a crooked cat, which

    caught a crooked mouse,

    And they all lived together in a 

    little crooked house.

    That Mother Goose had it going on. Who knew she could be so prescient about politics in the 21st. century. Substitute Agent Orange as the “crooked man,” and all the other “crookeds” fall into place. He bought a few crooked cats named Giuliani, Barr, Pence, and  Pompeo who conspired to withhold aid appropriated by Congress for an ally that was in a precarious position until this ally dug up dirt on a political opponent in the 2020 election. Mother Goose might think this quid pro quo was what she would call an old-fashioned shakedown.

    And now they all live together in the West Wing of the White House.

    I’m not teaching Ella this rhyme until the crooked man has slipped off the wall with Humpty Dumpty.

    Stay tuned.

     

     

  • Chick Rebels in Words and Music: Molly Ivins and Linda Ronstadt


    I dearly love the state of Texas, but I consider that a harmless perversion on my part, and discuss it only with consenting adults. – Molly Ivins (1944 – 2007)
    Molly Ivins was a writer best known for her columns in more than 400 newspapers across the country which poked fun at her favorite targets: the corrupt Texas legislature, George Dubya Bush and Bill Clinton, her adopted state of Texas, bubbas in that state, herself, and the breast cancer that eventually killed her. A best selling author, humorist and speaker, she became one of the most famous female storytellers  ever to claim the state of Texas as her own – to run with that image as the tall Texan in her cowboy boots,  her pickup truck and  her dog named Shit as she mixed it up with the most powerful people in the state capital of Austin.  At her height of 6 feet she was easily spotted at the bars and cocktail parties where she drank with enthusiasm and was frequently overserved. Alcoholism was an addiction she considered necessary for her humor, but the laughs came with a steep price.
    I grew up in Arizona. I love it. I’m a part of the desert. I feel like, really I’m from the Sonoran Desert, which extends to both sides of the border. I’m really from that part of Mexico, also. And I hate that there’s a fence, you know running through it. Linda Ronstadt (1946 – )
    Linda Ronstadt was two years younger than Molly Ivins and came from a state farther west;  she told her stories with musical notes rather than simply relying on written words. A voice with a truly pure sound that defied labels, her eclectic genres included rock and roll, hard rock, soft rock, folk, art rock,  country, gospel, rhythm and blues, opera, standard American classics, Mexican mariachi, pop, five golden rings and a partridge in a pear tree. She became a female musical powerhouse in America during the 1960s and 70s when the profession was male and drug dominated – not necessarily in that order. Linda avoided heavy drugs but succumbed to an addiction for diet pills that plagued her at various times during her ten years on the road. In 2011 she retired due to the onset of Parkinson’s disease, a disease that also affected her maternal grandmother, a disease that has taken away her voice.
    This past weekend Pretty and I went to see two documentaries…Linda Ronstadt: The Sound of My Voice and Raise Hell: The Life and Times of Molly Ivins. I’m glad we saw them close together almost like an old double feature because I had an opportunity to reflect on the lives of two women who used their individual voices of celebrity and talent to challenge the politics and culture of the newspaper and entertainment industries at a time when women across the globe sought to make their own voices heard wherever they worked and lived. Post World War II women never again would fit nicely into their ticky tacky boxes that all looked just the same. The times they were, indeed, a changing for women – Molly Ivins and Linda Ronstadt were two of them.
    Stay tuned.

     

  • I TAWT I TAW A PUTTY TAT, but Mick says I didn’t


    Give credit where credit is due. Mick Mulvaney was actually born in Alexandria, Virginia – not South Carolina, according to his Wikipedia profile, and grew up in Charlotte, North Carolina. He didn’t attend any schools or colleges in South Carolina but at some point in his life he moved to a Charlotte suburb called Indian Land which is, indeed, just across the state line in South Carolina.

    His political career began with four years in the SC state legislature so my state gets total recognition for the man who would be Acting Chief of Liars in the West Wing of the current chaotic administration that belongs to Agent Orange turning to Red.

    Here’s the thing, Mick. I watched your entire infamous press conference last Thursday, the 17th., in living color on a regular tv from my favorite ancient recliner in the den. I wasn’t streaming on any devices. I didn’t take a break to go to the kitchen to get a Butterfinger.  I didn’t walk around outside with my dogs. No one interrupted your comments by calling or texting me. Nope. I saw the whole thing.

    (ru.memegenerator.net)

    Several hours after I watched you spell out Agent Orange’s foreign policy as a pay for play high stakes game with our national security twisting in the wind, you called Mulligan which is a word used by golfers to get another shot when they knock the ball so far out of the fairway they’ll never find it in the woods. Mulligan, mulligan, you cried. I never said any of that about Quid Pro Quo or any of those other things like Get Over It or We do it (foreign policy) All the Time This Way. Never. Never. Never. It’s just those mean old liberal media peeps getting the words turned around to suit their evil intentions to undermine Agent Orange who is, as we all know, out to make not only America great again but restore Civilization as well.

    Hm. I wonder if you still have that minority interest in Salsarita’s restaurant chain? Maybe that experience will qualify you for an executive position in the successful hospitality business you claim is the ultimate goal of Agent Orange “in the end.”

    Because the end is headed your way as surely as a freight train coming at you. There’s no light at the end of your tunnel.

    Stay tuned.

     

     

  • who won the debate last night? don’t ask Pretty and me


    Pretty and I actually watched the Dems debate last night together all the way to the end of the three hours plus a few minutes over (which was significant because Pretty typically gets her debate news from Twitter so I struggled along by myself on the first three and since I struggled by myself, I set a personal limit of two hours… then I stuck a fork in either them or me).

    As we listened and watched last night, we talked about the candidates to begin to make our own short list out of  the dozen on the stage to a manageable group of four or five.  That number was arbitrary on our part, although some of the political pundits ostensibly favored the smaller number for the November (gasp! another one so soon?) debate.

    Throughout the evening I gave in to my selfish leanings toward the candidates who promised me the largest increase in my monthly income.  For those of us who live on fixed incomes, that’s a major concern. Andrew Yang was the clear winner on that score with his continued MATH (Make America Think Harder) promise of $1,000 per month to every citizen, but I have to admit even I have begun to question the concept of the VAT – value added tax – since it’s passed along to the poorest consumers who may need the extra $1,000 just to keep up with the large increases in the costs of food, gas,  shelter, automobiles, computers, etc. which is short for Everything The Consumer needs.

    Pretty, who has never been a member of the Yang Gang, vetoed him again last night.

    Senator Kamala Harris who was my first choice for the nominee before any of the debates, cuts Yang’s promise of $1,000 per month to $500 per month – her solution advocates a $6,000 earned income credit for everyone who needs it. Oh well, maybe not everyone who needs it, but I feel sure I would qualify under any plan she proposes. Pretty and I both like Senator Harris, but last night we decided to make her Attorney General to rule over and redo a US Justice Department that has confused the interests of the American people and the Constitution of the United States with the interests of Individual Number One whose position becomes more precarious as the days go by.

    As the evening wore on, I agreed to let Julian Castro go back to Texas with Beto O’Rourke. I had hoped for a better showing from my Texas guys, but sadly, I finally agreed with Pretty that neither one of them was really presidential material right now. Goodbye, Texas. Perhaps a new Cabinet position for Southern BorderDisasters with Beto and Julian serving as co-chairs with a mandate to please, God, close those detention camps and help the people in them to breathe free air again. Give them a home where they safely belong.

    Tom Steyer, I have supported your campaign to remove Individual One since 2016, but Pretty says no so off you go. Regretfully I say thanks for your service but no thanks for being the president. Possibly Secretary of the Interior or Treasury Secretary since you are a bona fide billionaire.

    Speaking of thanks for your service, let me add my gratitude to the two veterans who are still in the running – two veterans with a very different attitude toward foreign affairs: Representative Tulsi Gabbard and Mayor Pete Buttigieg. This is how Pretty and I know we are out of step with the mainstream. Many in the media and at home in their living rooms evidently thought Mayor Pete had a very strong debate performance. My cousin Melissa, for example, who I can count on for honesty told me today that she is now in the Buttigieg camp after his winning ways over the field last night. She remains moveable, however.

    Pretty and I both love Mayor Pete but we see him as a President in the Future, not in 2020. We’re keeping him on our short list, however. I reluctantly say goodbye to Rep Gabbard because whenever she asked if she would make a great Commander in Chief of the armed forces, I answered yes. Pretty vetoed her in general and wouldn’t even go along with me when I wanted to make her Chairwoman of the Joint Chiefs. Adios, Tulsi.

    Hm. That leaves us with Senators Cory Booker, Bernie Sanders, Amy Klobuchar, Elizabeth Warren and ex VP Joe Biden. This is a tough group to say good bye to on so many levels. I have appreciated Amy Klobuchar since her questioning of the Supreme Court nominees – I think she’s wicked smart plus when I saw her making her announcement outdoors during a snowstorm, I have to say I was impressed. Pretty doesn’t share my enthusiasm, but I think Amy might be a dark horse. She’s won every race she’s run before, she said. Leave her on the stage, Pretty.

    The frontrunners according to the polls (that are  questionable on their reliability) – Sanders, Biden, Warren – are all in their seventies which makes them as old as I am and I, like former President Jimmy Carter, know for sure I don’t need to be President at my age so I doubt any of this group should be either but what the heck, Pretty and I decided to join the Warren bandwagon for now; however, we are, like my cousin Melissa, moveable. We added Senator Booker to our ticket for VP for various reason that include we’ve liked him for a long time. He’s younger, more energetic and understands the wounds that divide our nation. Bring it on,  VP Cory.

    Finally, did anyone other than me hear Elizabeth Warren say she supports a $200 per month raise for Social Security recipients? What’s not to like about that?

    Stay tuned.

    Totally unrelated picture – but what a look from 

    Grandbaby Ella who is two weeks old  this week 

    I’d love to know what she saw?