I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

storytelling for truth lovers

  • before the brand came The Red Man

    before the brand came The Red Man


    Teresa and I had purchased the house in Montgomery, Texas, in 2010 so I could be closer to my aging mother who was struggling with dementia in a memory care unit in Houston. Her condition had deteriorated significantly during the past four years of her stay there while the long-term care policy critical to our financial stability neared the end of its benefit period in that blazing hot Texas summer of 2011. My mom needed to move to a less expensive place… I had equal parts of fear and dread at the thought of moving her, but I was in a search and rescue mode for a place closer to our Worsham Street home in Montgomery while my wife Teresa kept a busy schedule in her job managing the mercantile department of the Mast General Store a thousand miles away from me in Columbia, South Carolina.

    I was in the middle of writing my third nonfiction book, desperately seeking a publisher and/or a literary agent who could locate a publisher for me. You have to build a brand, I was told with every rejection. Red’s Rants and Raves (my first blog on WordPress) wasn’t setting the right tone for my “serious” writing. Seriously? Nobody was more critical of human frailty than The Red Man, our rescued Welsh terrier, but I got the hint.

    The premier for my second blog, I‘ll Call It Like I See It, was on August 02, 2011. Nine hundred ninety-nine posts thirteen years later was a number I couldn’t have imagined when I started this amazing ride that began as a solo journey with zero followers. In November of 2011 Shirley Baranowski Cook from my hometown of Richards, Texas became the first email subscriber joined by my cousin Melissa Bech, Worsham Street neighbor Lisa Martin and college roommate Robyn Whyte – all in December of that year. I was no longer alone on the journey.

    The cyberspace universe has been magical for me – my readers who are now loyal subscribers and social media followers have become friends whose comments make me laugh when I need a laugh, inspire me to keep going when I wonder if anyone finds me that horrible word for old women with white hair: irrelevant. I developed an Honor Roll of Friends, but I had so many names I was overwhelmed by the numbers and didn’t dare risk overlooking anyone.

    Just know that I treasure each of you who has made part or all of this journey with me – I hope you know you made the Honor Roll. If you are in doubt, just ask.

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

    P.S. In 2012 I’ll Call It Like I See It: A Lesbian Speaks Out was published. The Red Man was delighted and quick to claim credit for giving me my start.

  • Naynay, the Durag, and the Mickey Mouse Ears

    Naynay, the Durag, and the Mickey Mouse Ears


    Ella looks chill, Naynay looks tired, Molly looks ferocious

    Granddaughters believed Naynay needed a durag with Mickey Mouse ears

    Molly asked Mickey Mouse to feed her “baby” plus hold every toy in sight

    Ella perks up playing with doll’s pacifier, smiling Naynay still looks tired with Mickey Mouse ears drooping backward, Molly chill with Naynay’s glasses

    Stay cool, and please stay tuned.

  • I worry about the long moral arc of the universe bending in the wrong direction

    I worry about the long moral arc of the universe bending in the wrong direction


    “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

    I am prone to worrying – that’s right. They call me the worrier, and apparently the older I am, the more I think I have to worry about. The hurrieder I go, the behinder I get as the saying goes; and the slower I go, the worrieder I am. The world to me has gone mad which makes me doubt whether the direction that long moral arc of the universe Dr. King talked about is actually bending toward justice. No justice, no peace is a chant sometimes used by marchers in various peaceful protest movements – I have internalized this slogan to define my world view, and that makes me worry about everything.

    I need hope, I need to feel better. I need someone to stand for truth, for accountability, for a future for my granddaughters to live authentic lives free from fear. I need a woman who will cut through the crap of my cynicism and crisis of confidence in the institutions I’ve cherished for seventy-eight years. Have I been living in a fantasy country?

    I need Letitia James, the first African American and first woman to be elected Attorney General for the State of New York in 2018; a woman who was born in New York City – was one of eight children; a product of the public school system, BA from City of New York University’s Lehman College, JD from HBCU Howard University in Washington, D.C., Master of Public Administration from Columbia University.

    Return with me now to the thrilling days of yesteryear – in reality earlier this year in February – return with me to the feeling I had when I first heard James say those remarkable words “Justice has been served.” Mr. Trump and his financial cohorts were hit with an incredible civil judgment in the amount of $463.9 million dollars for a massive fraud case. When Mr. Trump called No Fair, AG James threatened to sell his real estate if he couldn’t come up with the assets. No one is above the law, not even the former president of the United States, right?

    Oh, gosh. Turns out that’s not quite right anymore, according to the twice-baked, bought- and-sold Supremes in their 6-3 majority ruling last week on presidential immunity. Shame on you, John Roberts, Amy Barrett – you both knew better and yet still supported a decision that struck at the heart of that moral arc of the universe tilting away from equality under the law rather than bending toward justice. Gorsuch, Alito, Kavanaugh and Thomas continue on their road to constitutional perdition so no surprises there.

    I also need the three women Supremes I call my Dream Girls, the women who dissented from the majority in the presidential immunity ruling: Sonia Sotomayor, Elena Kagen and Ketanji Brown Jackson. I need for them to get two votes each instead of one since they are apparently the only justices interested in justice. Just a thought.

    Okay. I see today is Old Blue Monday as my paternal grandmother used to say in her weekly letter to me in my college years and beyond. I wish I could chat with her now – she was a woman of substance if not a woman of means, a woman with a wicked sense of humor, a great storyteller. She was also a worrier which used to annoy me in my youth because I was often the target of her worries. Little did she know as a survivor of the Great Depression and two World Wars that she hadn’t seen anything yet.

    Please stay tuned.

  • 4th. of July Peach Ice Cream, Peach Cobbler, Peachy Family and Friends

    4th. of July Peach Ice Cream, Peach Cobbler, Peachy Family and Friends


    Pretty celebrates the 4th of July in our pool with granddaughters Ella and Molly, their first cousin Caleb who shares a large blue noodle with special friend Mary Carter while Caleb’s daddy Seth throws a tennis ball to them. Summer pool regulars Saskia and her son Finn shown in the background keep a close eye on four-year-old Ella making the turn from the deep water toward the steps where the action is.

    The smile on Pretty a/k/a Nana’s face equals the joy on Ella’s face whether it is the 4th of July or any other day the two of them are able to find water for a swim. Number One Son Drew, the father of our granddaughters, laughed from his lounge chair in the sun where he is the happiest and said, I sure am glad the water craze skipped a generation.

    Daughter-in-law Caroline made my day with homemade peach ice cream that was the most delicious EVER; her twin sister Chloe made equally yummy fresh peach cobbler which luckily had leftovers that were “left over” in our refrigerator for tomorrow’s breakfast.

    Life is good for us on this 4th of July – my hope is that wherever you are this holiday weekend, you take a moment to reflect upon the sacrifices made by those who went before us to assert our right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness whether it’s in a swimming pool or watching Wimbledon on ESPN+ from the comfort of a favorite recliner.

    Charly and Carl are exhausted from entertaining

    Please stay tuned.

  • Texas Beer Joints – and the Undecided

    Texas Beer Joints – and the Undecided


    Personal milestones are typically meaningless to others; but as I approach number 1,000 of these I’ll Call It Like I See It posts over the past fourteen years I decided to visit the archives with the objective of identifying some of my favorites. This one was originally published in Septemer, 2016. Return with me to those thrilling days of yesteryear. Uh, oh. The Undecided are probably still Undecided.

    When I was a little tomboy growing up in southeast Texas, I had dreams of one day – sometime somewhere – being able to go to a beer joint. My family was Southern Baptist and the very mention of an adult alcoholic beverage would send my mother into horrible face contortions and very loud condemnations of beer and beer drinkers. Beer joints were the epitome of evil. Naturally her hyperbole aroused my curiosity.

    My mother’s aunts, my grandmother’s German sisters, worshipped at the Church of the Blessed Beer Joint, however, and I loved to listen to their tales when they came from Bright Lights, Big City Houston to visit us in No Lights, Tiny Town Richards. They were a personal trip for me…and a glimpse of possibilities for me down the road.

    The road did bring me to my share of beer joints in my adult life, although I confess I never shared the same enthusiasm for them as my Aunt Dessie and Aunt Selma did. Most of the ones I went to when I got old enough were drab, dingy, smoke-filled rooms with a jukebox, a few old tables and a bar with stools too tall for me to belly up to easily. I loved the jukebox more than the taste of the Lone Star beer.

    As the fickle finger of fate would have it, Teresa and I moved back to Texas in 2010 and bought a home on Worsham Street in Montgomery, Texas – only 18 miles from Richards. We drove many times to visit my family in the Fairview Cemetery outside of Richards and on one of those drives up Highway 105  I discovered the Texas beer joint of my childhood dreams in the little town of Dobbin. Some dreams really do come true!

    023

    We stopped for the burgers and bbq

    021

    020

    Best burgers EVER

    007

    We waited in the bar which the owner Bobby Holder built himself – took him three years to finish – perfection

    014

    A little something for everyone

    012

    Thirst quencher

    017

    Old family pictures on ancient organ

    016

    Bobby as a little boy

    022

    All in all, Holder’s had delicious food, and had I been younger, I would have come back for the night life…or maybe not. My Texas beer joint dreams had come true without the first sip of a Lone Star.

    And finally, here’s a wall hanging at Holder’s that I thought of yesterday after the presidential debate on Monday night. I talked to my friend Carmen about the debate, and she said many of her friends weren’t going to vote this year…or were undecided…

    011

    And there you have it.