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“November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.”

November 5, 2011

I just noticed I hadn’t turned the October calendar page over yet. Maybe it was a subconscious attempt on my part to keep the coming winter at bay. I can’t believe it is already turn the clocks back night. I used to rejoice at the added hour of sleep, but now I don’t care. My VCR remote doesn’t seem to work despite the new batteries so it will be off an hour until fall. That will drive me crazy.

The sun was shining when I woke up but has since disappeared. I spent the morning putting Halloween away and putting up Thanksgiving which is the reason for the lateness of this posting. I made multiple trips up and down the cellar stairs. For Christmas, Skip, my factotum, will be called into service.

Today is perfect for a sci-fi movie day. There is nothing I have to do so lounging on the couch watching bad movies sounds wonderful. I’m hoping for cheesy special effects, screaming women and tall heroes.

I miss the smell of leaves burning and the sight of my father wearing his red jacket and standing with his rake by the fire. The other night I could smell a fire burning from someone’s chimney, and to me it is one of the most wonderful of all smells. Winter is the stark season when the world is gray and lifeless, but it is the season with the most memorable of smells.

A house filled with the aroma of baking starts the season. All Thanksgiving morning the smell of turkey fills the kitchen. The dog and the cats never walk by the oven without sniffing the air. I never walk by without stealing a bit of the crusted end of the stuffing. The windows are steamed from the baking and cooking of all the traditional foods which have graced our tables since childhood.

I always think of Thanksgiving as pies and Christmas as cookies. Thanksgiving isn’t Thanksgiving without pumpkin pie. My mother also made blueberry and lemon meringue; the last is not a usual Thanksgiving pie but it was a family favorite so my mother obliged. After Thanksgiving will begin the marathon of baking for Christmas. My mouth waters at the thought of sugar cookies fresh from the oven.

I figure I can handle the drab winter because I know what’s coming.

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“You need not rest your reputation on the dinners you give.”

November 4, 2011

Dreary days have come to be the norm. Today is overcast and dark. When I woke up, the bedroom clock was out, but the bedroom light worked. The bathroom light didn’t. I left the light switch in the bathroom on so I could see without climbing the stairs if I had solved the problem then went to the cellar to the circuit box and turned the general lights back and forth. I walked back up to the bottom of the third floor stairs and lo and behold the lights were back on.

Nothing is on the agenda today or tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. It seems I am settling into my winter doldrums. Life gets slower, and I am generally content to read and do little or nothing. For the whole month, I have 2 meetings, both of which are on the same day, and a doctor’s appointment at the end of the month. The excitement is nearly overwhelming.

When I was a kid, we didn’t do much all winter during the week. We went to school, came home, put on our play clothes, and, if we wouldn’t freeze, we’d go out for a while before it got dark, but darkness came early, around 4 or 4:30. We’d come in and plunk ourselves in front of the TV. Back then there was no guilt about kids and TV time. My mother would make dinner, and she was glad we were otherwise occupied.

Monday to Thursday dinners seldom varied from a meat, mashed potatoes and a vegetable, but on Fridays, when we couldn’t eat meat, my mother got more creative. Fish sticks were sometimes meatless offerings, and my mother usually served them with frozen French fries baked in the oven. I can still see her opening the packages and pulling the single French fries and fish sticks apart from the frozen piles.

The best Friday dinners were when we had English muffin pizzas or fried dough slattered with butter and a sprinkle of salt. The fried dough dinner was our favorite of them all. My mother just couldn’t keep up with the demand. We’d all hang around waiting our turn for that brown, beautiful dough hot from the frying pan. Puddles of  butter filled each crevice, and we had to be careful or it would drip on our hands and follow gravity down to our arms. The salt glinted in the light.

I can’t imagine anything unhealthier, but I know, to us, that a fried dough dinner deserved a celebration with a band and a small parade.

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“All the candy corn that was ever made was made in 1911.”

November 3, 2011

The day is lovely but not as warm as predicted. I suppose I ought not to complain, but I was expecting a bask in the sun sort of day.

Miss Gracie woke me up at three this morning when I heard her swallowing over and over. I figured she didn’t feel good. Sure enough, she got off the bed and went downstairs. A few minutes later, the poochie bells on the back door rang so I went downstairs to let her out. I waited a bit but got cold so I went upstairs to get some warmer clothes on. While I was upstairs, she came inside so I had to trudge back downstairs and shut the door. Around 4, I heard her again get off the bed and go downstairs. Then I heard something fall. I went to look and found Gracie had tried to eat one of the plants, and it had fallen on the floor when she pulled at it. What to do? What to do? I decided to cut off some spears of my spider plant to feed to her. I tried to leave them on the floor, but she couldn’t get at them. There I was at 4:15 feeding my dog spider plants to quell her queasy stomach. She finished around 4:30, and we both went back to bed and neither one of us woke up until 9:30. I would have thought the least she could have done was make the coffee.

My mother used to give us each a bowl for our Halloween candy. We’d dump the candy in it then go through the haul and check every small treat bag to see what could be traded or what we didn’t want which we’d then toss in the trash. Apples and some candy corn were among the rejects though my mother usually grabbed the apples. Yellow candy corn was just too sweet, even for a kid. I was a brown candy corn fan. Popcorn balls were tossed as was loose popcorn.

There was a hierarchy of Halloween treats. Once in a while I’d find a penny or a nickel, and it was prized above all else. Next in the hierarchy was the nickel candy bar. A Three Muskeeters bar was common back then. Last in the hierarchy was all the rest.

My mother let us put the bowls under our beds, and we could munch whenever we wanted. The day after Halloween we never had school so we’d munch treats most of the day. It was a taste of paradise on Earth before the fall.

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“Visitor’s footfalls are like medicine; they heal the sick.”

November 1, 2011

This morning it was dark when I heard the blasted alarm ring. All of a sudden I flashed back to those working days when I got up at 5 or 5:15 every day. It was a daymare. This morning, though, it was so I could get Francisca to the bus stop to catch the bus to the airport. Her five-day visit finished in a flash.

Last night I had more trick or treaters than I can remember in years, and Francisca came to the door every time so she could see all the costumes. She was also the official dog holder as Gracie was more than willing to join any of the groups of kids. Gracie was sporting her new Halloween collar, a gift from my friend Clare. She looked quite festive in orange and black with a row of pumpkins, ghosts and witches circling her neck. I wore my wizard’s hat which played Ghouls Just Want to Have fun as the tip of the cap moved back and forth in time. I had bought Francisca a small witch’s hat as a surprise and she wore it all evening.

The house still smells of last night’s dinner, the leftover FraFra meal from Sunday. It was even more delicious last night than the first time. Watching Francisca eat was like being back in Ghana. She used her hand and scooped everything including the rice. I’m good with the t-zed, but I’m not so good with the jollof rice. I don’t tend to get it in enough of a ball, and it all falls apart before I can eat it. Ghanaians eat the bones, and Francisca finished off the Guinea fowl bones while I ate more than my share of the leftover meat. Gracie got the skin and, believe me, giving it to her was a sacrifice on my part.

The day is dark and cloudy and has nothing whatsoever to commend it. It feels damp. I sat and waited with Francisca until the bus came as Africans are not lovers of the cold. She bundles up for any temperature below 70°.

It seemed so wonderfully strange to have one of my students here. Never would I have envisioned it when last I saw them in 1971. Francisca’s elder sister Bea will be in Canada soon for her daughter’s wedding, and Francisca is helping Bea to get a visa to visit the US after the wedding and is hoping that she and Bea can visit. What an amazing gift that would be for me.

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“Shadows of a thousand years rise again unseen, Voices whisper in the trees, “Tonight is Halloween!”

October 31, 2011

Happy Halloween!

Sorry for no post today as it is Francisca’s last day, and we did some sightseeing and souvenir shopping. I promise to be back in full force tomorrow!

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“Nothing would be more tiresome than eating and drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity.”

October 30, 2011

The rain was torrential last night,. I could hear the wind whooshing through the trees and I turned on the backdoor light to watch the wind blow the pine branches nearly to the ground. It was a nor’easter, the worst of all storms be it rain or snow. Many other parts if the state got snow and over 600,000 people were without electricity. Over the course of the morning, the day has lightened and the rain has finally stopped, and the wind has abated but is still strong at around 35 MPH.

My house has the smells of a Ghanaian kitchen. The kelewele is cooking on top of the stove and the Guinea fowl is in the oven. We are also having jollof rice with beef which was cooked last night. Its sauce was so tempting my one little taste became several tastes.

My table is set with the napkins I had made in Ghana from the same cloth as my dress, and I am using the  napkin rings I bought. They are in the shape of Ashanti stools, the symbols of the powers of the chiefs. The table looks colorful and festive. I will, of course, play only Ghanaian music during the meal and my guests will eat with their hands.

I am going to wear my new Ghanaian dress. I’ll take pictures!

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“The length of a frog can only be determined after it dies.”

October 29, 2011

Today has been nothing but rain and more rain. We went to Hyannis and purchased most of the ingredients we need for tomorrow’s dinner then got the rest of the ingredients here in Dennis. I even bought South African wine, keeping with the theme of course.

Our ride yesterday was down 6A to Orleans then back to Dennis on 28. It gave Francisca views of the older Cape and of the small towns and villages. She said that calling them villages made her feel quite at home. I felt like a tour guide explaining the differences in architectural design but was hard-pressed to answer some of her questions like why is it called Dennisport when it isn’t a port and did they run out of names and just add port even if the town wasn’t near the ocean. We stopped for lunch at the Land-Ho in Orleans then had dinner at home.

American food is far too bland for her.  Food should burn the tongue, gums and the outside of the mouth. Tonight Francisca covered her meatloaf with chopped jalapenos and said it wasn’t even hot at all. I remembered the light soup I ate my first day on the road in Ghana and how I had to stop eating because my mouth was burning from the pepper. The heat factor, the hotter the better, determines how tasty a dish is to a Ghanaian.

Francisca refuses to call me anything except Miss Ryan. We are only 6 years apart but to her I am her teacher, her mentor and her mother.

Francisca is afraid of dogs and Gracie has been her charming self, barking for attention and following poor Francisca who is doing her best to discipline the dog and make her sit. Gracie right now is in the kitchen keeping Francisca company as she preps for dinner.

It doesn’t seem like it has been forty years since since we last spoke. It seems like only yesterday.

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“They may forget what you said but they will never forget how you made them feel.”

October 28, 2011

Yesterday we had a torrential rainstorm most of the day and night, and with the rain came a cold to the bone chill. The sun is shining now, but it does little to dispel that chill. The sun has the look of winter about it when its sole purpose is to light the day. Some parts of the state have already had snow. Winter has its foot in the door.

Francisca is here. I picked her up yesterday. We hugged for the longest time then we talked all the way down to the cape. She looks forty years different, but her laugh is the same. We are both amazed that we have finally found each other again. She told me she speaks of me often, and when she and my other students get together, I am always mentioned in their conversations.

It is seldom that a teacher finds out the impact she had on her students. You stand there in front of class after class and hope that your words have taken hold and found a home. It isn’t just the teaching of English that happens in the classroom. It is helping your students realize that there are no boundaries. I learned way back when never to underestimate a single student, even the slowest of learners, and I learned that encouragement and faith are far more important than a simple sentence or the uses of adverbs. Francisca was among my brightest students and she went far, even to a master’s degree and becoming, for a time, a government minister. She is filled with energy and enthusiam even though she keeps telling me she is old. Francisca is, as she said, only six years my junior, but I am her mother.

Today we are taking a cape ride so I can show how beautiful it is here where I live. I already know how beautiful it is where Francisca lives.

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October 27, 2011

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“A consistent soul believes in destiny, a capricious one in chance.”

October 27, 2011

Today is an ugly day. It’s been raining all night and it’s dark, four in the afternoon dark. Gracie poked her head out the door earlier and didn’t like what she saw so she turned around and went back into the kitchen. I didn’t blame her, but I did suggest she try again so Gracie finally braved the elements, performed admirably then ran right back inside the house. The ordeal was so horrific she is now sleeping on the couch and snoring quite loudly.

My sister has about eight inches of snow. They showed the streets of Denver on the local news last night, and it looked like a winter wonderland, but this is only October (okay nearly November), but it is far too early for sleigh bells ring, are you listening.

My student Francisca Issaka just texted me to say she was at the gate ready to board her flight to Reagan and from there she’ll fly to Logan. I’m going to pick her up at 2:45. She has been in the US visiting her daughter so we missed each other when I was in Bolga. Francisca was one of the youngest students in T2, the second of four years of training college. She was sixteen. My students my first year ranged in age from sixteen to thirty two. It’s difficult to believe that Francisca is 58. I still picture her as the tall, thin student she was when last I saw her. I’m beyond excited to see her.

Francisca believes that everything happens for a reason, that there are no coincidences. She said I had faith I would find my students in Bolga, and she’s right. That Shetu Mahama would go have a beer in a place she hadn’t been for two years and that I would have dinner there at the same time and meet her was destiny, not mere coincidence. I don’t doubt it at all.

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