I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Tag: barack obama

  • Hallelujah, Hope is Making a Comeback!

    Hallelujah, Hope is Making a Comeback!


    Thanks to former First Lady Michelle Obama for reminding me at the Democratic National Convention this week of our mutual feelings sixteen years ago when a young Senator from Illinois, her husband Barack Obama, was nominated to become President of the United States. President Obama became the champion of “hope” in my mind forever because he believed in the possibility of positive change in a nation I sensed we both loved. I’ve missed them both.

    We choose hope over fear. We see the future not as something out of our control, but as something we can shape for the better through concerted and collective effort. We reject fatalism or cynicism when it comes to human affairs; we choose to work for the world as it should be, as our children deserve it to be. (President Obama to the United Nations General Assembly, September 24, 2014)

    four-year-old Ella on board the Harris/Walz JOY Campaign Train in playhouse at the zoo yesterday while two-year-old Molly hoped for height

    My hope is we will choose to work together for the world as it should be, as all children deserve it to be.

    Onward.

  • Joe and Jill went up the hill

    Joe and Jill went up the hill


    Joe and Jill went up the hill – to fetch a higher polling

    Joe fell down, he hit the ground

    But Jill continued strolling.

    Up Joe got and off did trot

    As fast as he could trotter

    Got up to speed at Walter Reed

    While Jill took on crackpotters.

    When Jill came home, Joe was that glad

    He grinned to see the numbers.

    The polls were high in the blink of an eye

    And Barack was out from his slumbers.

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

    Here are a couple of numbers: 48 mass shooting in 45 days in the USA.

    Stop the insanity.

    Remember in November. Elect Dems who favor gun control.

  • maya angelou: a woman of substance and survival


    This post is actually a combination of two I wrote in prior years on the life of one of my favorite writers, Maya Angelou.  The first was written on the day of her death in May, 2014, the second on August 12, 2018. Women’s History Month is the perfect time to repeat. If you haven’t read her works, I encourage you to add to your reading list now wherever you shelter in place around the world during these difficult days.

    I love women.  I truly do.  No offense, guys, because some of my best friends are men.  But when push comes to shove and choices have to be made about the company I keep, I’ll choose a woman.  Every time.

    One of my favorite women is Maya Angelou.  I treasure images of  book covers of her books I’ve read, images of the lines of her poetry and images of  her face and presence  on a television screen. I revere an image of  her on a presidential dais at the inauguration ceremony of American President Bill Clinton.  Images of her with Civil Rights leaders like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. leave an indelible mark on me because they are a reminder of her lifelong commitment to social justice issues and equal opportunities for all. Today when I heard she died at her home,  all those images flooded my mind.

    But what I will miss most about this woman is what I hear and not what I see. The rich, slow – almost ponderous – rhythms of her speech mesmerized me, and the deep rumbling voice was like the sound of my old Dodge Dakota pickup truck’s muffler when I start it first thing in the morning.  Music to my ears.

    In 1998 Maya Angelou spoke at the Second Annual Human Rights Campaign National Dinner and the HRC Blog today posted an excerpt from her speech that evening on the importance of gay people coming out of the closet.  I lifted an excerpt from the excerpt.

    You have no idea who you will inform because all of us are caged birds,

    have been and will be again.

    Caged by somebody else’s ignorance.

    Caged because of someone else’s small-mindedness.

    Caged because of someone else’s fear and hate…

    and sometimes caged by our own lack of courage.

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

    Maya Angelou was a woman with many gifts and abilities who had the courage to use them to lift us to higher ground and take us to a place we can all call home.  A renaissance woman, a legend in her own lifetime, a woman of substance – all these and more. I will miss her words and the voice that gave them life.

    The words of Maya Angelou never cease to create feelings of admiration and awe for me… to the extent that my gosh- why- couldn’t- I- have- written- that paranoia kicks in. The little paperback I randomly picked up yesterday afternoon on an end table in our living room which Pretty now uses as her rescued books sorting room caught my attention because it was (a) small and (b) written by Maya Angelou. The book was titled Wouldn’t Take Nothing for my Journey Now.

    As I read the book yesterday afternoon, I was grateful to Pretty who always leaves priceless gems around for me to discover, pick up and savor. She knows my love for Maya Angelou and her works so I suspect it was no accident the book was in a conspicuous place…

    My daddy used to tell me to avoid making comparisons to anyone else because there would always be someone who could do something better than I could or someone who wouldn’t be able to quite catch up to my abilities. Needless to say, Maya Angelou is in a category all by herself when the subject is personal essays, and I will never be able to quite catch up to the sheer poetry of her writing in these intimate stories. I can, however, read them with delight.

    Many of her brief essays resonated personally with me probably because she published them in 1994 when she was 66 years old. The topics she covered as she described her own journey took me with her, and I cheered for her courage and power displayed vividly on every page. My mind meandered to the person I was in 1994 and how I would have reacted to this book when I was 48 years old. Would that white middle-aged lesbian activist understand what a blueprint Ms. Angelou’s journey could offer me when the storms of life were raging over the next quarter century of my life. I’m not sure.

    Whether you are a youngster setting off on the journey, a middle-aged traveler  making plans for the next twists and turns, or in the third act of your life seeing the final bends and bumps in the road; I strongly recommend you treat yourself to Maya Angelou in this book or any other writings she’s done. I leave you with her thoughts on people.

    “I note the obvious differences

    between each sort and type,

    but we are more alike, my friends,

    than we are unalike.”

    (Maya Angelou April 04, 1928 – May 28, 2014)

    Stay tuned.

     

     

  • I Is Flawed. You Is Flawed. We Is All Flawed.


    Since Lance Armstrong had to look up the definition of “cheat” to figure out if what he did throughout a storied cycling career was wrong, I decided to look up “flawed” in my trusty Oxford American Thesaurus that I use for help in my writing.  His explanation of sorts for his inexplicable ruination of the lives of his friends and fellow cyclists and their families in addition to the hopes and dreams of fans all over the world who rallied around his comeback kid cycling career for over a decade– was that he was “flawed.”

    Flaw noun 1 a flaw in his character.  fault, defect, imperfection, blemish, failing, foible, shortcoming, weakness, weak spot

    Aha.  I recognize myself and many of my friends and family in this definition.  Indeed. I fear I am eat up with flawed and find that Medicare age doesn’t necessarily correct the faults and weaknesses of my earlier years.  A good example I can point to is my sweet tooth.  Is it possible to have more than one?  If it’s possible, I think I’ve always had more than one sweet tooth.  I rarely meet a dessert I don’t like and even as I write this I wish I had one of Dick Hubbard’s delicious pineapple cupcakes and why stop at one?    If I weighed within the acceptable guidelines for a five feet two-inch sixty-six-year-old woman, my cravings for sugar wouldn’t be a flaw but alas, I need to be the height of the beanstalk Jack climbed to have a body mass index of less than thirty-two.  I have several less obvious foibles, but I guarantee you they are visible to my girl Teresa who will agree that I is flawed on many levels.

    Much of the chatter on ESPN today following Mr. Armstrong’s Oprah Outing last night has focused on the word legacy.   What will be Lance Armstrong’s legacy in light of his doping and his lyin’ and cheatin’ heart?  Really, it’s perfect material for a country western song.  Oh gosh, it’s already been written.  Your cheatin’ heart will tell on you.  Ain’t that right, Hank?  Ain’t that right, Bill?

    Legacy noun 2…inheritance, heritage, tradition, hand-me-down, residue.

    We will hear the  word legacy more and more as President Barak Obama takes the oath of office Monday for his second and final inauguration.  The political pundits are already sniffing around in that general area as the inaugural festivities will be front and center fodder for the media this weekend and for weeks to come.  The traditions and heritage the President leaves in four years will define his presidency as surely as Lance Armstrong’s confession to Oprah last night defined his.   The residue from that interview isn’t pretty and to borrow from the words of Abraham Lincoln at Gettysburg: “…the world will little note nor long remember what we said here, but it will never forget what we did here.”

    Legacy smegacy Lance.  I’m afraid your legacy is lunacy.

    Lunacy noun 2…madness, insanity, foolishness, folly, foolhardiness, stupidity, idiocy, irrationality, illogicality, senselessness, absurdity, absurdness, silliness, inanity, ludicrousness…

    You get the picture.  And  if the cycling shoe fits?