That aura...

 April 30, 2025

Just in the past few days, I finally saw that one unmistakeable sign of spring: the faint and shimmering aura of green that envelops the deciduous trees. Not actual leaves, not quite yet, but buds. Buds are on most of the trees hereabouts, except of course for the walnut trees.

In our area, those hardwoods are the last to bud and the first to drop their leaves, often before autumn arrives on the calendar. They’re a no-nonsense kind of tree. Their purpose is to grow walnuts, and as soon as that task is done, well, there’s no more need for the leaves, is there?

I’ve already been blessed with the first daffodils of the season—right under my side bedroom window. The earth there is not the best, but it is deep enough for the bulbs, and they have taken. There will be a tulip or two in the next day or so there as well. Because the area hasn’t been well tended, this year our daughter plans to make it into a real garden. She’ll ring it with some rocks and then remove the sod as well as take the time to see if my roses can be rescued.

As for our front gardens, the lilies-of-the-valley spears are up. I never have to wonder if they’ll bloom as they are quite dedicated to make their annual appearance. The other bulbs I have planted there—narcissi (of which daffodils are but one variety), hyacinths and tulips—are all in solid growth mode. The gardens that border our walkway have as their outer border a row of bricks. The choice is currently being considered whether to thin the bulbs or move the bricks outward to encompass the new growth.

I’m leaving that decision up to my daughter, as she will have to do the work of it either way.

Spring truly is my favorite season of the year. It’s the fresh awakening of nature following the months of hibernation. There are days that are blessedly warm and sunny, days when you want to breathe deeply of all that freshness over and over again. There is always the hope, however fanciful that the air of spring will rejuvenate the body as it surely does the spirit.

Spring, however, is not always a sure thing. One can’t count on its nature, from year to year. There have been years when we’ve only had a week of what I consider spring weather before we find ourselves in the swelter of summer. And some years, the spring bears more wet and cold than sun and warmth.

The last couple of years especially, I’ve felt that the springtime has more closely resembled those I recall from my childhood. A gradual warming, with days of clean air, and nights that find one reaching for a blanket in the evening.

This spring seems to be following that trend. Yesterday, while reclining and reading, I noticed the room was quite warm. Not warm enough to turn on our a/c, but certainly warm enough to turn off the furnace. And so I did.

Now, I did consult with my beloved as I headed to bed around midnight, as to whether or not I should turn the furnace back on. It would operate according to its schedule and shut off again about 1:30. Then it would come on again about five a.m.

He thought there was no need, and I agreed. Clearly that decision wasn’t well thought out.  When I awoke at seven a.m., it was to shivers and a need to check that thermostat. Now, here’s where I am reminded that much in life truly is subjective.

Fifty-eight degrees Fahrenheit would seem balmy after a week of minus thirty temperatures. If we stepped out our door on that day, why, we’d eschew the use of a jacket! However, fifty-eight degrees Fahrenheit is simply too cold after a toasty night under our duvet. Turning the furnace back on only requires a couple seconds to work the thermostat’s keypad.

Friends, it was done before that first sip of my morning coffee.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Rhythms....

 April 23, 2025

I’m happy to report that for the most part, our back yard and front yard are now (somewhat) presentable. The front yard has been raked and the small gardens weeded. The back one has been cleaned and raked, the outdoor furniture cleaned as needed, and our garden boxes ready to be sown and the “lawn” ready for grass seed.

Did it surprise me that after the frantic activity to get it all done in time for the “Easter egg hunt” this past Monday, that when the day came, it was a rainy one? No, not particularly. That sort of thing happens a lot around here. And that’s not a problem if one is simply able to just go with the flow. By eleven in the morning on Monday, an hour before our guests were due to arrive, our daughter hid the eggs in plain sight inside four rooms of the house.

The “Easter eggs” in question were plastic, and hollow, and therefore fillable. My girls decided some time ago that these would be more fun and less work, and I can attest that there was a lot of scoping and then seeking and excitement for the children when the day came.

The girls spent a good part of Sunday preparing those eggs. At one point I looked at all the candy, small toys, and coins they had arrayed on the kitchen table as they filled those eggs and just shook my head. In all there were 100 eggs of various colors, but only one was the “golden egg” and that one held a ten dollar bill!

I should tell you that our family Easter celebration was held on Easter Monday because not only did that mesh with the girls’ work schedules, but that day is a school holiday here in Ontario. There were 10 of us in all, including 3 of my greatgrandchildren. After the fun of the baskets, and the hunt, we had a late lunch/early dinner of ham, sweet potatoes, salads, and various other veggies. For dessert there was a large bowl of “Gramma Berries”, and ice cream.

For the number of beings held under this roof (10 human, 6 dogs, 1 cat) it all turned out quite well. They were dispersed to their own homes by 4:30 in the afternoon, at which point yours truly took rest in my recliner.

While I will confess that the noise of this sort of gathering can be a bit much, it’s still one of my most cherished pleasures. I may not play with my greatgrandchildren as much as their grandmothers do, but I do enjoy them. My daughter might be surprised to read that. She tells me I don’t have much patience anymore, and in a way that is so. But I would also point out I must have enough patience, as no child has ever come to harm under my roof, and certainly none of them hesitate to hug me, something they wouldn’t do if they were afraid of me. I don’t know if she’d appreciate that sentiment but it’s true. It’s true because it’s ok if I scowl or look annoyed when the kids are yelling and running and getting out of hand. And it’s ok if I do the same when they sass, which they all do from time to time. And its ok if I raise my voice to be heard when no one else is stepping in to restore a semblance of order to the insanity.

Each generation raises its young a little differently, don’t you think? When I was a child, my mother never apologized, not even when she had made a mistake or was wrong. If I was punished for something I didn't do, and she later learned that I really had been innocent of the charge? She never said, “I’m sorry”. Instead, she always said, “you probably did something I don’t know about.”

No, that was not my parenting style. I rode the pendulum of behavior toward the other end. I did apologize, and I did let them say their piece. However, I didn’t tolerate back-talk, especially if it was rude. Stealing and lying, something most children do at least once in their young lives was unacceptable, always. I would give a time out, and on very rare occasions, for very bad behavior, a spanking.

Times change, but core values don’t. At least, they shouldn’t.

I gave a helping hand when there was a need with some of my grandchildren. But when it comes to the greats? Well, they have grandmothers younger and more energetic than I am. And I certainly wouldn’t want to deprive them of their own special moments with their grandchildren. After all, I had a few of those with my own.

I’m content to sit and listen when the greats are here, to guide and join in card games, and to give hugs as needed. And, of course, I feed them. I can still cook, and I can say with great gratitude, that my greatgrandchildren and yes, the others too, do appreciate my culinary offerings.

Isn’t the rhythm of life, and living, a wonderful thing?

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

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