April 29, 2020
David and I have made a decision, and I have to tell you, the next couple of months are going to be interesting.
You may recall that a few years ago we were weighing our options, with respect to our back yard. Do we install a pool? We decided against that in the end, because it would really limit the back yard space that was available for our Mr. Tuffy. There is not much flat yard between our back door and the hill as it is. He was a small dog and my, did he ever love running laps! His son and daughter love doing that as much as he did. They also like to dig holes that David keeps filling in, but that’s another story.
So at that time, we installed a “gazebo”, a metal frame and canvas one, and we enjoyed that for several years. We even replaced the original gazebo with a slightly bigger one.
Now, however, we’re at a new decision point for our back yard. Do we replace the second gazebo with a third, or do something different?
Yes, it’s something different we’ve decided upon, and something that has been inspired by the times we are in.
When we were a young married couple, and in the aftermath of my mother’s death, we moved into her house, which came with a piece of property that was three-quarters of an acre in size. My mother’s property featured five flower beds in the front yard, and one really large vegetable garden in the back yard.
How large, you may ask? Large enough that every spring, we had a neighbor who was a farmer come on his tractor to plow and then a few days later disc the garden so that it was ready for us to plant. That house sat on land that was atop the Niagara Escarpment. It was a heavy limestone area, and the topsoil layer wasn’t all that deep. We even had a limestone quarry (yes, the quarry where David worked for 39 ½ years) as one of our “neighbors”.
We used joke that each year that garden yielded us a good crop of rocks. It really wasn’t a joke, as it did just that. Working that thing we were forever tossing rocks out to sit at the base of the fence. But we did grow more than rocks. We had green and yellow beans, green peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes, potatoes, different types of squash, radishes, Swiss chard, carrots, corn…the only things David and I never grew were lettuce and cauliflower.
We loved that garden, and it helped to feed our family. We made pickles and relish from the cucumbers each year, chili sauce from the tomatoes—plus we froze a lot of tomatoes, whole, and used them to make sauces. We froze beans and broccoli and anything else we could manage.
And oh, the luxury of walking down to the garden to pick a tomato for a sandwich at lunch time—or some beans for supper! Each August while we had that garden we would enjoy a harvest meal—a supper that was all fresh picked or dug up veggies, and my goodness, how tasty that was!
We’re a lot older now, the two of us, and no longer able to get down to weed and work a garden the way we used to. And that brings us to the decision we’ve made. We’ve found “specs” to build garden boxes—boxes that will be about waist height and will measure, box size, two foot by four foot. The plan at the moment is to build three of them and put them where the gazebo used to be.
We’ve been trying to decide what veggies we’ll grow. Beans and tomatoes, for certain. If we have an entire box with beans, that should yield us enough to freeze at least a few. We won’t have the abundance that our old garden gave us, of course. I think the real benefit will be more psychological than anything else.
The latest headlines are that the food supply chain may be breaking. None of us has any idea how long it will take for it to be fixed. In the interim, none of us wants to go hungry. We’re older now and can’t do much about that. We have been picking up a few extra cans of veggies and meat as we shop. Canned goods will last a good couple of years. So that’s one thing we’re doing to protect ourselves.
By building and then cultivating a few table gardens we’ll not only be providing ourselves with some food. We’ll be doing something that will make us feel that we have some measure of control over the circumstances in which we find ourselves.
A little bit of control can go a long way toward soothing the id, if not the ego.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, April 29, 2020
Wednesday, April 22, 2020
April 22, 2020
It’s hard not to think about what’s happening in the world, isn’t it? David and I watch a fair bit of news, and sometimes I have to reach for a tissue. We are both well, and safe. It’s been more than a month since I left the house, and I’m okay with that. When I think of what so many are dealing with, how could I complain about staying home?
And while I believe that it might be healthier in the long run for me to perhaps curtail some of the news reports I’m watching, I feel like doing so would be a kind of betrayal. People are suffering, and I’m not. The least I can do is bear witness.
So I watch, and sometimes I weep. I weep for so many people, so very many people who are sick with a disease we’d none of us ever heard of before. I weep that too many of them are dying and too many more will die.
This is such a devastating virus.
I chatted online about a week or so ago with a woman I’ve been friends with since grade school. I sent her a note, just checking up to see how she was doing. She lives in another province, one that doesn’t have near as many cases of Covid-19 as my own province does.
She said, “never did I ever think that I would see something like this in my lifetime.” I understood, because I’d felt the same way. And then she said that it made her appreciate how lucky we are to not have had to deal with this earlier in life. She asked if I could imagine having to do this when we were in our teens or our twenties.
I really hadn’t thought about that before, but her words stayed with me. She’s my age and that wasn’t a sentiment one might expect from a senior, but I get it, and I know she was thinking on more than one level.
We are lucky to have lived so many years of our lives without ever having such a threat hanging over our heads. Our “prime of life” years were lived without any real way-of-life changing events touching us personally when we had so much of our lives ahead of us. We are lucky because we didn’t have to be the parents of a young child or children and dealing with this kind of a threat. To be fearful for your babies’ safety is the hell that parents endure regardless. How much worse would it have been for us, and our babies, facing this?
Well, I guess I should qualify that and say my first baby is 48 now and I still worry about him, so there it is.
As for quarantining with kids? I don’t know how I would have fared with all of us at home, together, without the option of being apart except for bedtime. And much as I love my kids, they could be a challenge, let me tell you. I doubt any of us would have escaped with our sanity still intact.
But as I think of it, I know that I feel lucky in another way right now. Being older means I have, at least theoretically, more patience. Yes, this is a trying time, but being bored was never one of my afflictions. I’ve always been able to find something to do. And that theoretical patience means that I understand that if we stay at home and do what the medical experts are urging, we’ll get through this.
I choose to believe that. We will get through this, together.
In the meantime, my heart aches and I weep for those people who die without their loved ones by their sides—and those who have to watch their loved ones die from a distance. My heart aches and I weep hearing the pain-filled video diaries of so many front-line medical personnel who have found themselves in the position of being soldiers in a war. Women and men who fight like hell to save people and sometimes end up in those end-of-life moments. Women and men who are either holding hands or holding iPads, or both for their patients who are at those end of life moments.
This is such a devastating virus. We will get through it, and it will change us. It has changed us. Life, as we knew it is no more.
And while I’m patient enough to stay home until the threat subsides, I don’t know if I’m patient enough to accept whatever the hell kind of new “normal” we will eventually end up with.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
It’s hard not to think about what’s happening in the world, isn’t it? David and I watch a fair bit of news, and sometimes I have to reach for a tissue. We are both well, and safe. It’s been more than a month since I left the house, and I’m okay with that. When I think of what so many are dealing with, how could I complain about staying home?
And while I believe that it might be healthier in the long run for me to perhaps curtail some of the news reports I’m watching, I feel like doing so would be a kind of betrayal. People are suffering, and I’m not. The least I can do is bear witness.
So I watch, and sometimes I weep. I weep for so many people, so very many people who are sick with a disease we’d none of us ever heard of before. I weep that too many of them are dying and too many more will die.
This is such a devastating virus.
I chatted online about a week or so ago with a woman I’ve been friends with since grade school. I sent her a note, just checking up to see how she was doing. She lives in another province, one that doesn’t have near as many cases of Covid-19 as my own province does.
She said, “never did I ever think that I would see something like this in my lifetime.” I understood, because I’d felt the same way. And then she said that it made her appreciate how lucky we are to not have had to deal with this earlier in life. She asked if I could imagine having to do this when we were in our teens or our twenties.
I really hadn’t thought about that before, but her words stayed with me. She’s my age and that wasn’t a sentiment one might expect from a senior, but I get it, and I know she was thinking on more than one level.
We are lucky to have lived so many years of our lives without ever having such a threat hanging over our heads. Our “prime of life” years were lived without any real way-of-life changing events touching us personally when we had so much of our lives ahead of us. We are lucky because we didn’t have to be the parents of a young child or children and dealing with this kind of a threat. To be fearful for your babies’ safety is the hell that parents endure regardless. How much worse would it have been for us, and our babies, facing this?
Well, I guess I should qualify that and say my first baby is 48 now and I still worry about him, so there it is.
As for quarantining with kids? I don’t know how I would have fared with all of us at home, together, without the option of being apart except for bedtime. And much as I love my kids, they could be a challenge, let me tell you. I doubt any of us would have escaped with our sanity still intact.
But as I think of it, I know that I feel lucky in another way right now. Being older means I have, at least theoretically, more patience. Yes, this is a trying time, but being bored was never one of my afflictions. I’ve always been able to find something to do. And that theoretical patience means that I understand that if we stay at home and do what the medical experts are urging, we’ll get through this.
I choose to believe that. We will get through this, together.
In the meantime, my heart aches and I weep for those people who die without their loved ones by their sides—and those who have to watch their loved ones die from a distance. My heart aches and I weep hearing the pain-filled video diaries of so many front-line medical personnel who have found themselves in the position of being soldiers in a war. Women and men who fight like hell to save people and sometimes end up in those end-of-life moments. Women and men who are either holding hands or holding iPads, or both for their patients who are at those end of life moments.
This is such a devastating virus. We will get through it, and it will change us. It has changed us. Life, as we knew it is no more.
And while I’m patient enough to stay home until the threat subsides, I don’t know if I’m patient enough to accept whatever the hell kind of new “normal” we will eventually end up with.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, April 15, 2020
April 15, 2020
I hope, as much as possible, that you all had a good Easter.
Here in the Ashbury household, we managed a feast, of sorts. My daughter does all the shopping now, and she was able to get a bone-in-ham during her last trip out. She also picked up a few yams, because in our family you really can’t have the ham without the yam. I had wanted Brussels sprouts too, because that is one veggie the entire family likes. I did have some frozen ones and decided they would do, so I called the planning done.
Until Saturday, when our second daughter texted and asked if I needed anything at the grocery store, since she was going to get her groceries. I thanked her, and she dropped off those fresh sprouts a couple of hours later.
Anymore when we get one of those bone-in-hams, we don’t put the whole thing in the oven. First, when you purchase a large ham, the kind of which they have at our grocery store, it’s already cooked. Now there is usually more meat on one of those things than we can eat in one sitting, so we cut the whole thing up on the day we plan to have the main meal. I place the pieces we want to heat for supper in a casserole dish. We set aside some to fry up for a breakfast in the week to come, and then we designate a good portion for what the family has dubbed “ham and pickle”.
It's not really a salad, though I have seen something similar sold at the market under the name of “meat salad”. Our variation is cubed ham and enough pieces of sweet mixed pickles for accented flavor (I use the green pickles and never the cauliflower). They go into the food chopper and come out…chopped. Putting them in a bowl, I stir to make sure the pickle bits are mixed evenly then add some mayonnaise, and mix that in as well and presto, you have a meat spread for sandwiches. You can use those small dinner hams, too, but it doesn’t taste quite as good as it does when I use the bone-in ham.
We have a bowl of that in the fridge right now, and I know it won’t last long. The rest of that ham, except for 2 pieces my daughter hid away to fry up for breakfast one day this week, is a fond memory. It fed the three of us, as well as our second daughter and her son who is our grandson.
Again, we did the social distancing “pass of the ready to heat and eat food” from us to her. That way we can talk face to face for a few moments even if we can’t hug.
I was trying to figure out how long David and I have been “staying at home”. I think that by the time the Premier of our province instituted a state of emergency proclamation (closing all non-essential businesses) on March 17th, we’d given up going to the grocery store. Our pharmacy delivers, so that covers just about everything except the doctor. My next appointment is early May. When that week arrives, I’ll go to the lab on Monday and the doctor on Thursday and that will be my first excursions since the second week of March.
As of today, we’ve been home for 29 days. The Premier is asking the legislature to extend the emergency proclamation another 28 days, to June 2. Here in Ontario, there is no official “stay at home” order, although the Premier has the legal authority to issue one. He’s reluctant, he says, because it feels heavy handed. He is threatening fines for those who insist on trying to congregate in the area’s parks. We’ll see how it goes but I’m with him: I don’t understand what people aren’t getting about this situation, either. You can have the virus and suffer no symptoms whatsoever, but you can spread it to me, who will. Seems easy enough. Stay home.
We feel very lucky, David and I. Despite our being seniors and being considered to be among the “most vulnerable” for this disease, staying home hasn’t been especially hard for us. As you grow older you understand that while you may not have any control over the events that happen around you or even to you, you have complete control over the way you react to those events.
I know that how I react to what happens to me, and to life in general, is my choice, my decision. I can’t rightly complain about having to “stay home”. It would be beyond silly for me to complain about not being able to go out anywhere when I really didn’t care to do so very much before Covid-19, anyway.
I do miss hugging my loved ones, but I will hug them again. I think of a couple of friends whose oldest son and his family lived in Dubai for several years. It was a long time between hugs for them and that for them was normal.
I keep in touch with our son and his family via text. One of our nephews and his wife sent us a delightful “snap chat” Happy Easter message and that made us smile. I routinely text my grandchildren and their spouses, just to check in.
Most of us have wonderful technology at our fingertips in this day and age. So please, don’t complain about not being able to do the things you want to do with your loved ones. Stay in touch and up to date with them using the tools you have. Let them know you love them.
And stay at home now so that y’all will be alive later to have yourselves a huge hug fest.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
I hope, as much as possible, that you all had a good Easter.
Here in the Ashbury household, we managed a feast, of sorts. My daughter does all the shopping now, and she was able to get a bone-in-ham during her last trip out. She also picked up a few yams, because in our family you really can’t have the ham without the yam. I had wanted Brussels sprouts too, because that is one veggie the entire family likes. I did have some frozen ones and decided they would do, so I called the planning done.
Until Saturday, when our second daughter texted and asked if I needed anything at the grocery store, since she was going to get her groceries. I thanked her, and she dropped off those fresh sprouts a couple of hours later.
Anymore when we get one of those bone-in-hams, we don’t put the whole thing in the oven. First, when you purchase a large ham, the kind of which they have at our grocery store, it’s already cooked. Now there is usually more meat on one of those things than we can eat in one sitting, so we cut the whole thing up on the day we plan to have the main meal. I place the pieces we want to heat for supper in a casserole dish. We set aside some to fry up for a breakfast in the week to come, and then we designate a good portion for what the family has dubbed “ham and pickle”.
It's not really a salad, though I have seen something similar sold at the market under the name of “meat salad”. Our variation is cubed ham and enough pieces of sweet mixed pickles for accented flavor (I use the green pickles and never the cauliflower). They go into the food chopper and come out…chopped. Putting them in a bowl, I stir to make sure the pickle bits are mixed evenly then add some mayonnaise, and mix that in as well and presto, you have a meat spread for sandwiches. You can use those small dinner hams, too, but it doesn’t taste quite as good as it does when I use the bone-in ham.
We have a bowl of that in the fridge right now, and I know it won’t last long. The rest of that ham, except for 2 pieces my daughter hid away to fry up for breakfast one day this week, is a fond memory. It fed the three of us, as well as our second daughter and her son who is our grandson.
Again, we did the social distancing “pass of the ready to heat and eat food” from us to her. That way we can talk face to face for a few moments even if we can’t hug.
I was trying to figure out how long David and I have been “staying at home”. I think that by the time the Premier of our province instituted a state of emergency proclamation (closing all non-essential businesses) on March 17th, we’d given up going to the grocery store. Our pharmacy delivers, so that covers just about everything except the doctor. My next appointment is early May. When that week arrives, I’ll go to the lab on Monday and the doctor on Thursday and that will be my first excursions since the second week of March.
As of today, we’ve been home for 29 days. The Premier is asking the legislature to extend the emergency proclamation another 28 days, to June 2. Here in Ontario, there is no official “stay at home” order, although the Premier has the legal authority to issue one. He’s reluctant, he says, because it feels heavy handed. He is threatening fines for those who insist on trying to congregate in the area’s parks. We’ll see how it goes but I’m with him: I don’t understand what people aren’t getting about this situation, either. You can have the virus and suffer no symptoms whatsoever, but you can spread it to me, who will. Seems easy enough. Stay home.
We feel very lucky, David and I. Despite our being seniors and being considered to be among the “most vulnerable” for this disease, staying home hasn’t been especially hard for us. As you grow older you understand that while you may not have any control over the events that happen around you or even to you, you have complete control over the way you react to those events.
I know that how I react to what happens to me, and to life in general, is my choice, my decision. I can’t rightly complain about having to “stay home”. It would be beyond silly for me to complain about not being able to go out anywhere when I really didn’t care to do so very much before Covid-19, anyway.
I do miss hugging my loved ones, but I will hug them again. I think of a couple of friends whose oldest son and his family lived in Dubai for several years. It was a long time between hugs for them and that for them was normal.
I keep in touch with our son and his family via text. One of our nephews and his wife sent us a delightful “snap chat” Happy Easter message and that made us smile. I routinely text my grandchildren and their spouses, just to check in.
Most of us have wonderful technology at our fingertips in this day and age. So please, don’t complain about not being able to do the things you want to do with your loved ones. Stay in touch and up to date with them using the tools you have. Let them know you love them.
And stay at home now so that y’all will be alive later to have yourselves a huge hug fest.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, April 8, 2020
April 8, 2020
For as long as I can remember, spring has been my absolute favorite season. It’s the season of fresh air, sunshine, and sprouting buds. Since we are now in April, I can declare with some confidence, that winter is indeed over. There will be no more winter snowstorms for the next several months—not until October and the new winter season comes upon us.
If we do get a snowstorm, it will, of course, be a spring snowstorm.
This past weekend, the weather was mild enough outside to have the doors of our house open. On Saturday, for part of the day, we had both the front and the back door propped wide, encouraging the fresh air to enter and replace the stale In the late afternoon, it was just the back door that was propped. Our daughter fired up the grill—what we here in Canada call the barbeque—and she grilled some hamburgers (and yes, we do tend to say barbequing up here). I had made a potato salad earlier that day, and that, with the burgers, was our supper.
Sitting at my desk that afternoon, working when she opened the door, I found myself relaxing to the fabulous sound of birdsong. I’m horrible when it comes to knowing the names of the birds who make those awesome sounds. This song sounded like “cheery cheery, cheery”, and the feathered one sang it allegro, and in stanzas of five.
I used to love being up before the dawn during this time of year. Just a few minutes before sunrise, the birds would begin to sing—more than one type of bird, and from points on every side of the house. When the birds began their symphony, I knew to look to the east because the sun would soon appear.
I’ve been doing a bit more surfing on the web lately than is probably good for me. Doing so allows me to be distracted. There’s no pattern, either, to what I’ll spend my time on. One day last week I found myself watching the speech given by the Prince of Wales after his recovery and release from official isolation. He’d contracted Covid 19 but was on the mend. It wasn’t a very long speech, but it was well thought, and well delivered. The line that stood out for me was near the end, and as follows: “None of us can say when this will end but end it will.”
I suppose why that touched me so profoundly was because it was such a hopeful line. One of the talking heads last week, and no, I don’t recall which one, was mentioning that this virus could be with us for years. That it would leave us for a spell, but come back, and ravage us again…and again and again.
Maybe it will. Maybe this virus will be cyclical until a vaccine is found. But what an awful thought. I applaud the need for transparency; I understand that as an adult, I must be aware of the range of possible outcomes. But there comes a bloody point when those who are constantly adulting just need a flipping break!
So I am going to take that break here and now for all of us. In the words of HRH, “Until it does [end], let us try and live with hope and, with faith in ourselves and each other, look forward to better times to come.” And his mother, as one would expect, a few days later put it even better, more rhythmically, and more succinctly. On Sunday, Her Majesty ended her brief speech with this: “…better days will return; we will be with our friends again; we will be with our families again; we will meet again.”
Those are the best words I’ve heard in quite some time. And I just looked out my bedroom window. The side yard needs raking, but the first daffodil is about to bloom!
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
For as long as I can remember, spring has been my absolute favorite season. It’s the season of fresh air, sunshine, and sprouting buds. Since we are now in April, I can declare with some confidence, that winter is indeed over. There will be no more winter snowstorms for the next several months—not until October and the new winter season comes upon us.
If we do get a snowstorm, it will, of course, be a spring snowstorm.
This past weekend, the weather was mild enough outside to have the doors of our house open. On Saturday, for part of the day, we had both the front and the back door propped wide, encouraging the fresh air to enter and replace the stale In the late afternoon, it was just the back door that was propped. Our daughter fired up the grill—what we here in Canada call the barbeque—and she grilled some hamburgers (and yes, we do tend to say barbequing up here). I had made a potato salad earlier that day, and that, with the burgers, was our supper.
Sitting at my desk that afternoon, working when she opened the door, I found myself relaxing to the fabulous sound of birdsong. I’m horrible when it comes to knowing the names of the birds who make those awesome sounds. This song sounded like “cheery cheery, cheery”, and the feathered one sang it allegro, and in stanzas of five.
I used to love being up before the dawn during this time of year. Just a few minutes before sunrise, the birds would begin to sing—more than one type of bird, and from points on every side of the house. When the birds began their symphony, I knew to look to the east because the sun would soon appear.
I’ve been doing a bit more surfing on the web lately than is probably good for me. Doing so allows me to be distracted. There’s no pattern, either, to what I’ll spend my time on. One day last week I found myself watching the speech given by the Prince of Wales after his recovery and release from official isolation. He’d contracted Covid 19 but was on the mend. It wasn’t a very long speech, but it was well thought, and well delivered. The line that stood out for me was near the end, and as follows: “None of us can say when this will end but end it will.”
I suppose why that touched me so profoundly was because it was such a hopeful line. One of the talking heads last week, and no, I don’t recall which one, was mentioning that this virus could be with us for years. That it would leave us for a spell, but come back, and ravage us again…and again and again.
Maybe it will. Maybe this virus will be cyclical until a vaccine is found. But what an awful thought. I applaud the need for transparency; I understand that as an adult, I must be aware of the range of possible outcomes. But there comes a bloody point when those who are constantly adulting just need a flipping break!
So I am going to take that break here and now for all of us. In the words of HRH, “Until it does [end], let us try and live with hope and, with faith in ourselves and each other, look forward to better times to come.” And his mother, as one would expect, a few days later put it even better, more rhythmically, and more succinctly. On Sunday, Her Majesty ended her brief speech with this: “…better days will return; we will be with our friends again; we will be with our families again; we will meet again.”
Those are the best words I’ve heard in quite some time. And I just looked out my bedroom window. The side yard needs raking, but the first daffodil is about to bloom!
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
Wednesday, April 1, 2020
April 1, 2020
As I sat myself down to write this essay, I tried to think back to when it was this particular “change” in our lives began. I looked back through my essays and understood what I’d kind of known. It had been happening around us more or less by the end of February. I wasn’t as aware of that, of course, because the last day of February was the day my brother died.
My sense of things is understandably skewed because of that major loss.
I do recall that by the tenth day following the visitation we held for him, I was grocery shopping wearing rubber gloves and shaking my head in disbelief at the great toilet-paper hoarding—an event I believe deserves some sort of memorialization when this is all behind us (sorry about the lame pun). Or maybe not since in some places that seems to be an ongoing situation. For all we know it could be a new fad.
For those who may be wondering, our TP roll count currently stands at 76 double rolls.
I think for purposes going forward, I will consider day one the day I understood that a change had happened and actively made plans to try to cope—that shopping day, Saturday March 14.
That would make today, April 1, day 18. Do you think counting the days will make it go by faster, or slower? I personally don’t know if it makes a difference.
How are you doing? Are you the busy sort so that staying close to home is a real challenge for you? If you’re home with kids, I can only imagine how restricting it must be for you. If you live in a home with a yard, that’s a bonus. You can send them outside for “recess” and take a few minutes to catch your breath. If you’re apartment bound, you have my prayers and my sympathies. Not that I don’t love children, because I do. But I am realistic when it comes to the effect of them on one’s nerves.
I guess this is just one of those times where you have to decide to get by. I’ve decided to get by and to feel grateful.
For the most part, we’re doing just fine. David and I had become hermit-like these last several months, regardless. That has been particularly true in the winter, because my mobility in the snow and ice dominated months is severely hampered by those two elements. I have my routines, and especially over these last few years, as my level of mobility has changed, my routine (in habit, if not substance) has been a Godsend.
So staying home, having limited physical social contact with others, that’s more or less how I roll. I haven’t been one to take my scooter out around the neighborhood the way my husband has. Last spring, he used it to take our Mr. Tuffy to the park daily, and in that routine of theirs they encountered several folks along the way. He hasn’t yet gotten into that habit again. He has begun walking the puppies. We finally found a harness to fit Bear. It’s a kitten harness, because yes, he’s that tiny. Missy looks to be almost as big, at 18 weeks, as her daddy was fully grown. Her harness is just a size “x-small”. Both puppies are walking well, so far. Now, the last few days have been rainy and on top of that, the lower back muscle that every once in a while, likes to act up to give David grief has been doing so this last week.
He’s hoping that since the next few days are supposed to be nicer and his back pain is easing off, he’ll get them both out on the “trail” again. His plan is to graduate them both from leash to scooter basket before the summer is out.
For my part, I may begin to take a turn around the neighborhood myself. I’ll likely use his scooter to do so. My scooter is in the trunk of my car. It’s not as easy for me to put together myself. I could ride his, which is assembled and in the back yard, while he naps. We’ll see.
Here’s what I believe about our current circumstances: you have to choose to get through this. It’s going to be hard. There’s going to be boredom and despair, and moments when you want to scream. That’s okay. Maybe you can have a family nightly “scream” as a regular activity. Just one long scream, at the top of your lungs, to get rid of the frustration. Some people are taking a minute or two at 7 pm to step outside, or onto their balconies, to clap—applause for the many health-care professionals who are our troops on the front lines of this war.
As military troops tire of the constant barrage of missiles and gunfire, so our medical troops tire of the constant barrage of sick people. This is a hard, horrendous battle for them. Compared to that, really, what are a few weeks or even months, within the safety of your own sanctuary? How much worse would this be for all of us if we were stuck away from our nests?
We’re all in this together. And we will get through this, one day at a time, together.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
As I sat myself down to write this essay, I tried to think back to when it was this particular “change” in our lives began. I looked back through my essays and understood what I’d kind of known. It had been happening around us more or less by the end of February. I wasn’t as aware of that, of course, because the last day of February was the day my brother died.
My sense of things is understandably skewed because of that major loss.
I do recall that by the tenth day following the visitation we held for him, I was grocery shopping wearing rubber gloves and shaking my head in disbelief at the great toilet-paper hoarding—an event I believe deserves some sort of memorialization when this is all behind us (sorry about the lame pun). Or maybe not since in some places that seems to be an ongoing situation. For all we know it could be a new fad.
For those who may be wondering, our TP roll count currently stands at 76 double rolls.
I think for purposes going forward, I will consider day one the day I understood that a change had happened and actively made plans to try to cope—that shopping day, Saturday March 14.
That would make today, April 1, day 18. Do you think counting the days will make it go by faster, or slower? I personally don’t know if it makes a difference.
How are you doing? Are you the busy sort so that staying close to home is a real challenge for you? If you’re home with kids, I can only imagine how restricting it must be for you. If you live in a home with a yard, that’s a bonus. You can send them outside for “recess” and take a few minutes to catch your breath. If you’re apartment bound, you have my prayers and my sympathies. Not that I don’t love children, because I do. But I am realistic when it comes to the effect of them on one’s nerves.
I guess this is just one of those times where you have to decide to get by. I’ve decided to get by and to feel grateful.
For the most part, we’re doing just fine. David and I had become hermit-like these last several months, regardless. That has been particularly true in the winter, because my mobility in the snow and ice dominated months is severely hampered by those two elements. I have my routines, and especially over these last few years, as my level of mobility has changed, my routine (in habit, if not substance) has been a Godsend.
So staying home, having limited physical social contact with others, that’s more or less how I roll. I haven’t been one to take my scooter out around the neighborhood the way my husband has. Last spring, he used it to take our Mr. Tuffy to the park daily, and in that routine of theirs they encountered several folks along the way. He hasn’t yet gotten into that habit again. He has begun walking the puppies. We finally found a harness to fit Bear. It’s a kitten harness, because yes, he’s that tiny. Missy looks to be almost as big, at 18 weeks, as her daddy was fully grown. Her harness is just a size “x-small”. Both puppies are walking well, so far. Now, the last few days have been rainy and on top of that, the lower back muscle that every once in a while, likes to act up to give David grief has been doing so this last week.
He’s hoping that since the next few days are supposed to be nicer and his back pain is easing off, he’ll get them both out on the “trail” again. His plan is to graduate them both from leash to scooter basket before the summer is out.
For my part, I may begin to take a turn around the neighborhood myself. I’ll likely use his scooter to do so. My scooter is in the trunk of my car. It’s not as easy for me to put together myself. I could ride his, which is assembled and in the back yard, while he naps. We’ll see.
Here’s what I believe about our current circumstances: you have to choose to get through this. It’s going to be hard. There’s going to be boredom and despair, and moments when you want to scream. That’s okay. Maybe you can have a family nightly “scream” as a regular activity. Just one long scream, at the top of your lungs, to get rid of the frustration. Some people are taking a minute or two at 7 pm to step outside, or onto their balconies, to clap—applause for the many health-care professionals who are our troops on the front lines of this war.
As military troops tire of the constant barrage of missiles and gunfire, so our medical troops tire of the constant barrage of sick people. This is a hard, horrendous battle for them. Compared to that, really, what are a few weeks or even months, within the safety of your own sanctuary? How much worse would this be for all of us if we were stuck away from our nests?
We’re all in this together. And we will get through this, one day at a time, together.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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