Archive for the ‘Musings’ category

“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.

October 27, 2011

“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.

“Speed, it seems to me, provides the one genuinely modern pleasure.”

October 25, 2011

Rain is coming later in the week, but for now I get to enjoy the sunshine and the coolness of a beautiful fall day. We did get out for a bit yesterday, but I ran into friends whom I haven’t seen in ages, and we chatted for a long while so I didn’t get as far as I’d hoped. Today Gracie and I will go down Cape; yesterday we went up Cape. For those of you wondering what directions I’m describing down-Cape means toward P-Town and up-Cape means toward the bridge. If anyone asked me east or west, I’d be hard pressed to answer.

When I visit Colorado, I ask how far to get somewhere, and they always answer in miles. Here when asked the same question we answer in time. How far to Boston from the cape elicits the response of about an hour and fifteen minutes, but it could be longer depending upon the traffic. In Colorado they’d tell me about 72 miles.

When I traveled in Ghana, the distance was measured in kilometers. I had no idea how far away anything really was. My mind worked only in miles so I always had to convert kilometers to miles. I learned to multiply by .6 so I’d figure out how far away I was from my destination.

Ghana, like Massachusetts, is also a time place. I had no idea the actual distance between Accra and Bolgatanga, but I know it takes 16 hours by bus. I know because that’s what the Ghanaians told me when I asked how far between Bolga and Accra. Later I looked it up and found it was 810 kilometers which didn’t make sense until I figured out it was 486 miles. It may seem like it takes forever by bus, and it does.

Once, when my parents and I were in Germany, my inner race car driver came out while I was driving on the autobahn. There I was driving at 80 MPH and getting passed. I knew this was my opportunity to be Mario Andretti without risking a ticket so I drove between 90 to 100 but I still got passed. My mother commented we seem to be going really fast and kept looking at the speedometer. I told her it was in kilometers, a bold face lie with good intentions, and explained how to convert and I mentioned that we were being passed by other cars going much faster. That seemed to calm her, and I got to be Mario for just a little while.

“Swinging on delicate hinges the Autumn Leaf Almost off the stem”

October 24, 2011

The morning has a crispness. The grass was wet when I went to get the papers. Across the street, painters are working on my neighbors’ house trim. It’s sunny but not warm. It is, after all, fall.

The birds need feeding. I miss watching them from my window here in the den. Their latest seeds of choice have been a mixture of fruits and nuts, and I have only a small bit left. Tomorrow, at Agway’s, I’ll have to buy more and also another case of canned dog food. I might also mosey over to their garden section and buy some bulbs. Last year the spawns of Satan found many of my new ones in less than a day. My garden was pockmarked with holes. It looked a bit like the lunar surface.

A former students is coming to visit from Thursday through Tuesday. She has been in Cincinnati with her daughter so we missed each other in Bolga. Her name is Francisca Issaka, and she was one of my favorite students. She and Francisca Ateere, another favorite, often visited my house. I remember how much they laughed and how much they enjoyed life. Both of them were sixteen when I first met them. They were the students I told all about Halloween during one of their visits, and they remembered and came trick or treating. Francisca still remembers and said she wants to be at my house for Halloween. On Sunday she is cooking a Ghanaian meal for my friends and my nephews. We are not having bush meat or goat though I wouldn’t mind either. My sister was appalled that I eat goat. She talked about The Lonely Goat Herd and the Billy Goats Gruff. I didn’t think about it, but I should have reminded her about Ferdinand the Bull.

Today I have one errand then Gracie and I are going roaming. I’m taking my camera as it has been a long while since I’ve snapped pictures of the cape, and I think it is especially pretty this time of year. I never really noticed the fall changes until my first year home from Africa. I always thought the cape this time of year was a bit dull compared to the rest of the state as there are so many pine trees which just stay green. I was wrong. The marshes turn a beautiful red, and up and down Route 6A towering, long standing trees turn a different color red than the marshes, and here and there are spots of yellow. The bogs are flooded to spare them the worst of winter. Bushes are bright with color and stand in contrast to their old white houses. The cape is an amazing place in the fall.

“My homework was not stolen by a one-armed man”

October 23, 2011

The nights are chilly, afghan chilly, animals right beside me chilly. I can barely move in bed as they are huddled beside me, and it isn’t even winter yet. The house was around 65° when I woke up this morning which meant a sweatshirt and warm slippers. The sandals have been put way back in the closet.

The day started out sunny but has since become cloudy and dark and is supposed to stay this way. It’s 56°, tolerable but sad. It means no open windows and wearing socks and shoes. I hate that it gets dark so early in the afternoon now. That mole feeling which comes with winter is getting stronger.

When we were kids, early darkness this time of year left little time to play outside after school. Besides, it was too cold for the usual games except for an occasional bike ride. The walk to and from school and recess were about the only physical activities we had until snow and ice gave us more options. I don’t remember minding having to stay inside as we had plenty of games, and I had my books to keep me company. Late in the afternoon the TV went on, and we’d sit on the carpet close to the set and watch our favorite programs on the flickering black and white screen. Only my mother calling us to dinner pulled us away.

I was the one who always did her homework right away. I’d sit at the kitchen table with my papers and do mostly English, religion, spelling or math. We almost never brought home books except for our catechism, which we had bought. I think the nuns were afraid we’d lose the other books and money was hard to come by to replace lost or damaged books. Most times we brought home worksheets with math problems, spellings lists or fill in the blanks with the right pronoun, country or whatever else was asked for. For some reason the coin sheet jumps out of my memory drawer, and I remember black and white pictures of coins. For homework we had to add or subtract them from the total number of coins. Religion homework was always memorize something. Where is God? God is everywhere was on the first page of one of my catechisms. My favorite picture was of the three milk bottles. One was white for sinless, one was half white and half black for venial sins and the last was all black for mortal sins. I wonder what they do now. You can’t see through cartons.

“You dirty, double-crossing rat.”

October 22, 2011

This is one of those the house is colder than outside sort of morning. I put on my sweatshirt, roused Gracie, slipped my feet into warm slippers and came downstairs. The temperature is 58°, a lot cooler than the last few days. I’m glad I put in the storm door.

I’m watching 1933’s The Ghoul. It’s has all the wonderful characteristics those old horror movies always have. Two women have spent a great deal of the film screaming or swooning. The female star managed both, one after the other. I guess it was that dual combination ability which boosted her to stardom. She was, of course, carried away from danger by the tall, dark and handsome hero wearing a dark suit, complete with vest. The butler was eerie, the  house was dark and the Ghoul was Boris Karloff.

The paper today had an article about black cats and how people are reluctant to adopt them. All the other cats go first. A woman has started a black cat rescue group to change this and has managed to place several. Maddie, my great mouser, is a black cat. I never thought about superstition when I adopted her and Fern. Maddie is just my black cat.

My house is totally decorated for Halloween. Monsters sit on shelves and on the mantle. Creatures howl and scream when touched. A cemetery with stones, statues and a mausoleum is laid out on the table. A few rats and a vulture are also on that table. The rats are disgusting looking with their teeth and claws showing. I find them repulsive which is what makes them perfect for Halloween so out they come every year. A little mouse doesn’t bother me. It borders on cute, but there is nothing cute about a rat. I remember a few years ago when I was sitting in a well-known Boston bakery having coffee and pastry when a rat ran by my table. A chill went up my back, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if a pack had followed in a wave, then attacked in unison and eaten me and my pastry. Rats are like that.

“Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll.”

October 21, 2011

Though I woke up around 8:30, I lolled in bed for another hour or so. The room was chilly as the window had been open all night, and I just didn’t want to leave the comfort of my warm bed, but Gracie, sensing my stirrings, got up and went downstairs. I knew what she wanted and sure enough her door bells started ringing. She wanted out. I ran downstairs, let her out and ran right back to bed. Much later I decided to brave the day and dragged myself downstairs, grabbed a cup of coffee and went to get the papers. I’m still wishing I were back in bed.

I went to the library yesterday afternoon as their guest speaker about my trip to Ghana. I was gone about 2 and 1/2 hours. When I got home, I noticed a gift left for me in the hall, a dead mouse, compliments, I think, of Miss Maddie as she was in the hall probably waiting for my oh’s and ah’s at the wonderful present she had given me. I thanked her with what I hope was enough exuberance then I took the mouse and disposed of its remains.

Today is breezy, maybe even windy, and chillier than it has been though the sun is shining. I suppose the weatherman would call the temperature seasonal. I have to go to the dump today, and I’m putting in the last storm door, an admission of defeat, a recognition that the cold is coming.

I haven’t walked backwards in a long time. When I was a kid, I used to walk backwards when I had to pass the field on my way to school. The cold wind would whip across that field and hit me in the face numbing my nose and cheeks and making my eyes water so I’d give the wind my back. I remember how my coat used to billow when the wind hit it and how I’d have to look every now and then to see where I was going. A feeling of relief and even warmth always came when I’d get to the next street and have the protection of the houses and the huge trees lining the walk. That was when I’d turn and face the day.

“Faith is a passionate intuition.”

October 20, 2011

For the last two days it rained. Sometimes it poured so much I wished for a tin roof. At night, with my bedroom window open, I could hear the rain flowing off the roof and pelting the deck. My house has no gutters so I was surrounded by rain. It was a delight.

Today is summer. It’s already 71°. The sun is streaming through windows, and Fern and Gracie have a short truce so they can share the warm mat by the front door. I was out on the deck earlier just looking at the world. I always feel lucky to be alive on days like today.

Today I am the featured speaker at the South Dennis Library’s Thursday at 2 series. I am talking about my return to Ghana. I hope the people brought dinner!

One of my students is coming to visit. She has been in Cincinnati with her daughter so she wasn’t there when I was in Bolga. We called her while my students and I were at our last dinner together, and she said she had been looking for me, and now she is missing me (which is Ghanaian English for she didn’t get to see me ). How strange, she said, that I am there and she is in the US. When we spoke last week about her coming to visit and our reconnecting, Franciska said it was God’s work. She said I went to Bolga with faith knowing I would find some students, and I did. It was God’s work that Shetu went to have a beer at my hotel for the first time in one or two years, and that I would speak to them in Hausa and that she would recognize me. Franciska decided it was God’s will that we reunite, and who am I to contradict God’s will.

“Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.”

October 18, 2011

My doctor is semi-retired and only kept some patients, and I was happy to be one of them, but not yesterday. When I got to Cambridge (where my doctor’s office actually is), the door was locked. I knocked, no answer. I waited, but she didn’t come. I rang the bell to her residence which is above her office, no answer. I called, no answer. Finally I gave up and left. Luckily the day wasn’t a total loss as my sister and I had made a date for lunch, and we tried out a Thai restaurant in her town. The food was delicious. I took the leftovers, another plus, and drove home. When I got here, I called my doctor. She answered. I said I had driven there but the office was closed. “I was in Florida,” she said. She looked in her book-nope, not there. She had forgotten to write down the appointment. Just imagine how happy I was!

I am always on time, most times I’m early as I give myself extra time when going off Cape in case of something like a flat tire (it did happen but only once) or heavy traffic (a common occurrence). Doctors are never on time. Neither are dentists. They just keep you waiting in one room or another until they get there. I laugh at the Infinity commercial which says they’ll give you a $20.00 credit if they’re not on time. Well, of  course, they’ll be on time when the arrival window is sometime between 10 and 4. How can you be late when you have all day to get here? Meanwhile, we sit and wait. Okay, I admit I am griping a bit today because of yesterday, but I figure I deserve a bit of griping, but I’m done now and feel a lot better for it.

I am not the most patient person in the world, but when I was in Ghana, I had no choice. I learned to be patient as Ghanaians live by their own clocks. Busses leave when they’re full; people arrive for dinner when they get there; clothes are finished being sewn days after being promised and internal plane flights sometimes leave early or sometimes don’t leave at all. I understood it was cultural so I accepted it and didn’t waste my time or energy on expectations. I just learned to carry a book.

When I went to Ghana, I fell right back into African time as opposed to European time, better defined as punctuality. Here, where we move through our days prompted by the hands of clocks, it is easy to be on time. It just takes a little planning. I always think of punctuality as a sign of respect.