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

  • HAPPY PRIDE! CELEBRATE GOOD TIMES!


    Pretty and I were unable to participate in tonight’s 2018 Pride Parade here in Columbia, South Carolina but we were there in spirit…

    PRIDE – 2015

    On the bottom row of this collage the handsome young man speaking with a microphone at the Pride Festival was my friend of many, many years Eddie Greenleaf. Sadly, two weeks ago today Pretty and I attended his funeral. We will miss Eddie’s smile and hugs but are very thankful for the memories we share of his commitment to his husband Michael and their ongoing contributions to the LGBTQ community in South Carolina over the past 30 years. Rest in peace, Eddie, and may those of us you left behind never rest until true equality for all becomes the new normal.

    Stay tuned.

  • a case of mistaken identity


    The year was 1968. I was 22 years old,  working for a CPA firm and living by myself in Seattle, Washington 3,000 miles from my home near Houston, Texas. I got a job by calling every CPA firm in the Seattle area from my motel room telephone out of the yellow pages in a telephone directory. When I reached the “s” names, I hit the jackpot. Simonson & Moore in Bellevue, a suburb of Seattle. They interviewed me and hired me on the spot. I was so relieved that I would now be able to pay my motel bill.

    I knew no one except my co-workers – my girlfriend who made the trip with me had left to follow her adventures with a guy in California. We had rented an apartment in Bellevue that I knew I couldn’t afford without her help. I was very lonely.

    At Christmas my dad sent me the money to fly home for a few days before tax season started at my job. On the 3 hour return flight from the only stop in Denver to Seattle, I sat next to a young man from Houston who lived and worked in Portland, Oregon. We talked and talked and exchanged phone numbers before saying goodbye at the Seattle Tacoma airport.

    When he didn’t call me, I called him. I thought I had the wrong number because someone who sounded like a very young boy answered. I asked for Jim, and Jim came to the phone. He was very friendly, asked how I was getting along and said I should come for a visit to see Portland some time. I said I was free that weekend and would love to visit him.

    I found these pictures my mother had saved for almost 40 years. On each picture I had carefully written explanations of my new relationship which no doubt had given her hope of romance for me. My mother and I were totally off base on so many levels.

    “This is his den downstairs – his ‘music’ room

    My favorite room in his house

    That’s Jim in the blue sweatshirt.”

    “That’s Vladimir, the cat.

    This is Jim’s living room upstairs.

    Doesn’t he look cute here?”

    “He was fixing his pretty hair & was

    thoroughly disgusted with me & the camera!

    Isn’t he darling?”

    “Which one is the real dear?

    This is in Jim’s living room – his Texas decor”

    Jim and I had more in common than I realized…kindred spirits even. That visit to Portland was my first and last, although we talked on the phone a few times afterward. We were never on the same flight back home again.

    My mother asked about him for a while – but then gave up on him. She kept the pictures forever, though, to prove to herself that I wasn’t a lesbian.

    Stay tuned.

     

     

     

     

  • the young woman at the rock


    I was 22 years old, leaving home – really leaving home on a 3,000 mile trip from Houston, Texas to Seattle, Washington with a friend from college who was as eager for adventure and a change of scenery as I was. The year was 1968, and my brand new  two-door blue Buick Skylark with the white coupe top had never been farther west than Austin. Time to break that baby in.

    My friend and I had picked Seattle on a map sitting in a bar in Houston – we were looking for the farthest distance in the continental USA from where we sat. Bangor, Maine lost out to the Pacific Northwest. For me, it was the right choice and changed my life forever.

    I keep this picture in a little box on my desk and take it out occasionally to remind me of that trip and the young woman smiling with such assurance as she stood near a rock in Arizona. She makes me smile when I see her.

    Stay tuned.

     

     

  • consider the toad


    our toad sits alone every night atop the frog log

    during the day mr. or mrs. toad vanishes

    What up, Toad?

    Stay tuned.

  • Lessons from a Butterfly


    One week ago today I was doing my pool exercises when I saw something so very extraordinary I took a calculated risk to retrieve my cell phone from the buggy it rests in without disturbing the amazing sight.

    butterfly on caterpillar body – gently folding and unfolding wings

    as it moved its legs across the still corpse

    The carcasses of two recently deceased caterpillars lay next to the steps where I entered the pool every day. I scarcely paid any attention to them when I moved down the steps and into the water. After all, the bodies of caterpillars that were casualties of the chlorine were common and a dime a dozen, weren’t they.

    I also paid very little attention to the small dark colored butterfly that flew around me in wide circles for about 15 minutes until it came to rest on one of the caterpillar bodies lying on the cement next to the pool steps.

    I was so startled at the sight that I stopped my pacing to watch as the butterfly established a kind of rhythm – opening and closing its wings while it moved its legs back and forth across the dead caterpillar. I felt like I was an intruder in a private ritual of grief reserved for these tiny creatures that made our human tears a poor substitute. And then I began to think the butterfly didn’t fly away from me because it sensed my shared sorrow.

    Today, exactly one week later, I was on the last leg of my routine early morning walk around the pool when I saw this remarkable sight.

    a beautiful large blue black butterfly landed right in front of me

    This gorgeous creature flew next to the pool steps, landed, and began to open and close its wings just as the one had last week. I sat down in my buggy seat to better observe what I believe was…what?…the same butterfly from last week…another butterfly…what does that matter really…

    What I learned was a powerful lesson about the importance of all creatures great and small, the individuality of grief, the exquisite beauty in hope embraced by a spirit willing to take flight following great loss.

    Stay tuned.