I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Category: Slice of Life

  • an other-worldly woman of substance


    Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Pexels.com

    The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not “get over” the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again, but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same. Nor would you want to. — Elisabeth Kubler-Ross (1926-2004)

    Kubler-Ross devoted most of her adult life to death and dying. She was a pioneer in hospice care, palliative care, and a leading researcher in the lives of the terminally ill. “One of her greatest wishes was to build a hospice for abandoned infants and children infected with HIV to give them a lasting home where they could live until their death. Kübler-Ross attempted to set this up in the late 1980s in Virginia, but local residents feared the possibility of infection and blocked the necessary re-zoning. In October 1994, she lost her house and many possessions, including photos, journals, and notes, to an arson fire that is suspected to have been set by opponents of her AIDS work.” (Wikipedia)

    In her lifetime Kubler-Ross wrote over twenty books on death and dying, was in the National Women’s Hall of Fame, was one of Time magazine’s Top Thinkers of the Twentieth Century, Woman of the Year in 1977, and became a leader as an advocate for spiritual guides and the afterlife despite scandals from her association with a charlatan medium in the late 1970s.

    When I enrolled my mother in hospice care in 2011, I didn’t realize the connection the excellent end of life care she received through the program had been co-founded by a woman who believed in treating the dying with dignity. The team of caregivers we had for the last few months of Mom’s life were compassionate, capable, and centered on her needs. I was also amazed by their assistance throughout the first year of my grieving process following her death.

    As I approach the twelfth anniversary of my mother’s death, I want to honor Elisabeth Kubler-Ross during Women’s History Month, one of the women who had the courage to explore her passion for peace, to protest injustice, to pursue theories considered to be too controversial in an unknown frontier. Elisabeth gave us permission to grieve for losses too painful to deny.

    Yes, the reality is that we will grieve our losses forever, but it’s also true we will be whole again. Never the same, but whole again. That’s cause for celebration.

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    For all those who grieve.

  • The Great Depression Friendship Quilt


    Since I neither quilt nor sew, why would the friendship quilt above have special significance to me? Because the signature in this particular block was made by my maternal grandmother Louise Boring (1898-1972) as part of a friendship quilt given to my paternal grandmother Betha Morris (1903-1983) by a group of her friends during the Great Depression before Louise and Betha became in-laws in 1945 when Louise’s daughter Selma eloped with Betha’s son Glenn. My grandmother Betha Morris a/k/a Ma to me kept the quilt forever, and I miraculously ended up with it.

    Quilts were popular during the Great Depression of the 1930s because they were usually made from leftovers of scraps from other sewing. The “friendship quilt” was unique in its composition because it was composed of signed blocks of the same pattern, often followed by an inscription.

    Note that Lucile Whitfield’s date shown was 1930 while the only other date (1932) belonged to Francis Walker. I’m assuming those are the only dates to indicate when the quilt was begun and when it was finished.

    I remember asking my grandmother Ma about the names on the quilt when she took it down from the top (and only) shelf in the tiny closet in her spare bedroom where I often slept as a child. That room felt like a refrigerator in the winter time, and I begged Ma for more covers. She would get her friendship quilt and one more I still have.

    Somehow in my travels, moves, relocations, embarrassing exits that took me from my little hometown of Richards, Texas, with its familiar names on the friendship quilt to far away places I didn’t know existed seven decades ago, I managed to hang on to these two quilts that have come to rest in a closet at our home on Cardinal Drive in South Carolina.

    Due to circumstances beyond our control regarding Pretty’s health, I was banished to sleep in our “guest room” on my paternal grandparents’ bed, another treasure, which required reinstating these two quilts which seventy years ago kept me warm. Although the quilts now show wear and tear, they still kept me warm on a cold night this week. As I fell asleep under the weight of the quilts, I thought about my grandmothers and their connection to The Great Depression of the 1930s they survived to become major influences in my history – two women whose love and devotion became my North Star that led me home.

  • wild woman sisterhood


    Wild Woman Sisterhood – it’s never too late to join an organization whose mission is “to help you embody your authentic nature and live a truly fulfilling life.” Getting closer to my 78th. birthday in April, my thoughts turn to the women I once was – WWS suggests they deserve a little more kindness than I typically have for them.

    Make peace with all the women you once were. Wait a second – you mean, all those women? The young woman in her early twenties whose nightly pilgrimage through the halls of her college dormitory ended in frustration when the soft knock on her beloved’s door woke a surly roommate instead of the woman of her dreams, a roommate who recognized she was, indeed, lost at two o’clock in the morning but on a much different level from her proffered confusion about room numbers.

    Or are you asking me to make peace with the young woman in her late twenties who had crisscrossed the country 3,000 miles one way several times, eventually knocking on a door in a seminary dormitory that finally welcomed her with open arms only to discover the excitement of infidelity + way too much alcohol consumption = a detour in her journey that had no GPS in the 1960s. Make peace with that young woman on a quest to find authenticity before she understood the question – much less had a clue to an answer for herself? Sorry – no flowers for either of those young women in their twenties in the 60s.

    As for the women in her thirties, forgiveness is at least a possibility because they began to openly acknowledge their own truths that belonged to each other; they were no longer two women on a journey plagued by internal battles but one survivor forged by the burning of incense and cooled by the sweetest honey. This woman understood that wandering in the wilderness had always been about her search for authenticity.

    Forty years later the women in my twenties, thirties and decades after ask me to honor, forgive, listen, bless and let them be because they are the bones of the temple I sit in now, the rivers of wisdom leading me toward the sea. If it’s not too late, I’d like to lay flowers at their feet and join a sisterhood of wild women committed to living a truly fulfilling life at any age.

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    Slava Ukraini. For the women and children of Ukraine who began their third year of resistance last month against enemies determined to wipe democracy from the face of the earth. I’d also like to lay flowers at their feet.

  • Ella’s first soccer match

    Ella’s first soccer match


    four-year-old Ella with her coach (Daddy Drew)

    two-year-old sister Molly on the move behind them

    kids that play together…don’t hate each other when they’re four

    some confusion about where to kick ball

    on final play Ella went down the field and scored

    (luckily for her team!)

    ********************

    Special thanks to another grandmother Lolly for these great photos which captured the joy and innocence of young children. Ella’s Nana and Naynay were far too entertained by the team’s goalie who stood behind the goal to avoid balls being kicked toward him. Focus on the game, grands.

    Unfortunately, Coach Drew will not be available for the next few weeks. He’s having a medical procedure related to an injury he suffered playing league basketball several weeks ago. No genetic testing necessary for Ella’s competitive spirit, and fingers crossed for Daddy Drew.

    By the way, the Republican Primary in South Carolina coincided with Ella’s first soccer match. The results after the polls closed later that evening heavily favored an ex-president who was on the ballot again – thank goodness for the soccer match in the morning which gave me hope for a future generation that focused on the things where, as Maya Angelou said, human beings are more alike than unalike.

  • meet Cassidy Carport Cat

    meet Cassidy Carport Cat


    Yes, I have named the cat that adopted our carport as his home. Pretty and I have searched for a loving home for this little fellow for more than a year, but it turns out he found his own home with us. Sigh. I have resisted the pleas of our family, friends, even followers in cyberspace to name him because I felt that would make him less likely to find an indoor home. This week, though, I talked with Pretty, and she agreed Cassidy is a fine name. I added Carport Cat in honor of our beloved Carport Kitty who was our first feline love.

    Carport Kitty stole our hearts and then…

    and then broke them when we lost her in October, 2022

    No more stray cats in the carport, I declared through my tears to Pretty who nodded. But the best-laid plans of mice, men and me go where? go oft astray? oh no, they go to the strays.

    *****************

    Slava Ukraini. Remember the children.