I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Category: Reflections

  • Ministers of Happiness


    Today is Easter Sunday, and I tried very hard to come up with an Easter recollection to complement my deep reservoir of Thanksgiving memories which flow from me like rivers to oceans or even my Christmas memories which aren’t quite up to Thanksgiving levels but still trickle in through little streams of consciousness. The best I had was clothes…and music.

    I can visualize frilly pink Easter dresses, white lacy Easter bonnets, snug-fitting white Easter gloves, shiny white Easter shoes and a matching white Bible to carry to church. I had won the white Bible the summer before during Vacation Bible School as a reward for memorizing the most scripture verses in my class. My name was engraved in gold letters which stood out nicely against the white leather Bible.

    The dress was home-made by my paternal grandmother Ma who tortured me with fittings several times before the actual final inspection was made and the dress approved to her satisfaction. She and my mother coordinated the remainder of the ensemble with a great deal of whispering behind my back because they wanted to avoid the exasperated facial expressions I made whenever they brought up the subject of the Easter “outfit.” Horrors – please don’t talk about that.

    The Easter outfit was like a Halloween costume to me. I might as well have been dressed in a white cowboy hat wearing a black Lone Ranger mask sitting astride my stick-horse yelling Hi, ho, Silver, Away periodically during the congregational singing at our Southern Baptist church. Instead, I was sitting demurely between my grandmother and granddaddy singing Up from the Grave He Arose. As a matter of fact, I definitely would have preferred The Lone Ranger look over the Easter outfit.

    But I had to wear the clothes to hear the music, and I loved the music even then. The old rugged cross was exchanged for a crown, because he lived I could live forever, just as I was without one plea I came because his blood was shed for me, I lifted up my heart to sing hosanna, hosanna to the king because of the amazing grace that found me when I was blind and could not see. The hymns had 18th. century harmony which I knew nothing about at the time I learned to sing them, but that lack of composition understanding didn’t interfere with my love of the experience.

    Even the sermon on Easter Sunday morning was hopeful – once you got over the nasty business of the crucifixion – the minister was so happy about the resurrection. Really, he seemed to me to be more joyful at Easter than he was at Christmas when the tidings of great joy were proclaimed by the angels.

    My first Easter Sunday was the day I was born on April 21, 1946, which makes this one my 71st.  Unbelievable.  Where does time really go. I miss my family and the singing at the little church today. I don’t miss the Easter outfit.

    Although it isn’t my birthday, I am going to make an Easter wish. My wish for all of us today in the midst of a world that is fraught with monumental uncertainties is that we become ministers of happiness founded on our own good health, good relationships, erasing inequalities where we can, creating trust in our communities and standing against injustice whenever we witness it. One by one, as the saying goes.

    Resurrect hope today.

     

     

  • My Bad? You’re Fired!


    I have a soft spot in my psyche for the underdog – the one who is unlikely to win an argument, sporting event, contest, campaign, cause – anything that requires taking a side. I perennially support the one with the least likely possibility of winning. I may not even be conscious of the choice I’ve made until the closing bell rings with the underdog surprisingly winning or losing as expected. It’s in my DNA.

    It’s also in my DNA to never kick a person when she’s down. Why is that necessary? Whoever it is has already been walloped enough by someone else or circumstances beyond their control or tackled already by a defensive back, so why “pile on”? That’s like a mantra with me. Avoid piling on someone who has already admitted defeat.

    Today, however, my DNA has run right up against my political reality TV show, and the collision isn’t pretty.

    I’m talking about the Press Secretary’s remarks yesterday at his daily press conference concerning the recent events in Syria. For some strange reason, Sean Spicer tried to compare the tyranny of President Assad to that of Adolph Hitler in WWII and remarked that even Hitler had never used gas to kill his own citizens.

    One of the astounded reporters said, “He killed the Jews.”

    And so we have the piling on of Sean Spicer who immediately apologized for his remarks following the press conference yesterday and was interviewed this morning on MSNBC and reiterated his mea culpa for the gaffe.

    I really don’t believe Sean is the total issue here, but I would start by firing him if I could. He is the daily voice of the administration and, as such, has the ear of media in this country and around the world. This is one blunder I call a bridge too far because it displays either a blatant ignorance of history or a distorted perception of history or a complete lack of respect for the magnitude of the deaths and destruction under the Nazi regime.

    This is not to say that the atrocities of the Assad government in Syria have not been horrific. Comparing horrors of inhumanity, however, runs the risk of ignoring that the numbers enumerated represent the loss of real lives. Whether those numbers are hundreds or thousands or millions that are snuffed out by evil leaders who use gas or other equally savage means, the most important number is one. One child. One family. One multiplied to the nth. power.

    In a world where our nation sends battleships to seas near North Korea and missiles to Syria while the White House Easter Egg Hunt is in disarray because the West Wing can’t organize it since they can’t organize themselves, it would be helpful to have a Press Secretary who spoke in complete knowledgeable sentences to deflect attention from his boss who communicates regularly through enigmatic tweets.

    My bad is not quite good enough this time, Sean. We need a better spokesperson. My DNA feels remorse for piling on you, but, to quote one of your boss’s favorite sayings, you’re fired.

  • Experience the Power of a G.I.R.L.!


    Sunday afternoon, the 9th. of April, 2017 was an absolutely gorgeous spring day in downtown Columbia, South Carolina. The weather was perfect with temperatures in the mid 70s and cloudless blue skies. It was a great day to be outdoors which is where thousands of people gathered on Main Street to celebrate the good times of bringing the NCAA Women’s Basketball Championship trophy home to the University of South Carolina with a ticker-tape parade minus the ticker-tape.

    Yahoo – we party!! Pretty and I were there as were our Gay Boys Basketball Buddies and #1 Fan Gamecock Matt. Without realizing where we were sitting, Pretty plopped our small folding chairs right next to a local TV news team which was covering the parade so not only did we have great seats, we also were interviewed by a TV newsman and once again made local news. (That interview can be viewed on social media if anyone is curious.)

    We watched every car carrying VIPs,  every motorcycle, a live rooster (Sir Spur, the Gamecock) riding in a small driver-less motorized vehicle, a deputy sheriff on a real big horse, A’ja Wilson’s DJ brother playing festive music, dancing troupes, Cocky the Gamecock mascot and tons of floats – green ones, red ones, silver ones, gold ones – truly any color imaginable in the midst of a caravan of colors as they passed by us on Main Street which was their route to the State Capitol grounds for the closing ceremonies.

    I love a parade – Pretty will vouch for me. I just love a parade. But I particularly love a parade that celebrates women and their achievements. I took 129 pictures at the parade and worked on them last night while Pretty was talking on her cell phone with the Apple Help person for two hours trying to figure out how to make her Mac happy again. Poor Pretty.

    As I cropped and re-cropped the images, I was struck by the power these basketball heroes gave to the little girls, teenage girls, grown-up women and yes, even us eat-up-with-elderly older women as we celebrated their victories in one grand final gesture of appreciation.

    If I could, I would put all of these images in my post today, but alas, I know that’s asking for a lot of attention which won’t happen. So, as a compromise, I’m choosing my favorites.

    The G.I.R.L. Power float

    Bring the babies, too – even when they nod off

    It’s a Family Affair

    (photo courtesy of Pretty)

    Dancing in the streets

    Women on motorcycles – 

    rev ’em up, Sisters!

    I spy Cocky!!

    Gamecock Legend Sheila Foster is jubilant… 

     other basketball alumni enjoy the ride with her

    Our Heroes: The Stars of the Show

    Kaela Davis, A’ja Wilson and Allisha Gray

    These girls and the team made basketball history

    Coach Dawn Staley high above the crowds

    where a true basketball Queen belongs

    along with the Team that made her the Queen

    I’m afraid I was too short to see the action on the Capitol steps as the parade came to an end, but that was okay. I found my sights away from the stage.

    This little girl had a bird’s eye view

    This one did, too

    a Pretty face in the crowd

    taking a break to tie her shoes

    a teenager tweeting her pics

    an older woman rode her bike to celebrate

    Gamecock colors – complete with pom poms

    These girls are champions, too

     Which one of these girls will be our next Congresswoman, Olympic medalist, astronaut, teacher, preacher, policewoman, Forbes 500 CEO, President of the United States? The mind races with the possibilities for their futures…and for ours…because we’ve experienced the magic of G.I.R.L. power today.

    Whew! We are exhausted – time for us to ease on down the road to Casa de Canterbury where we should be p-a-c-k-i-n-g instead of partying. Oh, well. You only go around once.

    Go Gamecocks!!

    Pretty and our parade chairs heading home

    it’s a wrap for this unforgettable season 

     

  • The Hereafter – Grimes County Style


    Changing flowers in Fairview Cemetery today

    for Granny Selma’s parents

    and for my dad, mom and their parents

    (my friend Tinabeth came to help)

    Tinabeth trimmed the crepe myrtles…

    while I arranged the flowers

    (and Pretty took pictures)

    Spike and Charly ran so fast that the 

    Hounds couldn’t catch ’em

    Hey, where are our names?

    The view from our family plot is truly fair

    When Pretty and I got to the cemetery this morning, there was a note under a stone at our grave that read Sheila, here’s my phone number. Call me. It was signed by Warren Wood and dated 03-28-17. I picked up my cell phone and gave him a call.

    Warren was one of my favorite people when I was growing up. He lived up the dirt road from us, played basketball on my dad’s high school team, and usually sat with me every Friday night at the Richards Cafe where his mother made the best hamburgers ever. I called him, and he said he was still in the area at his house in Anderson and would meet me at the cemetery – which he did. I hadn’t seen Warren in 60 years, but we have kept in contact since my first book Deep in the Heart was published in 2007. Wow. Such a great visit.

    His parents are near mine

    Being in the old familiar places with old familiar friends was a highlight of our trip to Montgomery and Grimes Counties for the past two days, but tomorrow it’s time to say goodbye to family and friends once more as we turn north toward Dallas and our Final Four destination.

    Go Gamecocks!!!

  • The Three Little Huss Brothers and How They Grew


    Worsham Street looks much the same as it did when we lived there from 2010 – 2014, but that’s about all that does in our little town of Montgomery, Texas which is growing, growing, growing. We had wonderful visits with some of the Little Women of Worsham Street and, of course, a memorable encounter with the Fabulous Huss Brothers.

    Dwight and George start a project after school 

    Pretty gets involved – stirring putty for a

    Star Wars mold

    Dwight discovers new Star Wars candy container

    for his Mini M&Ms

    Oscar is almost as tall as Miss Sheila…

    but still young enough to be happy to see her

    The Fabulous Huss Brothers in 2014

    Our Worsham Street visits are always too short, we missed seeing some of our friends…but we will save them for another time when we return to Texas. We always do.