It's not isolation....

 February 18, 2026

For the moment at least, and knock on wood, it would appear that our visit to the time of ice age-like temperatures has come to an end. As I take a moment to peer out my window, I see that clouds abound and it’s raining. No ordinary rain, that. It’s a freezing rain. The only thing you should be doing during a freezing rain is to shelter in place, and hope that place has warmth, coffee, and maybe a blankety to snuggle under.

I’m optimistic today because the winter of 25-26 is coming to a close. You’ll recall that I consider each winter to last from October to March, inclusive. Six months. We are drawing close to the end of month number five.

Anticipation awakens.

If anyone is interested, I was last out of my house (as in leaving the property and going somewhere—anywhere) on January 12^th. I had thought that if I ever ended up with more than thirty days in a row at home, I might be in danger of going stir-crazy. But I’m not, particularly, and I don’t know what to think about that.

It’s not like I’m living in isolation. Of course, I’m not. I have a lot of interaction with people who are not here in this physical space with me, as well as plenty with those who are. We’ve been purchasing and receiving supplies when needed, and we’ve a custom, lately, of ordering in Friday supper every two weeks.

There have been new and exciting things to watch on the television especially over the last week or so – I really am enjoying the Olympics. And there’s more than enough crazy happening outside to make me happy to stay home where, if there is crazy, it’s generally familiar crazy and I mostly can control it.

There is a certain level of inner peace to be had when one has no “social calendar” to follow.

I don’t tend to get bored. I’ve long ago given up on the idea that anyone or anything has responsibility over keeping my mind engaged. That’s my job and I do it quite well. Those things that I used to enjoy doing while out and about don’t hold appeal for me in the way they once did. This means, of course, that I don’t miss them.

But best of all, I have no interest in or desire to seek instant gratification. I am content to just relax and let things evolve as they will. I long ago discovered that if I had to depend upon others to have my needs or my wants met, I was going to be doing more than just bit of waiting. And waiting as a singular activity for its own sake truly is just a waste of time.

I can’t control the actions of others; I can only control how I react to those actions.

I think there was a short period of time in my younger years when I possessed a short temper. I can’t recall the details—a blessing, that—but I suspect it was related to some challenge we were facing. A short temper is not something that has ever been a major problem for me. In fact, I’ve had it pointed out to me by various friends and family members that they would have “blown their stacks” if they’d had to deal with some of the things that have crossed my path over the years.

I never really knew how to answer comments like that, then. Now I can say that anger has for the most part never been my first response. Hurt (as in hurt feelings) holds that position. It really is how I’m wired.

My 71^st title with my publisher has been out for a couple of weeks now, and I’m nearly ready to begin my 72^nd. This time I’m letting my process have its due course. I’m hoping my active choice to be patient will turn out to be the best decision ever.

Please wish me luck with that.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

The games have begun...

 February 11, 2026

The Winter Olympics have begun!

Now, you wouldn’t necessarily think that anyone in this household would have any joy at the prospect of seeing winter sports played on the world stage and shown on our television. We don’t care for winter, not one bit. We abhor the cold, the ice, and the never-ending struggle to stay warm. We cheer when Ground Hog Day finally arrives and pray for an early spring. All this is true and I will never deny it.

 But what also is true is that we enjoy watching more sports of the Winter Olympics than we do of the summer games.

The ski jumping, the snowboarding, especially the aerials, and the moguls hold endless fascination for both David and me. We’ve never truly aspired to be performers of any of those truly mind-boggling feats. But we are happy to bear witness, to cheer in support of successfully executed derring-do, or groan in commiseration of a wipe-out, as the case may be. Some of the tricks these amazing athletes pull are simply un-fricking-believable.

We’ve always enjoyed watching figure skating events. Now, here I must confess that from the nineteen-nineties to the early-aughts we were traumatized by the spills we witnessed on Olympic figure skating ice. You know you’re on shaky emotional ground when your field of vision is obscured by the splayed-fingers-in-the-fear-of-imminent-disaster. In the years post Albertville and Lillehammer, Salt Lake City and Turin, we drifted away some from watching those events.

And of course, while the fortunes of our own Canadian teams have always been nearest and dearest to our hearts, whatever the discipline, we are eager to watch and cheer greatness and grit regardless of the nationality of any performer with heart and/or talent.

The phrase “Jamaican bobsled team” still brings a smile to my face.

In fact, I think those gentlemen should be celebrated as the kings of the spirit of the Olympics. They had no hope in hell of ever winning, or even medaling, but they gave it their all, regardless.

We watch news casts each night that we’ve taped—mainly because we’re not ready to watch when they are actually airing. And then, because the winter Olympics have indeed begun, we turn to a Canadian network where we can be assured of discovering the results for most of the events of the day, regardless of the nationality of the medal winners.

In 1998, at the Nagano games, was the first year that curling became a medal event. And we discovered that sport as we sat and watched our Canadian Women’s team, skipped by the late Sandra Schmirler, play excellent ends on their march toward the gold medal. We’d never actually watched curling before, but we were hooked before that first game ended. Now it’s a must-see event for us—even in non-Olympic years.

We have nearly two weeks left to enjoy this wonderful change of pace programming each evening. The competition is fierce, especially from those who are not athletes nor, at this time, the focus of the world’s attention. Not an unexpected bit of noise amid the true-life drama of honest athletic competition. That’s all right. I’m a mother, a grandmother and a great-grandmother.

I know how to handle the tantrums/distractions of jealous toddlers.

And I am getting better, day by day, at living in the moment. I celebrate this moment, this day, for the joy, and for the heart and determination that is on display, the show itself a truly international achievement.

I’m reminded of the time back in 2000, I think it was when my eldest grandson was eight. His family visited during the Olympics, and I asked him if he’d seen one of our Canadian gymnasts performing in particular event I knew to be one of his favorites. He sighed and said, “yes, but he only came in fourth.” He made the word “fourth” sound like the most disappointing substance, ever.

I waited until he was looking at me, and I gave him another perspective. I said, “Wow, out of all the boys or men in the world who are gymnasts, he came in fourth! The fourth best in the world! That’s great!”

I recall that at the time, he went with it and immediately seemed to feel happier than he had. I have no idea if any of that change in perspective stayed with him, but I like to think that down deep, it has.

So, let the games continue—and let us all continue to keep hope alive!

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

I can adapt...

 February 4, 2026

I don’t know about all y’all, but I am having very fond memories right about now of the January thaw that took place nearly a month ago. The last few winters sure as hell spoiled us, didn’t they? This season we are now in is more like what the ubiquitous “they” refer to as a “traditional winter” than what we’ve had in the past several years.

It’s very wise of them to call it a “traditional” rather than a “normal” winter, because honestly very little seems normal anymore.

Today marks the 23^rd straight day that I have not left my house. That is due almost but not entirely to the weather. It’s too damn cold for me outside, period. There’s too much snow and ice, as well, for me to navigate. That’s the weather.

Here is one more factor: Do you recall that I was delighted when the road construction crew, on their last day, put down some asphalt to connect what used to be my walkway (and which they had torn up all to hell) from my porch to the road? Well, I’m still grateful, although there is a teeny-tiny problem with it. Turned out, it’s not a nice, gentle slope. It’s a steepish slope with a big bump and dip at the end.

And with the ice and the snow, even after safety salt, I cannot navigate it alone. My daughter asked for and received my promise that I wouldn’t even try. I’m not an idiot. The first time she helped me from the base of my porch steps to the road, I knew that I would not be able to manage it without help.

Now, this isn’t a permanent problem. Come the spring there will be a landscaping crew here who will remove the asphalt and then reconstruct the walkway base that the crew had destroyed. Then there will be a new walkway, and we will install proper railing, and then all will be well.

I was able to navigate the journey from road to house quite well, year-round, before the disruption of this construction, and I will be able to do so again once it is complete.

In the meantime, you’re likely thinking how lucky I am that our daughter is here. She can fetch and carry what needs to be fetched and carried. And you’re more than half right, there. However, there is a limit to the number of items she can bring home on any given day. Oh, she manages that asphalt, but it’s not easy for her, either.

Bringing home a full grocery order is a lot easier done when she has her two pre-teen grandchildren there with her to lug and carry.

Of course, we don’t want to overtax them. And on other days she will bring what we need after work, but I don’t want to overtax her.

So just recently we’ve found, tried, and adopted another tool for our toolbox. We have a restaurant delivery service here in Canada called Skip the Dishes. And lately they’ve extended their services to include certain grocery stores and other places like pharmacies and even convenience stores. There are four places we shop for groceries on a regular basis, and another store where we shop occasionally, and Skip covers two of the five. Our main go-to for groceries uses a different service, and we now have an account with the company that covers that store as well.

Some members of my family might be surprised at the speed with which I’ve changed my routine and way of doing things. (The people closest to you never really see you clearly.) The truth is, I’ve never been against change.

I just don’t like change for change’s sake. But show me a solid, good reason to adapt, and I’m there.

That trait and my sense of humor haven’t saved my life. But they have saved my sanity.

 

P. S. My 71^st title for my publisher, which is also the 49^th title in the Lusty, Texas Collection is out today! You’ll find it at the second link below.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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