Imagination...

 May 6, 2026

The sun is shining intermittently through the clouds and the birds are singing. The dampness of yesterday is hovering in the wings, like an understudy who prays the lead will stumble and fall. And swirling around and above and through everything is the sound of an earth-moving machine grunting and groaning, shifting and shoveling, as the work begins on the piece of construction that shall be created for yours truly to have full and unfettered access to the road from her house.

Of course, I have decided to be grateful for whatever the end result turns out to be, because I do know what was there, however temporarily. This, whatever we end up with, will be better.

The gentlemen at work in front of my house are not landscapers. They are a construction company. This is a difference that my husband had a bit of difficulty grasping earlier today. Fortunately, after the requisite amount of steam was released from his soul, we were able to set him to rights. First the concrete work, and then the landscaping.

I reminded him that the properties up and down the cross street to our north looked rough and tumble after their road construction – before the landscapers came and did quite a lovely finishing job of it all.

The challenges of getting older are not confined to one subdivision of the human experience.

I haven’t mentioned to him, but will, if necessary, that worse come to worse and he doesn’t like the end result? We have grandsons for that very purpose.

It’s springtime here in Southern Ontario. The neighborhood trees are beginning to leaf. Our walnut tree, of course, will be the last to provide its shade. In that trait it reminds me of that amazing weeping willow we had when I was a child. The last to get its leaves, and the first to lose them.

I miss my willow. That tree was impossibly high and incredibly magical to seven-year-old me. A very mature tree, its branches provided twigs that grew up and out and then down, creating the perfect childhood sanctuary where my imagination soared. Umbrella like in structure, it would keep the soft mists of a light rain from spoiling my play. I practically lived under that tree from spring until late autumn. When those protective twigs grew so that they lay on the grass, as they did every year, it was my job to trim them. I used the long-handled shears and trimmed them just enough. My first priority of course was protecting the sanctuary atmosphere of that, my most personal space.

But it wasn’t just the pocket of shade and the privacy provided by my green “screen” that I loved. One could sit on the grass, back to the trunk, and lounge within the luxury of a long-armed divan as sturdy roots on either side of me invited me to drape my arms over them. That natural nook had, I was convinced at the time, been created just for me.

One substantial and accommodating branch shot straight out from the trunk, several feet above my head, at a level ninety-degree angle from the ground, the perfect host for my own private swing. Made of strong rope and a cut and drilled and sanded four-inch-thick plank, I could swing to my heart’s content.

I was never lonely under my tree. My imagination furnished me with endless imaginary friends and wonderful adventures. I understand now that all of my play at that time was aimed at honing myt imagination.

I’m certain that if my parents were alive when it happened, they would not have been surprised in the least that I became a published author. My mother would have said I got the talent from my father.

She would have been right.

I am certainly learning how to be comfortable in my new office chair. I have it working to my best advantage, too.

For example, I don’t always need it raised up. Having it up is best for writing, and for whatever not-so-rare but still precious moments I may indulge in a game or three. All in the interest of keeping my mental faculties sharp, of course. Wordle and acrostics keep the noodle prime.

But if I’m going to watch videos, or podcasts, or just indulge in research, then I lower the seat. Lowered, I can more easily relax as I don’t have to be concerned with keeping my wheel-bearing chair, sitting on a somewhat sloping floor, from rolling away from my keyboard.

The ability to adapt is a valuable skill to have, don’t you think?

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

Not everyone is logical....

 April 29, 2026

One week later and I can report that our outing of last Wednesday was a success! New chair and new shoes have been acquired. And David chose to have lunch at a British-style pub restaurant that serves Guiness, and Stella (neither of which he would be interested in, as he is a recovering alcoholic and has been sober for more than forty years. I, on the other hand will have a Stella on occasion, but only if I am absent pain meds in my system and not driving. Yes, a rare thing indeed, but as usual, I digress.) This pub-restaurant also serves traditional British Pub Fare and have the best fish and chips!

Our first stop, of course, was the store that held the second-largest collection of office chairs available to us.

They were also the friendliest to our budget—but rest assured. That didn’t prevent met from overshooting the figure I’d envisioned as my goal in the end.

To be fair to myself, while the selection of chairs was large, there was a limiting factor I had never once considered. And that factor was the depth of the chair’s seat.

I am short. Shorter now than I was even ten years ago. In my prime I was 5’1”. I am now 4/9”.  Yes, my arms are also short. My daughter keeps threatening to buy me that T-shirt featuring a T-Rex, with the caption: If you’re happy and you know it clap your….oh.

I had compensated for this in the last chair I’d been using before my new one arrived on Saturday; the old chair wore a lumbar cushion, which took a good three inches of chair bottom.

Most of the chairs I tried out last Wednesday require me to boost myself further into the chair so that my butt would meet the angle created by the meeting of chair bottom and back. This left me feeling uncomfortable in that my feet did not reach the ground.

This is not a problem in and of itself; I do have an adjustable footrest, have had one for years, and have found it very handy for those moments when my arthritic knees are in need of relief.

A couple of the chairs I tried out last Wednesday had such deep seats that not even a footrest would help, as my knees were actually on the seat!

So there were a smaller number of chairs that would qualify right from the get-go for me. I was partial to those that had the lumbar cushion already built in. I didn’t want a seat that would let me sink; I needed a chair to support me over hours while I write, not encourage me to take a nap. In the end the one I chose also had a heater/massager function. Not something I considered or looked for, but a bonus, I suppose.

I’ll let you know after the first time I use it on purpose, as opposed to using it to ensure I knew how to and that it worked.

David tried the first chair he saw, one on sale, and he loved it. He closed his eyes in bliss, made happy-body sounds and I said, “Well, that was fast. Sold.” He immediately stood up and channeled his late father and said, “I’m not buying the first one I see!”

So I gestured toward the veritable sea of chairs, inviting him to have at it.

It took a while to get someone to assist us; I don’t want to be waited unnecessarily, but I wanted to find what I needed as quickly as is reasonable, and to do that I first needed the assistance of someone who, hopefully, knew their stock.

The young man who came over didn’t (know his stock) but he was willing to check for whatever, and so I was grateful for his assistance.

I like to consider myself a logical person. I had reasoned in preparation for this excursion that since the population of our area consisted of a high percentage of older folks, I would have no problem having the staff of this store assemble and then deliver our new chairs. I had even factored that sum I would inevitably pay into my budget.

Do you know that not every establishment has logical rules?

They, that is the corporate entity known henceforth as the store, could assemble the chairs, for a fee. They could deliver the chairs for a fee. They just simply could not do both—not no how, not no way.

David’s father once more took over his mouth with a demand to speak to the manager, but I was the more reasonable of us and got him to hush. I do understand that the solution to the problem is beyond the pay grade of anyone at the store level.

We finally agreed to have them assemble our chairs—and when they were ready, our grandson would bring his grandfather back to the store in his pick-up truck to collect the chairs.

And in case you were wondering, David did indeed end up buying the first chair he’d seen. And I was kind, and didn’t bother to mention that, unlike his late father, he almost always does.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

Shopping!

 April 22, 2026

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and yes, there are even little green buds on some of the trees! I know for fact that some of our spring bulbs have survived the terror that was infrastructure work last year. There are a few green shoots poking up, and even one daffodil a blooming!

I do believe the evidence is laying heavily on the side of it finally and truly being spring…but I am not going to ask David to remove the ice claw from my cane. Not just yet.

I did have him take it off once already, you see, near the end of March, or was it beginning of April? Irrelevant. What is relevant? He took it off in the morning and then had to put it on again in the late afternoon.

So, yeah, waiting a little while yet on that one.

Today is also the day when I plan to head out and buy myself a new office chair. The one I am sitting in is my old chair – as opposed to my “new chair” which I purchased in 2012. The new chair was one of the first ergonomic, mesh seat-and-back chairs on the market and it was pricey. It felt good for the first year, except in the winter.

My office being what it is heat-wise, I soon discovered that I had to have a layer of cloth of some sort between my body and the mesh, because without that I simply couldn’t get warm.

And, I have to admit that the manual controls on that thing were so complicated that I never really did get a handle on them. But I kept using it until I could no longer raise the level of the seat. Then I went back to my old chair for a while, because it was higher sitting than my mesh chair. But I kept the mesh chair for any guests I might have in my office to sit on.

The day has come, however, to say goodbye to both of them. Well, I probably won’t actually say goodbye today, because I’m not sure on when delivery might take place. But my heart has come to terms with the reality that I need new in this office of mine—not just my main chair but my “guest chair” as well, as I have it situated in such a way that I can sit on it and either face my electric fireplace, or the open door of a large file cabinet that serves as a narrow but absolutely useable table-top. The guest chair will not be as special as main chair. I don’t have to be ridiculous.

Office chair shopping is not the only kind of shopping I’ll be doing today. I’m going to go shoe shopping, too!

Yes, it’s time. I need a new pair of shoes, and I have a specific brand in mind. And in case you were anticipating a true shoe shopping extravaganza…no. I’ll be purchasing only one pair of shoes for myself. I’ve got my eye on those Sketchers slip-ons. My current pair of shoes—the shoes I wear outside when it’s not winter—are also Sketchers. I bought them online in early 2020, and they have served me well. But it has been almost six full years, and I really do need a new pair.

Not long ago I would make the most of my time, if I was headed out to go “shopping”. I would have lists and several stops planned. But alas, my stamina isn’t what it once was. Therefore, the plan currently is if there’s energy left after the chairs and the shoes, then it will be lunch out—a rare occasion, indeed.

Of course I will not be shopping alone. David will be accompanying me on this excursion. He, too, has need of both office chair and new shoes. And while he would, on his own, stop at one store where he could get both for an attractively nominal price, he is making the sacrifice of biting that frugality bullet and accompanying me to where, trust me, the prices will not be nominal.

The lunch out will be his just and well-earned reward, because eating out is his favorite “out” thing to do. And yes, dear reader, I will be sure to let him know that I greatly appreciate his sacrifice.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

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

 

Choose wisely.

 February 25, 2026

The snow had melted just enough to get a bit wet and sloppy, and then froze solid once more. The bottom of the stairs from our porch to the front yard is encased in thick ice. I just checked and according to the weather network, our temperature is above freezing, but “feels like” 23 degrees Fahrenheit—which is, of course, below freezing.

Apparently, the out-of-doors area our house is sitting in agrees with that “feels like” assessment as I see no signs of melting or dripping so far. This is the first “traditional” type of winter we’ve had for a long time.

On behalf of us all, I would like to thank Mother Nature for this amazing reminder of just what it is she has spared us from for the last few years. And I would, respectfully, of course, request that she allow that early spring that our two Canadian groundhogs predicted to now come forth.

The Winter Olympics of Milano-Cortina have been consigned to the record books but remain a good memory. For me, it’s not just about the medals earned—although I do take a kind of patriotic pride in the achievement of all of our Canadian teams. They did well and are to a one excellent examples of Canadian can-do spirit.

If it was just all about the hardware one would doubt the event would even take place. These games just completed hosted nearly three thousand athletes—and bestowed but 348 medals (349 if you count the honorary one given the dog who triggered the camera at the Nordic event). Those are some very long odds. If chasing a medal was the point, who would bother?

The point is the humanity. The point is the achievement. The dreaming, the striving. The thousand random acts of kindness and the myriad examples of heroism.  The point is giving it your all and not quitting even knowing you might not win.

We humans are by nature an adventurous lot. We never would have come out of the caves, otherwise. We want to see what’s over the next horizon. We want to know, could I do that? So we try, and when we succeed, we wonder, what else could I do if I just tried?

We were not created to live in caves—nor in isolation. We’re social beings, yearning to have a dream, chase a dream, and make that dream come true.

The best of times, as with the worst of times, never come to stay. They come to pass. Now it’s time to turn our sights fully back onto our own lives, our own paths. Some of us are refreshed, and yes, some of us are resigned. That’s one of the choices right now, isn’t it?

We’re surrounded by hundreds of choices each day, and some are more consequential than others. We don’t even understand, not fully, how special it is for us to be able to see the difference in the degree of choosing we do. Do I have oat cereal or corn cereal for breakfast? Do I wear this outfit or that one to work? Do I hit the drive-thru for a coffee along the way, or take one from home and practice a bit of frugality?

Do I let hate into my life and into my heart, or do I draw a hard line and keep it out?

For those who think that hate is just another thing we do, another random choice we make, I would point you toward the games just past and beg to differ. We saw not only grit and determination on our television screens night after night. We saw hands extended in friendship; we saw diversity, equity and inclusion at its finest. We saw that despite some differences there was more than bound us than that which divided us.

Hate is a choking vine, a crippling weight. Hate takes all the oxygen in the room and demands more. Hate forges shackles of iron around our hearts and our souls so that all we can do, in the end, is feed it.

Spring truly will be here before we know it. It’s time for us to decide what kind of world we want to live in. That sounds like a hard decision but it’s not. Because, you see, just as it is physically impossible for the human body to produce laughter and ulcers at the same time, it can’t grow hate and love simultaneously. 

This is a choice that each of us needs to make, and I believe it’s the most important choice any of us will ever make.

I know where I stand on this: I’ve chosen love. And I hope you do, too.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

It's not isolation....

 February 18, 2026

For the moment at least, and knock on wood, it would appear that our visit to the time of ice age-like temperatures has come to an end. As I take a moment to peer out my window, I see that clouds abound and it’s raining. No ordinary rain, that. It’s a freezing rain. The only thing you should be doing during a freezing rain is to shelter in place, and hope that place has warmth, coffee, and maybe a blankety to snuggle under.

I’m optimistic today because the winter of 25-26 is coming to a close. You’ll recall that I consider each winter to last from October to March, inclusive. Six months. We are drawing close to the end of month number five.

Anticipation awakens.

If anyone is interested, I was last out of my house (as in leaving the property and going somewhere—anywhere) on January 12^th. I had thought that if I ever ended up with more than thirty days in a row at home, I might be in danger of going stir-crazy. But I’m not, particularly, and I don’t know what to think about that.

It’s not like I’m living in isolation. Of course, I’m not. I have a lot of interaction with people who are not here in this physical space with me, as well as plenty with those who are. We’ve been purchasing and receiving supplies when needed, and we’ve a custom, lately, of ordering in Friday supper every two weeks.

There have been new and exciting things to watch on the television especially over the last week or so – I really am enjoying the Olympics. And there’s more than enough crazy happening outside to make me happy to stay home where, if there is crazy, it’s generally familiar crazy and I mostly can control it.

There is a certain level of inner peace to be had when one has no “social calendar” to follow.

I don’t tend to get bored. I’ve long ago given up on the idea that anyone or anything has responsibility over keeping my mind engaged. That’s my job and I do it quite well. Those things that I used to enjoy doing while out and about don’t hold appeal for me in the way they once did. This means, of course, that I don’t miss them.

But best of all, I have no interest in or desire to seek instant gratification. I am content to just relax and let things evolve as they will. I long ago discovered that if I had to depend upon others to have my needs or my wants met, I was going to be doing more than just bit of waiting. And waiting as a singular activity for its own sake truly is just a waste of time.

I can’t control the actions of others; I can only control how I react to those actions.

I think there was a short period of time in my younger years when I possessed a short temper. I can’t recall the details—a blessing, that—but I suspect it was related to some challenge we were facing. A short temper is not something that has ever been a major problem for me. In fact, I’ve had it pointed out to me by various friends and family members that they would have “blown their stacks” if they’d had to deal with some of the things that have crossed my path over the years.

I never really knew how to answer comments like that, then. Now I can say that anger has for the most part never been my first response. Hurt (as in hurt feelings) holds that position. It really is how I’m wired.

My 71^st title with my publisher has been out for a couple of weeks now, and I’m nearly ready to begin my 72^nd. This time I’m letting my process have its due course. I’m hoping my active choice to be patient will turn out to be the best decision ever.

Please wish me luck with that.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

The games have begun...

 February 11, 2026

The Winter Olympics have begun!

Now, you wouldn’t necessarily think that anyone in this household would have any joy at the prospect of seeing winter sports played on the world stage and shown on our television. We don’t care for winter, not one bit. We abhor the cold, the ice, and the never-ending struggle to stay warm. We cheer when Ground Hog Day finally arrives and pray for an early spring. All this is true and I will never deny it.

 But what also is true is that we enjoy watching more sports of the Winter Olympics than we do of the summer games.

The ski jumping, the snowboarding, especially the aerials, and the moguls hold endless fascination for both David and me. We’ve never truly aspired to be performers of any of those truly mind-boggling feats. But we are happy to bear witness, to cheer in support of successfully executed derring-do, or groan in commiseration of a wipe-out, as the case may be. Some of the tricks these amazing athletes pull are simply un-fricking-believable.

We’ve always enjoyed watching figure skating events. Now, here I must confess that from the nineteen-nineties to the early-aughts we were traumatized by the spills we witnessed on Olympic figure skating ice. You know you’re on shaky emotional ground when your field of vision is obscured by the splayed-fingers-in-the-fear-of-imminent-disaster. In the years post Albertville and Lillehammer, Salt Lake City and Turin, we drifted away some from watching those events.

And of course, while the fortunes of our own Canadian teams have always been nearest and dearest to our hearts, whatever the discipline, we are eager to watch and cheer greatness and grit regardless of the nationality of any performer with heart and/or talent.

The phrase “Jamaican bobsled team” still brings a smile to my face.

In fact, I think those gentlemen should be celebrated as the kings of the spirit of the Olympics. They had no hope in hell of ever winning, or even medaling, but they gave it their all, regardless.

We watch news casts each night that we’ve taped—mainly because we’re not ready to watch when they are actually airing. And then, because the winter Olympics have indeed begun, we turn to a Canadian network where we can be assured of discovering the results for most of the events of the day, regardless of the nationality of the medal winners.

In 1998, at the Nagano games, was the first year that curling became a medal event. And we discovered that sport as we sat and watched our Canadian Women’s team, skipped by the late Sandra Schmirler, play excellent ends on their march toward the gold medal. We’d never actually watched curling before, but we were hooked before that first game ended. Now it’s a must-see event for us—even in non-Olympic years.

We have nearly two weeks left to enjoy this wonderful change of pace programming each evening. The competition is fierce, especially from those who are not athletes nor, at this time, the focus of the world’s attention. Not an unexpected bit of noise amid the true-life drama of honest athletic competition. That’s all right. I’m a mother, a grandmother and a great-grandmother.

I know how to handle the tantrums/distractions of jealous toddlers.

And I am getting better, day by day, at living in the moment. I celebrate this moment, this day, for the joy, and for the heart and determination that is on display, the show itself a truly international achievement.

I’m reminded of the time back in 2000, I think it was when my eldest grandson was eight. His family visited during the Olympics, and I asked him if he’d seen one of our Canadian gymnasts performing in particular event I knew to be one of his favorites. He sighed and said, “yes, but he only came in fourth.” He made the word “fourth” sound like the most disappointing substance, ever.

I waited until he was looking at me, and I gave him another perspective. I said, “Wow, out of all the boys or men in the world who are gymnasts, he came in fourth! The fourth best in the world! That’s great!”

I recall that at the time, he went with it and immediately seemed to feel happier than he had. I have no idea if any of that change in perspective stayed with him, but I like to think that down deep, it has.

So, let the games continue—and let us all continue to keep hope alive!

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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