September 30, 2015
I have a confession to make. I’m a bit of a pack rat. I don’t know why throwing anything away is so hard for me, but there it is. Every once in a while, I need help. This past week end, I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and since it was her weekend off work, asked my daughter to please come and clean/clear out my office.
She decided she’d do the deed on Sunday. There was a reason for that. She knew I had to go into the city to the nursing office. Then my beloved and I planned to have lunch out before we went grocery shopping. Those chores on the agenda guaranteed that we would be gone while she got a good start on the job.
Two days before the appointed day, when she was here, I started to tell her about how I wanted a few things to be arranged...and she told me to hush. “You’ve asked for my help. Now you must let go and let me help.” My response to that—aside from calling her a cheeky wench—was to wait until she left. Then I sorted through what was in my immediate work area, and took care of everything in that small space. I could live with her arranging the bookshelves, and completely replacing the one small bookshelf that I used for sundry items (our unopened boxes of coffee pods for the Keurig and my entire liquor supply—a small collection of bottles, most of which are several years old).
I wasn’t the only one being ordered about. Our daughter told my husband he must put together the unopened wooden shelf kit so that she could install it in place of the somewhat bowing one that had been there for a couple of years and that she intended to replace.
I let my daughter see that I was somewhat concerned when she arrived Sunday morning, and the first thing she did was to open the contractor-sized garbage bag she brought with her and grin like a maniac. I was going to ask her to use the recycling bin when possible, but I knew what that request would net me. She’d do what she liked, regardless. I wasn’t really worried that she would throw out anything important. She has a pretty good sense of what I want/need and what I don’t.
My daughter and I pretty much see eye to eye on most things. There is, however, one area in which we do not agree, and I would say the fact this is so, was inevitable.
I know my daughter believes that she and I are making “the transition”. Those of you who are in your thirties or forties with elderly parents know what I’m talking about. There comes a point, if you’re fortunate enough to have your parents still alive as you move into your middle years, when you begin to assume some responsibility for them. As they age and their faculties begin to wane, you begin to do little things to help them. You check on them and see to it that they’re well. Maybe you make sure of their medical appointment schedule, get them there, or make sure their medications are up to date. You check the fridge to see that they have the food necessary to eat healthy meals.
And as you perform these services it almost seems as if you become the parent to your parent who’s now like your child. That’s what I call the transition.
That’s where my daughter’s mind set is heading and all I can say to that is a good, old-fashioned Southern “bless her heart”.
Yes, I’m 61. Do I have trouble walking? Oh, you bet I do. Every step is a challenge especially right now, as I begin to work at regaining my stamina after three weeks of being less mobile than usual because of my surgery. But do my physical limitations translate into metal or intellectual feebleness?
Hell, no.
My daughter does have a good heart. She works as a nurse’s aide. She gives to her clients in the community—most of them elderly—and often to a degree that is above and beyond expectations. There have been a few in the local nursing home who don’t have family visiting them, and she makes sure they have a gift at Christmas—and yes, it comes out of her own pocket.
I am sure that when the time eventually comes for me to have someone “supervise” me, she’ll do a really good job.
But that day is far from now.
In the meantime, I am happy to have her work for a day cleaning, clearing, and feeling superior as long as at the end of the day, things are easier for me to manage.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
September 23, 2015
It’s the first day of autumn. That seems later this year, as for some reason, my mind thinks the change of season day is always the twenty-first of the month. That’s because when my brain finally matured, whatever was “normal” at that time—be it the price of a loaf of bread, the proper way to wear jeans, i.e., cinched at the waist and not mid-way down the butt crack, or the day the season changed—became normal for me, forever.
We get set in our ways, but maybe we should take a lesson from Mother Nature. She doesn’t get set in her ways at all. She has no problem having hissy fit after hissy fit, and does whatever the hell she wants. I wish someone would give that lady a tranquilizer so she could mellow out.
My beloved and I always note the day when we think the season changed from summer to autumn, and it’s usually a week or more in advance of the actual, official, first day of fall. Summer seems to have a sky that is a rich, vibrant blue, a blue with depth to it. Then comes a day, usually lately near the end of August, when we notice the sky isn’t that rich blue anymore. The shade seems a bit lighter—and even if the sun burns hot on that day there’s a quality to the air and combined, those two signals, to us, scream “autumn”.
And usually within a couple of days of that, we see the first tiny sign in the leaves on some of the trees we pass as we drive—a few tiny little traitors who, tired of life, have let it go and allowed the yellow or red to infiltrate their tiny leafy bodies.
We have a walnut tree that stands at the corner of our porch. This tree is the last in the area to gain its leaves, and the first to lose them. As soon as the walnuts are formed—these nuts are only edible to the squirrels—then the tree has fulfilled its annual purpose, and its leaves turn and begin to drop. It is generally bare by the time the neighbors’ maple trees have turned color. There is constant leaf raking to be done here from mid September to late October.
This constant, seasonal reality for us is going to prove a boon this year for our youngest grandson. He’s 13 now, and eager to earn money. We’ve hired him to be our lawn boy, and we’re hoping he will want to work next year, too, cutting grass. He already cuts the small yard at his own home, with an old fashioned push mower. But he’ll be 14 in January, old enough to learn how to use our electric mower.
This has been a fast year for me, mostly because I tried to focus on not thinking about my health. We only took the one excursion in the summer, and that was to Pennsylvania. And as I’d already had my surgery booked by then, the time flew while my mind was otherwise occupied.
And while I am having, for the time being, to have my one incision re-bandaged every day—necessitating a trip into the city to see the nurse—I already feel better than I have in a long time. I’m hoping that by the time Christmas rolls around, these issues will be firmly in the past.
Bumps in the road are always unexpected, and quite often unpleasant. But they happen to everyone, and they’re the reason for my favorite axiom.
Challenging times don’t come to stay—they come to pass.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
It’s the first day of autumn. That seems later this year, as for some reason, my mind thinks the change of season day is always the twenty-first of the month. That’s because when my brain finally matured, whatever was “normal” at that time—be it the price of a loaf of bread, the proper way to wear jeans, i.e., cinched at the waist and not mid-way down the butt crack, or the day the season changed—became normal for me, forever.
We get set in our ways, but maybe we should take a lesson from Mother Nature. She doesn’t get set in her ways at all. She has no problem having hissy fit after hissy fit, and does whatever the hell she wants. I wish someone would give that lady a tranquilizer so she could mellow out.
My beloved and I always note the day when we think the season changed from summer to autumn, and it’s usually a week or more in advance of the actual, official, first day of fall. Summer seems to have a sky that is a rich, vibrant blue, a blue with depth to it. Then comes a day, usually lately near the end of August, when we notice the sky isn’t that rich blue anymore. The shade seems a bit lighter—and even if the sun burns hot on that day there’s a quality to the air and combined, those two signals, to us, scream “autumn”.
And usually within a couple of days of that, we see the first tiny sign in the leaves on some of the trees we pass as we drive—a few tiny little traitors who, tired of life, have let it go and allowed the yellow or red to infiltrate their tiny leafy bodies.
We have a walnut tree that stands at the corner of our porch. This tree is the last in the area to gain its leaves, and the first to lose them. As soon as the walnuts are formed—these nuts are only edible to the squirrels—then the tree has fulfilled its annual purpose, and its leaves turn and begin to drop. It is generally bare by the time the neighbors’ maple trees have turned color. There is constant leaf raking to be done here from mid September to late October.
This constant, seasonal reality for us is going to prove a boon this year for our youngest grandson. He’s 13 now, and eager to earn money. We’ve hired him to be our lawn boy, and we’re hoping he will want to work next year, too, cutting grass. He already cuts the small yard at his own home, with an old fashioned push mower. But he’ll be 14 in January, old enough to learn how to use our electric mower.
This has been a fast year for me, mostly because I tried to focus on not thinking about my health. We only took the one excursion in the summer, and that was to Pennsylvania. And as I’d already had my surgery booked by then, the time flew while my mind was otherwise occupied.
And while I am having, for the time being, to have my one incision re-bandaged every day—necessitating a trip into the city to see the nurse—I already feel better than I have in a long time. I’m hoping that by the time Christmas rolls around, these issues will be firmly in the past.
Bumps in the road are always unexpected, and quite often unpleasant. But they happen to everyone, and they’re the reason for my favorite axiom.
Challenging times don’t come to stay—they come to pass.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
September 16, 2015
I want to thank everyone who took the time to send me best wishes over the last two weeks. I was completely overwhelmed by so many prayers on my behalf. Thank you all very much.
As you know, I was scheduled for the removal of my gallbladder on Friday, September 4th. I was very hopeful that I would receive the laparoscopic procedure and not what they call the “full surgical” one.
I was very fortunate, because that is exactly what happened. It was 9:45am when I was wheeled into the operating room, and it was approaching 1 pm when I was wheeled out to the car.
My beloved had previously booked the week after my surgery as his September “staycation”. I know that the week he ended up with was not the one he’d hoped for. He had planned to just be home but had thought we might take a day trip or two. That of course didn’t happen. He managed to do a lot of reading, and he “binged watched” a couple of historical television dramas. He and his daughter attended a local annual village-wide yard sale. He stayed up late and slept in late—in other words, he rested. That’s what a staycation is for.
I had shopped before my surgery, loading up on various frozen entrees for the duration, as David doesn’t like to cook at all. Unfortunately the first few days the temperatures were way too high to have the oven on. So one night we had one of the entrees done in the microwave, and then we made do with sandwiches. And since I didn’t have much of an appetite that was fine by me.
Although I was lucky to end up receiving the laparoscopic procedure, this entire adventure has not been smooth sailing. One thing that went exactly as hoped, I received my edit just a few days after my surgery. I was able to get the work done, spending an hour and a half at a time behind the keyboard.
I was determined to meet my professional obligations—but I was also determined to do exactly what I was told to do in order to heal. I spent most of my time either in my lounger or in my bed. I rested. I napped. On day 6 post-op, my main incision site, the one called the umbilical site, hurt more than the day before, not less. I was afraid it might be infected—but no one else seemed to think so. Over the weekend, of course, it became clear that it was infected. I got antibiotics, and was told to contact my surgeon on Monday, which I did.
I won’t go into the gory details. Suffice it to say I now understand about having an incision reopened, drained, and then packed. I’ve also added a trip into the city next door to my agenda every day for the next while, at least, to a nursing office where my bandage is changed daily.
Though I have work I need to do, I am taking a few more days to rest. Monday night, after seeing the surgeon, was the first decent sleep I’d had since the Thursday before.
I realize that many people deal with far worse things than what I am going through, and I really try not to think about it too much. It’s only temporary, after all. In a month or two these last couple of weeks will all be just a memory.
I’ve even decided there’s value to still not having much of an appetite. Maybe when I go for my regular check up in November, I’ll have lost another 10 pounds.
It’ll be a hard-won loss, but I’ll take it.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
I want to thank everyone who took the time to send me best wishes over the last two weeks. I was completely overwhelmed by so many prayers on my behalf. Thank you all very much.
As you know, I was scheduled for the removal of my gallbladder on Friday, September 4th. I was very hopeful that I would receive the laparoscopic procedure and not what they call the “full surgical” one.
I was very fortunate, because that is exactly what happened. It was 9:45am when I was wheeled into the operating room, and it was approaching 1 pm when I was wheeled out to the car.
My beloved had previously booked the week after my surgery as his September “staycation”. I know that the week he ended up with was not the one he’d hoped for. He had planned to just be home but had thought we might take a day trip or two. That of course didn’t happen. He managed to do a lot of reading, and he “binged watched” a couple of historical television dramas. He and his daughter attended a local annual village-wide yard sale. He stayed up late and slept in late—in other words, he rested. That’s what a staycation is for.
I had shopped before my surgery, loading up on various frozen entrees for the duration, as David doesn’t like to cook at all. Unfortunately the first few days the temperatures were way too high to have the oven on. So one night we had one of the entrees done in the microwave, and then we made do with sandwiches. And since I didn’t have much of an appetite that was fine by me.
Although I was lucky to end up receiving the laparoscopic procedure, this entire adventure has not been smooth sailing. One thing that went exactly as hoped, I received my edit just a few days after my surgery. I was able to get the work done, spending an hour and a half at a time behind the keyboard.
I was determined to meet my professional obligations—but I was also determined to do exactly what I was told to do in order to heal. I spent most of my time either in my lounger or in my bed. I rested. I napped. On day 6 post-op, my main incision site, the one called the umbilical site, hurt more than the day before, not less. I was afraid it might be infected—but no one else seemed to think so. Over the weekend, of course, it became clear that it was infected. I got antibiotics, and was told to contact my surgeon on Monday, which I did.
I won’t go into the gory details. Suffice it to say I now understand about having an incision reopened, drained, and then packed. I’ve also added a trip into the city next door to my agenda every day for the next while, at least, to a nursing office where my bandage is changed daily.
Though I have work I need to do, I am taking a few more days to rest. Monday night, after seeing the surgeon, was the first decent sleep I’d had since the Thursday before.
I realize that many people deal with far worse things than what I am going through, and I really try not to think about it too much. It’s only temporary, after all. In a month or two these last couple of weeks will all be just a memory.
I’ve even decided there’s value to still not having much of an appetite. Maybe when I go for my regular check up in November, I’ll have lost another 10 pounds.
It’ll be a hard-won loss, but I’ll take it.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
September 2, 2015
September has arrived! In the Ashbury household this means that summer is over. After this next weekend, at least in these parts, the kids return to school. My beloved told me the other day that in his mind, this was always the “New Year” to him. In fact, he declared, it will likely always be so.
We no longer have kids in the house returning to the halls of academia, of course. That’s been in the past for more years now than it ever was our reality—and we don’t even want to mention how many years it’s been since my husband went back to school. Back to school time was always a mixed blessing—inward cheers that they were finally not going to be home getting into mischief all day long; and inward winces at the expense of it all.
I have to admit, though, that today’s parent is expected to put out a lot more money than we ever had to do. “School supplies” used only to consist of back packs, paper, binders, and pens and pencils. I was in our local Walmart a few days ago and saw families shopping—with long lists supplied to them by the Board of Education.
We had to pay for babysitting during the summer months over the course of a few years—there were no day-camps where we lived out in the country. A couple of years I was out of work during the summer, which was good for the pocketbook but hard on the nerves. I loved my children, but I’m only human. By the time September 1st came around, you could likely find me at the school, outside, caressing the bricks fondly, mumbling “soon, soon.”
There are many differences between the school experience here, and what a lot of y’all know. Up here, while there are High School sports, they aren’t community-supported the way they are down there in the United States. I went to one football game when my oldest son, Christopher, was on the team. Otherwise and for the most part, the games were held in the middle of the school day, and I often had to work. The stands tended to be filled by the student body of whichever school was playing host, with but a very small smattering of parents in attendance.
September has always been my beloved’s preferred vacation time. There was no coincidence to the reality that he planned to be off work a week or two when the kids weren’t around during the day. When the kids were school-aged, all of our vacations were stay-cations. Yes, it’s true! We’ve always been edgily avant garde.
And though we have traveled some this year, next week finds my husband home from work, planning to do nothing more than read, and rest...and as it turns out, play nurse maid to me.
This coming Friday brings with it a resolution to a situation I’ve been dealing with for the last several years. In the beginning we didn’t know what was causing my ‘plumbing’ problems. But a year and a half ago, when I had the first painful episode, we had a clue.
Tests revealed that I have several gallstones. The surgeon was leery to remove my gallbladder until the other problem was resolved. Finally, a gastroenterologist figured out the cause of the situation, and in fact, it was related to my gallbladder. So finally, in two days time, it comes out.
I’m really hoping for the laparoscopic procedure, and that is what they intend to do. But I was cautioned that sometimes, a more invasive surgery is required. If I end up having the former, I will be home the same day and likely out of it for the weekend. And while I plan to rest, for the most part, for as long as the doctor recommends, I am expecting an edit and fully intend to complete it when it arrives. But that will likely be the extent of my “working” for the first week post-op, at any rate.
If I end up having the full surgery, I will be in hospital for a few days; but I have a lap top and the hospital bed will take the place of my wonderful electric recliner, so the edit will still be done.
Looking back, I believe there have only been a handful of Wednesdays when I haven’t posted my essay. Next week will be another one.
But I look forward to getting back into the rhythm of this life I so love. God willing, I’ll be back with a new Wednesday’s Words on September 16th.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
September has arrived! In the Ashbury household this means that summer is over. After this next weekend, at least in these parts, the kids return to school. My beloved told me the other day that in his mind, this was always the “New Year” to him. In fact, he declared, it will likely always be so.
We no longer have kids in the house returning to the halls of academia, of course. That’s been in the past for more years now than it ever was our reality—and we don’t even want to mention how many years it’s been since my husband went back to school. Back to school time was always a mixed blessing—inward cheers that they were finally not going to be home getting into mischief all day long; and inward winces at the expense of it all.
I have to admit, though, that today’s parent is expected to put out a lot more money than we ever had to do. “School supplies” used only to consist of back packs, paper, binders, and pens and pencils. I was in our local Walmart a few days ago and saw families shopping—with long lists supplied to them by the Board of Education.
We had to pay for babysitting during the summer months over the course of a few years—there were no day-camps where we lived out in the country. A couple of years I was out of work during the summer, which was good for the pocketbook but hard on the nerves. I loved my children, but I’m only human. By the time September 1st came around, you could likely find me at the school, outside, caressing the bricks fondly, mumbling “soon, soon.”
There are many differences between the school experience here, and what a lot of y’all know. Up here, while there are High School sports, they aren’t community-supported the way they are down there in the United States. I went to one football game when my oldest son, Christopher, was on the team. Otherwise and for the most part, the games were held in the middle of the school day, and I often had to work. The stands tended to be filled by the student body of whichever school was playing host, with but a very small smattering of parents in attendance.
September has always been my beloved’s preferred vacation time. There was no coincidence to the reality that he planned to be off work a week or two when the kids weren’t around during the day. When the kids were school-aged, all of our vacations were stay-cations. Yes, it’s true! We’ve always been edgily avant garde.
And though we have traveled some this year, next week finds my husband home from work, planning to do nothing more than read, and rest...and as it turns out, play nurse maid to me.
This coming Friday brings with it a resolution to a situation I’ve been dealing with for the last several years. In the beginning we didn’t know what was causing my ‘plumbing’ problems. But a year and a half ago, when I had the first painful episode, we had a clue.
Tests revealed that I have several gallstones. The surgeon was leery to remove my gallbladder until the other problem was resolved. Finally, a gastroenterologist figured out the cause of the situation, and in fact, it was related to my gallbladder. So finally, in two days time, it comes out.
I’m really hoping for the laparoscopic procedure, and that is what they intend to do. But I was cautioned that sometimes, a more invasive surgery is required. If I end up having the former, I will be home the same day and likely out of it for the weekend. And while I plan to rest, for the most part, for as long as the doctor recommends, I am expecting an edit and fully intend to complete it when it arrives. But that will likely be the extent of my “working” for the first week post-op, at any rate.
If I end up having the full surgery, I will be in hospital for a few days; but I have a lap top and the hospital bed will take the place of my wonderful electric recliner, so the edit will still be done.
Looking back, I believe there have only been a handful of Wednesdays when I haven’t posted my essay. Next week will be another one.
But I look forward to getting back into the rhythm of this life I so love. God willing, I’ll be back with a new Wednesday’s Words on September 16th.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
August 26, 2015
I don’t think I understand much of anything, anymore—and I’m not certain if it’s because I’m getting older, or because life on this planet is getting more convoluted.
I don’t really understand why we’ve had a couple of year’s worth of weather upheaval. There’s barely been a news cast in the last few months that didn’t have headlines about record cold, record storms, or record heat. Weather patterns? Personally, I think Mother Nature has been doodling while drunk on Sangria.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, it seems this may be a year of record wild fires. Just look at a map of the west coast of the United States, and you have to wonder. Is there anyone living out there not being forced to breathe in smoke every day? Of course all these fires underscore a reality we humans have failed to accept. Seriously, I would have suggested years ago that we need to reconsider where we build houses, and allowing nature’s forest rejuvenation program—before humans, there were forest fires that burned until they went out, and then, there was renewal. That is how the giant sequoias came to be—well, giants. I would have suggested that, but it appears nature has just gone ahead and done that very thing this year.
And it’s not just natural disasters lambasting us these days. I don’t understand why the stock market is picking now to go crazy. Yes, yes, fears of this and worries of that drive the prices up and down, up and down. I had no idea that the main prerequisite of managing other people’s money in a large investment fund was the propensity for turning into Chicken Little.
Now, because of all this damn panic by the money managers, people who really have little say are worried, and on the surface, I can understand that. You’re working hard, building your 401K and all of a sudden, it’s worth substantially less than it was, just the day before. We’ve had similar setbacks in years past in our own retirement funds, so I get that. But I also get the only people who should really be worried are the ones set to retire in the next few months. For them, my heart aches.
Everyone else needs to take a chill pill, because if the markets can regain the losses and even surpass the big blow out of 2008 (just seven years ago), then they can overcome this, too. So everyone who has at least a couple of years of saving time left, you need to stay calm.
Fear and panic seem to be contagious. All you have to do to catch either of those two states is to be near them. Sometimes, I wonder if “they” don’t use those two emotions as tools. It suits “their” nefarious purposes to whip everyone up into a lather from time to time. The person who’s afraid or in a panic sure is easy to direct—and maybe is too worried about what they’re worried about to pay attention to other stuff.
That’s a cynical thought for me—but then since I hit my 60s, my inner curmudgeon has been coming out to play a lot more often. I like to keep a positive attitude but I don’t want anyone to think I’m blind to machinations of some people.
After all, God gave us free will. We can choose to uplift, or tear down; we can choose to do good, or to do evil.
If we let it, life can chew us up and spit us out. There are always things happening, events that cause concern. In any given year there are natural disasters, outbreaks of disease, and financial woes. The Internet, that I applaud for allowing shut-ins to keep in touch, and providing educational connections to those who might otherwise not be able to get an education—that same Internet spreads worry and woes faster than a California wild fire.
Because we all are so darn connected to each other—not just individuals, but nations—we know of things and hear of things at an ever dizzying rate of speed. The constant spate of news, mostly about negative things, keeps us all in a near constant state of anxiety.
So let’s all relax, if we can. Take a deep breath and step back. Begin to think of what you can do to make things better.
And then look for the opportunity to do so.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
I don’t think I understand much of anything, anymore—and I’m not certain if it’s because I’m getting older, or because life on this planet is getting more convoluted.
I don’t really understand why we’ve had a couple of year’s worth of weather upheaval. There’s barely been a news cast in the last few months that didn’t have headlines about record cold, record storms, or record heat. Weather patterns? Personally, I think Mother Nature has been doodling while drunk on Sangria.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, it seems this may be a year of record wild fires. Just look at a map of the west coast of the United States, and you have to wonder. Is there anyone living out there not being forced to breathe in smoke every day? Of course all these fires underscore a reality we humans have failed to accept. Seriously, I would have suggested years ago that we need to reconsider where we build houses, and allowing nature’s forest rejuvenation program—before humans, there were forest fires that burned until they went out, and then, there was renewal. That is how the giant sequoias came to be—well, giants. I would have suggested that, but it appears nature has just gone ahead and done that very thing this year.
And it’s not just natural disasters lambasting us these days. I don’t understand why the stock market is picking now to go crazy. Yes, yes, fears of this and worries of that drive the prices up and down, up and down. I had no idea that the main prerequisite of managing other people’s money in a large investment fund was the propensity for turning into Chicken Little.
Now, because of all this damn panic by the money managers, people who really have little say are worried, and on the surface, I can understand that. You’re working hard, building your 401K and all of a sudden, it’s worth substantially less than it was, just the day before. We’ve had similar setbacks in years past in our own retirement funds, so I get that. But I also get the only people who should really be worried are the ones set to retire in the next few months. For them, my heart aches.
Everyone else needs to take a chill pill, because if the markets can regain the losses and even surpass the big blow out of 2008 (just seven years ago), then they can overcome this, too. So everyone who has at least a couple of years of saving time left, you need to stay calm.
Fear and panic seem to be contagious. All you have to do to catch either of those two states is to be near them. Sometimes, I wonder if “they” don’t use those two emotions as tools. It suits “their” nefarious purposes to whip everyone up into a lather from time to time. The person who’s afraid or in a panic sure is easy to direct—and maybe is too worried about what they’re worried about to pay attention to other stuff.
That’s a cynical thought for me—but then since I hit my 60s, my inner curmudgeon has been coming out to play a lot more often. I like to keep a positive attitude but I don’t want anyone to think I’m blind to machinations of some people.
After all, God gave us free will. We can choose to uplift, or tear down; we can choose to do good, or to do evil.
If we let it, life can chew us up and spit us out. There are always things happening, events that cause concern. In any given year there are natural disasters, outbreaks of disease, and financial woes. The Internet, that I applaud for allowing shut-ins to keep in touch, and providing educational connections to those who might otherwise not be able to get an education—that same Internet spreads worry and woes faster than a California wild fire.
Because we all are so darn connected to each other—not just individuals, but nations—we know of things and hear of things at an ever dizzying rate of speed. The constant spate of news, mostly about negative things, keeps us all in a near constant state of anxiety.
So let’s all relax, if we can. Take a deep breath and step back. Begin to think of what you can do to make things better.
And then look for the opportunity to do so.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
August 19, 2015
We enjoyed our annual trip to Hazleton to visit our friends who live there. I also use the time while in Pennsylvania to do some research into the history of the area, and the people, as I’ve been working on a story that takes place in the northeastern portion of that state.
During past trips, we’ve visited various museums and historical areas connected to the boom times of the coal years. We’ve also ventured to Gettysburg, and the Civil War museum and State Capitol building in Harrisburg.
We’ve gone to the haunted jail in Jim Thorpe, taken a tour of the Lackawanna Mines (though I declined to go underground with my husband and our friend) and have twice visited Steamtown USA—the national railroad museum—in Scranton.
We’ve driven through what’s left of Centralia, the borough that became deserted after the mine fire that began burning beneath it in 1962—and is burning there, still.
It’s interesting to get to know a region, little by little over the years. My husband and I both think the area we go to is coming back a bit from the worst of the recession of 2008. Our friend, who has lived there all his life, assures us there are still those who believe the mines and associate industries of the region’s boom times will come back—just as soon as everyone gets over this silly Internet craze, and trying to import new businesses into the area.
It’s taken me a few years to understand that there really are people who actually think like that. Of course, we know that technology never—in the history of the inhabitants of this planet—has ever gone backward—starting with fire, and the wheel. Maybe it will happen one day. Maybe we’ll come up with some form of technology that seems good, and isn’t, and in fact threatens us so badly that we will ban it all together from the face of the planet.
But I’m not holding my breath.
In essence, the truth is that technology in and of itself isn’t good, and it isn’t bad. The only “good versus evil” is found in the souls of the people who use the technology—and in what they use it for.
I consider myself pretty savvy when it comes to the Internet, the programs I use for writing, and the social media scene that I’m a part of. Not bad for a woman who will never see 60 again. There are some, older than I, who are also computer literate.
Of course there are a lot of people who aren’t. My brother is one. 10 years my senior, he doesn’t have (nor does he want) a cell phone. He has no idea of the uses of the items that are displayed on the cover of the Best Buy catalogue, and he barely surfs the web at all. His wife is one up on him there as, while she will never own a cell phone or an e-book reader, does look everywhere on line to find her amusements.
My brother doesn’t understand the allure of Sudoku games at all.
Spending time with our friends in Pennsylvania just underscored this divide in thinking. Our friend is a bit younger than us and quite Internet savvy. His mother, of course, a woman in her eighties, doesn’t understand the attraction, nor does she want to. They have satellite television now, a new innovation he convinced her to try because it was more cost effective than the local cable company. I’m not sure how many hundreds of channels they have available to them. She—our friend’s mom—will travel between the same five or six channels she knew on the cable system. And that is all.
She also gets quite annoyed when her daughter and family come over to visit because they are on their cell phones constantly—texting or updating social media, instead of actually visiting.
Having experienced such a visit from them while we were in town, I can understand the older woman’s annoyance. But again, that has nothing to do with the technology and everything to do with the people using the technology.
Mr. Tuffy accompanied us to Pennsylvania, as did our daughter. He traveled well, again, and was a perfect gentleman while visiting. He clearly remembered the people and the place from last year—and that following our friend when he went out to the kitchen was certain to net him a tasty tidbit.
All in all, a good time was had by all.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
We enjoyed our annual trip to Hazleton to visit our friends who live there. I also use the time while in Pennsylvania to do some research into the history of the area, and the people, as I’ve been working on a story that takes place in the northeastern portion of that state.
During past trips, we’ve visited various museums and historical areas connected to the boom times of the coal years. We’ve also ventured to Gettysburg, and the Civil War museum and State Capitol building in Harrisburg.
We’ve gone to the haunted jail in Jim Thorpe, taken a tour of the Lackawanna Mines (though I declined to go underground with my husband and our friend) and have twice visited Steamtown USA—the national railroad museum—in Scranton.
We’ve driven through what’s left of Centralia, the borough that became deserted after the mine fire that began burning beneath it in 1962—and is burning there, still.
It’s interesting to get to know a region, little by little over the years. My husband and I both think the area we go to is coming back a bit from the worst of the recession of 2008. Our friend, who has lived there all his life, assures us there are still those who believe the mines and associate industries of the region’s boom times will come back—just as soon as everyone gets over this silly Internet craze, and trying to import new businesses into the area.
It’s taken me a few years to understand that there really are people who actually think like that. Of course, we know that technology never—in the history of the inhabitants of this planet—has ever gone backward—starting with fire, and the wheel. Maybe it will happen one day. Maybe we’ll come up with some form of technology that seems good, and isn’t, and in fact threatens us so badly that we will ban it all together from the face of the planet.
But I’m not holding my breath.
In essence, the truth is that technology in and of itself isn’t good, and it isn’t bad. The only “good versus evil” is found in the souls of the people who use the technology—and in what they use it for.
I consider myself pretty savvy when it comes to the Internet, the programs I use for writing, and the social media scene that I’m a part of. Not bad for a woman who will never see 60 again. There are some, older than I, who are also computer literate.
Of course there are a lot of people who aren’t. My brother is one. 10 years my senior, he doesn’t have (nor does he want) a cell phone. He has no idea of the uses of the items that are displayed on the cover of the Best Buy catalogue, and he barely surfs the web at all. His wife is one up on him there as, while she will never own a cell phone or an e-book reader, does look everywhere on line to find her amusements.
My brother doesn’t understand the allure of Sudoku games at all.
Spending time with our friends in Pennsylvania just underscored this divide in thinking. Our friend is a bit younger than us and quite Internet savvy. His mother, of course, a woman in her eighties, doesn’t understand the attraction, nor does she want to. They have satellite television now, a new innovation he convinced her to try because it was more cost effective than the local cable company. I’m not sure how many hundreds of channels they have available to them. She—our friend’s mom—will travel between the same five or six channels she knew on the cable system. And that is all.
She also gets quite annoyed when her daughter and family come over to visit because they are on their cell phones constantly—texting or updating social media, instead of actually visiting.
Having experienced such a visit from them while we were in town, I can understand the older woman’s annoyance. But again, that has nothing to do with the technology and everything to do with the people using the technology.
Mr. Tuffy accompanied us to Pennsylvania, as did our daughter. He traveled well, again, and was a perfect gentleman while visiting. He clearly remembered the people and the place from last year—and that following our friend when he went out to the kitchen was certain to net him a tasty tidbit.
All in all, a good time was had by all.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
August 12, 2015
A couple of weeks ago, I came upon one of those postings on FaceBook, the kind that urge you to use it to change your status for an hour if it’s something you can identify with. The words that caught my attention were: “A person who loses a partner is called a widow. A child who loses a parent is called an orphan. But there is no word that describes a parent who loses a child because the loss is like no other.” The meme, for lack of a better term, went on to invite others to share it, in memory of lost loved ones of their own, or people they know.
I felt moved to post this and almost immediately people responded. That, right there, is what I love so much about the Internet. Before this platform ever existed, thousands of people went through life feeling isolated, because they had experienced something that no one else they knew had experienced. Be it the loss of a child or grandchild, or almost any negative circumstance you can imagine, people who suffered from such an event often felt alone.
We are born alone, and we die alone, but we don’t have to always feel alone. If we’re lucky, we live our lives among friends and family and find a communion of spirit that uplifts us, and helps us to make sense and meaning of our lives. But even when we’re among loved ones, we can sometimes feel isolated and alone.
We need this wonderful technology of ours so that we can reach across cyberspace and touch those who know what we have endured. There are just times when you need that connection—not only to receive comfort, but to give it as well.
I recall my first experience going online. It was in 2003, in the aftermath of my open heart surgery. I had a long, slow, and difficult recovery. My daughter brought her computer over for me to use one day, and told me that I was going to go online—because she didn’t like to see me just sitting around doing nothing. That proved to be a Godsend because I really couldn’t do a lot, physically. The ultimate goal, of course, was for me to get writing. I began to look for writing contests that I could enter as a first step toward pursuing that long held dream of mine—becoming a published author.
But writing, and researching writing, wasn’t all that I did on line.
I discovered Pogo games. They had word games and Bejeweled and solitaire and Word Whomp. They had bingo! I used to love to go to bingo both alone, and with my daughter once in a while before my surgery, so that was something for me to do online that was fun. Pogo is a free game site, or you can buy a membership and skip the “ads”. They have all sorts of games, and the basic structure is that the games are organized in “chat rooms”. So while you’re playing bingo, or crossword, or hidden object games, you can, if you’re so inclined, chat with others who are doing the same.
Some of the women I “met” in these rooms I also later met in person. And some of the women I met there online were what we used to call “shut-ins”. They were in wheelchairs, and older, or recovering from heart surgery, and rarely got out to socialize. But when they played bingo every afternoon, they were really getting together with their friends. They’d agree to go to a specific ‘room’ (the rooms all have names) at a specific time. Each would first get their coffee or tea, and then they would settle in for a couple of hours of bingo, and chatting. The conversations were lively and uplifting and funny, sometimes so funny that you’d be close to tears.
What a wonderful thing the Internet was for these people! And really, it’s still a life line for those who need it to be one.
Of course these days, I don’t go onto those game sites the way I used to, before I was published. I do work a crossword puzzle in the morning, and a couple of other games that help to wake up my brain and keep my mind active. Every single morning, I play just two or three games, or maybe it’s four or five. But honestly, I play these games so that I can jump into my workday fully alert, and functioning.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
A couple of weeks ago, I came upon one of those postings on FaceBook, the kind that urge you to use it to change your status for an hour if it’s something you can identify with. The words that caught my attention were: “A person who loses a partner is called a widow. A child who loses a parent is called an orphan. But there is no word that describes a parent who loses a child because the loss is like no other.” The meme, for lack of a better term, went on to invite others to share it, in memory of lost loved ones of their own, or people they know.
I felt moved to post this and almost immediately people responded. That, right there, is what I love so much about the Internet. Before this platform ever existed, thousands of people went through life feeling isolated, because they had experienced something that no one else they knew had experienced. Be it the loss of a child or grandchild, or almost any negative circumstance you can imagine, people who suffered from such an event often felt alone.
We are born alone, and we die alone, but we don’t have to always feel alone. If we’re lucky, we live our lives among friends and family and find a communion of spirit that uplifts us, and helps us to make sense and meaning of our lives. But even when we’re among loved ones, we can sometimes feel isolated and alone.
We need this wonderful technology of ours so that we can reach across cyberspace and touch those who know what we have endured. There are just times when you need that connection—not only to receive comfort, but to give it as well.
I recall my first experience going online. It was in 2003, in the aftermath of my open heart surgery. I had a long, slow, and difficult recovery. My daughter brought her computer over for me to use one day, and told me that I was going to go online—because she didn’t like to see me just sitting around doing nothing. That proved to be a Godsend because I really couldn’t do a lot, physically. The ultimate goal, of course, was for me to get writing. I began to look for writing contests that I could enter as a first step toward pursuing that long held dream of mine—becoming a published author.
But writing, and researching writing, wasn’t all that I did on line.
I discovered Pogo games. They had word games and Bejeweled and solitaire and Word Whomp. They had bingo! I used to love to go to bingo both alone, and with my daughter once in a while before my surgery, so that was something for me to do online that was fun. Pogo is a free game site, or you can buy a membership and skip the “ads”. They have all sorts of games, and the basic structure is that the games are organized in “chat rooms”. So while you’re playing bingo, or crossword, or hidden object games, you can, if you’re so inclined, chat with others who are doing the same.
Some of the women I “met” in these rooms I also later met in person. And some of the women I met there online were what we used to call “shut-ins”. They were in wheelchairs, and older, or recovering from heart surgery, and rarely got out to socialize. But when they played bingo every afternoon, they were really getting together with their friends. They’d agree to go to a specific ‘room’ (the rooms all have names) at a specific time. Each would first get their coffee or tea, and then they would settle in for a couple of hours of bingo, and chatting. The conversations were lively and uplifting and funny, sometimes so funny that you’d be close to tears.
What a wonderful thing the Internet was for these people! And really, it’s still a life line for those who need it to be one.
Of course these days, I don’t go onto those game sites the way I used to, before I was published. I do work a crossword puzzle in the morning, and a couple of other games that help to wake up my brain and keep my mind active. Every single morning, I play just two or three games, or maybe it’s four or five. But honestly, I play these games so that I can jump into my workday fully alert, and functioning.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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