I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Category: The Way Life Is

  • wintry mix, or snow as we call it in South Carolina

    wintry mix, or snow as we call it in South Carolina


    So you think you know snow? Ha. We are rolling in it in the sunny South. On January 22, 2022, I began this post with pictures of snow in our backyard.

    only one dog outside with me three years ago: Carl

    Carport Kitty reigned in the winter of 2022

    (she died in October of 2022 – she never had to face a cold winter again)

    Carport Kitty and Pretty have similar feelings about winter. Thankfully her heated pad keeps her toasty warm in the laundry room – Carport Kitty, not Pretty. Heh, heh.

    The sun also rises, the snowflakes melt, and Pretty will leave me to work in her antique empire while I watch the disgraceful television coverage of the 2022 Australian Open this afternoon. Bollocks.

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

    Fast forward exactly three years to January 22, 2025. Old man Spike walks with me in the fresh snow around the pool in our backyard.

    Carl still with us but prefers staying inside over his cold paws in the snow

    to each his own, right?

    The Australian Open is winding down to its inevitable close this weekend. We have three Americans in semi-finals this week, and not one of them is named Venus or Serena. Hm. Ben Shelton is in the semi-finals for men’s singles, Madison Keys is also in a singles semi-final, and Taylor Townsend plays doubles with K. Siniakova for the women’s doubles semi-final. Spoiler alert: at least one American will play in a final.

    Between snow and semis, my sleep pattern is wrecked. I barely know what day it is on this continent – much less in Australia.

    Vive la difference. Stay safe and warm. Please stay tuned. We enjoy your visits!

  • I’ve Been to the Mountaintop

    I’ve Been to the Mountaintop


    Fourteen years of publishing with more than a thousand posts, the possibility of duplicate themes looms large. One of my favorite topics is the holiday celebrating the life of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. – I’ve written twenty-three posts in which Dr. King was featured, and I feel a sense of responsibility toward preserving his legacy, especially on the day we set aside to honor him in my country. This post was originally published on September 23, 2014.

     South Carolina Pride was this past weekend in the state capitol of Columbia. I took 163 digital images over the weekend and posted my favorites on social media. I am a believer in the old adage “a picture is worth a thousand words,” and these pictures are images of hope, faith, love and joy – plus the occasional unsmiling prophecy pretenders. I love the pictures, but I can’t resist the thousand words, give or take a few.

    When I look at these images, I hear the voices of America singing.  I hear the cries of Paul Revere on his midnight ride and the loud sounds of argument, even heated debate as the Founding Fathers (yes, Virginia – there were no mothers present) drafted the Constitution of the United States with a Bill of Rights guaranteeing individual liberties.

    I hear the sounds of slaves who could not speak to their masters, and I hear the whispers of abolitionists who spirited those slaves away in the darkness. I hear the cries of the wounded, dying Confederate and Union soldiers as the artillery fired around them on the fields at Vicksburg and Gettysburg; I hear the cannon fired in Charleston Harbor at Fort Sumter.

    I hear the choruses of the suffragettes who held a convention in Seneca, New York, and marched because they dared to dream women had the right to vote –  which they hoped would lead to greater equality, but then I hear the roll call of states that  refused to ratify an Equal Rights Amendment which attempted to level the playing field for “the weaker sex” in the 1970s.

    I hear the singing of the marchers in Selma and Birmingham in the 1960s as they walked to overcome their harsh treatment.  I hear the voices of angry rappers today in Fullerton, Missouri, over the endless struggles for fair treatment in a country where equality is, too often, lip-synced.

    I hear the voices of the drag queens at Stonewall in 1969 as they refused to be treated inhumanely and stand firm against the oppression of the gay community. I hear the sounds of pleas by children who are thrown out of their homes and into the streets when their family confronts their sexuality. I hear the sounds of comfort and support from people who respond with love to these children in distress…

    I wish I had the gift of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. to describe my feelings as I rode on the Pioneers Float Saturday, but since I don’t, I’ll borrow his words from his last speech on April 3, 1968, in Memphis, Tennessee – the day before he was assassinated:

    “Well, I don’t know what will happen now.  We’ve got some difficult days ahead.  But it doesn’t matter with me now.  Because I’ve been to the mountaintop.  And I don’t mind.  Like any man I would like to live a long life.  Longevity has its place.  But I’m not concerned about that now…God’s allowed me to go up to the mountain.  And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land.  I may not get there with you.  But I want you to know today that we, as a people, will get to the promised land.  And I’m happy, today,  I’m not worried about anything.  I’m not fearing any man.”

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

    Dr. King carried me to the mountaintop with him more than once through his words, deeds, dreams, faith, hope and love – his unfailing commitment to peaceful change. Regardless of how I feel today on his special day in 2025, I know I’ve been to the mountaintop and seen the promised land. I hope you have, too. 

  • field trip!

    field trip!


    Once upon a time there were two little girls who lived in two different places with one common bond: their grandmothers. What to do with seven-year-old Collins who was visiting her grandmothers at Lake Murray and five-year-old Ella on a freezing cold day outside? Why, perfect day for an indoor field trip to the South Carolina State Museum!

    granddaughters learn how rocks are made at State Museum field trip

    (Saturday, January 11, 2025)

    Naynay hovers over Collins and Ella at petting zoo in spring of 2023

    Two years earlier the grandmothers had taken the girls to an exotic animals petting zoo at Eudora Wildlife Safari Park in Salley, South Carolina. They both loved the tractor with the huge tires.

    granddaughters share ocean secrets late summer of 2023

    Later that year the girls teamed up for a magical beach trip with their grandmothers at Folly Beach where they explored the waves crashing around their short little legs.

    what a difference two years make! those little legs much taller!

    tour guide Kaka brought State Museum to life for the granddaughters

    grandmothers Kitty, Kaka and Naynay with Collins and Ella

    at planetarium aurora show

    the museum had a tractor tire, too, and we loved to play in it

    the museum had four floors – where are the grandmothers?

    so Ella, if we stand right here on this black thing,

    the man in the submarine moves

    Nana had to work in her antique empire the day of the Museum Field Trip, but Ella will be sure to tell her about her play date with Collins when she sees her this week. We all missed Nana who loves a good Field Trip.

    Until we meet again…

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

    The wild fires in California have been catastrophic for so many Americans – we feel their pain as they return to a home that no longer exists, a life as they knew it is gone. We ask for clarity of thought and calmness of purpose for those experiencing losses as they make life changing decisions.

  • We Three Kings of Cardinal Drive

    We Three Kings of Cardinal Drive


    Jesus saith unto him, Rise, take up thy bed, and walk. (Gospel of John)

    Every morning at five o’clock King Carl saith unto me rise, take up thy bed off thy back, and walk…to the den to let me outside for my morning constitutional, and be quick about it.

    then he follows me to the kitchen, waits patiently while I make my coffee

    inseparable cats Batman and Robin want breakfast asap

    (before I take my first sip of coffee – spoilitis)

    I am ready to eat, says the third King of Cardinal Drive

    We three kings of Orient are;
    bearing gifts we traverse afar,
    field and fountain, moor and mountain,
    following yonder star.

    O star of wonder, star of light,
    star with royal beauty bright,
    westward leading, still proceeding,
    guide us to thy perfect light.

    —- John Henry Hopkins, Jr. (1857)

    oops, no star – we’ll settle for the moon on Christmas Eve morning

    Batman and Robin are two male feral cats that guard our carport in exchange for food and a warm place to sleep. Unfortunately, their guard duties do not extend to our car and truck, but hey, you can’t have it all, can you, Santa?

  • the battle my grandmother lost

    the battle my grandmother lost


    my early years in my hometown of rural Richards, Texas

    (circa 1949 – when I was three years old)

    (this picture should have been a clue, but my grandmother ignored it)

     

    a birthday party dress made by my grandmother (circa 1951)

    my grandmother made this dress and a  picture postcard of me

    for her family Easter card in 1949

    Bless her heart. My grandmother tried and tried to reshape my fashions which upon reflection she probably hoped would reshape my life. One of the most dreaded phrases my mother ever spoke to me – the one that made me cringe-was “Your grandmother is making you a new dress and needs you to walk down to her house to try it on. No arguments, no whining, just go.”

    I absolutely hated to stand on her little stool while she endlessly pinned away to make sure  the pattern she bought from a grand clothing store in much bigger town Navasota  fit perfectly on my small body. She pulled, tugged here and there, made me turn around as she measured whatever cloth she had purchased when she bought the pattern. I prayed silently that the aroma I smelled was her pineapple fried pies…the only possible redemption from the hell of being poked and prodded for a new dress I didn’t want to wear.

    My grandmother Betha Day Robinson Morris and I lived within shouting distance of each other in the tiny town (pop. about 500) of Richards until my dad found a new job that took us out of the place I called home when I was 13 years old. Our new home in Brazoria was less than two hours from Richards so we came back every other week for most of my teenage years. Distance did not deter my grandmother from her sewing, however.

    She usually managed to have something for me to try on whenever we visited. I finally surrendered to her passion for sewing because as I grew older I came to understand sewing was an important part of her life, but to this day I dread hearing Pretty say she brought something home for me to try on.

    my grandmother surveys her granddaughters

    before Easter Sunday church services in 1963

    I was 17 years old and wearing a dress my grandmother made for me

    while my younger cousin Melissa modeled her store-bought outfit

    My grandmother continued to sew for me until I was in my twenties. Every Christmas she wrapped a large box in her best wrapping paper and favorite bow saved from the previous Christmas to give to me. I always opened with feigned surprise at the dress she made for me to wear to church and praised her for being able to still find the perfect pattern and material for me even when I wasn’t there to try it on.

    I’ll never forget the last time I opened a gift of clothing she made for me. She had made a pants suit – unbelievable. I could see she was pleased with herself for breaking from the dress tradition she wanted me to wear to making the pants she now understood would forever be my choice of clothes. The year was 1968 – I was 22 years old – my grandmother would have been 55. The pants suit represented a rite of passage for both of us.

    Unfortunately, I never could bring myself to wear the pants suit which was made with a hideous polyester fabric and a horrible bright green and white large zig zag pattern. I couldn’t bring myself to wear it, but I carried it with me around the country wherever I moved for the next 30 years. I would carefully hang it in my closet as a daily reminder of  the love my grandmother gave me for as long as she lived.

    My grandmother Betha was a flawed individual but what I wouldn’t give today to hear my mother say “Sheila Rae, your grandmother is making you a new dress and wants you to try it on. No arguments, no whining, just go.”

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

    Those were the days, my friends – and now we have the opportunities to create new memories for our granddaughters we celebrate not only during the holiday season but also whenever we see them. What will they remember? I wonder.