I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Category: The Way Life Is

  • You Don’t Have to Break Up to Wallow


    Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life made its Netflix debut over the Thanksgiving weekend with much fanfare, hoopla and hype as the three leading actresses appeared on every talk show under the sun to promote the four-part mini-series that was supposed to be a panacea for the yearnings of a major contingent of followers who wanted more from the Gilmore women of Stars Hollow and Hartford. The original American TV comedy series ran for seven seasons from 2000 to 2007 and was apparently quite popular and still missed by many.

    Pretty and I were not Gilmore Girls watchers in those first runs; perhaps because we were younger, our relationship was newer, our social life was busier, we were watching Frasier re-runs… or something else I can’t remember. Whatever the reasons, we missed it the first time around. But since we are now seasoned Netflix subscribers and recently finished the gazillion-episode BBC series Doc Martin  and needed a new diversion, we decided to give the Gilmore Girls a whirl.

    We recently started with the first season and are now prepared to spend the rest of our lives watching Loralei and Rory get daily coffee fixes at Luke’s coffee shop because each of the early years had at least a hundred episodes per season. Luckily, we found ourselves growing fond of the characters as we usually do when the writing is good and the actors as good as the script.

    For example, in one of the first season’s episodes this week I was disappointed when teenage Rory’s first true love, Dean the grocery store bag boy, dumped her. Such a cute, sweet boy – young love blossomed, bloomed, bleeped, fizzled, done. And on their three-month anniversary, too. Sigh. What to do? Talk to Mom.

    Mom’s (Lorelei’s) advice to her teenage daughter was priceless: wallow. That’s right. Wallow. Stay in your pajamas all day while you eat pizza and ice cream…don’t put on makeup…don’t shave your legs…sit in a dark room watching old movies like Love Story, An Affair to Remember, Ishtar, Old Yeller and have a good cry. Wallow the day away.

    What’s really amazing about this advice is that I’ve been wallowing minus the crying part and old movies for years without realizing it, and my wallowing has nothing at all to do with my love life. I was born to wallow, and then I had a relapse when I had a real job that required getting out of bed, applying Clinique makeup every morning after my shower, spending a fortune on perms and color to give my straight-as-a-board graying hair curls and blondeness,  getting dressed in appropriate business attire, commuting long distances to an office where I sat in front of a computer screen looking at numbers all day while agonizing over the financial decisions my clients were wrestling with…all in all, a relapse that lasted 40 years.

    But now, I have reclaimed my roots (the silver ones, too), and I wallow almost each day. Some days I never get out of my pajamas, my toothpaste gets more use than my bath soap, I gave up shaving my legs for Lent and didn’t resurrect it for Easter, I only wear makeup for date nights, and my straight short white hair qualifies for the “man’s haircut rate” with my hair stylist.  The longest commute I have is from my upstairs office to the kitchen downstairs. Life is good.

    Writing is the perfect career for wallowing. If Pretty asks me what I’ve been doing when she comes home from surveying her antique empire and finds me still in my pajamas, I can say Oh, I’ve been writing all day – which could or could not be exactly true. Unless you count watching In the Heat of the Night as research. (Ishtar, no thanks.)

    Today is New Year’s Eve, the last day of 2016, the day when many of us will be making our resolutions for 2017. I have started my list with the same one I’ve started with for the past 40 years: I need to lose 10, 15, 20, 25, 30, 35 pounds this year. My, how time flies.

    Hm. I never get past that first one.

    If you are making your list and checking it twice, add a day to wallow once a month. You don’t need to break up a relationship to do it – simply indulge and wallow. Indulge. Wallow. Enjoy.

    Pretty and I wish you a Happy New Year from our home at Casa de Canterbury to yours wherever you are in cyberspace around the world – stay safe, and we’ll look forward to having you hang with us in 2017!

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • Road to Equality – Revisiting the Obama Presidency


    President Barack Obama was the first American President I ever heard who openly supported marriage equality for LGBT citizens. My emotions were a mixture of joy and amazement the first time I heard him say the words. I felt an overwhelming sense of validation because a President of the United States declared my love for Teresa was as deserving of respect as his love for Michelle. He set me free with his words, my personal emancipation proclamation.

    He is also responsible for the appointments of two Supreme Court Justices without whom the votes on the bench could have gone differently. The road to marriage equality would have been a much longer one without the support of this American President throughout his presidency. His is a legacy of love.

    First Comes Love, Then Comes Marriage?

    Ask the Supremes

    (originally published April 04, 2013)

    The dust has settled after the media frenzy surrounding the Supreme Court hearings on two cases affecting the future of same-sex marriage in the United States. Whew! The gays and gay-friendlies partied. Jon Stewart skewered DOMA and its supporters on Comedy Central. The Republicans tried desperately to find someone – ANYONE – in their party to explain their position on marriage on CNN in a way that the general citizenry wouldn’t characterize as narrow-minded at best or bigoted at worst. That search is ongoing and a generous reward is offered to the finder.

    The hearings are over and the rulings expected in June. Eight Associate Justices and the Chief Justice hold the key to opening doors of equality that have been slammed shut since the founding fathers held these truths to be Self-evident in the Declaration of Independence in 1776. “…That all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, among which are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

    I am amazed to realize I have seen all of these Supremes don the robes of the Court at the end of the required appointment process…

    … Justice Sonia Sotomayor … is a Yale graduate who was appointed by President Barack Obama. She is the sole Hispanic Supreme. Justice Elena Kagan is another Obama appointee …at the time of her appointment she was Dean of the Harvard Law School…

    In summation, Your Honors, I find that the fate of same-sex marriage in the United States in 2013 rests with folks who graduated either from Yale or Harvard law schools and were born in the New York/ New Jersey area on the East Coast or California on the West Coast with one stray Southerner thrown in for good measure. Well, maybe not good measure, but certainly thrown in.

    The question before us today is whether this hodgepodge of political appointees will take its place in history as the Court that restores the unalienable rights of a minority of its LGBT citizens who have been made to feel “lesser than” and treated with discrimination that often threatens their Lives and their Liberty and always endangers their pursuit of Happiness.

    I respectfully ask the Court to stand and deliver on the promises that have been the hopes and dreams of all Americans for more than two hundred years.

    I rest my case.

     Let’s Hear It for the Supremes!

    (originally published June 26, 2013)

    Well, I never.  No, really, I never.  Today’s decision by the Supreme Court of the United States to give equal federal treatment to same-sex marriage in the twelve states and District of Columbia that recognize these marriages is a stunning pivotal day in our nation’s history of constitutional revelation.  I honestly thought this day was my dream to be realized in a future generation.

    And while I understand the significance of this ruling for our country and for the message it sends around the world to other nations about American civil liberties, today the political became personal.

    I share this day especially with the woman I love, a woman who has been with me through the battles in our state for justice and equality for the past twenty years and a woman who raised a son during difficult times of  hurtful discrimination against them both.  We live in the states of South Carolina and Texas which are states that are unaffected by this ruling.  Yet we celebrate with our brothers and sisters who will benefit from the victory today and we will continue to work until all of us are treated fairly and have the opportunity to pursue happiness.  Teresa, I share this day with you.

    I have many personal heroes during the past twenty years of my activism in South Carolina – both sung and unsung.  I am grateful to all of them for the labor we’ve made together in the days before Will and Grace and afterwards.

    But today is Edith Windsor day for me.  I will forever remember the petite 84-year-old lesbian from New York who changed the course of history with an outrageous act and a not-so-everyday rebellion.  Thank you, Edie.

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  • Winter Wonderland…Somewhere


    Sleigh bells ring – are you listening? In the lane, snow is glistening. A beautiful sight, we’re happy tonight, walking in a winter wonderland. (music by Felix Bernard, lyrics by Richard B. Smith – released in 1934)

    I can see my mother sitting at the old black upright piano in our tiny living room right now. She had to move the bench closer to the keys because the giant Christmas tree she just finished decorating poked her in the back while she played and sang loudly to lead my dad and grandmother and me in some of her favorite Christmas tunes. Winter Wonderland was sure to be a part of the holiday repertoire.

    It was an interesting choice for many reasons. Number one, no one in my living room had ever heard a sleigh bell ring unless it was on the radio – we didn’t have sleighs, much less sleigh bells in the rural town of Richards, Texas – a town where the weather in December might be as warm as it was on an island in the Caribbean or as cold as could be if a blue norther whipped through town blowing with it the wind chill of our version of the North Pole. But never a Christmas snow… and definitely no sleigh bells.

    Problem number two, we had not the first “lane” in Richards. We had a few dusty roads in between the maybe thirty houses in the town – roads that became red mud after a rain, dangerous to travel in anything other than a pickup truck, but not even a poet could call them “lanes.”

    Finally, neither my dad nor grandmother nor I was interested in walking anywhere. Decorating the tree was an ordeal supervised by my petite mother who was very domineering in her strict supervision. Each strand of lights,  every decorative ball and other hanging ornament had to be carefully situated on the tree. The final touch was the silver icicle threads that she draped individually one by one  on the tree branches with just the right degree of separation from the next one.

    My dad and I were banned from working on the tree alongside my mother because we did not have the proper respect for the decorating process. We were caught throwing the icicles randomly on the tree and rebuked by my mom who retrieved the errant shimmering strands and patiently added them to her group.

    Regardless, finally, after much ado, the tree would stand as a testament to my mother’s passion for perfection, and she would move on to what we called singing around the piano. No Christmas tree was ever complete without being serenaded.

    “Let’s sing around the piano,” she’d say. My dad was always up for a song, and my maternal grandmother would sit on the dark green living room sofa next to the piano and occasionally join in for a chorus if she knew the words.

    I learned a lot of Christmas carols plus a variety of other popular songs and traditional hymns in those singalongs around the piano. I didn’t worry about the words then – I just learned to sing them with as much gusto as my family always did.

    The “beautiful sight, we’re happy tonight”  lyrics were true for me. My beautiful sight was my family together in that living room with the perfect tree…we were happy those nights…whether we were walking in a winter wonderland or singing about one…

    I will miss them all this Christmas.

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  • The First Noel? Not Exactly


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    Pretty and me – our first Christmas

    In the wake of the most devastating attack against the United States since Pearl Harbor, Pretty and I shared our first Christmas in the home we’d bought when we moved in together in the summer of 2001. The entire world changed after the 9-11 act of terrorism in New York City and, while Pretty and I were as devastated as the rest of the nation, I have to say that nothing dampened our happiness as we prepared for the holidays.

    Pretty loves Christmas, and she decked the halls and walls and everything else she could find to deck with holiday trimmings – the house was a sea of vibrant red and green and silver and gold  colors, and the packages were carefully wrapped in beautiful papers to match the thoughtfulness of every gift she bought.

    I, on the other hand, lost my love of Christmas somewhere along the way in my life with my “lost saints and childhood faith,” to quote Elizabeth Barrett Browning, but my love of Pretty was fresh and new and as shiny as the ornaments on our tree so the smile on my face in the picture captures my emotions perfectly.

    Our older dogs Annie (Pretty had her from a previous relationship)and Sassy (ditto for me from my ex) and our new “together” puppy Red were having a fun time adjusting to their new home and to each other, but they seemed to sense the additional excitement in the air during the holiday season. They were as busy as little bees buzzing around the tree and presents – sniffing to beat the band.

    My mother Granny Selma flew in from Texas to spend a few days and spent a great deal of her time wandering around the house looking for the stairs and/or worrying about the one king-sized bed in our bedroom. She also was a good one for counting the dogs when we were all in the kitchen sitting on stools at the island in the middle of the room.

    One… two… three dogs, she would count out loud and I’d say that’s right, Mom, three dogs. No more. No less. As I look back, I can see the beginning of her dementia at that Christmas visit, but I chose to ignore those early signs.

    Pretty’s family came on Christmas day to open gifts and eat our mid-afternoon meal which was a sit-down meal in the real dining room we had in our first house. Pretty’s father, sister and son combined with my mother made for a strange mixture at that first family gathering, but they all shared a love for Pretty and me so we blended into a family that is now a part of the American fabric.

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    My Christmas Cactus

    Fifteen Christmases later Pretty still loves the holiday season and everything that goes with it. I’m sure she has spent the week in Florida buying presents that she will need to carefully wrap this weekend while we put up our outside tree for our neighborhood association Lights of Christmas. I will help as much as I can, but I am the first to admit my limitations in decorating.

    I do, however, love my Christmas cactus in my office – it stays on the front porch for most of the year but when the weather turns cold and the blooms burst into colors, I bring it in to enjoy to the max. My dad’s monkey reading the Wall St. Journal is a permanent office fixture. I think he likes the Christmas cactus, too.

    Have a Merry weekend as the year winds down and the traffic revs up.

    Stay tuned.

  • Merry Ho-Hum


    And so this is Christmas at Casa de Canterbury…Pretty had to make an unexpected trip to Florida to drive her father to see his brother this week, and Spike and Charly are left with me during the holiday season.

    As you can see, they are not hopeful for Merry Ho, Ho this week without Pretty.

    duke-trip-and-potpourri

    The weather outside is frightful, and my dear, you’re not delightful…whenever did my fun become pain? Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain. Sigh.

    Come home soon, Pretty – we are all struggling without you.