“New stones, new steeples are comely things; but the human heart clings to places that hold association and reminiscence.”

Earlier, clouds covered the sky, but the sun has broken through. After all the rain, the sunlight is brilliant. Some leaves are in shadows while others shine in the light. According to the weather report, though, the sun is transient. The day will be cloudy and in the high 50’s, but I’m skeptical or maybe hopeful. I see blue. (Aside, the sun is gone as is the blue. The day is dark.)

Some things are sacred. My morning coffee is on the list, always at least two cups with cream, not milk. I drink coffee from all over. My last coffee was from Vietnam. I don’t like girly coffees like French vanilla or peppermint. They are ice cream flavors.

Since my retirement, almost twenty one years ago, I have lived in mostly cozy clothes, a sacred ensemble. Every day when I worked, I wore a dress or a skirt and blouse and panty hose, yup I said panty hose from an egg. Now, I wear flannel and corduroy in the winter and short sleeves and light pants in the summer. The last time I wore a dress was Easter a few years ago. The dress was blue and flowered, perfect for spring and Easter.

My house is a sacred place. It is all of me. It is filled with treasures from my travels. They hold my memories. So many are from Africa, from my town and from my trips back to Ghana. I have baskets, tablecloths, napkins, art, wooden figures and gold weights. I remember a first time visitor to my house called them knick knacks. I was horrified. I wanted to snarl at her. I still have a few pieces from my South American trip in the 70’s and from my trips to Morocco, Panama and so much of Europe. I love the memories the different pieces conjure, of the singular experiences in each country, the different foods, the shapes of houses and shops, the smells, and colors. The strongest memories are of markets, of me wandering the streets and the souks and meeting new people. My memory drawers are the most sacred places.

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