June 1, 2022
Little things have always
meant the most to me. At the moment, happiness is a water glass that holds
water, and some sprigs of lilacs and lilies-of-the-valley. My husband presented
this glass to me just the other day, the blooms from our own gardens. What an
awesome gift! The combination of these two fragrances takes me back to my
childhood.
Along the old fence that ran
the length of our rural property, each spring one could find tulips and
daffodils, narcissi and of course, the lilac trees in full bloom and the lilies
of the valley. In the summer, those trees would be bare of their blossoms and
the spring flowers would be replaced by the orange day lilies. But in the
spring…. As I inhale my gifted flowers’ scent, I’m reminded of May days playing
beneath our giant willow tree. That tree stood between the house and that
fence, and one did have to be careful, because in places the roots had come
through the thin soil to trip anyone not paying careful attention.
The branches of that willow hung
low, nature’s largest green umbrella, and a couple of times during any given
year, we would use the shears to trim them. It was quite an expanse beneath
that old tree, a good-sized area and I always felt as if I were in my own
private bower. Sometimes I’d spin tales, unspoken but thought, of having found
a secret castle in the woods, an enchanted and private sanctuary where no bad
things would ever happen.
The past nine days have been
tough for all of us, haven’t they? Thoughts and prayers have become a mean cliché,
but for me they still mean something, and I have been sending mine to Texas
every day since May 24.
I am a woman whose grandchild died–
one who didn’t live to be a week old. And a woman whose second child, a son, the
father of that wee baby, died at the age of 29. And I am now a woman who is the
last surviving member of her birth family.
I know what it is to lose
loved ones; I know what it is to grieve. It’s taken a chunk out of me, but that’s
life. I ache for the people who are now burying their 10-year-old children, and
for grown children who are burying both their mother, and their father, the
father having died from a heart attack two days after losing the love of his
life.
Thoughts and prayers—words—are
what I have. But they are not empty, nor meaningless, and they do not evaporate
like vapor, mere seconds after being released into the air.
Here, I’m about to shock all
of you. You’re used to long, drawn out essays from me, and today, I won’t give
you one. Here, I will simply tell you what I think. I will give you my pure,
unvarnished opinion.
My dear American friends:
those among you who are urging “gun reforms” are not trying to take your guns
away from the rest of you. There have never been, nor will there ever be, those
mythical black helicopters. Those calling for reform truly just want to enact
changes that would save lives. And those among you who say that “nothing can be
done”, are lying. I would consider it a step major forward if they would say
what is the truth: there are things that can be done.
They are just not willing to
do them.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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