Spring thoughts...

 April 16, 2025

April has proven to us all that it is indeed a month of uncertainty. Is it spring? Is it winter? No one knows for sure this year. A few weather reports that I caught bits of on television featured the word snow, followed by the words, “in April!” said with a sufficient amount of indignation to let us all know that even according to the meteorologists, this was beyond the norm.

I would submit that it’s beyond the norm these days. I mean, think about it. Here in my neck of the woods, when I was a child, there was a hard and fast custom against planting one’s garden before the third week of May. That was a custom for a reason. For those who’ve never gardened, the directions on the back of seed packages caution to only plant when all danger of frost is past. And in my youth it was the general consensus that by mid-May it was reasonably safe to assume that all danger of frost was, indeed, past.

Reasonably.

Folks, we are in a massive period of uncertainty, and on more than one level. I now understand that the first sixty-plus years of my life have spoiled me. I do believe it’s now a possibility that I shall forever after remain in some way, here and there, out of my comfort zone. If anyone has a blanky and a pacifier they’re not using, I’d be grateful for the donations.

This past weekend saw the clean up of our back yard begin. It was a bit bigger of a task than it recently has been, since our yard furniture didn’t get put away last fall. This meant that the clean up process included a lot of moving around of stuff to get to the ground. Daughter did most of the work, with her dad helping as much as he could. She is waiting for it to get a bit milder with the promise of some of those April showers, so she can execute her annual grass-seeding of the back yard.

David, for his part, focused on cleaning out his “shed” which is in fact a storage tent whose best days are done. We’ve purchased a new, smaller version of the easy to build outside storage unit. Smaller, because the one he cleaned out didn’t really have a lot of the space used up—even accounting for the lawn furniture that never made it inside. In the next week or so, one of our grandsons will be by to assist in the tearing down of the old and erecting of the new.

One of the things our daughter also did was to pull all the dead vegetation from our table gardens. This year, rumor has it, a new strategy will be employed by the head gardener. He’s going to dedicate two of the tables to green beans, and at least one to tomatoes. There shall no other variety of plant grown per table except for the designated sort in each garden.

Finally.

One can never tell what the growing season will be like. The summer before last was an absolutely banner one for tomatoes. This past summer, our tomato crop was, quite frankly, dismal.

Farming—whether large scale or small—is one endeavor that depends for its success on so many variables. It’s the original risky business. So, while we understand that we can’t be promised a bumper crop, or even an adequate one, we will go forward with the project, regardless.

There is purpose and joy and yes, therapy to be found in the planning, the planting, and the tending.

Really, one can say that planting a garden is a good analogy for living a life. One does what one can with what one has on hand. One takes the time to cherish the steps and the small pleasures that are there, just for the enjoying, if one looks.

As to the outcome? Well that, my friends, is pretty much up to God.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

An attitude of gratitude...

 April 9, 2025

Of all the things I hope for myself, going forward along this path I’m on, one thing stands out above all the rest: I hope I never stop being grateful.

I want to keep being grateful not just for the big things in life, but for the little things. Actually, I want to remain grateful mostly for the little things. Because you see, I have discovered that if I am grateful for the small blessings in life, then I will never cease to be grateful for the big ones.

Blessings can indeed be defined, but that definition is subjective. Each of us has our own preferences, our own lived experiences, and our own definitions of what a blessing is.

Among my most cherished blessings: time spent with my loved ones, family and friends; climbing into my well-made bed each night (and oh how I am regretful on those few days when I don’t make that bed in the morning); a dinner I prepared that turns out really well; quiet time spent in a comfy chair with a good book when there is nothing more pressing to be done than to just relax and read.

Any turn of good luck qualifies as a blessing, as does any pleasant surprise that comes along. That’s a bit subjective, I know. Just as I also know that y’all can take that to mean whatever you think fits for yourself.

I’m grateful for those rare days when I open my front door and inhale wonderful, clean smelling, uplifting fresh air. I’m grateful for well written books, well crafted movies, and songs that fill the heart to overflowing. I’m grateful every time I go to the grocery store and find their electric cart available for me to use.

I’m grateful, equally, for a beautiful sunny day or a dark, dramatic storm. I’m grateful when there is an orange left in the basket for me to enjoy, and for a left-over roast beef sandwich made on wonderfully fresh bread. Yum, yum.

And I’m very grateful for gratitude itself.

Living my life with that quality means that there are few times when I am disappointed or consumed with anxiety.  There are very few times when I don’t step forward in the morning anticipating a small blessing of one sort or another.

Do I get sad? Oh yes, sometimes. I still have days where I grieve for my late son, as well as others who are no longer here. But you see, I consider grief a blessing. Because if I hadn’t loved someone in the first place, I could not grieve them when they’re gone. I’m sad when I hear of others suffering, especially if those others are children.

When I was much younger, a twenty-something mother with a difficult marriage, three children and very spare means—I used to hold close my disappointments in life, the times others had wronged me, or when I had perceived them to have done so. I readily saw all those people who were better off than I was, people who appeared to be so much more deserving of everything. People who seemed to  be thriving when I felt as if I couldn’t catch a break.

Thankfully, my faith in God helped me to leave that mindset behind. But I remember it and how it felt (the memory is a blessing) and I can tell you that to be the way I used to be feels horrible. There’s no happiness, no joy, that cannot be blotted out by that kind of negative, self-defeating, self-sabotaging misery.

To feel that way feels worse inside than any genuine difficult challenge I will face in life could ever inspire on its own.

So, one of my constant prayers for myself each night before I drift off to sleep, is to pray that I remain grateful, and never turn into a cynical, grouchy and unhappy person.

And I remain steadfast in my faith that this prayer will be granted.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

April...

 April 2, 2025

It’s already April! Seriously, I have no idea how it is that time seems to go faster and faster the older I get. But while we are now officially out of that six month stretch of time known as winter (per the Ashbury family’s lore a full six months, October to March inclusive), it’s not yet at all anything like what I would call spring.

In my neck of the woods, we’re in a kind of weather purgatory of cold and damp, and I am not a fan.

But I am very fortunate, and aware of that fact. At my age I don’t have to go anywhere I don’t want to go, and I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do and…. yeah, who am I kidding?

While my life is truly my own, I’m too used to adulting, to doing what needs done, day by day, to really boast any true sense of freedom. Or maybe that’s not stated quite correctly. I can choose the other, but so far, I haven’t. And I really do hope that I won’t.

I could miss appointments made, if I wanted to. But I’m too much my mother’s daughter to do that. I could just walk past the tiny messes that seem to be everywhere in this house. But I’m too well trained in responsibility to do that.

I could just sit in my recliner each day and scroll through a gazillion television shows and other options (there’s got to be something good in there somewhere) except my mind is too used to being busy. And let’s face it, too much of what is available on television or on streaming platforms these days is just mind numbing.

The way I see it, time is taking the edge off my thinking processes enough as it is; I don’t want to help that along, period. I already feel as if I’m on a slippery mental slope that’s about to get steeper.

I’m currently attempting to balance the two concepts of staying informed and staying sane, and friends, let me tell you here and now, that’s not easy.  Too much of what is happening in the world these days can certainly induce ire. Too much ire is not good for my heart and health, or anyone else’s for that matter.

I’m not certain when it became okay for folks to talk trash, to threaten others, to play fast and loose with the concepts of respect and decency. I don’t know when it became okay to profess that there is no truth, and that the loudest and the most obnoxious is also the most trustworthy. I don’t know how or why that all has happened, but I wish it would stop.

I’m reduced to that old saying, “back in my day”. Because back in my day if I had said some of the things that are being said by so-called leaders these days, I could have expected to receive a cuff on my ear followed by a “don’t be so damn stupid.”.

As I let my attention drift to the window behind my monitor, I open myself to what is and look beyond what I can see. Icy rain is falling, and the sky is a moody gray. It looks cold, and I shiver in advance of having to go out into that weather before too long.

And I remind myself that way up there, above the cloud cover and the rain, the sky is blue and the sun shines. It’s a beautiful April day that just happens to be hampered at the moment by clouds and cold and wet.

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Not going to worry overmuch....

 March 26, 2025

Every week, sometimes on Tuesday but more and more lately on Wednesday, I settle myself down at my keyboard to write my weekly essay. I ensure I have water, and a blanket for my legs, and that I’m positioned just right in my chair. But what I never have, as I set out to write Wednesday’s Words, is any idea of what it is I’m going to give you.

You could ask one hundred writers where they find the inspiration for their words, and you will likely get one hundred different answers. Mine isn’t perhaps the most unique, but it’s true: I don’t know where it comes from, I just know when its arrived.

This morning, as I was getting ready to get to it, I took a rare not-end-of day trip to the land of YouTube. Fortunately, there were no rabbit holes in my path, but my mind did wander, which is S.O.P. (standard operating procedure) for me.

And I was thinking how odd our world is. It’s like we’re living in a two-story mega building, in a way. One floor is given to those who have agendas with varying twists and turns and machinations thrown in for good measure. They have plans, intricate plans, based mostly on their own egos—their own sense of self.  And the other floor is just regular folks living their everyday lives. They get up, go to work, come home, and do whatever. They have plans, too, but not ones that are egocentric. They plan to just be. They plan to get together with friends, go clubbing, catch a game on the television, or just sit quietly and listen to music.

On the one floor there are poseurs who don’t realize that they are; bullies who believe they’re in charge and rightfully so; and scavengers who only want to get as much as they can as fast as they can because they can.

On the other floor there are people who have dreams, and aspirations, and goals—and not all just for themselves. They look for ways to share their time, and when someone needs a hand, they give it without consideration or expectation of gain in return for themselves.

Each floor has its own way of doing things, and each floor operates completely independent of the other.

The one floor—the one with the movers and the shakers and the wanna-be king makers—isn’t overly crowded, but it’s crowded enough. And they understand, you see, that there are folks living presumably beneath them, but because they are, in their minds “beneath them”, and they don’t think much beyond that somewhat subjective fact. After all, they can’t be much of anything, they say, because if they were they’d be “up here” instead of “down there”.

The other floor, folks just want to live their lives day to day, just want to be and to see and yes, to love. They are content for the most part to let that other floor do what they want to do where they are. They don’t let that floor get to them, because why would they?

After that image had fully taken root in my mind, I begin to think, as I often do, “what if”?

What if life really is 95% perception?

Facts are facts, but if folks don’t accept the facts, what happens then?

Do you see the trouble I get myself into when I spend too much time thinking?

It all comes down to a choice. What’s more important in life—the fact that you’re not rich, or your ability to find contentment regardless of that fact?

Perception is important because it acknowledges fact and then chooses how to interpret that fact.

This is important. Because another fact is there are more people on the one floor than there are on the other; and those others—the movers and the shakers and the wanna-be king makers—hold a second serious disadvantage aside from being outnumbered.

Their inability either to trust or to be trustworthy works directly against every other single advantage that they think they have.

So, I’m not going to worry overmuch. I figure that things will change for the better when enough people get to the point where they’ve simply had enough.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Ah, spring...

 March 19, 2025

Over the course of the last week, the snow has melted away. I don’t know if I can tell you just how happy I am about this fact. On top of that, today has dawned sunny and warm. I’ve already checked the forecast. It promises the temperature will rise above 65 by this afternoon. And while Spring will not officially arrive until 5:01am tomorrow morning, as noted on the calendar, I feel it’s safe to announce that Spring has indeed sprung.

Now, we still may get snow between today and the end of May. It’s happened more times in the past than I can recall. But that, of course will be a spring snow and not a winter one. And yes, also of course, it’s all a matter of one’s perspective—or one’s attitude. A great deal of how we interpret things in life really is.

The weather will, according to this same forecast, begin to turn chilly after today—who couldn’t have guessed that? But I will celebrate the moments while they are here and take time to appreciate the warmth of sun and air while it lasts.

I’ve mentioned in the past that ours is a corner property. We have a back door, accessed by the cross street, which is in fact on a hill that rises from east to west, and on the south side of our house. We have an enclosed back yard, and therefore a gate via which to enter and exit the yard. In the good weather (read: weather without mounds of snow or frozen gates) we use that back gate to cart our trash to the street for our weekly trash pick-up. It’s a straight, no-stairs, not very long trek.

A side note: we also use this gate to bring in our groceries in “good” weather. We have a garden cart that David fetches to the road. I pull the car over on that hill—emergency flashers blinking—and he can easily put the groceries from car to cart, then pull that cart to the back door. Yes, there’s one step down into the kitchen, but otherwise this is a much easier way to cart our shopping in.

However, during the times when the gate is frozen shut, we have to keep our garbage cans and recycle containers on our front porch (and lug groceries by hand up the steps to the porch). The good news is the porch is covered, and the bins are generally free from having to be dug out at any given time.

The bad news is that they are on my front porch for all the world to see. I truly hate that, as I hate little else in this life.

But as of last night, when I kind of insisted, the porch is now clear of such blight. I will tell you that my porch is nothing much to look at. But there are chairs there for folks to sit on and watch the street. Further into spring, there will be plenty of plants as well. I generally have two “window boxes” of plants that hang from the railing; and four potted, profusely flowering plants that hang along the top of the porch. We also have nice, serviceable cushions to pad the three metal-framed chairs as well as a small table in between two of them to allow for a place for coffee mugs to rest.

My front porch is certainly not fancy, but it is my front porch and a lovely place to sit and think when the mood strikes.

David gets the most use of the porch, as he loves being outside. He spent the last forty years of his working life in a job that was outside year-round. I will sit out on the porch from time to time, but because of my arthritis I have to be aware of the breeze. David doesn’t have that problem. He’ll be sitting out even when I think it’s far too chilly to do so.

He’s been out there quite a bit since the snow left, and I can tell you that his ability to do so has brightened his mood considerably.

Soon, the grass and the plants will awaken to this new spring and its new possibilities. We anticipate the green that will become a part of the view out our windows and from our porches. But in this moment, the sense that everything is fresh and new and waiting is the essence of the promise of spring.

And in this moment, we can sigh that the worst of the winter of 2024-2025 is behind us. The best really is yet to come.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

About that...

 March 12, 2025

I would like to make one thing perfectly clear. Canadians have always been patriotic.

We have always held a great love for and pride in our country. We have always taken a full-hearted yet quiet pride in the accomplishments of our fellow citizens. Some of them are known world-wide. Michael J. Fox; Celine Dion; Michael Bublé; Ryan Reynolds; and the co-discoverer of Insulin, Dr. Frederick Banting, to name the ones that come to mind.

We have always been the first to reach out when there has been a sudden need to be filled, wherever that need arises around the world—or in our own country. During the recent, many and varied natural disasters that have taken place south of the 49^th, Canadians have given aid in record amounts. One need only check with the Canadian Red Cross to know that is so.

Americans have always known that if they are somewhere overseas, and there is no American Embassy at hand, they can go to the Canadian Embassy or Consulate and find the help they need.

In 1979, when Americans were being held hostage in the Embassy in Tehran, the Canadian ambassador sheltered six American diplomats and got them free of that very volatile situation, and back home safely. That ambassador’s name was Ken Taylor, and President Ronald Reagan awarded him the Congressional Gold Medal for his heroism.

More than twenty years later, at another moment of crisis for America, when the airways were closed down, one small town in Newfoundland said yes and accepted 38 planes on 9/11, carrying 6,579 people. That act doubled the size of the town of Gander. Quick shelters were provided to house those seeking it, yes, but also Canadians opened their own homes to those stranded during a perilous time. And that didn’t just happen in Gander, but in other provinces throughout the country, too. In total, over 250 flights carrying approximately 45,000 people found refuge here in Canada for that heartbreaking week.

And—this is important—no one, absolutely no one charged a penny for the above services. And when many tried to give money to those who had offered a safe harbor, meals and clothing, the answer was no. Not just no, but said with confidence “no, you’d have done the same.”

We are patriots and we are humanitarians, and we are quick to help where we can.

Our patriotism runs deep. We don’t need fireworks or parades, or grand shows, (though we have them on our nation’s birthday, Canada Day) to prove our mettle in this area. For Canadians, pride of country is as natural and as pure and as instinctive as is breathing.

And yes, it’s true, we are polite. And yes, we are and have always been good friends with our neighbors to the south. Many individual Canadians not only have very close American friends, but members of their own families. In fact, I have several very good friends who live in such diverse locations as Utah, Pennsylvania, Florida, and Texas.

But no, we are not pushovers. And we don’t, to a person, care very much for bullies. Those of us who are Christian don’t wave our Bibles; we live by them. We not only know the commandment to love our neighbors as ourselves, we practice it.

And we don’t much like the prattle that has been directed our way lately by the current prominent voices in the U.S.

We’re an intelligent people. We don’t hold individuals responsible for the sins of others. If you’re coming to Canada for vacation, you’ll be welcome here. We don’t play “gotcha” games.

I know a lot of you, my dear American friends, have been very angry with the behavior of your loudest spokespeople in recent weeks. We know you don’t agree with what is being done or said. And we know that you’re concerned that we might be all alone in the world now that your government seems to be turning you away from us.

But don’t you worry. We are a forgiving people, a people who believe in redemption and second chances. When the time is right, we’ll do what we can to mend the damage that has been done to our relationship. It may take time—after all, we learned when we were children that broken trust takes time to mend. But I assure you it can be mended.

And in the meantime, we do have other friends. We’re liked in Europe and Asia, and my goodness! We are a member of the Commonwealth of Nations—an organization of 56 independent countries. You may have heard of it. And guess what? Our King is the head of it.

So please, dear friends, do what you can to fix things in your back yard. We wish you the best, and we have faith that before long you will be back to your former charming and reasonable selves.

As for us, we’re going to be just fine. And in the words of the late, great Gordie Howe, elbows up.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

It's March!

 March 5, 2025

Welcome to March 2025!

In last week’s essay, I let you know I was looking forward to finally being able to leave my house after a couple of weeks of being house-bound due to copious amounts of and poorly placed piles of snow on ice.

We were successful in our first trip out to the grocery store, and David was certainly happy to get out and have lunch. We were able to get a few of the essentials we were running low on, and some of them were even on sale. We couldn’t get everything we needed, however, because we simply can’t get that much up the front stairs and into the house on our own. But that was all right, because our daughter was picking up her grandchildren to come for the weekend a few days later, on Saturday. She would have two strong young people to help her bring in the extra items we needed.

You may also recall that, according to Ashbury family tradition, winter each year runs from October to March, inclusive. Therefore, this current cold and snowy season will end in 26 days. Not that I’m counting, or anything. I’m just anal.

Our temperature is slated to hit 50 degrees Fahrenheit today. I’m very happy to hear it, but I’m not super excited about it. Because with this temperature increase comes rain. So much rain, in fact, that Environment Canada has issued a flash flood warning. Yes, rain melts snow. No question. But then all that water has no place to go because the ground is frozen—even more frozen than usual for this time of year.

And by more frozen, I mean that the freeze is deeper into the ground than it has been for the last few years.

And then, of course, after being teased by the spring-like warmth of today, and lots of rain with it, we go back right to below freezing temperatures beginning tomorrow, for at least a week. Maybe even longer.

The good news about that is that while it’s not time yet to schedule our annual spring-cleaning extravaganza, that day is on the horizon, and we’ll likely begin to plan for it.

The bad news? Lots of rain (water) melting lots of snow (more water) is about to not seep into the ground and to therefore freeze solid. For those of us who do have institutional memory of these kinds of situations, we know to do certain things. One must go out and rescue, for example, things like garbage pails our outdoor grills that may be or about to be in standing water. They need to be moved to someplace less subject to being encased in three inches of ice. Because if they’re left where they are, one likely won’t be able to move them until full-on spring.

Fun times. Another good thing is that having the air warmer today means not tempting frostbite while you go out and do what you can to prevent damage to household items.

This year, so far, we’ve given no thought to the upcoming planting season. There are discussions to be had, for certain. And we’ll get to them by and by.

But we did receive notice that this upcoming “construction” season, our street is slated to receive a new water main, and then the road itself will be replaced. There was a “drop in” meeting held this past Monday at the nearest community center. Our daughter and I went, and it was an interesting and informative evening.

We learned at that, while right now there is a sidewalk on both sides of our street, after this project is complete, there will no longer be a sidewalk on our side of it.

During the construction period, I will not be able to park my vehicle in front of my house. But since I have an accessible parking permit, arrangements can be made. Ours is a corner property. We’ve suggested that there’s enough room for us to park on our side lawn, just slightly infringing on the edge of the roadway—of the east-west oriented cross street.

Making application to do so now will begin the process by which the by-law department can allow an exception, which will be a great help to me. It would be difficult for me to stay mobile if I have to walk a block or more to get from house to car. I’ll shortly be writing a letter to get that process under way.

I have something to do that is new and different, and that, to me, is a bonus.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Going out...

 February 26, 2025

The computer monitor that I’ve been using for the past several years is the largest monitor I have ever owned. The bottom edge measures about 26 inches across, and the side edge about 16 inches high. Additionally, the monitor is slightly concave. I sit about a foot and a half back from it, and it stands on my desk in front of my full-sized office window. There are about three inches between the bottom edge of the monitor and my desk, which allows me, when I bend over slightly, to see a tiny little sliver of about two inches through that window to the outside world. Of course, there is a lot of window above the monitor, but that just lets me see the sky and a few of the branches of our walnut tree—through the necessary springtime sunscreen of a bamboo curtain.

I tell you all this because yesterday for the first time in about two and a half weeks enough snow had melted from the bottom of the window that I could in fact see the roof of my car and the lower part of the post that holds the “no parking” sign on the other side of our street.

And I am very hopeful that later today I will finally be able to leave my house, go down the porch steps, to the walkway, then go from the walkway down the sidewalk to the neighbor’s driveway so I can get onto the street and walk to my car. Yes, I have been housebound since February 7^th. Although, to be honest, on the Monday of that week I couldn’t get out and about either. Here is where I thank the driver of the snowplow on that day for loading up our sidewalk. I really shouldn’t complain. They’re usually very careful not to do that.

This is the first winter ever where I have been restricted in my movements for more than a couple of days. Oh, there has been the odd day when I haven’t wanted to venture out in recent years past due to the wind, the cold or the precipitation. But this is the first time when I really couldn’t. We ended up with a lot of ice on our steps, and then snow on top of the ice, to the extent that the steps down from the porch were dicey to use the entire time. And I will admit that since my daughter was very worried that I would fall and hurt myself, I agreed to stay put.

I am sure that you can imagine that at this point, I’m more than a little antsy to just get out.

Fortunately, during this weeks-long confinement, we’ve not been without anything. Our daughter has still gone to work on all but that first really bad snowfall day. And once out, she is able to stop to get whatever we might be running low on, or just plain want, on her way home. I usually try not to ask her to do this, because I am aware that she works hard and by the end of her day she’s tired and just wants to get home. Under normal circumstances, I go out during the day to whichever local store to get whatever we want/need, so she doesn’t have to.

Of course, these last weeks have not been normal. And I will confess that it may have been a tad passive aggressive on my part to notify her of several more things we have been running out of over the last few days. But honestly, when I can’t get out to get those few items myself, someone else has to do it, and unfortunately for her, that’s her.

Yesterday, quite a bit of the snow that we received during those two huge stormy days melted. Our daughter has done a good job of driving back and forth over the patch of road at the curb where we park—running the snow that had been left there down, as it were, for ease of movement.

We’re heading out, David and I, in a half hour or so. We’ll go to one of our two grocery stores here in town—the one we used to use all the time before the prices soared. We have a small list, because in winter, we can’t use our grocery wagon, so what we buy we carry up the steps and into the house. And since we’re going to be out anyway, we’ll make a stop on the way home at his favorite eatery for lunch.

And be grateful to finally have a change of scenery.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Holy snow!

 February 19, 2025

Over the last several days, we have received over eighteen inches of snow. In our lower back yard, which is enclosed for the dogs, we have a drift that is more than two feet in height.

David and I were trying to remember the last time we had this much snow at one time. He’s 72 and I’m 70, and our memories aren’t as reliant as once they were. So we asked our daughter who’s only 46—and she can’t remember, either.

But we all know that it was more than a few years ago. Hell, the last two years didn’t even feel like real winters to us at all.

That being said, we believe in contingency plans. We have a logistical operational imperative here, with relation to possible accumulated snowfall. It takes some explanation, so here goes.

Our street isn’t all that wide. Cars can pass each other going in opposite directions, in the summer, with about a couple of inches to spare. As long as no one is parked at the curb on either side of the street.

Now, some time ago, the town changed our street from parking on each side alternatively, changing on the first day and the sixteenth day of the month, to parking only on one side the entire time. Luckily, that side is the same side of the street as our house.

Additionally, ours is a corner property, on the northwest corner of an intersection. And the cross street includes a steep hill on the west side. That means that cross street, with that hill, is one of the first areas in our town to be plowed and salted after a snowfall. And our imperative is that as soon as that cross street has been plowed, we clean off our cars and move them there. Then, we await the plowing of our own street, and only after that is done, do we move our vehicles back to our street and in front of our house.

This has worked very well for us for the last several years.

Snow fell Saturday and Sunday, and it was a miracle that we were able to get one grandson and one great-granddaughter here on Monday to help with the digging out of the cars. It took a while but finally they were moved to the cross street.

Yesterday afternoon, finally, our street was sufficiently plowed, and we were able to move our cars back.

The “we” in that last sentence is what is sometimes referred to, in our family as “the royal we”. The history of this is that when my mother would tell me that “today, we’re going to____ (fill in the blank)”, what she really meant was that I was going to do whatever work was required while she looked on.

 Yes, it was our daughter who moved the vehicles, because while the street has been plowed—somewhat—the walkway and the steps that lead up from the walkway to the porch, not to mention the curb itself are all buried under an incredible combination of snow and ice.

And we need the steps and walkway cleared, as swell as a sport on the curb shoveled out, if we are to leave our house and get into our car.

My daughter has informed us that my husband and I can consider ourselves housebound for a few more days yet.

We happen to agree with that opinion. We need to get our grandson over to clean off the walkway and the steps, get rid of snow and ice there. Then he has to shovel out not just the curb but the road itself a bit more as the plow didn’t do that good of a job and there is too much of the white stuff to drive into and away from the curb comfortably.

But first we have to wait until after tomorrow, because the forecast calls for more snow on Thursday, and who knows how much more white stuff that will really be?

Because I like to end on a positive note, there’s this: in days past, it used to be me who had to figure out all the logistics and put plans into motion. This usually included some shovel wielding by myself and my husband, too.

I am pleased to report that is no longer the case. I no longer have to shoulder the planning and the worry. I can just sit back and wait for things to be done.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

Winter...

 February 12, 2025

I believe that y’all know that I’ve worried about all the snow that has, year after year lately, fallen in incredible amounts in places where, just a decade before, barely any ever fell at all. Seriously, after watching more than my share of American news casts, I’ve come away just shaking my head. My dear friends south of the 49^th can’t seem to catch a break, weather-wise.

Now, I am a Canadian, and to be honest with you, I have a lot of memories of very snowy winters, the winters of my younger years. I remember riding in my parent’s car, and not knowing where we were exactly, because I couldn’t see above the snow piled up on the shoulders of the road.  I used to build snow forts so high that I, at nine or ten, could stand up inside of them. Through the convenience of news reports, I’ve looked on at the white covering parts of Texas and other southern states and felt shocked.

In fact, a lot of parts of the U.S. have gotten more snow the last few years than I have seen up close and personal here in my part of Canada in a very long time. But after the last couple of our winters here in southern Ontario being—well, not much like winter, at all, I have an announcement to make.

The winter we’ve experiencing this year looks to be heading toward some record snow accumulations—some real blasts from the past. And a good part of that accumulation is scheduled to happen tonight.

This winter I have actually been hampered by the weather at times when I’ve needed to go out. Some days it’s been too cold or too icy for me to venture out. Or there was too much rain at one time which isn’t easy to navigate carrying in bags of groceries. We’ve made a habit of watching the forecasts before deciding which days are suitable for outings.

Then there was the windshield wiper blade that decided to shred at the last moment, the blade on the driver’s side. Between the occasion of that necessary and thin strip of rubber’s demise and my ability to go out in my car again on my own, a few days passed. I had to wait until last Monday when the forecast was for clear skies to get my car over to the Lube place to have new wipers put on.

And then came today. Today’s forecast called for a whole lot of snow, beginning around three this afternoon and continuing into Thursday morning. Fortunately, I was able to get my daughter to stop at a store on her way home from work today to pick up a few of the staples that I worried we might run out of. If it snows as bad as they’re saying it’s going to, it might be a few days before we can get out and buy groceries—an event that was planned for Friday.

I’m not complaining. It’s actually kind of interesting to know that the snow will sock us in and the result of that is that it’s okay. Neither my husband nor I have to go to jobs, so there will be no clearing off of vehicles nor any shoveling of sidewalks or roadways that we ourselves would have to do personally. And no snowy/icy roads for us to drive for miles on end, thank God.

That last one is the biggest blessing of all. My nightmare drives of winters past, the ones I hated over all others, were the ones that included dense fog, and roads featuring patches of black ice. My stomach clenches just thinking about those times. And running out of window washer fluid. And maybe having the defroster quit mid-commute. Yep, we experienced it all, at one point or another.

Drives that in good weather would take maybe twenty-five minutes, could and did, in the wrong conditions, take two to three hours.

So, we're about to be snowed in. We have the essentials, and at this moment are warm and toasty.

To any reading this who do not have extensive winter driving experience, I have but two words of advice: slow down!

And while one might not think that it would be necessary to expand on those two words, it needs to be done.

Dear friends, drive at no more that twenty to twenty-five miles an hour. If your car starts to slide, do not brake, but ease your foot off the gas and steer into the direction of the skid.

Stay safe out there. Spring will be here soon.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

Groundhog Day...

 February 5, 2025

One of the things I like best about the entire hoopla surrounding Groundhog Day—the actual day and not the movie—is how this observance is big enough to allow for any and all interpretations.

I have to admit that this year it snuck up on me. Yes, I know that it’s always on the second day of February. But for some reason I never gave it a single thought until the day before, and only then because someone mentioned that the next day was that day.

One can always use the occasion of Groundhog Day to underscore whichever interpretation one chooses. Because I don’t see much difference between “six more weeks of winter” and “an early spring”.

Six weeks from February 2 lands us on March 16. Spring arrives (according to the calendar) on March 20 at 5:01am. Which is four days later than the “6 more weeks”, thus making the 16th an early spring.

I rest my case.

I continue my personal reorganization, and sadly, it’s taking a lot more time and effort than I would like. Focus is not a state of being that I arrive at naturally anymore. Maybe I never did. Golly, I’m sure I remember a time not all that long ago when I could keep those five or six balls in the air without even breaking a sweat. Now I can manage one, if I don’t toss it too high into the air.

I think I finally appreciate that saying, “the good old days”.

I’m working on figuring out the ins and outs of this new computer. Getting a new one was inevitable, since my previous one used Windows 10 and the powers that be decreed that they would no longer support that system beyond this coming October.

I understand the concept of planned obsolescence. I believe in Capitalism, and in the freedom of folks to make things and do things and in letting the marketplace work for them. Unfortunately, there’s a kind of planned obsolescence happening in my brain. I hope to be able to master the tasks the way that I need to in order to get my own work done.

I think only time will tell with that one—and Time is not necessarily the hero of this story.

Our youngest grandson turned twenty-three, and we gathered at a local restaurant this past Monday to enjoy a meal in celebration of that event. It was a very enjoyable occasion. His mother—our second daughter—bought him a birthday cake, which she brought to the restaurant. It was chocolate, which he dearly wanted. And decorated in the “Hello Kitty” style which is how she rolls with her “man child.”

There was a bit of a tussle between him and his five-year-old niece over the rights to those pretty plastic decorated pieces. Our grandson told her she could play with them—but they were his because this was a celebration of his birthday.

Monday was an interesting day, all the way around. It started out with an ice and snow situation involving our sidewalk and walkway that kept me from venturing out for an early afternoon appointment, as I was planning to venture out on my own. I wondered if we would make it out for our family dinner. But help came in good time to resolve the issue, and we did.

Like I said, we’re older now and getting even more so with each passing day.  On a positive note, though, I certainly understand why some elderly folk can become a bit crotchety.

And I’d like to take this opportunity to sincerely apologize to any senior citizens I may had treated unfairly back in the day—even if I did so only in my thoughts.

I can honestly promise that’s not a mistake I will ever repeat in the future.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

Working on a project...

 January 29, 2025

We really fell down here, this past autumn, at the Ashbury household. Now, I could blame the stars for not aligning properly, and really that’s not as absurd as it sounds. Things really didn’t work out for us, on more than one level and occasion. In fact, the timing sucked, all the way around.

We’d planned to have our two oldest great-grandchildren do yard work—to help with the raking of the leaves, the cleaning out of the gardens, and the storing away of the back yard accoutrements: the table, the chairs, and the “ground covering” that we place over a very rough patch of concrete where the table and chairs take up space.

This plan was made because the children wanted to earn money for a goal that they’d set for themselves. We’re all for that.

However, every weekend that the children were free, the weather was awful. The weekends they weren’t free, and the weather wasn’t too bad, but at least two of us were having mobility/health issues at any given time.

So here we are, mid winter, none of the prep work for winter having been done. The tables, chairs, and ground cover are outside in the elements for the first winter, ever—as opposed to being tucked into the shed where no snow falls or ice forms.

I’m the only one in the house who feels the weight of this failure. And I think that is so, because it’s a part of my own personal journey along these uncharted paths of getting older.

I think I need to learn how to acknowledge—mostly to myself—that there are just things I cannot do anymore. That’s a hard thing for me to admit. I’ve always had lots of energy, and lots of mental capacity to juggle, handle, get things done. I also used to be the first person in line to offer to help others. I believe in helping others. Not so much the reverse, though.

Now I have to ask others for help, and that’s actually the hardest thing for me to do.

If we get a “January thaw”, even if it’s in February, I’m going to try and get some of those not-done chores done. I’ll give it my best shot, at any rate, and I will nag for help.

One thing I have been doing, and likely shouldn’t tell folks about, is I have been doing some very long overdue housekeeping of my email files.

I won’t tell you how bad it was. Let’s just say I was bordering on entering “hoarder” territory. When I realized just how many emails I had in those files, I felt overwhelmed at the prospect of cleaning them up.

But I thought on the matter a great deal and realized that I could set myself a goal of dealing with a certain number each day. Could I sit down and get it all done in one day? Definitely not. Could I do a certain number each day? Why yes, I could.

I’m pleased to report that two of my four email accounts have been cleared. And I am into day two of the third one. It will take some time. But I am determined to get this handled.

If you’re wondering what I will do once I have done so—well, folks, this office of mine also includes some storage shelves for canned goods and everyone’s what-nots, not just my own. And bookshelves where actual print books reside. And a small refrigerator wherein the water, soda, and other sorts of hydration reside, as well as the cases that fill same.

I know I’m going to need help for that phase of the project I have dubbed “the reorganization of Morgan Ashbury.”  And I plan to use my success in cleaning up the email as a reason why those of sound mind and body should be delighted to lend a hand.

That will likely be in a couple of months, because it would be good to have a bit less cold weather to allow for the opening of windows and the cleaning of the floor, and the airing out of the staleness of clutter.

So, I’m just going to believe that when the time comes, I’ll have the help—and the inspiration—that I need.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Tragedy...

 January 22, 2025

I have a theory that people will show you who they are, down to their soul, simply by the reaction they have to tragedy. More specifically, by their reaction to tragedy that doesn’t affect them directly.

Two weeks ago yesterday, news began to reach the world of a wildfire driven by record-breaking Santa Ana winds—hurricane force winds. As the hours and the days played out, as the horror grew, all we could do—all I could do—was to try and wrap my head around the magnitude of the tragedy unfolding and pray.

I still haven’t been successful with the former. But rather than thinking of my inability as a failure, I’ve decided that instead, it’s a healthy sign of the quality of my moral fibre.

This isn’t the first time that we’ve seen the loss of an entire community. A few years back, the fire that consumed Paradise, California was a shock to the system and a harbinger of what was in store for us all as a result of global warming brought on by climate change.

This is, however, the first time we are truly learning the difference between an out-of-control forest fire and a brush fire that has evolved into a wildfire. This latest blaze is the latter, not the former. And the fact that it can consume neighborhoods, towns, and leave trees standing is something new and strange and shocking.

Those of us still in full possession of our humanity find ourselves challenged as never before. It shouldn’t surprise us that Mother Nature is capable of setting us all in the dust in the blink of an eye. And yet, it always does.

Tragedies are awful things. They are a cause of pain and sorrow and almost unbearable grief. They destroy without rhyme or reason or mercy. They are the great levelers, as those who are rich and those who are poor are, in the midst of a shared tragedy, suddenly placed on an odd sort of level playing field. This tragedy has shown us that famous folk and ordinary folk are on the can stand side-be-side and view the ashes of their lives. So far as I know, because I did check, no tech billionaires lost their houses, so there’s that. The loss of a home transcends wealth, so I feel badly for anyone who has had their living memories go up in flames.

What tragedies are not and should never be is fuel for division and hatred, or tools to advance selfish interests. They are not anyone’s free ticket to a fortune. And yet far too often they become all t hat and more. In recent days, I have become aware of the attempts of some people to do so even as the fires continue to burn.

In these tempestuous times in which we live, I’ve decided on a path that is right for me. You see, I believe there is a difference between truth and lies; I believe that lies told in the service of self, or as a means of gaining power are not only wrong, but they’re also sinful in the eyes of God. I believe there is a purpose to life, and it’s not individual comfort. I believe that the most meaningful thing we can do is to uplift each other. To help each other. Especially in times of tragedy.

Yes, I want comfort—financial, emotional, intellectual—for my self. But I want that for everyone else, too. And I’ll tell you something else I believe to the bottom of my soul.

When it comes to the species Homo sapiens, there is only one race that matters, and that is the human race. I’m not saying we’re all the same; it would be boring if we were all the same culture. I don’t think the differences between us are fearful realities to be shunned or attacked. I think our differences make us interesting. I don’t think some people are better than others based on that which we cannot control, namely, biology. Character, not color, tells the tale my friends.

And yes, I believe in the power of redemption and second chances. After all, if we cannot forgive, how can we ever expect to be forgiven?

We are, all of us, God’s children. And we are truly, all of us, in this together.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Minor hurdles....

 January 15, 2025

One of the things that makes life such a challenge these days is the very real fact that some things are not only subjective, but they’re also relative. Now, these difficulties can be mitigated if one is adroit at determining which things fit into those two categories. And for the most part, I am able to do so. And this past week has been a time when, on a personal level, I have had my limits tested. Because even though I know that age can be relative and maybe a little subjective, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t irritate the hell out of me.

I’m a boomer. Back in the day, freezers, fridges, cars and televisions were supposed to last for years and years and years.

But this is our new modern age, whether we like it or not.

For example, six and a half years old is not old for a child. It is, however, apparently too old for a computer.

Six and a half years is also, I have recently learned, too old for a modem.

Friends, today’s essay might be short, but the topic is not very sweet. I began to have a major issue with my computer about a week ago. One day, out of the blue, I couldn’t get web pages to open. Well, I had Facebook and YouTube, and I also could access my email. But any place else? Wasn’t happening. I couldn’t even raise the Geek Squad using their bat-signal that was an icon on my desktop!

I spent an hour with them on the phone, however, and even with their direction, and even though we tried everything, alas, nothing worked. My daughter assured me that the problem was my computer, and the Geek Squad remote tech agreed it was likely so. Therefore, daughter and I made a plan to get me a new one on Saturday, a few days away. The next day, presto, my computer was working again, but we were still getting a new one, because, well, it was old—and had shown a couple of other little hiccups and signs in the months and weeks prior to this major one.

On Saturday we went to the place where we go and bought a new tower for me. Not an HP, but an Asus, and at a fairly good price, too.

Fast forward to Monday, and daughter brought home my new computer, prepped by the Geek squad. She plugged it in, saw my sign-in screen and said, there you go!

I was excited but not nervous. I was prepared! The Geek squad had done their magic, I my browsers installed had everything ready.....and the same problem happened. As late as Tuesday evening, on my new computer, I had Facebook, YouTube, my emails and I can google stuff, but that’s it. I could not go to any other web site, period. The message was always the same: timed out.

In what I thought was an unrelated thing, our TV (which is with the same ISP as our internet) has been giving us a bit of grief occasionally for a few months. We had a tech out in the summer, and he checked the area internet said it was fine and see ya. But after that great event, there were still days when I would turn on the television, it would start then freeze. Then go black. Then the error message “Something went wrong. Check connectivity”,  or words to that affect, appeared. Problem solved by disconnecting TV box and then reconnecting.

My daughter said our modem is too old. She has said that for a while.

Yesterday we all connected the information dots and decided that while yes, my computer was old and yes, it was good to get a new one, perhaps we should also get a new modem as well, because her streaming on her television and her devices also has had a few hiccups. And here I confess that David has had issues as well with his computer. And some of them may not have been simply operator error, after all.

Tuesday, I called our service provider. And my persuasive powers must have been in full force. The tech was scheduled out first thing this morning to inspect and decide all.

And now, a happy ending! It didn’t take the gentleman long to decide that a new modem was indeed needed. It took about a half an hour for him to work his magic.

Online, finally, able to reach all web sites. Now to finish my new computer set-up!

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Making changes...

 January 8, 2025

The school buses have resumed their daily mission after the holidays, and each seven o’clock in the morning continues to be darker than the day before—and will, for the next two weeks after which it will gradually become lighter. The temperatures fluctuate between really cold and holy icicles, Batman! And locations in the northern hemisphere that aren’t used to getting a whole lot of snow or icy conditions have been, or are on the verge of, experiencing record downfalls.

Note to anyone reading this: when you’re driving in a car and the roads are snow or ice covered, please, for the love of God, slow the hell down! Seriously! Most accidents happen in winter due to the combination of imperfect conditions and excessive speed. Thank you.

Winter has a solid grip of us and it’s not fixing to let go anytime soon.

While I have attested that I did not have any New Year’s resolutions, I have begun to try to take some steps with a view to getting myself better organized.

On the one hand, it can be argued that being 70, I should be able to do whatever the hell I want. There’s truth in that. People who are in their golden years ought not to have to do that which to them seems onerous.  Rest assured, no one has been making me do anything, and I am certain that no one ever will. The problem is me. If I’m not happy with how things are, then it’s up to me to change them.

I’ve gotten into a bad habit over the last half a year or so, and the only one who can change that is me. Therefore, I have decided that this staying up into the wee hours and then not rolling out of bed until mid morning had to end.

I got tired of blowing off so much of my day. I decided I didn’t have to feel that way, and am in the midst of fashioning a new program for myself. My new schedule sees me in bed before eleven at night, and up at 6. (Yes, I was doing the “in bed before eleven” previously but that didn’t last). The goal is to be at my keyboard, and working, by 7:30.

On this, day three of my new routine, I can report that the getting to bed and getting up in the morning part seems to be doing ok. It’s the 6 a.m. to 7:30 a.m. part that I can see already needs work. I seem to have developed difficulty in accurately judging just how long certain parts of my routine actually take me to accomplish.

The sad truth is that the older I get, the slower I get. In every area of my life. The happier truth is that I merely need to hone my new schedule—not overhaul it again.

Part of this refinement is the addition to my new routine of something I haven’t been doing for quite some time—taking a nap. A nap, in this house, is defined as that point when one returns to one’s bed for a short sleep. It does not mean nodding off in the chair in front of the television.

I used to nap occasionally as the need presented. But ever since David retired and has begun napping every day, I simply stopped doing so myself.

In the years when I was working outside the home, on weekends which were our free time, David and I would nap in shifts. I got up earlier in the morning than he did, so I would hit the bed sometime between eleven and one, for no more than an hour. Then he’d go to nap around three, usually for an hour and a half or longer.

Lately, I have been going to my recliner just after noon, specifically to get my legs up. This has been a very helpful habit in the past, a way to ease the discomfort in my legs caused by arthritis. And I will admit that I’ve been known to doze off here or there, and not thought anything of it.

But lately, the arthritis in my right knee has been in a flare up and it no longer particularly likes my legs being up for more than a few minutes at a time in that wonderful chair.

I don’t have the same trouble at bedtime, though. Of course, at bedtime I have taken my pain meds, whereas at noon, mostly, I have not.

And so the idea of taking an actual nap took hold, and I decided that I would do that little thing and see how it goes. If I can manage a short sleep in the middle of the day, I might not fall asleep so quickly on the couch after supper. That would be a bonus. I might even be able to watch the entire news cast!

I’ll have to let you know, later, how this works out. Yesterday was my first attempt, and was a failure. But while I did not sleep, I did stay in the bed, resting and horizontal and legs up, for the full hour.

I’m told that progress often comes in baby steps. Fingers crossed.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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