Lesbian Literary – Page 64 – I'll Call It Like I See It

GIRL POWER: UNSCRIPTED AND UNSTOPPABLE -AND SOMETIMES NEEDING A BATH

Tomorrow is the International Day of the Girl Child with its 2019 theme Girl Power: Unscripted and Unstoppable.

The UN Secretary-General Antonio Guterres says “We need to uphold the equal rights, voices, and influence of girls in our families, communities, and nations. Girls can be powerful agents of change, and nothing should keep them from participating fully in all areas of life.” Amen, brother.

Given the current state of political affairs in our nation with families divided, swept up into detention centers at our southern borders – living in horrendous conditions under a regime of daily terror – while across the big waters our nation abandons the friends who have been our major supporters in the war against ISIS, an abandonment that allows vicious attacks on these friends with a presumptive goal of ethnic cleansing…I say the openly corrupt men involved in these atrocities need to go. Our country needs new leadership and directions, and I believe it’s time for girl power.

Luckily for Pretty and me, we have a granddaughter who gives us hope for the future. And thankfully, we see women and men today who are working tirelessly to make sure our granddaughter’s voice will be heard as they engage in speaking truth to power.

Ella in her elephant hoodie

(baby girl born 10-01-2019)

All baby girls have to start somewhere. Today Ella had a bath given to her by a group of four women who once were girls: two grandmothers, her mother, one of her cousins – and a female hound who wanted to get in the fun.

Happiness is having her hair combed by her mother after the bad old bath!

Tomorrow make time to celebrate the girls and women who have the potential to be powerful agents of change. To quote Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi, the times have come to us.

Onward.

Stay tuned.

October 10, 2019

will the circle be unbroken?

Will the circle be unbroken by and by, by and by.

There’s a better home a waiting in the sky, in the sky.

I stood between my grandmother and granddaddy during the hymn singing and, although they each held a hymnal with the words and music, we all knew the songs by heart. I had to know them from memory since I was so young I couldn’t read yet, but my grandparents could have definitely read the words. They had sung the songs so many times during their lives, though, they didn’t need them. My granddaddy sang the melody, and my grandmother sang harmony or what I later learned was the alto part I tried to imitate for the rest of my life.

…we sang the songs of childhood, hymns of faith that made us strong…

My daddy was the song leader in the Richards Baptist Church in the 1950s. The Richards Baptist Church was a small congregation of 50 – 60 members that met on Sunday mornings for Sunday School and worship services, Sunday nights for Training Union and another worship service, and on Wednesday nights for prayer meetings plus a business meeting one Wednesday night a month. My mother played either the black upright piano to the left of the small raised platform where the preacher and my daddy sat and stood up when they had something to say or she played the little pretend church organ to the right of the raised platform. I could barely see Mama even when I stood to sing from my seat with my grandmother and grandfather on one of the hard wooden pews toward the middle of the tiny sanctuary; I could always see and hear my daddy.

My maternal grandmother had a particular place she sat every Sunday morning during the worship service – a place down closer to the front of the church, but she always sat alone. My mother’s two brothers sat in different places every Sunday, but my Uncle Marion sat on the back row since he was late coming in from standing outside smoking that final cigarette. My Uncle Toby also sat by himself closer to the front but on the opposite side of the church from his mother.

One by one their seats were emptied, one by one they went away.

Now the family is parted, will it be complete one day?

My family members in that little Baptist Church are, indeed, gone. But the circle of life and family is definitely not broken for me. Hallelujah! There’s good news for the whole family when the circle is complete.

Drew with his daughter Ella as his mother NanaPretty smiles at them both

NanaSlow holds Ella as NanaPretty keeps smiling

When Ada R. Habershon penned the lyrics in 1907 to the song Will the Circle be Unbroken, she had no way of knowing what an iconic gospel and country music song this would become. From remote churches like mine in the piney woods of East Texas to the center stage of the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville, Tennessee this song spoke to individuals and the masses. Her original lyrics changed through the years as different performers rewrote them, but the question remained the same.

Will the circle be unbroken by and by? Regardless of time or place, the answer is yes.

Stay tuned.

October 2, 2019

ain’t it funny how time slips away?

If you didn’t take advantage of the Ken Burns 16-hour special on Country Music through your local PBS station during the past three weeks, the title I stole today for my post (which is the title of one of my favorite Willie Nelson songs) may not grab you right off the bat. Thanks for hanging with me anyway, and as soon as you can, go somewhere to watch the Ken Burns special.

Awesome. The very soul of America is on display through the music of its people who rise up from Appalachian hollers, the Mississippi Delta, the Texas-Mexico borders, Bakersfield, California; the hills and mountains of East Tennessee and western Kentucky, New Orleans, Nashville, New York, Los Angeles, the Oklahoma dust bowl; from the east coast to the west with every little town or urban area in between. Somewhere someone was writing our history in country music. Thank goodness.

Today is a special anniversary date for me. Five months ago on April 27th., I wrote a post I called Cowgirl Up. At the time I wrote, I was afraid of a knee replacement surgery set for the following week on May 1st. When I say afraid, I mean totally fearful. Both my knees were an arthritic nightmare of pain when I walked or wasn’t walking. The decision to do the surgery was made after several years of orthopedic pain pills, steroid shots, and a few other treatments I can’t spell. Nothing prevented the aging process of my joints. Losing weight could have helped, as any rational person should know. My life dieting habits of more than seven decades, however, has been characterized by poor food choices. No one to blame but me, and those eating choices caught up with me as my body parts began to wear out.

The final push to Cowgirl Up and go through with the surgery really boiled down to more than my fears: I had a vision of the quality of life Pretty would have to endure taking care of me as I became less mobile, and that was a sorrowful, sobering sight. Number Two reason, as Joe Biden likes to count everything, was the news of our son and his wife’s expecting their first child in October. I didn’t want my grandchild to know only the old woman who couldn’t get around very well.

Ain’t it funny how time slips away? In the past five months, I’ve had both knee replacements, put away the walker and almost ready to put away my cane. Pretty no longer has to worry with getting the walker in and out of the car every time we drive. That’s huge in my mind and easier on her back. Within a week, we will have our new granddaughter, Ella, to love and adore. Nothing good comes without complications and concessions in my rehab process for my second knee surgery on August 28th., but now the different battles associated with withdrawal from my pain medications of the past five months will shift the focus finally away from my knees.

During the past five months, I’ve chosen to live a solitary life – much like the life I lead as a writer. What is unusual for me, though, is that I haven’t been able to write. I’ve watched way too much TV, taken way too many naps, iced my knees religiously, and been faithful to my rehab exercises at home and with my therapists at the Lexington Medical Center two days a week. They have been gems.

“I don’t wait for moods. You accomplish nothing if you do that. Your mind must know it has got to get down to work.” —– Pearl S. Buck

I read this quote today from my collection of memorable quotes and it prompted me to try to write something. This is how it turned out.

Stay tuned.

September 27, 2019

more saltgrass tales (by GP Morris)

GP Morris is the son of my father’s brother Ray. He is a graduate of the University of Texas in Austin. He has lived in or around Houston, Texas all his life but has a son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter living in Seattle, Washington; a daughter, son-in-law and another granddaughter live in Tyler, Texas. He recently began a journal of stories for his grandchildren and sent several to me.

Houston Music Hall

The family was opening gifts Christmas Eve 1967. #1 gave me a 33 1/3 vinyl record album. Everyone wanted to hear it. I dropped the needle. Everyone in the room looked at each other and fled. The room cleared in less than 30 seconds.

After the New Year I found out the artist on that record was going to play at The Houston Music Hall. I had some mowing money saved up. I told Mom that I wanted to take someone from school. Mom thought it was a good idea.

I met the young lady when she caught a ball that had gone out of bounds while I was on court playing basketball. She passed it back with two hands and a smile on her face. After the game I asked for her number and I called her the next day.

Mom spoke to the young lady’s mom. They coordinated what would be appropriate attire for the concert. Sport coat and tie de rigueur. The young lady’s mother said her daughter would be wearing a dress.

We would need transportation. It was going to be a concert when a parent drop-off was unacceptable. I had an idea. J lived four houses down. She was head cheerleader at high school. She was also my ex-babysitter. She was cool.

J was taking us to the concert in my parent’s car. J told Mom that I was over dressed. Mom said wearing school clothes to The Music Hall was like going to church barefoot. Yes ma’am was J’s response.

J tried to suppress laughter when we went to pick up the young lady. Then she saw the young lady. She was resplendent in skirt and petticoat. I forgot to mention she also wore a corsage Mom insisted was appropriate for the occasion. Tears rolled down J’s cheeks.

Our adventure began when J dropped us off in front of The Music Hall…

This was 1968. Love Street Light Circus Feel Good Machine was Houston’s bastion of psychedelia. A club where Bubble Puppy, The 13th Floor Elevators, Fever Tree and The Moving Sidewalks headlined. Not exactly the sport coat and tie crowd.

Mom was not wrong. The Houston Music Hall was home to The Houston Symphony. But tonight Love Street’s patrons vacated the haunts of Buffalo Bayou. They were doing their best Haight-Asbury impression downtown. The scent of weed and Hai Karate had replaced cigarettes and Old Spice.

The mothers had inadvertently made my date the star of the show. We were youngest in attendance. My young friend was a muñeca among a mass of the hip hugging jeans sweeping the floor. She illuminated every row we passed as we made our way to the last row. It was a sold-out concert.

We were nonconformists in Music Hall attire attending a concert of aspirational nonconformists. The concert began with “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”. The Beatles were not on stage.

************************************************

Stay tuned.

September 23, 2019

maternity photo session??? fabulous idea!

This past Sunday Pretty and I were trying to decide in the middle of the afternoon between going out to eat Mexican food, our favorite comfort food of all time for as long as we’ve known each other, and taking a nap.

Mexican food won, and we set off for one of the only Mexican food restaurants open on Sunday – El Salto on Decker Blvd. Because of its distance from our home, we rarely make the effort to go across town to dine there. However, the place is near our son and his wife’s home so Pretty texted to see if they wanted to meet us there.

Drew did meet us there but said Caroline was getting her hair fixed for their maternity photo session that night at which time I’m sure my face must have shown complete surprise. Pretty rescued me by explaining that some couples had photographers take pictures of them just before their baby is born – the maternity photo session. Drew nodded without real enthusiasm but said he was up for giving it a try.

Caroline sent a link to Pretty this morning with the results – I guarantee they made me smile and feel better about life. I chose a few to share with all our friends in cyberspace – enjoy!