I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Category: Slice of Life

  • Impasse


    Webster’s Everyday Thesaurus has these words for impasse:

    deadlock, stalemate, blind alley, bottleneck…dead end, dilemma, predicament, quandary, standstill, standoff.

    This past week I had a heavy dose of impasse which intermingled with my increasing preoccupation about the American Civil War. I look more and more frequently at the map of the red states and blue states that make up our United States and wonder anew at Abraham Lincoln’s commitment to keep the country united as one. I understand the problem better for sure. I always wondered how brother fought brother on different sides during the Civil War. They were family first after all, right? Not so fast, my friend.

    The American people are a “duke’s mixture” to quote my granddaddy who used the words for his Saturday barbershop customers in the 1950s when my grandmother asked him who’d stopped by the barber shop that day.

    George, who all came by for a haircut today?

    Well, Betha, it was a duke’s mixture.

    To which she would shake her head and look at me and ask, What does that tell you? Duke’s mixture.

    My granddaddy would laugh as if he’d told a funny joke, and I would laugh with him. My grandmother never cracked a smile.

    Today I find myself not laughing, either. Rarely cracking a smile at the impasse among the citizens in our country which must surely have my grandparents spinning in their graves. My grandmother invented social media via the telephone party line we had in our little town as surely as Al Gore invented the internet. She relished listening in on other people’s conversations and delighted to repeat juicy gossip at her kitchen table… but please dear God, don’t ever mess with her family.

    This week I did something I almost never do. I responded on Facebook to a post made by a first cousin twice removed who has a world view that I have long ago accepted as different from mine. Most of the time I hide his offensive posts from my timeline and move on.

    I can’t bring myself to “un-friend” him because I truly love the little boy I remember visiting us in Richards so often with his grandmother who was my grandmother’s sister. But this week he posted that liberals must have a “mental illness” to think the way we do, and that struck a nerve for me.

    You see, I grew up during a time when being a homosexual was considered to be a mental illness. Think about how you would feel if you grew up believing that you had a secret mental illness and, if exposed, you could be institutionalized. Lock her up. Throw away the key. I heard an old tape begin to  play in my mind.

    Somehow our thread on Facebook took an unpleasant turn, as I already knew it would and we got into a discussion regarding a prevailing Muslim  belief in some places that gays should be killed. Unfortunately, one of my cousin’s friends chimed in with the following comment: “We knew someone many years ago that would probably want to buy a plane today, load them (gays and lesbians) up and drop them off over there (wherever Muslims live). I sure miss him.”

    Wow. I was transported to a conversation I had in the early 1990s with a client who sat in my office and said, “If it were up to me, I’d take all those queers and put them behind barbed wire in Kansas and tell them to stay there.” I didn’t respond then. The old tape was playing louder now.

    One of my mother’s most infamous quotes for me was that she wished all those gays would go back in the closet where they belonged. She would be happy to slam the door shut. The old tape was so loud now I could barely hear myself think.

    Luckily, I didn’t accept the old tapes as I don’t accept my cousin or his friend’s thinking about who I am today. I’ve spent my entire adult life working for equal treatment and fairness – my liberal social justice beliefs.

    In 1974 the American Psychiatric Association declassified homosexuality as a mental disorder. I was 28 years old. In 2017 at the age of 71, I am personally declassifying liberalism as a mental illness.

    I resolve to limit my social media interaction with my first cousin twice removed to Happy Birthday wishes. No need going up that blind alley again.

    I feel better already.

  • WONDROUS WOMAN!


    Pretty and I went to the movies last night with our Yankee Quartet friends (2 from New York and 2 from Boston) to see Wonder Woman. Pretty was exhausted from her ongoing hard work clearing out Casa de Canterbury where she labors daily with her own personal Energizer Bunny Shelley. I tore myself away from the French Open coverage on the Tennis Channel which was not easy for me, but a date night with Pretty is always worth any sacrifice.

    Hello, my name is Sheila, and I’m a tennis television addict.

    I know, I know. Why are you watching tennis on TV while Pretty labors away at Casa de Canterbury? Simply put, I am a liability for that endeavor, but I excel in dog-sitting Spike and Charly who also prefer tennis to toil. Go figure.

    Thank goodness Pretty and I both wanted to see Wonder Woman. We really had such a fun time from start to finish. First of all, we saw several friends we rarely see while we were standing in line waiting to buy popcorn. The line was the length of a freight train on the railroad tracks as the signal clangs and the red lights blink during the interminable wait behind the wooden barriers that guard the railroad crossing. We had so much time waiting for popcorn we were able to catch up on the life of a seventeen-year-old friend’s daughter who was just graduating from high school and about to go to college. The last time we had heard anything about her she was eleven.

    Seriously, movie theater management people, you really need more than one person selling popcorn when Wonder Woman is one of your featured films – even on a Tuesday night. Pretty gave up when we were soooooo close to the concession counter and joined our friends for the previews. Luckily, one of our Boston buddies stayed with me for the duration and we spent an outrageous amount of money together for popcorn and sodas. Don’t even get me started on concession stand prices at the movies. Like I could truly say I remember when popcorn was 25 cents and cokes were a dime…but nobody cares or even wants to be reminded of the economic issues surrounding inflation on an innocent night of fun and frivolity.

    Turns out the expensive popcorn was delicious, and the movie itself was more than entertaining. Gal Gadot embodied the female super-hero Wonder Woman I remembered from my comic book days of secretive reading at Mr. McAfee’s drug store in my home town of Richards, Texas in the 1950s as well as the Lynda Carter Wonder Woman on TV I was in love with  in the 1970s. As the story came to life for me again on the big screen last night, I totally enjoyed the action packed images of this famous female super-hero directed by another woman, Patty Jenkins. If I were a movie reviewer, I would give this one 5 stars.

    Pretty and our other friends also enjoyed the heroics, but I did notice Pretty yawning several times and poked her to let her know she was being watched. I knew she was tired, tired, tired, though; and WW was a long film. Not as long as the popcorn line, of course.

    As the last credits scrolled down the screen after the final dramatic conclusion of the movie, we waited to see the names of the various actresses we recognized from other shows. Pretty never leaves a theater until the final credits are shown, even when she’s exhausted. That’s how she rolls in movies.

    We said our goodbyes to the Yankee Quartet in the parking lot with promises to get together again soon.

    On the way home, we talked about the movie, the popcorn line, the friends we hadn’t seen in forever. I asked Pretty what the father of the seventeen-year-old girl taught at the University of South Carolina. She replied, He’s a history professor who is an LBJ specialist.

    I was incredulous at the idea of someone making a living teaching about Lyndon Baines Johnson. That sounded so appealing to me for some reason.

    Gosh, I said, this is another example of choices I never knew I had for a career when I became an accountant fifty years ago. What would you like to have been, Pretty?

    Wonder Woman, Pretty said. And I laughed.

    That’s one of the things I love about Pretty. She dreams big.

    P.S. June is traditionally Pride Month, although it isn’t officially recognized by the current administration in Washington, D.C. this year. Hug an lgbtq person this month with the love Wonder Woman believed in for everyone. Happy Pride!

  • William “Bill” Chester Powell (April 26, 1947 – May 25, 2017)


    My cousin Bill died yesterday following a battle with his own body for almost eight years. He was 70 years old.

    I spoke with his mother Eloise this morning about my admiration for the courage Bill had displayed throughout his confinement as well as his wife Donna’s steadfast support while she helped her husband through the difficult activities of daily living. Eloise said simply, Bill was a trooper.

    Yes. Not all troopers are in the armed services.

    This weekend is Memorial Day, and I am immeasurably grateful for every soldier who serves today to protect our country from harm. I appreciate their families, their personal sacrifices, and the bravery required to face our enemies at home and abroad. These enemies multiply even as we alienate our friends and struggle to identify ever-changing battlefields. In the midst of a chaotic world our military personnel are asked to protect and defend us with their own lives if necessary. Thankful seems like such a small word for what our soldiers do, but thankful is how I feel.

    My cousin Bill had a very real foe in his war with his health, but he won’t get a medal or ribbon for his valor. Instead, in the end he was surrounded by the love of his family and the hope that he will be remembered as a good man who refused to surrender during a very long haul. A worthy legacy.

    my cousin Boybaby swinging

    with his sister Frances pushing him,

    me climbing the ladder, and Bill trying to ignore us 

    playing on a swing set at my home in Richards, Texas

    circa 1952

    only children Bill and me at a family reunion

    Bill’s maternal grandfather was my paternal grandmother’s brother, and his maternal grandmother was my paternal grandfather’s sister – sometimes our reunions were confusing, but our families were close and loved each other.

    I will miss Bill. Rest in peace, cousin.

  • Charly’s First Anniversary


    Imagine my surprise when Pretty called me this afternoon to tell me today was the one-year anniversary of our adoption of Charly from pawmetto lifeline, the place that had rescued the little dog from the kill shelter here in Columbia when her family of origin turned her in with a bad case of heart worms and an equally bad case of pregnancy. She had 11 puppies a year ago, and the eight who survived had already been adopted by forever homes when we met her. Charly a/k/a Dawn to her friends at pawmetto lifeline, hadn’t been so fortunate.

    I couldn’t believe it’s been a year since we adopted her…

    The blinds incident on Day 1 at Casa de Canterbury

    (separation anxiety was a bit of a problem at first)

    But look at her now! She runs this place – literally.

    she’ll be comin’ round the mountain – wheeeee!

    (at warp speed)

    hey, dude – shake a leg

    Spike had been bereft after losing the final members of his pack last spring, but his pace has picked up with Charly in the house.

    Charly has been a delight and joy for our family in the past year – she brings a little something extra to the mix. We are the better for her spark in our family dynamics – and we like to think we’ve given her an extra helping of love in return. It’s a win-win situation.

    I just love it when a plan comes together.

  • Never Let Go of Your Baby


    Cra-zy days, la, la, la…for me and you…we remain in a topsy-turvy state at Casita de Cardinal as we try to settle in. Three days of rain have thrown Charly and Spike for a loop as they boycott the outdoors. I have been thrown for a loop, too, but not by the rain. This afternoon Charly had had enough of the chaos in her world and took refuge in her favorite baby. 

    Once again the chaos of the world outside our home makes us all wish we had a “baby” for comfort. We stand with the people of Manchester and Great Britain tonight as they mourn the losses of their loved ones in senseless crimes against innocent children and their families. There are no words.

    When everything around you has

    gone to hell in a hand-basket,

     hang on to your baby.

    Sigh.