Slice of Life – Page 6 – I'll Call It Like I See It

three years of the war in Ukraine and our long term memory loss

Three years ago today, February 24, 2022, Russia without provocation invaded Ukraine. I know it – you know it. On March 16, 2022, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy addressed a joint session of the United States Congress to ask for America’s help, and I published this piece on that day.

In listening to an emotional virtual appeal by Ukraine’s President Zelenskyy to the Congress of the United States this morning, I felt the despair of this leader who had watched his beautiful country together with many numbers of its men, women and children obliterated by an evil neighbor for reasons known only to that neighboring country’s president and his supporters.

If President Zelenskyy could sing, and I don’t know whether he can, he could have closed with some of the words and music of “I Look to You,” singing along with the American gospel group Selah from their album Hope of the Broken World:

“As I lay me down, heaven hear me now. Winter storms have come and darkened my sun. After all that I’ve been through, who on earth can I turn to? I look to you, I look to you. After all my strength is gone, in you I can be strong. I look to you.
And when melodies are gone, in you I hear a song. I look to you.

I don’t know if I’m gonna make it. Nothing to do but lift my head. My levees are broken, my walls have come crumbling down on me. The rain is falling, defeat is calling, I need you to set me free. Take me far away from the battle – I need you to shine on me.”

The people of Ukraine are looking to us and our Allies around the globe for help to stop not only the physical crumbling walls but also the assault on our vision of freedom and our democratic way of life. Make no mistake, as President Zelenskyy has consistently reminded us, the destruction of Ukraine is but the beginning of a world war against securing the blessings of individual liberty for all people and for their posterity.

I have a dream, Zelenskyy said to the Congress today, but I also have a need to reclaim the skies over Ukraine, to stop the senseless bombing of my citizens and our homes. The Ukrainian President is looking to us.

Yes. We see you, we hear you, we feel your pain. We will respond with gratitude for your fight against a common enemy to serve a greater good.

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We Americans suffer from long term memory loss – the lessons we painfully absorbed about world wars, global conflicts, political corruption, identifying our enemies, supporting our friends – all 20th. century instructional tools we have conveniently forgotten in this 21st. century have now come home to roost in a new administration that seeks to say No to the needs of our Allies and Yes to the demands of our enemies. Shame on our leaders, shame on us for electing them.

Slava Ukraini. For the children.

February 24, 2025

Old King Cole vs. Old King Don

Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three.

Old King Don was a grumpy old soul,

and a grumpy old soul was he;

he called for his pens, and he called for his friends,

and he mowed down democracy.

Heh, heh. Sometimes I have to entertain myself and cross my fingers somebody else thinks I’m as funny as I fancy I am.

Since 1709, the Brits have had a nursery rhyme about the fictional Old King Cole. Starting this week in 2025, the Americans across the Pond from the Brits have a chief executive who fancies himself to be a King with the absolute authority to demolish democratic rule in these United States.

Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye, Elon and Don – we ain’t picking up what you’re putting down. The next time we vote for a King, your names will be deleted by the thousands of people affected by your doge department layoffs.

Read the room, guys. Your ship has sailed.

February 21, 2025

how do I love thee? let me count the ways

Last night Pretty and I were watching a new comedy on Netflix when she suddenly sat up and said, tomorrow is the 9th. of February, our 24th. anniversary. This was huge because for twenty-three years Pretty had problems remembering the date. Bravo!

I usually began the reminder process in January every year with a conversation that followed along these lines. Pretty, you know we have an anniversary coming up in February. Oh yes, she would say. What day is it then? I asked. Time passed as the wheels turned. I could see them turning. Is it the 12th.? she finally guessed. No, I replied with outright disgust. It’s the 9th. Pretty said oh she knew it was either the 9th. or the 12th. but thought she always got it wrong so she went with the one she didn’t really think was right. Didn’t I say I saw the wheels turning? For twenty-three anniversaries, Pretty has never remembered the right date. I always remember because I have it written on my calendar, and I don’t consider that cheating. I consider it brilliant. (Was that a calendar I saw in Pretty’s lap last night? Hmm.)

Return with me to those thrilling days of yesteryear to meet Pretty who magically changed from being a close friend and confidante (before the spontaneous trip to Cancun pictured above in February, 2001) to a woman who was hotter than the salsa we had with dinner at La Destileria the first night we were there. And trust me, that salsa was hot.

Pretty was “out” in a conservative state in a tumultuous era. She was ahead of her time with her Bluestocking Bookstore in the Vista in Columbia before the Vista became cool. Her business closed after three years, but her contribution to the LGBTQ community was recognized and appreciated. She served on the original board of directors for the SC Gay and Lesbian Business Guild formed in 1993 and was the second president of that organization. Her passion for equality was the catalyst for an activist’s life, a passion she and I shared as friends over the decade that was the 1990s.

At the turn of the century, change was in the air. It was like everyone suddenly realized time was passing faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive and if Superman and Wonder Woman were unlikely to intervene in the chaos and/or uninspiring sameness of our lives, we needed to make radical changes ourselves.

Both Pretty and I were in long term lesbian relationships that experienced seismic shifts as the first year of the new century came to a close. Our partners began looking for love in other places. Pretty had the additional drama associated with making a home for a fifteen year old son who she adored, an athletically gifted teenager who was the quarterback of his high school football team and the starting pitcher for their baseball team. She mixed her real estate appointments in her new career as a realtor for The Hubbard Group with her tennis league schedules and her son’s games.

The trip to Cancun was the launching pad for the most adventurous ride of my life. I had no way of knowing then that the gorgeous intelligent intellectually inquisitive woman with the wonderful sense of humor who grew up in New Prospect, South Carolina would marry the woman from deep in the heart of Richards, Texas and that we would be together for the next twenty-four years sharing a life unimaginable to me as a child. Yet, here we are – still laughing at each other’s jokes, still loving, still standing. And yes, still eating Mexican food as often as our older appetites allow; but now with the additional delight of sharing fajitas and quesadillas with our growing family that makes our love richer, more joyful, more playful.

How do I love thee, Pretty? Let me count the ways, and let me begin with the spicy salsa you have always brought to our family life together for two decades plus now. On that first trip to Cancun, we walked along the beach in the moonlight and I said I would give anything to celebrate our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary together in 2026. Unbelievable. Inconceivable. That seemed like such a long, long time away then, especially since I was fifty-five years old and you were fourteen years younger. We’re almost there, but the years have passed faster than a speeding bullet, our love more powerful than a locomotive.

Happy 24th. Anniversary, Pretty. Let the good times roll.

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granddaughters Ella and Molly at Mexican restaurant

February 9, 2025

last hurrah for now

school at last! excitement mixed with fear (1952)

so many children to play with, and Daddy was superintendent

The little girl’s first grade class with teacher Mrs. Lucille Lee who gave us the gift of reading. She taught first and second grade in one room.

The little girl’s daddy was the superintendent of two schools: the one in the little two-story red brick schoolhouse where she went to school and the one across main street in Richards in the quarters where the Black children attended. One independent school district. Separate but not very equal. Integration came slowly to mostly overlooked rural southeast Texas.

Annual Easter Egg Hunt for grades 1 – 4

We walked up the dirt road to our house past my grandfather’s barn across the road from our garage while other teachers hid eggs around the school grounds. Then we turned around and ran back to hunt for the eggs. Ray Wood, a blonde-headed kid in my class, always found the maximum – most of the eggs were gone by the time I made it back. I was never known for speed.

my Uncle Charlie (mother’s brother) graduated from Richards school circa 1941

not sure why, but my Uncle Charlie had the number 12 written on him?

Mama’s oldest brother Marion (glasses and tie)

graduated from Richards school circa 1939

Aunt Lucille, Uncle Ray and Glenn a/k/a Daddy

My grandparents had limited education when they were growing up in large families working on farms. They could read, write, and do arithmetic – but I’m not sure where they learned. My mother and her three older brothers; my dad, his older sister, and brother all attended school in Richards, Texas at the same red brick schoolhouse I attended through the seventh grade. Our time at the school spanned from the 1920s – 1950s. All seven of them graduated before WWII ended. If legacies were given, I had one.

the entire Richards School Grades 1 – 8 plus 4 years of high school

the bell signaled the start of school in the morning

I counted four uncles, one aunt, and several cousins in this picture. I also knew many teachers and recognized kids whose names I can’t remember, but this was a typical rural Texas school in the 1930s and 1940s before World War II.

Thank you to my cyberspace followers for taking this nostalgic journey once upon a time in a faraway place that will always be deep in my heart. I’ll close with these two last photos that speak volumes about the little girl in the photos and stories.

this little girl became…

…this grandmother to Molly and Ella James

Happiness galore! And that’s a wrap.

February 7, 2025

Molly, Molly, how much do we love thee? let me count the ways

From her first birthday two years ago to the one we celebrate today, this little girl has been the icing on our cake whenever we see her. For Pretty and me, she is the gift that keeps on giving.