I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Category: Personal

  • 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.

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • 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.

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    Stay tuned.

     

  • 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!

    These beautiful pictures were taken by Carolina Rain Photography located in Charleston, South Carolina. Bravo!

    Needless to say, Pretty and I get more excited about the October 7th. due date every day!

    Stay tuned.

  • Friday the 13th. – the day after the Democratic debate and a name game


    Friday the 13th. could be bad news for one or more of the candidates who participated in the Democratic Party debate last night. Once again, I felt overwhelmed by the number of persons who met the criteria to participate in the debate, the merry-go-round format of questions and answers at dizzying speeds. I haven’t watched the post-debate analysis today so I have no idea who the media thinks won, lost, or was neutral in the outcomes of the performances. I’m sure I’m not a good judge because I confess my favorables floated among all  the candidates with the same dizzying speeds of their answers.

    I’ve decided to whittle my choices for the next debate using the non-scientific method of a name game. I am assigning point values to my reaction of the names if they were President with 1 point being the lowest and 3 being the highest. I invite you to play along in the privacy of your own home. Then we can compare our results. Isn’t this fun?

    President Amy – 1 point

    President Cory – 2 points

    President Pete – 3 points

    President Bernie – 1 point

    President Joe – 1 point

    President Warren – 2 points

    President Harris – 3 points

    President Yang – 1 1/2 points (he gets the extra half point for sending me $1,000 a month)

    President Beto – 2 points

    President Castro – 2 points

    Now about the score. Looks like Pete and Harris each had 3 points. Cory, Warren, Beto and Castro each had 2 points. Yang had 1 1/2 points. Amy, Bernie and Joe each got 1 point.

    So, according to my name game poll, my next debate would inclue Pete, Harris, Cory, Warren, Beto and Castro. Say goodbye to my bottom vote-getters.

    Hm. I detect a pattern here, but I’ll let you have it your way, too.

    Really, the only name I hope never to see with the title of President again is Donald Trump. Please.

    Have a great weekend. Stay tuned.

     

  • and on the flip side…


    Canada has a new 19-year-old super star, Bianca Andreescu, who won the 2019 U.S. Open Women’s Championship in New York City this past Saturday. With that victory she became the first Canadian to win a grand slam singles title…ever. #SheTheNorth. Congratulations to Bianca and to a rebirth of professional tennis in our neighbors to the north. Although I was disappointed that Serena Williams had another missed opportunity to win major title #24, I had to be happy for the young woman who beat Serena at her own power game that was virtually unbeatable for the past 20 years. #SerenaTheQueen.

    And let me also add my best wishes to Rafael Nadal who won the Men’s Championship on Sunday in a 5-set match that was packed with everything a tennis fan could ever dream of in a U.S. Open final. Daniil Medvedev, the young 23-year-old Russian, was fearless in his pursuit of the title – fearless, tireless, an ingenius combination of drop shots intermingled with ground strokes of nearly 100 miles an hour. This young man had all the weapons to beat Nadal, and yet Nadal somehow brought the tenacity and focus to play every shot as if it were his last. At 33 years of age, Nadal is the first man to win 5 majors after reaching the age of 30. He is one win closer to Roger Federer’s record pace of 20 total grand slam titles. Fed Fans probably weren’t happy with Nadal’s 19th, but I don’t think any tennis fan could deny Nadal’s counterpunching every shot in the grinding 5 hour match. Vamos Rafa!! My heart still belongs to you.

    I was so happy to have the U. S. Open to lift me out of my post-operative fog following my surgery on August 28th.  So happy with tennis that I rarely clicked on the news. I missed the headlines of the Taliban leaders’ invitation to Camp David to sit down with the American President. Seriously? Inviting the Taliban to Camp David for a little chat on the weekend before the 18th anniversary of 09-11. Even wild-eyed National Security Advisor John Bolton couldn’t go along with such madness. So before I came totally out of my fog, John Bolton was gone. Oh my. That would be four national security advisors in three years. Quite a record.

    The fog has finally lifted after two weeks of post-operative rehab and the ongoing care of Pretty who continues to add stars to her crown in this world and the next. She does love me and wants me to recover fully by the time our first grandbaby Ella arrives. Fingers crossed! Thanks to our friends here who show up with food and foolishness to help sustain and entertain me – you will always be on my good side and I will never forget your kindnesses.

    Thanks to everyone around the world who sent me encouraging words, complete sentences, and short paragraphs designed to make my second knee surgery less stressful and my recovery speedy. I really appreciated your support from places I have never seen but would love to visit now that I’m a bit more mobile.

    Finally, I am truly grateful to have only two knees.

    Stay tuned.