Keep the Coffee Comimg

Around two this morning, I was sitting with Jack the cat when the lights went out. They came back on then flickered and went out again then on again before going out again. I could hear Henry growling in the hall. He doesn’t do well with anomalies. The lights then came on and stayed on. Poor Henry was shaking. I petted and reassured him. He stopped shaking.

The morning is dark, and the air feels damp. Rain is predicted, but I won’t hold my breath as it was predicted the other day, the dry day. (It is much later than when I started. It is raining).

I had a dentist appointment this morning to have my teeth cleaned. It didn’t go well. I’ll leave it with that.

I’m going to continue the story of my Peace Corps training. After two weeks, we all broke into smaller groups for our live-ins around the country. We would be living for three weeks with families who spoke the languages we were learning. My group of eight had the furthest to travel. We made our way to Tamale then to Bolga then to Bawku. We traveled all day and into the night and arrived too late to meet our families. The next day I met Imaru Sanda, my Ghanaian father, and his daughter, my hostess. The house had a generator, and the family owned another sort of house close by with a courtyard where movies were shown. I remember a spaghetti western where reel 3 was shown before reel 2. My father was a Muslim and had four wives. They lived a short walk away in a compound with their young children. They cooked all my meals and brought them to the house. I loved visiting that compound. The babies liked me, but the toddlers cried, scared by my white skin. The walk to visit the women was on a dirt walkway between compounds. I always passed small boys sitting on stools under a tree with a teacher in front of them. They were intoning the Koran and memorizing it. I loved that walk.

My stay in Bawku was amazing and filled with new people, new foods, a growing sense of comfort and a recognition that I was strong, able to adapt and was falling in love with a wonderful place I could never have imagined. There is far more to my live-in story, but I’ll stop here and leave you hungering for more.

The heat continues. Today will be in the mid 80’s. It is a still day. Not even a single leaf is moving. We haven’t had rain. I’ll be watering the deck plants today.

The back door is closed because the AC is on so Nala rings the dreaded doggie bells wanting me to let her out. She has been out at least 4 times already. I let her out, let her in, let her out then in again. I swear if the door was open she’d be napping. This is a concerted effort to drive me crazy. She is succeeding.

In August in 1969, I was in the midst of Peace Corps training. We were student teaching in Koforidua. I was at a training college. I have sharp memories of that three week stay. I remember walking from the dorm to the dining hall and stopping to watch a moving column, wide and long, of ants. They carried leaves and flowers and an insect or two. I was mesmerized. For the first time during training, I was sick. I camped, sort of, in the bathroom. I needed to be close. I hitched to Accra one weekend and stayed at the Peace Corps hostel. I wandered the city. I survived an attempted purse snatching. I ate hummus for the first time. I visited the museum. I treated myself to a movie. It was Is Paris Burning?

My final week of training was after Koforidua. We stayed in dorm rooms at the University of Legon. We had real coffee every morning and mostly drank it outside where we sat and chatted. There were dancers and kente weavers. We were only a short distance, a twenty pesewa ride, about twenty cents, to the city. We went most evenings. During that week, we all took language exams. I remember sitting in a room with my language instructor and the tester who asked questions in Hausa like what my name is, where I was from, how I felt and what I liked to eat. I remember having to give directions in Hausa. The last event of the week was the swearing in ceremony. The ambassador had us repeat the oath of service after him. It was the same oath military recruits take which didn’t fit us. We complained but were told it was necessary especially if we wanted our settling in allowance, the money to buy whatever we needed at our sites. We took the oath. We became official Peace Corps volunteers. The most amazing two years of my life had begun.

The morning is hot already at 80°, but it is tempered by a strong breeze. I can hear the swishing of the oak tree leaves. I can also hear the morning songs of birds. We may have a thunderstorm or two later in the day. I’d like that.

When I was a kid, I went to mass every Sunday. I brought my missal. I still have that missal. Inside, in huge letters spread down the page I wrote my name. I used the missal to follow along. The mass was in Latin. The priest had his back to us. I got easily distracted. I’d bring a book and read it pretending if anyone noticed it was a holy book. I’d close my eyes as if I were praying. I liked standing in the back of the downstairs part of the church. I read the pamphlets. If I went upstairs to church on an early summer Sunday, the crowd was usually overflowing. I’d stand in the vestibule or even sit on the outsides stairs. I figured proximity counted.

I don’t remember being afraid of natural things when I was a kid. It was the man with the hook and his ilk who scared me. Noises in the night scared me. I’d look out the window hoping to see nothing. Sometimes I’d yell pretending to be brave. I never saw anybody, but that didn’t mean nobody was there. My sister was afraid of dragonflies, darning needles. She thought they could sew up her eyes and mouth. Bugs never bothered me.

My mother always loved to listen to music. She had a hi-fi before anyone else we knew had one. My father bought it using his bonus money. Her collection of records was heavy on the Frank Sinatra’s and the Tony Bennett’s. She also had all sorts of Christmas albums, some collections from Firestone and Grant’s. She would dance a bit around the kitchen when she was making dinner. I learned all the old songs by listening to her records.

Today is a bit cooler than yesterday but still as humid. The clouds will come and go. I have an empty dance card today. I could do some chores, like the kitchen floor, but my sloth side is screaming for attention. I’m thinking a cold drink, a good book and deck time.

In the life of every kid, there are special events, one time only events. The first one in my life was when I started school. All of a sudden, everything had changed. I didn’t know the word carefree back then, but if I had, I would have lamented its loss. Every weekday became a routine. I even had to wear the same outfit, my uniform, every day. I had a white blouse, a blue tie and a blue skirt with straps because the first grade girls had to wear skirts with straps. I have my first grade picture. My hair is long, my two front teeth look new and in dire need of braces. I do remember it didn’t take long for me to get used to my new world. I loved learning. I love reading.

In the second grade was my first communion. We shopped at Jordan Marsh in Malden for my dress. We all wore white including the boys in their white suits. Somewhere is a picture of me on that day. I had my hands together as if praying. I wasn’t. My strongest memory is not the first communion itself, but the Cinderella watch my aunt gave me.

The eighth grade was monumental. It was almost a free for all. I had Sister Hildegard who had no idea what was happening. I left school early, came back from lunch late and read books tucked inside my textbooks. It was the most fun I ever had in school. I also took entrance exams for high schools, chose one, got a new dress for graduation, and went to Nantasket for our class day. I wore a new blouse and new clam diggers. Graduation is almost an afterthought.

More firsts would come starting with the ninth grade and moving on and on until now. My memory drawers are overflowing, but I’ll stop here and save chapter two for another day.

The morning is already hot at 81°. Nala was panting. Now, she is having her morning nap. I am in the back of the house in the den. It doesn’t get sun until the afternoon so it is coolish. I haven’t turned on the AC yet but it’s coming. I like the cold the AC brings but with windows and doors closed I miss the sounds of the birds, the bang of the acorns hitting the deck and the swoosh of the leaves in the breeze.

When I was a kid, we didn’t even have a fan. All the windows and doors were open, but the house was hot. The living room was always dark. My mother kept the sun out by covering the windows. My sisters used to run through the sprinkler to get cool in the hot afternoon. I don’t remember being bothered by the heat. I always wore shorts and a sleeveless blouse and sneakers. They were dirty white sneakers with pointed toes. An axiom I figured out as I grew older is the dirtier the white sneakers the younger you are. It’s sort of the same with ice cream. The drippier the cone the younger you are.

I remember a small pond in the woods a bit of a distance from the house. One summer my brother and I built a raft though built is probably an exaggeration. We used vines to connect the branches and pieces of trunks we found in the woods. We launched our raft. Our raft sank, and we got wet. We thought it was funny. We did dry quickly.

In the middle of the field at the bottom of my street was a bubbler. The water was always cold. We taught the dog how to drink from the bubbler. Of course, we had to hold the button. I remember when we walked the tracks, there was a spot where water gurgled from a pipe. The water below the pipe formed a bit of a stream and was clear. We could see the dirt. We used to drink from the pipe. We used to eat any berries we found except for the small round red berries. My brother ate some once and had to have his stomach pumped.

This is my uke free day. I have a concert tomorrow so today is my errand day. The weekend is my housecleaning day. I have to wash the kitchen floor. I can’t stand it anymore.

The morning is near perfect. There is a wind strong enough to blow the chimes hanging from a tree branch. The air is sweet with their sound. When I looked out the window, I saw bird after bird grabbing a sunflower seed, flying off to eat and then returning for another. I noticed movement in the yard and then spied a rabbit hopping round and munching the greenery. I was worried about Nala so I went out on the deck to watch. Nala never saw the rabbit.

When I was a kid, I had a dream. I dreamed I would travel the world. I would visit the places in my geography book. I remember the picture of Christ the Redeemer standing tall over the city of Rio. I went to Corcovado Mountain and stood at the foot of that statue. I was in awe. I had jumped into the pages of my geography book. I had stepped into a dream.

I always knew from the eighth grade on I would go into the Peace Corps. Back then there were PSA’s on TV about the Peace Corps. I intently watched every one knowing they were directed at me. My father watched and wondered why anyone would do that. What a waste he thought, spending all that money on college then going God knows where for no money. I decided discretion was in order and said nothing. I hung on to this dream. When I was a junior in college, I went to listen to a Peace Corps recruiter. I even took the language test which measures your ability to learn a new language. I went to a country where English is the official language. I can still remember the day I got my invitation to serve. I was going to Africa. Another dream had become reality.

I have never stopped dreaming. I have dreams which will probably never come true, but it is still fun to dream. That I win a million dollars in the lottery is one of those. I figure, though, I’ll have to start buying lottery tickets. I’d like the elves who visited the shoemaker to visit me but not to make shoes but to clean my house. I am so tired of vacuuming Henry fur and cleaning paw prints off the kitchen floor. The big dream is always to go back to Ghana. It is my heart dream.

The rain started slowly late yesterday afternoon, got a bit heavier and then stayed around most of the night. The morning is chilly at 67°, still overcast, breezy and damp. The sun is supposed to warm the day to the mid-70’s but seems reluctant to appear. The clouds are hanging on, but the rain is gone.

Henry still has some dog door issues. Sometimes he looks through the flap and whacks it but doesn’t come inside. I try to ignore him but then I feel bad and let him in. Other times he gives up and comes inside. What I love is he’ll be in the hall tapping his nails on the floor until I say, “Go, Henry,” then he runs up the hall and goes outside. He has no trouble going out.

When I was a kid, summer days were the best days of the year. I was gone from just after breakfast until close to supper. The streetlights came on later because of the light hanging around longer so I could even go out playing after dinner. I remember hide and seek. We hid in the shadows.

We were a game family. Every Christmas we got a new game, and we played it around the kitchen table. My father taught us whist, and we played in teams, girls against boys. My mother and I usually won. Sorry was the best game. It was so much fun and so very aggravating. Knocking someone back to start was followed by hooting and cheering. Even when I was an adult, we sat around the kitchen table playing cards. We played endless games of hi-low Jack. My father was both the worst winner and the worst loser. When he lost, we taunted him. Once his back gave out and he fell off the bench, but he still bid from the floor. My father loved his card games.

The birds have found the feeders. They were constantly in and out this morning. The chickadees waited in line. They all seemed to like the same feeder. The titmouse chose the feeder the spawn likes. Today it was the female cardinal. Both she and the male like the new feeder. They can sit in it and munch. I had seen the shells of the sunflower seeds in that feeder and wondered how they got there. Now I know.

The sun is shining. It is a pretty morning which belies the forecast of rain this afternoon into tomorrow. I’m fine with the rain. It is about time.

I saw it, the spawn. Earlier it was hanging upside down at one of the feeders. I wished I had a sling shot and an accurate eye. It was yesterday when I knew for certain that a spawn or many spawns were at the feeders. When I went out in the afternoon, I saw one of the clay pots had fallen to the deck and was broken. I saved the flower and repotted it. I’m going out on the deck later which will keep the spawn at bay.

Sunday has always been my least favorite day. It is quiet by design. When I was a kid, it meant mass and a family dinner, the best part of the day. It meant hanging around the house, no exploring, no biking, no wandering. There were only two exceptions to those usual Sundays. We’d go to East Boston to visit my grandparents, and we’d go to the beach, always after mass. Sunday dinner became beach food like sandwiches, chips, pepper and egg, bug juice and cookies, usually Oreos. We’d spend the day there. I can still remember leaving the beach to go home. We had to stick our feet in a bucket to get the sand off then jump into the car with clean feet. My father wasn’t big on sand in the car.

The very first presidential election when I was old enough to vote was in 1968. I voted for Hubert Humphrey. I couldn’t bring myself to vote for Nixon. Much later, during the Watergate hearing, I was in Washington. Hubert Humphrey walked by, and he kindly stopped and signed the book I was reading, the Foundation Trilogy by Isaac Asimov. I still have that book.

My dance card for the week is filled with uke: two concerts, practice and a lesson. That’s it.

The morning is perfect. It is 74° degrees, sunny and dry. The air is still. It is a day to be out and about or a day to loll on the deck with a book and a cold drink. Lemonade, a bit tart, would be perfect. I was awakened by the roar of the mower cutting the grass in my front yard. It was early for me, around 9, but I’m thinking not so early in the world of mowing.

When I was lying in bed, I could hear the plink of falling acorns hitting the metal bird seed storage barrel on the deck. Acorns are all over the deck. Nala chews them. In the spawn attacked deck box, the poor flowers have died. Well, one died and two disappeared. It is now empty. I’m going to have to buy a couple more.

When I was a kid, Saturday had rituals. We watched Saturday morning TV, still in our pajamas, with cereal bowls in hand while sitting close enough to the TV to cause blindness. Saturday was chore day. My father did his errands in the morning and worked in the yard in the afternoon, weather permitting. We had a New England Saturday night dinner though in the summer we often had a barbecue, also traditional. When we kids, it was hot dogs and hamburgers. When we were much older, it was spare ribs, steaks tips, Chinese sausage or chicken. My mother would make peppers and onions or potato salad. We were never a green salad family. Saturday night was bath night, a universal ritual.

My dance card is empty for the weekend. I’ll hunker down at home. I could vacuum or dust, but I won’t. I will water the inside plants. Rain is coming tomorrow so I don’t need to water outside. My hibiscus have started blooming. The front garden is still awash with color. Soon the clematis covering the front fence will bloom. The air will be abuzz with the sounds of the bees swarming the clematis. I’ll walk by gently.

Today is a lovely summer day. The temperature is 71°. The sun is bright in a blue sky. A breeze is blowing the trees and branches. Best of all, the humidity is gone. Of course, it being summer on Cape Cod, the humidity will be back, but not today.

My muse has taken a vacation. I keep starting and stopping. I keep getting stuck. I even yawn a little. I’m thinking a morning nap is in order.

Prepare for stream of consciousness.

My favorite pie is lemon meringue. My friend used to make it for me instead of a birthday cake. I’ll take blueberry pie next. My mother always made Thanksgiving pies and included lemon meringue. She made apple, my father’s favorite. He added a chunk of cheddar. I prefer sweet potato pie to pumpkin and custard more than both.

I have four pairs of high tops. I have a fifth pair I stored somewhere, but it is now lost in time. That pair is pink. I like my red high tops best. I’d like a green pair next.

I don’t wear hats unless it is Arctic cold. I have one hat dating back to high school. My friend’s grandmother knitted it for me. It is pink and white. There is a funny side to hats and me. I don’t wear them, but I collect them. I have some really neat ones like an old band hat with a red plume. A fedora reminds me of my dad as he wore one to work very day when I was a kid. One of my favorites is a wide pink hat I figure some elegant woman wore in the 50’s. My train conductor’s hat is blue. I have my old brownie hat. I have a red fez and a red Chinese cap. My sister gave me her Easter hat from when she was a little girl. It has a wide brim and a blue bow. I have other hats, but I’ll save those for another day.

I love hamburgers and cheeseburgers. My favorite ice cream changes. A while back it was mint chocolate chip. Lately it has been mocha chip. My favorite topping is hot fudge, and harkening back to my youth, marshmallow goes on top of the fudge, but whipped cream is fine too.

I like brownies. I loved my mother’s brownies with chocolate frosting and jimmies. I like too many cookies to choose a favorite though chocolate chip would be close.

Wow, it seems I overcame my writing lethargy. I could go on, but I need another cup of coffee, and I want to save something for my next museless day.