A Boxing Day Special for You!

There are a few competing stories for the origin of the name [Boxing Day], but none are definitive. The first is that the day after Christmas was when servants of the wealthy were given time off to visit their family, as they were needed to work on Christmas Day. Each servant would be given a box to take home with food, a bonus and gifts. Another theory is that in the Victorian era, churches often displayed a box for parishioners to donate money. Also, it was customary for tradespeople to collect 'Christmas boxes' of money or gifts on the first weekday after Christmas as a thank you for good service over the year. (Source)

Are you ready to load that new Kindle with hours of reading pleasure? Or perhaps you’re adding new titles to a much-loved e-reader in preparation for the long winter months ahead. Do you have friends and family who need reading suggestions?  

With a slight nod to my humble Irish ancestry, I’d like to suggest a little something for your metaphorical Christmas box this Boxing Day. My third novel, Walking Home, is available today and tomorrow for only $0.99!

In Walking Home, Kidane flees violence in the Horn of Africa only to find the nightmares and despair of his past follow him to Seattle. A new country, a new hope, and a new love may not be enough to save him. Walking Home explores the challenges immigrants face in their search for belonging and a place to call home. This stirring journey into the world of African refugees offers readers a powerful coming of age tale that is both heartwarming and haunting.

Click HERE (link) to buy Walking Home today for only $0.99

Morning Musings of Mexico City

Wind and rain lash my front window on this cold Seattle morning. I longed for days like this when I lived in Mexico City. Now I long for the dry warm air I once knew. I sit at my dining table in the dim light with coffee, pen and notebook, the large window framing the gray morning, watching a hummingbird land on the swinging feeder.

I scribble my morning musings of Mexico City. I left in 1984 and returned only once the following year. If not for the sore joints, gray hair and wrinkles, it would feel like yesterday. It was only five and a half years – a lifetime for a young woman seeking self.

I did not put up a Christmas tree this year, did not carefully unwrap each Mexican ornament – tiny painted gourds and straw miniatures of baskets, animals and stars, each with a length of bright red yarn. I miss that annual ritual of unwrapping and finding just the right spot on the tree, of carefully tying the red yarn, of remembering the markets of Mexico City where I selected each ornament.

I remember the poinsettia-filled roundabouts and medians of the major downtown streets and the neighborhood posadas, street re-enactments of the biblical Christmas story. I remember the scent of cinnamon and coffee, tortillas and tamales, spicy mole, steaming pozole and sweet atole. I stare at the Seattle rain remembering the sights and smells of Mexico City and know I will return.