I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Category: photography

  • OK, BOOMER? let’s see what you got first


    Pretty will be the first to tell anyone that I am the world’s last to know anything about pop culture because I am not a twitterer, instagrammer, pinterester, redditer, or snapchatterer. I am not linked in, tik tokked, or tuned in or up on most days. I’m not passing judgment on any of these or the countless other social meda platforms nor am I necessarily proud of being uninformed although I remain stubbornly committed to Facebook regardless of whether anyone is bothering to influence my vote in the 2020 election. Just try. Please try. I will get you.

    I do, however, continue to watch CBS Sunday Morning faithfully because it is one show that Pretty and I can enjoy together. (Remember she continues to boycott all real news programs since the 2016 elections but instead gets her news information from Twitter.) So yesterday Pretty half watched CBS Sunday Morning by herself until I straggled in from our bedroom in a semi-conscious state thirty minutes into the broadcast. Segments came and went as I ate leftover sweet potato casserole from Thanksgiving for breakfast before taking my morning meds.

    I was shaken out of my television reverie by the Faith Salie commentary called OK, BOOMER in which she humorously described ok, boomer as a recent put down by the Gen Z (1995 – 2010) population of their aging Baby Boomer elders (1946 – 1961). Hm. What up, Gen Z?

    Apparently we the Boomers are being blamed for “rising waters, disappearing species, crippling debt and crumbling democracies.” Whaat? That’s all our fault? Easy for you to say, 48-year-old Faith Salie (Gen X 1961 – 1981).  Where were you guys when we were ruining climate change? Ho, ho, ho – and a merry old millenial (1981 – 1996) to you all for a holiday season free of guilt for any of the world’s most dangerous threats. The Boomers did it.

    Anyhow, as my now deceased Greatest Generation friend Libby Levinson used to say whenever she was about to change the subject,  Faith’s sally struck a nerve that I usually reserved for my free-floating anxiety over the current criminals in charge of the country. It was a bridge too far.

    I can’t bear to be thought of as old and irrelevant, I ranted to Pretty who was quite familiar, of course, with the OK BOOMER memes. Then I got irritated with her for not feeling disrespected because she was, after all, one of those Bad Old Boomers herself. The only person who can ever make you feel disrespected is yourself, Pretty said. Oh, sure, I said. Go ahead and quote one of my favorite Eleanor Roosevelt quotes back to me. Sigh. I could feel the air being let out of my anger. That Pretty.

    Today I sat in the pedi chair that belongs to the great pedicurist/philosopher Esther Isom who was responsible for the title of my last book: Four Ticket Ride. I couldn’t let the Ok, Boomer thing go so I was still raving about it from her chair which reminded me somewhat of a throne so I’m sure I had my proclamation tone in full force. I couldn’t believe Esther hadn’t heard of the funny haha put down from our children either, because she also was always in the cultural know, but she took it with a grain of salt.

    Tell them let’s see what you got first, she said with a laugh. Of course we won’t be around to know how they’ll do, she continued, but they’ll learn life isn’t as simple as they think it is.

    Point taken. I am not unaware of my generation’s shortcomings – we have been poor stewards of our planet, insensitive to the needs of the poor, squandered the earth’s resources to keep gasoline in our vehicles, failed at equality for people of color, elected corrupt public officials at every level of government – to name a few. I sadly recognize and confess my Baby Boomer sins.

    But hey, we’ve been on the front lines marching against the Viet Nam War, opened up amazing opportunities for women in the work force and athletics,  secured marriage equality for same sex couples, fought for civil rights; and worked, worked, worked to achieve the American Dream. We were competitive but with the spirit of a rugged individual. We were the original gangsters so… before you write me and my cohorts off as ancient and irrelevant, let’s see what you got first, kids.

    In the meantime, show some respect.

    Stay tuned.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • thanksgiving is relative


    “The oak trees were alive with color in the midst of the evergreens. Bright red and yellow leaves catching the sunlight as Daddy and I walked through the brush. The smell of the pines was fresh and all around us. We didn’t speak, but this was when I felt most connected to my father. Nature was a bond that united us and the gift that he gave me. And not just in those East Texas woods. He envisioned the whole earth as my territory and set me on my path to discovery. In 1958, this was remarkable in a girl’s father…

    To this day, Thanksgiving remains my favorite holiday. It seems less commercial than the others and struggles to hold its own before the onslaught of merchandising that we call Christmas. The dinners in the fancy restaurants and hotels and cafeterias never measure up to the feasts my grandmothers served their families.

    Perhaps, though, it is the love and closeness of those family ties that leave the sights and sounds that last a lifetime.”

    This excerpt from the chapter Thanksgiving in the Piney Woods is from my first book Deep in the Heart: A Memoir of Love and Longing. I was so surprised when the book received a 2008 GCLS Literary Award – and thrilled, too.

    my family on my grandparents’ front steps circa 1956

    (I am seated on the bottom row in my flannel shirt and corduroy pants,

    unsmiling, at my mother’s request for some strange reason)

    Today is a different Thanksgiving in a different home in a different state in a different century, but I still believe in the love and closeness of family ties that bring the sights and sounds that last a lifetime. I know they have in my lifetime.

    And now for Thanksgiving in 2019 we are beyond Thunder Dome thankful for the new family member we love to hold and hope she looks our way with smiles. Pretty is beside herself with our granddaughter Ella Elisabeth James, and so am I.

    Ella loves her NanaT

    Pretty and I wish all of you in cyberspace that love and closeness on this special day for thanksgiving.

    Stay tuned.

     

  • 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.

     

     

     

  • 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.

     

     

     

  • 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.