The morning is warm and sunny at 46˚, but I’m not taken in by by the blue sky and the bright, squid your eyes sun. I checked the weather report which says rain and snow and a low of 19˚. I will not be going anywhere today. I won’t even get dressed. I will brush my teeth, wash my face and hands quite a few times and sit on the couch and read or mindlessly watch TV. I’ll probably end up getting restless and dust my way through the dining room and living room with my favorite dust cloth, my handy sweatshirt sleeve.

When I was in Ghana, I needed items not sold in the market where I got my fruits, veggies, eggs, meat, both chicken and beef though the chickens were live, and whatever surprises I sometimes found when I wandered. Everybody knew me because I was the only white woman in town my first year in Bolga. The market sellers always wished me a good morning and addressed me as madam, the title for female teachers. In small kiosks a bit back from the street I shopped for packaged goods. I bought canned margarine mostly but canned butter for special occasions like Christmas. I have no idea the shelf life of those cans. I never thought to look, but the sellers usually gave us the good stuff not because we were white but because we’d shop there again. Coffee came in cans but it was instant. Milk came in cans but only evaporated milk even though there were cows. The bread was amazing. It was sugar bread and was always sold uncut. It made the tastiest toast.

In Ghana there are chop bars and spots. Chop bars are mostly hole in the wall eating stops. In Bolga, chop bars ringed the lorry park. We had a favorite, and on Sundays we often bought take out dinner. That meant we brought a pot with a cover, filled it with Sunday dinner and strapped it to the back of our bikes hoping it wouldn’t spill. I remember fufu with light soup and goat though once in awhile it was chicken. Spots are bars. During training in Koforidua starting week 7, we used to meet at a spot on a corner of the main road. We’d pool our scant daily allowances and buy beer. We met after dinner and sat together a long time. I remember laughing a lot and complaining a lot. They sort of went hand and hand during training.

Bill and Peg and I love Ghanaian food. Kelewele, a plantain dish, and jollof rice are easy to make here. Both are favorites of ours. I could eat jollof rice with a giant spoon as my only dish at dinner. It is the same with plantains cooked any way. They are that tasty.

The morning is warmish at 41˚. Hardly any wind is a good thing. The blue sky and sunshine make the day pretty. When I look out the den window, I can see the bare branches of the oak tree against the blue, and I can watch the tops of the pines in the back of the yard swaying every now and then. I’m just hanging around the house today. I have a few projects in mind. Yesterday I cleaned, added books and organized my little library. I was pleased to see people had added books.

When I was a kid, I was gone most of the day on Saturdays. My mother would ask where I was going, and I’d tell her around town. She was content with that answer. Because my movie theater did not have matinees when the weather got warm, I’d bike or walk all over town. I had favorite stops, most gone now. One was the junk man’s house. It was on a small street around the corner from the town’s horse barn, also gone. The junk man had a porch on his house which sagged from the weight of all the papers. There was another building next to his house also filled with rags and papers inside and out. For some strange reason, I remember both buildings were gray. The junkman used to ride around town in his wagon shouting for papers and rags. The horse barn was usually open, and I could see the horses in their stalls. Sometimes I got to pat one. Another stop was the golf course where I hunted for wayward golf balls in the bushes and across the street from the course. I also got some balls out of the water hazards when I didn’t mind getting a bit wet.

I was usually by myself in my wanderings. One in a while my brother joined me, but his favorite spots were different than my favorite spots, but we did agree about the zoo and Weiss Dairy Farm being the best Saturday roaming spots, but that was too many years. Now, the farm is no longer a dairy. It sells mostly mulch and fertilizer. You can see the big mounds from the road. The zoo, though, is still here. It is even bigger and better. It is now the most interesting place in town.

What a perfectly lovely day! It is warm by Cape standards for this time of year, 60˚. I’m going outside to take books to my Little Library and fill the backyard bird feeders. It is a good day for a bit of fresh air.

I’m still wearing my winter cozies. I’m even wearing socks. When the sun goes down, it gets cold. Tonight will get down to the 30’s. That’s more like it for this time of year.

Cat update: nothing much has changed. Jack is downstairs except he often naps with Gwen in the former guest room, now the cat room. I put a new covering on Gwen’s bed to replace the furry, cracked vinyl tablecloth. The poor girl has lost a lot of hair on one side. I keep finding matted fur on the floor. I try to clean her fur a bit every night, and it does feel better when I pat her. Gwen still hisses at Henry. He doesn’t care. Henry is howling right now at the front door. I’d go check why, but usually I see nothing. As for Henry, other than the barking, he is doing well. He wags his tail end when I talk to him, and he is always glad to see me when I get home from errands. He loves to be scratched and patted.

When I was a kid, days like today made me feel almost joyful. I could unzip my jacket. At school, I could leave the hat and mittens in the cloak room, and best of all, I could go outside in the warmth and run around at recess with sheer abandonment, the sides of my unzipped coat billowing as I ran. I remember the school yard, also a parking lot on Sundays, had sand on it making it a bit slippery so skidding was common, sometimes by choice. The sand came from town trucks spewing it from the sides to try to keep the snow from hardening on the roads and parking lots.

After school, in the late afternoon, on a day like today, it was warm enough for me to go out and play or ride my bike. The day was lasting longer and longer so the streetlights came on later and later. I’d go inside in time to watch The Mickey Mouse Club before dinner. I always sang along, M-I-C-K-E-Y MOUSE. Even now those songs reverberate in my memory drawers, permanently etched. “And now it’s time to say good-bye.”

Today is warm despite the ocean. It is 59˚ but there is an every now and then cold wind. The sun is hidden but bright behind the clouds. I managed to do all my errands. I even made it to the dump. My trunk and back seat were filled with trash bags, cardboard, papers and magazines. It was cold there. The wind tore across the flat, open areas.

At night, parts of the cape are quite dark. Streetlights are sometimes far between. One of my favorite roads has almost no lights at all. It passes cranberry bogs on both sides of the road. In one of those bogs, every Christmas, a lit tree stands in the middle of the bog strung with ropes. When I pass during the daylight from season to season, I get to watch the changes in the bog. In the late fall, the bogs are flooded to protect them from the cold winds of winter. As it gets warmer, berries first appear. In a short while the bogs become red with fruit. They are harvested in the fall when the bogs are flooded again. A machine with a driver beats the bog with a paddle to stir the berries so they float to the top. Workers wearing waders move the berries toward a chute so they can be harvested. I always stop to watch a harvest.

When I was in Ghana, Peace Corps vehicles were Land Rovers, the sort which trekked across the Sahara and were chronicled in National Geographic. They always seemed exotic to me, the perfect vehicle for Africa. I remember riding up the coast from Half Assini to Accra after our mid-term conference. The ride felt almost dream-like. There I was in Africa in a Land Rover riding along the ocean road passing palm trees and family compounds, kiosks selling all sorts of goods and people selling food. I remember giant snails sold from baskets, fruits especially oranges and pineapples being hawked by women and meat on a stick cooking over a charcoal fire, its species unknown. If I ever hit the jackpot, I’ll buy myself an old Land Rover and refurbish it. I’ll feel like an adventurer even on Cape roads.

Today is warmish. The sky is almost covered in light gray clouds, but some blue is holding steady. It will get as high as 47˚ but dip down again tonight to the 30’s. We have no wind, a good thing. I could go out, but I may not. My back is still a bother.

When I was a kid, I had two pairs of regular shoes. I had my school-church shoes and my play shoes. In the summer I wore sneakers, white sneakers. For a couple of winters I played CYO basketball, and my coach had us wear black high-tops. Back then girls did not wear Converse high-tops. What had to because my coach said they would protect our ankles. The only thing I hated was how many laces I had to tie. I actually still have a couple of pairs of high-tops: one is pink, the other purple. I wear them every now and then to match whatever clothes I’m wearing. No one looks twice at my feet when I wear them.

I was at the door talking to my guy who delivered groceries from Rory’s his morning. All of a sudden I noticed flowers blooming under a bush in the front garden. Two snowdrops have flowered. Winter must be slowing as snowdrops flower in late winter.

Henry did not try to attack Ryan, my delivery guy. Henry barely even barked. I don’t know if it is a one time thing, but his fierceness at the door is a behavior I have been working on for a while. He usually bares his teeth when UPS and the mailman deliver, but this morning he only stuck his nose out the door.

Duke, the boxer I grew up with, was protective of all of us. If he barked at the door, someone was close. I remember Duke almost went through the storm door when a guy was walking near my house during a snowstorm. We had to grab Duke, and it took two of us to hold him until he quieted down. Henry barks at people walking by, cars moving on the road in front of the house, kids playing basketball on the street three houses down and the man across the street when he opens his garage door. I used to check when Henry barked constantly at the front door, but most times I found no cause for the barking so I started calling Henry the dog that cried wolf. Mostly I now ignore him, but sometimes I am surprised to find a box or two on my front steps.

I am taking today off but will post tomorrow. My back is hurting. I am at the ow! ow! ow out loud stage. I went sleuthing on Google and found what is probably the cause, poor posture. I spend far too much time hunched over my computer. Yesterday I did a tiny bit of shopping but forgot Aleve, my main reason for the stop. I just ordered it ASAP for delivery from Walgreen’s. I am not happy!

Today I’m actually going out to do a couple of errands. It has been a while, but Henry needs treats as do the cats. I could do with a treat myself. I’m thinking chocolate, the most uplifting of treats.

When I was a kid, chocolate bars were a nickel. I had favorites. A Sky Bar is one of them, probably my all time favorite. I loved the four different tastes. Caramel was the best part. I remember buying a bar of Hershey’s semi-sweet chocolate which I probably wouldn’t eat now, not near sweet enough. For a while I bought Zero bars. They had white chocolate fudge for a topping. Their insides included caramel and nougat. I bought a Chunky every now and then, but I decided it was too small to pay a nickel. Marathon Bars were strange. They were like a braid of caramel covered in chocolate. I figure you’ve seen the trend. I was and am a caramel fan. A Milkshake bar was akin to a Milky Way. Saturday matinees meant long lasting candy like Sugar Daddies. JuJu Beads were once sold at the movie concession stand, but they were removed because they were more for throwing than eating.

I’m not a fan of miniature bars. They are a travesty. My father used to like them so my mother usually bought a package for him when she shopped. He hid them under the couch, but we all knew. My favorite miniature is the Krackel Bar, a twin to Nestle’s Crunch. I’d pick those out of the dish. The Milky Ways were next to disappear. In a while, only regular Hershey Bars were left in the candy dish. I find them boring. To me, their only purpose in life is in s’mores.

When I was in Ghana, we sometimes treated ourselves and bought Cadbury chocolate bars as nighttime treats. The DPW had a small store sort of around the corner from the school. We’d each buy a chocolate bar and a cold coke, both major treats. My favorite bar was the Fruit and Nut Bar.

Today I have to buy chocolate. I’m salivating just a bit for a bar or two. I deserve a treat.

Cold is the optimum word for today’s weather. Right now it is 30˚, one degree away from what will be the high of the day. I crossed the dump off my list. It is cold even when the rest of the world is warm. My list is now empty for today. I’ll loll.

I remember getting my small pox vaccine when I was a kid. I had to get it so I could go to school. My doctor shot me in the upper leg. I remember it hurt. The spot scabbed over then left a scar, a funny looking scar. It was round and had little white spots in the middle. Most of the scar has disappeared, but one small spot on my upper leg is a bit whiter than the rest of the area so I’m thinking that’s where the shot went. I was already in school when the polio vaccine was available. They gave it to us in school. Over time I’ve had a couple of tetanus shots, but it was in Ghana where I hit the jackpot.

Before we left for Ghana, we all got yellow fever shots. I remember standing in line waiting my turn. I don’t remember the shot hurting. I guess being in a crowd made me brave.

During our first week in Ghana, we had shot day. Tables were lined end to end. Each table was manned by a shot giver and a helper. I can still see the whole scene in my mind’s eye straight from my memory drawers. We moved in a line from table to table and stopped to wait our turn when the line slowed down. The only shot I remember still makes me cringe. It was the rabies vaccine. I have never had a shot as painful as that one. Mostly the shots were given into my arms. Some of the shots were live vaccines. They seemed to fight over control. They also gave me a fever, and one shot moved up my arm. I followed the red trail. My butt got gamma globulin. We were in a room one at a time for privacy when we got that shot. The only painless stop was for the polio vaccine which we drank from a small cup.

I have amazing memories of Ghana. Shot day is not one of them.

This morning I was late to the day. It was close to eleven before I got out of bed, but it had been a late night, a close to 4:00 am late night, before I turned off the light.

Today is lovely with a bright sun and an endless blue sky, but it is cold. I have nowhere I need to go, but I do have a list for the weekend. Today is wash day. Tomorrow is dump day. I may even change my sheets, but that might be far too ambitious.

I need to walk around the house with my eyes closed. This morning while I was waiting for my coffee I noticed the bottom bookcase shelves were dusty so I cleaned them. When I went to pour my coffee, I noticed the shelf on the stove needed cleaning so I cleaned it. This has to stop!

When I was a kid, we used to walk all over town. I remember walking on the train tracks and stopping at a pipe which extended just a bit from the bottom of a grassy hillside. Water flowed from the pipe into a sort of hole below the pipe formed by the course of the water. It was clear water so we’d stop for a drink. Not far beyond the pipe, the tracks crossed the road where the red store was on one side and a box factory was on the other. I remember seeing mostly guys sitting outside on the steps of the factory having a smoke break. We always walked to the end of the tracks, to where the station was and where there were a couple of lines of tracks. On one track, a single car sat. I always looked in the windows, and I always wished I could ride that train.

Saturday is my favorite day of the week dating back to Saturday morning TV shows and a bowl of Rice Krispies.

Today has sun and a blue sky, but it is cold at 29˚. The high will only be 33˚. I’m thinking of going to the dump, but the dump is cold and unbelievably windy even when the rest of the world has no wind. I brought out a couple of bags of trash and put them in the trunk this morning, but that means nothing. My laundry basket can sit for days by the cellar door. I am so very wonderful at procrastinating when I have chores I’m not so fond of doing.

When I was a kid, my mother had a washing machine with a wringer. It was in the cellar next to the sink connected to a faucet. I used to watch her feed clothes into the wringer and catch them on the backside. I knew a kid who had gotten his arm caught in a wringer. His arm was sort of flat in one spot and wrinkled. I wondered how his arm got caught, but I never asked.

We didn’t have a clothes dryer until we moved to the cape. My mother hung her clothes on the clotheslines in the backyard. We lived in a duplex among a sea of duplexes. Each house had a tarred section in the back with six clothes lines, three for each side of the house. My mother had to haul her laundry basket out of the cellar and up the outside cellar stairs to the yard then hang the clothes on the lines. I remember she hung shirts from their bottom hem lines. Their sleeves hung down and sometimes the wind would take them. They did a dance worthy of a Disney cartoon set to music and looked eerie at Halloween. When it started to rain, my mother would make a mad dash to the yard to take down the dry clothes. My favorite laundry time was in the winter. If it got cold enough, the clothes froze. They were stiff. When my mother took them down, she couldn’t fold those clothes. She had to layer them in the basket.

I don’t know anyone who hangs out their clothes though I did when I first moved into my house. I couldn’t afford a dryer. Most of the clothes were wrinkled when I took them down so I had to iron the shirts and dresses. I still have that iron. It is nearly 45 years old, but it still works. That might give you an idea of how much I ironed.