Yesterday the rain continued on and off. It must have rained during the night as everything is wet. The air is chilly from the rain. I shut a couple of windows but left the doors open. I needed the lamp lit. The day is dark.

When I was a kid, my third grade nun told me to mouth the words to the May procession songs. From then on I never sang where someone could hear me, but in the car I always sing enthusiastically and loud. I love music and have since I had a record player for my red and yellow records, but I don’t know much about music. A key for me is something you put into the lock to open the door; regardless, I love music and have always have, just sung by someone else.

In Ghana, in the late 1960’s, highlife was the music played everywhere. It was a bit Ghanaian and a bit jazz with calypso as part of the mix. It was like Ghana’s big band era. I loved highlife music. It had a unique rhythm. It had guitars and drums and brass, and I could hear the calypso. Highlife was played everywhere, even from radios in the shops along the roadside. I have a few records of highlife, and I cherish them.

During my first year in Ghana, my family sent me a cassette recorder, a mixed tape and a few favorite albums. I played my music most nights. I can never hear Joni sing Chelsea Morning without seeing my living room, with the red bulb shining from the cassette, with the three chairs with red cushions and my bookcase. We’d sit there, Bill, Peg and I, and listen. Bill and I were a bit hazy on, “I will bring you incense owls by night.” Why, he wanted to know, would someone bring an incense owl? Maybe because it was cute? Who knows? We both agreed the oranges were green. I wonder if the Ghanaians thought it odd that green fruit is called orange.

The sun has come out. It looks like a pretty day.

We have rain though barely enough to mention. The wind is blowing, and the day is dark. I’ve left the lights off. I like the mood. It’s sort of spooky.

In my bedroom, the only light I use is clipped to the headboard. I had lamps like that when I was a kid. I’d snuggle into my blankets and read by the light of my bed-lamp. The light was close to me, just over my head. I remember pink plastic lights. I melted a couple. They didn’t last in the heat under the covers for long when I was sneaking and reading.

When I was a kid, there were Golden Books but not as many as now. My mother used to read them to me. She told me I knew all the animals in the circle on the back when I was two. I’ve already mentioned Henny Penny, my favorite. My mother read my brother and me Treasure Island. The treachery of Long John Silver crushed me. Back then I read the classics like Little Women and Little Men. I read Wind in the Willows, and I envied Doctor Dolittle. Black Beauty and Old Yeller made me cry. My mother introduced me to mysteries, but I found science fiction on my own. Heidi gave me my first glimpse of the Alps. So many books for me.

I was an adult when I found Narnia and The Lord of the Rings. Afterwards, I gave the books as gifts so no-one else would have to wait. To me, books are personal gifts and finding just the right book takes time. I found one last year for a friend. She liked it and was passing it along. I was happy knowing I’d found The Book. Right now I am reading one which has potential for Christmas. I hope so.

It has started raining. I can hear the drops almost one at a time. I hear drops on metal and the different sound of the drops on the roof. The close drops are right outside the open den window. I hear drops on the barbecue cover, on the furniture and on the roof overhang. It is a plethora of sounds, a symphony of rain. The wind brings the crescendo, and all the leaves are blown north to south then it is quiet again except for a few drops of rain.

Last night my house had a late summer feel. Shadows fell in a different way. The angle of the sun has changed. At 5:45 I needed to turn on the lamp here in the den then I turned off the AC and opened windows and the backdoor. Outside was quiet. The cool night breeze was from the north, on my neck and back. I watched the Red Sox -Yankee’s game for a while. I do miss people at the games though the way the Sox are playing, maybe not. 

Today is almost chilly. The sky is filled with clouds. A cold wind is from the north. According to the weatherman, maybe we’ll have rain but maybe not. That means regardless of the weather he’ll be 100% correct.

When I was a kid, I never baked or cooked anything. In the summer, I’d sometimes make my own lunch, a bologna sandwich. I liked bologna, still do, and I loved sandwiches back then because they were portable. I’d cut a chunk of the bologna from the round of meat. It never came sliced from the deli the way it comes now. I always cut uneven slices, thicker at one end. Luckily, though, the bread was soft enough to follow the contours of the bologna. Sometimes I used mustard. Other times I used mayonnaise. I wasn’t particular. I’d throw in cookies if we had them and fruit if we didn’t. Cookies went fast in my house. Fruit lasted longer, except for watermelon. It went quickly.

Oreos were big in my house, the regular Oreos, that’s all they had back then. We all ate our Oreos the same way. Every kid I knew did. Split the sandwich in two. Eat the plain cookie side first (unless you’re one of my sisters. Then you feed the empty side to the dog) then use your teeth to scrape off the creme from the other cookie and then eat it. That second cookie was always streaked with creme.

I don’t know if I have a favorite cookie. I like so many. I guess I’d have to make a list in no certain order. On the list would be chocolate covered Oreos, a sublime cookie. Chocolate chip cookies have to be on the list, sort of a cookie emeritus. Anise cookies, the way my Uncle Jack made them, are high on my list. They go with Christmas celebrations. Scooter pies too are on the list. They’re definitely not pies, maybe small cakes, but I’ll stick with cookie. I like hermits because they are a different sort filled with raisins, dates and nuts. The spices like cinnamon and cloves say winter to winter.

I have no cookies right now. I wish I did.

The air is much less humid, and it’s cooler. 77˚ is the current temperature, and tonight could even get as low as 68˚. Today is an open the windows and doors day.

Around three this morning I got up to go to the bathroom. I turned on the light. I could see Jack and Gwen lying in the hall, in the path of the air-conditioner. That reminded me of night travel in Ghana. When we were driving through towns and small villages, we could see goats sleeping in the middle of the road, on the white line. Despite the cars, they never moved for the road. That is sort of what the cats were doing.

Yesterday was my just hang around day. I lolled. Today I’m easing in to doing a bit of work. The outside feeders need filling, and the deck flowers need watering, but they’ll wait until later as I have to go out.

When I was a kid, we never had regular check ups anywhere. We went to the dentist if we had a toothache and to the doctor when something happened. I remember the dentist used gas so I didn’t mind going. I seldom went to the doctor. That was just the way it was back then. I do remember getting my vaccination before I went to school. My friends had theirs on their arms while mine was on my upper left leg. I remember when it got scabby. It looked gross. I also remember when I somehow knocked part of the scab off when I was playing, but it didn’t matter because by then I was safe from smallpox.

I will vote by mail. I got my primary ballot in the mail the other day. Voting is for me an act of reverence. It is the most important responsibility of every citizen even if you don’t like either candidate, the common excuse for not voting. Notice I used the word excuse.

Today you get short-changed as I need to finish and get to my appointment, but I figure getting out of the house may be my story for tomorrow.

Today is cloudy, and without the sun, the house felt cool so I turned off the AC and opened some windows. The house got hot quickly. The adage not the heat but the humidity must have been coined here in New England sometime in August. I’ll throw another one at you, the dog days of summer. We’re caught in both of them.

My friend Maria called. She and I have been friends since the fourth grade for me and the fifth grade for her. I remember when I was in high school going many times to her Sunday family dinner. Every dish was Italian. Every dish was delicious.

My aunt married an Italian. She was my mother’s older sister. My mother used to tell us my aunt wouldn’t even carry Italian bread so my mother thought it ironic that my aunt married an Italian. To top it off he owned a fish market in East Boston which was heavily Italian back then. My father and my uncle were great friends. They fished together for smelt, and my father used to help him around Christmas. Because of the Night of Seven Fishes, the market was non stop customers. I have a new dad story from his time selling fish just before Christmas. A woman wanted a fresh eel. She said they looked dead. My father grabbed one, which was dead, and moved it around as if it were fighting him. The woman bought the “live” eel.

All of the above is the back story connecting Italian and my aunt. I remember visiting her in East Boston with my parents. She and my uncle and two cousins lived in the tiniest apartment. On one visit, she served spaghetti in clam sauce. I liked spaghetti and I liked clams, but I never would have put the two together. She served and grated cheese on top. I tried some out of courtesy. It had an unexpected taste. It was delicious. I don’t think I’ve had it since.

Now I am looking for a taser. I went on the deck this morning and saw one of the clay pots from the rail had fallen and was broken. The spawns use the deck rail as their transportation network so the culprit is not in question, maybe a potato gun.

We’re still stuck in all that heat. Half my lawn is dying so I’m thinking the water from my irrigation system is not hitting that side. Maybe I should keep a hose and sprinkler as a back up.

My laundry is still in the basket in the hall. Given my laundry history, I’ll need to run out of clothes before I do that wash. It is on the list but it has been on the list for a couple of days, well, almost a week.

Today is dump day. I’ve already put one bag outside by the car. It was the smelly bag. I had to double bag it.

Usually I treat myself to a restaurant delivery once a week, but I skipped last week. Instead, I took some homemade sauce out of the freezer and added ziti. I even made garlic bread. That meal lasted two suppers and a lunch.

I’m now thinking a clam plate for dinner. It comes with French fries and onions rings, the best onion rings, the thin ones. It’s been a while since I’ve had clams. I remember my mother never ate the ones with bellies, so un-New Englandish. She also hated steamers. Shrimp was her seafood of choice. It was my alternate.

Chocolate, I’m thinking chocolate cures everything, and I haven’t had any in a while. It’s no wonder small things are starting to drive me crazy. I go around straightening stuff which isn’t crooked. Yesterday I went through one side of the den closet. I took a few things out, but mostly I put everything back. It was the definition of futility.

The day is lovely with lots of sun and a good breeze, but we’re still in the mid-eighties with a high of 86˚ predicted for the afternoon. When I went out on the deck with Henry earlier, the heat hit me, and I almost went back inside the house, but then the breeze came. It was from the south, from where all the best summer breezes come. It was pleasant for a bit. I’m thinking me, ice coffee and my book are destined to spend the afternoon on the deck.

Yesterday I was really busy. I transplanted three pots in the front, a hollyhock and two lavender plants. On the deck I spent the afternoon potting the new flowers I had bought. I have one flower left to repot.

Every time I take an outside shower, I usually bring my phone because once, last year, I got stuck in the shower; the hinge wouldn’t move so I had to free myself because no one was around. It took a while, but last night because I went right from the deck to the shower being all dirty and such, I didn’t have my phone. Luckily, it was nearly dark so I didn’t shut the shower door completely. I stayed a while. It was one of the all time great showers.

When I was in Ghana, my shower was mostly cold water except for the first flow out of the tap which had been warmed by the sun. I took a shower every night and even loved that cold water, a bit.

I remember an old TV ad for Peace Corps which showed a glass of water. The voice over said if you think it half empty, “Forget it,” but if you think it half full, “You might be the kind of person Peace Corps is looking for.” I also found a similar ad. It said Peace Corps volunteers see a glass of water and think bucket bath. I took bucket baths in the dry season when the water was turned off, and I kept three or four full buckets in the shower for when that happened. There is a technique for bucket baths. Dip a cup into the water, fill it and then pour the water on your head. Do the same thing using the cup to wet the rest of your body. Next, soap up and clean. After that, you could use the cup to get water to rinse off or use my technique, just pour the rest of the water over your head to get rid of the soap. Bucket baths weren’t easy, but they did have an advantage. The water was generally warm from sitting in the bucket.

I’m still inside the house with the AC blasting. When I opened the door for Henry, I felt the heat, the interminable heat. When I’ve asked Alexa the weather, she has said a chance of showers the last few days. She said it again this morning. She’s been wrong every time.

I am not a fan of Alexa’s. She is quite limited. When I hear her say, “I don’t know that one,” I have a tendency to curse at her, not because it makes a difference to her but because she frustrates me and cursing makes me feel better; however, I wonder if I’ve been locked inside the house for far too long when even inanimate objects are targets for my wrath, my ire. My Google in the kitchen answers most questions. I like My Google. I hate my Alexa.

When I was a kid, I thought my transistor radio was the height of technology. It was big and was brown leather with holes in the front so I could hear the music. It also had two buttons on the front, one for tuning, another for volume. I took it everywhere. I loved that radio until the Christmas I got my new radio. It was small. It was red plastic. The volume button was on the side, the tuner on the front. It could fit into a pocket. It was a marvel.

I haven’t mentioned the spawns of Satan lately because I haven’t seen them in my yard, but yesterday afternoon foolish me filled the feeders for the first time in a couple of months. Early last night I went out on the deck with Henry and saw a spawn trying to get at a feeder. The talking drums must have been busy sending the message to all spawns far and wide the feeders were again filled. I chased the spawn away or so I thought, but that crafty spawn waited until I was gone. When I went out this morning, the thistle feeder was empty. The spawns had torn a hole in the bottom. Thistle was all over the deck. My new feeder, placed outside for the first time yesterday, was empty. The pieces covering the holes had teeth marks making the holes big enough for the spawns’ paws. I’m going to refill the feeders today, and I’ll shake cayenne pepper on all the seeds. Spawns won’t eat seeds covered in cayenne but birds will. That will have to do until I can figure out how to electrify my deck rail. I don’t want to kill spawns. I just want to jolt them a bit.

With all the doors and windows open, I can feel the coolness in the air. I can also feel the humidity. It is so thick sounds are muted, and leaves just hang from their branches.

The day got lighter a couple of times when the sun broke through the clouds, but it stayed only long enough to give me false hope. The forecast is for cloudy and maybe some rain.

Any cloudy day is a stay close to home day because I don’t have the patience to face the traffic, the lines of cars filled with frustrated tourists trying to find something to do, something to entertain the kids, to keep them quiet; instead, I’m going to spend the day on the deck planting the flowers I bought. Did I mention I went back to Agway yesterday? I bought the most magnificent pink hollyhock and some lavender plants with flowers. They are going in the front garden to fill some bare spots. I also bought several flowers to replace the dead ones in the deck pots. I’ll plant them when I’m finished here.

My friend Peg and I talked for an hour yesterday catching each other up on what’s been happening. I had held on to Bill and Peg’s Christmas presents hoping we’d see each other in the flesh. When that didn’t happen, I finally mailed their bag. I had found some neat stuff for them including a bee nesting house and a wooden press to make tostones (twice fried plantains). We had all developed a taste for plantain when we lived in Ghana though we never tried them twice fried. I also bought neat, unusual spices, for Peg and Bill including a jar of seasoning for jollof rice. When the three of us went back to Ghana in 2016, Bill and I ate jollof rice just about every night. I still could.

When I was a kid, the old white house with green shutters on the corner across the street had a grape arbor. Purple grapes hung down from the overhead piece. They were the easiest to pick. The elderly couple who lived in the house had given us permission to pick the grapes. I remember the grapes had seeds. We’d sit on a rock wall, eat the grapes and spit out the seeds, but they were too small for our competitive who can spit the seeds the farthest game. Cherry pits were perfect. I never won. My technique was faulty.