Little changes...

 April 15, 2026

Life ebbs and flows, doesn’t it? You hit a point in time when it seems as if every day there’s another something new to be handled. Appointments to attend, meetings to navigate, chores to be seen to or arranged to be seen to. The serenity of a steady schedule will elude you, so you might as well not even long for that scarce commodity “peace and quiet.”

Then before you know it, you hit a calm patch, sigh with relief, and trust it only after a few days have elapsed without any hair-on-fire moments.

There are ebbs and flows with the weather, as well. David and I have gone from: listening in almost-disbelief as our daughter described the older clients she sees. Folks who are either too chilled or too warm, depending entirely upon their physiology and on any given day; to understanding that little thing completely and believing it normal.

And it’s likely because her clients are mostly elderly, she doesn’t even bat an eye when she comes downstairs on a very nice day to find one or both of her parents under a blanket.

It can be a challenge to keep yourself steady these days, too. At least I have found it so. I have noticed lately that I don’t naturally cope well when things go off the rails as I used to. After identifying that new little foible, I’ve tried different methods to get myself back on an even keel.

I’ve found taking a few minutes to sit quietly and just let myself breathe helps. I take note of my feet on the floor, and my inhalations, and I wait until I’ve mentally chased away the seeds of panic that are seeking to sow themselves into my psyche. It mostly works.

Patience, that Holy Grail of human attributes, continues to grow, slowly, day by day. There was a time that I had very little of that precious substance. Lately I’ve figured out that of all the personal traits that can serve me the most, that one, patience, is pretty close to the top of the list.

We’re chugging along through the month of April at a steady pace. There are only a handful of television shows we watch in the evenings—David watches more as he loves to stream, but he does that on his own and on his computer. The ones we watch together in the evening are winding down, now. Two have already ended their seasons, and the rest will be there by mid May.

One of the programs I like the best—The Voice—changed it’s viewing time from 8 in the evening, to 9 for its two hour show. Egads! I can report that I am morphing into my mother, because it was a struggle staying awake for the entire program. Now, I do tape it via our cable company’s DVR feature. That is a precautionary measure. If something comes up and we can’t watch on any given night, I know we won’t miss it.

I could have chosen to seek an earlier bedtime, but that likely wouldn’t have worked. You see, after we’re done our TV viewing on any given night, we retreat to our respective computers….and our respective sly and alluring rabbit holes.

Day by day, the sun rises a little earlier and sets a little later as Planet Earth makes its way around the sun. We don’t notice the changes all that much right now: the sun rose here today at 6:32 am and will set again at 8:00 pm; tomorrow those times will be 6:30 am and 8:02 pm. Incrementally more “daylight” that we only tend to notice after we’re further along into the spring, and in summer and the comparisons to early spring are no longer incremental.

If you’re wanting just “ten more minutes” of sunlight, simply wait a few days.

David and I both enjoyed the blast from the past—the Artemis II mission. We watched the blast-off, and the splash down, as well as taking in whatever news items were broadcast—including a clip showing the astronauts’ conversation with our Prime Minister, Mark Carney.

It was a nice distraction just when we needed one and reminded us of something fundamental. Not much, especially when it comes to humans and human nature, is ever truly brand new.

We have been here before. We likely will be again. It’s up to the most astute among us to take notes.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

  

 

Differences...

 April 8, 2026

I like to think that making assumptions about things is a practice mostly owned by the young. Or a habit born out of laziness, when the reason is not sufficiently, nor successfully developed or utilized. Unless one is still wet behind the ears, or supremely narcissistic, making any kind of judgement on first look is something we tend to outgrow over time, as we get more of life’s kaka on us.

How much time depends on the degree of perceptiveness one possesses.

We learn these lessons almost unawares and sometimes don’t realize we are learning them. But we do learn them. For an easy example, as I write this essay this morning, I can see out the window (around my ginormous monitor) that there’s a pretty blue sky, sunlight bathing the view, and grass seeming to turn greener as I watch. A younger me would think the day was warm outside. The current me knows better and always checks the present temperature before going forth out of doors.

If you’re wondering, it is currently just above freezing outside (36 F, 2C), but it “feels like” freezing (28 F, -2C).

We don’t often stop to think about how many decisions/judgements we make in the course of a normal day. It’s a lot. Whether to get up in the morning, and if so, when? How many pieces of toilet paper to use. Do I wash my hands after or not. If I do for how long? Do I dry my hands on the towel hanging on the rack, or do I grab a piece of paper towel? What am I going to wear? This is actually several decisions: bra or no bra and which one; which panties; long pants or skirt or do I opt for a dress; tee-shirt or blouse or pullover sweater. Socks, or no socks, and which ones. Slippers or shoes, or, God help me boots, and yes, which ones.

That’s fifteen (ish) decisions before you’ve even had your first cup of coffee!

Most of the choices/decisions we make are done by rote. At some point we’ve settled our preferences for how we like to do things, and those choices are practically automatic. And for the most part, these are choices that could be considered of less importance or consequence, big-picture-wise.

Sometimes we’ll stop and consider, and make a different choice, just for a change, but not often.

I think if we could take a time out and study the kinds of choices and decisions and judgements we make through a regular day, we would likely learn a lot about ourselves, who we are, what kind of people we are.

Not everyone has a tendency toward self-awareness. We don’t all live intentionally. We’re simply not all the same and that’s all right because we were not designed to be the same.

We are made of the same basic star-stuff; there are variations of design used in our assemblage, so we have differences among us, and that was all part of the Master’s plan.

Some of the things that we, as human beings come to loggerheads over are crucial and important matters, the outcomes of which can have far reaching consequences to the lives and welfare of many.

And some simply never rise to that level.

The first trick in life is learning how to discern between the differences that matter, and the ones that don’t. And because we’re all not the same, those lists we each make will not share all of the same qualities.

The more important trick in life is the ability to come to a consensus of what qualities are essential—and which ones really are just a matter of personal taste.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

Foolishness?

 April 1, 20226

Well, we’ve made it through March successfully, and here we are on April’s launch day.

Now, please feel free to correct me if I’m wrong. But it seems to me that it’s been a long time since we, as a society, acknowledged the existence of “April Fool’s Day”. I’m not sure what the reason could be for that. But this morning I found it slightly diverting to venture forth some theories on the subject.

Perhaps we are now a culture far too sophisticated to take a morning to harmlessly prank and tease our neighbors, friends, and in some cases, those considered to be the thorns in our sides.

And hey, not even a full day was designated for the observances in the first place, at least not in my lived experience. What was with that? Every other noted day was the day of note for the whole day. But April Fool’s? It was a very real thing that noon hour was the point at which all pranking and tomfoolery was to cease and desist—or else!

But I digress.

Maybe we simply short circuited our propensity for foolishness. My possibly faulty recollection puts the point at which celebrating the day waned to have been in direct conjunction with the frenzy of anticipation of the historic date of January 1, 2000.

Folks indulged in such foolishness, creating a months-long, daily increasing fear of the approach of the new millennia that  the term “Y2K bug” was coined, and believed real. Do you recall the speculation wreaking event-horizon level havoc across our newly established technological age? Hell, after that display of human “sophistication”, there was no foolishness left within us thereafter to dedicate to even one morning a year.

But that can’t be it, because human foolishness is a never-ending story, truly knowing no bounds. We couldn’t simply have just used it all up.

There is one other way of thinking about things I came up with, and I wanted to share this one last. As is always helpful, we should briefly consider something else, the acknowledgement of which also (and maybe not so unconnected) has fallen out of fashion: considering the history of the situation. Looking at the history of any situation is always a worthwhile endeavor. Hence the saying: if you don’t study the past how can you step into the future?

Why was it that April Fool’s Day became popular thing in the first place? Its existence stretches far back, not just several decades or centuries, but, some claim, millennia.

How far back? Why, we’re talking as far back as the adoption of the Gregorian calendar (1582), or before that, with Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales (1380s). There are even those who believe that the day goes all the way back to Ancient Rome and the Festival of Hilaria—yes, even before the birth of Christ!

If that last theory of the origin of April Fool’s Day is true, well, what on earth could have happened so quickly (in the historical sense), so unexpectedly, to have knocked all need for a single morning dedicated to human beings expressing their inner foolishness, their complete inanity? Why, for a cherished tradition to just slide right off the human consciousness like that, there must have been something so traumatic, so damaging, so unnatural….

Here the author pauses, shakes her head and takes a moment to look around her. She scans the news, the daily horoscopes, and even the annals of various social media platforms. Her eyes widen in a sudden epiphanous moment. Her face undergoes a transformation of expression sliding right from avid curiosity to abject chagrin.

Never mind. I completely understand. There’s more than enough foolishness surrounding us at this moment in time that we will likely, henceforth, file the observance of April Fool’s Day under the heading of “quaint”. Carry on. Nothing to see here.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

 

Waiting...

 March 25, 2025

Today was that inevitable day that arises every now and then. I’m sure many of you have had days just like them. That day when you understand that your routine is for the most part going to be ignored.

I’m okay with that, at least in theory. Especially if I have sufficient advance notice, and this time I did.

This morning we left early for my yearly checkup with my cardiologist. He’s in London, Ontario, so there’s a bit of a drive involved. Fortunately, my daughter took care of that part of things.

It’s a busy day including a couple of tests, but since he’s based in a major hospital, there was no real running around involved. Plus, I had my handy scooter so navigating my way around the place wasn’t nearly as tiring as trying to do so with my walker or my cane.

Two and a half hours after entering the hospital, I was ready for daughter to pick me up. And since it was also lunch time, we headed off to a Chinese food buffet restaurant—one in a chain that we’re lucky enough to go two a couple times a year.

Needless to say, there will be no supper made in the Ashbury household tonight.

David didn’t go with us, and I know he enjoyed having the day to himself. And since there is always a variety frozen entrees available, he won’t go hungry. But he has notified us that maybe next time, he’ll come, too. He’s not overly fond of Chinese food, but they’ve usually got some roast beef and potatoes to tease his palate.

My schedules are important to me, it’s just the way I’m wired. I’ve come to the conclusion that they’re the main glue holding my day-to-day life together. Today, my first thing in the morning agenda held—it just happened today a couple hours earlier, beginning at five-thirty a.m.

Hard to believe that I used to begin each day a little in advance of that time. Ah, the working life. Can’t say that I miss it all that much.

The snow and ice are finally gone, at least for the moment. Now we’re waiting for the temperatures to rise a little so that we can get things tidied up outside. There’s the yard to be raked and readied for those April showers to stimulate the grass. One of our wooden garden boxes is about to collapse. I believe our son is going to construct a new one to replace it. It just remains for us to clean out the one that’s done. Which we will, once the temperatures rise a bit.

Then, of course, we are waiting with bated breath to see what will be done with our front walkway. In the aftermath of the infrastructure work, as you know, our walkway was destroyed. What we don't know yet is the extent of the damage to the bulbed flower beds that were on either side of it. That’s not something that’s of immediate concern. We’ll know the answer to that question sometime before fall and decide then on how many and what kind of bulbs to plant to replace the missing.

In the meantime, while the weather spends the days playing with the wet and the chilly, I’m looking forward to those first few glorious days of warm sun and fresh, fragrant air. Days when it’s easy to believe that anything is possible, and that everything is going to be just fine.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

 

Beware...

 March 18, 2026

I do wish Mother Nature would make up her mind. Now, there is a part of me that absolutely identifies with her behavior. The way she teased us all just a few short days ago, giving us that taste of pleasantly warm temperatures and intoxicatingly fresh air? Seducing us to step out onto the porch without a jacket, to remember how sweet this new season can be? Genius. Simply genius.

Our human hearts went pitter pat as we felt our “hooray, it’s springtime” vibes begin to quiver awake. And yes, our little minds, tired of dealing with real life in the big city and this wretched cold winter began to go off in every possible direction, coming up with all the spring-like activities we could indulge in now that it was Spring!

I can’t claim I actually heard MN cackle with glee when, the very next day, our temperatures plunged. But I could imagine it. I also imagined seeing her rub her gnarled old hands together as snow began to fall—just a little at first, so that me, the poor human being snowed upon made the quavering assertion that it surely would all go away any minute now…

Instead, we awoke the day after that to a snowfall that, while not the deepest of the year was certainly the deepest in weeks. A snowfall compounded by a bit of rain, a bit of drizzle, more snow, then rain again so that the outside looked like a damned skating rink.

Personally, I don’t think MN is deliberately taunting us. No, I’m beginning to suspect the old girl is completely demented.

A few years back I purchased, one for my husband and one for myself, a pair of those “wearable blankets” that were quite popular at the time. They are soft, somewhat heavy, and can be worn—though if you are wearing it, you’re not walking around doing anything. The style that I got for us opened at the back, with Velcro at the neck to secure it closed, after a fashion. The sleeves are generous, there is a front pocket similar to a hoodie, and on the inside at the bottom is a cozy extra, a “pocket” to slip your feet into.

We wore them often that first year, because it was the weather being extra chilly that prompted the purchase. Come the spring, we set them away. This garment truly is the size of a blanket, and where to store them became a subject of some thought. David put his on top of his dresser. I put mine—after rolling it and then tying it up—atop the tall, large six-shelved cabinet taking up space in my office.

The thing came down at the beginning of the next winter but then sat there through a couple more, simply because it never got quite cold enough to wear it.

But the winter of 2025-2026 has been different. I shamelessly took advantage of my grandson, one day back in November, and had him retrieve it for me. He’s a long drink of water, that one, and didn’t even need a ladder to reach it.

I’ve worn my blanket-thingy a fair bit this winter, and had been considering stowing it away again, until this latest cold snap arrived. I may or may not wear it later today. Yesterday, the outside temperature didn’t rise above 16 degrees Fahrenheit, with a “feels like” of minus 6. It’s less cold (NOT warmer) today at 28 with a feel like of “16”. That, friends, is pretty darn cold!

So, I won’t stow the thing quite yet. MN is demented, remember, and I don’t want to encourage another sub-zero temperature dip. Because I have been paying attention for the last ten-plus years and what I know is this:

That recent little display from MN was just another reminder that when it comes to dealing with the elderly in this lifetime, it’s best to never drop your guard. You might think you understand all the nuances and all the subtleties connected to their words and their actions but trust me.

When it comes to those of us who used above a certain number of birthday candles on our last cake, we can be slyer—and crazier—than you could ever even imagine.

Ignore that truth at your own peril.

 

Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com

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

The peace is within us...

 March 11, 2026

Rare are the moments of absolute silence. For those whose lives are busy, who are living days of constant balancing, trying to keep so many balls in the air at the same time, moments of pure silence can become their Holy Grail. Second best, if absolute silence is impossible, is a room wherein the only sound is a clock on the wall, ticking. Ah, yes.

I used to be that person. With three children under ten, with having animals about, always, and with trying to work at a day job and manage a home in the evening with equal efficiency, I can tell you there were times. Times when I would feel as if the next totally natural thing for me to do would be to pull out my hair, fists-full at a time.

Times when I would instead choose to slip out of the house, under the radar. I’d grab a coffee at the take-out window and then drive to some secluded spot—both within minutes of my house. There, I’d turn off my car, open the windows, and wait. It took a few moments for the engine of my car to stop its little ritual of ping-ping-pinging as it finished shutting down.

Head back, eyes closed, I’d take the time—never more than a few minutes were needed—to soak in the blessed silence, to find my center again. To breathe deeply and just be.

When those moments would come, those little times of escape, when I finally reached that point? Well, the irony was not lost on me, and I thought about that irony every single time.

Because way back in the beginning, when my first born was my only and we were newly returned to rural living, my escape came not through silence, but through music. Magnificent pieces of music which were never the same, as my heart and my soul have always had a lot of room for songs that touched me.

When we moved into my mother’s house, after her death, we had a lot of room. Bedrooms were upstairs but downstairs, in what would later, and after the next two children become our bedroom, was the den. The den contained a couple of comfy chairs to sit in, shelves of books to read, and our stereo system with a mountain of LPs.

A system that late at night would play Streisand or The Supremes or Neil Diamond or even a movie soundtrack—whichever flavor I craved in the moment, and always at glorious full blast.

Both husband and son back then slept like babes and never awakened—a reality I considered a gift from God. The blast of music took a bit longer to do its work than the later pounds of silence, but the music was it for the younger me. A half hour, minimum, and all would be well again.

So I have used both all-consuming music and total silence as healing balms during the course of my lifetime. Two extremes, bound together only by the use to which I put them.

Being more mature now, I no loner need the extremes. More and more I find that balance I need within myself. Moments of mindfulness, and moments of prayer have become the salve and the elixir when one is needed. And I’m pleased they’re needed less often than ever they were.

For me, absolute silence is no longer achievable. Actions always have consequences, you see, and music played at full blast has resulted in tinnitus being one of mine. But even that’s less than once it was, and I find it much easier these days, even with that constant buzz, to find contentment.

I’ve discovered, as I am sure most everyone does eventually, that contentment and peace are not commodities. They are states of being. They are not found in the world, they can never be found in the world, because that is not where they exist.

They live within us. They always have and forever will. And like just about every truly good thing in this life, having them are the result of a decision.

The world outside my office window reveals the change of seasons and thus the passage of time. But here, within my heart and within my soul, time slips away from the spotlight, and peace flourishes.

 

Love,
Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

Hang onto your sanity...

 March 4, 2026

I can finally report that most of the snow, and more importantly the ice that has been strewn about our yard is gone. Of course, we have a few of those usual places where shadows rule for most of the day. There small mounds remain, and if one didn’t see them in the corner, hovering, one would surely feel the cold they release into their immediate environs as one walks past them.

The forecast for the next week or so is promising spring-like temperatures. We will pick a time and put the cat into the basement (one of his favorite haunts) and close the door to keep him safely there for a little while. Once that has been accomplished, I plan to have both front and back door, as well as a few windows, open to the allure of what I hope will be sweet, fresh, spring air.

Our actual spring cleaning will have to wait another week, because daughter is working this weekend and trust me when I say that the kind of cleaning we need doesn’t happen without her.

I’m not completely useless when it comes to household chores, but it’s getting close. Last year I had a left arm strain that took a while to heal. Apparently, my right arm was jealous as I have been dealing with its version of the same injury for the last two and a half months. It’s getting better but still impedes the implementation of my activities list.

I’ve never been a person content to sit day after day and do nothing. I’ve had a few of those, however, during this latest little blip. I really don’t like it all that much. When it comes to the adjustments that one is forced to make as one ages, this has been the most difficult for me—and the most humbling.

 Fresh in my memory are the days when I would tackle my house like a zealot, cleaning, scouring, rearranging….well, you get the picture. I found great satisfaction in the doing, and the results. Even if in those days it was a numbers game with the odds stacked against me. The numbers? One human pro clean and tidy(me) vs. four others on the con side of the equation.

I used to joke that I could work like the dickens both Saturday and Sunday, then get up Monday and not be able to discern the hard work I’d done.

That’s not the case any longer of course. But now it takes me the lion’s share of the day to complete what I used to do in a few short hours.

Ah well, I can still cook, producing good meals and the inmates who live here with me make happy tummy sounds as they eat, so there’s that.

Here we are again, my friends, back to those words found in the book of Matthew about wars and rumors of wars. Over the course of the last two days, I have heard three separate explanations for actions taken in the middle east by three separate members of the same political administration. One claims it’s an offensive war that will only take a few weeks; one claims it’s a defensive war that may stretch a bit longer; and one says there is no war at all.

That’s a rather odd and disconcerting example of the saying, “something for everyone”.

In my corner of the world, I prefer to hold on to my sanity and my peace of mind with both hands. The Olympics are over, but certain other television shows are back, so there are diversions to be had. And since a couple of them involve music, well, that’s where I’ve chosen to place my focus.  I’m not ignoring reality. Trust me, I see what’s going on. I have just chosen to face this situation the same way as I’m facing my declining housekeeping abilities.

All I can do is all I can do and that just has to be enough. Anything else surely is the definition of madness, and I prefer to remain sane, thank you very much.

Because really, there are so damn few of us left around here anymore.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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