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