I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

For any who want more, complete list of all posts by month since 2011
  • A Fond Farewell to My Blogging Journey

    A Fond Farewell to My Blogging Journey


    Special greetings to all my followers who became friends in cyberspace over the past fifteen years.

    Today I am saying a fond farewell to all of you with good memories of our mutual posts which shared who we are, and possibly even who we wished we could be. The first time I discovered I could hit a Publish button on WordPress and send my thoughts to a cyberspace universe I felt a sense of magical power. I had bypassed the perils and rejections of traditional publishing to carry my voice  to a group of people who would be thrilled (well, maybe not exactly thrilled, but more than mildly interested)  to hear what I had to say.

    I began this experiment with cyberspace in August, 2011.Today this post is my 1,160th. with more than 215,000 views over the years and a grand total of 925 subscribers. Some will think those numbers ridiculously paltry in the years of social media, but for a little girl who grew up in Grimes County, Texas, in the 1950s, they are unbelievable. I am thankful for every follower, for each view, and the encouragement you gave me when I wanted to give up.

    I found myself unable to quit blogging, regardless of the number of likes and views I had for each post. Perhaps I never achieved the recognition for my writing I originally thought possible, but as the funny guy Jonathan Winters once said, “I couldn’t wait for success, so I went ahead without it.”

    The good news is I have not been diagnosed with any life changing illness. But this year I find is more difficult for me with my waning eyesight and reduced ability to focus. I set a goal of excellence in my writing – didn’t always get there, but I tried to do my best. Storytelling for what I envision to be an audience of truth lovers isn’t as easy as it sounds, and in today’s world even more challenging.

    I have a couple of new ideas for projects which have been on the back burner for a while now. Time is fleeting, turning 80 was a wakeup call to get busy, to step out of what has been a wonderful comfort zone in my third act – what if the final curtain call is closer than I realize, and I didn’t leave everything on the playing field.

    When the final curtain does fall, if there is an afterlife I will be pleasantly surprised; but I will be sorely disappointed if I am unable to reunite with Wee Sassy, The Red Man, Smokey Lonesome Ollie, Paw Licker Annie, Tennis Ball Obsessed Chelsea, Big Dog Spike, and Little Guy Carl. I will be waiting for Pretty – for whom I have waited all my life. I will leave her in good hands – those of our beloved son Drew, his amazing wife Caroline and those little hands of our most cherished granddaughters, Ella and Molly, who have been our shared happiness.  Charly and the mysterious carport cats will demand her attention every day and shower her with adoration.

    My wish for all of you is that you keep your faith in each other, speak your truth, and keep writing. Thank you for being my friend.

    Annie Lamott said in her book Bird by Bird: “But I always tell my students that sometimes when my writer friends are working, they feel better and more alive than they do any other time. And sometimes when they are writing well, they feel that they are living up to something. It is as if the right words are already inside them, and they just want to help them get out. Writing this way is a little like milking a cow; the milk is so rich and delicious, and the cow is so glad you did it.”

    Onward.

  • Ten years and counting – what lessons have we learned from the Dallas, Texas, police ambush

    Ten years and counting – what lessons have we learned from the Dallas, Texas, police ambush


    Dallas marks 10 years since the July 7, 2016, ambush that killed five law enforcement officers during a downtown protest, one of the deadliest attacks on police in modern U.S. history. The shooting left four Dallas police officers and one DART officer dead, injured several others and forever changed policing in the city. The following piece I published ten years ago seems, sadly, appropriate for Everytown, USA, today.

    Big “D”, little “a”, double “L”  – a – s. Dallas, Dallas, Dallas, another notch in your gun belt this week; more snipers take a shot at our ability to wage peaceful parades and protests  while the face of violence lights up within your city limits. Shades of 1963 when you were the harbinger of our national nightmares to come.

    I am outraged at the environment of fear and desperation that leads men to believe that shooting each other with guns or blowing each other up with bombs is the only solution to our problems within our borders and across the pond. Prejudices over skin color and religious practices cross oceans, span continents and land at our doorsteps. And since we have the right to bear arms, we also have the right to shoot them – at each other.

    Policemen who are sworn to protect us become caught up in a kind of madness that makes them so suspicious and fearful of  people of color that even routine traffic violations can turn into scenes of degradation and death.  Lives are changed forever – death is permanent – there is no taking back the gunfire that kills an innocent man or woman: no do-overs. And it’s not just that one life taken. The ripple effect in the lives of families and friends is also endless.

    Take Back the Night? Hardly bold enough. Give Back the Light, I say. Give back the light of acceptance of citizens regardless of race or who they love or where they worship, but without apathy toward those who struggle with less. Acceptance without apathy – do we have leaders capable of recognizing the reality of the feelings of Powerlessness that drive men to fire gunshots against the Powerful…I wonder. And can the Powerful be changed to look beyond the obvious to the pain below the surface…I wonder.

    Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God, Jesus said in his sermon on the mount. I am looking for the peacemakers, I am waiting for the peacemakers, I am hoping that they find their way to Dallas, Texas, tonight.

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

    Ten years later, I continue to wait for the peacemakers. I am one small voice in the wilderness of cyberspace, but I refuse to wave a white flag of surrender while I wait with hope for international peace.

     

     

     

     

     

  • Reminiscing Wimbledon: A Golden Era of Tennis

    Reminiscing Wimbledon: A Golden Era of Tennis


    What’s that sound I hear – that tick, tock, tick, “tocking” away? Must be time passing through this year…winter turned to spring, and now summer brings heat, thunderstorms, and always at our casa wherever we lay our heads, the thrilling sounds of Wimbledon, the third major tennis event of the season. Manic Monday is no more, Federer and Nadal have retired in recent years; Red, Annie, and Spike have been called to higher ground, but return with me to a Golden Era of tennis and enjoy this blast from the past. The year was 2017, and we had moved that spring from our Casa de Canterbury to our Casita de Cardinal where we remain nine years later.

    Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive…it’s a train, it’s a plane, it’s Super Manic Monday at Wimbledon tomorrow and my head will be spinning like one of those old antique tops that we recently sold at our spectacular yard sale for Casa de Canterbury this weekend.

    Roger Federer in 2012 following his win

    Daddy WON Wimbledon again! Thank you, thank you

    (one of Roger’s twin daughters at the match in 2012)

    I lost at Wimbledon again – why me, o Lord, why me?

    (Andy Murray was the runner-up in 2012)

    The Red Man in the bleacher seats at

    Casa de Canterbury during Wimbledon in 2012

    (The Red Man was a serious Tennis Addict)

    Paw Licker Annie entertained herself in 2012…

    (she much preferred licking her paw to tennis)

    Spike’s first Wimbledon experience – 

    he didn’t quite catch the thrill in 2012

    Roger Federer and Novak Djokovic in

    2014 Wimbledon Final

    Daddy lost Wimbledon…oh, no

    Rafael Nadal leaving Wimbledon in 2014

    (win or lose, Nadal likes to stay fresh)

    Nadal, Federer, Djokovic and Murray a/k/a the Big Four will be flailing away at yellow tennis balls again tomorrow at the All England Club at Wimbledon in the round of 16 players still standing in both the men’s and women’s draws after the first week of tournament play. The ESPN commentators have dubbed this day Manic Monday because it is the final time both the men and women will be playing on the same day on the grass courts of the 2017 tournament.

    With the yard sale in her rear-view mirror, Pretty will be up with me to catch the Magic Marathon that is the beginning of the second week of one of the 4 Major tennis tournaments of 2017. Roger Federer  won the Australian Open earlier this year, and Rafa Nadal won his record-setting 10th. French Open title a few weeks ago.  His 10th. French Open. Truly awesome.

    These guys are “oldies but goodies” as my friend Robin Lee says whenever she sees me.

    That’s how I feel about the men and women who continue to loom large in international competition even as they pass the 30-year-old hurdle that used to be the sign of the end of times for tennis players. Good for them. They crash their own glass ceilings every time they step on Centre Court. And we haven’t even mentioned the legendary Venus Williams who is playing in her 20th Wimbledon at the ripe young age of 37. You go, girl.

    Spike has grown fonder of tennis in the past 5 years and will watch Wimbledon with Pretty and Charly and me in our new bleacher seats at Casita de Cardinal this week. We have to hope The Red Man and Paw Licker Annie will have the best seats in their home away from home, too. Red will pull for Roger with Pretty, and Annie, well, she will keep her preferences to herself.

    Spike and I both love Nadal whether he has a shirt on or not. Vamos!!

    Enjoy a fantastic week of tennis if you are a fan and have access to sports channels on your TV.

    Thanks for staying tuned.

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

    The second week of Wimbledon 2026 is off and running with upsets galore in both the men’s and women’s draws – who will raise the trophies at The Championships? Possibly a new name will be written down in glory. Regardless, the competition will be epic.

  • summertime and the living is, uh, not quite so easy as we’d thought originally

    summertime and the living is, uh, not quite so easy as we’d thought originally


    Originally published in 2020 – we still enjoy the screened porch, but now have two granddaughters who will share the summer solstice with us this year. I’m sure they will roll their eyes and say I’m boring them when I begin to explain the significance of June 21st. tomorrow. The summer solstice will hopefully take a back seat to their celebration of their daddy for Father’s Day, but just in case…

    I asked Pretty to join me on our screened porch last night a little after 9 o’clock. Pretty who had had a stressful day putting out fires she didn’t start, didn’t hesitate. Ok, she said as she began to move outside with me. That’s one of Pretty’s best characteristics – she’s never afraid to switch gears – she’s always willing to humor me when I make a gear switch.  I guess that’s really two exceptional qualities, but who’s counting.

    Today is the summer solstice, I reminded Pretty, it’s the longest daylight of the year. I wanted to enjoy it with you, I said. Look, it’s almost 9:15 and just now getting darker.

    Pretty exclaimed with enthusiasm – oh you’re right. I’m so glad you suggested the porch.

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

    You can blame this on the frogs

    While Pretty and I talked on our porch last night, I tried to explain to her what was going through my head on this first day of my 74th. summer. The sounds from our porch were connected to the sounds of my earliest memories of summer when I slept in a small double bed with my maternal grandmother while a cheap oscillating fan turned slowly from side to side as it valiantly tried to cool us in the hot humidity of an East Texas heat a thousand miles away from South Carolina, a heat that would not be relieved by opening every window on the porch where we slept or the random whisper of cool air from a small oscillating fan made by Westinghouse. The sheets were always clean but never actually cool.

    I never trusted the sheets anyway after discovering a scorpion hiding between them one night.

    But it was the sound of the frogs around our pool here on Cardinal Drive – particularly after a rain – that drew me to those hot muggy nights of Grimes County, Texas, where I was raised. My grandmother’s wooden house made from a retail catalog blueprint had many design flaws, but its one awesome feature which had nothing to do with the design really, was the magical pond (or tank, as we called it in East Texas) behind her house.

    The tank was the focal point of my only-child imagination play stories during the day, but it was the tank’s music of those summer nights I hope will never be erased from my memory. Specifically, it was the frogs, or bull frogs as my grandmother used to call them  just before we drifted off to sleep. The low guttural sounds were always behind the house and were somewhat subdued until every light was turned off at night. But then, those frogs got louder and louder until they hit a mighty crescendo. My grandmother and I laughed out loud when we heard them.

    The frogs who live in our backyard on Cardinal Drive are rarely as raucous as the bull frogs in my tank in Richards – I think they are smaller frogs. But occasionally I hear one of those loud guttural sounds looking for something, probably safer water supplies, and I am transported to different days. To a grandmother who guided me with her wisdom – now to a woman who loves sharing another summer solstice with me.

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

    I was blessed with a loving eccentric family who in the end gave me what they could – so much more than I realized. Today I stand with the Poor People’s Campaign and their national Call for a real Moral Revival to discover a soul within ourselves that will move all people to address the intersection of poverty, systemic racism, social injustices.

    One of the co-founders of the movement, Reverend William J. Barber II says, “In the long arc of human history, there are moments when the universe itself groans and declares, ‘It’s time.’”

    It is, indeed, time. It’s also summertime and contrary to the Gershwin hit song from Porgy and Bess, the living is definitely not easy for most of our fellow citizens who continue to demonstrate in our streets or elsewhere. Keep the faith. We must do better.

    Onward.

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

    The Obamas were pitch perfect as always in their ceremonial addresses opening the Presidential Library/ Campus in Chicago this third week of June, 2026. They still give me hope. I need a large dose of that this summer when the living continues to be, uh, not quite so easy as we’d thought originally in these United States.

     

  • Mama Mia, the movie, and the music of ABBA connect generations of families – everybody dance now!

    Mama Mia, the movie, and the music of ABBA connect generations of families – everybody dance now!


    I introduced our granddaughters to the glorious music of ABBA when they were barely able to process sound. They both recognize the intro to several of the famous ABBA hits now and know it’s time to dance with Nana and Naynay when Alexa cranks up the volume to Dancing Queen. When they came to stay with us last weekend, I thought it was time for them to have the full ABBA experience with the movie version of Mama Mia – you know, the 2008 version when everybody in the picture could sing except Pierce Brosnan. Love him, but singing? Not so much.

    Ella and Molly wanted to watch Enchanted, but I asked them to try Mama Mia for me because I knew they would love it. If they weren’t “enchanted” with it, we’d watch their favorite.

    Four-year-old Molly immediately went to play with her ice cream cart and babies.

    Six-year-old Ella was giving the movie the benefit of the doubt but refused to sit down to watch. She said she’d rather stand. Ok. I got that.

    “Naynay, is this age appropriate?” she asked me.

    “Of course, it’s age appropriate,” I said. “Would I ever ask you to watch something that’s not age appropriate. And, more importantly, who talks to a six-year-old about age appropriate?”

    She continued to stand as the first scenes opened with a young teenage girl talking with her two friends about trying to discover who her father was from among three guys who’d had sex with her mother back in the day. I had forgotten about that little hiccup.

    “Naynay, this movie is not age appropriate,” Ella said and looked at me with disappointment. I felt foolish and guilty at my inability to provide proper censorship – to be fair, I had focused on the music and not the storyline.

    “Let’s all watch Enchanted,” I said. Ella sat down in Nana’s lap. Molly brought her baby to watch with Nana and Ella on the sofa.

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

    Two years ago I published this piece on June 17th. It’s age appropriate.

    Dancing Queen? Just kidding. Anyone who has seen me on a dance floor from the time my mother tried to teach me how to rock n roll with Dick Clark and American Bandstand after school in the living room of our home in Richards, Texas, to dancing with Pretty and our granddaughters in their kitchen to Roe, Roe, Roe, your Vote – anyone who has seen me try to dance will say gosh, Sheila can still carry a tune plus she’s got rhythm but Lordy, that old woman can’t dance.

    I may not be a Dancing Queen, but ABBA will always be my favorite musical group, my go-to songs when I think I can dance.

    Last week I watched the movie Mama Mia with Meryl Streep and a bunch of other people I know and like because it’s on my list of all time favorite movies and because I had a round of the epizooti. It was so good I watched it twice and then moved on to The Devil Wears Prada. I only watched it once, though, you’ll be pleased to know.

    Since I was in a prone position with no urges to dance, I listened to the words of a beautiful, slower tempo song from Mama Mia that Meryl sang in a poignant scene with her daughter. Beyond the obvious feelings I have now with my granddaughters, I can also connect the words to my relationship with Pretty. Life is often slipping through our fingers all the time.

    “Slipping Through My Fingers”

    Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning
    Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile
    I watch her go with a surge of that well known sadness
    And I have to sit down for a while
    The feeling that I’m losing her forever
    And without really entering her world
    I’m glad whenever I can share her laughter
    That funny little girl

    Slipping through my fingers all the time
    I try to capture every minute
    The feeling in it
    Slipping through my fingers all the time
    Do I really see what’s in her mind
    Each time I think I’m close to knowing
    She keeps on growing
    Slipping through my fingers all the time

    Sleep in our eyes, her and me at the breakfast table
    Barely awake I let precious time go by
    Then when she’s gone, there’s that odd melancholy feeling
    And a sense of guilt I can’t deny
    What happened to the wonderful adventures
    The places I had planned for us to go
    Well, some of that we did, but most we didn’t
    And why, I just don’t know

    Slipping through my fingers all the time
    I try to capture every minute
    The feeling in it
    Slipping through my fingers all the time
    Do I really see what’s in her mind
    Each time I think I’m close to knowing
    She keeps on growing
    Slipping through my fingers all the time

    Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture
    And save it from the funny tricks of time

    Slipping through my fingers…

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

    Think about life slipping through our fingers all the time. Do we wish we could freeze the picture and save it from the funny tricks of time. Gosh, I know I do.

    Stay tuned.