It is cool at 68°. The morning is cloudy, and there is a 68% chance of rain. I never mind a dark house. Sometimes it feels close and cozy. The dogs are asleep on the couch beside me. Nala had the quite the night. I had kept her in because of the baby spawn. After I let her out, I checked. She kept trying to climb a tree. I figured the baby was safe. Much later, I wanted to go to bed and called Nala. She didn’t come, a bad sign. I checked. Yup, she had the baby spawn again. I went back inside and shut the door. A while later she was whacking the door. She didn’t have the spawn. This morning she came in quickly. Either the spawn is safe or it has gone to its heavenly reward.

We had our last outdoor concert last night, and I have no more uke events until next week. This is a strange week.

I’ll continue from yesterday’s pre-spawn entry:

Some moments stay with us. They may be big events or small pieces of a day we never gave much thought to, pieces that nestled in our memory drawers. Images stay bright. I can close my eyes and still see it all. When I was a kid, things seemed permanent. I passed the same houses for eight years on my walk to school. The sidewalk to school was shaded by big trees. Their branches were full all spring. In fall, the leaves turned yellow, fell, covered the sidewalk and filled the gutter beside it. Part of my walk was over the railroad tracks. Sometimes I saw trains. In my mind’s eye, I can still see that walk and all the houses though it has been 68 years since I last walked it.

In Ghana my walk to town was downhill, on the main road. I’d pass the Hotel d’Bull, a few small shops and the post office. Further on were more shops and the bank, the Super Service Inn and the first gate to the market. Larger shops were further along the road. One spot, beside another gate to the market, had a small table and two chairs. I’d stop there as it had a fridge and the Coke was cold. In front of it was the craft tree. Leather bags hung from its branches while baskets and hats circled the tree trunk. At one small shop, I always bought tinned butter, a luxury for Christmas. I bought fufu and soup for dinner from one of the tiny spots along the side of the lorry park. I’d bring my own pot with a cover which I’d then strap to the back of my moto.

I went back after 40 years. Along the hill from school are shops, a couple of schools and paces to stay. The Hotel d’Bull is now The Black Star Hotel. The old main road has faded stores and shops. The Super Service Inn is falling down. The market, with more gates, is huge. It is my town transformed in real time, but it sits unchanged in my memories. My whole Peace Corps experience has left indelible images, memories, safely kept in my memory drawers, especially of my school and town, the places I called home.

This entry was posted on September 1, 2026 at 2:42 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.