“Every cookie is a sugar cookie. A cookie without sugar is a cracker.”

The dogs and I are lounging in the air conditioning. The heat is brutal. It is 88°, far too hot for this time of year. Nala went out, sniffed the air but then decided to come right back inside the house. It did rain around 3:30 this morning but only for a short time. The forecast is for more rain, but I am a skeptic. The sun is high, the sky is blue.

The deck flowers are beautiful. The begonias are huge. I chose a variety of colors to put in pots across the deck rail. I think the pink is the brightest. The basil is ready for picking. The lavender and the rosemary smell the best. I run my hand up each plant to press the smell onto my fingers.

When I was growing up, I never learned to cook beyond a hot dog, canned soup or a hamburger. In Ghana, I baked cookies for the first time, sugar cookies for Christmas. My mother had sent me cookie cutters and colored sprinkles so I figured I’d give baking a try. The first thing I had to do was travel 100 miles south to a town called Tamale (tarm a lay) to fill the gas cylinder. My town had no gas so I didn’t use my stove but rather cooked food on a small charcoal burner. I hauled the cylinder onto a bus. The trip took around two and a half hours each way. In Tamale I found a station, had the gas can filled then hauled the heavy canister onto another bus for the ride home. When I got back to Bolga, I took a taxi to my house, no way could I have hauled the heavy canister through town and up the hill to my school. I used a beer bottle to roll the dough, cut trees and stockings then baked the cookies. I was surprised. They were delicious. They made the trek worthwhile.

I loved my mother’s brownies. One bite was a burst of chocolate. She sometimes added chocolate chips to the batter and always frosted her brownies with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles. I liked the crisp corners.

This is a busy week for me and my uke. I just wish it were cooler.

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