The state of the noodle...

 November 5, 2025

I play Wordle every day—the one that is offered by the New York Times. I began to play it a few years ago. I can’t tell you how many years ago that was, but let’s just say I came in a little late to the game. I had put off playing when I first heard about it because, although I am a published author, I really didn’t feel that my vocabulary was good enough. It is, of course, better than some. But not nearly what I would consider top tier.

That said, I am a thinking woman. And as a thinking woman, and after playing for some time, I thought, well, let’s just see what we’re actually doing, here. I wondered if Wordle would repeat words. I asked, and the answer was (and is) not as yet. Eventually they will because there are only so many five letter words in American English. The current estimate is that repetition will begin around 2027. I had, by the way, begun keeping track on one of my spreadsheets of each day’s Wordle word – but I began that practice about a year after I began to play.

I also noticed that while there are some plurals acceptable, after inquiring, I discovered that currently, they will not use obvious plurals for three- and four-letter words. Which is to say, no five letter words that end in “s” or “es.”

Then I thought about my perceptions as to the state of my vocabulary. And I asked myself what do I do when I’m writing and I need a word I can’t think of? Where do I go to look? Pre-internet the answer was either a thesaurus or a dictionary. These days? I simply ask an online search engine.

But this time, rather than searching for a single word, I instead searched for how to find a word. I discovered several sites that are designed to find specific words for you: and your search parameters include the length of the word (Wordle has 5) and letters it must have, and letters that are “forbidden”.

And that, my friends, is how I Wordle. I’m also anal, so that means I begin with the same two words every single day…unless my first word renders me at least 3 letters in the right spot—or if, say, more than three of my letters were signified as eligible but not in the right spot. And I don’t mind sharing; my first two words are “adieu” and “storm”.

Now, I have had some glitches in that when I first began to play, I just played. I didn’t have an account, didn’t have to sign in, but guess what? I could only play on my PC! So if I was away but had my laptop, I couldn’t play. And then I got a new computer, and all of my stats went away. That happened twice, and after the second time, which was when I got this computer I now have, I smartened up and got an actual account. It doesn’t cost much, and I consider it money well spent, because however I come to the Wordle word of the day, I must use my noodle to do so.

At this point in my life more than ever, I put great stock in having a working noodle.

To me, that’s the whole point of the game. You don’t necessarily have to have a vast vocabulary to play Wordle, you just need a working brain. As with any challenge we humans face, we need to be able to adapt our thinking and figure out ways to accomplish the goal at hand.

My goal is doing what I can to keep this brain of mine working. I’m not interested in beating anyone in Wordle. In fact, when I get the word in three or fewer tries, I consider it P.S.L. (hint: the first word is pure, and the last word is luck).

The other thing I do daily is I play an acrostic puzzle or two. An acrostic is a combination of a crossword puzzle and a cryptogram. It has two parts, the crossword grid, in which each square has a number and a letter, and when complete will be filled, not with intersecting words, but with a quote. The second part is the list of “clues” in which each letter of the clue’s answer has a number beneath it. And rather than the clues being numbered or listed as “across” and “down” they are assigned a letter of the alphabet. So, you have clues A, B, C, etc. and the grid above them within which, as you proceed, words will begin to form. Your progress accelerates when you work back and forth, filling in words in the grid, and seeing letters appear in the clues. I like the online versions of these games I used to play in puzzle books, because when you place a letter in a clue, it appears in the grid—and vice versa. And as an added “clue” beneath the grid there often will be a “key” to the quote– either the author’s name, title of the work, or both.

There are free acrostic puzzles online that you can use. You can also choose the “premium” edition of a game site and have no ads on your screen. But I’m frugal, and I consider the ability to “not see” ads on my computer screen as I work to be a great skill to hone.

There’s a popular saying, that you’re only as old as you feel. Now, I could argue that in one way, I am very old, if the state of my body is to be the measure. However, there is nothing beyond what I already do from day to day that can mitigate my physical circumstances. Instead, I have chosen as my yardstick to measure how old I feel, my ability to use this noodle of mine.

Today I can report that while I will search for a word here or there, and forget a name, for the most part there is nothing wrong with my reasoning processes.

Change is going to happen because that is how life is. I can accept what comes next as long as I feel I’m doing my part to keep my mind active.

I hope y’all feel the same way, yourselves.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

A bit off the path...

 October 29, 2025

Halloween is just a couple of nights away. This will be the first time ever that we are not planning to distribute candy. Our street is still under construction, and the “walkway” we have from the street to the porch steps, at this point, just isn’t safe. We doubt that there will be many little ones out on this road this time, so we decided not to bother.

I don’t for one moment suppose the little ones in this town are going to miss our contribution to the surfeit of sweets they are about to amass.

It’s gotten quite chilly over the last week, and I’m not upset in the least. I don’t have to go outside unless I want to, and that is a blessing. My days of driving on icy, foggy, or icy and foggy roads are over. I no longer even consider that scraping off a snow- and ice-covered car is something that would be on my daily bingo card. Not to say none of those things will never happen again, because, well, never say never. But I think I am safe in saying that those things which I did aplenty in years past are very unlikely to ever come up again.

Not exactly crying about that.

One interesting thing happened to me over the last week. I’m fine, no broken bones or sprains or even any bruises, but I did take a tumble outside. I was on my way to the car and can tell you I am not exactly sure how it happened, but my foot encountered something, and I went down. Completely my fault, as I really wasn’t one hundred percent focused on the job of walking from my back yard gate to my car.

I can tell you that falling down is the easiest damn thing to do. Getting up again? Not so much. I tried a couple of times, but there was nothing for me to hold onto, and on one attempt I over balanced and scraped my forehead on the concrete path. Of course, I prayed for help, and within just a couple minutes of that scrape, my daughter arrived home. I hadn’t been expecting her until much later, but there she was, and trained as she is, she got me up.

So one fall, resulting in my forehead and my ego slightly scraped, but I can take it.

Fortunately, I don’t have brittle bones(yet), and I came down on somewhat wet, soggy, and therefore not unforgiving ground.

The incident was a good reminder that I need to focus at all times on the movements I am making. Of course, my family was a bit concerned, and I won’t lie to you. I was very stiff and sore the next couple of days, mostly from using my knees in my few attempts and final success in getting back up. And I was disappointed because I was going to attend a very special event on Sunday, but I really couldn’t.

So here I am, 5 days on and none the worse for wear. Some of the forehead scrape has healed, but not all of it.

There was a suggestion made by a dear loved one to the affect that I should not go anywhere at anytime alone ever again. But I chalked that up to the anxiety of the moment.

When those we love get hurt, even if it’s just a small hurt, our instinct is to wrap them up and set them on a shelf so that they will never get hurt again. That’s a fine instinct.

However, in reality life demands that we live in such a way that getting a little banged up is to some extent par for the course. I’ve had arthritis for more than thirty years, and it has changed a bit in that time, but there is no cure, and it will only, over time, get worse.

I used to tell the folks I’d meet at the different conventions and book signing events I attended that while eventually I might end up in a wheelchair, I wasn’t worried. I can already chair dance like nobody’s business; and if I can no longer use my legs and feet to get around, at least I would be able to finally get myself a pair of kick-ass shoes with those spiky heels—or a pair of shiny boots with laces up the yin-yang.

 Because if I’m unable to walk, well, at least I intend to be damned stylish while I ride.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Keep going...

 October 22, 2025

Time marches on, even if the elderly among us can’t quite manage a march anymore. Everything is relative. Therefore, I consider myself lucky if I can simply make my way around the house and out to the car.

I used to ask for patience in my prayers every day. I don’t so much anymore because I have finally learned a bit more patience from life itself. Patience is the natural outcome when you’re a turtle in a pack of hares.

The important part, in my estimation, is that I do manage to get around and out to the car. I use my walker a bit more than I used to, and that’s okay, too. Most places I need to go, either my cane or the walker are good enough. Some stores, of course, have electric carts for their customers and that’s a blessing.

If I’m heading out with my daughter, she happily assembles my own three-wheeled scooter for me. I don’t have the strength to do that myself, and never really have. But regardless, I still consider myself independent. I am capable of, and often do head out to our local grocery store on my own to pick up a few things when needed. I can go for a drive, put gas in my car, and walk into any restaurant if I choose to do so.

I’m not as fast as I used to be in anything. My mind is still reasonably sharp, but I do sometimes have to hunt for a word or a name. My reasoning is sound even if my memory isn’t what it was. I don’t think I ever had any idea of all the ways that getting older could affect a person. I’m finding out now, and I can honestly say that getting old truly isn’t for the faint of heart.

But it is natural, so it really is just another case of mind over matter. I’ve decided my best course is to accept reality and then get on with it.

The hardest part of aging, of course, is coming to terms with the changes in our physical abilities. It’s hard to accept that one is no longer able to do as many or as much as one used to. Physical tasks become a challenge because body strength and endurance do decrease with age. Not that many years ago I was able to clean my house—every room—over the course of a few hours in the morning. Ah, the good old days.

Now, I content myself with being able to do a few chores around the house each day. There’s a lot of sitting involved in this process. Therefore, I incorporated sitting into the program. I stand to do the dishes but sit to put most of them away. And when it comes time to sweep the floor? With broom in hand and sitting on my office chair-turned kitchen chair (for the wheels) I move around the kitchen and sweep. And do a damn fine job of it.

I wanted wheeled chairs for the kitchen. We had large and fairly heavy chairs around the table, and it was hard for me to “scoot” my chair closer to the table. That said, I was not willing to pay three or four hundred dollars a piece for the privilege of new wheeled kitchen chairs. Then I saw some inexpensive “office chairs” online and thought: perfect! After all, the defining feature I wanted in a kitchen chair other than a seat was wheels. Who cares about fancy décor? Our first set of chairs cost only thirty-five dollars each (on sale) and lasted three years before they needed to be replaced.

But I digress.

The important thing is that regardless of age and stamina, I need to keep moving.

I do make my bed most days. My reason for this is selfish. I love climbing into a well-made bed each night. Since it is one of my pleasures in life, I see no reason not to enjoy the experience as often as possible.

Accepting reality means that I acknowledge that there are days when not much gets done by yours truly. But I always content my self by vowing that I will do better the next day. I will keep moving. I will not quit.

For us humans, getting through and getting by has always been a matter, primarily, of our attitude. All through my life there have been times when I’ve needed to improvise, adapt, and overcome. That oft-quoted principle came in handy when I was a young mother raising three children. It is no less germane now that I’m over seventy. It worked then and it works now.

Take another step when you think you can’t. Move another few inches when you think you may be done.

Whether you believe you’ve got this, or you believe you’re beat, you’re right! Because it’s really always been a matter of choice. Your choice.

Choose to keep going.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

Being grateful...

 October 15, 2025

Now that we’ve entered the third week of October, it’s safe to say we are fully entrenched in autumn. The sights and sounds and scents of the season have changed little over my lifetime.

There’s the panorama of the changing leaves, and the scent of outdoor fires. On weekends, as folks work to prepare their property for the onslaught of winter, the sounds of lawnmowers, leaf blowers and woodchippers combine into a symphony of household industry.

It’s a lovely symphony, best enjoyed after enough time spent outside to pinken the cheeks from the autumn chill, and with one’s hands firmly wrapped around a mug of something warmly soothing.

I never quite cottoned to the pumpkin-spice-everything craze that has been prevalent over the last few years. I’m a bit of a purist when it comes to pumpkins. I believe that pumpkin spice belongs only in pumpkin pie.

The traditions related to early October have shifted only superficially over the years. Here in Canada our Thanksgiving Day is the second Monday in October. We celebrated the feast this past Monday at our second daughter’s home, which we have been doing for the past few years. My, but she has an excellent and patient hand with her turkey! She does such an excellent job of it that I cannot recall the last time I roasted one in my own oven. The rest of the meal is a group effort, so that the load is not only on one person. What an amazing feast we had!

I grew up in a rural community about a half hour’s drive from where we live now. In fact, my home as a child which became David’s and my first house as a young married couple, was basically next-door to the quarry where my husband ended up working for thirty-nine years.

In that community, each Thanksgiving weekend saw the arrival of a local fall fair. And until we moved to the town where we live now, our family’s—both ours as children and then as parents—Thanksgiving tradition always included a visit to that fair. And on Thanksgiving Monday itself, no less. Yes, indeed, the race to stuff the bird and set it to roasting, before heading out for a few hours…. Thanksgiving Day was a very busy time indeed!

Then we moved to the community where we currently reside in the early 1990s. The annual county fair here is held in this very town and on the Labour Day weekend. After our first couple of years here, our younger two children were old enough to go to the fair on their own, which they did on “bracelet day”. That was a wonderful innovation where the kids could purchase a bracelet and enjoy the midway for several hours for one low price. David and I did enjoy those quiet times back then, right at the end of the busy, back-to-school rigamarole.

Despite the odd variations, the heart of all of our Thanksgiving traditions over the years has never changed, and that’s the gathering of family and friends. This year, as we formed our own little community around the dinner table, we each took a few moments to pronounce what we were thankful for. There were nine adults, two tweens and two children gathered for that wonderful meal. And while the gratitude lists differed in some details the one item that was constant was family and friends. We were grateful, each one of us, for the gathering of loved ones and the bounty before us.

In these challenging times in which we live, we’re all experiencing the sense that things are not stable around us. Things are changing and we humans don’t like that. But if we can be grateful for the basics—our loved ones, and our homes however humble they may be—then I think we’re well equipped to handle whatever comes our way.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

Surfer beware...

 October 8, 2025

I can’t recall which program I was watching on television a week or so ago, when I heard something that made me literally sit up and take notice.

Now, usually over the course of my week, I tend to take an hour or so in my living room each day about midday, to put my feet up and rest. Feet up because, having arthritis it serves me well to elevate my legs after having had them down for several hours. Rest, because despite the fact that I am indeed seventy-one, I can’t seem to fall asleep if I go to bed and try to have a structured afternoon nap.

However, if I put my television on and assume the position in my recliner, I have no trouble dozing off, here and there, for a few minutes at a time over the length of the program.

And it was at this point one day during the past week when, drifting in my chair, I heard these words: “social media sites have figured out there is one thing better than sex for click bait, and that is rage.”

For me, hearing that statement was an epiphanous moment.

I had noticed lately, as I scrolled each evening through YouTube a number of videos which are similar in composition to short stories. I realize these stories are works of fiction, and because I do, I don’t for one minute consider that they represent reality or real-life events. And sometimes if the scenario that the title presents hooks me, I’ll click on the videos, provided they’re not too long.

Friends, I will confess here and now that while I thought I knew what I was getting into, I was wrong. These weren’t just a way for an aspiring writer to become “published” (which was my first thought). These stories generally present a situation where injustice occurs; and in the course of the story, on the surface at least, justice is redeemed. A happy ending in a few short minutes, and the romance writer in me couldn’t resist that.

It did take me a few clicks, and a few reads to understand that perhaps the author of these “short stories” might have another purpose beyond creating a simple short story. I began to get a clue when I realized something. As appealing as a short story about injustice being redeemed might be, the method of that redemption read, just a little, like hate.

It took that statement that defined that notion of stirring up rage as click bait and realized it made the puzzle pieces of my emotions fall into place. One thing I had noticed was that while the story did represent an injustice redeemed, it also, mildly, invoked anger in me. And that was closer to the point of the whole exercise than any of my other impressions of the story.

These videos all had the same “moral”. The solutions to the injustices tended to have a very real sense of “how do you like them apples, asshole?” about them.

That pseudo-revenge answer to a wrong—at least in my belief—is not healthy. Not emotionally (in the long run), and not morally.

Oh yes, reading those stories can give you a moment of “feeling good”, especially if the injustice you read about did stir your ire; but the “feel good” is only a temporary fix, and when it wears off, you want more—because while the feel-good was fleeting, the “anger/rage” elements of the story lingered. In other words, you want a bigger and badder piece of revenge.

Soon, the anger one feels can turn to rage, and friends? Rage is a the very least as addictive as any narcotic or alcohol or other substance or experience you can name.

Rage, constantly fed, can lead to violence. Oh, no, they won’t actually urge you to commit violence yourself, not at first. But they will, over time, serve you more and more examples of others using violence to stomp those bastards into the dust, and man, does that ever feel good when they do!

Other than bringing an end to social media (one could almost term that an act of violence), the only solution to the problem presented by these algorithms that seem to be in service of folks whom we do not know, that I can think of. And that solution is discernment.

I’m usually very discerning in my “surfing” habits, but this caught me off guard. So let me tell you what I told myself: what I see such as these videos, and all the things that show up in my “feed”, are informed by my viewing habits. I must therefore be very careful, not only what I am watching, but what sites I am going to.

Whenever I see something that raises a flag, I first look to see who or what the provider/poster/contributor is. A little research will show you, soon enough, if you’re looking at a good actor, or some sort of automated bot. And here’s a clue: bots are woefully unskilled in grammar.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to google a copious number of laughing babies, funny memes, and baby goats.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

Ah, autumn!

 October 1, 2025

There are just so many things I enjoy about autumn!

Despite the fact that the arrival of autumn leaves means winter is on its way, I love the colours. There are times, especially if I’m facing east with a west hanging sun behind me, that those trees simply shimmer.

I’ve only recently seen the first trees in our neck of the world beginning to show their fall colours. My daughter thought that the calendar was not as it used to be. She said that these days, at least with regard to the seasons, the calendar was at least two weeks behind.

Her first example was when I pointed out that a few of the trees we passed which had some yellow and red leaves mixed in with the green they were the first I’d seen. She told me her theory and pointed out that we were just now seeing those colours, and it was already the end of September.

The second example came when she recalled her school days. Local farm kids would be excused from high school for the first two weeks of September, because it was harvesting time.

There were a lot of ginseng and tobacco farms in this area, market-garden ones as well, and they were, almost all of them private family endeavors. This of course required an “all hands on deck” approach. As we were driving about last Sunday, we passed farms that were just now getting to the business of harvesting their crops.

This past weekend was one for the record books, at least it seemed so for me. On Saturday, daughter and I went to St. Jacob’s Farm Market, a first for just the two of us. We’ve tried to go once a year, in September, but somehow missed last year. David usually comes too, but his scooter was on the fritz, so he stayed home.

We had a list as we left the house just before eight-thirty in the morning. Despite a good beginning to our own gardening season, the green beans faltered. So top of the list was a basket of those, to freeze for the months ahead. On the fruit side of things, we wanted some peaches—I like to make a pie or two with fresh local fruit. And we wanted to make a good amount of apple sauce. I though a half bushel of apples should do it.

David wanted me to get so pears so I could do with those what I was planning to do with the apples. I agreed and brought home a basket of those.

They have a good selection of meats there—some from herds raised without antibiotics and growth hormones. We purchased three enormous “smoked pork chops”. They would be our supper that night.

Jennifer wanted some good black forest bacon, but the only bacon she saw was smoked, so we passed. We did, however, bring back two pounds of mixed deli cold-cuts—much to David’s delight.

Of course we bought some home-made jam, some local maple syrup, and the one thing we never leave that place without—freshly made-before-our-eyes apple fritters.  Jenny and I stopped for breakfast upon leaving the market and were home before one p.m.

While she napped, I set about making a potato salad to go with the chops we were having for supper.

I did worry some, once I got home, that I might not be able to process everything in a timely fashion. But I managed, over the next couple of days, to do just that. And that was even with doing our regular grocery shopping on Sunday.

I believe with all my heart that my heightened energy level from Saturday to Tuesday inclusive was divinely inspired—thank you, Lord. Only the apples remain to be “sauced” but they do keep well and are scheduled for processing this coming weekend.

And now, if you’ll all excuse me, I think I am taking the rest of this day, Wednesday, off.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

Keep trying...

 September 24, 2025

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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