“Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative.”

We had a couple of days of rain then came the perfect day. Today, though, is hot at 84° with humidity making the day uglier. I have a new fan, a gift from my sister, so let the heat can come.

I have lived alone for most of my life. I’ve been mostly okay with that, but there are times I am lonely for conversation. I talk to my dogs, but they just listen. It is not a conversation but rather a soliloquy. I’d be gobsmacked if they talked back to me. When I do call people, I really don’t have anything spectacular to talk about. Mostly I just chit-chat about my days, unexciting as they are. The other day I chatted to my friend Peg about my uke events for the week and going to the dump. I added a bit of excitement to the narration by talking about how crowded the dump was. She listened patiently. We usually discuss the weather. She lives in New Hampshire so the weather is different, an exciting edge to the conversation. She tells me about her garden. I am always envious of her flowers and her vegetables. We talk doctors. Never did I envision that doctors would ever be part of any conversation of mine.

I left you at Logan the other day when I told you about the start of my Peace Corps journey so let me continue. I got to my seat in the plane and tried to put away everything I had carried with me. My seatmate wanted to know if I was running away from home. When I told him I was going into the Peace Corps, he bought me a drink. In Philadelphia I shared a cab to the hotel with another volunteer hopeful. I had seen some guy surrounded by luggage and asked. We were at the hotel Sylvania. I checked into the hotel, left my luggage then checked in with Peace Corps. I gave them my missing information and received my packet with the schedule and some per diem. I met people in line who over time would become good friends. It all started that evening. We met the staff, heard about Ghana, got an overview of the week and felt overwhelmed. Scheduled were lectures, slide shows, a one on one with a shrink of some sort, a dental checkup and a yellow fever shot. We were given addresses and had to find our way to the dentists assigned to each of us. Mine was a bus ride or two away. It was the same with the yellow fever shot.

I took some time alone by the fire escape and read an evening or two. I decompressed. I saw a movie I don’t remember. I do remember walking back to the hotel. I loved the interview with the psychologist. He worked at BU. He had a huge book of what he needed to ask and observe and gave it to me to read a bit. He walked me to the elevator, put his arm around my shoulder and said Africans liked big women.

That’s the end of today’s installment. There is only a bit more before our flight to Ghana.

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2 Comments on ““Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative.””

  1. Peter Birbeck's avatar Peter Birbeck Says:

    In parallel. I first arrived at my lodgings in Manchester in October 1966. The landlady was a wonderful, motherly type. She raised an eyebrow at the amount of luggage I had brought. My room mate was perfect. A very intelligent lad from Liverpool, with similar tastes in music to mine. I learned a lot from him. He bought a guitar, I bought a harmonica. He has had a career as a physics professor, and we are still in touch. He married a cancer researcher from California.

    • katry's avatar katry Says:

      Peter,
      Like you, I love having friends who share so much of my adventures, of my experiences, of my steps into the world. We both brought a lot of luggage and met questioning eyes. My luggage held two years of life inside the pieces. Wow! Physics professor!


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