by Iona Morrison | Sep 16, 2013
The morning fog had lifted as we made our way to the park in Mendocino, California. It had rained earlier but the sun was finally peeking from behind the clouds. The were artisans and musicians with booths and tables arranged with their goods on display. Over towards the edge of the park I saw an older man. I was drawn to him as he sat there with his gray head bent over his table working on something. As I approached he looked up with his faded sparkling eyes and asked me to sit down. He handed me a small book to read. “You’ll have time.” He said smiling at me. “It will only take you a minute but it’s worth the time.” It was a true story entitled the Christmas Story by Jay Frankston. It fascinated me so I bought several copies and had him autograph the small books. He shared how that as a Jewish child he had always felt like Christmas was a big party for everyone and he wasn’t invited to it. He went on to tell me this story.
“When I got married and had kids I decided to make up for it. I started with a seven-foot tree, all decked out with lights and tinsel, and a Star of David on top to soothe those whose Jewish feelings were frayed by the display and for them it was a Hanukah bush. And it warmed my heart to see the glitter, because now the party was at my house and everyone was invited.”
But he still felt like something was missing so he bought a Santa suit, spent time watching how Santa was with the children at the mall and did the same. For two years he played Santa to his own children but by the third year he said; “The Santa personality in me had grown and needed more than I had given him.” He wanted to do more. He came up with the idea of going through the many letters sent to Santa each year that ended up in sacks at the post office where he lived in New York, City. Most of them were gimme, gimme, gimme letters. But one changed it all for him.
“Dear Santa,
I hope you get my letter. I am 11 years old. I have two brothers and a baby sister. My father died last year and my mother is sick. I know there are many who are poorer than we are and I want nothing for myself. But could you send us a blanket because mommy’s cold at night. Suzy.
He sent Suzy a telegraph which said: “I GOT YOUR LETTER. WILL BE AT YOUR HOUSE ON CHRISTMAS DAY. WAIT FOR ME. SANTA.
It began, right there, a giving tradition for his family, that went on for many years. It started with 18-20 children and grew to as many as a 120.
His little book touched me so much with what the true spirit of giving is really about. He took an icon of life, didn’t argue about whether it was spiritual or even of his own tradition but made it a beautiful and moving act of generosity. If you can find the book I would suggest you get it. It is a great little treasure.
One person can really make a difference!
by Iona Morrison | Sep 9, 2013
Jessie Reynolds had no idea when she moved to Blue Cove she would be sharing her life with a ghost. A young pastor is murdered and Jessie finds herself following the trail of death into the dark and deadly world of organ trafficking. The detective in charge of the case is Matt Parker, a tall, scruffy, and ruggedly handsome man who takes an instant dislike to her and the feeling is mutual. He wants her out of his investigation and she finds herself entangled in it. As the tension between them mounts so does the attraction.
Here is one small scene between them:
Jessie didn’t say anything but handed him the note. She had forgotten about until she had reached in her purse to give Molly some money. She watched him scan it, his hand clenched at his side. “Short but to the point.'” He frowned and read it to her. “Quit looking for things your eyes shouldn’t see or like Gina you’ll deal with me. Blue eyes will go the way of brown only your body will never be found.”
by Iona Morrison | Sep 1, 2013
I sent off the last five chapters of my second book a few days ago to go through their first edit. I labored a while over the end of the book hoping to get it just right. I think the ending of a book is more difficult than the beginning, or the middle. The end of the story is like the Amen at the close of a prayer. A good ending will resonate long after the story is finished. It can leave the reader with a lasting impression even if all the threads aren’t neatly tied.
Personally, I am most satisfied, I must confess, when it’s a happy ending even if everything is not perfect. It lets me imagine it that way. I also like being able to fill in the blanks and consider the possibility of another story with the same characters I’ve come to love.
Carl Sagan said, “Books break the shackles of time. A book is proof that humans are capable of working magic.” At best I guess, I want to create a little magic that entertains you and to which you breathe a smile at its end.
by Iona Morrison | Aug 17, 2013
After a lengthy process of moving from a large house to a condo we are finally settled in. Tired, but happy to have it done. Along the way we had to downsize and let go of more than a few possessions. Not so easy until you get into the swing of it, and then it’s just freeing. We are still getting rid of more since we’ve got into the new place. I’m beginning to think moving, as hard as it is, may be a very good thing. It’s way too easy to get comfortable and never change your surroundings or try new things. Letting go of some of the old and making room for something new can be the beginning of a whole new way to live. So I’m moving on.
This has been a year of change for me. So many things happening in a short period of time. It has challenged, stretched and encouraged me to be and to do things I’ve only dreamed about. Here’s to moving on in life and the hope that as long as you continue to breathe you can grow, create and make some of your dreams come true. 🙂
by Iona Morrison | Aug 8, 2013
Amour, amore, love! In any language it is the subject of many novels, poems and songs. And, of course, murder mysteries when the relationship goes bad. It has always fascinated me what attracts one person to another. There are so many variables that go into two people meeting, falling in love, and finding happiness together. Whether they will remain in love is also the subject of many other books.
Needless to say we have been reading stories for years built around people falling in and out of love; during war and times of peace; in this world or in other worlds; in this era or those gone by; with the girl next door or even of the ghostly variety. From the sheer joy of it’s first stirrings or the utter despondency with it’s loss, love is there, always hanging near the edges of our minds. We hope for it, we search for it and long for it to last a life-time. It is the basis for all that is good and decent in the world. A life without love wouldn’t be life at all!
by Iona Morrison | Jul 21, 2013
Every town worth its salt has to have a coffee shop and a local hang out. In Blue Cove the place to be is Patterson’s or Java Joes. If it’s coffee you want, head for Java Joes. Molly, the friendly and slightly colorful, shop manager will be waiting to serve you your coffee with a small side of gossip. You’ll find Joes to your liking with it’s comfy overstuffed couches, leather chairs and modern art work. They also have some great salads, sandwiches and baked goods.
But it’s Patterson’s where the locals like to eat. A step inside takes you across the ocean to an Old English Pub complete with dark wood paneling. The main room has a long bar and a small stage for live music on the weekend. If it’s billiards or darts you want, they’re in the back room. The beer is cold and the food is good, even if the owner is a little grumpy. If you visit Blue Cove you’ll most likely visit these places. See you there!
