Choices...

 December 10, 2025

Forgiveness isn’t a gift that you give to others. Inasmuch as someone you forgive to their face may be surprised, or moved, or perhaps even eventually changed by the grace you display during the course of offering that forgiveness? Well, then that might turn out to have been a gift to them.

But in fact, even then, that gift isn’t given to them by you.

No, as in all other cases with forgiveness, that gift is given to them by themselves.

Forgiving others who have wronged us is a gift we give to ourselves. This kind of gift doesn’t come under the heading of “luxury item”. No, it’s a necessity of life, one vital to the maintenance of a healthy psyche, spirit and soul.

When you forgive someone for something they have done, for some hurt or injury that you suffered, that forgiveness is a blessing to yourself.

You lift the burden of that hurt from your soul. The negativity of that past injury no longer weighs you down. Your forgiveness of another mends your heart and restores your spirit. It even makes room for more love!

Unforgiveness, on the other hand, has nothing whatsoever to commend it.

All this I know from my own personal experience. I have lived a life of bitterness where I held closest to my heart all the horrible, bad things that had ever happened to me. And I have also (and am now) living a life of forgiveness and self-care.

Please believe me when I tell you the latter feels so very much better and lighter and happier than the former.

Christmas time is approaching. And while we call it the festive season it, like many occasions that are important to us, is far more complex than that.  We human beings are more complex than that.

Many people find Christmas very difficult. It’s difficult for the homeless, and for those who are alone in the world. It’s difficult for those whose means are spare. And it’s difficult for those who have lost loved ones—parents, children, grandchildren, life mates. Christmas is one of those occasions when the sorrow of lost loved ones seems to be the heaviest to bear.

Scripture tells us to be kind to one another. That simple message is one that doesn’t contravene any “ism” you may believe in. It should be the easiest of all concepts for humans to embrace. Despite recent examples to the contrary humans have a strong bent toward being kind, doing good, and lending a helping hand.

I truly believe there are more people in the world who would rather do good than there are those of ill will. It would be a lot easier for more people to know that as fact if the “rotters” out there weren’t so loud all the time. But it is what it is.

Being kind isn’t hard once you get the hang of it. It doesn’t have to cost money, though it can. It mostly, however, costs a thought to be so, and a moment to do so. But those two things are easily afforded by most everyone.

And here’s the best thing of all. In fact, it’s great news!

Being kind is a choice that anyone and everyone can make. It’s not hard. The only raw ingredient needed is the deliberate thought to choose to be kind. Period.

This is a busy time of year for so many people. But if we take a moment to simply open ourselves up to the desire to be kind, we’ll find something almost magical. Before we know it, there will be an actual opportunity to do so—by holding a door, or letting someone precede you in a check-out line, or even something as simple as offering a smile to let someone know it’s all going to be ok. Because it will, you know.

And that nice, warm, inner-peace-happy feeling that comes in the wake of that simple act of random kindness?

Well, that’s just one of the many cherries on top of life’s cake.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

December....

 December 3, 2025

Congratulations, you made it through to December! There was a time when my making such an announcement might qualify as pure silliness.

These days, not so much.

Many of us here in North America are about to experience the coldest temperatures of the year, to date. Yes, we’re entering into a period of what I call “the sub-zeros”. And before you ask if I mean Fahrenheit or Celsius, don’t. Because when it gets this cold, it doesn’t really matter the scale we use to measure. Teeth-chattering is teeth-chattering, in both of them.

Our latest grocery run saw us stocking up on a few “oven ready” freezer meals, some family sized and some individual. We don’t eat a lot of processed foods in this house. We just never have, really. When we do purchase some, we are careful to pick ones with the fewest unpronounceable additives.

In recent years, both David and I have found that on any given day, and at any given time, one of us might feel a bit chilly and in need of a hot meal. Now sometimes, I can whip that up without difficulty. But then, there are the other days when I simply can’t.

Before daughter and I headed out to get our groceries, David asked me to add one more item to the list: Red River Cereal.

For those who don’t know, it’s hot cereal—cracked wheat and rye and flax—mixed together that you then measure out, add water to along with the proverbial pinch of salt, and simmer until it reaches a state of “doneness”. It’s served usually with milk and a bit of sweetener, the same as those more common hot breakfast cereals: oatmeal, oat bran, cream of wheat, and cornmeal.

As a child I’d never been offered this particular porridge. It never graced my mother’s kitchen shelves. Once married, of course, we had it then because it was my husband’s favorite. I recall the first time I bought it and was getting ready to make it. I opened the box and poured out a cup of it. I stared down at the raw cereal for a long moment. Then I looked up at David and said, “I now understand the name.”

He asked me how so. And I told him that what I was looking at looked like what one might dredge from the bottom of the Red River.

Yes, friends, I have always been a smart ass. It truly is in my genes.

In fact, the cereal is named for The Red River of the North, that flows through Winnipeg Manitoba, which is where this cereal was first created in 1924.

I told David, of course, that I would be happy to add it to the list, but with a caveat. I didn’t know if I would find it as I hadn’t seen it in some time. However, while it wasn’t at the store where we get most of our groceries, it was at one of our alterative stores.

And now I’m shortly going to make a pot of this porridge up, as we are entering into those damned sub-zeroes—and because my husband asked me to.

And after that first pot, I will set about experimenting on how David can easily cook it for himself in the microwave. Yes, there are microwave directions on the package, but they didn’t look convenient.

By that I mean, and for example, experimentation with oatmeal showed me that three tablespoons of regular three-minute oatmeal (we don’t get the instant stuff because, well, processed) and a half cup of water, stirred together in a microwave safe cup requires one minute and four seconds on high in our microwave to render a cup of oatmeal ready for milk and sweetener.

It will likely take a few tries before I find just the right formula to produce a satisfactory cup of hot Red River cereal that David can make on his own.

But that is the very definition of time well spent.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

Freight trains and what ifs....

 November 26, 2025

Time, that erstwhile lazy creature of hot summer days, often seems like a freight train rushing to the station come the end of November, doesn’t it? That rush begins with Thanksgiving to be celebrated tomorrow by my American friends (ours was in October).

And what with the Macy’s parade earlier in the day Thursday and Black Friday beginning at the crack of dawn the day following it, the race is on toward Christmas.

Like I said, a freight train rushing to the station.

Different areas of North America are already reporting the end of autumn storms and the beginning of winter ones. On any given day watching the weather forecasts, one might encounter thunder, lightning and tornados, and then just a hundred or so miles away, heavy snow with whiteout conditions.

Last night, the outside temperature rose a few degrees to almost 50 Fahrenheit, and that’s always a blessing. This old house of ours has basically no insulation in the outside walls. There is some upstairs, because that was all renovated a few years ago. But downstairs, and in my office that has two outside walls, moving into winter means keeping a good blanket close and occasionally using my electric heater.

The cold seems colder these days, but I know that’s just a trick of my age and less than stellar circulation. I don’t personally see it being of any use for me to subject myself to the outside without a darn good reason. Therefore, I don’t. I’m happy to go out if I have an appointment, or if there are errands to be run. But come this time of year, I begin to layer when I dress for going outside. And if necessary, I simply accept the help of others to fetch what’s needed.

Our street has been absent of construction vehicles for the last week or more. And that’s good, I suppose, when one doesn’t consider that my curb has still not been set to rights. Neither has my walkway been restored.

They did dig it up some in the process of having to install a new water shut-off valve near to where my walkway was. I have been promised that all will be seen to. There was, however, no promise given as to when, exactly that would happen.

Now, my walkway extended from the bottom of my porch steps straight out to the sidewalk. There is, of course, no longer a sidewalk on this side of the street. However, we have a bit of lawn right next to the place where I stand once I am off the little staircase. And that lawn stretches to my next-door neighbour’s driveway. My neighbour who, fortunately has a drop curb and a bit of asphalt connecting her driveway to that drop curb.

While I couldn’t see a way for us to easily fix my own walkway (which really is for the landscapers contracted by the town to do as they tore it up), I could get someone to build a small safe path between my porch steps and the neighbour’s driveway.

This past weekend, one of my grandsons arrived to do just that.

My worry was that once the snow begins to fall, I can no longer keep my car in the small driveway off the cross street. That is a very steep hill, and the first road to be plowed in every snowfall, which means if my car is in the driveway when the plow passes—well, good luck digging it out. None of the three of us living in this house are truly capable of that. Plus, one needs to keep in mind the “what ifs” of life. What if one of us needs to have an emergency evacuation from the house, in the form of an ambulance? If I who am disabled cannot make it from house to our street, no one with a stretcher can make it from the street to our house to help us.

But I am pleased to report that my grandson was able to install the patio stones from our original walkway, on a bed that will work and is solid, so I am no longer feeling trapped. Nor do I have to worry about when the promised work will be completed.

I’m free to move and free from worry. I will, therefore, just set the entire unresolved situation on the back burner and get on with things. And if anyone reading this essay has just had one of those pesky little “what ifs” pop up into their thoughts, well, just let it go.

Because the answer is I still have all those emails between the town and myself—and I know where they work.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

Tough times...

 November 19, 2025

My mother was born between the Two Great Wars, in May of 1919. She was a girl of ten in 1929. Being a child of a that era, by the age of ten she knew how to work around the house, how to do some of the day-to-day jobs of living. Cooking and cleaning, and the mending and making of clothing would have been her afterschool lessons and activities. As a Canadian-born child of European born immigrant parents, and a child of the last century, she would have been expected to do “women’s work” and then eventually marry and become a wife.

But my mother also, with the full blessing of her parents, as a young woman of eighteen went away to the next city to attend nursing school. She became a registered nurse, and in fact met her future husband (my father) at the hospital where she trained at. He was a doorman there.

The lessons of living through a world-wide depression, which was then followed by the austerity years of the Second World War, ensured that her ways when it came to cooking and shopping were frugal indeed.

You can imagine that such a woman would raise her daughter to be frugal as well. She had three absolute rules when it came to grocery shopping and cooking. First, make a meal plan for the period of time for which you’re shopping, and based on the available funds. Second, make a list of the items you need to purchase, based on the available funds. And third, never shop on an empty stomach.

As an aside: that last is the most important rule of all. You need only break it once to find out just how important a rule it is.

I lived by those rules too, and for the most part, I still do. They have served me well. We weren’t raising our children during a depression or a global war, but we had three of them, and somewhat spare means. We got through it all, and I have always believed that if one can successfully navigate tough economic times, one will never truly be frantic during such times again.

Our dollars have shrunk, our expenses have grown, and we here in the Ashbury household have tightened our belts accordingly.

I still know how to stretch a grocery dollar. I have no qualms dropping “luxuries” from our shopping list. Chips, desserts, and other little extras are nice, but not necessary. It is important to treat oneself, but this can be done simply and frugally when necessary. The secret is to plan for it all.

There are three adults to feed in this house, and we manage to keep sufficient stock on hand, because I never really strayed from my core practices. If I see a cut of meat on sale, i.e., 25% off, I buy it and freeze it as soon as I get home. We now have a vacuum sealer, and what a money saving device that is!

Sale items are only sale items if they are items that you would normally buy.

Reducing portions in recipes that call for meat is another trick easily done. Instead of spaghetti and meatballs, one can have spaghetti and meat sauce. To make enough meatballs for three, for example, one might need a pound of hamburger. Spaghetti with meat added to your sauce, instead? A third of a pound of meat is plenty. Making beef stew? Use a half pound instead of a pound and add extra veggies. Not only money saving, but healthier!

When making scrambled eggs for yourself, instead of two eggs, use one with a bit of milk mixed in. Growing up, we used evaporated milk in our coffee as it was far less dear than using real cream for that, and the evap did well in the eggs, too.

If you have access to the internet there are a lot of places there to find hints and tips and hacks that will save you money. You need only to look and then apply.

There is one more thing that my parents had to their credit that helped them weather the tough and sometimes uncertain financial times, and it is probably the most important asset of all.

They had a can-do attitude. They believed that if they worked hard enough and smart enough, that there was nothing at all on God’s green earth they could not accomplish. And that, my friends, is my most important tip to you as well.

Too many people these days seem to be allergic to hard work. Just because something is hard to accomplish is no reason to quit. Nothing good comes easy, and not much in this life is free, or guaranteed.

Make a plan. Learn to adapt when necessary. And expect to have to try and try again until success is yours. There are benefits to accomplishing something against all odds, and those benefits cannot be purchased for any amount of money.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Snow and asphalt...

 November 12, 2025

Was I at all surprised to awaken this past Sunday morning to find a lot of white stuff in the back yard and clinging to the cedar trees? No, I most certainly was not. Was I happy about it?

No, I most certainly was not.

Two days before, on Friday, the road construction crew had begun to lay the asphalt. Having lived in this town for many years now, I can tell you that they appear to have what one might call an asphalt protocol. They lay a coat of asphalt on the newly prepared roadway, and it’s definitely an improvement over the dirt and gravel soup that had been there for the last few months.

And then, come the next spring, they will lay a new layer of asphalt over the one that weathered through winter, and that coat will be pretty and smooth, and maybe even all painted with lines and such. Now the more curious among you might ask, “Morgan, are you sure that’s a protocol and not just perennial poor timing?”

No, I am not sure, not one bit. But I don’t waste time thinking about it overmuch. I just figure that there are some questions one encounters in life to which the answer is simply unknowable by us mere humans.

 While I wasn’t unhappy with the arrival of the cold weather a couple weeks back, seeing nearly six inches of snow on the ground by the end of Sunday was another matter entirely. The asphalt is down, as I said, and the road is drivable. However, the road crew had a small “oops” and so the project manager informed us, just last Thursday, that they would fix that “oops” before the snow flies.

He seemed a fairly smart fellow and I don’t think I will bother to point out to him that the snow did indeed fly before that “minor” fix could be accomplished.

The problem? The project manager had informed the crew to install a drop curb in front of my walkway (as they do for driveways), so that I would have access to the street, and this they did not do.

I can’t decide if it’s just unfortunate or if it’s punishment for that crew, that when the new curb was examined they discovered that it had been laid more than little off, and so they are now going to have to not just cut out the curb in front of my walkway, but from the walkway to the corner—where that curb curls around the corner all wrong and crooked-like.

My husband is very unhappy about the situation. He’s become a bit more of a crabby Appleton these last several months. I completely understand. There’s something about making the change from being an able-bodied member of society to one who can’t do much of anything at all that is certain to sour anyone’s disposition.

Maybe my attitude toward this minor hiccup is different because of my having had to live with adjusting beyond the “able bodied” category for a few decades, now. I look at the situation, and I understand that the curb must be fixed, period.

I also know I’ve done my part. I attended the public meeting back in March and I met the project manager at that time. I was concerned when I learned that when the road was done, there would only be one sidewalk – and it wouldn’t be on our side of the street. I explained to him that I was disabled and concerned that I wouldn’t be able to safely step over the curb to the street. The gentleman was very kind and said that if I would send him photos of my walkway as it was at the time, then he would ensure that I would have access. In May we learned that the project would begin mid-to-end of July. Mid July, I sent the gentleman an email, with the pictures I had taken as an attachment.

He responded to my email, thanking me for sending what he had requested, and told me that once the work was underway, he would meet with me and show me what they had in mind.

When I saw the curb had been laid, and there was no “drop curb”, I contacted his office. The manager was unavailable, but I spoke with the department’s engineer. She acknowledged that they were aware that there had been a failure of communication, and the situation would be resolved.

Then last week, I saw the manager and the engineer outside my office window, looking at that failure in real time, and I made my way outside. He then told me that as well as putting in my drop curb, an entire chunk of the curb had to be replaced as it was off spec. He said that it would be done at the soonest possible moment. And yes, he said “before the snow flies”, and now we have snow.

As far as I am concerned, I’ve done almost all of my part. It only remains for me to be patient and let them do theirs.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

The state of the noodle...

 November 5, 2025

I play Wordle every day—the one that is offered by the New York Times. I began to play it a few years ago. I can’t tell you how many years ago that was, but let’s just say I came in a little late to the game. I had put off playing when I first heard about it because, although I am a published author, I really didn’t feel that my vocabulary was good enough. It is, of course, better than some. But not nearly what I would consider top tier.

That said, I am a thinking woman. And as a thinking woman, and after playing for some time, I thought, well, let’s just see what we’re actually doing, here. I wondered if Wordle would repeat words. I asked, and the answer was (and is) not as yet. Eventually they will because there are only so many five letter words in American English. The current estimate is that repetition will begin around 2027. I had, by the way, begun keeping track on one of my spreadsheets of each day’s Wordle word – but I began that practice about a year after I began to play.

I also noticed that while there are some plurals acceptable, after inquiring, I discovered that currently, they will not use obvious plurals for three- and four-letter words. Which is to say, no five letter words that end in “s” or “es.”

Then I thought about my perceptions as to the state of my vocabulary. And I asked myself what do I do when I’m writing and I need a word I can’t think of? Where do I go to look? Pre-internet the answer was either a thesaurus or a dictionary. These days? I simply ask an online search engine.

But this time, rather than searching for a single word, I instead searched for how to find a word. I discovered several sites that are designed to find specific words for you: and your search parameters include the length of the word (Wordle has 5) and letters it must have, and letters that are “forbidden”.

And that, my friends, is how I Wordle. I’m also anal, so that means I begin with the same two words every single day…unless my first word renders me at least 3 letters in the right spot—or if, say, more than three of my letters were signified as eligible but not in the right spot. And I don’t mind sharing; my first two words are “adieu” and “storm”.

Now, I have had some glitches in that when I first began to play, I just played. I didn’t have an account, didn’t have to sign in, but guess what? I could only play on my PC! So if I was away but had my laptop, I couldn’t play. And then I got a new computer, and all of my stats went away. That happened twice, and after the second time, which was when I got this computer I now have, I smartened up and got an actual account. It doesn’t cost much, and I consider it money well spent, because however I come to the Wordle word of the day, I must use my noodle to do so.

At this point in my life more than ever, I put great stock in having a working noodle.

To me, that’s the whole point of the game. You don’t necessarily have to have a vast vocabulary to play Wordle, you just need a working brain. As with any challenge we humans face, we need to be able to adapt our thinking and figure out ways to accomplish the goal at hand.

My goal is doing what I can to keep this brain of mine working. I’m not interested in beating anyone in Wordle. In fact, when I get the word in three or fewer tries, I consider it P.S.L. (hint: the first word is pure, and the last word is luck).

The other thing I do daily is I play an acrostic puzzle or two. An acrostic is a combination of a crossword puzzle and a cryptogram. It has two parts, the crossword grid, in which each square has a number and a letter, and when complete will be filled, not with intersecting words, but with a quote. The second part is the list of “clues” in which each letter of the clue’s answer has a number beneath it. And rather than the clues being numbered or listed as “across” and “down” they are assigned a letter of the alphabet. So, you have clues A, B, C, etc. and the grid above them within which, as you proceed, words will begin to form. Your progress accelerates when you work back and forth, filling in words in the grid, and seeing letters appear in the clues. I like the online versions of these games I used to play in puzzle books, because when you place a letter in a clue, it appears in the grid—and vice versa. And as an added “clue” beneath the grid there often will be a “key” to the quote– either the author’s name, title of the work, or both.

There are free acrostic puzzles online that you can use. You can also choose the “premium” edition of a game site and have no ads on your screen. But I’m frugal, and I consider the ability to “not see” ads on my computer screen as I work to be a great skill to hone.

There’s a popular saying, that you’re only as old as you feel. Now, I could argue that in one way, I am very old, if the state of my body is to be the measure. However, there is nothing beyond what I already do from day to day that can mitigate my physical circumstances. Instead, I have chosen as my yardstick to measure how old I feel, my ability to use this noodle of mine.

Today I can report that while I will search for a word here or there, and forget a name, for the most part there is nothing wrong with my reasoning processes.

Change is going to happen because that is how life is. I can accept what comes next as long as I feel I’m doing my part to keep my mind active.

I hope y’all feel the same way, yourselves.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

A bit off the path...

 October 29, 2025

Halloween is just a couple of nights away. This will be the first time ever that we are not planning to distribute candy. Our street is still under construction, and the “walkway” we have from the street to the porch steps, at this point, just isn’t safe. We doubt that there will be many little ones out on this road this time, so we decided not to bother.

I don’t for one moment suppose the little ones in this town are going to miss our contribution to the surfeit of sweets they are about to amass.

It’s gotten quite chilly over the last week, and I’m not upset in the least. I don’t have to go outside unless I want to, and that is a blessing. My days of driving on icy, foggy, or icy and foggy roads are over. I no longer even consider that scraping off a snow- and ice-covered car is something that would be on my daily bingo card. Not to say none of those things will never happen again, because, well, never say never. But I think I am safe in saying that those things which I did aplenty in years past are very unlikely to ever come up again.

Not exactly crying about that.

One interesting thing happened to me over the last week. I’m fine, no broken bones or sprains or even any bruises, but I did take a tumble outside. I was on my way to the car and can tell you I am not exactly sure how it happened, but my foot encountered something, and I went down. Completely my fault, as I really wasn’t one hundred percent focused on the job of walking from my back yard gate to my car.

I can tell you that falling down is the easiest damn thing to do. Getting up again? Not so much. I tried a couple of times, but there was nothing for me to hold onto, and on one attempt I over balanced and scraped my forehead on the concrete path. Of course, I prayed for help, and within just a couple minutes of that scrape, my daughter arrived home. I hadn’t been expecting her until much later, but there she was, and trained as she is, she got me up.

So one fall, resulting in my forehead and my ego slightly scraped, but I can take it.

Fortunately, I don’t have brittle bones(yet), and I came down on somewhat wet, soggy, and therefore not unforgiving ground.

The incident was a good reminder that I need to focus at all times on the movements I am making. Of course, my family was a bit concerned, and I won’t lie to you. I was very stiff and sore the next couple of days, mostly from using my knees in my few attempts and final success in getting back up. And I was disappointed because I was going to attend a very special event on Sunday, but I really couldn’t.

So here I am, 5 days on and none the worse for wear. Some of the forehead scrape has healed, but not all of it.

There was a suggestion made by a dear loved one to the affect that I should not go anywhere at anytime alone ever again. But I chalked that up to the anxiety of the moment.

When those we love get hurt, even if it’s just a small hurt, our instinct is to wrap them up and set them on a shelf so that they will never get hurt again. That’s a fine instinct.

However, in reality life demands that we live in such a way that getting a little banged up is to some extent par for the course. I’ve had arthritis for more than thirty years, and it has changed a bit in that time, but there is no cure, and it will only, over time, get worse.

I used to tell the folks I’d meet at the different conventions and book signing events I attended that while eventually I might end up in a wheelchair, I wasn’t worried. I can already chair dance like nobody’s business; and if I can no longer use my legs and feet to get around, at least I would be able to finally get myself a pair of kick-ass shoes with those spiky heels—or a pair of shiny boots with laces up the yin-yang.

 Because if I’m unable to walk, well, at least I intend to be damned stylish while I ride.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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