Roadwork...

 August 6, 2025

You may recall that our house is on a corner lot. And it seems like only yesterday that the powers that be here in our town, in their infinite wisdom, decided to reconstruct the cross-street at the south side of our house. That was a small project as these things go, and when it was done, we were left with a newly paved side street, but one without a paved dip into our driveway, as the workers were told there wasn’t a driveway there.

Yesterday, two weeks after the original projected start date, began the work on the street that our house is addressed upon.

My husband, utilizing his extensive knowledge of these matters informed us several days ago that likely the work would begin at the southern-most end of our street which, at two and a half blocks away, is the end furthest from our house. No need for any rush to take up the large pavement stones that form our walkway between our house and the sidewalk. No need to hurry to move our mailbox sitting on the edge of the sidewalk out of harm’s way.

As I said, they began yesterday morning just before eight a.m., and by 10:00am, there was no longer any pavement in front of my house. By the end of the work day, the crew had removed all the pavement for the entire length of our street which is the first phase of this infrastructure project.

And this morning they began to pull up the sidewalks.

At least the last time, my office being two rooms away from the action, I was able to focus well enough to get some work done. This time? Quite frankly, your guess is as good as mine as to whether or not creation is going to happen at my keyboard. Lately, focus and discipline don’t seem to be my strong suits.

I can tell you it’s a very odd sensation, having my entire house trembling as the compacter makes certain that the base layer of the road—mostly brown earth of an indeterminate sort—is well and truly tromped down.

In other news, the oppressive heat has broken, and I credit my daughter entirely with that fact. Why, you ask? Because a couple of days before the heat broke, she finally gave in and ordered a new air conditioner for her area upstairs.

The day the unit arrived was the first coolish day in ages. Before I could chide her, she came in, looked at the heavy box at the base of the stairs, looked at us, and said, “you’re welcome”.

A good sense of humor has always been strong in this family.

We have been happily nibbling on cherry tomatoes from our garden and have now enjoyed our second fist-sized tomato. There are several green ones growing, and we’ve all got our fingers crossed that some of them will gain impressive size before ripening. We all enjoy a light supper of toasted tomato sandwiches, and we are all eager to make it so.

We already had our first veggie-only supper of the season a few short weeks ago, and that was quite delicious. Green beans, new potatoes and corn all picked fresh that day.

David had an interesting experience on his dog walks yesterday morning. For some time now, he has transitioned this routine by using his scooter. He has trained the dogs to walk while he rides. But because we live on a busy street (when it’s not under construction) he lets them ride for a few blocks, as he takes them to a quieter neighborhood.

The dogs love this. Rather than having to walk at David’s pace, which is not what once it was, they are able to run to their heart’s content. They always come home with big doggie grins. There’s not much that can brighten one’s spirit in quite the same way that a doggie grin can.

But yesterday, the work crew kept such a good pace that when he returned from walking the one dog—about a half hour—he drove his scooter from the north corner a half block before he realized he wouldn’t be able to cross the street on his scooter to get to our porch. And on his return from walking the second dog? He realized he would have to go up the hill on our north cross street, across a small street that runs parallel to our own, and then down the hill of the street right beside our house.

But he now knows it’s doable. Later today he will discover whether or not he can do all that twice, all on one (new)battery charge.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Nothing is all bad...

 July 30, 2025

As July burns itself out—I had to use a heat metaphor because this month has been brutal—I find myself thinking about the passage of time. And also, the fickleness of humanity.

On the one hand time seems to be speeding by at the speed of light. And on the other hand, we’re obsessed with the slowness of it all.  An example?

“My gosh, I can’t believe it’s almost August already! Oh, and will these long stiflingly hot days never end?”

We can’t blame God for any of this. We change our moods and our minds so darn fast, I’m certain He’s come to the conclusion that no matter what He does, we will never be happy.

The heat is slightly less oppressive today, and according to the weather network, cooler temperatures are on their way. The highs here will be in the mid-seventies tomorrow, and it will likely be raining as well. For those of you who claim they would be happy with mid-seventies year-round, tomorrow should be a banner day.  

Personally, I’ve ventured out very little over these last couple of previews-of-hot-as-hell weeks. I don’t do well in the high heat and humidity, and so I try to structure my days in such a way that I don’t have to. I am eternally grateful, each and every day, that we have central A/C. I would like to point out that this is not a brag; it’s gratitude. We went the first sixty plus years of our lives without any A/C at all. Well, unless you count the bowl of ice in front of the box fan.

We had a window air conditioner for a couple of years, in our late fifties, and that was miraculous. In the days before our daughter moved in with us, in the deep winter and high summer, we closed off our upstairs. In the winter, our heating costs were not outrageous, and in the few of summers that we had that window a/c unit, a couple of well-placed fans—in the living room and my office—gave us a nicely cooled house all day long. Then we’d shut the bedroom door at night, and sleep very well.

I am very aware that a lot of people don’t have air conditioners at home. I am grateful on their behalf that many cities have places where folks can go to cool down. For me, in my younger days, that was always in my bathtub. You can get nicely cooled, wearing your bathing suit and not using the “hot” tap to fill the tub.

For a while we had small swimming pools in our back yard. Over our years in this house, we had a couple of them. They were inexpensive, and about three feet deep. Every day, after work, David and I would put on our suits as soon as we got home and head out to the pool. We both agreed that once you got your body temperature down in that pool, you didn’t get quite so hot again.

Sometimes bedtime would be preceded by another dip in that pool. A final cooling off and bit of relaxation before sleep.

I can and do miss those days and at the same time acknowledge that I would be hard-pressed to get into either of those pools now. My mobility isn’t what it was even five years ago which is not a surprise to me, or anyone who really knows me.

We’ve had two meals of beans from our garden, as well as having frozen two meals worth. We purchased a vacuum-seal appliance a few months ago, an inexpensive one just to see how well we liked it. Don’t like it, love it. When our inexpensive model died (likely from overuse) we bought a slightly better one, on sale, during prime days.

And as a side note, our farmer from down the road is back again for one more season, and we are so happy. We plan on buying lots of corn.

We have a lot of tomatoes on those plants of ours, many growing and some beginning to ripen. We’re hoping for a bumper crop this year. We may get one, too, thanks to that darn heat and so much rain.

Fellow fickle folks, I present to you yet one more fact of life: the heat and the rain can both be a pain, but not even they are all bad.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Just because you can do something...

 July 23, 2025

Last week there was a video that, like so many other videos before it, has gone viral online. Moreover, it actually showed up as an item on the evening news. The video-captured moment took place at a concert—the band that was in concert was Cold Play. The venue was using the so-called “kiss-cam”, a camera that will focus in on a couple (generally), or sometimes a cute child or some famous person in the audience, and that image goes up on the same very big video screen where the entire audience can also see sports replays, or in this case, the concert itself.

I guess this camera got its nick name because so often the camera operator found and focused on a couple kissing. More than one time, in Atlanta Georgia and at different sporting events, the camera operator found former President Jimmy Carter and his wife Rosalynn, sitting side by side, their focus on the game…and then on the image of themselves on the screen. Now the tradition is, apparently, that if you’re not kissing when you see your image up on the video screen, you’re expected to do so, in the interest of being a good sport.

The Carters, as I recall, usually obliged with just the sweetest kisses—as they were the ultimate good sports.

Now the incident I’m writing about that happened last week, well, that was the moment we found out that being a good sport only goes so far—the couple being spotlighted is expected to perform for any and all who are watching.

You know, I understand that cameras are everywhere, these days. And I understand that it’s like a game. Sitting in an arena or auditorium and eagerly hoping, fearing, wondering will that camera show me? I get it.

I also have a very strong moral thread that does not condone cheating, in any way, shape, or form. Neither do I agree with lying, or any number of acts people commit that are considered sins, crimes, or simply acts of poor taste or lackluster upbringing.

But honestly, when I first saw that video that has gone viral, the video of a man and a woman enjoying a concert, together, in the moment…his arms around her from behind, her arms over his….and then their reaction to seeing themselves on the screen? Their shock, their mortification, the way they immediately tried to hide themselves…..I felt ashamed—of myself and the rest of us that for even a moment experienced some sort of vicarious–or maybe that should be vicious—thrill.

Now, to be fair and lest anyone think I’m blaming the camera operator, one can wonder if there would have been a viral moment at all had the couple not so publicly shown their guilt. On the other hand, it could also be argued that the fact that they felt guilt and reacted in the way they did might speak to their not being used to doing that which they shouldn’t do.

Strictly speaking and in the eyes of God, that couple never should have been together in a romantic way at all as at least one of them was married to someone else.

But in the wake of the bruhaha and the fallout for the man (he lost his job) I need to ask a few simple but basic questions: Have we become a society of no quarter given? Have we become a people who seek pleasure through the embarrassment of others? Is this a case of mass schadenfreude? Are our lives so bereft of meaning and substance that we grab at any chance to lift up others who’ve misstepped, and gleefully hold them up to public ridicule?

Yes, there are cameras everywhere and yes, I also get the urge we all experience to snap a pic with our ever-present camera (cell phone) when something catches our eye. And really, knowing all this, we each of us do bear responsibility not to offer ourselves up that way.

I guess the principle I would put forth with this essay, and it applies to all of us, is this:

Just because you can do something doesn’t mean that you should.

Over these past several months I have been watching as those in whose hands power has been placed by the electorate have, rather than dedicating themselves as public servants to make life better for everyone have instead worked tirelessly as public overlords to render as much pain as they can to as many as they can, and as quickly as they can. And the only people they are trying to benefit are those who have less need for any kind of “ministering unto” than all the rest of us combined.

We want them—those in charge—to change, to stop the hurting, to stop the persecution. But maybe we’re looking at this all wrong.

Maybe, if we want things to change, then we must begin to make changes within ourselves.

In the private sector and at public venues in this, our capitalistic society, commerce is plied, and the law of supply and demand reigns supreme.

Maybe it’s time for us to stop supplying careless opportunities and to start demanding less cheap hits and more responsible behavior, all the way around. It’s up to us to begin with ourselves, because in this reality we live in, there are some true facts, and this is one:

If we don’t buy the candy, my friends, they will stop making it.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Some lessons learned...

 July 16, 2025

This past Monday was our 53^rd wedding anniversary. We dated for a year before we tied the knot. Hard to believe we’ve been together that long. It’s become a bit of a challenge for me, recalling the all the details of that long-ago Friday. Our ceremony was held in the evening, at the church where I used to attend as a child when my father was alive.

The older you get, you not only lose a few memories, but you can also lose some of your time-perspective. A statement given with absolute conviction, like, say, “we had that repair done five years ago,” surrenders to the actual truth that it was more than ten years ago.

No wonder some younger folks hold onto an image of elderly persons as being “confused”. It’s a sad truth, of course. Except when it’s funny.

I have a word of advice for those of my readers not yet there on the cusp of being elderly. Hang onto your sense of humor. You really will need it in the decades to come.

And one more suggestion, if I may. If you could plan to have a time-definite when you reduce the number of causes you’re willing to go to the mat for, that would be a help, too.

When we’re in our prime, we tend to be a bit full of ourselves. It’s a facet of human nature. We can feel varying degrees of pride that we’re “masters of our fate and captains of our souls”. But as we age, we begin to understand the truth. When we came into this life, we were masters of nothing. And as we become elderly, what mastery we think we have achieved in life begins, little by little, to eke away.

There are a lot of lessons I’ve learned over the years, and some of them, I am sorry to say, took too damn long for me to really learn. Some are still in progress. I suppose that’s why we humans, as opposed to dogs or cats tend to have somewhat longer lifespans, decades more, even. So that we have plenty of time to learn the lessons life has in store for us.

It’s mid July, and I must say that our gardens are looking quite healthy. The combination of heat and rain has done a good job so far. Many of our bean plants have budded, and we have some small green tomatoes already on the vine, and busy growing. I’ll venture out with my phone to take pictures as soon as the humidity drops a bit.

Did I mention that the street on which our house is located is about to be under construction? The main job the crews will be performing includes work to be done on the water and sewer systems. In the process, we will lose the sidewalk on this side of the street. We’ll have a curb, instead, which isn’t a bad thing—but I can’t tell you if, when all is said and done, the parking for our street, which for the last few years has been on this side only of the road, will remain as is or not. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

Impending construction means impending noise.  They’re supposed to take only 12 weeks, but really, why do they say that? Have you ever known a construction project to begin and end when “they” say it will? Me, neither.

I’ve already begun the long process of getting into the habit of parking my car in my newly returned driveway. While the street is being worked on, cars may not be parked there. But the noise is not something I can prepare for. I might be able to come up with a work-around, but it’s doubtful. I suspect that my brain will not be able to differentiate between the noise of construction and the noise of music from headphones, where my creative activity is concerned. My brain seems to spasm with whatever loud sounds—read barking dogs—that arise as I ply my trade at the keyboard.

Again, that’s just one more thing to file into the column of “wait and see”.

As I said, there are a lot of life’s lessons I took too long to learn, and some I’ve yet to absorb. But one I think I’ve pretty well nailed is this: I no longer sweat the small stuff. Yes, the causes I’m willing to go to the mat for really are few in number. And yes, sometimes that fact can annoy those nearest and dearest to me, but that’s all right, too.

Because I’m also in possession of an awesome sense of humor, and very good at laughing at myself, and the farce that day-to-day life can sometimes be.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Utter devastation...

 July 9, 2025

In the darkness the water rose, so fast and so deadly. A lethal combination of raging river fed by the torrential downpour of rain became a nightmare the likes of which no one ever could have anticipated. Through the darkness came agonizing cries for rescue, pleas for someone, anyone, to help. One could not see those who cried out in terror and desperation. Once could only hear them.

Then came the daylight. The waters stopped rising and began to recede, leaving in their wake utter devastation. So many people dead, and so many more people missing.

Texas is a beautiful state. We’ve been there more than to any other state in the U. S. My publisher is in Austin, and I have visited her there. We’ve stayed days and nights in Houston and Waco and Dallas and San Antonio. We have good friends in the San Antonio area, whom we have visited several times—once I traveled there on my own, to stay for an entire week, just myself and my friend and her family. One of only three trips I have taken on my own. During the times when David and I traveled there together, we enjoyed seeing as much of the area and meeting as many of the people as we could.

We’ve toured the Hill Country and seen those beautiful rivers up close. Visiting the towns, the history, and the countryside itself, remain such joyful memories for us both. The people we met were welcoming and gracious. Truly, as much as anywhere can be, that part of Texas is God’s country.

Those same good people are in shock today, the shock of having their lives suddenly destroyed. Some have lost every material thing they ever owned. Some are now homeless. And some are grieving the loss of their daughters and their sons, their grandchildren and their parents and their grandparents.

Loved ones who were there mere hours before are abruptly and horribly gone.

A few families have lost more than one child; and some survivors have lost their entire families.

The flooding that came on the very eve of Independence Day was a terrible, terrible thing. I’m an author, but I don’t have any words that can really make a difference at a time like this. I don’t honestly know if anyone does. You can’t make sense of it. You can only struggle to come to terms with the weight of it.

There are times we are left to bear burdens that seem utterly unbearable, and we wonder how in God’s name we can manage to do so.

But we can manage, in God’s name. And we do so one moment at a time.

Times are tough for everyone right now. Money isn’t everything, but money is necessary and certainly does help. Because money is needed to rebuild, to begin again, and to care for the thousands of needs both great and small in the aftermath of such unimaginable loss.

Times are tough for everyone right now, but here’s an amazing fact: if everyone gave whatever they could, even just five dollars, or three, or one, well that would add up to a whole lot of money.

If you don’t know to whom to give your five or three or one dollar, the American Red Cross is a trustworthy agent. And a little research with the help of your internet search engine will provide you with other worthy candidates for your donations.

There’s always a lot of derision in the aftermath of disasters directed toward the offering of “thoughts and prayers”. But I believe in them both. I believe that when you say or think positive things, that positivity is amplified. And as for prayers? Prayers, offered in good faith, and from the heart are the most powerful force known to humankind. Don’t shy away from using either of those precious tools as a response to this dire situation.

I hope, for a little while at least, we can let go of our tribalism and our animosities and offer whatever we can that is good and kind and loving to our fellow human beings whose hearts have been shattered. We can always—and likely will—go back to our petty sniping, later.

But for now, there are many who are wounded and in need of our care. Let that be our focus.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Melancholy and change...

 July 2, 2025

This first week of July is usually a very melancholy one for me. Yesterday was Canada Day and had also been my brother’s birthday. My senior by ten years, Charles used to tell me, when I was about five or so, that the reason for the parade in the city on July first was in honor of his birthday. Yesterday, he would have turned eighty-one.

Yes, I was always a gullible person. And yes, those who know me best are likely now mumbling, “was?”

The fifth of July had been my mother’s birthday. And then more than a full year after her passing, it became the birthday of my second son and middle child. Those of you familiar with my essays know that Anthony passed away in 2006 at the too-young age of twenty-nine.

So beginning yesterday and likely for the duration of this week, I’m emotionally iffy, and will probably be more than a little prone to becoming weepy….and that is okay.

 The ubiquitous “they” used to tell me to not be so emotional; to grow a thicker skin. But I’m going to be 71 this month. And I have come to the conclusion that the adult thing to do is to acknowledge one’s nature and to accept oneself for the person one is, warts and all. Where adjustments are necessary, they should be made. I have done so, and successfully, I might add. My first adjustment was to tell myself I need not give so much weight to the opinions of the “they” of this world, ubiquitous or otherwise.

My second and kinder-to-me adjustment has been to allow myself to occasionally occupy the pity pot—in privacy, of course—and then to flush it when I am done.

I did a thing, on Monday. Y’all have heard of “covid hair”? Well, that was what I had. Until yesterday.  I’ve been thinking about getting my hair cut for some time. My usual morning routine was just to gather it all up into a messy bun, secure it with my scrunchie of the day, and leave it at that.

Have I ever mentioned how grateful I am to whoever came up with that idea, the messy bun? I have no hairstyling talent whatsoever. None. But thanks to the invention of the messy bun, I’ve been able to master the gather and the capture via scrunchie of my way-too-long hair.

How long was my hair? Well, one of the other stylists at the salon yesterday came over and said, “I watched you take your scrunchie off, and I thought, it’s Rapunzel!”

Yes, some scraggly strands actually reached my elbows.

I had it in mind to maybe just get a little taken off. Maybe shoulder length, which was my daughter’s suggestion. I know she gave it because she assumed I loved my scrunchies, when in fact I only needed them.

But my left shoulder has been acting up for a couple of months now, and there have been days when putting my hair up and into that scrunchie was a level of painful I really didn’t want.

Also, I realized within the last couple of weeks that I have a lot of broken ends, split ends, and a kazillion hairs of varying but short lengths sticking out every-damn-where.

The only way for me to look well combed was to use a bit of water to slick down those short ones and then apply hairspray.

I want my hair to be healthier and there was only one course of action for me to take that would help that to happen.

I had to have it all chopped off.

This has turned out to be a huge a change, one that’s going to take a bit of time to get used to. I don’t believe I have ever had my hair quite this short.

But the good news—and I am so a fan of good news—was that yesterday a donation of hair was made by me. About sixteen or so inches of grey-brown, braided strands are on their way to help make wigs and hair pieces for cancer patients.

Of course, me being me, I never once thought to take a picture in commemoration of the moment.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

http://bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury

I'm a creature of habit....

June 25, 2025

I’m better at it than I used to be, but that’s not really saying much.

I used to make a self-deprecating joke, “I am a creature……of habit.” The pause was, of course the intended joke. But the base statement was truth. I am a creature of habit, and have been since—well, I don't recall when my routines and habits became so germane to my psyche, but it’s been a very long-standing state of being for me.

I realized, just this past Monday, that I’m slightly better at coping when I am aware ahead of time that there is a strong possibility, bordering on probability, that my daily routine might be disrupted. But only slightly better.

I received an email last week informing me of “work that would be taking place in my neighbourhood” that was intended to give me a “more efficient, more satisfying internet/television experience.” And that to that end, beginning Monday, this work would commence. This work would, of course, possibly cause a few minor, temporary, interruptions. And they apologized, in advance, of any inconvenience involved.

Then, on Sunday, I received a “robocall”, which I only answered because I recognized the number was that of my internet/television provider. The automated voice on this call reminded me that I could expect service interruptions the next day between 8 am and 4 pm. And that they were very sorry (again) for any inconvenience this might cause.

So, I was ready.

And I did all right on Monday morning when, at about 11 am, after I had completed most of my morning routine, the internet and television service, between one breath and the next, was no longer available.  I could still use my writing program. It was only the back-up service I couldn’t use and that would be temporary.

The services came back up for about a half hour, early afternoon. I used that time to go back to my acrostic puzzle site, reload the puzzle I had been working on, and complete it—earning a “very slow rating” but that’s better than an “incomplete” one. And, I did that just in time because I no sooner received the grade than my service was down once more.

Because I am one who tends to always take others—be they friends, strangers, or internet provider robocalls—at their word, I didn’t worry. After all, it would be 4pm in about an hour and a half. And that call specifically cited an 8 am to 4 pm window.

Well, 4 pm came and went. As did 4:30 and then 5. Still no service. So, I decided to call the internet provider. (This is where my ‘handling the change in routine ok’ began to break down.)

During the first call I placed, the automated system recognized me and offered me options. If I wanted more information about the current disruption in my area, I could select “1”.  I did. Then I was informed that I could easily get the latest info about service interruptions by going on line to “www.company name.com/service interruptions.”

Why, I thought, what a relief! I’ll do that right now! Oh, wait….I have no internet connection because it is currently disrupted.

I hung up, and then after stewing for a moment or two, tried again. The next option I chose was to receive a text to my cell phone detailing the information I sought (mobile devices were not affected by the interruptions). I opted for that. The text included a link that I could then not access because, hello, no internet was not available!

I knew that if I could just get in touch with an actual, live human being, I could ask a couple of questions and hopefully get some actual, live answers.

On my third attempt, I did indeed manage to do just that. After being on hold for about twenty minutes, I was put through to a real, live human being.

After he took my identifying information, he asked me to wait, and he would do a thorough search as to the current status of the work in progress and tell me everything.

And what he told me, while not what I expected to hear, surprisingly helped me to get over myself and decide I was just going to do what I could while I could do it, period.

The work, you see, was slated not just for that day—Monday, June 23. It was for a three-day span of time, beginning with Monday and scheduled to end on Wednesday, June 25^th at about 5 pm. (Or thereabouts.)

After another question—"since I’m to possibly be without my internet/tv for three whole days, I certainly hope I will see a credit for the time on my next bill”—the call ended and I was, well, maybe not happy, but definitely informed.

And since I did take note of the gentleman’s name with whom I spoke, I am equipped to chase down that credit for three days usage, should it not appear on the next bill.

If you’re able to read this today—Wednesday, June 25th—you’ll know I’m coping. Which is really all I, or anyone for that matter, can ask of themselves.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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