I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Category: Slice of Life

  • Go West, Old Lesbians, Go West!


    We left Ponchatoula, Louisiana this morning with clean clothes  and high spirits as Pretty loaded the car with our assortment of suitcases and a gazillion “little things” that defy description and seem to multiply each day. Cheetos, Doritos, pretzels, M&Ms with peanuts, peanut brittle, unnamed chocolate covered almonds, diet cokes, dr. peppers, chewing gum, camera, worthless gps, dog leashes, walking cane; the list goes on and on of the “little things” on the floorboard of the passenger seat that have to be carried to and fro with the suitcases. Yikes. Thank goodness for Pretty.

    Atchafalaya National Heritage Area 

    a wonderful swamp ride on I-10 between

    Baton Rouge and Lafayette, Louisiana

    Pretty and I have enjoyed this section of interstate every time we’ve been through it. The images of thousands of dead tree trunks rising  up from the water that stretches as far as the eye can see on both sides of the interstate and even in between the eastbound and westbound lanes of the bridges in some places are breath -taking. Atchafalaya – the name itself is a national treasure. I indulge in wishful thinking that I should have the DNA of  an indigenous person whenever I speak it, although my Ancestry tests prove otherwise.

    Lake Charles, Louisiana

    (Pretty takes a driving break)

    Following an absolutely fabulous lunch of the consistently best fried shrimp on the planet just outside of Lafayette at the Boudin Shop a/k/a Chikin on the Bayou, we continued west on I-10 to Lake Charles and Pretty took an antiquing break. Luckily, she was able to find a few treasures, but Charly and Spike lost a lot of their traveling space in the back seat and weren’t too pleased with their new riding arrangement.

    As a matter of fact, we had a harrowing incident with Charly who has been a nervous wreck today in the car for some reason and slipped out of her collar when Pretty let the dogs out for a potty break in Cleveland, Texas at a very busy corner with cars and 18-wheelers whizzing around us. Charly spotted several blackbirds on the ground ahead of her and impolitely shook her collar over her head and ran off. We were horrified and hollered at her to come back – which she did – running joyfully and leaping like the terrier she is. We were not amused. Charly didn’t understand the hoopla. She may have a better understanding since Pretty purchased a new harness for the would-be Houdini.

    Aahhh…zzzzz…

    Happiness is a king-sized bed at a

    pet-friendly La Quinta in Conroe, Texas

    So glad to be in Texas once again and have had such a great trip to get here!

     P.S. Pretty just told me the Washington Times reported today that the current DT administration has decided the federal government isn’t interested in identifying the country’s LGBTQ citizens in the 2020 Census. No need to know. Seriously? Not included in the 2020 Census? Pretty and I are a make-believe family? We don’t exist? Well, I never. Shame on you. I’m calling it a night.

     

  • Bright Lights, Big City


     

    New Orleans downtown – amazing architecture

    Colorful flags everywhere!

    Signs of the season

    Pretty loves what? Art galleries – Shopping!

    Looking down Royal Street

    Lunch with famous blogger

    The K9 Miss Harper Lee

    (and her human mommy Suzanne)

    One of The Red Man’s favorite blogging amigas was the gorgeous golden femme fatale Miss Harper Lee. Harper Lee and Red shared romantic messages in cyberspace for many years, and Slow and Pretty were delighted to meet Miss Lee and Suzanne up close and personal for lunch on their first day in NOLA. Harper Lee was the perfect hostess and the sensation of the courtyard setting in the Amelie Restaurant. Food was delicious; cocktail, wine and ice tea refreshing, but the real treat was the company. It was a perfect introduction to our visit. Miss Harper Lee rocks and rules…forever.

    Getting down to business – 

    What SAS festival author managed to sit on a slow-leaking sprinkler head in a courtyard during the Gliterati Literati cocktail reception, didn’t realize it until she was totally drenched, and then had to have Pretty walk closely behind her as they politely excused themselves? (Think the scene in Bringing up Baby when Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn made their rather awkward one-on-one exit from a swanky restaurant.)

    Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?

  • Daniel Boone? No – Daniel Pratt…


    In 1819 a twenty-year-old man from New Hampshire finished a four-year apprenticeship in architecture and heeded the words of Horace Greeley to leave his New England home and go west, young man, go west.  He ended up in Savannah, Georgia.

    Twenty years later this same man would leave his Georgia home with a wife, two slaves, enough materials to build 50 cotton gins and the knowledge necessary to run a plant that manufactured them. His name was Daniel Pratt.

    We stayed last night in the town Daniel created for the workers in his cotton gin plant: Prattville, Alabama. Pretty took us on a tour of the historic downtown area this morning. We love an historic downtown area – particularly one as beautiful as this one. Imagine what this looked like in 1839 – before the Civil War – one man’s dream.

    Daniel Pratt was one of Alabama’s first industrialists

    Daniel has his own personal historic district now

    My friend had a bird’s eye view of the falls

    …and sat on the remnants of history

    Guess who else was from Prattville besides Daniel Pratt?

    Mustang Sally Wilson Pickett, Jr.

    Had to say goodbye to the wisteria and Prattville

    On the road again – Charly perches atop Yeti cooler

    Getting closer…

    Rest area, my you-know-what

    I am so tired. Please, God, get me out of this vehicle.

    Spike’s prayers were answered…we have stopped for the night in Slidell, Louisiana, which is 30 miles from New Orleans.

    We are sneaking up on it.

  • Another Post Card from the Edge…of Time


    March 21, 1907

    Dear Luke, I hope you are behaving yourself. You see what can happen if you don’t. Please come home soon. Your wife, Bessie

  • Saints and Sinners Festival in NOLA


    Saints and Sinners Literary Festival, here we come – this week. Unbelievable. I submitted my short story last summer with low expectations of winning the Tennessee Williams Fiction Prize because I have never been recognized as a fiction writer, but lo and behold, my story The Gods are Stacked against Us became a finalist in the contest which meant it will be included in the SAS Anthology for 2017 which, in turn, meant an invitation to read at the festival this month.

    So Pretty and I will be off to New Orleans like a herd of turtles in a matter of days. What an odd time to leave in the middle of moving out of Casa de Canterbury to Casa de Cardinal, someone might think (and someone would be correct). The vicissitudes of life aren’t always coordinated properly, as my daddy used to say when he waxed eloquently about them, and he should have known that if anyone did since he died right in the middle of them at age 51.

    I will participate with four other writers on a panel called Home is Where the Art Is, or Is It?  to discuss the impact our homes have on our work…I’m really looking forward to talking about the importance of time and place to me in my work. Plus, I’ll have an opportunity to read an excerpt from my short story during a reading session along with eight other finalists.

    The festival brings together leading poets, authors and other literati notables in the LGBTQ community – I recognize many of their names and writing from years of reading and adulation and will now have the opportunity to meet and greet them over cocktails and heavy hors d’oeuvres on Bourbon Street Friday evening.

    I’m trying to prepare myself to talk about literary things without sounding too “un-literary.”  Let’s see…

    Where did you study writing, and how does that affect your writing style?

    That’s a tough one. I’ve had two writing classes. The first was a business communications class at UT Austin in 1966 that focused on how to write a good business letter with an emphasis on brevity – say more with less was the mantra. Be direct – no adverbs, a few adjectives here and there, but mostly noun, verb combo and a simple Dear Sir or Madam beginning with a Sincerely yours ending. Cut and dry. No horsing around. No nonsense.

    My second writing class was in 2006 at Midlands Technical College for a six-week Monday-night adult learning class that focused on the basic elements of fiction writing. My accomplishment was a story I called Payday Someday which turned out to be the first chapter of my first book Deep in the Heart. Nonfiction actually, but hey, nothing’s perfect.

    Hm. I think I’ll skip that question and move on to Why do you write?

    I write because I can’t keep myself from writing. I write because I can speak for those who have no voice and continue the fight for fairness and respect I’ve always believed in. I write because Pretty, my Aunt Lucille and a host of people, some known, some unknown love to read what I write. I write because I hope, along with many other aging Baby Boomers,  to have a legacy – that my words will survive me.

    Okay. Way too heavy for cocktail party conversation. Skip that one, too.

    Let’s try Hi how are you? Where are you from?

    Now that’s a complicated question. I was born and raised in rural Grimes County, Texas…

    Eyes are rolling. People walking away. Clearly small talk not my strength.

    Pretty, can I get you another diet coke??