January 28, 2015
I don’t understand it. I’m the one who lives above the 49th parallel, for crying out loud! I’m the one who’s supposed to be up to my assets in snow and frigid temps. I’m the one who’s supposed to be house bound due to record snowfalls. Not all my friends in the US Southern States!
And yet, it is indeed my friends south of the border who seem to be suffering the last couple of years with way too much snow and far too many days of cold temperatures. When I see Texas and Virginia and Georgia digging out, I know there has to be something terribly wrong in the world.
If I were egocentric, I’d feel guilty about this weather situation. Let me explain why. To do so, I have to start at the beginning.
I’m Canadian and we have a currency called the Canadian dollar. Very similar to the currency south of the border that is called the American dollar, structure-wise. We had pennies, (no more), and we have nickels, dimes and quarters. Four quarters is one dollar here, just like down there.
And about, oh, six months after my first book came out—somewhere between my first quarterly royalty payment and my second, (back in 2007) the Canadian dollar did something it hadn’t done since Prime Minister Trudeau let it float—not, in fact, since I was a child. It gained strength and value against the U. S. dollar. And with each successive royalty payment (that I received in US dollars) the exchange rate got, for my purposes, worse, and worse, and worse.
Everyone I knew joked that they were saving big time, turning their Canadian dollars to US dollars for travel, thanks to me. I agreed with them. It was just exactly how my luck usually went to have the exchange rate reverse just when I started to be paid in U. S. funds.
I should have become suspicious last year, about the weather, when the cold crept south. You see, my beloved and I were discussing our winter options for the coming years. He has COPD, and breathing in the frigid temperatures of our traditional Canadian winters is very difficult for him.
An acquaintance of mine, a couple years ago, took two months down in Texas as a personal writing retreat. She told us what she paid for a condo on the gulf coast. It was amazingly reasonable—far less expensive than that other Canadian Snow Bird destination, Florida.
“We can do that,” my beloved said. “We just save half of our vacation money, take fewer trips—why, we could go down to Texas ourselves for two months—January and February!” The weather where we were looking to go averaged in the 70s for those months. And, we’d be on the ocean—something that my husband particularly wanted. His employer of 35 plus years had already agreed to let him have a 2 month leave of absence whenever he wanted it.
As for me—well, I can write from anywhere as long as I have my laptop and the Internet.
“Let’s do it!” he said.
“When? Next year?”
I knew we couldn’t really swing it that fast.
“No. I realize we have to plan more. We’ll make it 2016.”
“All right. Let’s do it!”
Those words were spoken in December of 2013.
My beloved and I would like to take this opportunity to offer our sincere apologies to the people of the southern United States, especially the residents of Texas for the cold weather they have been enduring for the last two years. If it’s any comfort to y’all, we have been re-examining the premise of our decision, in view of the temperature adjustment you’ve experienced.
But, on the bright side, the exchange rates have finally reversed again, and that’s good for my payday.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
January 21, 2015
My father was a writer. That was something I knew about him as I grew up—not from him, as he was gone. But my mother told me, as did a friend of the family, a man who’d grown up best friends with my dad.
This man was a lawyer. My dad, on the death of his own father when he was a young man of 17 or so, had to leave school and go to work to support his mother. It was the 1930s and that was just what you did. But for all of the rest of his life, this man remained a good friend to my dad, despite the differences in their educations, and vocations.
I recall, when I was about ten or so, seeing a small sample of his writing—just a half page, and I had never been able to recall what it was. As I grew older, I just assumed that nothing of what he’d written remained.
Fourteen years after his death at the age of 46 in 1962, my mother passed away—at the too young age of 57. I was married at the time, with one child. Yet I remember thinking that even though I was a wife and mother, I was also now an orphan.
I raised my kids and worked, and then, just as we were about to become “dinks”—double income with no kids—I had a heart attack. I was 48 at the time, and I survived. Three months later, I began to have angina attacks and it was determined I needed angioplasty. At the last minute, that turned into triple by-pass. I recovered, and was told by my beloved that I was now a “retired” person. Being idle isn’t me, and when I wondered aloud what I would do for the rest of my life, he told me to go after that dream of mine.
And I did.
My first taste of success was winning a short story contest hosted by the Canadian Writer’s Journal. This was a literary publication. I was so excited, of course I had to share the news with my big brother.
And that is when he gave me the most unexpected and precious of gifts: an envelope containing samples of my father’s work. It thrilled me even as it saddened me. My father stopped writing when he left school. He had to work, and I guess he considered it time to “put away childish things”.
These glimpses into my father’s writer’s soul were ink on paper, the paper yellowed with age. I transcribed what I found there, and put it on my computer, in a file I called Legacy, and distributed it to my family.
There were poems, mostly, and one short story. One poem in particular spoke to me—written in 1931, when he was a young man of 16. It was as if he knew that soon he’d join the work-a-day world. It’s called Childhood Play, and I’d like to share it with you:
When the little children play
Happy beings night and day
Grown up folks look sadly on
And think of childhood that has gone.
Just a little simple noise
Animates their very toys
A little motions fascination
The rest comes from imagination.
A piece of string, a little board
Some coloured glass oh what a hoard!
“Tis junk” the grown up people say
Tis treasure to a child at play.
A ditch with muddy water filled
Delights a little pilot skilled
Who, over rapids safely guides
His little bateaux through the tides.
And thus in early, joyful life
When yet each child has met no strife
Each simple article contains
Some hidden joy adults distain.
In childhood beauty reigns supreme
And innocence the only theme
Would God our thoughts would so remain
Tis true that thus we’d miss much pain.
His poems and story serve as an echo from an earlier time, and provide a connection—not from father to daughter, but from writer to writer.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
My father was a writer. That was something I knew about him as I grew up—not from him, as he was gone. But my mother told me, as did a friend of the family, a man who’d grown up best friends with my dad.
This man was a lawyer. My dad, on the death of his own father when he was a young man of 17 or so, had to leave school and go to work to support his mother. It was the 1930s and that was just what you did. But for all of the rest of his life, this man remained a good friend to my dad, despite the differences in their educations, and vocations.
I recall, when I was about ten or so, seeing a small sample of his writing—just a half page, and I had never been able to recall what it was. As I grew older, I just assumed that nothing of what he’d written remained.
Fourteen years after his death at the age of 46 in 1962, my mother passed away—at the too young age of 57. I was married at the time, with one child. Yet I remember thinking that even though I was a wife and mother, I was also now an orphan.
I raised my kids and worked, and then, just as we were about to become “dinks”—double income with no kids—I had a heart attack. I was 48 at the time, and I survived. Three months later, I began to have angina attacks and it was determined I needed angioplasty. At the last minute, that turned into triple by-pass. I recovered, and was told by my beloved that I was now a “retired” person. Being idle isn’t me, and when I wondered aloud what I would do for the rest of my life, he told me to go after that dream of mine.
And I did.
My first taste of success was winning a short story contest hosted by the Canadian Writer’s Journal. This was a literary publication. I was so excited, of course I had to share the news with my big brother.
And that is when he gave me the most unexpected and precious of gifts: an envelope containing samples of my father’s work. It thrilled me even as it saddened me. My father stopped writing when he left school. He had to work, and I guess he considered it time to “put away childish things”.
These glimpses into my father’s writer’s soul were ink on paper, the paper yellowed with age. I transcribed what I found there, and put it on my computer, in a file I called Legacy, and distributed it to my family.
There were poems, mostly, and one short story. One poem in particular spoke to me—written in 1931, when he was a young man of 16. It was as if he knew that soon he’d join the work-a-day world. It’s called Childhood Play, and I’d like to share it with you:
When the little children play
Happy beings night and day
Grown up folks look sadly on
And think of childhood that has gone.
Just a little simple noise
Animates their very toys
A little motions fascination
The rest comes from imagination.
A piece of string, a little board
Some coloured glass oh what a hoard!
“Tis junk” the grown up people say
Tis treasure to a child at play.
A ditch with muddy water filled
Delights a little pilot skilled
Who, over rapids safely guides
His little bateaux through the tides.
And thus in early, joyful life
When yet each child has met no strife
Each simple article contains
Some hidden joy adults distain.
In childhood beauty reigns supreme
And innocence the only theme
Would God our thoughts would so remain
Tis true that thus we’d miss much pain.
His poems and story serve as an echo from an earlier time, and provide a connection—not from father to daughter, but from writer to writer.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
January 14, 2015
January 14, 2015
There is a lot of hate in the world today. I’m not just referring to the acts of terrorism that have taken place so recently in France. That is heartbreaking, and criminal and an outrage to humanity. It is always tragic when hate becomes institutionalized as a movement bent on destruction. I believe that what is happening in the world in this regard today is not the product of the true heart of Islam. Before you denigrate an entire religion because of the actions of a few fanatics think on this. There have always been small minded and evil people who eagerly use the excuse of religion to terrorize those they consider lesser or evil, or just “other”. If you think this behavior is unique to what we call Islamic terrorism, then I would suggest you look back to the 1950s and 1960s. Those KKK members would have sworn they were doing the Lord’s work when they terrorized their victims, bent on denying them their rights, and even for some, their very lives. If that doesn’t convince you, go back further in time to the Spanish Inquisition and the “Crusades” that were directed against those who were not “Christian”. This is not to excuse these crimes against humanity. Just to let you know they’re nothing new.
All this is more than bad enough but there’s another indication of hate in the world that is very worrisome to me. It is is the hate I am seeing everywhere from ordinary people, people you might think were mild mannered, regular ordinary citizens. If you have FaceBook, then I am sure you’ve seen it. Check your news feed, and look at some of the memes that have been making the rounds for the last several months. Haters abound. It’s very sad and very scary, and sadly, very true.
I remember how, in years past when there would be elections and, no matter how invested you were in the process, at the end of the day, if your guy or gal lost, you put it behind you, recognized the legitimacy of the government elected of the people, by the people, for the people, and carried on until the next election.
No more. Now, if your guy or gal loses, the thing to do is to spread hate about the one who was elected, to do your best to stir up fear and loathing of this individual.
Here’s what saddens me about this. You see, hate breeds hate. And those who fill their lives with hateful messages and ideas and memes are filling their hearts and souls with hate, too. You can’t help it, you can’t keep it out. Every ounce of hate you take in and celebrate displaces an equal measure of love. The more hate you fill yourself with, the less love you can hold and—the absolute worst part—the more miserable you yourself are bound to feel.
I challenge anyone to tell me that they simultaneously hate particular politicians, or religions, or groups, or various movements and still honestly feel good about themselves deep inside. You can’t do it because hate and love don’t co-exist. You can’t love yourself and your life and your neighbor, while you are busy spewing hate all over the place.
You cannot love, while you are busy spewing hate.
Too many people in today’s society demonize those with whom they have philosophical differences. They are sowing a bitter, bitter harvest for themselves.
I’m not saying that we shouldn’t do all we can to thwart those who would terrorize innocent people in the name of ideology. Of course we should. We need to take action against those who would break our laws and disregard the rights of others. We need to stand firm, and refuse to be afraid to live our lives, and we should urge those in positions of authority to investigate, and prosecute to the fullest extent of the law, those guilty of crimes such as bombing, kidnapping, and murder. We should stand up and speak out about injustice.
However, what we absolutely must not do, is lose our humanity in the process. Because the truth is that if you surrender completely to the hate you do in fact lose your humanity, and you do one more thing as well.
You accomplish the terrorists work for them.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
There is a lot of hate in the world today. I’m not just referring to the acts of terrorism that have taken place so recently in France. That is heartbreaking, and criminal and an outrage to humanity. It is always tragic when hate becomes institutionalized as a movement bent on destruction. I believe that what is happening in the world in this regard today is not the product of the true heart of Islam. Before you denigrate an entire religion because of the actions of a few fanatics think on this. There have always been small minded and evil people who eagerly use the excuse of religion to terrorize those they consider lesser or evil, or just “other”. If you think this behavior is unique to what we call Islamic terrorism, then I would suggest you look back to the 1950s and 1960s. Those KKK members would have sworn they were doing the Lord’s work when they terrorized their victims, bent on denying them their rights, and even for some, their very lives. If that doesn’t convince you, go back further in time to the Spanish Inquisition and the “Crusades” that were directed against those who were not “Christian”. This is not to excuse these crimes against humanity. Just to let you know they’re nothing new.
All this is more than bad enough but there’s another indication of hate in the world that is very worrisome to me. It is is the hate I am seeing everywhere from ordinary people, people you might think were mild mannered, regular ordinary citizens. If you have FaceBook, then I am sure you’ve seen it. Check your news feed, and look at some of the memes that have been making the rounds for the last several months. Haters abound. It’s very sad and very scary, and sadly, very true.
I remember how, in years past when there would be elections and, no matter how invested you were in the process, at the end of the day, if your guy or gal lost, you put it behind you, recognized the legitimacy of the government elected of the people, by the people, for the people, and carried on until the next election.
No more. Now, if your guy or gal loses, the thing to do is to spread hate about the one who was elected, to do your best to stir up fear and loathing of this individual.
Here’s what saddens me about this. You see, hate breeds hate. And those who fill their lives with hateful messages and ideas and memes are filling their hearts and souls with hate, too. You can’t help it, you can’t keep it out. Every ounce of hate you take in and celebrate displaces an equal measure of love. The more hate you fill yourself with, the less love you can hold and—the absolute worst part—the more miserable you yourself are bound to feel.
I challenge anyone to tell me that they simultaneously hate particular politicians, or religions, or groups, or various movements and still honestly feel good about themselves deep inside. You can’t do it because hate and love don’t co-exist. You can’t love yourself and your life and your neighbor, while you are busy spewing hate all over the place.
You cannot love, while you are busy spewing hate.
Too many people in today’s society demonize those with whom they have philosophical differences. They are sowing a bitter, bitter harvest for themselves.
I’m not saying that we shouldn’t do all we can to thwart those who would terrorize innocent people in the name of ideology. Of course we should. We need to take action against those who would break our laws and disregard the rights of others. We need to stand firm, and refuse to be afraid to live our lives, and we should urge those in positions of authority to investigate, and prosecute to the fullest extent of the law, those guilty of crimes such as bombing, kidnapping, and murder. We should stand up and speak out about injustice.
However, what we absolutely must not do, is lose our humanity in the process. Because the truth is that if you surrender completely to the hate you do in fact lose your humanity, and you do one more thing as well.
You accomplish the terrorists work for them.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
January 7, 2015
Happy New Year!
How is 2015 treating you so far? My biggest surprise has been that the few times I have had to write the date, I’ve gotten it right! It usually takes me more than a few tries to get the year correct. I don’t worry that there’s something Freudian in that—that usually, I want to cling to what was instead of embracing what is. My daughter will tell you I’m afraid of change, but isn’t true—at least not in this case.
It’s more that I can be a bit of a dolt when it comes to some things.
Life has returned to normal in the Ashbury household. The Christmas tree and trimmings have been boxed up and put away, and the man of the house has returned to his job, leaving the woman of the house....the house. We enjoyed spending the three weeks together, of course. I was glad to see my husband take that time and totally rest. And I do mean totally. There were many days when he did nothing but read and sleep.
After the previous two years of having no overtime at work at all, this past year, my beloved had a lot. He really was tired by the time December 12th arrived. Yes, it was difficult writing while he was home. I find it nearly impossible to get into the zone when someone is in the same room with me. But the writing didn’t come to a complete standstill, and it was the holiday season, after all.
Routines are useful, and humans by and large like routines. I’m certainly no exception. I like my schedule, and am most productive in all areas if I am on track.
I got to see all of my family except for one grandchild these last few weeks. That, by definition, is a good Christmas. And while the last few years I’ve battled colds and flu and other upsets at this time of year, this year was much better for me, health-wise. I was even able to eat a few “seasonal” treats, something I hadn’t done in a couple of years.
And now it’s time to figure out what the year ahead will hold, and what needs to be accomplished. For me, of course, it’s always the next book. I don’t write as quickly as some writers do, especially the younger ones, so I have to keep plotting on. On December 19th, my publisher released my 40th title! That is a lot of books, when you consider that the first one was published in March of 2007.
Thanks to the incredible increase of available books due to authors who’ve chosen to go the self-publishing route, coupled with new seemingly reader-friendly marketing strategies on the part of on-line booksellers, the marketplace is lively indeed. One needs to keep writing and producing more books in order to try and keep up and keep one’s head above financial water.
The reading public can be capricious, and each consumer only has so much money to spend. The onus is on the writer therefore, now more than ever, to ensure that the reader gets what they want, when they read their book. Knowing who your readers are, and what they want, is the first responsibility of all who pen stories. You have your art, and you have your message, and yes, those are important. But if no one reads what you write, then what do you really have?
I have been most fortunate to have readers who are willing to plunk down their hard earned dollars to visit the town that first lived in my imagination, and now lives between the pages of twenty-four novels—twenty-five, come January 23rd.
Thank you to all who’ve visited Lusty, Texas, for your loyalty, and the part you’ve played in making my life’s dream a reality. Thank you, especially, for taking the time to write to me. I adore hearing from readers!
And as I’ve said to all who’ve asked, yes, there are going to be more books written about that small, unique Texas town—as long as you, the reader, keep reading them.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
How is 2015 treating you so far? My biggest surprise has been that the few times I have had to write the date, I’ve gotten it right! It usually takes me more than a few tries to get the year correct. I don’t worry that there’s something Freudian in that—that usually, I want to cling to what was instead of embracing what is. My daughter will tell you I’m afraid of change, but isn’t true—at least not in this case.
It’s more that I can be a bit of a dolt when it comes to some things.
Life has returned to normal in the Ashbury household. The Christmas tree and trimmings have been boxed up and put away, and the man of the house has returned to his job, leaving the woman of the house....the house. We enjoyed spending the three weeks together, of course. I was glad to see my husband take that time and totally rest. And I do mean totally. There were many days when he did nothing but read and sleep.
After the previous two years of having no overtime at work at all, this past year, my beloved had a lot. He really was tired by the time December 12th arrived. Yes, it was difficult writing while he was home. I find it nearly impossible to get into the zone when someone is in the same room with me. But the writing didn’t come to a complete standstill, and it was the holiday season, after all.
Routines are useful, and humans by and large like routines. I’m certainly no exception. I like my schedule, and am most productive in all areas if I am on track.
I got to see all of my family except for one grandchild these last few weeks. That, by definition, is a good Christmas. And while the last few years I’ve battled colds and flu and other upsets at this time of year, this year was much better for me, health-wise. I was even able to eat a few “seasonal” treats, something I hadn’t done in a couple of years.
And now it’s time to figure out what the year ahead will hold, and what needs to be accomplished. For me, of course, it’s always the next book. I don’t write as quickly as some writers do, especially the younger ones, so I have to keep plotting on. On December 19th, my publisher released my 40th title! That is a lot of books, when you consider that the first one was published in March of 2007.
Thanks to the incredible increase of available books due to authors who’ve chosen to go the self-publishing route, coupled with new seemingly reader-friendly marketing strategies on the part of on-line booksellers, the marketplace is lively indeed. One needs to keep writing and producing more books in order to try and keep up and keep one’s head above financial water.
The reading public can be capricious, and each consumer only has so much money to spend. The onus is on the writer therefore, now more than ever, to ensure that the reader gets what they want, when they read their book. Knowing who your readers are, and what they want, is the first responsibility of all who pen stories. You have your art, and you have your message, and yes, those are important. But if no one reads what you write, then what do you really have?
I have been most fortunate to have readers who are willing to plunk down their hard earned dollars to visit the town that first lived in my imagination, and now lives between the pages of twenty-four novels—twenty-five, come January 23rd.
Thank you to all who’ve visited Lusty, Texas, for your loyalty, and the part you’ve played in making my life’s dream a reality. Thank you, especially, for taking the time to write to me. I adore hearing from readers!
And as I’ve said to all who’ve asked, yes, there are going to be more books written about that small, unique Texas town—as long as you, the reader, keep reading them.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
December 31, 2014
I really like this time of year—the lead up to the end of the current year and the beginning of the brand new one. Generally, right after Christmas Day, the media is full of retrospective programming, looking back in music, film and news at the year that was (or should more properly be called, the year that still is for another few days yet).
Looking back on a regular basis can be not only a helpful thing; it can be a healthy one as well.
As we live our lives, day to day, we tend to get mired in the mud of the path we walk. What is happening right now at this very moment can seem so important, so vital, that we can be sidetracked away from what the important things in life truly are. It really is easy to get caught up in the minutia, or, as is commonly said, to not see the forest for the trees.
It’s good to take a step back and focus for a bit on the bigger picture.
I don’t—as you may or may not recall—make New Year’s resolutions. For me, these have proven to be traps just waiting to be fallen into. There’s nothing worse in my estimation than making a resolution on New Year’s Eve, and then ending up failing on New Year’s Day, or the day after. That kind of behavior just breeds frustration, a sense of failure, and self-loathing. I try very hard not to fall into that pit.
But while I don’t specify a list of things I am going to change about myself, or my circumstances, or anyone in my sphere (yes, I do sometimes have those kinds of thoughts and I know I’m not alone), I do like to take a few minutes and give some thought as to what I would like to accomplish in the twelve months ahead.
Most of the items I think of are rather generic, and don’t change much from year to year. I’d like to be kinder; I’d like to be a bit more patient, and a bit more generous. I’d like to, at the bottom of it all, do something that matters to someone—I want to be a blessing to another human being.
Some folks think that in order to change the world you have to do big things. This is simply not true. The way you change the world the most is by touching, in a positive way, the life of another person.
Do something big, and you may be written about in the history books. Do something small and you’ll be written upon the heart of another human being.
If enough people do the small things that touch the hearts of others – that, my friends, is a whole lot of darn good karma—the kind of good karma that changes the world.
In the mean time, I’m back to my generalized list of things for the next twelve months. The one last thing I would like to add is that I want to be sure to remember to take time to breathe. Sometimes I get too busy, and I need to set aside some time to ponder the miracles in life, to breathe in the scent of the roses and the coffee, and to be grateful for the bounty with which I have been blessed. Some folks might look at my house, that’s more than a little ramshackle, or me—you won’t find a designer label in my closet, and rare is the day I put on makeup—and think that the bounty I give thanks for isn’t much at all.
To them I say, just look inside my heart. It’s full to over flowing with love, and that’s bounty enough for me.
Happy New Year to you all!
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Looking back on a regular basis can be not only a helpful thing; it can be a healthy one as well.
As we live our lives, day to day, we tend to get mired in the mud of the path we walk. What is happening right now at this very moment can seem so important, so vital, that we can be sidetracked away from what the important things in life truly are. It really is easy to get caught up in the minutia, or, as is commonly said, to not see the forest for the trees.
It’s good to take a step back and focus for a bit on the bigger picture.
I don’t—as you may or may not recall—make New Year’s resolutions. For me, these have proven to be traps just waiting to be fallen into. There’s nothing worse in my estimation than making a resolution on New Year’s Eve, and then ending up failing on New Year’s Day, or the day after. That kind of behavior just breeds frustration, a sense of failure, and self-loathing. I try very hard not to fall into that pit.
But while I don’t specify a list of things I am going to change about myself, or my circumstances, or anyone in my sphere (yes, I do sometimes have those kinds of thoughts and I know I’m not alone), I do like to take a few minutes and give some thought as to what I would like to accomplish in the twelve months ahead.
Most of the items I think of are rather generic, and don’t change much from year to year. I’d like to be kinder; I’d like to be a bit more patient, and a bit more generous. I’d like to, at the bottom of it all, do something that matters to someone—I want to be a blessing to another human being.
Some folks think that in order to change the world you have to do big things. This is simply not true. The way you change the world the most is by touching, in a positive way, the life of another person.
Do something big, and you may be written about in the history books. Do something small and you’ll be written upon the heart of another human being.
If enough people do the small things that touch the hearts of others – that, my friends, is a whole lot of darn good karma—the kind of good karma that changes the world.
In the mean time, I’m back to my generalized list of things for the next twelve months. The one last thing I would like to add is that I want to be sure to remember to take time to breathe. Sometimes I get too busy, and I need to set aside some time to ponder the miracles in life, to breathe in the scent of the roses and the coffee, and to be grateful for the bounty with which I have been blessed. Some folks might look at my house, that’s more than a little ramshackle, or me—you won’t find a designer label in my closet, and rare is the day I put on makeup—and think that the bounty I give thanks for isn’t much at all.
To them I say, just look inside my heart. It’s full to over flowing with love, and that’s bounty enough for me.
Happy New Year to you all!
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
December 24, 2014
It’s been a long time since Christmas seemed like a magical day, wherein my fondest dreams might, just might come true. To a very real extent the magic ended for me with the passing of my dad when I was 7—a tragic event that occurred on January 3, 1962.
I don’t remember much from that particular Christmas, our last one as a whole family. I don’t recall the next one particularly well, either. I imagine it would have been very hard for all of us but especially my mother, who’d lost her soul mate, a loss from which she never fully recovered.
When I think back to childhood Christmases, it’s to recall a montage, as if in fact there’d only ever been one. I remember the breakfast on Christmas morning, because it was one of the few times in the year we had bacon on our breakfast table, along with both orange juice and grape juice. I could have a small glass of each! The tradition of the Christmas morning feast is one we observed with our own children and continued on with until just fairly recently. Our breakfast tomorrow morning is likely to be a very simple one.
Looking back to those very early years, I believe what made it all so special wasn’t only that gastronomical bounty itself, but the unusual circumstance of our enjoying it together, as a family. Oh, we always had supper as a family, even when my mother, an RN, was on the three to eleven shift at the hospital. My dad worked days, so he would be home when she was not. He cooked, and cleaned, and so we had family around the supper table every night.
But we never sat down as a family to have breakfast except on Christmas Day.
I also remember Christmas as being a time for visiting with family. My parents observed the tradition of dropping in on their nieces and nephews on the day after Christmas, and always visiting extended family where there were children. They’d usually have a gift of some sort for the kids—nothing extravagant, of course. But truly, in those days a small gift—either a toy, or perhaps a small basket filled with cookies and fruit or chocolate—could be had without spending a large sum. My parents saved their coins all year, and used that money at Christmas for extras such as our Boxing Day gifts.
Another cherished memory for me is going to the midnight Eucharist at our church (Anglican/Episcopalian). It was the church we attended all through my childhood, the same one my husband and I were married in, and the one we brought our children to as a young family before moving away to a different town. But at Christmas, the service that began at 11 pm on Christmas Eve was pure pageantry– complete with an old, rich sounding pipe organ, and all the trimmings of the High Anglican service—candles, robes, and a processional. The interior of the small building was old, the pews and hassocks a lustrous dark wood that the caretaker would polish to a high gloss. Years after my parents were both gone from this earth, sitting in that church brought them back to me, as I took in the sounds and scents of the place, along with the familiar, comfortable words of a liturgy which never changed.
It is also at this time of year that I feel the loss of family and friends most keenly. It seems to be unavoidable, that sense of something missing. There are always moments when I think back to having my house full, with all my chicks in attendance. The holiday season really is a double edged sword: for those who have, be it material goods or loved ones, it can be joyous indeed. For those in want, it can pinch and sting like nothing else on this earth.
Memories are made, one day at a time, and they are all made the same way, be they happy memories or sad ones.
My beloved and I wish you all the happiest of memories to be made tonight, tomorrow, and throughout the whole New Year.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
I don’t remember much from that particular Christmas, our last one as a whole family. I don’t recall the next one particularly well, either. I imagine it would have been very hard for all of us but especially my mother, who’d lost her soul mate, a loss from which she never fully recovered.
When I think back to childhood Christmases, it’s to recall a montage, as if in fact there’d only ever been one. I remember the breakfast on Christmas morning, because it was one of the few times in the year we had bacon on our breakfast table, along with both orange juice and grape juice. I could have a small glass of each! The tradition of the Christmas morning feast is one we observed with our own children and continued on with until just fairly recently. Our breakfast tomorrow morning is likely to be a very simple one.
Looking back to those very early years, I believe what made it all so special wasn’t only that gastronomical bounty itself, but the unusual circumstance of our enjoying it together, as a family. Oh, we always had supper as a family, even when my mother, an RN, was on the three to eleven shift at the hospital. My dad worked days, so he would be home when she was not. He cooked, and cleaned, and so we had family around the supper table every night.
But we never sat down as a family to have breakfast except on Christmas Day.
I also remember Christmas as being a time for visiting with family. My parents observed the tradition of dropping in on their nieces and nephews on the day after Christmas, and always visiting extended family where there were children. They’d usually have a gift of some sort for the kids—nothing extravagant, of course. But truly, in those days a small gift—either a toy, or perhaps a small basket filled with cookies and fruit or chocolate—could be had without spending a large sum. My parents saved their coins all year, and used that money at Christmas for extras such as our Boxing Day gifts.
Another cherished memory for me is going to the midnight Eucharist at our church (Anglican/Episcopalian). It was the church we attended all through my childhood, the same one my husband and I were married in, and the one we brought our children to as a young family before moving away to a different town. But at Christmas, the service that began at 11 pm on Christmas Eve was pure pageantry– complete with an old, rich sounding pipe organ, and all the trimmings of the High Anglican service—candles, robes, and a processional. The interior of the small building was old, the pews and hassocks a lustrous dark wood that the caretaker would polish to a high gloss. Years after my parents were both gone from this earth, sitting in that church brought them back to me, as I took in the sounds and scents of the place, along with the familiar, comfortable words of a liturgy which never changed.
It is also at this time of year that I feel the loss of family and friends most keenly. It seems to be unavoidable, that sense of something missing. There are always moments when I think back to having my house full, with all my chicks in attendance. The holiday season really is a double edged sword: for those who have, be it material goods or loved ones, it can be joyous indeed. For those in want, it can pinch and sting like nothing else on this earth.
Memories are made, one day at a time, and they are all made the same way, be they happy memories or sad ones.
My beloved and I wish you all the happiest of memories to be made tonight, tomorrow, and throughout the whole New Year.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
December 17, 2014
How are you handling the pre-Christmas hype this year? Are you tired of it yet? Wishing that Christmas was in the past, already?
To me, that is the sad reality produced by the glut of advertising foisted upon us this time of year. Every business that you can think of—and even some that you never would—all seem to be having Christmas sales, and are begging for your hard earned cash.
I can only shake my head as I watch commercial after commercial, the announcers/actors feverishly pitching everything under the damn sun—and funeral plots too, so I guess you can include everything under the damn ground, as well.
Really? Yes, I kid you not. Take advantage of XYZ Cemetery’s special Christmas sale! Act now, and we’ll throw in a plot for one offspring of your choice at 50% off! Okay, it wasn’t quite that ghoulish, but you get the idea. Please, you want to scream, make it stop!!
If you’re wondering if there’s anything we can do to counter this assault on our psyches, and to get back the joy—the real true joy of Christmas, I have good news for you. The answer is yes!
The first thing you need to do is to turn down the commercials. If you have a PVR I strongly suggest recording some of the programs you watch, and then fast-forward past those annoying spots. Or, better yet, turn off the television altogether. Have a family game night, or two. Listen to music. Everything in life is a choice, isn’t it? So choose not to allow yourself to be inundated with the horrible hype of the season.
Now, you want to get some of that wonderful feel-good Christmas spirit in your heart? There’s an easy and inexpensive way to do that. Several ways, in fact, and I’m happy to list some of them for you here.
You can, as I said, turn off that television and have family time. Or, if you need to watch the tube, choose something you all can watch together. Make a night of it with snacks, and beverages, and use the commercial time to talk about what you’re watching.
The other thing you can do that I absolutely guarantee will fill you with the holiday spirit is to give something to someone else.
Every community has toy drives and food drives at this time of year. Here in Canada, there in the United States, overseas—that is one thing that is common to all of our nations. So give.
You don’t have to give a lot. Here in North America, dollar stores abound. Some toys maybe are too poorly made for you to consider as good gifts, but every dollar store has coloring books and crayons, balls, card games, dolls, barrettes and bracelets and ear buds and calculators—all for a dollar or two. They have scarves and mittens and hats, too, if you’re in a chilly part of the country.
They also have cans of soup, 3 for $1. Or you can go to your local grocery store and buy a few tins of food. Tuna is good, as are vegetables, soups, and pasta. You could purchase jams, and honey and cheese spread. Peanut butter is a good bet as well, because it is high in protein. You can get jars of baby food, boxes of pabulum, or even boxes of regular cereal.
Maybe you can only spend $5. But that $5 can go a long way, especially if everyone you can think of gave $5. Can you imagine? I’ve said it before and I will say it now, and likely again at some point in the future. If everyone who shopped at your grocery store bought 1 thing for the food bank, your local food bank would overflow!
You don’t have any money? Then do a good turn for someone. Shovel a driveway, help carry a bag, hold a door open. Life is filled with opportunities great and small for you to do good. All you have to do is take your eyes off yourself and put them on someone else.
Take your eyes off of yourself, and put them on somebody else!
If you want the Christmas spirit, and it’s missing in your life, then create it by helping someone in need. It really doesn’t take a fortune, or a wealth of time.
It really only takes a determination to make a difference, and the decision to do so.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
To me, that is the sad reality produced by the glut of advertising foisted upon us this time of year. Every business that you can think of—and even some that you never would—all seem to be having Christmas sales, and are begging for your hard earned cash.
I can only shake my head as I watch commercial after commercial, the announcers/actors feverishly pitching everything under the damn sun—and funeral plots too, so I guess you can include everything under the damn ground, as well.
Really? Yes, I kid you not. Take advantage of XYZ Cemetery’s special Christmas sale! Act now, and we’ll throw in a plot for one offspring of your choice at 50% off! Okay, it wasn’t quite that ghoulish, but you get the idea. Please, you want to scream, make it stop!!
If you’re wondering if there’s anything we can do to counter this assault on our psyches, and to get back the joy—the real true joy of Christmas, I have good news for you. The answer is yes!
The first thing you need to do is to turn down the commercials. If you have a PVR I strongly suggest recording some of the programs you watch, and then fast-forward past those annoying spots. Or, better yet, turn off the television altogether. Have a family game night, or two. Listen to music. Everything in life is a choice, isn’t it? So choose not to allow yourself to be inundated with the horrible hype of the season.
Now, you want to get some of that wonderful feel-good Christmas spirit in your heart? There’s an easy and inexpensive way to do that. Several ways, in fact, and I’m happy to list some of them for you here.
You can, as I said, turn off that television and have family time. Or, if you need to watch the tube, choose something you all can watch together. Make a night of it with snacks, and beverages, and use the commercial time to talk about what you’re watching.
The other thing you can do that I absolutely guarantee will fill you with the holiday spirit is to give something to someone else.
Every community has toy drives and food drives at this time of year. Here in Canada, there in the United States, overseas—that is one thing that is common to all of our nations. So give.
You don’t have to give a lot. Here in North America, dollar stores abound. Some toys maybe are too poorly made for you to consider as good gifts, but every dollar store has coloring books and crayons, balls, card games, dolls, barrettes and bracelets and ear buds and calculators—all for a dollar or two. They have scarves and mittens and hats, too, if you’re in a chilly part of the country.
They also have cans of soup, 3 for $1. Or you can go to your local grocery store and buy a few tins of food. Tuna is good, as are vegetables, soups, and pasta. You could purchase jams, and honey and cheese spread. Peanut butter is a good bet as well, because it is high in protein. You can get jars of baby food, boxes of pabulum, or even boxes of regular cereal.
Maybe you can only spend $5. But that $5 can go a long way, especially if everyone you can think of gave $5. Can you imagine? I’ve said it before and I will say it now, and likely again at some point in the future. If everyone who shopped at your grocery store bought 1 thing for the food bank, your local food bank would overflow!
You don’t have any money? Then do a good turn for someone. Shovel a driveway, help carry a bag, hold a door open. Life is filled with opportunities great and small for you to do good. All you have to do is take your eyes off yourself and put them on someone else.
Take your eyes off of yourself, and put them on somebody else!
If you want the Christmas spirit, and it’s missing in your life, then create it by helping someone in need. It really doesn’t take a fortune, or a wealth of time.
It really only takes a determination to make a difference, and the decision to do so.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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