This time next week, the Ashburys will once more be on vacation. It would seem that this year, we will definitely earn the moniker, “traveling fools”. The next few trips will be related to my career—we plan to attend the RT convention in Chicago in April, the RWA convention in Anaheim in July, and the first ever Siren-Bookstrand conference taking place in Dallas, Texas, in August. This trip, however, is just for us.

Mr. Ashbury has wanted to travel to a warm clime this time of year for the past several years, and so we are going to The Bahamas for a week.

I consider myself very lucky to do the traveling I do, even though there’s a huge part of me that would just as soon stay home. I am a homebody at heart, and never so happy as when I have my domain all to myself.

These last few weeks have seen a flurry of activity on our part, trying to decide where to go. The only criterion was that the destination had to be warm enough to swim.

Unfortunately and very sadly, one major “warm locale” that a lot of Canadians visit annually was absolutely off the table as far as we were concerned, and that place was Mexico.

One needs only to have paid attention to international news over the last few years to hear about the dozens of Canadians who’ve been victims of violence in that country—112 Canadians dead in the last 5 years according to the (Canadian) federal Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade.

Perhaps 112 out of the million or so who have visited isn’t that high a number, statistically, but it’s high enough for us. My heart breaks for those whose loved ones have come to grief; and it’s a shame for that historically colourful country, because Mexico and her people deserve better than to be earning the kind of reputation that they have, lately. I know many Canadians still consider Mexico a fine spot to vacation and are going there, regardless of recent events.

The Ashburys aren’t willing to take that chance.

So it’s off to the Bahamas, to swim, and to sun (a little) and just basically decompress. I’ll be taking my laptop, of course. I’d go nuts if I couldn’t write, because writing isn’t so much my job as it’s my passion. Being an author isn’t what I do, it’s who I am.

Mr. Ashbury likes to walk around and explore. Being a history buff (and convinced he was a pirate in a previous life), there’s always plenty to grab his attention. With his exploring and my writing, we’re always ensured of a good combination of together time and alone time that makes our vacations the best they can be.

I’ve been assured that I’ll be able to rent a mobility scooter once I’m there, so I’m looking forward to a bit of exploration, myself. And while I don’t like to shop at home, I love looking at all the souvenirs and such these places have for sale. I’ve already gotten ‘gift requests’ from a couple of my grandchildren.

The winter in our neck of the woods so far has been rather placid. We did receive an unexpected dumping of a few inches of snow on Sunday afternoon—snow that is gone now. Although it doesn’t take much in the way of cold and wet to attack my arthritis, Mr. Ashbury hasn’t even had the opportunity to haul out his snow blower yet. Sunday he just used the shovel, and called it done.

I told him not to worry; he likely would get the opportunity to pull out that machine before spring arrives. After all, this is Canada, and winter always leaves its mark.

In the Bahamas, we’ll be staying at a hotel that is very close to a beach, with high-speed Internet available. So I’ll be able to post my essay on schedule and keep in touch with my family and friends.

Love,
Morgan

http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury

I have a good friend who tells me that I should work harder at being spontaneous. Lately I’ve been wondering if the cosmos—and my family—have been conspiring toward just that end where I’m concerned.
You may find this hard to believe, but I am not particularly a good time manager. Though my personality does lean toward the “melancholy” type—I can be very anal on occasion about some things, and about other things, always—I have a healthy streak of the “sanguine” in me.
I’m easily distracted and given to digression.
These last couple of weeks the only things I’ve been able to count on have been “spontaneous changes in schedule”.
It’s enough to make me want to pull out my hair sometimes.
I think this is one of the negative sides of working at home. I’m at home anyway, so why can’t I…fill in the blank. After all, I have a telephone right here, I can make calls. I have a car right there, I can run errands. It’s not as if I have a real job, anyway.
I have several friends who are, like me, blessed to be full time authors and who, also like me, are blessed to have families.
One of them goes to the library to write because when she stays home, writing is that which gets shoved to the bottom of the list.
Now, I don’t have any male full time author friends and I would be interested to know if it’s the same for them. Do their families and friends make demands on their time, since they don’t have a “real job”? Based on no evidence whatsoever, I’d be willing to bet not. The question I want answered: is it because you’re male, or is it because you might be better at saying “no” than we women tend to be.
I suspect it’s the latter.
Basically, I’m just a girl who can’t say no. Can I watch the children an extra day or two this week? Sure, no problem. Can I come to the city and ferry you around because you don’t have a vehicle? Why, sure, I can do that! Can I take clothes to the cleaners, run by the store, look for the Holy Grail? Hey, no problem!
It’s not as if I’m really doing anything all day, anyway. I just sit here in front of this computer and play with this thing called a keyboard. All. Day. Long.
No, I’m not very good at organizing my time and I definitely suck at saying no. Now yes, others should be more respectful of my time, and they should definitely begin to think of my being an author as my having a full time job.
But the Bottom line is this. That’s not their fault, it’s mine. If I was a better time manager, then the time I did have would indeed be put to good use. If I was better at saying no, then for sure, the time-management thing would have time to reap huge rewards.
I don’t believe in complaining loud and long about the things that I allow to happen. So clearly, I have two choices. I can either ‘woman up’, knuckle down, make a schedule, and practice saying ‘no’ in the mirror.
Or I can go and find myself a quiet library.

Love,
Morgan
#4 Bestseller, 2 weeks in a row!
Love Under Two Navy SEALs
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury

In all likelihood, my perspective, on this topic, is skewed.

My father died when I was 8 and a half years old. That one traumatic event impacted my life as a child and continues to do so to this very day. I can tell you, quite honestly, that from the moment my father passed away, I lived in terror that my mother would die, too.

Thirteen years later, she did, and I was orphaned at the tender age of 21.

Losing my parents when I was young, therefore, has given me a bias on the subject that’s been on my mind these last few days. That subject is how we, as a society, treat our elderly.

I’ve seen a few cases first hand of people traversing a path I never had the opportunity to follow; that of adults having to deal with their elderly parents.

I’m not sure I understand why one would “handle” their parents by sticking them in a “seniors’ care facility”. Yes, I know that sometimes there really is no choice. If our loved one needs more care, especially medical care, than we’re capable of giving, for example, then I can understand the need for using this alternative. But in my mind, and in my heart—unless the senior in question truly wants to go and live in such a place—this should be a last resort.

I’ve known of a few families who have “sent mom to the home”. The parent was old, and moved slowly, but was not really sick, and not really in need of constant medical supervision. Yet plop, plop, there went the poor grannies dropped off to live in a small room, surrounded by other small rooms, to be tended to by strangers for the rest of their lives.

Is this another case of Morgan being overly naive again? Maybe it is easy for me to talk, as I’ll never have to back up my words with actions. But, don’t we owe our parents every bit of care and attention we can give them? Don’t we owe them some of ourselves?

See, I can’t decide if the trend—taking your aging parent to a facility for them to live out what’s left of their lives—is motivated by laziness, carelessness, or some immature desire for payback. I’m just a bit cynical that this action is taken to be in the very best interest of the elderly person in question.

I’ve seen firsthand the heartbreak that comes to a person whose children more or less abandon them to live among strangers.

How can anyone do that to their mother? This is the same woman who carried them in her womb for nine months; who gave birth in a fog of pain, eschewing drugs in case those drugs brought harm to the baby.

Mothers and fathers are very special, and very precious. You only ever really have one of each in your life.

There are cases when there are few alternatives. In this age of two-career households, it might be a challenge leaving an elderly person alone all day. I get that. Of course there are agencies who specialize in home visits, people who for a very reasonable fee will come by as often as you need them to, to see to it all is well with granny.

I have no doubt that it could be a challenge incorporating an elderly parent into your household. It would require patience and care and maybe a little juggling. I also bet it would be quite a bit of work, having an extra person to see to. It certainly wouldn’t meet anyone’s definition of easy.

Just as, I imagine, it was some work, and challenge, and frustrating for that parent to have taken care of you.

I’m sad that as a society, and in this area, we allow ourselves the opportunity to choose between doing what is right and doing what is expedient.

Because I am a great believer in the law of sowing and reaping, I would like to add this caution. As you deal with your elderly parents, your children are watching and taking notes.

Love,
Morgan
LUSTY TEXAS #6 – LOVE UNDER TWO NAVY SEALS
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It’s amazing how quickly life returns to normal, isn’t it? Everyone’s back at work or school now, most of the television series have returned to new episodes, and politics is the word of the day on the Sunday morning talking heads.

I have to confess I don’t follow American politics as closely as I used to. Heck, I don’t follow Canadian politics, either. Maybe my inner curmudgeon is not only no longer inner but aggressively outspoken. It just seems to me that everyone can talk the talk, but no one can walk the walk.

I’d much rather read a book—or write one. Or spend time with the newest members of my family.

I don’t know if I mentioned it, but my daughter got herself a new pet a few months ago—not another cat, surprisingly, but a dog.

Well, it’s advertised as being a dog, but I call it a puppy-cat. It’s a Chihuahua, and her name is Bella.

She got the puppy when it was just 9 weeks old. Because of the breed, and because we live in Ontario, Canada, of course the dog needs to have a wardrobe.

She has sweaters, and coats. My daughter tried to get it to wear little booties, but frankly, that just wasn’t happening. In October, Bella had a Halloween costume. Yes, she went around dressed up to look like a green caterpillar.

My daughter is devoted to this animal, and the dog adores her right back. That’s probably the major difference between the two major species of domestic pets.

Dogs—even ones who come disguised as puppy cats—tend to be more affectionate toward and more dependent upon humans than cats are. I’ve always said the major difference is that dogs have masters, while cats have staff.

One good thing about my daughter having a puppy is, she won’t let it wander free the way the cats have, so I won’t soon get a new boarder here. The down side of that is, there have been a few times over the last couple of months when my husband and I have been asked to “puppy sit”.

When she asks, I always tell her to ask her father. My position is logical. I was the one who did all the child care and housekeeping while holding an outside job. Any grandchild entertaining—be it a human, feline or canine grandchild—is up to him.
He sometimes grumbles, but then I look and see he has the puppy-cat on his lap, sound asleep.

The only problem my daughter had with the new family member is that her puppy tended to demand all of her attention—very much like a little child. On her days off, she found it difficult to get anything done as Bella wanted to play all the time.

I thought the solution to this would come with time and patience and training. My daughter, however, had another idea. She decided that what the puppy really needed was a baby sister.

If Bella, by virtue of her size is a puppy-cat, then Ivy, the new Chihuahua most definitely qualifies as a puppy-rat. Don’t worry, my daughter takes very good care of them both, and Bella seems delighted to have a baby sister. Jenny laughs, of course, at the names I have given the two canines.

As you might imagine, when it comes to my daughter, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. I have been given a new title in the family, too.

Apparently, I am now Grandma-puppy.


Love,
Morgan
JUST 2 MORE DAYS!!! AVAILABLE FRIDAY JANUARY 13TH
LOVE UNDER TWO NAVY SEALS
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Here we all are, full of good food, good drink, and too many sweets. We love the holiday season, but we also love to return to our regular routines.
At least, I do.

I’m not at all ashamed to admit that I am a creature of habit, one who quite happily entrenches herself in the minutiae of day-to-day living.

I function best when I have a schedule, when I know what I’m supposed to be doing on any given day, at any given time.

I have a good friend who says I should be more spontaneous. My response is always, “I’ll put it on my schedule.”

My beloved returned to work yesterday after taking his traditional week off between Christmas and New Years. Here is where I hang my head in shame and admit to all and sundry that I’m really glad he’s back at work.

Because, you see, while he had the week off from doing anything, I only had the week off from driving him to work. No small thing, I loved having my sleep uninterrupted for 11 straight days. I appreciated that, I really did.

But otherwise those eleven days didn’t feel like any kind of vacation time to me. I find it very difficult to stick to a one-person-in-the-house-routine when there’s someone else there with me.

He came home from work yesterday exhausted, of course. I’d warned him he would. At our ages bad habits form in about an eighth of the time good ones do; his body had gotten used to spending the day in the comfort of his lounge chair—or stretched out on the sofa—or in bed having a nap—and it therefore complained bitterly about going back to work.

There’s something to be said about being a body in motion that stays in motion. Whereas he was whipped by yesterday’s return to routine, I was energized (well, except for the driving part).

Did you make any New Year’s resolutions? I didn’t. I don’t believe in setting myself up for failure. This year, I simply took some time to think ahead to the kind of year I want to have. Just as each evening my prayer is for me to be just a bit better the next day in each area of my life from the day before, so I hope this New Year is just a bit better than the one just passed.

For me, better no longer has anything to do with finances. I’ve lived long enough that I understand good times come, and they go...but they usually come around again. My beloved says the economy is cyclical, down in years ending in an 8 and up in years ending in a 2.

No, better for me means that I do better. As a writer, it means that my words are clearer, more evocative, more creative; as a wife that I am more attuned to the moods and needs of my husband, more patient and less demanding; as a mother that I pay attention to the very fine line between helping and enabling, and am freer with kind words and hugs; as a granny, that I make sure the freezer is always full of popsicles and ice cream, and the cupboards overflow with cookies and that I listen and again am freer with kind words and hugs.

I can’t change anyone but me. So rather than focus on how I am treated by others, I instead choose to focus on how I behave, myself.

Because, you see, I have learned that it’s only my attitudes and my efforts that directly fill my ‘happiness’ tank.

Love,
Morgan

Available January 13th the next episode in the Lusty, Texas Saga
Love Under Two Navy SEALs
http://www.bookstrand.com/cara-covington

Ah, the New Year! It’s a time when everything can be new again.

The countdown to 2012 has begun. Everywhere you look there are those entertaining end-of-year lists. Didn’t someone come out with a list of the 10 best and the 10 worst lists of the year?

I think if they haven’t, they really should.

It is poignant as the year draws to a close to take some time to look back on the last twelve months. A lot has happened in the world this year, some of it awe-inspiring, and some of it heartbreaking.

There’s so much news available to us now, and so many news entities competing for advertising dollars and audiences, that we can feel constantly battered by that ‘breaking news’ intro music the media outlets like to play.

Do you remember when you might go more than a couple of months without once hearing that on your television? And if you did hear it, then something really important had occurred. You might be in the kitchen, busy doing dishes or making dinner. That music would play and you’d rush into the living room, to find what had happened.
Over the last couple of decades there’s been so much media hype over incidents of every level of import that I believe we’ve become seriously desensitized to the entire concept of ‘breaking’ news.

Do you take a few moments at year’s end to contemplate the events in your own life over the past twelve months? I don’t as a rule, at least not formally. Of course, I can’t always stop my thoughts from wandering back. Sometimes my mind wants to just dance again to the music, and sometimes it needs to scan the battlefield just one more time in hopes of finding just one more memento left behind to cling to.

Despite my propensity for list making in other areas of my life, I don’t make end of year lists. Maybe I should. Perhaps it would serve me well to recall my 10 best moments, and my 10 worst. I’m not sure how honest I could be in this exercise, however. I still tend to push away that which is unpleasant while trying to focus instead on the positive.

Maybe it would be more to the point if I simply took some time to set 5 personal goals for the coming year. Sure, 10 would be more ambitious, but I personally feel that 5 is a more manageable number for me.

One thing I do need to do is set a few goals that have nothing to do with my career. Writing is my passion, of course. But there’s a very real danger that I can let it consume me. I don’t want to miss any special moments in my life, or the lives of my family, because I was too centered on finding just the right word or, hell, even just the next word.

I have long range goals, of course. I do tend to call them dreams, even though they generally are eminently achievable.

I believe that no matter how old you are, you have to have a dream, something that you’re working toward. You need to have a purpose, a reason to get up each morning.
I know the year ahead will have a few notable milestones for me. I have just this month signed my 25th contract with Siren-Bookstrand, and that book, under my other penname of Cara Covington, will be out, likely in the spring; and in July of this year, my beloved and I will celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary. [And they said it wouldn’t last!]

One more milestone has to do with Wednesday’s Words. I’m going to be posting my essay in only a couple of Yahoo loops come the New Year. I’m blessed and honoured to have my humble words hosted by others as well: writer, editor, TV host and speaker Cynthia MacGregor hosts my essay as “Morgan’s Column” in her EZine, “ EZine Does It” which can be found here: http://oaboa.pair.com/cynthiam/cynthia2011/index.html; and author Brenda Williamson hosts me as a guest blogger on her blog, “An Eclectic Author” at http://aneclecticauthor.blogspot.com/ .

My essay will continue to appear on the Siren-Bookstrand Blog, and of course, on my own blog, Wednesday’s Words by Morgan Ashbury. The link for that is below.

I wish you all a very happy, healthy, and prosperous New Year. May 2012 be the best year, ever!

Love,
Morgan
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury

This time of year can be the brightest of times, or the darkest of times, depending mostly on the people in our lives, and how we choose to see things.

For those lucky enough to be surrounded by family and friends, Christmas and Hanukkah can be filled with love and laughter, fun and food. Yes, it’s a hassle going shopping at the mall, or trying to find the best roast or turkey at the supermarket. A good parking spot can be difficult to find, and sometimes one has to deal with others whose patience has deserted them. When we’re running low on that commodity ourselves, it doesn’t take much for us to lose it.

But generally, with all the rushing around and money spent, nerves frayed and the air around us sometimes turning blue, in the end we decide it’s all been worth it.
When we’re in the midst of the celebrations, surrounded by the warmth of loved ones, when we share fellowship, we know that these are the moments that build memories and the ones that led up to them, those noisy, bothersome hassles, are nothing in comparison, and soon forgotten.

But for those who are alone or lonely, those who are dealing with very lean finances, and those who are grieving the loss of loved ones, this time of year can be excruciatingly painful. For those whose hearts have been shattered, whose souls have been battered, it’s hard to be surrounded by the joyousness of the season, when songs and scents remind us of happier days, and those lost to us forever.

I think that life is like an empty vessel that is filled with a varying combination circumstance and attitude. Things happen beyond our control and it is left to us to deal with those occurrences, however we can, for better or for worse.

Traditions help, I think. Yes, they can be reminders of what has been lost, but they can also bring us closer, for just a moment, to those now gone, both people and times. Whatever our traditions may be, whether it is the sharing a particular meal, or the lighting a particular candle, an orange in the toe of a stocking, or a certain movie watched on television, in those moments, what was and what is are joined in the spirit of that tradition. Past and present become one, a chain unbroken reaching through the generations.

In our household we observed various small traditions, some that I enjoyed as a child, and some that my beloved cherished in his youth. These we passed on to our children, who in turn have passed them on to theirs.

There is comfort to be found in family traditions. We need these touchstones, even more as the world around us becomes increasingly hectic. As I get older, the world does seem to move faster. It’s harder to keep up. How wonderful, then, that some things don’t change.

This isn’t, of course, only a Christian truth. I think it’s a human truth. I think that no matter one’s faith, there is a need within us to have something we can look to, to hang on to, that is permanent, and in its own way, sacred.

Life may be spanned by decades, but it is lived a moment at a time. Memories are made in these special moments; memories are precious, and memories last.

I wish everyone every good thing during this Holiday Season. May you have peace and joy, love and laughter. Whether you’re celebrating Christmas, or Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa, I hope the traditions you create and the ones you perpetuate bring you happiness and joy.

One of my family’s favorite traditions is a steamed pudding that my mother made each Christmas, and that I now make as well. You will find that below. What makes this pudding special is that the only fat it in comes from 1/3 of a cup of milk!

Love,
Morgan
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury

Morgan’s Mom’s Carrot Pudding

2/3 cup of flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
¾ teaspoon baking soda
¾ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon nutmeg
¼ teaspoon ground cloves
2/3 cup sugar
2/3 cup raisins
2/3 cup currants
2/3 cup grated raw carrot
2/3 cup grated raw potato
1/3 cup of milk

Butter a one quart casserole dish. Set your steamer on to get making that wonderful steam.

Mix together all the dry ingredients. In a small bowl, place all the liquid ingredients (the grated veggies and the milk). Pour the liquid into the dry, stirring just until mixed. Pour into the buttered dish, and put in the steamer. Steam for 2 to 2 ½ hours, until the top is set.

Sauce for Pudding
¾ cup brown sugar
1 cup light corn syrup
¼ cup butter
1 cup light cream
Mix sugar, syrup, butter in a sauce pan, then heat and boil for five minutes. Add cream and bring just to a brisk boil. Remove from heat and allow to cool slightly. Spoon warm over Carrot pudding.