July 29, 2020
The road construction on the side street that runs right beside our house has finally begun. Let me tell you, these workers contracted by the county are real go-getters! They were on the job Monday morning at 6:45 am. We’ve since discovered that is their regular starting time.
We were in bed asleep Monday morning at 6:45 am. Did I mention that our bedroom window looks out onto that street? I can tell you that is the absolute best alarm clock ever.
Monday was a very interesting day, and very noisy until they finally quit at some point after 5 p.m. We did get a couple of quiet breaks—one that was probably their lunch hour. I guess one of the downfalls of living quietly most of the time is that when the noise comes to visit, it’s a guest you really can’t tolerate well for an entire day.
I have to admit that I haven’t personally kept up on the improvements in road construction equipment over the years. Frankly, construction equipment of any kind has never been of interest to me. David, of course, is quite knowledgeable on the subject and can even get excited about it. During his professional career, he has taken heavy equipment courses, and was certified to operate several pieces, from graders to backhoes.
So I thought he would be the one to ask my most recent burning question. Now, please bear with me because I am about to get technical, and I do apologize. They have this big thingy with a round thingy on the end that looks like a lawn roller, only it’s not for lawns because it’s so big. But wait, there’s more. It doesn’t just roll, it vibrates!
The street outside our house where this thingy was working on Monday and was again on Tuesday is about maybe ten feet from the house itself. And my question to David was this: has anyone ever tested this “vibratory compactor-roller” on the Richter scale?
Seriously, folks, I was sitting in my recliner late Monday afternoon when they began to use this roller for the first time, and I’m thinking: if I wanted a vibrating recliner, I would have bought one. And then I notice the clock on the wall is vibrating, and my cup on the end table is vibrating, as is my entire house. I do not want to re-enact the fall of Jericho. I do not want to see my walls come tumbling down.
My husband tells me that if that happens, the town has to pay for it.
I remind him that town = government, and they tend not to like to take responsibility for anything. And I did attempt to look up on Google to answer that question of whether or not that vibratory compactor-roller has been tested vis-à-vis the Richter scale, and the response I got was Google’s interpretation of clapping its hands over its ears while yelling la-la-la-la-la.
David is enjoying the process of roadwork now that it has finally begun. He has a front row seat to the work, and by the time the workers quit on Tuesday, I’m certain every member of the crew knew his name.
For my part, I’m doing my best to ignore the process and work on my edit. The problem for me in that regard is that my ability to focus is not as keen as once it was. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve needed to bring more force of will to bear when it comes to the art of concentration. I dare not, during work time, go online for anything except looking up something very specific for my manuscript in progress.
It’s far too easy for me to get sucked down a rabbit-hole—any rabbit hole.
Monday night I went to bed earlier than usual, because I was more tired than usual, most likely because of the noise. The same thing happened last night. Before the clock struck 10, I was yawning so much, my eyes watered.
David has forgone his afternoon naps the last couple of days. Monday was especially noisy and even he, who takes out his hearing aids when he naps, wouldn’t have been able to get to sleep. Yesterday had been a little less loud, and he could have slept—but he was far more interested in watching the work.
The result is that he’s come to bed earlier than usual, too. But I really don’t believe he thinks that is too high of a price to pay for being transported back, visiting again that world of men and earth and powerful machines that was his career for so many years.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, July 29, 2020
Wednesday, July 22, 2020
July 22, 2020
One question I always have difficulty answering is when someone asks me what I want for a gift. Yesterday, I turned 66. Every year I make a bit light of the day, because let’s face it. I can’t fit all the candles on my cake, and if I did and lit them, the result would be a fire hazard. This year was no exception. I commented more than once, that hey, just 600 more birthdays and I would be of a fearsome age, indeed.
I’m not certain if anyone caught my little joke. Not unusual. I had a good friend once who, when I quipped that I was so witty, replied that I was half right.
I’ve never liked having to come up with ideas for a “gift list” and the reason why goes back to an incident that happened about ten years into our marriage. My beloved had asked me what I wanted for Christmas. He asked me to give him a list, and so I did. We were both working, but with three children, the times were lean. We’d set a modest budget for gifts for each other because most of the money was for the kids gifts.
I listed all the things I would get for myself, if only I had a few extra dollars. The list was short and simple, and was made of items I really, truly wanted: a couple of cartridges for my typewriter (yes, this was pre-computer and printer days) and some paper for the machine; a couple of pairs of pantyhose; a pair of nice, fluffy warm slippers; and I had a favorite scent in those days, Chloe, which was hellishly expensive. But some brilliant marketer had come out with “imitation” scents, and imitation Chloe could be had for less than five dollars. Of course, I expected David to pick only one or two items.
I was so excited, seeing those small wrapped gifts on Christmas morning! There were more than one or two. I sat down and began to open them….and found only one single thing that had been on my list. He had gotten me a pair of slippers, but the kind with no back of the heel, the kind I have never, ever worn.
I’m not proud of myself for feeling disappointed. I tried not to show it, and I don’t think he ever realized that I was, at the time. I did ask him why he didn’t get me anything I had asked for.
His answer was devastating. He told me that my list wasn’t good enough. That there hadn’t been a decent Christmas gift on it. It took him many years before he realized that what he had said, essentially, was that what I wanted didn’t matter.
And while I know that the other people in my life would not necessarily do what he had done, I still, nonetheless, can’t ever think of anything that might be “good enough” to make the list when I’m asked.
Well, I’m older now. Not really a lot wiser, but I’m working on it. I am a work in progress. I was asked what I wanted for my birthday by our second daughter. I did tell her, I’d think on it, but really, I couldn’t come up with anything “worth while.”
So I thought, when I sat down to compose this week’s essay, I would put together a list of things I would LOVE for my birthday—things that I will never get because they are wildly, and joyously fanciful.
First, of course, I would love this damn virus to just up and vanish. And I would love for the people of the United States to disavow the tribal mentality, and realize they can agree to disagree, and that more binds them together than separates them.
Ah, I can hear my loved ones saying, but what about something just for you?
Well, I have a lovely image in mind—a beautiful king-sized bed with luxurious sheets, a mattress that’s as soft as a cloud, set down in a field of grass and fragrant flowers. A soft, warm very slight breeze would blow, and the best coffee I have ever tasted just there, for the sipping. Needless to say, it would be magnificently comfortable experience, with not a single aching muscle or joint, period.
I would love to step into the kind of shower I’ve often described in my stories—with a “rainfall” shower head high above, and four more shower heads—wands—two on each end of the enclosure. Also, in this hedonistic bathroom would be a Jacuzzi tub that I could easily slip into, and warmed, absorbent towels just waiting to dry me off.
I would love a feast of cheese and crackers, berries and whipped cream—and maybe, just maybe a coffee laced with Bailey’s, or Tia Maria, and I would consume it and overlooking a French vineyard.
But what I really want each year—be it on my birthday or at Christmas—has nothing to do with things or money at all. I want to hear from each of my children and grandchildren—via a call, or just a text—just a few words to let me know they were thinking of me, and that they love me.
I did indeed hear from all but one grandchild. And our second daughter’s greeting put a big smile on my face this year. I may have mentioned, she’s a nurse at a psychiatric hospital. She called and sang Happy Birthday to me (as per family tradition, off key and out of tune). And then she said, “I’m at work. Everyone can hear me. That’s how much I love you.”
Hearing those three words is the best birthday gift, ever!
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
One question I always have difficulty answering is when someone asks me what I want for a gift. Yesterday, I turned 66. Every year I make a bit light of the day, because let’s face it. I can’t fit all the candles on my cake, and if I did and lit them, the result would be a fire hazard. This year was no exception. I commented more than once, that hey, just 600 more birthdays and I would be of a fearsome age, indeed.
I’m not certain if anyone caught my little joke. Not unusual. I had a good friend once who, when I quipped that I was so witty, replied that I was half right.
I’ve never liked having to come up with ideas for a “gift list” and the reason why goes back to an incident that happened about ten years into our marriage. My beloved had asked me what I wanted for Christmas. He asked me to give him a list, and so I did. We were both working, but with three children, the times were lean. We’d set a modest budget for gifts for each other because most of the money was for the kids gifts.
I listed all the things I would get for myself, if only I had a few extra dollars. The list was short and simple, and was made of items I really, truly wanted: a couple of cartridges for my typewriter (yes, this was pre-computer and printer days) and some paper for the machine; a couple of pairs of pantyhose; a pair of nice, fluffy warm slippers; and I had a favorite scent in those days, Chloe, which was hellishly expensive. But some brilliant marketer had come out with “imitation” scents, and imitation Chloe could be had for less than five dollars. Of course, I expected David to pick only one or two items.
I was so excited, seeing those small wrapped gifts on Christmas morning! There were more than one or two. I sat down and began to open them….and found only one single thing that had been on my list. He had gotten me a pair of slippers, but the kind with no back of the heel, the kind I have never, ever worn.
I’m not proud of myself for feeling disappointed. I tried not to show it, and I don’t think he ever realized that I was, at the time. I did ask him why he didn’t get me anything I had asked for.
His answer was devastating. He told me that my list wasn’t good enough. That there hadn’t been a decent Christmas gift on it. It took him many years before he realized that what he had said, essentially, was that what I wanted didn’t matter.
And while I know that the other people in my life would not necessarily do what he had done, I still, nonetheless, can’t ever think of anything that might be “good enough” to make the list when I’m asked.
Well, I’m older now. Not really a lot wiser, but I’m working on it. I am a work in progress. I was asked what I wanted for my birthday by our second daughter. I did tell her, I’d think on it, but really, I couldn’t come up with anything “worth while.”
So I thought, when I sat down to compose this week’s essay, I would put together a list of things I would LOVE for my birthday—things that I will never get because they are wildly, and joyously fanciful.
First, of course, I would love this damn virus to just up and vanish. And I would love for the people of the United States to disavow the tribal mentality, and realize they can agree to disagree, and that more binds them together than separates them.
Ah, I can hear my loved ones saying, but what about something just for you?
Well, I have a lovely image in mind—a beautiful king-sized bed with luxurious sheets, a mattress that’s as soft as a cloud, set down in a field of grass and fragrant flowers. A soft, warm very slight breeze would blow, and the best coffee I have ever tasted just there, for the sipping. Needless to say, it would be magnificently comfortable experience, with not a single aching muscle or joint, period.
I would love to step into the kind of shower I’ve often described in my stories—with a “rainfall” shower head high above, and four more shower heads—wands—two on each end of the enclosure. Also, in this hedonistic bathroom would be a Jacuzzi tub that I could easily slip into, and warmed, absorbent towels just waiting to dry me off.
I would love a feast of cheese and crackers, berries and whipped cream—and maybe, just maybe a coffee laced with Bailey’s, or Tia Maria, and I would consume it and overlooking a French vineyard.
But what I really want each year—be it on my birthday or at Christmas—has nothing to do with things or money at all. I want to hear from each of my children and grandchildren—via a call, or just a text—just a few words to let me know they were thinking of me, and that they love me.
I did indeed hear from all but one grandchild. And our second daughter’s greeting put a big smile on my face this year. I may have mentioned, she’s a nurse at a psychiatric hospital. She called and sang Happy Birthday to me (as per family tradition, off key and out of tune). And then she said, “I’m at work. Everyone can hear me. That’s how much I love you.”
Hearing those three words is the best birthday gift, ever!
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, July 15, 2020
July 15, 2020
The time is speeding by, which it does constantly now, regardless of what’s happening in the world around us. I’ve remarked upon this phenomenon a lot in my essays because it’s, well, remarkable. I remember the days of childhood, vaguely, mind you, but I recall being so focused on the day that it seemed to last at least forty-eight hours instead of twenty-four.
And maybe that’s the secret. To slow time, you need to focus on each individual moment as if it is the most important moment you’ve ever experienced. Now, you likely wouldn’t get much done, as there would be no looking ahead, but then that’s a perfect description of what childhood was like, isn’t it?
One of the reasons I write these essays every week is to offer up thoughts and experiences which I hope will connect with some of my readers. We are all in this together, this life thing. And because while yes, humans are individuals and there is no other you, on another level, being human means that there are experiences and emotions that are not at all unique.
That’s a source of great hope for me, personally.
And I had one of those moments recently when I read an email from a good friend. She is also an author, and lives in California. She told me she was in revisions for the manuscript she’d submitted, and that her editor was telling her that every single one of her authors has been having creative difficulties during this time of the Coronavirus. Every single one.
Do you know I felt a great sense of relief reading that? Then another friend, when I was commenting about this had five words for me: “these days, writing is brutal.”
Brutal, yes that about sums it up well.
I submitted a manuscript last week, and I know right now it’s going to need a revision. Thank God for my Beta reader, Angie, for pointing out what should have been glaringly obvious to me at the time, but that just…slipped through the old fingers, or the old brain, not sure which.
I don’t care who you are or what you do in life, these strange and upsetting times are hard. They are hard for all of us. And it occurs to me that something else one of my friends said to me should be said to everyone.
You have to be kind to yourself.
You have to give yourself permission to take a day off, to blow off steam, to do whatever it is you do that gives you a bit of a sense of relief and comfort. Listen to music (maybe even at full blast), play a game, read a book, binge watch a television series. Sleep late. Take a nap.
Do something that makes you feel good, even if that “feelgood” only lasts for the moment. Sometimes it’s those moments we remember, and that we bring back to mind to help us through the next one that feels grim and laborious.
I’m writing this on July 14th. It’s our 48th wedding anniversary. We said the words to each other, first thing. It is now an hour past first thing. And right now, my husband is outside, finding one of his happiest of happy places.
Out our back yard and on the small street that runs there, a county crew is cutting down and mulching brush in preparation of redoing that road. They’re going to rip it up, install water and sewage lines, and repave it. From David’s earliest memories, whenever there was local construction or especially road work, that’s where he’d be. His mother once told me that even when he was six or seven and otherwise never still, he could sit still for hours watching them.
I can think of no better way for him to start this day, especially, than to stand out and watch the men as they work with their big machines and making lots of noise.
Find your happy, people! We all need that now more than ever.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
The time is speeding by, which it does constantly now, regardless of what’s happening in the world around us. I’ve remarked upon this phenomenon a lot in my essays because it’s, well, remarkable. I remember the days of childhood, vaguely, mind you, but I recall being so focused on the day that it seemed to last at least forty-eight hours instead of twenty-four.
And maybe that’s the secret. To slow time, you need to focus on each individual moment as if it is the most important moment you’ve ever experienced. Now, you likely wouldn’t get much done, as there would be no looking ahead, but then that’s a perfect description of what childhood was like, isn’t it?
One of the reasons I write these essays every week is to offer up thoughts and experiences which I hope will connect with some of my readers. We are all in this together, this life thing. And because while yes, humans are individuals and there is no other you, on another level, being human means that there are experiences and emotions that are not at all unique.
That’s a source of great hope for me, personally.
And I had one of those moments recently when I read an email from a good friend. She is also an author, and lives in California. She told me she was in revisions for the manuscript she’d submitted, and that her editor was telling her that every single one of her authors has been having creative difficulties during this time of the Coronavirus. Every single one.
Do you know I felt a great sense of relief reading that? Then another friend, when I was commenting about this had five words for me: “these days, writing is brutal.”
Brutal, yes that about sums it up well.
I submitted a manuscript last week, and I know right now it’s going to need a revision. Thank God for my Beta reader, Angie, for pointing out what should have been glaringly obvious to me at the time, but that just…slipped through the old fingers, or the old brain, not sure which.
I don’t care who you are or what you do in life, these strange and upsetting times are hard. They are hard for all of us. And it occurs to me that something else one of my friends said to me should be said to everyone.
You have to be kind to yourself.
You have to give yourself permission to take a day off, to blow off steam, to do whatever it is you do that gives you a bit of a sense of relief and comfort. Listen to music (maybe even at full blast), play a game, read a book, binge watch a television series. Sleep late. Take a nap.
Do something that makes you feel good, even if that “feelgood” only lasts for the moment. Sometimes it’s those moments we remember, and that we bring back to mind to help us through the next one that feels grim and laborious.
I’m writing this on July 14th. It’s our 48th wedding anniversary. We said the words to each other, first thing. It is now an hour past first thing. And right now, my husband is outside, finding one of his happiest of happy places.
Out our back yard and on the small street that runs there, a county crew is cutting down and mulching brush in preparation of redoing that road. They’re going to rip it up, install water and sewage lines, and repave it. From David’s earliest memories, whenever there was local construction or especially road work, that’s where he’d be. His mother once told me that even when he was six or seven and otherwise never still, he could sit still for hours watching them.
I can think of no better way for him to start this day, especially, than to stand out and watch the men as they work with their big machines and making lots of noise.
Find your happy, people! We all need that now more than ever.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, July 8, 2020
July 8, 2020
I don’t know the name of the person who first coined that maxim, “if you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.”
Now, in the past, I never considered myself a person who didn’t stand up for the things in which she believed. I know that in the nearly thirteen years I’ve been penning these essays of mine, I’ve not left too much about myself hidden. My life, as the recent popular saying goes, is an open book.
I’ve never lied in my words to you, nor have I put on airs in these essays. I’ve let you see me, warts and all, because really, that was the whole purpose of these words to begin with. To connect with others, and the best way to do that is to let others know, they’re not alone.
I don’t make a habit of pushing my beliefs on others, either. But I am not ashamed to tell you the things in which I believe. I’ve never thumped a Bible in my life; but y’all know I’m a Christian.
I have admired American politicians from both parties. I don’t look at the ideology so much as the person. In fact I have a feeling that if you sifted all the things which I’ve told you are the things in which I believe, you might in the end come to the conclusion that, if I were an American, I’d be a libertarian.
But I am a Canadian and have routinely based my vote here in my country on the person—their values and behavior and stated beliefs—and not the political party [here in Canada we have 3 major ones and a couple more, besides].
I’ve often gone into little segues wherein I confess that I don’t understand blind hate. I don’t. Hate is evil, in my estimation, and should be against the law. Hate brings with it nothing good. Nothing. Hating a person for a reason that has nothing to do with their beliefs or actions is especially onerous and incomprehensible to me. It doesn’t, in my mind, say anything negative about its target, only about its source. It does not smear its target, only the person from whom it spews.
A couple of essays ago, I told you about my attempts to understand racism. I’m still working on that. I’m reading “Begin Again” by Eddie Glaude, Jr. because one way to understand the entire situation is to read what black people think and feel. I’ll be looking for other books as I go along in this journey and I welcome any suggestions you may have for me.
But one thing I do not have to work on is how I feel about hate.
I use Face Book. In fact, I am grateful to that medium. As a published author, I have used Face Book to promote my books and stay in touch with my readers. I consider it my primary promotional tool, now that the Yahoo Groups are no more, and it has many good uses. There is a lot of good accomplished through Face Book by a lot of people of good will.
However, as y’all are by now aware, it has what I consider a major flaw. People can use the medium to promote hate. They can pay copious amounts of dollars and tell lies and spew hate, and their lies and hate, because they have paid those dollars, have wide dissemination on Face Book.
Those in charge at Face Book have long claimed that they believe in free speech, and so do not care what those who pay all those millions of dollars have to say.
I would beg to differ, Face Book. It’s not free speech at all. It’s very profitable to you, and extremely costly to the rest of Humankind.
There must be some responsibility, don’t you think? If we, as a society, hold our television stations, newspapers, and radio stations to a standard of truth, shouldn’t the online media also be held to account? For many people, Face Book has taken the place of all of the above-mentioned media platforms. It’s their primary source of “news”. It’s past time for FB to grow up and join the rest of the media platforms—television and radio stations—at the big kids table.
So, if I believed this with all my heart, shouldn’t I do something about it? This was the challenge I found myself facing at the beginning of this month of July. And so, I decided, that for July, I would refrain from using Face Book.
I don’t kid myself that my tiny voice will make a difference to Mark Zuckerberg with his billions of dollars– at least it won’t, not on is own. Hopefully enough others will join this “protest” and change will happen. But, regardless, it will make a difference to me.
This stand I’ve chosen to take comes with some risk. I’m denying myself easy contact with my readers, and at least one really good promotional opportunity that I had booked for the 21st. But sometimes doing the right thing should come at a personal cost. That makes it serious, and real.
Here is what I posted on FaceBook to announce my action:
I don't come by this decision lightly, but when I think of all the Wednesday's Words I've posted, all the times I've urged people to stand up and do the right thing...well, this is something I believe that I have to do. For the month of July, I will not post on FB. I will not even sign in to it. I'm only one person, but hopefully, I will be one of many; FB needs to better manage its platform. They need to be governed by the same rules as other marketing companies; they need to stop allowing people - or bots - to post hate and lies just to make a few dollars. This is not about anything but me, taking a stand, one little old lady who wants very much to do the right thing. I'll see you August 1, or after FB announces some major changes, whichever comes first. #StopHateForProfit
So that’s what’s new in my world, at the moment. And I told my readers, that anyone who wants to get in touch with me can send me an email at morganashbury@aol.com. Any of you can, too.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
I don’t know the name of the person who first coined that maxim, “if you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.”
Now, in the past, I never considered myself a person who didn’t stand up for the things in which she believed. I know that in the nearly thirteen years I’ve been penning these essays of mine, I’ve not left too much about myself hidden. My life, as the recent popular saying goes, is an open book.
I’ve never lied in my words to you, nor have I put on airs in these essays. I’ve let you see me, warts and all, because really, that was the whole purpose of these words to begin with. To connect with others, and the best way to do that is to let others know, they’re not alone.
I don’t make a habit of pushing my beliefs on others, either. But I am not ashamed to tell you the things in which I believe. I’ve never thumped a Bible in my life; but y’all know I’m a Christian.
I have admired American politicians from both parties. I don’t look at the ideology so much as the person. In fact I have a feeling that if you sifted all the things which I’ve told you are the things in which I believe, you might in the end come to the conclusion that, if I were an American, I’d be a libertarian.
But I am a Canadian and have routinely based my vote here in my country on the person—their values and behavior and stated beliefs—and not the political party [here in Canada we have 3 major ones and a couple more, besides].
I’ve often gone into little segues wherein I confess that I don’t understand blind hate. I don’t. Hate is evil, in my estimation, and should be against the law. Hate brings with it nothing good. Nothing. Hating a person for a reason that has nothing to do with their beliefs or actions is especially onerous and incomprehensible to me. It doesn’t, in my mind, say anything negative about its target, only about its source. It does not smear its target, only the person from whom it spews.
A couple of essays ago, I told you about my attempts to understand racism. I’m still working on that. I’m reading “Begin Again” by Eddie Glaude, Jr. because one way to understand the entire situation is to read what black people think and feel. I’ll be looking for other books as I go along in this journey and I welcome any suggestions you may have for me.
But one thing I do not have to work on is how I feel about hate.
I use Face Book. In fact, I am grateful to that medium. As a published author, I have used Face Book to promote my books and stay in touch with my readers. I consider it my primary promotional tool, now that the Yahoo Groups are no more, and it has many good uses. There is a lot of good accomplished through Face Book by a lot of people of good will.
However, as y’all are by now aware, it has what I consider a major flaw. People can use the medium to promote hate. They can pay copious amounts of dollars and tell lies and spew hate, and their lies and hate, because they have paid those dollars, have wide dissemination on Face Book.
Those in charge at Face Book have long claimed that they believe in free speech, and so do not care what those who pay all those millions of dollars have to say.
I would beg to differ, Face Book. It’s not free speech at all. It’s very profitable to you, and extremely costly to the rest of Humankind.
There must be some responsibility, don’t you think? If we, as a society, hold our television stations, newspapers, and radio stations to a standard of truth, shouldn’t the online media also be held to account? For many people, Face Book has taken the place of all of the above-mentioned media platforms. It’s their primary source of “news”. It’s past time for FB to grow up and join the rest of the media platforms—television and radio stations—at the big kids table.
So, if I believed this with all my heart, shouldn’t I do something about it? This was the challenge I found myself facing at the beginning of this month of July. And so, I decided, that for July, I would refrain from using Face Book.
I don’t kid myself that my tiny voice will make a difference to Mark Zuckerberg with his billions of dollars– at least it won’t, not on is own. Hopefully enough others will join this “protest” and change will happen. But, regardless, it will make a difference to me.
This stand I’ve chosen to take comes with some risk. I’m denying myself easy contact with my readers, and at least one really good promotional opportunity that I had booked for the 21st. But sometimes doing the right thing should come at a personal cost. That makes it serious, and real.
Here is what I posted on FaceBook to announce my action:
I don't come by this decision lightly, but when I think of all the Wednesday's Words I've posted, all the times I've urged people to stand up and do the right thing...well, this is something I believe that I have to do. For the month of July, I will not post on FB. I will not even sign in to it. I'm only one person, but hopefully, I will be one of many; FB needs to better manage its platform. They need to be governed by the same rules as other marketing companies; they need to stop allowing people - or bots - to post hate and lies just to make a few dollars. This is not about anything but me, taking a stand, one little old lady who wants very much to do the right thing. I'll see you August 1, or after FB announces some major changes, whichever comes first. #StopHateForProfit
So that’s what’s new in my world, at the moment. And I told my readers, that anyone who wants to get in touch with me can send me an email at morganashbury@aol.com. Any of you can, too.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, July 1, 2020
July 1, 2020
Life in the Ashbury household has settled into a nice routine, one that seems to suit all of us. Not that there aren’t a few minor annoyances now and then. After all, none of us is perfect. No, not even me!
We live in a house that has a shaded front porch, and a small back yard that also enjoys shade for a good chunk of the day. Early morning, the back yard is cooler, without sunlight until the sun crests the house, about noonish. It stays under the gleam of Sol until about 3 p.m. when it goes behind the line of the tall cedar trees we have there. Conversely, the porch enjoys morning sun, until about 10 a.m. Except for the north corner of our porch. Thanks to the walnut tree, as long as it has leaves, that corner is constantly out of direct sunlight.
However, just because the porch is shaded does not mean it’s cool enough to leave the front door open. In the early spring, yes, throw that puppy wide! Ah, the fresh, bug and fly-free air of early spring! Gotta love it! Right now, however, we are no longer in springtime. It’s summer, whether we like it or not. On some summer days, we have triple-digit temperatures. As I work at my desk, on these hot days, I wonder…what happened to my a/c? And then I realize, the darn door is open. Again. And if the heat doesn’t convey that message, the sound of flies buzzing my head surely does.
Friends, there are times when I feel like I’m the only adult in the house.
The current weather that reads 80 but feels like 95 means it’s hot outside. And it feels like 95 regardless of whatever shade the tree or the porch roof might provide. And in an air conditioned house when the front door is open? Why that heat comes in about as fast as the cool goes out!
My ire has nothing to do with the cost of running the air conditioning. It has to do with that part about the heat coming inside. If I wanted to sit on the porch in the heat, well, please be assured that I would sit on the porch in the heat. The people I live with love that porch and as far as I’m concerned, they can sit out there to their hearts’ content. As long as they keep the door closed.
It won’t surprise anyone that David and our daughter would both be enjoying the great outdoors together. It’s a generally held consensus in our family that when it comes to those two, the apple really did not fall very far from the tree.
This is good because, unlike when our daughter was young, the two of them get along very well together. They have several traits in common, and for the most part speak each other’s languages. They’re very close, and nothing could make me happier.
My daughter and I do well together, too. Being women, we share an eyes-wide-open kind of practicality. Egos? Not much, and not between us. And there’s no real tussling between us as you might expect between two grown women under one roof. It’s not perfect, but for the most part we just choose our hills. We give each other the freedom to be W.I.C. – woman in charge. And we tend to do it on an alternating basis. Yes, we very likely have every moment of every day covered between us.
Poor David.
Or maybe not poor David. He doesn’t need to do as much tidying as he did before our daughter moved in—which by the way was a year ago, today. He also lucks out on some of those nights I don’t make supper, because sometimes, she does. I like that part, too. I’m sure y’all know couples where the husband and wife take turns cooking supper? Yeah, that’s never been my experience. Never. It sure is nice to eat a meal someone else prepared.
She’ll also come home after a couple of hours working in the community, with a three hour break before her next client. On those occasions she’ll make breakfast, and David really loves that.
And when he wants to leave the house? That one surprised me, too, because before we were told that we should stay home, he was all for staying home most of the time. And I know he really didn’t like to go out for the groceries on a weekly basis.
Then our daughter moved in, and of course she has a vehicle. And in the last month he’s been happy to head out for groceries with her. They’re planning to have a breakfast out soon at one of the restaurants in town that has a patio. I hope they have a lovely time.
We have our new normal, and it’s a good one. And her moving in with us, an arrangement that really benefits her as well as us, has reinforced something that most people, if they are lucky, come to understand.
Life really is what you make it. To all my fellow Canadians, Happy Canada Day!
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Life in the Ashbury household has settled into a nice routine, one that seems to suit all of us. Not that there aren’t a few minor annoyances now and then. After all, none of us is perfect. No, not even me!
We live in a house that has a shaded front porch, and a small back yard that also enjoys shade for a good chunk of the day. Early morning, the back yard is cooler, without sunlight until the sun crests the house, about noonish. It stays under the gleam of Sol until about 3 p.m. when it goes behind the line of the tall cedar trees we have there. Conversely, the porch enjoys morning sun, until about 10 a.m. Except for the north corner of our porch. Thanks to the walnut tree, as long as it has leaves, that corner is constantly out of direct sunlight.
However, just because the porch is shaded does not mean it’s cool enough to leave the front door open. In the early spring, yes, throw that puppy wide! Ah, the fresh, bug and fly-free air of early spring! Gotta love it! Right now, however, we are no longer in springtime. It’s summer, whether we like it or not. On some summer days, we have triple-digit temperatures. As I work at my desk, on these hot days, I wonder…what happened to my a/c? And then I realize, the darn door is open. Again. And if the heat doesn’t convey that message, the sound of flies buzzing my head surely does.
Friends, there are times when I feel like I’m the only adult in the house.
The current weather that reads 80 but feels like 95 means it’s hot outside. And it feels like 95 regardless of whatever shade the tree or the porch roof might provide. And in an air conditioned house when the front door is open? Why that heat comes in about as fast as the cool goes out!
My ire has nothing to do with the cost of running the air conditioning. It has to do with that part about the heat coming inside. If I wanted to sit on the porch in the heat, well, please be assured that I would sit on the porch in the heat. The people I live with love that porch and as far as I’m concerned, they can sit out there to their hearts’ content. As long as they keep the door closed.
It won’t surprise anyone that David and our daughter would both be enjoying the great outdoors together. It’s a generally held consensus in our family that when it comes to those two, the apple really did not fall very far from the tree.
This is good because, unlike when our daughter was young, the two of them get along very well together. They have several traits in common, and for the most part speak each other’s languages. They’re very close, and nothing could make me happier.
My daughter and I do well together, too. Being women, we share an eyes-wide-open kind of practicality. Egos? Not much, and not between us. And there’s no real tussling between us as you might expect between two grown women under one roof. It’s not perfect, but for the most part we just choose our hills. We give each other the freedom to be W.I.C. – woman in charge. And we tend to do it on an alternating basis. Yes, we very likely have every moment of every day covered between us.
Poor David.
Or maybe not poor David. He doesn’t need to do as much tidying as he did before our daughter moved in—which by the way was a year ago, today. He also lucks out on some of those nights I don’t make supper, because sometimes, she does. I like that part, too. I’m sure y’all know couples where the husband and wife take turns cooking supper? Yeah, that’s never been my experience. Never. It sure is nice to eat a meal someone else prepared.
She’ll also come home after a couple of hours working in the community, with a three hour break before her next client. On those occasions she’ll make breakfast, and David really loves that.
And when he wants to leave the house? That one surprised me, too, because before we were told that we should stay home, he was all for staying home most of the time. And I know he really didn’t like to go out for the groceries on a weekly basis.
Then our daughter moved in, and of course she has a vehicle. And in the last month he’s been happy to head out for groceries with her. They’re planning to have a breakfast out soon at one of the restaurants in town that has a patio. I hope they have a lovely time.
We have our new normal, and it’s a good one. And her moving in with us, an arrangement that really benefits her as well as us, has reinforced something that most people, if they are lucky, come to understand.
Life really is what you make it. To all my fellow Canadians, Happy Canada Day!
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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