Nothing is all bad...

 July 30, 2025

As July burns itself out—I had to use a heat metaphor because this month has been brutal—I find myself thinking about the passage of time. And also, the fickleness of humanity.

On the one hand time seems to be speeding by at the speed of light. And on the other hand, we’re obsessed with the slowness of it all.  An example?

“My gosh, I can’t believe it’s almost August already! Oh, and will these long stiflingly hot days never end?”

We can’t blame God for any of this. We change our moods and our minds so darn fast, I’m certain He’s come to the conclusion that no matter what He does, we will never be happy.

The heat is slightly less oppressive today, and according to the weather network, cooler temperatures are on their way. The highs here will be in the mid-seventies tomorrow, and it will likely be raining as well. For those of you who claim they would be happy with mid-seventies year-round, tomorrow should be a banner day.  

Personally, I’ve ventured out very little over these last couple of previews-of-hot-as-hell weeks. I don’t do well in the high heat and humidity, and so I try to structure my days in such a way that I don’t have to. I am eternally grateful, each and every day, that we have central A/C. I would like to point out that this is not a brag; it’s gratitude. We went the first sixty plus years of our lives without any A/C at all. Well, unless you count the bowl of ice in front of the box fan.

We had a window air conditioner for a couple of years, in our late fifties, and that was miraculous. In the days before our daughter moved in with us, in the deep winter and high summer, we closed off our upstairs. In the winter, our heating costs were not outrageous, and in the few of summers that we had that window a/c unit, a couple of well-placed fans—in the living room and my office—gave us a nicely cooled house all day long. Then we’d shut the bedroom door at night, and sleep very well.

I am very aware that a lot of people don’t have air conditioners at home. I am grateful on their behalf that many cities have places where folks can go to cool down. For me, in my younger days, that was always in my bathtub. You can get nicely cooled, wearing your bathing suit and not using the “hot” tap to fill the tub.

For a while we had small swimming pools in our back yard. Over our years in this house, we had a couple of them. They were inexpensive, and about three feet deep. Every day, after work, David and I would put on our suits as soon as we got home and head out to the pool. We both agreed that once you got your body temperature down in that pool, you didn’t get quite so hot again.

Sometimes bedtime would be preceded by another dip in that pool. A final cooling off and bit of relaxation before sleep.

I can and do miss those days and at the same time acknowledge that I would be hard-pressed to get into either of those pools now. My mobility isn’t what it was even five years ago which is not a surprise to me, or anyone who really knows me.

We’ve had two meals of beans from our garden, as well as having frozen two meals worth. We purchased a vacuum-seal appliance a few months ago, an inexpensive one just to see how well we liked it. Don’t like it, love it. When our inexpensive model died (likely from overuse) we bought a slightly better one, on sale, during prime days.

And as a side note, our farmer from down the road is back again for one more season, and we are so happy. We plan on buying lots of corn.

We have a lot of tomatoes on those plants of ours, many growing and some beginning to ripen. We’re hoping for a bumper crop this year. We may get one, too, thanks to that darn heat and so much rain.

Fellow fickle folks, I present to you yet one more fact of life: the heat and the rain can both be a pain, but not even they are all bad.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Just because you can do something...

 July 23, 2025

Last week there was a video that, like so many other videos before it, has gone viral online. Moreover, it actually showed up as an item on the evening news. The video-captured moment took place at a concert—the band that was in concert was Cold Play. The venue was using the so-called “kiss-cam”, a camera that will focus in on a couple (generally), or sometimes a cute child or some famous person in the audience, and that image goes up on the same very big video screen where the entire audience can also see sports replays, or in this case, the concert itself.

I guess this camera got its nick name because so often the camera operator found and focused on a couple kissing. More than one time, in Atlanta Georgia and at different sporting events, the camera operator found former President Jimmy Carter and his wife Rosalynn, sitting side by side, their focus on the game…and then on the image of themselves on the screen. Now the tradition is, apparently, that if you’re not kissing when you see your image up on the video screen, you’re expected to do so, in the interest of being a good sport.

The Carters, as I recall, usually obliged with just the sweetest kisses—as they were the ultimate good sports.

Now the incident I’m writing about that happened last week, well, that was the moment we found out that being a good sport only goes so far—the couple being spotlighted is expected to perform for any and all who are watching.

You know, I understand that cameras are everywhere, these days. And I understand that it’s like a game. Sitting in an arena or auditorium and eagerly hoping, fearing, wondering will that camera show me? I get it.

I also have a very strong moral thread that does not condone cheating, in any way, shape, or form. Neither do I agree with lying, or any number of acts people commit that are considered sins, crimes, or simply acts of poor taste or lackluster upbringing.

But honestly, when I first saw that video that has gone viral, the video of a man and a woman enjoying a concert, together, in the moment…his arms around her from behind, her arms over his….and then their reaction to seeing themselves on the screen? Their shock, their mortification, the way they immediately tried to hide themselves…..I felt ashamed—of myself and the rest of us that for even a moment experienced some sort of vicarious–or maybe that should be vicious—thrill.

Now, to be fair and lest anyone think I’m blaming the camera operator, one can wonder if there would have been a viral moment at all had the couple not so publicly shown their guilt. On the other hand, it could also be argued that the fact that they felt guilt and reacted in the way they did might speak to their not being used to doing that which they shouldn’t do.

Strictly speaking and in the eyes of God, that couple never should have been together in a romantic way at all as at least one of them was married to someone else.

But in the wake of the bruhaha and the fallout for the man (he lost his job) I need to ask a few simple but basic questions: Have we become a society of no quarter given? Have we become a people who seek pleasure through the embarrassment of others? Is this a case of mass schadenfreude? Are our lives so bereft of meaning and substance that we grab at any chance to lift up others who’ve misstepped, and gleefully hold them up to public ridicule?

Yes, there are cameras everywhere and yes, I also get the urge we all experience to snap a pic with our ever-present camera (cell phone) when something catches our eye. And really, knowing all this, we each of us do bear responsibility not to offer ourselves up that way.

I guess the principle I would put forth with this essay, and it applies to all of us, is this:

Just because you can do something doesn’t mean that you should.

Over these past several months I have been watching as those in whose hands power has been placed by the electorate have, rather than dedicating themselves as public servants to make life better for everyone have instead worked tirelessly as public overlords to render as much pain as they can to as many as they can, and as quickly as they can. And the only people they are trying to benefit are those who have less need for any kind of “ministering unto” than all the rest of us combined.

We want them—those in charge—to change, to stop the hurting, to stop the persecution. But maybe we’re looking at this all wrong.

Maybe, if we want things to change, then we must begin to make changes within ourselves.

In the private sector and at public venues in this, our capitalistic society, commerce is plied, and the law of supply and demand reigns supreme.

Maybe it’s time for us to stop supplying careless opportunities and to start demanding less cheap hits and more responsible behavior, all the way around. It’s up to us to begin with ourselves, because in this reality we live in, there are some true facts, and this is one:

If we don’t buy the candy, my friends, they will stop making it.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Some lessons learned...

 July 16, 2025

This past Monday was our 53^rd wedding anniversary. We dated for a year before we tied the knot. Hard to believe we’ve been together that long. It’s become a bit of a challenge for me, recalling the all the details of that long-ago Friday. Our ceremony was held in the evening, at the church where I used to attend as a child when my father was alive.

The older you get, you not only lose a few memories, but you can also lose some of your time-perspective. A statement given with absolute conviction, like, say, “we had that repair done five years ago,” surrenders to the actual truth that it was more than ten years ago.

No wonder some younger folks hold onto an image of elderly persons as being “confused”. It’s a sad truth, of course. Except when it’s funny.

I have a word of advice for those of my readers not yet there on the cusp of being elderly. Hang onto your sense of humor. You really will need it in the decades to come.

And one more suggestion, if I may. If you could plan to have a time-definite when you reduce the number of causes you’re willing to go to the mat for, that would be a help, too.

When we’re in our prime, we tend to be a bit full of ourselves. It’s a facet of human nature. We can feel varying degrees of pride that we’re “masters of our fate and captains of our souls”. But as we age, we begin to understand the truth. When we came into this life, we were masters of nothing. And as we become elderly, what mastery we think we have achieved in life begins, little by little, to eke away.

There are a lot of lessons I’ve learned over the years, and some of them, I am sorry to say, took too damn long for me to really learn. Some are still in progress. I suppose that’s why we humans, as opposed to dogs or cats tend to have somewhat longer lifespans, decades more, even. So that we have plenty of time to learn the lessons life has in store for us.

It’s mid July, and I must say that our gardens are looking quite healthy. The combination of heat and rain has done a good job so far. Many of our bean plants have budded, and we have some small green tomatoes already on the vine, and busy growing. I’ll venture out with my phone to take pictures as soon as the humidity drops a bit.

Did I mention that the street on which our house is located is about to be under construction? The main job the crews will be performing includes work to be done on the water and sewer systems. In the process, we will lose the sidewalk on this side of the street. We’ll have a curb, instead, which isn’t a bad thing—but I can’t tell you if, when all is said and done, the parking for our street, which for the last few years has been on this side only of the road, will remain as is or not. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

Impending construction means impending noise.  They’re supposed to take only 12 weeks, but really, why do they say that? Have you ever known a construction project to begin and end when “they” say it will? Me, neither.

I’ve already begun the long process of getting into the habit of parking my car in my newly returned driveway. While the street is being worked on, cars may not be parked there. But the noise is not something I can prepare for. I might be able to come up with a work-around, but it’s doubtful. I suspect that my brain will not be able to differentiate between the noise of construction and the noise of music from headphones, where my creative activity is concerned. My brain seems to spasm with whatever loud sounds—read barking dogs—that arise as I ply my trade at the keyboard.

Again, that’s just one more thing to file into the column of “wait and see”.

As I said, there are a lot of life’s lessons I took too long to learn, and some I’ve yet to absorb. But one I think I’ve pretty well nailed is this: I no longer sweat the small stuff. Yes, the causes I’m willing to go to the mat for really are few in number. And yes, sometimes that fact can annoy those nearest and dearest to me, but that’s all right, too.

Because I’m also in possession of an awesome sense of humor, and very good at laughing at myself, and the farce that day-to-day life can sometimes be.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Utter devastation...

 July 9, 2025

In the darkness the water rose, so fast and so deadly. A lethal combination of raging river fed by the torrential downpour of rain became a nightmare the likes of which no one ever could have anticipated. Through the darkness came agonizing cries for rescue, pleas for someone, anyone, to help. One could not see those who cried out in terror and desperation. Once could only hear them.

Then came the daylight. The waters stopped rising and began to recede, leaving in their wake utter devastation. So many people dead, and so many more people missing.

Texas is a beautiful state. We’ve been there more than to any other state in the U. S. My publisher is in Austin, and I have visited her there. We’ve stayed days and nights in Houston and Waco and Dallas and San Antonio. We have good friends in the San Antonio area, whom we have visited several times—once I traveled there on my own, to stay for an entire week, just myself and my friend and her family. One of only three trips I have taken on my own. During the times when David and I traveled there together, we enjoyed seeing as much of the area and meeting as many of the people as we could.

We’ve toured the Hill Country and seen those beautiful rivers up close. Visiting the towns, the history, and the countryside itself, remain such joyful memories for us both. The people we met were welcoming and gracious. Truly, as much as anywhere can be, that part of Texas is God’s country.

Those same good people are in shock today, the shock of having their lives suddenly destroyed. Some have lost every material thing they ever owned. Some are now homeless. And some are grieving the loss of their daughters and their sons, their grandchildren and their parents and their grandparents.

Loved ones who were there mere hours before are abruptly and horribly gone.

A few families have lost more than one child; and some survivors have lost their entire families.

The flooding that came on the very eve of Independence Day was a terrible, terrible thing. I’m an author, but I don’t have any words that can really make a difference at a time like this. I don’t honestly know if anyone does. You can’t make sense of it. You can only struggle to come to terms with the weight of it.

There are times we are left to bear burdens that seem utterly unbearable, and we wonder how in God’s name we can manage to do so.

But we can manage, in God’s name. And we do so one moment at a time.

Times are tough for everyone right now. Money isn’t everything, but money is necessary and certainly does help. Because money is needed to rebuild, to begin again, and to care for the thousands of needs both great and small in the aftermath of such unimaginable loss.

Times are tough for everyone right now, but here’s an amazing fact: if everyone gave whatever they could, even just five dollars, or three, or one, well that would add up to a whole lot of money.

If you don’t know to whom to give your five or three or one dollar, the American Red Cross is a trustworthy agent. And a little research with the help of your internet search engine will provide you with other worthy candidates for your donations.

There’s always a lot of derision in the aftermath of disasters directed toward the offering of “thoughts and prayers”. But I believe in them both. I believe that when you say or think positive things, that positivity is amplified. And as for prayers? Prayers, offered in good faith, and from the heart are the most powerful force known to humankind. Don’t shy away from using either of those precious tools as a response to this dire situation.

I hope, for a little while at least, we can let go of our tribalism and our animosities and offer whatever we can that is good and kind and loving to our fellow human beings whose hearts have been shattered. We can always—and likely will—go back to our petty sniping, later.

But for now, there are many who are wounded and in need of our care. Let that be our focus.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Melancholy and change...

 July 2, 2025

This first week of July is usually a very melancholy one for me. Yesterday was Canada Day and had also been my brother’s birthday. My senior by ten years, Charles used to tell me, when I was about five or so, that the reason for the parade in the city on July first was in honor of his birthday. Yesterday, he would have turned eighty-one.

Yes, I was always a gullible person. And yes, those who know me best are likely now mumbling, “was?”

The fifth of July had been my mother’s birthday. And then more than a full year after her passing, it became the birthday of my second son and middle child. Those of you familiar with my essays know that Anthony passed away in 2006 at the too-young age of twenty-nine.

So beginning yesterday and likely for the duration of this week, I’m emotionally iffy, and will probably be more than a little prone to becoming weepy….and that is okay.

 The ubiquitous “they” used to tell me to not be so emotional; to grow a thicker skin. But I’m going to be 71 this month. And I have come to the conclusion that the adult thing to do is to acknowledge one’s nature and to accept oneself for the person one is, warts and all. Where adjustments are necessary, they should be made. I have done so, and successfully, I might add. My first adjustment was to tell myself I need not give so much weight to the opinions of the “they” of this world, ubiquitous or otherwise.

My second and kinder-to-me adjustment has been to allow myself to occasionally occupy the pity pot—in privacy, of course—and then to flush it when I am done.

I did a thing, on Monday. Y’all have heard of “covid hair”? Well, that was what I had. Until yesterday.  I’ve been thinking about getting my hair cut for some time. My usual morning routine was just to gather it all up into a messy bun, secure it with my scrunchie of the day, and leave it at that.

Have I ever mentioned how grateful I am to whoever came up with that idea, the messy bun? I have no hairstyling talent whatsoever. None. But thanks to the invention of the messy bun, I’ve been able to master the gather and the capture via scrunchie of my way-too-long hair.

How long was my hair? Well, one of the other stylists at the salon yesterday came over and said, “I watched you take your scrunchie off, and I thought, it’s Rapunzel!”

Yes, some scraggly strands actually reached my elbows.

I had it in mind to maybe just get a little taken off. Maybe shoulder length, which was my daughter’s suggestion. I know she gave it because she assumed I loved my scrunchies, when in fact I only needed them.

But my left shoulder has been acting up for a couple of months now, and there have been days when putting my hair up and into that scrunchie was a level of painful I really didn’t want.

Also, I realized within the last couple of weeks that I have a lot of broken ends, split ends, and a kazillion hairs of varying but short lengths sticking out every-damn-where.

The only way for me to look well combed was to use a bit of water to slick down those short ones and then apply hairspray.

I want my hair to be healthier and there was only one course of action for me to take that would help that to happen.

I had to have it all chopped off.

This has turned out to be a huge a change, one that’s going to take a bit of time to get used to. I don’t believe I have ever had my hair quite this short.

But the good news—and I am so a fan of good news—was that yesterday a donation of hair was made by me. About sixteen or so inches of grey-brown, braided strands are on their way to help make wigs and hair pieces for cancer patients.

Of course, me being me, I never once thought to take a picture in commemoration of the moment.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

http://bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury

I'm a creature of habit....

June 25, 2025

I’m better at it than I used to be, but that’s not really saying much.

I used to make a self-deprecating joke, “I am a creature……of habit.” The pause was, of course the intended joke. But the base statement was truth. I am a creature of habit, and have been since—well, I don't recall when my routines and habits became so germane to my psyche, but it’s been a very long-standing state of being for me.

I realized, just this past Monday, that I’m slightly better at coping when I am aware ahead of time that there is a strong possibility, bordering on probability, that my daily routine might be disrupted. But only slightly better.

I received an email last week informing me of “work that would be taking place in my neighbourhood” that was intended to give me a “more efficient, more satisfying internet/television experience.” And that to that end, beginning Monday, this work would commence. This work would, of course, possibly cause a few minor, temporary, interruptions. And they apologized, in advance, of any inconvenience involved.

Then, on Sunday, I received a “robocall”, which I only answered because I recognized the number was that of my internet/television provider. The automated voice on this call reminded me that I could expect service interruptions the next day between 8 am and 4 pm. And that they were very sorry (again) for any inconvenience this might cause.

So, I was ready.

And I did all right on Monday morning when, at about 11 am, after I had completed most of my morning routine, the internet and television service, between one breath and the next, was no longer available.  I could still use my writing program. It was only the back-up service I couldn’t use and that would be temporary.

The services came back up for about a half hour, early afternoon. I used that time to go back to my acrostic puzzle site, reload the puzzle I had been working on, and complete it—earning a “very slow rating” but that’s better than an “incomplete” one. And, I did that just in time because I no sooner received the grade than my service was down once more.

Because I am one who tends to always take others—be they friends, strangers, or internet provider robocalls—at their word, I didn’t worry. After all, it would be 4pm in about an hour and a half. And that call specifically cited an 8 am to 4 pm window.

Well, 4 pm came and went. As did 4:30 and then 5. Still no service. So, I decided to call the internet provider. (This is where my ‘handling the change in routine ok’ began to break down.)

During the first call I placed, the automated system recognized me and offered me options. If I wanted more information about the current disruption in my area, I could select “1”.  I did. Then I was informed that I could easily get the latest info about service interruptions by going on line to “www.company name.com/service interruptions.”

Why, I thought, what a relief! I’ll do that right now! Oh, wait….I have no internet connection because it is currently disrupted.

I hung up, and then after stewing for a moment or two, tried again. The next option I chose was to receive a text to my cell phone detailing the information I sought (mobile devices were not affected by the interruptions). I opted for that. The text included a link that I could then not access because, hello, no internet was not available!

I knew that if I could just get in touch with an actual, live human being, I could ask a couple of questions and hopefully get some actual, live answers.

On my third attempt, I did indeed manage to do just that. After being on hold for about twenty minutes, I was put through to a real, live human being.

After he took my identifying information, he asked me to wait, and he would do a thorough search as to the current status of the work in progress and tell me everything.

And what he told me, while not what I expected to hear, surprisingly helped me to get over myself and decide I was just going to do what I could while I could do it, period.

The work, you see, was slated not just for that day—Monday, June 23. It was for a three-day span of time, beginning with Monday and scheduled to end on Wednesday, June 25^th at about 5 pm. (Or thereabouts.)

After another question—"since I’m to possibly be without my internet/tv for three whole days, I certainly hope I will see a credit for the time on my next bill”—the call ended and I was, well, maybe not happy, but definitely informed.

And since I did take note of the gentleman’s name with whom I spoke, I am equipped to chase down that credit for three days usage, should it not appear on the next bill.

If you’re able to read this today—Wednesday, June 25th—you’ll know I’m coping. Which is really all I, or anyone for that matter, can ask of themselves.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

  

You just have to remember two things....

 June 18, 2025

We’re already past the mid-point of June, and so far, I can say that the sweltering heat so prevalent last summer has not yet arrived. That’s the good news. The not-so-good news is that today, and for the next week or more, it’ll be here and we’re going to hit our first triple digit humidex days of 2025.

I am not a person who enjoys the extremes in life—not in any area. I am truly one of those boring, middle-of-the road kind of people, and quite happy being so.

Up until I checked the forecast first thing this morning, I was quite content with our spring/summer weather.

Of course, never far from my mind was the sure and certain knowledge that can and likely would change. Now it seems that today is the day. I will be venturing out later to have lunch with a friend. I’m made of tuff stuff. I can do it.

Yesterday afternoon—a day known here in the Ashbury household as Nanny Tuesday—our great-grandchildren who are the grandchildren of our daughter came for supper and brought their stepdad with them. Stepdad cut the grass while the kids did a few chores here and there around the yard. After the yard work, we feasted on grilled burgers and hotdogs, a favorite of almost everyone.

This past weekend, David re-planted one of the green bean gardens.  While one is already showing healthy-looking plants a couple of inches high, the other had only three plants up. He suspects the seeds weren’t good to begin with and so has replanted, using a different package.

There’s a wonderful upside in that. We should have some space between peak first-harvests in each garden of beans. And, of course, staggering the planting allows you to really keep up the picking, so that you get them before they’re “old”. That’s just one of the many qualities to admire about green beans. As long as you keep picking them (provided you do so carefully, without damage to the plants) you’ll get fresh beans well into the fall.

Our tomato plants look healthy, too. With some hot days and rain in the forecast, my fingers are crossed for a good yield. It’s one of our pleasures in life—for all three of us living in this house—to be able to step outside, pick a tomato, and have a satisfying lunch fresh off the vine.

The coleus plants my daughter put in the back yard are thriving, as well. They are lush and beautiful and will last into the fall provided we nip the little flowering stems that emerge from the center of the plants.

This getting old thing continues to challenge me. And it is a challenge to keep one’s attitude positive. It calls for a shift in focus, in emphasis. There is still joy to be found, but one must look for it. There are still accomplishments to be had, but again, one must redefine that word, make it more subjective, and then claim it.

Of course, all this is helped along enormously if one keeps one’s sense of humor.

I also try very hard to keep my sense of perspective. Life changes for us on a regular basis from the moment we’re born. In fact, birth was our first “oh, shit” moment in life when forces beyond our control forced change upon us.

Just think about it. There we were, safe, warm, and comfy, every need met, just floating around in the Zen of it all.

Then the next thing we know, we’re squeezed and squeezed and squeezed until, bloop, there we are, out of the warm and wonderful womb and into the cold and cruel world.

And while some may say that many of us spend the rest of our lives looking for a way to get back in, I say it was the first and the greatest change we’re likely to face in life. And if you strip it all down to the absolute basics, and if you’re determined enough, you can convince yourself that everything else that has followed that first big change is just a matter of remembering two essential principles in life.

Relax, and keep breathing.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Sowing....and reaping.

 June 11, 2025

I very much fear that we are on the verge of another if not a global pandemic, at least a very pervasive epidemic. I see the signs of the growth of a disease that has in fact been present throughout the ages. One that, while harmful to the unfortunate individual who has contracted it, has always failed to spread easily to others.  It has appeared locally, here and there throughout history, but has remained for the most part a malady that, if it turned virulent, was easily isolated.

But now I am very much worried that this disease, as the worst of them will inevitably do, is metastasizing. It is more contagious now than ever, and it has begun to dig in, and to spread from its location of origin through the rest of the body—even to parts not prone to it.

Friends, the body is our society and the disease is hate.

Slowly, stealthily, over the last decade or so, hate has taken hold of a greater number of our brothers and sisters. I think it’s because of all the bullshit that has been thrown about in the media, in small gatherings, in our political arenas, hell, into the very air itself.

Now, as we all know, not all bullshit is bad. While it all does stink, some of it makes an excellent manure. Bullshit can work wonders on rose bushes. You can spread some on your bare garden plot just as spring is taking hold, and whatever you plant thereafter has a good chance of thriving.

Sadly, that’s also true if what you plant thereafter is not something good and beneficial. It’s true if what you plant is hatred.

Sowing hatred is a lazy habit. It’s like sowing weeds. Weeds choke out good plants and steal all the nutrients for themselves. It’s what you can plant and walk away from, knowing you don’t really have to tend to it if you sow enough of it. You’ll end up with a bumper crop with practically no work at all. As I said, lazy.

I’m seeing so much hatred in the course of my everyday life. There are some videos on YouTube. Maybe you’ve seen a few of them. They feature some “great injustice” done to an innocent person, and then the “great take that you cur!” that is ostensibly the moral of the piece. But what the piece does—whether wittingly or unwittingly—is to fertilize the seeds of hatred within you, the viewer. When you’ve finished watching the video, you’re not left with a feeling of having been uplifted. What you’re left with is a desire to see more.

Those videos aim to convince you that they have obliterated the injustice. But they haven’t done that at all. And that is because they use the same sort of injustice against the first hater, followed by an implied, “how do you like them apples?” And so they fail. They fail because the creators of those videos have forgotten one true fact about hate.

Hate cannot conquer hate. Only love can do that.  Darkness cannot vanquish darkness; only light can do that.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I bit at the worm on the hook. It took my watching about three videos to understand why I felt the way I did after viewing them. Because the answer to the damage done by hate is never to throw hate back at the source. It can’t be.

One of the hardest things we learn as reasoning, thoughtful and loving human beings is that haters will hate, and the only weapon to fight it is love, and forgiveness.

Fact is, whatever you toss out into the cosmos comes back to you, often multiplied.

I understand the allure of spewing hate on those who have hated you. I really do. When we image “getting back”, at someone who has wronged us, we get a bit of a warm fuzzy and a sense that it would feel really good to do that. But that sense, that little voice that wants us to do just that is a lie. Because all we can ever reap from sowing hate is more hate.

There may be some who are saying, “I’m not going to forgive so-and-so. They don’t deserve it.”

Friends, no, perhaps they don’t. But you do.

You see, when you forgive someone for any real or perceived wrong done to you, you’re not giving them a gift. Frankly they could care less.

You’re giving yourself a gift.

You are giving yourself a gift by taking the weight of that hate off your soul—and filling your heart with love.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Reflections...

 June 4, 2025

Welcome to June!

Not only is it fully springtime, but the few television shows that I do watch have aired their last episodes for the season. This means that my life is once again unscheduled every day after 7 p.m. Being of an age, and no longer working outside the home, one would think it safe to assume that I have nothing but time.

And yet I’m busy every day and wonder where I can find even more of that time thing in which to do more stuff.

As one gets older, one tends to reflect on the past a great deal—sometimes if only for assurance that the memories so carefully stored are, indeed, still accessible. I can recall times that, when I was child, my sister would accuse me of being lazy. I probably was, as a child. After all, it’s our nature to start out life as tiny, self-centered creatures. What seems completely odd to me now is understanding how much that accusation stung, and how long it stayed with me, as if it had been an eternal judgement pronounced upon me.

Looking back, I can see that as an adult I was never lazy. In the years when we were raising our children, and before my husband stopped drinking, there were times when I would, once the children were in bed, retreat to a quiet corner and read, sometimes long into the night. Hours of self indulgence.

I understand now that those hours were necessary “me” time. That habit of withdrawing and decompressing began as late nights of loud music blasting while I belted out familiar songs, an exercise possible only because of a closed den door and a soundly sleeping son and husband upstairs. I switched to the quieter diversion of reading when there were three children, and a fervent desire not to wake them.

These days I have my office where I can hole up, relatively assured of solitude. Relatively because I still live with people and this office has two doors and olds the mini fridge packed with water and diet soda.

I also have a new chair in my bedroom. Not the old wooden kitchen one that was there so I could have a place to sit for a few minutes before climbing into bed. When I got my tax return this year, I treated myself to a new, small rocker with a matching ottoman.

The chair was a bit too close to the floor for my purposes, so David built a platform for it to sit upon. It’s much more comfortable than its wooden predecessor, and once more gives me a private little place, behind a closed door, where I can sit to read or just be.

Life is good

Our tomatoes and green beans have now been planted. The plants are alive and look healthy. The bean seeds should be popping up any day now. Our daughter purchased and then planted some large coleus, and they are now thriving. And the rhubarb we planted last summer is also doing well. We’ll harvest a bit more in a day or so and freeze it. And in a couple of weeks there will be a fresh rhubarb pie on the table.

I’ve been parking my car in my newly restored driveway. There is enough room for the car, so it fits without impeding access to David’s new, smaller storage tent. There is a bit of a slope for me to navigate from the car to the back walkway that ends at our yard’s gate. But it is a very small slope, and I can manage it well. Now the only step up or down in order to leave my house and return again is going out the back door (a step up from the kitchen floor to the back patio) and then coming back in again. But one step up or down is better than six or seven.

The winter will return. And when there is snow and ice making life a challenge, the car will be parked on the street once more. I’ll need to use those front porch steps again, and so I will. Slowly, and carefully, but not often. I tend not to venture out when the weather is filthy. That is a right I proudly and adamantly claim.

A right that I know I have more than earned.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Our King was here...

 May 28, 2025

For those of you who are regular readers of my essays, what I am about to announce to you won’t be news. But if you’re new to this blog, this might make you blink.

Almost everyone is aware that in England, they have a King—Charles III—who ascended to the throne upon the death of his mother, Queen Elizabeth II.

The proper way of “introducing” or “stylizing” the monarch is as follows: Charles III, By the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of his other Realms and Territories King, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith.

I italicised the word Realms for a reason. Because, you see, Canada is one of his realms, which means that Charles III is King of Canada.

Yes, Canada does indeed have a king, who is our head of state. One of whom we are rather fond. And yesterday, our king was here, right here in Canada. And for what purpose, you may ask?

Well you see, after an election of a new Prime Minister, we have a day when Parliament is officially “opened”, and the business of governing begins. Usually what happens is that the Governor General of Canada (currently Mary Simon, a former public servant, diplomat, and broadcaster, a woman of Inuk heritage, making her the first Indigenous person  to serve in this role) also known as the Vice-Regal,  reads the “Speech from the Throne”, on behalf of the monarch, a speech that outlines the government’s priorities for the coming session of Parliament. Yes, she is the head of state in Canada but one standing in for the monarch. The Governor General is appointed by the Monarch on the advice of the Prime Minister, and usually serves a term of 5 years, though that can be extended.

And yesterday, she didn’t have to perform the role of reading the throne speech because our King was here, in person, and he read the Speech from the Throne himself, and opened Canada’s Parliament.

The rituals and ceremonies of this occasion date back to the 1700s and are quite interesting to watch.

The King was accompanied by his wife, Queen Camilla, and was received before the Canadian Senate by a full honour guard, a twenty-one-gun salute, and of course, the playing of “God Save The King”. And many spontaneous cheers of the same. He inspected the troops, chatted with some of them, and then returned to the place of honour and was treated to a rendition of his second national anthem—O, Canada.

The last time a monarch opened Parliament in person by Queen Elizabeth in 1977, which was her silver jubilee year. Prior to that, she opened it during her first visit here as Sovereign in 1957. So yesterday was a big deal, because it marked only the third time in our history that our monarch performed that duty.

Their Majesties arrived here on Monday, and left Tuesday afternoon. It was the King’s 20^th visit to Canada but his first as Sovereign—and he came at the invitation of our Prime Minister.

By and large it’s fair to say that Canadians have mixed views about the monarchy. There were signs in the crowd reading “God Save the King”, and signs that read “Not my King”. But that’s Canada for you.

Once when the CBC challenged Canadians to finish the sentence, “As Canadian as…”, the consensus answer was, “as Canadian as possible under the circumstances.”

That said, many Canadians of late have been on edge and unsettled what with all the flotsam and jetsam and hot air being heaved our way over the last several months. The arrival of our king on our shores, the words he read—some his own, and some crafted for him by the head of government as is the norm—were designed to let Canadians know that they are not alone, and we don’t have to worry.

We are a sovereign nation, but not a nation alone. We are the true north strong and free. We are a member of the Commonwealth of Nations, and therefore we have allies. And we have a king.

And our King has our backs.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

Some adjustments are always needed

 May 21, 2025

Work has begun on our family’s annual garden project. We consider it a project, because we have 4 table gardens for veggies, as well as various smaller gardens for flowers and pretty leafy foliage.

I believe I mentioned in a previous essay that this year, our daughter bought her father a portable greenhouse, sufficient in size for his use. He was thrilled, truly. Until that day he had a rack of shelves set up in front of an upstairs window, the one with southern exposure that assured maximum sunlight. However, going up and down those stairs to the second level, carrying a watering can, is something he dreads doing anymore.

I certainly don’t blame him. Stair climbing is an activity I only undertake under the most urgent of circumstances. It takes a lot of effort and it can be dangerous.

The fact that here we are, in the middle of May, near the traditional “time to plant day” and the only thing growing inside that greenhouse is a tray of cat grass? Well, I suppose one can’t rush into these new-fangled ways and means all willy-nilly like. Adjustment to new ideas takes time. One must work oneself up to the point that the desire for change is larger than the apprehension of same.

Rather than starting his green beans ahead of time this year, my husband decided that instead, he would fully prep the two gardens slated to hold the beans, first. And by fully prep, I mean he decided to build two top-of-garden frames that would support screen material, that he could place on top of the table gardens.

The plan is: plant the green-bean seeds and then place the frame on top of the garden, to protect the seeds from our resident squirrels and chipmunks. The planted seeds will receive sun and rain but not claws and nibbles.

It’s a good, solid plan and the frames are solid as well. They will come off while he waters and tends to the future sprouts. And they will come off for good once the plants are sufficiently grown.

We’re in a stretch of very cool weather at the moment. Looking ahead, the forecast calls for rain from tomorrow until Saturday. Saturday is supposed to be a bit warmer, and sunny, and that is the day that the planting will begin.

This year, as well as not planting green-bean seeds ahead of time, my husband has decided not to plant any tomato seeds, either. Instead, he will be purchasing all the tomato plants, and that, too, will happen this coming weekend.

One never knows at the time of planting what kind of a harvest one will reap. There’s a metaphor for life itself in that sentence.

We don’t any of us know what the future may hold. The best that we can do is the best that we can do, and the best that we can do should be enough. Just as long as we are truly giving it our best effort.

With gardening and with life what is required more than any other element is faith. We must step out on faith.  We must trust that if we plant those seeds, protect those seeds, and nurture those seeds, that something good will grow from those seeds.

My husband has successfully made an adjustment in one other area of his life. As you may recall, we have two small dogs, progeny of our beloved Mr. Tuffy. From the time they were little, David leash-trained them and found great pleasure in walking them every day. First the girl dog(Missy), then the boy(Bear-Bear). Every day. And, as I am sure I have shared with you, every day when that door closes behind the daddy and the girl dog, the little boy dog (he really is little, just over 2 pounds at age 5) begins to howl like a wolf who has been abandoned on the great ice floe of life. I call the daily performance, “the lament of the left-behind puppy.”

Now the girl dog doesn’t give a distinctive one-minute-long performance. She just whines and cries and carries on constantly until the daddy and that brother dog who stole him return.

The walking part of the exercise had become increasingly difficult for David over these last few years, but he wanted to give the dogs their time, which was his time, too. His first innovation was the purchase of a cane that has a plastic seat as part of its structure. That worked for a time, and the dogs didn’t seem to mind having to stop and wait while their daddy sat and caught his breath. But he knew that wasn’t the permanent solution.  And so, after careful consideration and sufficient thinking time about it, he made another adjustment.

David has now successfully trained the two dogs to walk on leash while he rides his three-wheeled battery-operated scooter beside/behind them.

They start off from here, one at a time, and the dog rides until they are further into our area where there are fewer cars. Then he sets them down and off they go together. The dogs love this because they get to run.

The doggy-daddy loves this because he can spend time with his pets and make them very happy without being the worse for wear.

Yes, adjustment to new ideas does take time. But when done right, it is certainly worth the effort and the apprehension.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

The verdict is in...

 May 14, 2025

There are flowers. There is grass. There are trees with actual leaves! There were, at one point this week, a tiny but threatening line of itty-bitty marching ants on my kitchen counter that I eradicated on sight. The verdict is in: spring has indeed arrived!

Our daughter, a few weeks ago, purchased a small “greenhouse” kit for her father. She wanted to give him something he could use to begin his plants that did not involve his going upstairs. Assembled, the little shed stands about five and a half feet high, and has four shelves. Surrounded by a durable plastic, this new acquisition is currently on our front porch.

I believe it will have to be moved. Because while when originally assembled it did indeed catch the morning sun, this will only last for as long as it takes our walnut tree to come into full leaf. I estimate another week, tops.

No seeds have as yet been started in this greenhouse, but I am assured that something will be, shortly. If I am asked, then I will offer an opinion. Until then, my job is to smile and nod and to keep my mouth shut.

And this I can do most happily, because I have my driveway back.

It all began a few years ago, when the town was rebuilding the cross-street on the south side of our house. At that point in time, David had a vision of something he wanted, so he told the workers—without informing me at the time—that “No, no, there’s no driveway here.” And thus, they did not make an accommodation at the road’s edge for a gentle dip down to the driveway that no, was not paved and yes, was principally grass with a bit of gravel. But it was most definitely a driveway, nonetheless.

I can freely admit that during the winter months that using this driveway to go from a steep hill to our short driveway is a near impossible feat. The hill is the first to be plowed, and the plowing would result in the dumping of copious amounts of snow at the end of our driveway. Not to mention the possibility of ice making such a sharp and delicate turn (even without a snowbank) a true challenge.

None of us living here is capable of handing the task of shoveling, nor necessarily getting out to scatter salt on a bare and icy road.

However, in the good weather my using this driveway will enable me to go from car to house without climbing any stairs! I can right now navigate the six stairs from walkway to porch. It is difficult, and painful, and takes a couple of minutes. But I can and do manage.

The day is not far off, however, when I won’t necessarily be able to manage. What then? Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

As for the immediate term? We’ve been notified that the street upon which we live is about to be dug up, new water mains laid, and then the street itself repaved. I would not be able to park in front of my house for God knows how long because this is construction we’re talking about. And when it comes to Canada, we have two seasons: winter and road construction.

We lost our driveway because David wanted to purchase and install a large outdoor storage tent that fit just right in the area previously known as driveway.

But today I am pleased to announce, that after several years of faithful service, that large outdoor storage unit had reached the end of its term of service. And it now has been replaced by a much, much smaller unit. And that means there is room for my car in my driveway once more.

I don’t have to appeal for a by-law exemption to park my car on the lawn beside my house (on the grass that is next to the hill street that has already been replaced by new). I can just pull into the driveway and walk easily to my back door.

Therefore, I am happy enough to just let the others who live here, then, make their decisions as they will about greenhouses and gardens and such. A happy ending for all!

Yes, this story has one dangling thread—something that, if you’ve read any of my 70 published novels to date you will know is not something that I ever do.  I acknowledge that here and now. I will even present it to you here, in so many words.

What if by the time winter comes the construction work on our street isn’t done?

Well friends, I happen to know this town. They won’t leave it closed off and  undrivable during winter. They may not actually finish the work and pave it all nice and right. But it will be drivable, and I will be able to park in front of my house while the snow and the ice and the wind prevail once more.

Either way, I win.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Nature or nurture?

 May 7, 2025

None of us can definitively describe, explain, or detail exactly what has made us the people that we are at this moment in time, at whatever age we each happen to be. Oh, we can look back over our lifetimes and maybe see a moment here or there that happened and that has stayed with us and influenced us along our path of life.

I have one of those. The death of my father when I was eight and a half years old was a trauma that I never fully dealt with at the time. It was a trauma that scarred me and eventually needed attention if I ever hoped to truly become as evolved/content as I could possibly be.

But that sort of thing is only a part of why we are who we are. How is it that I am the way that I am in this regard or that? How exactly did I come to be the me that I am right here and now?

Seriously, I have no clue if there is any way to determine that. Nor do I know if trying to do so is a worthwhile endeavor.

I am convinced that certain factors bear varying degrees of influence on our personal development. There are our own innate qualities, and environmental factors. Then we have who we meet, what happens to us and what we cause to happen to others. In other words, our own specific lived experiences. You are likely familiar with the question that is posed in discussing this topic: are we the product of nature or of nurture?

But the answer really is more complex than that. Because there are qualities or traits, but there are also quantities, or degrees.

I’ll use this metaphor: there are twenty-six letters in our alphabet. And if one plays scrabble, and uses an online scrabble helper, one might know that there are 34,721 seven-letter words in the English language. Because I’m anal, and because you can have 6 or 5 or 4 or even three letter words in that game, your total combinations are 77,123 words. Not to mention the add-on words that can be formed on the board.

Perhaps that’s not a proper metaphor to show you that truly, the possibilities of combinations of qualities and quantities are truly endless.

There really are few hard and fast rules when it comes to the how’s and why’s of human psychological development. If that were not true, then the children of the same two parents growing up in the same financial circumstances would not all be so different, one from the other(s).

For this reason, it’s difficult to qualify someone’s current transgressions in light of that person’s past real or imagined suffered injustices. To explain a person’s behaviour by saying, “well, he/she had a difficult childhood”, is to give a superficial pronouncement without coming anywhere near to the meat of explaining the behaviour in question.

Let me take a moment to say what should be understood by most adult human beings: most people have had difficult childhoods. The very process of growing from baby to young adult is not at all an easy row to hoe. That’s not to say there aren’t good times along the path, because just as there are trials and tribulations in life, there are also joys and laughter. But the truth is that very little in life is easy.

I believe that’s by design, and yes, that’s just my opinion.

The truth is that while we all struggle with varying degrees of challenges needing to be overcome, eventually we become adults. The very definition of becoming an adult is reaching that point in life where we ourselves take the reins of our journey into our own hands and begin to steer the course.

It is my opinion that the moment we become adults, it is up to us how we react to the trials and tribulations that befall us. The time for bemoaning poor-little-me, not-my-fault is over.

We all—every single one of us—have choices in this life, and at every turn. I believe that, too, is by design. And the truth of the matter is this: either we assume responsibility when we take those reins into our hands, or we do not. Most do, but some do not.

Or to put it another way, either we become the adults we were intended to be. Or we allow ourselves to forever after wallow and wither in the world of pubescent victimhood.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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