June 30, 2021

Our Freedom Day is in 6 more days, on July the 6^th. Not that I’m counting, or anything. And commencing this day, Wednesday June 30^th, our province has moved into the second phase of “re-opening”. And then, on the 21^st of July—my birthday, but I am not taking the selection of that day at all personally—we’ll enter phase three, in which indoor dining will once again be available.

As I mentioned in my last essay, the jury is out on whether or not I’ll be up for that right away, though I do think that I will. Since July 6 will be the point at which I will be two weeks post second dose of Moderna, the science says I will have nothing to fear from Covid. I will be considered fully vaccinated.

I am, however, praying rather hard for more people to become enlightened. Because, also according to the science, my husband and I will be safe after July 6^th, but possibly, only for now.

The monkey wrench that could screw the whole “back to normal” deal for us all, will be if sufficient people do not bother to get themselves vaccinated.

You know, if you have a hole in your house, near the ground, and you see a mouse go in, you say to yourself, “crap, I better fix that.”  So you plug that hole. And after you leave the scene, the mouse and all its relatives, now being aware that there is a possibility of entrance into the place where all great treasures are there for the taking, will look for another hole. And you, if you’re somewhat vigilant, will keep an eye out, to see if another hole appears. Or, if you’re really smart, you’ll ensure that no holes can be found or easily made by inspecting and repairing the foundation of your house immediately.

That may be a poor analogy, but that’s like Covid. You see, the disease can adapt and change over time—short time, and time is measured, in this case, not in days or weeks, but in the numbers of people who become infected. And that process of change for viruses is called mutation. Because Covid—all viruses in fact—has one goal, and one goal only, and that is to infect. And the more people it can infect, the more it can mutate. And that’s all fun and games until it comes up with a mutation that our current vaccines cannot stop.

And friends, that will most assuredly happen, if too many people fail to receive vaccination. So if you know anyone who hasn’t yet bothered to do their part, please ask them to reconsider—now.

This past Saturday I went to the grocery store for the first time this year. I’m so grateful for my daughter, because she had taken over that chore for me. It was the same store, and the same process, as has been my routine for years, but it took some thought for me to recall all the necessary steps that I like to take in my process. This of course included finding my clipboard upon which I could slap my printed-from-excel shopping list, because I didn’t forget during my interval of hermitting, that I must never shop for groceries without a list. Trust me when I say, in that direction lies disaster.

There weren’t too many people in the store, and I saw no one without a mask, which made me very happy. Before we could stop at the grocery store, however, we had to go to one other store, one that was on the way, first. This is a store that carries all sorts of hardware-type supplies, as well as small portable appliances, charcoal, tires, kids games, car parts, …you name it and they likely have it.

We had to stop there for two things: a hose to fit the compressor David had received as a gift for Christmas of 2019; and a new Keurig coffee maker.

There is a saying in the Ashbury household, one that is almost an inside joke. You see, being Canadian, which is to be a part of the British Commonwealth, one would at times use, as a representation of the concept of constancy, the phrase “The King is dead. Long live the King!”. We, of course, being quirky, have adapted that saying to: “The Keurig is dead; long live the Keurig!” Yes, if our coffee maker dies, we immediately go out and buy another. And just on the off chance there is a space of time between when the one we have dies and we get the new one, we have a smaller, spare Keurig, with enough of a water reservoir for only two cups of water, and that we keep upstairs in our storage area, just in case.

Because friends, there isn’t an Ashbury alive who does not believe that going without coffee is a dire fate best not even ever mentioned. Our coffeemaker died the night before, and we did have to put the spare into service for one night and one morning. And we did not even consider not stopping at Canadian Tire to get a new one.

When we got there, David went in while I remained in the car. I do believe it’s only the second time since the onset of the pandemic that David had been there, and I know that it was an emotionally satisfying experience for him because it is one of his favourite places to shop, period. Actually, it’s one of only two places he likes to shop, the other being the actual hardware store in town. Everyone in this family has often claimed that if these two stores don’t have a couple of aisles named in his honour, they sure should have.

Friends, with each passing day it feels as if life is beginning to creep a little closer toward normal. Of course, no one that I know believes for one minute that our arrival at that magic state of being is a given. The pandemic is not over, not by a long shot.

And so, we face each day with hope, and with diligence. But not quite in equal measure.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

 

 

 June 23, 2021

I have marked an upcoming day on the calendar in my iPhone, and it’s the first time I’ve ever done that. The page for Tuesday, July 6 now has the words “Freedom Day” on the top. Because that day is two weeks from yesterday. And yesterday, David and I received our second Moderna vaccination.

Being a little on the anal side, I mentally prepared myself to do as close to nothing yesterday, after the shot, as possible. I’ve heard from so many friends that the second shot made them feel ill, with varying degrees of all different symptoms. So, I thought it would be prudent to plan to have a couple days that could very well be spent resting completely and doing nothing, if necessary.

While I don’t do nearly as much these days as I did ten, or even five years ago, there really are few days where I do nothing. I never got the hang of well, just hanging. But I’d made the decision a few days before getting the second shot to try and do just that. It seemed preferable to assuming I’d be fine, and then becoming annoyed if it turned out that I couldn’t carry on, business as usual.

We were both pleased, when we arrived at the fairgrounds, to see that the parking lot was full. Everyone there had an appointment, and the clinic, which is run by the county health unit, was as well organized as it was in June when we went for our first shot. Our appointment was for 10:55 am. We entered the building just a minute or two after that time. We followed the queue to the registration area, then moved on to the active area. By 11:10 we’d received the vaccine, and then were directed to the waiting area, where we spent fifteen minutes waiting to see if we had any immediate adverse reactions.  

Exactly on time, at 11:25am, we checked out of the clinic, which meant we were given a receipt for the vaccination, a printed record of proof that we’d received it.

Upon leaving the fairgrounds and since we haven’t been out and about very much, we took the opportunity to enjoy a short drive. We may have been mostly staying put for the last year and a half, but this town of ours sure hasn’t. There has been one major building on a secondary street torn down. It was a building that had been in this town since well before we arrived—one that had served as a post office and a police station and had even appeared in a movie starring Julianne Moore (The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio).  There’s been a lot of construction, both downtown and in an area just west of where our house is situated, on top of the hill. Part of this town is in a valley, and it’s terraced valley, as the two rivers that run through our town have changed over the eons. We now have four round-abouts on the main road on the hill, and not just houses have been built up there. While there are various kinds of new housing including townhouses and single-family dwellings, there is also a new commercial area, including a new burger place that isn’t open yet. All of this new construction has been put up in the last year and a half where a farm—or two— and an orchard used to grow.

We didn’t stay out on our drive for very long, but it was a nice break.

I’m not sure if, when the two weeks it takes for us to be considered fully immunized have passed, whether I’ll begin to go out and about, shopping, or even dining out. At the moment in my neck of the woods, only patio dining is being offered, and I have never been a fan of that. From what I can tell looking at the description of the province’s “road map to reopening”, it’ll likely be the end of July or even early August before indoor dining will be offered.

As to any adverse reactions to the second shot, at 11 hours post jab, there was nothing. David’s arm was a bit sore, the day of and even more so this morning. He also said he felt as if he was coming down with a cold, and I think he went through that same sense of ick last time. As for me, when I awoke this morning, thank you, Lord, I felt fine.

I do know that once we hit that two-week mark that I will be safe. It’s more of a question of whether or not I’ll feel safe. A lot of people are having challenges in that regard, and I wouldn’t be surprised that when the time comes, I’ll feel the same way—hesitant to go out and leery of crowds. If that happens, I plan to continue to wear a mask—and I am going to keep some masks here, on hand, in the weeks and months and years to come for times when I have a cold. I think it would be wise and considerate for me to wear one if I come down with the sniffles.

In the meantime, I’m going to carry on today with a lighter schedule in an abundance of caution and then look forward to “Freedom Day” in July.

And maybe when that day comes, and if indoor dining is available, I’ll surprise myself. Perhaps by the time the end of July rolls around, I’ll be ready.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

 June 16, 2021

Summer’s here, ahead of schedule, which of course doesn’t surprise anyone at all. Also arriving in this part of the world last Friday, a few days ahead of schedule, was “step one of the provincial roadmap to reopening.”

Yes, indeed, the “stay at home” order has been lifted and some of the restrictions removed at long last, and I have stayed at home, still.

The progress that I was able to make with regard to this entire situation was to take advantage of our province’s push to accelerate second shots of the vaccine. You may recall that earlier in the spring the decision was made by our governments to delay second shots in order to get as many first shots into arms as possible. We didn’t have a robust supply of vaccine at the time, and seriously, I did agree with the measure. The first shot gives some protection—actually more protection than I’ve ever received from any flu shot—and while the experts have given a guideline on when the second should occur it hasn’t been a vaccine that’s been around long enough for them to really know if there would be a problem or not, stretching that time frame.

Our second shots are now booked for next week, which is more than a month sooner than our original appointment. Two weeks after that, we will feel a lot more secure, as we will be considered fully vaccinated.

When you’re over 65 with risk factors, you tend to be very careful about something that has caused, world-wide as of this past Monday, over 175 million confirmed cases and 3.7 million deaths.

This past weekend, since the “nonessential” stores were finally open, our daughter and her daddy headed out to purchase the lumber and other supplies needed to replace the front steps that lead up to the porch. The railing had collapsed about a month ago, and at that time, David pulled down the steps—in his words, “before someone had them collapse under them, breaking their damn fool necks.”

We’ve been using our back door to come and go, and had a chair placed out front beside where the steps had been with a sign inviting deliveries to be left there.

This past weekend was our daughter’s weekend off, and she and her father really worked hard to get those new steps built. They did a damn good job of it, and by Monday morning, there were just a few things left for them to do.

Our previous walkway, that David had built years before using old, untreated railway ties, was beginning to deteriorate, so the decision was made to replace the walkway using large square patio stones. The new stairs extend longer from the porch than the old ones did, which makes them a lot more user friendly for me.

I don’t know if I ever mentioned that our son came to help on that long ago weekend when we needed to build stairs off the side of the porch (the town had ordered the concrete ones off the front demolished when they had to replace the sidewalk). He and his dad bought a stringer and some wood and then together put the small staircase in, and the walkway, too. I mentioned right away at the time that the stairs were a tad too steep, but they both just shrugged. And a couple of years later, it was our son who, looking at the stairs with suddenly objective eyes said, “crap, we put them in upside down.” Now, I don’t know if that was true, but it made me chuckle at the time.

These new stairs are not steep at all. I can balance on my cane and just step up. No “hauling” my ass toward the heavens any more!

But because they are not steep and needed to extend further, the construction required that some of my flower bed had to be dug up and the bulbs rescued. That was fine, especially since our daughter decided to redesign the flower beds, putting in a new one across the front of the porch, edged in grey brick.

The two of them worked very hard, as I said, and as of Monday there were just a few more things to do in order to call it all done. The patio stones had been placed but they needed to be removed so that a base of sand/stone dust could be laid beneath them. David wanted to get some carriage bolts to secure the railing as well and, of course, we needed flowers to go in that new flower bed across the front.

In the fall, we’ll buy some new bulbs to replace the few that likely won’t have survived the move—as well as to compensate for those that I know have been left to languish beneath the new walkway.

Our daughter and her father share many traits, so I know darn well that they didn’t remove all of the bulbs beneath the surface. It simply wouldn’t have seemed a good use of that most limited of all resources—time.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

 

 June 9, 2021

One of the things I’ve noticed about myself lately is that my daily routines might be a tad more important to me than probably is good for me.

In the last year especially, it seems that all manner of unexpected happenings have the power to disrupt my schedule and once that happens, I am hard pressed to re-establish control over my day. My ambition flies off into the ether, and I am left to try and…adjust. Friends, at times that adjustment isn’t easy, nor is it pretty.

It used to be that my schedule was like a guard rail, there, just so that I could look up for a moment and see where I was as opposed to where I was heading. These days? My schedule is more like that strong, stout line tied between house and barn that some folks in the mountains have installed for those days when there’s a fierce blizzard and the snow is flying fast and furious and with no visibility. The only way not to end up getting disoriented, lost and dead is to cling to that line, baby, cling! Yes, that’s me and my schedule in a nutshell.

Recently I’ve experienced a number of disruptions which, considering the monotony of the stay-at-home world in which I have faithfully abided during this pandemic might have been considered a nice change of pace. But of course, you have to know that is not the attitude I adopted with these disruptions. I hope I haven’t shocked you with that admission. I keep a positive, upbeat attitude 99 percent of the time. It’s just when someone or something messes with my plan for the day that I tend to kind of lose it.

One day we had a plumber booked come in to fix our cold water tap in the bathtub. That darn thing wasn’t dripping, it was running! He was scheduled to arrive between 8 am and 5 pm. He called at 7:35 am to say he would be there in ten minutes. Of course, it did work out better for us in the end, because we didn’t have to adjust the time David was walking the dogs or napping that day, but still. I never got over the jarring start that day gave me. Why, I hadn’t even had my first cup of coffee yet! It took me a couple of hours to get back to my schedule, but my heart really wasn’t in it.

Another day, I turned on my computer, but my preferred browser wouldn’t open. The error message was one I’d never seen before, and so I contacted the Geek Squad. Yes, I have three browsers on this PC, but the one I like the best has all my bookmarks. And, since I am signed on through google, hooray, the bookmarks were safe.

I kept my patience while the original geek goofed up a couple things, but then finally I was successfully transferred to a “technician” who would assist me via remote. Um, yeah, it was the same geek wearing a different hat, but one really doesn’t have a choice in these matters.

Now, some have chided me for giving remote control to the geek squad to fix my computer issues, because…um….I guess because I am letting THE MAN see what I’ve got here on my computer? I guess I’m not supposed to let THEM know my business.

I think the fact that I am Canadian and not American may speak to my attitude in this area (since it is only my American friends who are appalled). I am not doing anything I should not be doing, so hey, THEM can look all they like. I don’t think I am doing anything interesting enough for anyone to take particular note of me. So they can just look and then they can just go away, yawing with boredom, and leave me alone.

But I digress.

It didn’t take long for the Geek Squad technician to restore my browser, and with my permission they also cleaned up my disc space, and within the hour I was back at the keyboard with nothing lost but some time and, of course, the integrity of my schedule.

One would think that with the dogs barking several times an hour on some days, I should be used to tossing my schedule out the window. That kind of noise, or really any kind of noise, can make it difficult for me to focus. However, for some reason, most days I can ignore the sound of the hounds as I work—at least until David leaves with one dog for the first walk.

Then our Bear-Bear performs The Lament of the Left Behind Puppy in a key guaranteed to drill holes in one’s ear drums. Every. Single. Day. But I know I’ve mentioned that in one (or more) previous essay. And yes, he does it even if he is on my lap being petted.

My current lack of flexibility in this area is probably just a part of getting older. Heck, I’m no where near as flexible physically as I used to be, so it makes sense, I guess, that I’d be less flexible, or perhaps tolerant, is a better word, in other areas.

I am working on this, I really am, and for one reason and one reason only. You see, around September of 2019, I was getting frustrated with all of the appointments, phone calls, errands, that all kept cropping up. I didn’t want to go places and do things then, I just wanted….well, heck, I thought, it would be so nice if I could just stay home, with no need to go anywhere for anything at all for at least a week. That, I told myself, would be wonderful, and such a nice change.

In other words, I’ve learned to be careful what I wish for. So when it comes to my attitude about my schedule, all I can say is I’ve learned my lesson and I’m trying to become a more mellow  me.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

 June 2, 2021

I have a question that’s been rattling around in my brain for a long time, now. The noise it’s been making has been constant. And it’s a question I would very much like the answer to:

When did it become acceptable to lie?

I’m not that naïve. I know that some people are liars—to the point that they don’t know how to be any other way. That has always been how it was, and in my younger days those people had few friends, because most others avoided them. Lying, in those days, was unacceptable.

I know that most people, myself included, have told lies on occasion. I don’t lie as a rule, because every time I do, I feel like crap. I feel guilty and want to curl up into a ball and hide somewhere. And usually, my lie is what I’ll call a victimless lie. Something that I will say to someone when the bare-naked truth would only wound them.  I still feel guilty, though, because a lie is still a lie. And seriously, as I’ve moved through life, lying has become my total hot button issue. There is nothing I hate more than lying or liars. But I seem to be in the minority there.

Because lately, I’ve been watching the news and hearing people tell absolute lies and then they behave as if they’ve told the truth. There seems to be a theory that is on the verge of becoming like a natural law, and it is this: if you tell a lie often enough, in time people will believe it. Hell, in time the liar will believe it. More and more people believe that lie that has been told to the point that even the ones who started it act as if they believe it is the truth. It’s a kind of brainwashing, I think. And the people who believe the lies are the ones whose brains are being rewired.

I have a second question. Is there a “fix” for the growing mass of people who believe these lies? And folks, these aren’t even lies where the actual truth is difficult to discern. These are lies easily proven as such. Theories already debunked. And yet, the deluded continue to believe.

I’m reminded of that horrible cult that was in the news back in 1978. The People’s Temple was at first a religious organization founded in Indiana in 1955, then moved to California in 1965. In 1974 the cult moved to Guyana.  The leader of this cult had so enthralled the membership, that when he ordered them to drink what they knew was poison-laced Kool-Aid, they did just that. The cult leader died by shooting himself, after more than 900 of his followers were dead from the poison they ingested—children included.

I realize that this comparison might be way over the top. But it was what came into my mind as I was thinking about how some people are so fanatical when it comes to their belief in lies and their mindless devotion to certain liars.

And I have a third and final (for today) question.

These liars, those who are parents, what do they do when their children lie to them? How can they justify punishing them for “bearing false witness” when they themselves are living, and regurgitating their own lies day after day after day?

I don’t know where all this wholesale lying that I’m seeing and hearing on my television is going to put us. But I’m tempted to think the best solution, short term, is to close my ears to their sound.

And that is something that I, along with everyone else, must never, ever do.

Hear it. Hate it. Call it out!

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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