I'll Call It Like I See It

by sheila morris

Tag: war in ukraine

  • Mr. Speaker

    Mr. Speaker


    Samuel T. Rayburn (D-TX), the longest serving Speaker of the House of Representatives at 17 years, 53 days (cumulative) said “Any jackass can kick a barn down, but it takes a carpenter to build one.”

    Since the first American Congress convened on March 4, 1789 the House of Representatives has elected a Speaker 128 times, 118 at the beginning of each of the two-year congressional sessions and ten other times when a vacancy arose due to death, resignation or more recently a motion to vacate the position when Speaker Kevin McCarthy (R-CA) was “vacated” on October 3, 2023 – the first House Speaker to be removed in the nation’s history. The “vacation” lasted for 22 days of spectacle worthy of Shark Tank episodes as the Republicans searched for a candidate to satisfy their splintered majority caucus, to enable them to reach a consensus that promoted America’s national security as war intensified in the Middle East and Ukraine, domestic terrorism threats by conspiracists on both the left and right multiplied at alarming rates. On October 25th. Mike Johnson (R-LA) received a total of 220 Republican votes to become Speaker of the House, a position critical to national security, a man who is now second in line to the presidency following the vice-president, a man who does not believe Joe Biden was duly elected President.

    Mr. Sam, as Speaker Rayburn was known, refused to allow television cameras in the House: “When a man has to run for re-election every two years, the temptation to make headlines is strong enough without giving him a chance to become an actor on television. The normal processes toward good law are not even dramatic, let alone sensational enough to be aired across the land.” I wonder what Mr. Sam would have thought about the images being broadcast not only in the United States but also around the world as the public display of a dysfunctional government dominated the daily news from October 3rd. to the 25th. with three Speaker nominations voted down.

    Mike Johnson was relatively unknown on the national stage until he became Speaker of the House where his position as a staunch social conservative with a long history of anti-LGBTQ+ rhetoric and support for stricter abortion laws became more transparent.

    “Johnson on Monday unveiled legislation from House Republicans that would provide $14 billion in U.S. military assistance for Israel as it fights its war against Hamas. But the bill is a non-starter for both the Democratic-controlled Senate and President Joe Biden’s administration because it doesn’t include provisions for other U.S. allies, such as Ukraine.” USA Today, November 2, 2023 

    Maya Angelou said “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”

    I’m concerned Mike Johnson is not the carpenter Speaker Rayburn had in mind to rebuild the barn.

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

    For the children of Ukraine, Israel, Gaza, immigrants along the Texas border – all the children everywhere. Guard, save and protect.

  • Pretty scolds me

    Pretty scolds me


    As we turned into the driveway this morning from running errands that included taking Carl to the vet over the river and to the city for evaluation and annual shots by 9 a.m., then driving completely in the opposite direction from the vet to my eye doctor to pick up a pair of eyeglasses being repaired but breaking the heavy traffic with a quick stop at the Rush’s drive thru for our daily fix of iced tea. When I saw the large Ukrainian flag we fly at the edge of our carport, I said oh my goodness. Those poor Ukrainian people are having such a horrible life; I see the images every day of their losses. I continuously worry so much about the children.

    When Pretty came to a stop at the carport, she turned to me and said you are so negative. You always see the worst in everything anymore.

    To which I replied, maybe because I am getting old.

    May Sarton (1912 – 1995) was a Belgian-American novelist, poet, and memoirist who wrote in her journal At Seventy published in 1984: “What I want to convey is that, in spite of the baffling state of the world around us – war in the Falklands and in the Middle East, poverty, recession, racism at home – it is still possible for one human being, with imagination and will, to move mountains. The danger is that we become so overwhelmed by the negative that we cannot act.”

    What I want to convey to Pretty is that, in spite of the baffling state of the world around us – war in Ukraine and in the Middle East, poverty, inflation, racism at home, a former president of the United States surrendering today for defying the laws set forth by our founders in the Constitution – it is still possible for one human being, with imagination and will, to move mountains. The danger is that we become so overwhelmed by the negative that we cannot act.

    I believe that in the past six years I have become more overwhelmed by the negative than I realized so from this day forward I promise to project positivity for the sake of my family, friends, and followers.

    Hm. I hope I haven’t chosen a bad day to make that pledge. TV news off.

    ***********

    P.S. The eyeglasses weren’t ready – the woman told me she had been on vacation so the lens had arrived but they hadn’t been placed in a frame. They will call me. But not to end on a negative note, the woman at the Rush’s drive-thru was the friendliest person ever. Seriously, the…friendliest…person…ever.

  • a man of letters (8) – combat! January, 1945

    a man of letters (8) – combat! January, 1945


    In the summer of 2018, I published a series of letters my dad wrote during his life. I hadn’t read them since then, but sometimes the war in Europe jars my memories to an earlier war known as World War II. My dad was barely twenty years old at the time of his actual combat service and this series of letters – his brother Ray two years older – his sister Lucy three years older than Ray. Selma, the girl Daddy left behind in the little town of Richards, Texas where they both grew up, was a freshman at Baylor University – thanks to the generosity of her Uncle Clement who gave her the opportunity to go to college. My dad’s father was the only barber for miles with a barbershop that was the hub of the social gossip network supported primarily by my paternal grandmother who was everything to me when I came along two years later, ten months after the soldier returned to elope with the girl of his dreams. January, 1945 was such a pivotal time in history 77 years ago, but I imagine the same thoughts expressed by the soldiers in the war in Ukraine today in January, 2023 are universal longings for home and family.

    Three days after Christmas in 1944,  2nd. Lt. Glenn Morris flew the first of his 35 bombing missions over Germany with his crew of The Fortress. Their first target was Siegburg, a town near Bonn in the North Rhine – Westphalia region. That night he wrote Selma another letter, but the mission clearly shook him. This letter’s tone introduced a note of uncertainty about their relationship that he hadn’t expressed in his previous ones.

    (the only letter with blue markings)

    censorship or Selma?

    “Dearest Darling,

    I’ve often wondered if you couldn’t guess just how much I miss you at different times. You know, sometimes you are the only thing that makes me want to be back there. I could go on forever telling you that I see you everywhere I go & etc., but you’d enjoy that too much.

    In not so long a time I’ll be back with you. It already seems like ages to me. Do you ever sorta forget about me, unconsciously, I mean, just forget. That is one of the most horrible things I can think of. Well, enough of that.

    Tonight some of the guys wanted me to play on the Field team, but I had a rather hard day so, for once, I refused a basketball game.

    Well, Baby, I must go to sleep, for I am very tired, but not too tired to say goodnight to the one I love.

    Yours forever,

    Glenn”

    Selma, the girl back home

    On New Year’s Eve, their target was Kassel…then Magdeburg on New Year’s Day, 1945…next up was Modrath near Cologne on January 3rd…Cablenz on the 5th. – names of places he probably had a hard time spelling – much less pronouncing – but places he had to locate as the navigator for his crew of The Fortress.

    He had a break for eight days and wrote to his parents at home in Richards, Texas on January 8, 1945. His older brother Ray was also in England with the 8th. Air Corps. Ray worked on the ground crew for airplane maintenance and loaded the bombs for the flyboys.

    Glenn (l.) and Ray with their mother before the war

    Ray

    Ray (l.) and buddies on leave

    “Dear Folks,

    It shouldn’t be too long before I get a letter from you now. Klepps, the tail gunner, got 2 letters addressed to this APO, so if you’re not falling down on the job, I should be hearing from you very soon. I might say that I’ve missed those letters quite a bit. Tell Selma she’d better write every day or I’ll divorce her. That would be a low blow, wouldn’t it?

    Now Mama, don’t get alarmed, but I have a slight cold again. It’s the first one I’ve had in a long time. I take sulfa diazine tablets every day. That probably explains it. Other than the slight cold, I am O.K. I know there’s no use to tell you not to worry about me cause you’ve been doing that so long it’s got to be habit. There’s no use in your quitting now. Ha.

    I’m to see Ray once and for all next Sunday and Monday. Every 3 weeks we get 48 hour passes, and finally my turn is coming up. Here is part of our conversation.

    “Glenn! Glenn! Is that you?”

    “Yes, it’s me, Ray.”

    “Well, where have you been? You little devil what happened to you? I’ve been worried about you. How many missions have you flown? Etc.”

    He’s still the same old boy. Have you heard anything about Dick Merrill {a friend from Richards}? He’s probably a P.W. There’s a better than even chance he is.

    A mobile PX came here the other day. I bought 15 pounds worth of stuff. That’s about $60. I bought another blouse that I’m gonna have made into a battle jacket. They are sharp.

    Hoping to hear from you soon,

    Your oldest son,

    Glenn

    Tell Lucy to write to me.”

    Lucy

    Lucy (r.) and friend Maureen

    Glenn’s sister Lucy and Selma’s brother Charlie

    ( Charlie good friends with Glenn – Richards was a very small town)

    Charlie joined the Navy…

    ( along with Selma’s oldest brother Marion and cousin C.H.)

    Selma’s mother and oldest brother Marion in Richards

    Missions continued through January…Karlsruhe, a city near the French border where a large Jewish population had been deported to the Auschwitz concentration camp before the strike…then Paderborn… followed by Aschaffenberg in Bavaria…the largest target in January was Cologne which was a Military Area Command Headquarters for the German army and the fourth largest city in Germany…January ended with a second run over Coblenz.

    On January 22, 1945 in the midst of these military activities, Glenn took time to write to Selma who was back at Baylor University in Waco after her Christmas break.

    “Dearest Selma,

    I’m sorry again that I haven’t written you within the last few minutes. Are you getting my letters? I suppose you are. Very dull, isn’t it? I could tell you a lot, Baby, but better not. Will you settle for something new like, ‘I love you’? I know you get tired of that. It is so trite, yet so true.

    I got the scarf yesterday, and how did you know it was cold over here? It will really make old Ray’s eyes widen the next time I see him, which will be soon, I hope. He’s on pass now, I suppose. Funny thing, he can’t some to see me, but I can go to see him. He can, but he won’t. That girl in Doncaster takes up his time.

    Very peaceful scene tonite. Three of us around the stove writing letters and the radio going full tilt. I never had it so good. Still there is something missing. You, no doubt.

    Write to me often now, little girl. I love you,

    Glenn”

    Glenn

    The air strikes came fast and furious for the airmen in January of 1945 while all of their families and friends back home fretted about their safety. How many would come home, they wondered…we’ll wait with them for now.

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

    Slava Ukraini. For the children.

     

  • just another war? don’t get used to it, please

    just another war? don’t get used to it, please


    Olena Zelenska is the wife of Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelenskyy and during an exclusive interview with Robin Roberts on Good Morning America this week revealed what she wanted most from the United States:

    “Don’t get used to this war.”

    Point taken. A quick review of US involvement in the Cold War with the Soviet Union following World War II shows conflicts of various degrees in names familiar to me over the past 70 years – Korea, Bay of Pigs, Vietnam, the Gulf War, Yemen, Iraq, Pakistan, Somalia, Syria and certainly Afghanistan where our recent withdrawal of support after 20 years was far more than unsatisfactory – names I recognize but can’t remember details of some. Old age? Possibly. Got used to? Most likely.

    The war in Ukraine turned 100 days old yesterday as Russia’s missile strikes continued to rain down on Eastern Ukraine while President Zelenskyy acknowledged the loss of 20% of his country to Russian occupation. The ongoing stream of people leaving their homeland as refugees to escape obliteration numbers in the millions with families divided, fathers saying goodbye to their wives and children to stay and fight to protect their democracy. Please don’t get used to this, they say to us from across the Atlantic Ocean. We still need your help.

    Meanwhile back in this country, the daily images of men, women and children being killed by mass gun violence rock our sensibilities when we hear them cry out from their coffins “don’t get used to this.” And yet, we have. Whenever we continue to cast our votes for our representatives at every level who vote against more effective gun control measures, we are saying oh well, that’s just how it goes, right? We’re used to it. All politicians are the same. They’re all corrupt. What does my vote matter anyway?

    Stop that excuse, think about the people you love, ask the right questions of candidates on the ballot, then vote as if your life and the life of your loved ones depends on it.

    Slava Ukraini! Remember Uvalde.

  • leaving moon behind, but you’re still on my mind

    leaving moon behind, but you’re still on my mind


    Well, it’s Old Blue Monday my paternal grandmother Ma began her weekly letters to me while she sat on her little Singer sewing machine stool in front of the large window that gave her a view of her backyard. That phrase was my first thought when I began my walk in the early dawn before the sun rose today. It was old blue Monday, but my walk wasn’t.

    The moon looked almost full like a big circular white cloud against the sky above me when I stopped to watch a lone goose (possibly duck) that had broken ranks with four others to give me a personal “missing man” flyover today. I listened every day on my walks for the sounds of the birds migrating through my neighborhood on their way to wherever they called home. I tried to hear them before they came into view so I would know how many to look for. I guessed the group this morning was small; when the five birds came into sight, they were flying in a triangular formation similar to military aerial special jets like the Blue Angels or Thunderbirds. My goose today left his group, circled back directly over me, and then flew off to rejoin the others. How cool was that?

    I left the moon behind, though, and kept walking as my own jumbled thoughts were keeping pace with my steps: from the war in Ukraine that was always close to the surface, to the Gamecock women’s basketball team on their way to the Sweet 16 in Greensboro Friday, to Rafael Nadal’s loss in the Indian Wells tennis tournament championship yesterday. I also made space in my mind to worry about Pretty who was on a day trip to Georgia in our old Dodge Dakota pickup that would be loaded down when she stopped to deliver her treaures to her antique booths in Little Mountain this afternoon. I could always worry about Pretty and our granddaughters.

    Hm. Macro worry to micro worry. Yep, they call me the worrier for good reason.

    Our driveway was my final hill to climb. Carport Kitty welcomed me home in her usual soft meow. Out of nowhere on the kitchen steps came the memories of a K.T. Oslin song I’ve loved since I first heard her sing it many moons ago.

    You’re still on my mind, still on my mind. I’m still missin’ pieces from this broken heart of mine. Now don’t get me wrong here I don’t do this kind of thing every day. I was just doin’ a little walkin’, doin’ a little talkin’ to myself, and it brought you to my mind again. You’re still on my mind – now I feel like I need to talk to someone from those good ole times.

    All of you are still on my mind today – I’m asking for peace instead of conflict, safety instead of peril, comfort through despair, the power of grace over broken hearts, and the opportunity for every missing person to find the way home.