Keep the Coffee Comimg

Last night the animals did it to me again, and I know you won’t be surprised that it was mostly Nala. Both dogs went out around 2:30, just before my bedtime. I waited. I didn’t see either dog so I called. Henry came, and I let him inside. Nala was among the missing. I called, no Nala and Henry sneaked out again. I lured him in with a treat and blocked the door. I called again, still no Nala which made me suspicious, but I decided to leave the back light on and the door open and go to bed as Nala comes inside when she wants. I went to bed and read. After a bit, I decided to check for Nala one more time. I went back downstairs, grabbed a flashlight and went outside. I shined the light. There she was, Nala, with something furry in her mouth, just what I had suspected. I don’t know what it was as she quickly ran off with it still in her mouth. I went back to bed. She jumped on the bed later without her treasure. It was 3:30.

The morning is perfectly lovely, sunny and warm. It is 67°. I went out on the deck to enjoy the sun for a bit, and, of course, something had to happen. I couldn’t get in the back door. It had locked behind me. Having had the same thing happen before, I had left the inside front door open just in case.

In Bolgatanga, Ghana this time of year, the dry season is underway. Fires have cleared the fields of the millet and corn stalks. The roads have turned to dust. Mammy lorries are trailed by clouds of dust like the wagon trains riding across the prairie in an old cowboy movie. The days are getting hotter while the nights are chilly in comparison. I snuggled under a scratchy wool blanket which I still have. The blanket is off white with black lines and black designs in panels. I loved feeling cold. I hated the heat of the day. Its only saving grace was the heat was dry. I remember sitting on a chair in my living room reading in the afternoon. When I’d get up, my body was outlined in sweat on the chair cushions. My lips and my heels cracked. My cold shower was welcomed.

My house is mostly quiet. Both dogs are napping. The only thing I hear is one of my bobble heads moving back and forth from the kitchen in the sun. I think it is Snoopy. I have no list today by choice. Nothing is pressing. I am ignoring the dog hair tumbleweeds. I think I’ll read.

When is a toilet not a toilet? Give up? When it is a swimming pool! This morning I came downstairs, let the dogs out then when to go to the bathroom. I jumped a bit when I saw a small mouse swimming in the toilet. He was doing the dog paddle, a bit ironic. I found a container, scooped up the mouse and let it go outside. God speed, wee mousie!

This morning is a delight. It is sunny and warm, 62°. We have a slight breeze. The backyard has the look of fall about it. The oak trees have hanging dead leaves. The ground has disappeared under fallen, crinkly leaves. When the dogs run, the leaves rustle underfoot.

Spiders’ webs are everywhere. I walk around carrying a duster. The worst webs are behind furniture. They are the old webs, thick and long. I haven’t seen any spiders. I wonder where they are.

When I was a kid, I could never pass a pile of leaves without jumping in it. It was a rite of fall. On the way to school I’d walk in the gutters and strew the leaves with my feet. My father and every other father in the neighborhood raked on Saturdays. They’d gather the leaves, rake the piles into the street and set them on fire. I remember the smoke curling into the air. I remember my father in his red jacket standing by the fire and leaning on his rake while he watched the flames.

Daylight savings time meant streetlights came on earlier so we had to go inside. We’d sit and watch TV until supper was ready. I remember The Micky Mouse Club and Superman. I remember hearing my mother at the stove cooking dinner and I remember the sound of her mashing potatoes in the pan with the hand masher. That meant supper was just about ready.

My dance card is empty this week, no events. I have some vacuuming to do, and I need to put some trash into the car for Wednesday, my dump day, but that’s it. My sloth is celebrating slowly, quietly as sloths do.