Minor hurdles....

 January 15, 2025

One of the things that makes life such a challenge these days is the very real fact that some things are not only subjective, but they’re also relative. Now, these difficulties can be mitigated if one is adroit at determining which things fit into those two categories. And for the most part, I am able to do so. And this past week has been a time when, on a personal level, I have had my limits tested. Because even though I know that age can be relative and maybe a little subjective, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t irritate the hell out of me.

I’m a boomer. Back in the day, freezers, fridges, cars and televisions were supposed to last for years and years and years.

But this is our new modern age, whether we like it or not.

For example, six and a half years old is not old for a child. It is, however, apparently too old for a computer.

Six and a half years is also, I have recently learned, too old for a modem.

Friends, today’s essay might be short, but the topic is not very sweet. I began to have a major issue with my computer about a week ago. One day, out of the blue, I couldn’t get web pages to open. Well, I had Facebook and YouTube, and I also could access my email. But any place else? Wasn’t happening. I couldn’t even raise the Geek Squad using their bat-signal that was an icon on my desktop!

I spent an hour with them on the phone, however, and even with their direction, and even though we tried everything, alas, nothing worked. My daughter assured me that the problem was my computer, and the Geek Squad remote tech agreed it was likely so. Therefore, daughter and I made a plan to get me a new one on Saturday, a few days away. The next day, presto, my computer was working again, but we were still getting a new one, because, well, it was old—and had shown a couple of other little hiccups and signs in the months and weeks prior to this major one.

On Saturday we went to the place where we go and bought a new tower for me. Not an HP, but an Asus, and at a fairly good price, too.

Fast forward to Monday, and daughter brought home my new computer, prepped by the Geek squad. She plugged it in, saw my sign-in screen and said, there you go!

I was excited but not nervous. I was prepared! The Geek squad had done their magic, I my browsers installed had everything ready.....and the same problem happened. As late as Tuesday evening, on my new computer, I had Facebook, YouTube, my emails and I can google stuff, but that’s it. I could not go to any other web site, period. The message was always the same: timed out.

In what I thought was an unrelated thing, our TV (which is with the same ISP as our internet) has been giving us a bit of grief occasionally for a few months. We had a tech out in the summer, and he checked the area internet said it was fine and see ya. But after that great event, there were still days when I would turn on the television, it would start then freeze. Then go black. Then the error message “Something went wrong. Check connectivity”,  or words to that affect, appeared. Problem solved by disconnecting TV box and then reconnecting.

My daughter said our modem is too old. She has said that for a while.

Yesterday we all connected the information dots and decided that while yes, my computer was old and yes, it was good to get a new one, perhaps we should also get a new modem as well, because her streaming on her television and her devices also has had a few hiccups. And here I confess that David has had issues as well with his computer. And some of them may not have been simply operator error, after all.

Tuesday, I called our service provider. And my persuasive powers must have been in full force. The tech was scheduled out first thing this morning to inspect and decide all.

And now, a happy ending! It didn’t take the gentleman long to decide that a new modem was indeed needed. It took about a half an hour for him to work his magic.

Online, finally, able to reach all web sites. Now to finish my new computer set-up!

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Making changes...

 January 8, 2025

The school buses have resumed their daily mission after the holidays, and each seven o’clock in the morning continues to be darker than the day before—and will, for the next two weeks after which it will gradually become lighter. The temperatures fluctuate between really cold and holy icicles, Batman! And locations in the northern hemisphere that aren’t used to getting a whole lot of snow or icy conditions have been, or are on the verge of, experiencing record downfalls.

Note to anyone reading this: when you’re driving in a car and the roads are snow or ice covered, please, for the love of God, slow the hell down! Seriously! Most accidents happen in winter due to the combination of imperfect conditions and excessive speed. Thank you.

Winter has a solid grip of us and it’s not fixing to let go anytime soon.

While I have attested that I did not have any New Year’s resolutions, I have begun to try to take some steps with a view to getting myself better organized.

On the one hand, it can be argued that being 70, I should be able to do whatever the hell I want. There’s truth in that. People who are in their golden years ought not to have to do that which to them seems onerous.  Rest assured, no one has been making me do anything, and I am certain that no one ever will. The problem is me. If I’m not happy with how things are, then it’s up to me to change them.

I’ve gotten into a bad habit over the last half a year or so, and the only one who can change that is me. Therefore, I have decided that this staying up into the wee hours and then not rolling out of bed until mid morning had to end.

I got tired of blowing off so much of my day. I decided I didn’t have to feel that way, and am in the midst of fashioning a new program for myself. My new schedule sees me in bed before eleven at night, and up at 6. (Yes, I was doing the “in bed before eleven” previously but that didn’t last). The goal is to be at my keyboard, and working, by 7:30.

On this, day three of my new routine, I can report that the getting to bed and getting up in the morning part seems to be doing ok. It’s the 6 a.m. to 7:30 a.m. part that I can see already needs work. I seem to have developed difficulty in accurately judging just how long certain parts of my routine actually take me to accomplish.

The sad truth is that the older I get, the slower I get. In every area of my life. The happier truth is that I merely need to hone my new schedule—not overhaul it again.

Part of this refinement is the addition to my new routine of something I haven’t been doing for quite some time—taking a nap. A nap, in this house, is defined as that point when one returns to one’s bed for a short sleep. It does not mean nodding off in the chair in front of the television.

I used to nap occasionally as the need presented. But ever since David retired and has begun napping every day, I simply stopped doing so myself.

In the years when I was working outside the home, on weekends which were our free time, David and I would nap in shifts. I got up earlier in the morning than he did, so I would hit the bed sometime between eleven and one, for no more than an hour. Then he’d go to nap around three, usually for an hour and a half or longer.

Lately, I have been going to my recliner just after noon, specifically to get my legs up. This has been a very helpful habit in the past, a way to ease the discomfort in my legs caused by arthritis. And I will admit that I’ve been known to doze off here or there, and not thought anything of it.

But lately, the arthritis in my right knee has been in a flare up and it no longer particularly likes my legs being up for more than a few minutes at a time in that wonderful chair.

I don’t have the same trouble at bedtime, though. Of course, at bedtime I have taken my pain meds, whereas at noon, mostly, I have not.

And so the idea of taking an actual nap took hold, and I decided that I would do that little thing and see how it goes. If I can manage a short sleep in the middle of the day, I might not fall asleep so quickly on the couch after supper. That would be a bonus. I might even be able to watch the entire news cast!

I’ll have to let you know, later, how this works out. Yesterday was my first attempt, and was a failure. But while I did not sleep, I did stay in the bed, resting and horizontal and legs up, for the full hour.

I’m told that progress often comes in baby steps. Fingers crossed.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Happy New Year!

 January 1, 2025

Happy New Year!

Just when we all finally got used to writing 2024, it’s time to learn a new number. I’m sure that’s not necessarily a problem from those of a different generation from us boomers: well, maybe some Gen Xer’s might be disconcerted, but I’m sure the Millennials and those Gen Z young’uns won’t even consider the matter a challenge.

I don’t know if making New Year’s resolutions is still a thing, or not. Do you think it is? The only person I heard mention them is my oldest great-granddaughter, who is eleven. She asked me if I have made any for this year, and I told her that I usually don’t.

And that’s true, as far as it goes. Outside of this time of year, I do have it in mind each day to try to be better and do better in every area.

I don’t know if setting New Year’s resolutions would fall under the category of goal setting or dream casting. My general perception is that it’s easy in the joy of the moment and the spirit of the season to toss out something as a resolution: and here you can list whatever behavioral tic you’d like to smooth over, or bad habit you’d like to reform.

There’s nothing wrong with stating that you’d like to improve yourself. Speaking those words indicates self awareness, and that’s a fine quality to have. The only problem is that decisions made under the conditions of “New Year’s Resolutions” tend not to stick. And when they don’t it could very well mean that the person who “failed” feels like a failure. I submit that the concept of New Years’ resolutions includes in it’s definition the inevitability of failure.

Change, if change is to be made, must be done methodically and deliberately. If there’s something you’d like to improve about yourself, then you need to think about it, consider a course of action to achieve your goal—and that is the key. Because what you’re really seeking to do is to achieve a goal, and not have a wish granted by your fairy godmother.

It’s been a busy Holiday Season here for the Ashbury family. David and I attended three social events in four days, last week. For two people who have successfully and proudly earned the title of “hermit” over the last three years, that was…. quite something. The combined number of people in attendance at the events topped forty. Peopling takes a great deal of energy in and of itself. When that includes the presence of several running, laughing, shouting children under the age of ten?

It's a wonder I was able to drag myself out and get into the car to go home again.

Of course, it wasn’t just the actual social affairs that we attended that wore me out. The girls and I went into the big city closest to us to one of their enormous malls. To shop. On the Saturday before Christmas.

I know, what were we thinking? On the bright side we got there before the stores opened and got a prime parking space. And my daughter was able to put my cart together, so I was zooming through that sucker like nobody’s business. Just as we were about done, the place really began to fill up. Having done all that zooming and some shopping, we decided we really should treat ourselves to lunch. And of course, since we were so close to our favorite and large Chinese food buffet restaurant….

Shopping done, lunch a fond memory, I had some cooking ahead of me—my contributions to the supper at our second daughter’s on Christmas Eve—and decided to divide the work over a couple of days. On Monday I prepared the stuffing for the turkeys, as well as my Christmas pudding—a steamed desert which I make but once each year. Then on Tuesday morning, I prepared the sweet potatoes, as well as a baked crab dip. Dividing the work made all the difference. It was easier to accomplish than trying to do everything in one day.

The first three items, stuffing and pudding and yams, were items that they all look forward to, part of our Christmas meal traditions. The crab dip (served warm) is my second daughter’s favorite which I’ve only been making for a few years.

The socializing all came after the shopping and the cooking, and really brought home to me that while I can still do some of the things I’ve always done, I just need to remember that I am older, and I slowing down. That’s just the way it is.

Perhaps I should have made a New Year’s resolution, after all. One to be kinder to myself. The only problem is, I don’t know for certain if I’d be able to succeed at that.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Traditions...

 December 25, 2024

Today is Christmas Day! And this evening is the beginning of Hanukkah! This is the first time these two great Commemorations have shared the date since 2005.

Whatever our individual traditions may be, our holidays become cherished moments in our lives. First, for the occasions they represent—the birth of Christ for Christians and the recovery of Jerusalem and the rededication of second Temple for the Jewish people.

But they’re also special for the traditions they bring to the fore in our own personal histories. Religious traditions and secular ones, as well.

My memories of Christmas have blended together through the years, the things we did, always, that became dear. Traditions from our childhoods that we then, as young parents, were eager to pass on to our own children. Traditions recalled have been wrapped in love and sprinkled by the auras of those no longer with us. They are precious.

There’s always room for new traditions, of course—and that is in fact how each generation puts their own stamp on the benchmarks of their own journey.

When I was a child, we tended to secure our tree and decorate it the week before Christmas—usually on a Saturday. Daddy would have cut it down from the wooded area behind our house a few days before that, and then brought it into the house to “warm up and let the boughs drop”, I’m thinking probably the day before.

Decorating day was always special, because we did it together. There would be Christmas music playing. I can’t honestly recall if that was via the radio or a record player. And after, there would be hot chocolate and some Christmas cookies.

There was the excitement of Christmas morning! Of course, we had to wait until Mom and Dad were ready for us to come out and see…. that time always seemed to drag. Later I would understand that they’d gotten to bed late, first because we usually attended the Christmas Eve eucharist that ended just after midnight. And then their having stayed up even later to prepare everything for Santa’s big reveal.  Mom and Dad needed some time in the morning to get their coffee brewed and themselves settled before we came out to behold the magic.

That particular tradition was one that David and I repeated. And I knew, in those early days of motherhood, that it was the great gift of seeing the joy on young faces that decreed that tradition. we used to have a photo of our three huddled on the staircase, waiting for the word to “come down and see what Santa brought.” Sadly, we lost a lot of pictures because of two separate house fires. But I still carry that image in my memory, and in my heart.

Other traditions were repeated, as well. The fat orange in the toe of the stocking, and the large family breakfast. The scattering of breadcrusts from the stuffing out in the back yard to feed the birds.

Sitting down in front of the television at the appointed time to watch the Queen’s Christmas message.

Christmas had a veritable bouquet of aromas for me—the deeply reverent scent wax and incense atmosphere of our church; the smell of bacon and then later, the sage-and-roasting turkey combo pulsing from the oven. And the basic underlying trace of pine tree.

Christmas had a sound—music and bells, carols sung by the choir, and laughter—beautiful, full-bodied laughter embedded with joy.

Christmas had a visual image—the lights of the tree reflected by the tinsel, the twinkle of decorations in the city as the snow danced down, and those wondrous old stockings that were hung regardless of their being no mantle to put them on.

And every Christmas, for just a little while—just long enough—I can almost see the trail from those days past to this one. A connection. A family. A tradition.

David and I wish you all the very best of what this time of year can be. We hope it’s full of joy, and laughter, and love.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Tis the season...

 December 18, 2024

Tis the season to be jolly! At least that’s what the popular media, as well as most if not all of the retailers would have you believe. For those children whose tradition includes the celebration of Christmas, the words wonder, and magic would seem to be synonymous with the Holiday. Yes, of course, they have visions of sugar plums – as well as the latest new game or gadget or gizmo – dancing through their heads. Childhood, after all, begins with a tiny human only being capable of thinking in terms of “me” and “my”. But if we do it right, they progress from that state of self-obsession, and eventually grow in the art of thinking beyond themselves to thinking of others.

I personally believe the litmus test for reaching adulthood is when one thinks of others before oneself. But I digress.

Part of the hustle and the bustle of this season of Christmastide is the growing excitement, lights, spectacles, and music. For many, especially those whose outlook is less “worldly” this truly is a season of joy. Christmas commemorates the birth of Jesus, and the Bible tells us that the angels, in announcing the Savior’s birth, brought “tidings of great joy which shall be to all people”.

But for many, this time of year can be an emotional mine field. Some people are grieving, and grieving is a valid part of the life experience. Others are teetering on the edge of solvency, and stressed by the constant struggle to put food on the table and keep a roof over their heads. In our early years as a family, David and I often struggled to provide a good Christmas for our children because our means were spare. We somehow always managed, but I can’t say we always did so gracefully. The effort to provide something special for Christmas often resulted in a scramble to catch up that lasted at least two or three months after the event.

However, I can honestly say that our children don’t recall a Christmas that wasn’t special. That’s a major source of quiet satisfaction for me. They never saw the worry or the anxiety back then. And that was one of our major achievements.

There are toy drives, and Christmas baskets, and they are amazing things. If everyone gave something, then a lot of people would be blessed: not just the recipients, but the donors as well. Give what you can, and know that doing so is a very good thing.

Christmas can be especially hard for folks grieving, because joy is the polar opposite of grief, and the more joyous something is, the more the contrast between the two can cut and wound.

It’s good to be mindful of the people in your orbit, to be sensitive to those whose lack of joy may be tied to circumstances not easily visible. They might not just be budding Scrooges, bah-humbugging their way through December. There may be something they’re struggling with, something they’re worried about or someone they are missing desperately, that you don’t know about.

Sometimes the best thing you can do – the best gift you can give – is one of your time and attention. Often, you don’t even need the right words to say. You may not even need words at all.

Sometimes all you need to do is listen. Even though we all have two ears and only one mouth, most of us don’t use them that way. Most of us don’t listen nearly enough.

If you know someone who may not be able at this time of year to “get into the spirit of the season”, perhaps you could take them for coffee. Be there for them, let them know they can say whatever they want, or even say nothing at all.

By giving someone who is hurting your time and attention, you’re showing them that they matter. And that you see them.

And sometimes that can be a most amazing gift.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

I've never done that before....

December 11, 2024

Well, we had snow. We really did. It covered everything—more or less—and with the sun shining during the day and the freezing cold at night, we had ice, too.

Sufficient snow and ice decorated the out-of-doors that I asked my husband to attach the “ice claw” to my cane. I wait until it looks like I’m going to need it before I ask him to do that, because the device adds to the weight of the cane. It also turns the end of my cane into a potential weapon.

And then, just a couple of days ago, the temperature rose just enough that the precipitation we received became rain. And now, today, looking around my computer monitor out the window and at the wider world, no trace of snow or ice remains.

The greenery won’t last long, of course. We’re smack dab in the middle of winter, as this family defines it: October to March, inclusive. In fact, the weather forecast tells me we’re in for flurries today. Possibly.

Fifty-two years ago today, I gave birth for the first time. It seems just weird that I have a fifty-two-year-old son, but there it is. In fact, on the odd occasion I’m asked, these days, if I have any children, I do reply that no, I do not, but I do have grandparents.

Thanks to the presence of my two oldest great-grandchildren this past weekend, I can report that our Christmas tree is up and decorated. They stay over night one weekend a month, which gives my daughter time with her grandkids. We’ve gotten used to having them, and generally it’s a good, if tiring time for us.

Yes, Christmas is in the air, and for the most part, we’re ready for the small amount of hustle and bustle the holiday brings our way. The gifts that needed to be purchased are here in my office, and while I do have some special dishes to prepare, that’s week or so off yet.

We don’t host the Christmas dinner anymore, and that’s fine with me because I simply don’t have the stamina to produce a meal for a crowd. I think my largest was 16, and while it turned out well, I did need rest for some time afterward.

We continue to make the necessary adjustments dictated by the simple fact of getting older. I find I need to really pay attention to the little things—how I move, and that I’m not attempting to carry too much at one time.

But occasionally, no matter how careful I am, things happen. Sometimes, I’m very, very sorry. And sometimes, I can only giggle.

Yesterday, when it was time to get my legs up in my recliner for a part of the afternoon, I left the office and took with me my refillable water bottle, along with a few odds and ends that I carry to the living room in a cloth bag.

In the kitchen, I put the morning’s dishes into soak, as usual, so that in a half hour or so I could come out and wash them up. (No, I do not now, nor have I ever had an appliance for the task). Then, I took my bottle, emptied and rinsed it, filled it with fresh cold water, and capped it. Since the outside of the bottle was wet, I knew I had to dry it off. And somehow, while reaching for the towel and moving the water bottle into position so that I could dry it, that slippery little piece of plastic flew out of my hands, up into the air, and landed with a kerplunk into the sink of dishes soaking in dishwater.

The tiny splash missed my eyes and hit my forehead.

I stared down at the sink, the bottle visible, and gave thanks that I had tightened the cap well. And as I looked at that submerged bottle I knew with absolute truth and certainty, that here before me was something I had never done before in my entire, longish life.

I fished the bottle out, rinsed it off and then dried it. And a few minutes later, as I settled into my recliner, I was telling my husband that I had done something moments before for the very first time.

He nodded as I relayed the incident. Then he said, “Well, they say seniors should try new things.”

I’m grateful that sarcasm and humor are alive and well in our home.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

It's December already....

 December 4, 2024

I’m not certain, but I think that we are living in an area that may exhibit some unusual meteorological anomalies. Or, in the words of our daughter, “we’re in a weather bubble”.

The only other weather bubble that I have experienced firsthand is San Francisco. I don’t recall the details, but we were instructed that, even though we were going there for the first time, and in the midst of summer, we should pack a sweater of three, as that city rarely gets hot.

They were right. The city of Haite-Ashbury and zig-zag streets was on the chilly side during the entire week of our one and only visit.

Where we are situated on the Ontario map is north of Lake Erie and west of Lake Ontario.

When the winds come from the west and create lake effect snow, we appear to miss out on that little thing. This fact doesn’t break my heart one bit. That’s not to say we won’t get more than the skiff of snow we currently have on the ground outside. I am well aware that we can and will this winter likely be up to our tushies in the white stuff at some point.

But not right now. And not for most of today, at least—if the weather network online can be trusted.

As I write this, that skiff of snow is almost completely hiding the debris on the ground that used to hang on the neighbors’ trees. We were not successful in marshaling the troops to get the second deluge of leaves raked and bagged this fall. That will now have to be job one come the spring—or sooner, if the snow melts as it has in past years, and we get a few days grace during which we can get folks here to do the work then.

It does sadden me that we can no longer do that ourselves. I used to enjoy yard work in general, and especially in autumn when there might be a slight nip in the air, turning my cheeks pink. I never minded raking, grass cutting, and garden tending. I loved spending time outside, and in my younger days would, in spring and summer, often sit outside to read, when time permitted.

Though I have lately not been as quick to spend time in the great outdoors, I’ll still occasionally do so, often with my lap blanket. No sense in courting unnecessary discomfort from drafts on impaired joints.

While we don’t have much snow it has been below freezing these last few days. No question of having the furnace on now, and so far, knock on wood, it continues to work well. Of course, it is a rental, which means we don’t have to worry about any looming expense if it needs repairs. Sometimes it’s just a good idea to anticipate possible challenges, and arrange things so they won’t be a factor.

It's the first week in December, which means we’re approaching Christmas, and the end of the year. I just barely got used to writing 2024 and now, in a few short weeks, I’ll have to get used to writing 2025. Talk about time seeming to speed by.

Believe it or not, I have bought all the “gifts” that we need to give already. Yes, I know that’s shocking and not at all indicative of my usual last-minute shopping habit. Gifts bought, it’s just a matter of stuffing a few dollars into a few Christmas cards, and we’ll be done. Then there’s the matter a smattering of decorations, and, of course, our tree.

You may recall that the tree we’re using these days is on the small side, about four and a half feet tall. When we purchased it, we also purchased several mini decorations to put on it. I’ve grown accustomed to this tree and can even say that I like it.

As well, this year we have our Christmas candle to light, on Christmas Eve. Not certain yet how when or how we’ll do it, but I am looking forward to reestablishing a family tradition that had slipped by the wayside.

Traditions are like the wisps of something ethereal that allow us to visit, if only in our minds, the joys of Yuletides past. And those visits, as insubstantial as they may  be, can be as necessary to the human spirit as food for the body.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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