Summer adventures...

 July 8, 2026

I don’t often take the time to think back to the summer days of my childhood. Those glorious days of playing outside all day, not a television or cell phone in sight. I was seven, the last summer in the little house on the paved road (all the crossroads were gravel). The next year, we moved across the field into the “big house”, and yes, comparatively it was big. The little house had only two actual bedrooms (and a kitchen with an eating nook, a living room, and a bathroom). When my paternal grandmother moved in with us, she had one bedroom, and my brother used a make-shift space just big enough for a bed jammed into the front entrance of the house, in what we called the vestibule. While it was his room, of course, that front door wasn’t in use.

I can’t recall if we used that door much after my grandmother passed. I can tell you that it was my brother who took over her bedroom. And the other bedroom? Mom and Dad, my sister and I. I was moved out of my crib and into the three-quarter bed with my sister when I was five.

The big house had four bedrooms. Three upstairs, one for each of us kids, and the larger one downstairs for mom and dad.

A whole bed, a whole bedroom, to myself! That, my friends, was a very big deal. Outside our bedrooms was a common area, about eight-foot square that we dubbed the hallway. It held a bookcase, and a couple of chairs, had its own window, and of course the protective railing surrounding the stairs.

Our houses—both the small and the big—were situated in a rural area, not even a named community, within our township. There were, on our stretch of the paved road, eleven houses along about a mile of road, between the two concessions. Some of the houses had a tree of two in their yards, but most of the trees extended behind the houses and away from the road. The bushland hid a couple of old trash dumps and one small structure that might have been either a hen house or a rabbit hutch at one time. It didn’t carry any signs of past animal habitation. But there were neither glass nor signs of glass in or around the two small windows, and neither was there a door—just the three openings.

I recall at least one occasion when we sheltered there during a sudden cloud burst. The roof kept the rain off us. Walking farther away from the road through the trees and such, one eventually encountered a privately owned stone quarry. The same one where, some decade and a half later my husband would be employed for nearly forty years.

There were five or six of us kids who would trek around together and make our own fun, back in the day. We even tried our hand at building a fort out of twigs and small branches. Someone would bring a couple of towels, and so we would have a roof, of sorts. Just country kids out playing in the woods, yet close enough to home that we could hear our parents call “supper”.

Wintertime didn’t bring an end to outdoor fun. The land on the other side of the paved road, all during my early years, was marshy at best, and sometimes sported an actual, large pond. Skating fun was ours, and it was a learning curve to avoid those places where a few mostly dead yet stubborn weed stalks pushed out above the ice.

David and I spent our first year of married life in a large city. But I’d been a country kid all my life and didn’t feel well near the end of that year breathing in the industrial pollution. Mom still owned both houses. When her tenant left, she rented the little one to us. Then, a couple years later when she died unexpectedly from a heart attack (just thirteen years after my father died), David and I “swapped” houses with my sister so we could have the “big house”.

My kids’ version of being kids in the country was playing in the field between our house and my sister’s. And in the winter, since our marshy pond on the other side of the road was long gone, I would make an ice rink in that field. One year, especially, I got it in mind to build as good an ice rink as they would ever see. That year, they were still skating on it in early April.

All good memories, except of course for the loss of my parents.

Those days seem so very far away.

Our children didn’t get to repeat our free-roaming experiences. Each summer we would take them on a few picnics to the “lakes”—we had two conservation areas with man-made lakes not far from us, as well as both Lake Ontario and Lake Erie within an hour or two drive.

But they didn’t get to form their own memories of just heading out each morning and adventuring the way we did (David steered a similar path to mine in his youth).

The rhythm of life changed from the days of my youth to those of my children’s. Our lived experiences became a part of who we were, and who we grew up to be. As our children grew from their own summers.

I do wonder about today’s children. They don’t seem to get a whole lot of outdoor time. And I think they have more screen time than can possibly be good for them. As for making their own fun? I have the sense that’s something they’ve never had the chance to do.

And maybe it’s not as strange as I at first thought when I realized that I don’t envy the kids of today at all.

I pity them. And I worry, a little, about what their lack of daring and imagination will mean to them as adults.

More rhythm of life changes, and not necessarily in a good way.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

National birthdays...

 July 1, 2026

To all my friends and family north of the forty-ninth, Happy Canada Day! And for my American friends, whose holiday is this weekend, Happy Independence Day!

We celebrate our national birthday here in Canada on July 1st much the same way as y’all in the Untied States celebrate yours three days later, on July 4th. This year, Canada turns 159 years old. I’ll concede, since this year is America’s semiquincentennial, that the celebrations you’ll be having will be more robust than our own.

Here we have parades, large and small community parties, and food cooked on outdoor grills. There’s not as much beach activity up here on July 1^st as one might find in warmer climes on this day. But there are flags, and patriotism, and that wonderful and necessary sense of being a part of something bigger than oneself.

When I was a child, this day held another significant aspect for me. This was my brother’s birthday. My mother’s was on July 5th and we would often get together to celebrate both milestones at the same time. We made a point of this especially after my brother married and moved about thirty-five miles to the west. To the same small town that we also now call home and have for more than thirty years.

It was a wonderful kind of sentimental coincidence that the year after my mother passed away, our second child, our late son Anthony, was born on her birthday.

I can’t separate this day from thoughts of my brother. When I was much younger, this holiday was called Dominion Day. Then, we were officially known as the Dominion of Canada. We were and still are a member of the British Commonwealth of Nations. There was a huge parade in the large city close to us and my brother had me convinced that the parade was in his honour.

Canada dropped Dominion in 1982 when we repatriated our constitution from Great Britain.  

We here in the Ashbury household haven’t participated in any events this year, mainly because the weather is just too darn hot for any of us. David was invited by one of our grandsons to a small, nine-hole golf course. It was his first game of golf is several years. He came home happy if hot. A bit annoyed with himself at how much effort the game had involved. But pleased to have gone and to have spent son with his grandson.

For myself, I was the anxiety therapist for our two dogs, and a puppy bed for my two of my daughter’s dogs (daughter was at work). This duty I happily performed in air-conditioned comfort.

As I was putting the finishing touches on this essay, a thunderstorm approached. With the heat we’ve had the last few days, that’s no great surprise. The power flickered as the storm hit, and so I waited the weather out before completing my work.

So far this summer—well certainly since the tomato plants went in—we’ve had an abundance of rain. We’ve only had to water the veggie gardens a couple of times. I do recall, that a few years ago, we had another such summer. And all that rain resulted in the most lush and plentiful tomato harvest we had ever seen. That was in 2023.

I have my fingers crossed that we experience an encore of that miraculous outcome. There’s nothing more beautiful or tasty than a fat, juicy beefsteak tomato.

I have hope that the rain that is beginning to taper down to a nice steady patter will do us a favor and kill the humidity. But I know that doesn’t always happen.

My best wishes to you all, Canadians and Americans alike, for a safe and joyful national celebration. May it be a holiday to remember!

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

Patience...

 June 24, 2026

Welcome to Summer, 2026! The solstice is in our rearview mirrors, the longest day is behind us, and now we begin our long crawl back down from the summit of that mountain. I prefer the days with lots of sunlight to the days when darkness lasts until breakfast and then falls again before supper. But time has its own agenda, and really, the best we can do is enjoy what we can of each day as it comes.

This has certainly been the year for sports so far, hasn’t it? On thing I have noticed this year is that the fans of these various sporting events are the all-in sort. Humans crave to be a part of something bigger than themselves. It’s in our nature. But this year the fan frenzy has reached next level fever-pitch.

Dancing and screaming at the top of one’s lungs, giving one’s all in order to party hardy (or hearty), would be an excellent way to burn off any strong negative emotions smoldering under the rug, wouldn’t it?

We’ve had a great deal of rain over the last couple of weeks. Enough that there’s been no need to water the gardens. I’m not going to complain. I recall the summer of 2023. That, too, was a summer when little water was needed from the garden hose. And that was also the year of the bumper crops—green beans, yes, but the tomatoes! Oh, the tomatoes! Big, luscious and plentiful.

I’m salivating just thinking about the possibility of an encore to that summer. There’s a dish I like to make—stuffed tomato casserole—that begs for nice big Beefsteaks. I read several recipes then just came up with my own. It’s the one thing I really look forward to in the summer. And it was a dish I couldn’t make last year, because our crop didn’t cooperate.

My fingers are crossed for this year.

We now have sod in the area where our lawn was torn up for the water main work last year. Then, late last week, the equipment and the crews arrived, their goal to tear up the new road laid in the intersection—the corner to the south of our house. They’d done a really poor job laying asphalt in the fall, and by spring there was already the beginning of a pothole. So for the next little while, we are destined to listen to the sound of roadwork once more.

But not, apparently, today.

After this intersection has been completed, the concrete crew will return to fix the curb on our side of that intersection and then—Please, God—they will install a step or two so that I will finally be able to walk a straight line from the bottom of my porch to the road. When I spoke to the project manager at the end of May, he told me that I should see that crew by the end of June.

I remain hopeful.

It’s sometimes really difficult to let those close to me have their little rants about “they should do this or they should have done that”. Maybe they should. But they didn’t. I called, I discussed, and now I will wait and see. If I’m still left with the cliff from my lawn to the concrete pad they installed by the second week of July, I’ll call again.

I’m trying very hard to give patience a chance.

Even when it comes to the matter of my surgical recovery. Yes, today I am at the keyboard, composing this essay. Yes, I am using my right hand as well as my left. But I won’t work for very long. Soon, I will retreat to my recliner with my iPad. It’s an easy matter to use my foam whatever it’s called to rest the device upon. And I will swipe pages, as I read, with my left hand.

My right will just lay there and look pretty while, open to the air, my wound heals, little by little.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

 

An update...

 June 17, 2026

Good morning! It’s Wednesday—aka hump-day to the work-a-day world. And it is also time for my essay.

First, and briefly, I did see the surgeon who performed the carpal tunnel procedure on me last Thursday. He changed my bandage, gave me new and looked me dead in the eye. “You have to baby your hand!” And I have to see him again in three weeks time.

All right, then.

For the record, I’ve been trying to baby my hand, but patience has never been my strong suit.

When I told him that I had been wiggling my fingers, he said that was good. Now, I’d like you all to do a favor for me. Hold your right hand up. Wiggle the fingers of that hand. Kind of looks like typing/keying, doesn’t it? That’s what I thought!

Moving on.

I have been watching more daytime television in the last few weeks, which I don’t mind provided I can find something interesting to watch. I’ve stumbled on a home/design program that was filmed in Canada and shown on HGTV. Only 8 episodes, so I am parsing them out. Since I’m about to watch number 7, I decided to see if there was something else similar on that network. So I searched and I found another, and it has 10 episodes. So, I should be good for a while.

But on Sunday, the sound bar I had bought in 2019 decided to quit. I had bought it because our TV’s sound had gone a bit muzzy. We had purchased this television when our granddaughter, Emma was 7. She’s going to be 27 in September. When the sound bar died, I began searching online and found they had gone up in price, slightly. Daughter and I discussed the situation. And she asked me if I knew how much a brand-new TV similar in size to the one we have (55 inches) would cost. I had no idea. Our current, beloved one had set us back nearly three thousand dollars when we bought it. It had been one of the very first “smart” TVs and even had been three-D compatible! Now to its credit, this television is early 20 years old. But its sound wasn’t the only issue. The picture has not as sharp as once it was, lately, either.

Daughter took a moment to look up on her phone and showed me a new television, comparable in size—for under four hundred dollars. It made more sense to get a new television than a sound bar for about half the price of the new, when the appliance it would be used on was clearly nearing the end of its life.

Monday afternoon, she and David went out and bought the new one. Once home, they easily carried it inside, and it took her less than an hour to take out the old and set up the new.

She’s off this weekend and is going to “play around” with the color to get it the way we like it. A new television hadn’t been on my bingo card for this year. I’m just happy to have it, and to not had to have blown up the budget to do so. And, as with our last new one all those years ago, I can say with some authority that I won’t use many of the new and “smart” features on this one, either. I’m okay with that. I can do what I can do and watch what I want to watch, and that’s more than good enough for me.

The temperatures have dropped from the near-scorching highs of a week or so ago. I’m a happy medium sort of person. I like mild, warm weather, as long as I’m not gasping in the heat. And I like cool, as well, but don’t want to be conflicted as to the fate of my freshly brewed cup of coffee (i.e., do I drink it or do I simply hold it to warm my hands?)

Today I’m thinking that cup would make a good hand/finger warmer. But carefully, because, you know, still-healing incision here.

Our gardens are doing well. We have two of the large box gardens filled with green beans, and the other two with various varieties of tomatoes. As well, daughter managed to get her hands on a few very large pots. We have two holding zucchini, and two holding beets. David used a large tub to plant some potatoes in, and the only other veggie we have, also in separate pots, are Spanish onions.

I decided to ask Google what sort of summer was in store for us, here in my neck of the woods. The answer was warmer that normal, but with periodic episodes of cool, with an unpredictable amount of rain thrown in. I wasn’t fooled. I can translate “damned if I know” from several different sources.

Enjoy the great days and be patient with the not so great.  That’s what I plan to do. Or at least, I’ll try to.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

 

Reporting in...

 June 10, 2026

Did you miss me?

It’s funny the way we human beings get toddling along our life’s path, confident in our sense of ourselves, and where we’re headed. Just be-bopping along to the rhythm of our own drummers. Then, one day, when you least expect it…wham!

Yup, I had a wham.

When last we met, which was my essay of May 27^th, I announced my carpal tunnel surgery scheduled for the 3^rd of June.  What I had failed to mention is what had been happening in the week or so prior to that last essay. That was a failure on my part. I’ve promised, since the beginning of Wednesday’s Words, to be fully transparent with you, and in the last month I haven’t been. I sincerely apologize. I’m going to fix that now.

I suffer from dentophobia. It stems back to my childhood and a monster masquerading as a dentist to whom I was subjected. That was in the bad old days before the ubiquitous “they” realized that children were not just miniature adults. Lack of adequate freezing and just generally lack of adequate care, and I became a quivering gelatinous mess when it came time to go to the dentist. This became a deep-seated phobia which I could not overcome on my own. It took a lot of maturing on my part, and sincere prayers to begin to do that.

I began not going to the dentist regularly, which wasn’t good, either. To my credit, my children never knew I was this way and so they thought nothing of going to the dentist through their childhood.

So here I am in my 70s. I wear a top denture, gained when I needed my upper teeth removed in my early 40s after root canal procedures resulted with teeth breaking. Then, over time and one by one, I lost some of my lower teeth. I knew I was going to have to face getting the rest of them pulled and perhaps getting a bottom denture. I lost one in 2023 (with a new dentist but one who had won my trust) and then another one the first week of April this year, same dentist.

I had made a plan to get the rest taken care of and was working on my mental preparations to do just that. I’d been thinking September, after my carpal tunnel surgery.

I awoke on Tuesday, May 19^th with the most stunning, electric, and horrific pain in my mouth that I had ever experienced. No medications touched it. Sensodyne rapid relief tooth paste took the slightest edge off for a few minutes. So early the next day—Wednesday the 20^th—I called and got an emergency appointment to have another tooth extracted just after noon hour.

When I arrived, the dentist I trusted said he couldn’t tell for certain which of the three teeth on the left was causing the pain, as none of them were very good. So, with my agreement, he took all three.

The pain eased, of course, with the freezing. And then it was back the next day, Thursday. The Dentist had told me that if pain persisted to Monday, to call him. It did and I did.

He saw me Monday and told me I had a dry socket! He packed in something that was supposed to take that pain away and last for 24 to 48 hours. Whatever he gave me lasted exactly four hours.

It has improved slowly since then. By yesterday the pain was down to intermittent twinges. But for almost a week it was nearly unbearable. I have faith that the worst is over.

And now I have a wounded paw, as I did have my carpal tunnel surgery on June 3^rd , painful mouth and all. The hand hurt only the first day after surgery. Now, there’s no real pain in my hand at all. But I can’t yet use it for more than the simplest of tasks. For example, scratching my nose or assisting my other hand in putting on my glasses.

My husband noted that I have had one hell of a rough few weeks, and he’s right. Since my hand surgery I have been doing little more than resting. Tomorrow, I go back to the surgeon for my follow-up appointment.

Since it’s my right (dominant) hand that is in recovery, David helped me make temporary changes to the living room seating. We have a sofa with a recliner on either end. He has a table on his left, and I have one on my right. Between us lays a simple cushion that the dogs usually use. But the seat back of that middle cushion does fold down, to provide a flat surface on my left side with a couple of cup holders which I have been using, because I cannot yet pick up my water or my coffee cup with my right hand.

The dogs now use his (un-extended) recliner, and he has moved temporarily to the only other chair in the room, an electric powered chair that not only reclines, but will stand you up, too, if need be.

Daughter has been doing all cooking since the pain exploded, and husband has been taking good care of me, and all that is wonderful, but strange. I’m not fond of doing nothing. However, after everything I’ve experienced over the last almost-month, I’m allowing myself this do-nothing period, because I worry about doing something stupid and complicating my recovery.

There is one good thing—well, other than the excellent care with which my family has been treating me, and it’s this: I’m beginning to suspect that the reason that I didn’t particularly remember my last round of carpal tunnel surgery (on both hands, a couple weeks apart). It was probably too stressful and traumatic for me to remember.

I’m on the mend. And yes, I am very much aware how fortunate I am, that really all I’ve suffered is pain and inconvenience—though that tooth pain was excruciating. At my age, with that and my arthritis—well that’s not really much at all. So many others have it far worse.

Certainly, what I’ve been dealing with is nowhere near enough to cause me to stop being grateful for my blessings, every single moment of every single day.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

As May wanes...

 May 27, 2026

I hope my American friends were able to have a meaningful day earlier this week on Memorial Day. I was watching the weather reports, and it sure didn’t look that great over a lot of the country. I understand the day is one of somber commemoration. A time to remember and to pay respects to those who gave their lives in the defense of freedom.  But it’s also the day y’all cite as the first day of your summer season. Such a day features parades and other outdoor activities like picnics. I guess it’s no surprise but a definite disappointment when weather challenges the agenda.

I don’t know why lately y’all just can’t catch a break with the weather. At least that’s how it seems to me as I watch the news at night. I’m sure it’s even more frustrating for those of you who have to endure it.

This past Monday here wasn’t a holiday, but it was her regular day off work for our daughter. Therefore, it was also the day she went out and got the soil and the plants and the seeds she wanted. She spent so much time getting things she didn’t have a lot of time left to plant. But she got it finished by sundown yesterday.

It’s nice to look out into our backyard and see those boxes filled with soil and plants. We lost one of our four boxes at the end of last year’s growing season to the ravages of time and the predictable result of weather on wood. But then for an early Father’s Day gift, our son brought us a brand-new table garden to replace that one—a table garden he built himself for his dad.

Our walnut tree at the front of our house finally has leaves! Real, actual leaves instead of buds. They haven’t reached full size yet, but that will happen soon. I kind of consider that tree a no-nonsense plant. It has a purpose, and that purpose is growing walnuts. Come spring, it sprouts, grows leaves, and gets working on those walnuts. And the moment those little round bombs form amidst the branches? Those beautiful green leaves begin to turn yellow and fall off, one by one. That tree begins shedding leaves in August, little yellow slick when wet droppings that need to be raked or, when dry, blown. And it continues on until every last leaf is down, sometime in early October.

Next Wednesday, I am going to begin a six-to-eight-week slowdown. I’ll be having carpal tunnel surgery on my right hand.

Now, I did have this procedure once before, many years ago. Color me surprised when I discovered I could use my hands sufficiently to have to undergo it again. Last time it was both hands that needed the procedure. Thankfully this time it’s just the one. The downside is that one hand is my dominant hand.

All sorts of things I won’t be able to do during that recovery period I was quoted, but the chief one is typing. Well, typing with two hands.

There’s no question that I will definitely be out of commission next Wednesday. But the following Wednesday, I should be able to an essay—hunting and pecking with the fingers of my left hand.

It will definitely take a while, but I figure after a week of not doing much of anything, I’ll be raring to go. At least, that’s my plan.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

http://bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury

Spring...

 May 20, 2026

It’s definitely spring. And not only is it spring, it is a spring with delusions of summer!

The last few days here were very hot and humid. Looking at the sky, it was easy to imagine that there would be a thunderstorm or two before too long.

What wasn’t easy to imagine? That my cell phone would go off with an emergency alert 10 times yesterday between about 4:30 and 6:30.

Usually that two-toned strident alarm, rare as it has been, is the announcement of an amber alert.

Yesterday, it was a weather alert of tornado warnings for our “mobile coverage area”. Our coverage area is a significant chunk of southern Ontario, so I wasn’t overly worried. But I took the warning seriously. I know of too many people who have paid too high a price when tornadoes appeared near them, not to.

A visit to the “maps” section of the Weather Network gave me an idea of what the situation was now and would be in the next few hours. Sure enough, a long line of active weather, stretching north and south of us, was heading, west to east, and would be over us before long. I activated the map “forward” feature and watched the forecasted progression. We would be in the active zone for the next two and a half hours.

A few minutes later, my daughter came downstairs and announced her intention to sit on the front porch and watch the storm. Our porch is now and has always been covered by a roof, but it is also open. It’s a covered space, not an enclosed one. As long as the winds don’t get too strong blowing from the north, south or east, we’re protected. But this weather was coming from the west, and our house quite literally had our backs.

I can’t tell you how many times through the years our family has done this very thing. It’s a tradition, of sorts, that goes back to our first days in this house when our children were 17, 12, and 11.

We’re all very lucky that storms have never frightened us. Mostly, we’ve appreciated the rain—especially if, like last night, the arrival of the downpour also gutted the humidity.

It was like old times, the two of us out there as the rain came down, hard and fast. The winds had died off a bit, and we enjoyed watching the lawns get watered, and drivers in their cars, few but brave, slow down as the drivers headed home.

It gave us a chance to see how the new sewer openings worked, and I am not at all certain that we could give them a passing grade.

Eventually, the winds shifted just enough that we began to be misted. Not long after that, we decided that inside was a better option.  

Fortunately, there were no tornadoes spotted in our area. This morning dawned, warm but not particularly hot, and that was a blessing.

This past weekend was Victoria Day weekend here in Canada. The holiday itself was observed on Monday, ensuring that most people enjoyed a long weekend. It used to be the weekend for fireworks; but those big, beautiful, pyrotechnic displays are now mostly enjoyed on Canada Day. So, if you’re visiting Canada on July 1^st, which this year will be on a Wednesday, you can look forward to a little something extra while on vacation.

The Victoria Day weekend is also considered planting weekend—unless, like this year, it comes earlier than normal (it’s the Monday before May 24^th). Most folks planting home gardens will be doing so next weekend. We’re looking forward, here in the Ashbury household, to being among them.

This year, with our enthusiastic encouragement, daughter will he head gardener. I just know it’s all going to go splendidly.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

 

My most priceless treasure...

 May 13, 2026

I hope that those of you who are mothers had a wonderful Mother’s Day on Sunday. I’m very much like my own mother, when it comes to this annual celebration. Like her, I don’t really care if I receive any gifts or not. As long as I hear from my family, I’m good.

This year, as most years, I did hear from them all. That’s easy for our daughter as she does live here with us. So, she took it a step further and arranged for her son to visit so that together they could do the jobs that have been nagging at me—and that I can no longer accomplish all on my own. And which, truth be told, she can’t either. She needed some serious muscle.

I love a good spring cleaning, and this past weekend saw the drapes and carpet in my living room totally refreshed. Window opened, overhead fan on to circulate the lovely spring-like air, I was a happy woman.

Then on Monday the girls bought and then prepared dinner—grilled steak, garlic shrimp, roasted potatoes. I had a green salad with my own home-made dressing. Usually, I’m the only one who indulges in this, but my second daughter opted to have some as well. She really liked my dressing, and I promised I would make some up for her.

It’s a simple combination of olive oil, honey, apple cider vinegar and “salad herbs”. I make it at least a few hours before I’m going to eat it so that everything can blend properly.

And as one might expect on Mother’s Day there were flowers. I do love the flowers I get—hanging baskets from each of my grown children. My porch is once more properly adorned, a place of beauty and greenery—along with my wonderful wind chimes—to make an appealing place for a brief respite.

I used to spend a lot of time outside but have curtailed that practice over the last few years in deference to my arthritis. But I hate not going outside, so I’ve decided that I really don’t care if I look silly on the porch with a blanket over my legs in spring or summer. And a sweater over my shoulders which also tend to ache lately, too.

We had our Mother’s Day feast on Monday so that both girls could be there. They’re both busy with sometimes competing schedules. Moving a celebration is an accommodation that is easy to make, in order that we can all be together.

The very best gift that my family can give me, the one I cherish over everything else is, of course, the gift of themselves, and their time spent with me.

Nothing makes me happier than when I am surrounded by my loved ones. Because when they are here, they are not single beings in one place at one time. They have with them a flavor of every memory we’ve made together. I see them as they are, and as they were. Good times shared are never farther away than those memories.

Those memories—mine and their own—form the story of us. And that story is filled with all that we are, have been, and will be. It is a priceless, priceless treasure.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

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

 

 

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