January 25, 2017
Despite the amazing recovery from the great recession of 2008, times are still really tough for a lot of people.
Those that have jobs may have seen their hours cut. Some are still out of work, or newly out of work, and are just getting by, barely managing to keep body and soul together. For those who are working hard, frustration builds because it’s getting harder and harder to make those dollars stretch. The cost of living keeps climbing while the wages do not. Some people are looking for creative ways to make ends meet, coming up with all sorts of unique money saving options – from shaving cheap bar soap to make liquid laundry soap, to using less expensive paper products to substitute for the costlier. Some are using paper bags to make drawing pads for their kids, melting old crayons to make new—the creativity of the human spirit can be truly amazing.
Free stuff is a great resource, too, isn’t it? When you have the opportunity to snatch up free stuff, it’s a bonus. I like it myself. Some places where I go to shop have “rewards” programs, and there’s nothing better than buying that roast of beef at the grocery store, or filling your car’s gas tank, on your “points”. It really makes me feel as if I’ve ‘won’ for a change.
There is, however, one category of “free stuff” being offered on the Internet that is not free at all. In fact, it’s worse than these items not being free because they are, in truth, stolen property. And, since I am a published author, you may have guessed that one category is books.
Now, if you go to Amazon, or to an author’s web site, and a book is free, that’s perfectly ok, it really is free. The author or the publisher have elected to offer a free book hoping that after you’ve read and enjoyed it, you will then purchase other books that author has penned. It’s a great marketing tool, especially for brand new authors. But that’s not what I’m talking about. No, I am talking about those unassuming looking “sharing sites” where people upload books and say to all and sundry, “come and get ‘em. They’re free!”
The only legal sources of free books are the author, or the publisher (and this can be through valid third party sellers like Amazon, Apple, Google, Nook, Kobo, etc.). Period. If you have or are partaking of web sites that offer free books, and only free books, the rest of this essay is directed to you.
Those books, ALL of those books on ALL of those sharing and torrent sites, are stolen property. When you buy an e-book from the author, a publisher, or a legitimate third-party vendor, it is yours, but it is not yours to share. You may not send it to friends or family, and you sure as hell may not send it to the world at large by uploading it to a ‘sharing’ site. That is called pirating. Pirating is theft.
I know times are tough for you, but let me ask you this: because you’re hurting financially, does that give you the right to steal money from my paycheck? Of course, not—no more than it gives me the right to steal money from yours. I am going to assume that until this very minute—again, as I said, if you were doing that whole sharing thing—you didn’t realize it really is, by legal definition, theft.
No, don’t use that excuse that authors are all rich and it’s only a couple of bucks anyway. Most authors are not rich. Very few authors are, you see. Some of us are just barely making a living—just like you. We need the money from each and every sale. When you steal from us, you are taking food out of the mouths of our children; you are preventing us from providing for our families, paying our electric bills, paying our mortgages or rent, and enjoying the fruits of our own very hard labor.
I know of several good people who are giving up their hard-won dream of being a published author because they are no longer able to support themselves, thanks to the pirates. It was for many of them, as it was for me, their only dream. They’d achieved it! Can you imagine experiencing the joy of achieving your life-long dream—and then the crushing grief of having that dream stolen away from you by greedy, selfish people?
So, thieves—and that is exactly what you are— to recap: you’ve not only stolen our paychecks, stolen the milk for our table and the bread from our babies’ mouths. You’ve also stolen the dreams of those who only wanted to earn their living by painting pictures with words to uplift their readers. You’ve also stolen the anticipation of new stories from the thousands of readers who rely on their favorite authors to help them get through these very same tough times that we’re all experiencing.
If you are getting your books from these “sharing sites”, they’re not free—they are actually costlier than I believe you’re willing to pay.
Please stop. Honor the rights of myself, and others, to earn our living doing what we love to do, what we do best and that which uplifts you in these tough times.
It’s the right thing to do, and I thank you, in advance, for choosing to do the right thing.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, January 25, 2017
Wednesday, January 18, 2017
January 18, 2017
Are we there yet?
Those aren’t my beloved’s exact words, but they might as well be. After today, he has 307 days to go until he is retired. They’re still finishing up repairs and yard clean-up at the quarry where he works. It’s all part of getting ready for when the bulk of the crew returns and they can fire up the rock crushers for a new season of turning large limestone slabs into various sizes of gravel. When that happens, David will be back in his truck full time, driving from point A where his giant vehicle gets filled with the crushed stone, to point B where the product is stored in a pile on the floor of the quarry.
Until that time, he is doing whatever needs done—and it’s a more physical process than he’s used to. Many nights he comes home so spent he goes straight to bed for an hour before supper, just to recharge his batteries.
I feel for him. I’m not as young as I used to be, either. Each day I learn this anew as I set an aggressive agenda for myself—and then realize my to-do list was a bit too optimistic. Friends, getting older is not for wussies.
I tried to encourage him, when he took over driving the big truck, making his job more sedentary for him, to exercise and keep his stamina where it had been when he first climbed into that truck. After all, we don’t truly understand the meaning of the phrase “use it or lose it” until we’re over fifty. I’d like to tell you he heeded my words of wisdom—but I can’t. No, he gave in to the joy of not having to bust his butt, and simply reveled in the inactivity. The result of this, of course, is that when he has no choice but to be more active, it takes a lot more out of him than it should. Certainly, it takes more than it would have if he’d kept moving.
The other result of his lack of physical activity is that he’s gained a fair bit of weight over the last few years. That doesn’t bother me, image wise. I don’t tend to look at a person based on their physical appearance. But the added pounds are not good for a man whose body had always supported a very modest weight, a man who also suffers from COPD. I haven’t criticized, and was very happy when he announced over the Christmas holidays that he really wanted to lose weight and would, come the new year.
I’m doing my part to see that his goal is achieved. He needs to do his part by resisting the urge of the extra snacks. He knows this, of course. It really is all in his hands.
I take after my parents who were both overweight. I’ve been heavy all my life. Losing weight for me isn’t an easy process anymore and really never was. I have my own health issues, including hypothyroidism, diabetes and heart disease. I also have severe arthritis, in my ankles, knees, hips, and lower back. I had resumed going to the pool, determined to get back to where I had been before my gallbladder rebelled and interfered with my ability to go swimming.
Unfortunately, my reward for several months of increased activity was such a bad flare up of my arthritis that I could barely walk and really couldn’t even climb stairs without the aid of my hands—on the steps above me. The flare up and acute pain have eased off, but my new normal is a lot less active and a lot more painful than it had been. All I can do now is keep moving. I still wear my step counter, and I refuse to just sit still when it hurts like hell to move. I understand that to stay sitting on bad days will limit my abilities even more. As I’ve already said, getting older is not for wussies.
My beloved was thrilled when, just before Christmas, he got a letter from the government about his OAS – Old Age Security. It’s a stipend outside of the Canada Pension Plan that we receive up here, once we’ve turned 65. The letter confirmed his first check will arrived the month after he achieves that landmark birthday.
As for the rest of his future retirement income – his CPP and his company pension - he’ll have to make arrangements for those. He will, from time to time, mention this thing we have to do, or that thing, to prepare for his happy event of retirement. My only input here is that I’ve told him he needs to make a list of what has to happen, and any questions he has.
I don’t believe I’m being anything but fair when I tell him, like his eating habits, that’s in his hands, too.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Are we there yet?
Those aren’t my beloved’s exact words, but they might as well be. After today, he has 307 days to go until he is retired. They’re still finishing up repairs and yard clean-up at the quarry where he works. It’s all part of getting ready for when the bulk of the crew returns and they can fire up the rock crushers for a new season of turning large limestone slabs into various sizes of gravel. When that happens, David will be back in his truck full time, driving from point A where his giant vehicle gets filled with the crushed stone, to point B where the product is stored in a pile on the floor of the quarry.
Until that time, he is doing whatever needs done—and it’s a more physical process than he’s used to. Many nights he comes home so spent he goes straight to bed for an hour before supper, just to recharge his batteries.
I feel for him. I’m not as young as I used to be, either. Each day I learn this anew as I set an aggressive agenda for myself—and then realize my to-do list was a bit too optimistic. Friends, getting older is not for wussies.
I tried to encourage him, when he took over driving the big truck, making his job more sedentary for him, to exercise and keep his stamina where it had been when he first climbed into that truck. After all, we don’t truly understand the meaning of the phrase “use it or lose it” until we’re over fifty. I’d like to tell you he heeded my words of wisdom—but I can’t. No, he gave in to the joy of not having to bust his butt, and simply reveled in the inactivity. The result of this, of course, is that when he has no choice but to be more active, it takes a lot more out of him than it should. Certainly, it takes more than it would have if he’d kept moving.
The other result of his lack of physical activity is that he’s gained a fair bit of weight over the last few years. That doesn’t bother me, image wise. I don’t tend to look at a person based on their physical appearance. But the added pounds are not good for a man whose body had always supported a very modest weight, a man who also suffers from COPD. I haven’t criticized, and was very happy when he announced over the Christmas holidays that he really wanted to lose weight and would, come the new year.
I’m doing my part to see that his goal is achieved. He needs to do his part by resisting the urge of the extra snacks. He knows this, of course. It really is all in his hands.
I take after my parents who were both overweight. I’ve been heavy all my life. Losing weight for me isn’t an easy process anymore and really never was. I have my own health issues, including hypothyroidism, diabetes and heart disease. I also have severe arthritis, in my ankles, knees, hips, and lower back. I had resumed going to the pool, determined to get back to where I had been before my gallbladder rebelled and interfered with my ability to go swimming.
Unfortunately, my reward for several months of increased activity was such a bad flare up of my arthritis that I could barely walk and really couldn’t even climb stairs without the aid of my hands—on the steps above me. The flare up and acute pain have eased off, but my new normal is a lot less active and a lot more painful than it had been. All I can do now is keep moving. I still wear my step counter, and I refuse to just sit still when it hurts like hell to move. I understand that to stay sitting on bad days will limit my abilities even more. As I’ve already said, getting older is not for wussies.
My beloved was thrilled when, just before Christmas, he got a letter from the government about his OAS – Old Age Security. It’s a stipend outside of the Canada Pension Plan that we receive up here, once we’ve turned 65. The letter confirmed his first check will arrived the month after he achieves that landmark birthday.
As for the rest of his future retirement income – his CPP and his company pension - he’ll have to make arrangements for those. He will, from time to time, mention this thing we have to do, or that thing, to prepare for his happy event of retirement. My only input here is that I’ve told him he needs to make a list of what has to happen, and any questions he has.
I don’t believe I’m being anything but fair when I tell him, like his eating habits, that’s in his hands, too.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, January 11, 2017
January 11, 2017
Over the last several weeks, I’ve been learning of some disturbing stories from people from all walks of life who’ve been attacked verbally, and a few who’ve actually been physically assaulted. These cases are many, and they are real, and I’ll even bet that most of you know someone who has been targeted (I refuse to say victimized) by the outrageous and unconscionable actions of those who can only be called thugs and bullies. These bad seeds appear to be pervasive, showing up unexpectedly, striking out at will, because now they feel entitled to do so—they’ve been given permission.
Yes, we seem to suddenly find ourselves in a time when people will do despicable things because they believe that truth, honesty, and integrity no longer matter, or worse, that those principles no longer have a place in modern life. It is up to all of us, and up to each of us, to stand for what is right. There are some people among us who look around at how being a pathological liar, a cheater, and a hate-filled bully has so recently been publicly rewarded, and have decided that if one person can get away with it in such an open, spotlighted way, then they can, too. As I said, they’ve been given permission.
This is a danger that is so elemental, so prevalent, that it truly can touch us all. We need to stand firm and stand ready to call out those who would abuse the rights of others, those who would practice their bullying openly on the unsuspecting, and those who would blatantly lie. This danger is real and it is serious, and it is urgent.
Words matter, my friends. The words we say, matter. They have power, more power than you can even imagine. You know the positive side of this truth. If we have words of encouragement and kindness for those who are struggling or suffering, our words lift their spirits and fill their hearts with love, and hope. I have seen this reality play out time and again in my years on this planet, and in my experience as an essayist. Many of you have written to me to tell me how my words have helped you, uplifted you, or encouraged you. The flip side of that coin, however, is just as true.
If our words are ugly, then they carry an ugly air to them, staining the atmosphere with such an ugliness that sinks into every nook and cranny of our lives and will thus eat away at the fabric of all that is decent. If our words are lies, again, those lies fill the atmosphere with an unreality that like a constant drip of caustic acid will burn away all that is true.
We will be left with a world filled with distrust and hate, teeming with untruths, and where nothing will be sacred—not our faith or our ideals, not our laws, not our most cherished historical documents, not even our lives.
We can no longer sit back and let things happen around us, trusting that saner minds and kinder spirits will eventually prevail. We are the saner minded and the kinder spirited. We must do all we can to ensure that our personal parts of this world—as in, everywhere we go and everyone we meet—is treated with kindness and respect. And when we see this bullying, this harassment, this blatant lying, we must stand up to it. We must use our sanity and our kindness to rebuke this unacceptable behavior. We must call out the liars among us every time they lie, no matter what office on earth they sit in.
I have often, in various of these essays over the course of the last ten years given examples of how one person taking action can make a difference. If I am kinder, saner, and stand up to the bullies and liars, and you do the same, and others reading these words do likewise, and all of us get others to do so as well? That, my friends, is an army. The future truly is ours to mould. What happens next really is up to us all. I reject the concept that we are all nothing but tiny little mice with no voice, no power, no hope. That we have no choice but to submit to the whims of the power-hungry and money-grubbers of this world.
We are mighty. We are powerful.
We are the hope of our future generations.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Over the last several weeks, I’ve been learning of some disturbing stories from people from all walks of life who’ve been attacked verbally, and a few who’ve actually been physically assaulted. These cases are many, and they are real, and I’ll even bet that most of you know someone who has been targeted (I refuse to say victimized) by the outrageous and unconscionable actions of those who can only be called thugs and bullies. These bad seeds appear to be pervasive, showing up unexpectedly, striking out at will, because now they feel entitled to do so—they’ve been given permission.
Yes, we seem to suddenly find ourselves in a time when people will do despicable things because they believe that truth, honesty, and integrity no longer matter, or worse, that those principles no longer have a place in modern life. It is up to all of us, and up to each of us, to stand for what is right. There are some people among us who look around at how being a pathological liar, a cheater, and a hate-filled bully has so recently been publicly rewarded, and have decided that if one person can get away with it in such an open, spotlighted way, then they can, too. As I said, they’ve been given permission.
This is a danger that is so elemental, so prevalent, that it truly can touch us all. We need to stand firm and stand ready to call out those who would abuse the rights of others, those who would practice their bullying openly on the unsuspecting, and those who would blatantly lie. This danger is real and it is serious, and it is urgent.
Words matter, my friends. The words we say, matter. They have power, more power than you can even imagine. You know the positive side of this truth. If we have words of encouragement and kindness for those who are struggling or suffering, our words lift their spirits and fill their hearts with love, and hope. I have seen this reality play out time and again in my years on this planet, and in my experience as an essayist. Many of you have written to me to tell me how my words have helped you, uplifted you, or encouraged you. The flip side of that coin, however, is just as true.
If our words are ugly, then they carry an ugly air to them, staining the atmosphere with such an ugliness that sinks into every nook and cranny of our lives and will thus eat away at the fabric of all that is decent. If our words are lies, again, those lies fill the atmosphere with an unreality that like a constant drip of caustic acid will burn away all that is true.
We will be left with a world filled with distrust and hate, teeming with untruths, and where nothing will be sacred—not our faith or our ideals, not our laws, not our most cherished historical documents, not even our lives.
We can no longer sit back and let things happen around us, trusting that saner minds and kinder spirits will eventually prevail. We are the saner minded and the kinder spirited. We must do all we can to ensure that our personal parts of this world—as in, everywhere we go and everyone we meet—is treated with kindness and respect. And when we see this bullying, this harassment, this blatant lying, we must stand up to it. We must use our sanity and our kindness to rebuke this unacceptable behavior. We must call out the liars among us every time they lie, no matter what office on earth they sit in.
I have often, in various of these essays over the course of the last ten years given examples of how one person taking action can make a difference. If I am kinder, saner, and stand up to the bullies and liars, and you do the same, and others reading these words do likewise, and all of us get others to do so as well? That, my friends, is an army. The future truly is ours to mould. What happens next really is up to us all. I reject the concept that we are all nothing but tiny little mice with no voice, no power, no hope. That we have no choice but to submit to the whims of the power-hungry and money-grubbers of this world.
We are mighty. We are powerful.
We are the hope of our future generations.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
January 4, 2017
Happy New Year! Did you celebrate with friends and family Saturday night? Did you party hearty?
We’ve gone to a few New Year’s Eve gatherings in our time, but for the most part, we’ve stayed home—as we did again this year. Although in the past we’ve sometimes gone to bed before the grand moment, this past Saturday night we stayed up. Our celebration was simple—we turned on the television in time to watch the ball drop in Times Square. Enjoying the quiet and the ambiance of vacation time, we were both into reading our individual selections from our TBR piles. So, we turned on the television at about twenty minutes to midnight, watched the silliness for a bit, participated in the countdown as we watched the ball drop, wished each other a happy new year…and went back to our reading.
Though my husband and I don’t indulge much in the end-of-year celebrations ourselves, I can say that, collectively, we humans get more excited about the beginning of a new year than we do about any other national or international occasion. It certainly is a curious thing, to see all those people wearing funny hats, waving banners and flags and noisemakers, to see the joy, and the hope. And, of course, we mustn’t forget the kissing. There’s always a lot of kissing.
I believe we tend to make a big deal out of ringing in the New Year, because no matter who we are or where we live or what our circumstances, we all crave two things: to get rid of all the crap that happened in the previous twelve months, and to earnestly seek out a brand spanking new beginning. It’s as if, when we toss the old calendar into the trash, we’re saying, “everything is new again!”
What a testament to the basic optimism of the human spirit!
The last few months have been filled with uncertainty and peppered with small tragedies. There have been wars, and rumors of wars. New phrases have entered the lexicon, the most unfortunate of which, in my mind, is “false news”. We find ourselves in the position of facing the prospect of having to wage anew the battles for human rights that we fought in decades’ past. Many of us are filled with uncertainty for the future.
And yet, millions of people gathered in town squares across the globe, and millions more who couldn’t gather in person, tuned in via their televisions or their computers or even their smartphones, to herald in, with great pomp, the arrival of 2017.
The New Year is a clean slate, ready for you to write upon it. What will you choose to do with it? As you may recall from past essays, I don’t really indulge in “New Year’s resolutions”. They are easily made and even more easily broken. Instead, I like to think of what, in general, I would like to accomplish.
At the top of that list is always a prayer to God, that He helps me to become a better person, in every area of my life. I am a work in progress. I have mountain-top moments and then great swallowing valley ones. In other words, I’m like most everyone else. I want to be a kinder me, as there are enough times when I’m not to prick my conscience. As I said, a work in progress, with lots of room for improvement.
This is also a notable year for our family as my beloved begins his last year in the work-a-day world. In the note he left me yesterday, (he usually leaves one for me to find on work-day mornings) he announced that he had 323 days left as an employee of the company. In recent years, he’s lost the love he always had for his job, a fact that in my heart and mind is a tragedy. But his words yesterday were optimistic. He wrote, and I quote, “I hope they are good days and I’m going to try and enjoy them. You enjoy them, too.”
Sound advice from my beloved that I plan to follow, and I am happy to share it with you.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Happy New Year! Did you celebrate with friends and family Saturday night? Did you party hearty?
We’ve gone to a few New Year’s Eve gatherings in our time, but for the most part, we’ve stayed home—as we did again this year. Although in the past we’ve sometimes gone to bed before the grand moment, this past Saturday night we stayed up. Our celebration was simple—we turned on the television in time to watch the ball drop in Times Square. Enjoying the quiet and the ambiance of vacation time, we were both into reading our individual selections from our TBR piles. So, we turned on the television at about twenty minutes to midnight, watched the silliness for a bit, participated in the countdown as we watched the ball drop, wished each other a happy new year…and went back to our reading.
Though my husband and I don’t indulge much in the end-of-year celebrations ourselves, I can say that, collectively, we humans get more excited about the beginning of a new year than we do about any other national or international occasion. It certainly is a curious thing, to see all those people wearing funny hats, waving banners and flags and noisemakers, to see the joy, and the hope. And, of course, we mustn’t forget the kissing. There’s always a lot of kissing.
I believe we tend to make a big deal out of ringing in the New Year, because no matter who we are or where we live or what our circumstances, we all crave two things: to get rid of all the crap that happened in the previous twelve months, and to earnestly seek out a brand spanking new beginning. It’s as if, when we toss the old calendar into the trash, we’re saying, “everything is new again!”
What a testament to the basic optimism of the human spirit!
The last few months have been filled with uncertainty and peppered with small tragedies. There have been wars, and rumors of wars. New phrases have entered the lexicon, the most unfortunate of which, in my mind, is “false news”. We find ourselves in the position of facing the prospect of having to wage anew the battles for human rights that we fought in decades’ past. Many of us are filled with uncertainty for the future.
And yet, millions of people gathered in town squares across the globe, and millions more who couldn’t gather in person, tuned in via their televisions or their computers or even their smartphones, to herald in, with great pomp, the arrival of 2017.
The New Year is a clean slate, ready for you to write upon it. What will you choose to do with it? As you may recall from past essays, I don’t really indulge in “New Year’s resolutions”. They are easily made and even more easily broken. Instead, I like to think of what, in general, I would like to accomplish.
At the top of that list is always a prayer to God, that He helps me to become a better person, in every area of my life. I am a work in progress. I have mountain-top moments and then great swallowing valley ones. In other words, I’m like most everyone else. I want to be a kinder me, as there are enough times when I’m not to prick my conscience. As I said, a work in progress, with lots of room for improvement.
This is also a notable year for our family as my beloved begins his last year in the work-a-day world. In the note he left me yesterday, (he usually leaves one for me to find on work-day mornings) he announced that he had 323 days left as an employee of the company. In recent years, he’s lost the love he always had for his job, a fact that in my heart and mind is a tragedy. But his words yesterday were optimistic. He wrote, and I quote, “I hope they are good days and I’m going to try and enjoy them. You enjoy them, too.”
Sound advice from my beloved that I plan to follow, and I am happy to share it with you.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
December 28, 2016
Was your Christmas wonderful? Was it the best one, ever? I’ve found that the way to make each holiday the best it can be, is to believe it is the best one, ever. Attitude is everything, and an attitude of gratitude and positivity will bring you the most blessings in life. With everything in me, I believe this, one hundred percent. I believe that in the future, it will be discovered that some of that 90 percent or more of our brains that we don’t currently use, can indeed perform miraculous feats of healing, and create a copious amount of happiness if we just believe it’s so, and are open to learning how to use it.
Why not try positive thinking, and telling yourself not only how lucky you are, but how grateful you are for all the blessings in your life? Please, don’t tell me that you’ve struggled, and can’t be grateful because life is hard. My friend, we all struggle, and life is hard for all of us. There have been many times in the past when I didn’t know how we were going to make it to pay day; many times, when we didn’t have much of a pay day to look forward to in the first place. We’ve all lost something or someone. I’ve lost 2 homes to fire, an eight-day old granddaughter, and my middle child. Yet I have been blessed in this life and I’m grateful for all I’ve been given. Simply try it, believe it, and see what happens inside your heart.
It’s that time of the season for the “best of” lists for the year that’s about to end. It can be useful to take a bit of time and look back on the year—the good, the bad, the ugly that happened in the world at large. It can be very useful to make note of the lessons you learned, the wonders you saw, and maybe learn from the inevitable mistakes you made. I keep trying to do that last one, learn from those mistakes. I think I’m getting a bit better at it, because either the mistakes really are fewer lately—or I simply don’t notice them anymore when they happen.
I really hope it’s the former and not the latter.
We spent a quiet Christmas Day here, with just David’s sister joining us for supper. She lives about forty minutes away, and has been spending Christmas Day with us the last couple of years. She and I have always enjoyed a fairly close relationship. Her son and his family, lately, have gone to his wife’s parents on the 25th, and we’re always glad to welcome her here.
We enjoyed our annual Boxing Day brunch at my brother’s on Monday, with all his family there. Later today we’ll head on over to our daughter’s house on the other side of town for another Christmas get-together. This time it’s with the girls and their families. We see them all on a fairly regular basis. Considering we all live in the same small town, that’s as it should be. But we really enjoy the special occasions together. Sonja loves what she calls “family dinner”. I for one will appreciate this gathering, because although I will be taking my meal contributions—sweet potatoes, and my Christmas Pudding—I don’t have to worry about waiting on people or doing the dishes. Then, tomorrow, it’s off to the next town, and lunch with our oldest son and his crew.
It’s now been more than a year since my gallbladder surgery, and my ability to enjoy food, while not completely back to how it had been prior to those problems starting up, is better than it had been for a few Christmases. I don’t generally eat a great deal at any time, but it’s nice to enjoy a few special dishes—like warm crab dip, smoked oysters, and roast goose (not all at the same meal). Christmas pudding, as well, is a very special treat, but I’m quite happy with a small sample of that. I tend to prefer the savory over the sweet.
The holidays for me, more than anything, signify family and tradition. It’s seeing those ornaments on your tree that you remember your mother hanging; it’s knowing your daughter is putting a huge orange in the toe of her grandbabies stockings, just as my daddy did with mine; it’s visiting with loved ones, and sharing special moments. I look forward to giving, and I really don’t care if I get any gifts in return—because what I do get, without fail, is better than any thing wrapped in paper.
I get a sense of legacy, a sense of harmony, and a feeling of joy when the eyes of the children are filled with magic and wonder. I think we could all do with a little more magic and wonder in our lives. Don’t you?
May the coming New Year be all you wish it can be—prosperous and filled with love, laughter and happiness.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Was your Christmas wonderful? Was it the best one, ever? I’ve found that the way to make each holiday the best it can be, is to believe it is the best one, ever. Attitude is everything, and an attitude of gratitude and positivity will bring you the most blessings in life. With everything in me, I believe this, one hundred percent. I believe that in the future, it will be discovered that some of that 90 percent or more of our brains that we don’t currently use, can indeed perform miraculous feats of healing, and create a copious amount of happiness if we just believe it’s so, and are open to learning how to use it.
Why not try positive thinking, and telling yourself not only how lucky you are, but how grateful you are for all the blessings in your life? Please, don’t tell me that you’ve struggled, and can’t be grateful because life is hard. My friend, we all struggle, and life is hard for all of us. There have been many times in the past when I didn’t know how we were going to make it to pay day; many times, when we didn’t have much of a pay day to look forward to in the first place. We’ve all lost something or someone. I’ve lost 2 homes to fire, an eight-day old granddaughter, and my middle child. Yet I have been blessed in this life and I’m grateful for all I’ve been given. Simply try it, believe it, and see what happens inside your heart.
It’s that time of the season for the “best of” lists for the year that’s about to end. It can be useful to take a bit of time and look back on the year—the good, the bad, the ugly that happened in the world at large. It can be very useful to make note of the lessons you learned, the wonders you saw, and maybe learn from the inevitable mistakes you made. I keep trying to do that last one, learn from those mistakes. I think I’m getting a bit better at it, because either the mistakes really are fewer lately—or I simply don’t notice them anymore when they happen.
I really hope it’s the former and not the latter.
We spent a quiet Christmas Day here, with just David’s sister joining us for supper. She lives about forty minutes away, and has been spending Christmas Day with us the last couple of years. She and I have always enjoyed a fairly close relationship. Her son and his family, lately, have gone to his wife’s parents on the 25th, and we’re always glad to welcome her here.
We enjoyed our annual Boxing Day brunch at my brother’s on Monday, with all his family there. Later today we’ll head on over to our daughter’s house on the other side of town for another Christmas get-together. This time it’s with the girls and their families. We see them all on a fairly regular basis. Considering we all live in the same small town, that’s as it should be. But we really enjoy the special occasions together. Sonja loves what she calls “family dinner”. I for one will appreciate this gathering, because although I will be taking my meal contributions—sweet potatoes, and my Christmas Pudding—I don’t have to worry about waiting on people or doing the dishes. Then, tomorrow, it’s off to the next town, and lunch with our oldest son and his crew.
It’s now been more than a year since my gallbladder surgery, and my ability to enjoy food, while not completely back to how it had been prior to those problems starting up, is better than it had been for a few Christmases. I don’t generally eat a great deal at any time, but it’s nice to enjoy a few special dishes—like warm crab dip, smoked oysters, and roast goose (not all at the same meal). Christmas pudding, as well, is a very special treat, but I’m quite happy with a small sample of that. I tend to prefer the savory over the sweet.
The holidays for me, more than anything, signify family and tradition. It’s seeing those ornaments on your tree that you remember your mother hanging; it’s knowing your daughter is putting a huge orange in the toe of her grandbabies stockings, just as my daddy did with mine; it’s visiting with loved ones, and sharing special moments. I look forward to giving, and I really don’t care if I get any gifts in return—because what I do get, without fail, is better than any thing wrapped in paper.
I get a sense of legacy, a sense of harmony, and a feeling of joy when the eyes of the children are filled with magic and wonder. I think we could all do with a little more magic and wonder in our lives. Don’t you?
May the coming New Year be all you wish it can be—prosperous and filled with love, laughter and happiness.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, December 21, 2016
December 21, 2016
The Christmas holidays in the Ashbury household have officially begun. This year, when we were expecting my husband to have more time off than in recent seasons past, he ended up having less—just two weeks instead of the three he has had the last couple of years. He finished up his work for 2016 last Friday. The first thing he did when he got home was turn off the alarm on his cell phone.
One significant difference between this year and last, aside from his time off being a week shorter, is the change he made very early this past January, when he moved his computer out of my office, and into a corner of the living room. So already, we’re beginning this two-week period with less stress between us than last time. Even more interesting is that a few months ago, he began looking forward to what it was he’d be doing to occupy his time when he retires. Next year this time, he will have been retired for about a month.
His original plan had been to find a piece of old farm equipment, and restore it. This would require a fair bit of physical activity on his part, beginning with constructing a garage to do the work in. About a year or so ago, he officially scrapped that idea. Although his COPD isn’t progressing rapidly, it is a constant for him, and it’s a disease that will never get better. He decided that while he will do his best to remain as physically active as possible, he needed a more sedentary activity to help the days pass.
I didn’t have to warn him that he couldn’t just quit work after more than 40 years and just do nothing; this was something he already knew. There have been people we’ve known or known of in our lifetimes, who did just that—spent their time becoming professional couch potatoes—and died within a year of retirement. He knew he had to have a reason to get up every day. I wasn’t the least bit surprised when he told me he’d found the perfect thing for him to do: he’s going to write novels.
He has already written one novel—a challenge he accepted, from me, back in the day when I was hoping to some day be published. He was so full of “helpful advice” on how I could improve my writing “process”, I suggested that since he was an expert, he should write his own book, which he did.
Now, he would be the first to tell you it wasn’t very good. But it had a beginning, a middle, and an end, and a plot that unfolded in a logical manner. That’s pretty basic, and if you can do that, you can in all likelihood write a passable book. Some talent is necessary, but mostly, it’s craft. He’s not undertaking this activity to make money, just to keep busy. If things in the self-publishing world don’t change within the next couple of years, that’s what he’ll do with his finished novel.
He isn’t going to write romance, which I am certain is good news to those of us who do. Instead, he’s of a mind to write dystopian stories, as those are the ones he likes to read that most fire his imagination. He has a couple of different scenarios in mind, and so far, is enjoying himself, outlining plot points. He’s already started on his first novel, because once that idea creeps into your mind, you can’t always put it off. It needs to be written out—and since my husband decided to write it out (the old-fashioned way using pen and paper), he’s already filled a couple of notebooks. I’ve promised that I’ll help him where I can. End of civilization stories aren’t really in my wheelhouse, as I’ve only ever read one series that had that kind of theme. But that doesn’t mean I can’t edit it for him, when he decides it’s ready to head to the book-sellers. While I would never claim to be able to edit my own work, I believe I have the creds necessary to fill that role for someone else.
I’m delighted he found something to focus on, something to look forward too. I’ve long ago decided that the secret to happiness is to have a goal or, if you will, a dream. It’s better to spend your time being someone going somewhere, rather than just standing still and letting the moss of passing time cover you over.
David and I wish all of you a very Merry Christmas, a Happy Hanukkah, and a Happy Kwanzaa!
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
The Christmas holidays in the Ashbury household have officially begun. This year, when we were expecting my husband to have more time off than in recent seasons past, he ended up having less—just two weeks instead of the three he has had the last couple of years. He finished up his work for 2016 last Friday. The first thing he did when he got home was turn off the alarm on his cell phone.
One significant difference between this year and last, aside from his time off being a week shorter, is the change he made very early this past January, when he moved his computer out of my office, and into a corner of the living room. So already, we’re beginning this two-week period with less stress between us than last time. Even more interesting is that a few months ago, he began looking forward to what it was he’d be doing to occupy his time when he retires. Next year this time, he will have been retired for about a month.
His original plan had been to find a piece of old farm equipment, and restore it. This would require a fair bit of physical activity on his part, beginning with constructing a garage to do the work in. About a year or so ago, he officially scrapped that idea. Although his COPD isn’t progressing rapidly, it is a constant for him, and it’s a disease that will never get better. He decided that while he will do his best to remain as physically active as possible, he needed a more sedentary activity to help the days pass.
I didn’t have to warn him that he couldn’t just quit work after more than 40 years and just do nothing; this was something he already knew. There have been people we’ve known or known of in our lifetimes, who did just that—spent their time becoming professional couch potatoes—and died within a year of retirement. He knew he had to have a reason to get up every day. I wasn’t the least bit surprised when he told me he’d found the perfect thing for him to do: he’s going to write novels.
He has already written one novel—a challenge he accepted, from me, back in the day when I was hoping to some day be published. He was so full of “helpful advice” on how I could improve my writing “process”, I suggested that since he was an expert, he should write his own book, which he did.
Now, he would be the first to tell you it wasn’t very good. But it had a beginning, a middle, and an end, and a plot that unfolded in a logical manner. That’s pretty basic, and if you can do that, you can in all likelihood write a passable book. Some talent is necessary, but mostly, it’s craft. He’s not undertaking this activity to make money, just to keep busy. If things in the self-publishing world don’t change within the next couple of years, that’s what he’ll do with his finished novel.
He isn’t going to write romance, which I am certain is good news to those of us who do. Instead, he’s of a mind to write dystopian stories, as those are the ones he likes to read that most fire his imagination. He has a couple of different scenarios in mind, and so far, is enjoying himself, outlining plot points. He’s already started on his first novel, because once that idea creeps into your mind, you can’t always put it off. It needs to be written out—and since my husband decided to write it out (the old-fashioned way using pen and paper), he’s already filled a couple of notebooks. I’ve promised that I’ll help him where I can. End of civilization stories aren’t really in my wheelhouse, as I’ve only ever read one series that had that kind of theme. But that doesn’t mean I can’t edit it for him, when he decides it’s ready to head to the book-sellers. While I would never claim to be able to edit my own work, I believe I have the creds necessary to fill that role for someone else.
I’m delighted he found something to focus on, something to look forward too. I’ve long ago decided that the secret to happiness is to have a goal or, if you will, a dream. It’s better to spend your time being someone going somewhere, rather than just standing still and letting the moss of passing time cover you over.
David and I wish all of you a very Merry Christmas, a Happy Hanukkah, and a Happy Kwanzaa!
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, December 14, 2016
December 14, 2016
The Christmas rush is on. This year, fortunately, I’m not too terribly disorganized. Perhaps it’s a cop out on my part, giving everyone except my toddler great-grandbabies gift cards. For me that option is easy as heck. For the recipients—they can get something they really want, and there is no need for them to be disappointed or to return anything.
David and I aren’t getting anything for each other this year. We may go away someplace warm in February, but the jury is still out on that. For the most part, if there’s anything we need we just get it. And we’re both at the point that we don’t want what we don’t really need. This will be his last year in the work force. He’s ready for retirement, and while I’m not quite there yet, I will be on the day he punches his time card for the last time.
Meanwhile, life goes on. We had expected him to be ‘enjoying’ a seasonal lay-off, beginning October 28th. Everyone at his jobsite got notices of the impending action. The plant manager was very upset about the decision, which was a last minute one and came from head office. The man worked some magic and managed to keep a crew of about ten, based on seniority. Since David is the most senior employee—coming up on 40 years—that was a bit of a relief.
We’d already pared back our holiday plans, and tightened our belts. When you get to our stage of life, that isn’t a difficult thing to do. Being older, these bumps in the road don’t jar us the way they did when we were younger. I do dislike uncertainty, but that’s my problem, totally. We would have gotten through a two-month long lay off, but we’re just as happy we didn’t have to.
My daughter is hosting Christmas dinner on the 28th, as that is when she and our second daughter, Sonja, are scheduled to be off. Sonja is cooking the turkey, and my husband is already rubbing his hands in anticipation. Of course, that means that Christmas Day, it’ll be just the two of us. And that will also be a gastronomic treat for him. He loves goose. Absolutely loves it. The rest of the family, not so much. So, this Christmas Day’s supper, here, will be simple: roasted goose, rice with raisins, and some green veggie—possibly spinach or swiss chard. I might even have a glass of white wine with my meal. That’s Morgan’s idea of living life on the edge.
Last Friday we awoke to our first real snow fall. We’d gotten a skiff or two before this, but the temperatures at that point were mild enough that the white stuff melted by end of day. I was just relieved the snow held off long enough for my beloved to correct his slight miscalculation with regard to the porch steps and walkway.
A week or so ago, the temperature dropped and the wooden steps and walkway that were wet at the time, became too icy for me to navigate. On the porch, in a blue box with a lid, there was some salt. We had checked just the day before, but none of our local stores had received their new stock of salt, so there had been none available to buy. All the salt we had was this lump that took up nearly half the box. Now, I had asked my husband a couple of weeks beforehand to take a minute and take something sharp to that salt block, to break it up so it could be used on the steps. I know from personal experience that would not have required a great deal of muscle. That idea, however, apparently didn’t appeal to him. Instead, (and relying on accumulated life experience), on the day those steps iced over, he brought down the kitty litter, and used that on them and walkway.
Friends, have you noticed that kitty litter isn’t the stone dust it used to be? No? Well, neither did my beloved. Let me tell you, as clearly as I can: do not try this, ever! As a result of his ministrations, the steps became slicker than cat poop on a linoleum floor. David was shocked! This should have worked! I explained, with as much restraint on my sarcasm as I could muster, that kitty litter is no longer stone dust like it was in the olden days. It’s all chemicals now, clumping chemicals, that become as one with whatever wetness it comes in contact with.
He used the outside broom and brushed off those steps. That didn’t work. My daughter rinsed off those steps with water (which, yes, is wet). That didn’t work either. My husband finally ended up getting his electric drill out, putting the wire brush tool on it, and going over each step and the entire length of the walk way with that tool, scouring off the goop.
That worked. But now it has snowed, and so the salt (which my daughter broke up for him, took her only a couple of minutes) is in use, and hooray, we have two new bags of that, now, so we’re set.
Just another example of how things can change and we don’t even really notice—until we do.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
The Christmas rush is on. This year, fortunately, I’m not too terribly disorganized. Perhaps it’s a cop out on my part, giving everyone except my toddler great-grandbabies gift cards. For me that option is easy as heck. For the recipients—they can get something they really want, and there is no need for them to be disappointed or to return anything.
David and I aren’t getting anything for each other this year. We may go away someplace warm in February, but the jury is still out on that. For the most part, if there’s anything we need we just get it. And we’re both at the point that we don’t want what we don’t really need. This will be his last year in the work force. He’s ready for retirement, and while I’m not quite there yet, I will be on the day he punches his time card for the last time.
Meanwhile, life goes on. We had expected him to be ‘enjoying’ a seasonal lay-off, beginning October 28th. Everyone at his jobsite got notices of the impending action. The plant manager was very upset about the decision, which was a last minute one and came from head office. The man worked some magic and managed to keep a crew of about ten, based on seniority. Since David is the most senior employee—coming up on 40 years—that was a bit of a relief.
We’d already pared back our holiday plans, and tightened our belts. When you get to our stage of life, that isn’t a difficult thing to do. Being older, these bumps in the road don’t jar us the way they did when we were younger. I do dislike uncertainty, but that’s my problem, totally. We would have gotten through a two-month long lay off, but we’re just as happy we didn’t have to.
My daughter is hosting Christmas dinner on the 28th, as that is when she and our second daughter, Sonja, are scheduled to be off. Sonja is cooking the turkey, and my husband is already rubbing his hands in anticipation. Of course, that means that Christmas Day, it’ll be just the two of us. And that will also be a gastronomic treat for him. He loves goose. Absolutely loves it. The rest of the family, not so much. So, this Christmas Day’s supper, here, will be simple: roasted goose, rice with raisins, and some green veggie—possibly spinach or swiss chard. I might even have a glass of white wine with my meal. That’s Morgan’s idea of living life on the edge.
Last Friday we awoke to our first real snow fall. We’d gotten a skiff or two before this, but the temperatures at that point were mild enough that the white stuff melted by end of day. I was just relieved the snow held off long enough for my beloved to correct his slight miscalculation with regard to the porch steps and walkway.
A week or so ago, the temperature dropped and the wooden steps and walkway that were wet at the time, became too icy for me to navigate. On the porch, in a blue box with a lid, there was some salt. We had checked just the day before, but none of our local stores had received their new stock of salt, so there had been none available to buy. All the salt we had was this lump that took up nearly half the box. Now, I had asked my husband a couple of weeks beforehand to take a minute and take something sharp to that salt block, to break it up so it could be used on the steps. I know from personal experience that would not have required a great deal of muscle. That idea, however, apparently didn’t appeal to him. Instead, (and relying on accumulated life experience), on the day those steps iced over, he brought down the kitty litter, and used that on them and walkway.
Friends, have you noticed that kitty litter isn’t the stone dust it used to be? No? Well, neither did my beloved. Let me tell you, as clearly as I can: do not try this, ever! As a result of his ministrations, the steps became slicker than cat poop on a linoleum floor. David was shocked! This should have worked! I explained, with as much restraint on my sarcasm as I could muster, that kitty litter is no longer stone dust like it was in the olden days. It’s all chemicals now, clumping chemicals, that become as one with whatever wetness it comes in contact with.
He used the outside broom and brushed off those steps. That didn’t work. My daughter rinsed off those steps with water (which, yes, is wet). That didn’t work either. My husband finally ended up getting his electric drill out, putting the wire brush tool on it, and going over each step and the entire length of the walk way with that tool, scouring off the goop.
That worked. But now it has snowed, and so the salt (which my daughter broke up for him, took her only a couple of minutes) is in use, and hooray, we have two new bags of that, now, so we’re set.
Just another example of how things can change and we don’t even really notice—until we do.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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