”But it’s Sunday, Mr. Bell. Clocks are slow on Sundays.”

The morning started later than usual. The dogs, especially Nala, no surprise there, got impatient and jumped on me to wake me up. I let them out then gave Gwen her insulin and me my coffee.

It is cold. I saw sun for a brief time earlier then it went behind the clouds, but it didn’t disappear. I can still see the light. Maybe it will be a nice day after all.

I haven’t any plans for today. Sunday is the day of rest. When I was growing up, it was Sunday dinner and visit the grandparent’s day. It was a formal day of sorts except in summer when Sundays were more relaxed. We sometimes spent the day at the beach. It was never a day to work.

When I was a kid, I had no interest in baking. I only liked the results. My mother made the best brownies. I loved that she always frosted them with chocolate frosting and chocolate jimmies. I’m a corner of the pan sort. I like the crispy sides of the brownies. My mother made chocolate chip cookies. She always followed the recipe on the back of the package. We used to snag cookies straight from the oven. They burned our hands and mouths, but we didn’t care. The cookies were warm and the chocolate still melty.

When I was in Ghana, I made sugar cookies for the first time ever. I had to ride a hundred miles each way to Tamale to fill the propane tank for my stove. I never used the stove or oven as there was no place in my town to fill the tank, but I needed the oven for my Christmas cookies, for what I hoped would be Christmas cookies in recognizable shapes. My mother, in the Christmas decoration package she had sent, included Christmas cookie cutters, stuff to make frosting and colored jimmies for decoration. I found a recipe in Ghana Chop, the Peace Corps Ghana cook book of the day, and bravely faced the ingredients. I even splurged on canned Australian butter, an expensive treat. I used a Star beer bottle to roll out the cookie dough. I had bought some flat metal in the market for a cookie sheet. It worked. The cookies were perfectly baked. They had a bit of brown on the bottom just as they should. I decorated every cookie. There were trees, stockings and Santas. They were masterpieces of a sort, being the the only decorated sugar cookies in all of Bolga, of that I am sure.

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