Keep trying...

 September 24, 2025

The first supper that I ever made in my life was bacon and eggs. Yes, “breakfast for supper” was a popular option at our house when I was a child and has continued to be so forever after. And while bacon was an acceptable supper option back in the day, it was only used for breakfast for very special occasions. For breakfast, if one was allowed to make an egg and some meat for that meal back then, it was eggs and bologna.

The secret to using bologna as a fried breakfast meat was that since the meat was round, one needed 4 small slices every quarter-circle, so that when it was fried it would stay flat.

I was 10 when I attempted cooking my first breakfast-for-supper supper, bacon and eggs—and I cooked the eggs first!

Boy, were those eggs chewy, and did I feel like a failure by the time my mother got through giving me her honest opinion of my efforts. But that chewing out (pardon the pun) didn’t defeat me. It made me get better at cooking that meal, until I was the only one of the four of us living in that old house on the Brock Road (except for Mother herself) considered to be an adequate bacon chef.

In time, she would even brag to my uncle and aunt (her brother and sister-in-law) about how melt-in-the-mouth crispy my bacon was. And it was, every time.

I have always loved cooking. Like my mother before me, I discovered a talent for looking at the selection of raw materials (food) available and putting a meal together. David has always enjoyed the meals I made us. Next to writing, cooking has been my greatest talent.

Don’t ask me to knit something—though I have in the past, provided it was something truly basic like a scarf or a blanket. And don’t ask me to crochet, because I really have never had any success there. Graphic arts? A wonderful talent to have, though never one of mine.

But I can cook. Not fancy fare but good, comfort food, and my prime rib roast has reduced the members of my family to drooling fans.

That established, it takes a lot more energy and focus these days for me to put a meal together than it did even just five years ago. And it may sound strange, but that’s something that I worry about. That somehow, I might get to the point that I won’t be able to turn out a proper meal. Oh, not so much physically. It’s the evolution of that unknown and immeasurable quality called talent—when it comes to cooking, yes, but writing as well.

Other than to keep pushing forward while accepting my slower rate of progress when it comes to the latter, there is only one thing I can think to do guard against losing my ability with the former.

I’m always looking for new recipes when online, with a view to selecting ones I’d like to try.

My family rarely dislikes anything I make, and they have their favorites, one of which is my meatloaf.

Making meatloaf for supper was a challenge when our daughter, shortly after moving in with us, became vegan. But I was able to make her a meatloaf using her “meatless” hamburger. She’s no longer vegan, so I’m back to my making only one meatloaf instead of two when it’s on the menu.

Recently, I saw a meat loaf recipe by Ina Garten, whom I’m sure many of you know of, and have likely followed online. The recipe was different in several ways from my own, and I told my family to get ready, because I was going to make it. For their part, while they couldn’t understand why I would want to try another kind of meatloaf, they agreed to welcome the new version.

I made it last Wednesday for supper, and I liked it! It was quite different from my own, but very good. I followed her recipe exactly and was met with success. More importantly, my husband and my daughter both liked it, although daughter thought she preferred my version of the classic comfort food.

Pleased with my success, I have my eyes open for my next “new” recipe. I don’t understand the science of it all, but I do know I use different parts of my brain for cooking than I do for writing and than I do for other manual household tasks. To my own mind, those two activities—cooking and writing—define me. Which means I’ll continue to keep practicing both for as long as I am able to do so.

If you would like Ms. Garten’s recipe, you can find it here: https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/meat-loaf-recipe-1921718

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Miracles....

 September 17, 2025

If ever there was a time for someone to ask me that once almost-hip question, “how’s it shakin’?” that time is now.

As I bear down to find my focus and compose these words to you, my friends, my house is “shakin’” a bit too much and a bit too well, thank you.

Yesterday, the temporary dirt road in front of my house had an enormous and deep hole in it. The work crew was laying the new water pipe, which is the entire reason behind this particular part of the town’s infrastructure project for 2025.

The first time I felt this kind of shaking was a few years ago, when they replaced the narrow road on the south side of our house. It’s a compactor machine, and it rolls slowly over the newly refilled holes in the road base, to pack that soil in good and tight.

Back then, the vibrations that traveled not only through the earth between the machine’s position and where I was sitting, but through my house as well, made my stomach feel nauseous. That isn’t the case this time. But I still don’t like the sensations. Worse, I do worry about the effect of the vibrations on the house itself.

Don’t believe in miracles? I surely do. My house is still standing. And I have faith that it will continue to stand. I truly do. But I wouldn’t say no—in fact would be very grateful for—whatever prayers y’all would like to send our way.

Speaking of miracles, we have an addition to our family. David and I have a beautiful new great-granddaughter, Sophia, born last Wednesday afternoon to our wonderful grandson and his wife, who became our beloved granddaughter a couple of years ago when they wed. We’re overjoyed for them, and hope to go visit, but only after the new family has time to enjoy each other first.

It’s mid-September and I think that after all the rain we had not so long ago, it’s odd that we appear to be in a bit of a drought right now. And thanks to our current mid-construction environment, the state of the weather, while it is great for the construction crew and their timetable, creates a minor problem for me.

Pre-construction, we had a garden hose connected and at the ready, and if I wanted to go outside and water our garden, well, that was doable for me. Go outside, bring the hose off it’s reel, go over to the garden, depress the button on the nozzle to turn on the hose and apply the water.

Well, to ensure we have water during this time of water-main replacement, the construction crew laid a temporary watermain. This main which is on top of the ground allows for a hose to run from it to each house. That hose is then connected to where our watering hose was connected. Where possible, the crew uses the homeowner’s own hose. They connected, they turned it on at the source, and we have water. It’s ingenious! If the water can run out of the house via that spigot for the hose, it can run it that way, too.

Ah, you see the issue. When I realized this was going to be the case, that our garden hose would be unavailable for watering the garden, I ordered and received a new garden hose. One of those flex hoses that apparently will contract and be easy to store. It can be connected to our kitchen tap and can be run out the window which is only a foot and a half from the back door. And once connected, and out the window, that hose may be used to water the garden which is also only a couple of feet from the door.

It needs but one person capable of doing the work of removing the nozzle end on the faucet, connecting and then running the hose out the window.

It pains me more than I can say that that person is not me.

Friends, I am sure you are thinking right about now, “Morgan it’s a good thing that you’re not an elderly woman living all alone, isn’t it?” I will never disagree with that sentiment. In fact, I give thanks every single day that I am not an elderly woman living all alone.

Now if only someone would be kind enough to do more than agree in theory with me that the tomatoes need to be watered and see to it.

Then, I would be even more grateful.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Attitude is everything...

 September 10, 2025

If there is one thing that I wish I’d truly known, understood, and taken to heart earlier in my life it is this: attitude is everything.

How we, as humans, react to the things that happen around us and to us is inexorably tied to how we fare, emotionally and spiritually on our life’s journey.

One of my favorite sayings is that “life is 5 per cent what happens to me and 95 percent how I deal with it.” Friends, truer words were never penned. I say that in full awareness that they were not my words, first. They belong to that amazingly prolific writer, Anonymous.

Who among us can precisely judge the value of holding fast to gratitude, a positive outlook, and a great sense of humor? This is not to say that there will not be days when we’re sad, or grieving, when we’re in pain, or depressed. From time to time, we will experience all those emotions. I would even argue that you need to taste of the bitter fruits that life can hand us in order to truly appreciate the sweet.

Please, friends, notice that I used the word “taste”. I’m careful of the words I choose, because words are very powerful. Taste is a world away from gorge. Taste implies, at least to my mind, a subtle extension of the tongue, the gastronomic equivalent of sticking one’s toes in the water.

I have been a person who knew bitterness and my reality as a young married woman was really very harsh. I know what it is to be in want, and I know what it is to feel abandoned of all hope. It feels ugly inside. Ugly and dark and utterly scary and alone.

I am no longer that woman. And when I see others who are trudging through their lives, exuding the dark clouds that used to live deep inside my soul, I feel such sadness, and such ache for them. It doesn’t have to be that way. In every book I’ve written, and at the base of almost all of my essays, is the message that how one feels is a choice. How one reacts to the inevitable hard times, is a choice. And one is where one is as a direct result of all the choices one has made to that point in their life.

As I always have said, your choice basically is between saying “Good morning, God!” or “Good God, it’s morning!” It’s all up to you.

Of course, being transformed from one who is miserable and bitter to one who can embrace the good and receive the joy just waiting to be had isn’t something you can do alone. But it will come if you make the choice and ask for help. I can tell you that when I made that choice and asked for help, it was a holy and humbling experience. It took me a bit time to understand that the absence of darkness within me was real.

In 1776, Thomas Payne began his famous pamphlet series with the sentence: “These are the times that try men’s souls.”  That sentiment is one that seems to be in vogue once more. As we look back over the years between then and now, we understand that there have been many occasions when that sentiment has been felt.

There are times when it takes determination and not a little audacity to find the positive in life. But if you can, you will find, that the colors are brighter and the air is sweeter than you knew it could ever be. If you can hold onto the positive, and a good sense of humor, there will be peace within you, and you will find the ability to take the next breath, and then the next one after that.

No, not alone. Never alone. But it does start with a decision, and that decision is all yours.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

September...

September 3, 2025 

I’ve reached that point in my life where I close my eyes and take a deep breath every time I’m confronted with new technology. Okay, well, maybe I reached that point a few years ago. Truth to tell, the only time I did well with “new modern tech” was at one of my jobs (in the 1990’s) when my department manager said to me, "here's a computer. Tomorrow, I'm going to show you how to use it. Today, just play around with it and see what it and you can do."

I worked in payroll at the time, and my manager wasn't too happy with what our boss did, but it more or less worked out well in the end.

The first word program I ever used was Word Perfect, and while I don’t recall the details of it, I do remember that it was easy enough for me to navigate. I really liked the part about not having to retype an entire manuscript from beginning to end in order to produce a second draft. And the keying required less strength of finger compared to using a typewriter.

In this day and age, the boogey man for me, technology-wise, is AI. I have never gone to Chat-whatever the hell it is. Nor do I intend to. The first thing I do when I open a new word document is to close “Copilot”. I’m an author for goodness’ sake! My words must all be my own, or they are worthless. Hard line. Full stop.

I do however kind of like the application of AI in the search engines. I can ask a question, and I get a better result than I did before AI. As long as the AI applications are happy to shut the hell up and stay in the background unless I speak to them, I’ll be content.

Writing continues to be a slow process for me. A combination of the changes that getting older have brought to my mental as well as physical capabilities, and believe it or not, a second round of Carpal Tunnel on my right hand. I will eventually undergo surgery for this, but until then the funny sensations in my fingers impede my ability to type as quickly as I’m used to. I can’t necessarily feel when a finger is on two keys instead of one. But it is what it is, and I shall carry on.

September is upon us, and as I mentioned in my last essay, the last couple of weeks have been chilly ones, comparatively speaking. I keep reminding myself that sixty degrees Fahrenheit on a day in mid-February would be considered incredibly warm. However, the one good thing about September officially arriving this past Monday was that it was no longer August, and I could therefore, in good conscience, turn on the furnace for an hour in the morning.

I know it wasn’t my imagination that my husband cheered when I did so on September 1st.

These last two coolish weeks have slowed down the ripening of our tomatoes. The last couple of days, however, turned a bit warmer so I am hoping that those many green tomatoes on our plants have had the opportunity to grow some in size, before ripening. We’ve already had more tomatoes this year than last but are nowhere near the bounty of the summer of 2023.

I have a countdown happening in the background of my mind, ticking down the days until some of our favorite television shows return. One of our favorites returned mid-summer. We have really been enjoying Star Trek: Strange New Worlds, this season. Considering that it’s been a couple of years between season 2 and 3, once we watched the first episode, we were caught. I still feel cheated that a television season is only ten episodes instead of the fondly remembered twenty-plus. But that’s life for you.

I look forward to the new major-network fall television season so that I can fill up my viewing hours with entertaining programming instead of news. It’s getting bad out there, folks. I’m content being vaguely aware of events. I do not want to obsess. That’s life for you, too.

At least, it should be.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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