Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ category
Pumpkins: John Southworth
October 24, 2016Crimson and Clover: Joan Jett and the Blackhearts
October 22, 2016
Colour My World: Petula Clark
October 22, 2016
Vote for Mr. Rhythm: Chick Webb and His Orchestra
October 21, 2016“Upbeat, irrepressible, and potentially illegal (“I’m voting twice”), this celebration of Webb’s talents includes the nineteen-year-old Ella Fitzgerald on vocals.”
“There’s no such thing as a vote that doesn’t matter.”
October 21, 2016This morning I slept late. It was cozy under the warm comforter. The dog sensing I was awake stood up. I just stayed in bed. Fern joined us. I finally decided to get up. It was almost nine. I got downstairs, let Gracie outside, made coffee and then fetched my newspapers. The street was wet on the sides so it must have rained last night. I missed it.
The forecast is for rain today, and I thought it was going to rain earlier when the sun disappeared and dark clouds took over the sky. Since then the sun has reappeared, but it doesn’t look all that comfortable surrounded as it is by clouds. It may yet rain.
Okay, I have a confession to make. I have become an MSNBC junkie. When I was in Ghana, I saw the first debate. I read all the comments, all the fallout, and had a few laughs. I also got irritated, majorly irritated. My friend Bill advised me not to read anymore, but I couldn’t stop. I was in the grip of this horrific campaign. Now it is worse. I watched the last two debates and the Al Smith dinner last night. I watched the fact checker after the last debate and saw how many Pinocchios Mr. Trump received. Even now, I have MSNBC in the background. I’m beginning to feel like a gawker.
I have always voted. I believe it is the responsibility of every citizen who is of age. My first election was 1968. I had to wait back then until I was twenty-one. My candidate did not win. When I was in Ghana, I got an absentee ballot, but it arrived too late. The election was already over. I sent it in anyway, by air mail.
My town still uses paper and pen ballots. For the first time, I will be able to vote early, starting next week. I check in by my address at a table where two women sit. Every election it is the same two women. We always say hi. I go behind the curtain and vote then put my ballot in the box. I usually know the police officer standing beside the box. I then go to a different table to check out by street address. Two women sit at that table as well. We usually have a bit if a chit chat then I’m done. I proudly put my I voted sticker on my shirt.
“And falling’s just another way to fly.”
October 18, 2016The morning is cloudy and damp. I could smell the ocean when I went to get the papers so I lingered outside a while. It was quiet. I knew my neighbors were awake as their shades were up, and their paper was gone. I don’t see them much. Thinking about it, I don’t see many of my neighbors. When I do, we always wave.
My groceries arrived right on time yesterday. My fridge is now filled. I bought some plantain hoping to make kelewele. I’m also going to try my hand at jollof rice. It’s fun making something new, especially dishes filled with memories.
I left my windows open last night. I had thought them closed for the season, but yesterday was warm. Today will be even warmer. I got to hear the birds sing when I woke up. They were far less intrusive than that Ghanaian rooster. It doesn’t really matter where I am. I love mornings the best. My dad used to switch to storm windows around this time of year. It took him the whole day. He had to get each window on hooks, and it wasn’t easy because he also had to lean on the ladder for balance. We all watched.
It is from my dad I inherited the gene associated with all my falls. His falls were sometimes spectacular. They were also sometimes funny like the sawing himself out of the tree fall I have mentioned before. He didn’t fall far. He did break his hip on a fall from a high ladder when he was painting his house. He always limped after that. I have been luckier with only a broken bone in my shoulder, and no after effects because of physical therapy. I just accept falls as a fact of life.
Autumn Almanac: The Kinks
October 15, 2016
“One should not attend even the end of the world without a good breakfast.”
October 11, 2016The morning came a bit later for me so there is progress. I woke up at 5:20, later but still before my paper. I am enjoying real coffee with real cream. I turned the news on but decided I didn’t want to know what is happening: ignorance is most decidedly bliss.
My house was cold this morning, and it seemed a bit strange to feel real cold, not the blast of an air conditioner. Bolga was hot, never lower than 95˚.
Today I will attempt to empty my suitcases. Every time I go into the living room I step around them. It is just that I haven’t had the energy, and my usual compulsion to finish the task seems to have disappeared. It should also be laundry day.
Fern, one of my cats, looks so much better. She is the one who nearly died from heart and kidney complications. She is eating, purring and demanding treats. She is also back to sleeping beside me on the couch and with me in bed. While I was gone, she slept in the other room. I worried about her when I was gone.
I bought lots and lots, yards and yards, of Ghanaian cloth. Some of it is tie and dye. I just couldn’t stop myself. One of the cloths is a 12-yard piece. I’m going to have table cloths and napkins made as Christmas presents. My suitcase was incredibly heavy.
I haven’t eaten breakfast since I got home. Every morning in Ghana I had eggs and toast. It didn’t matter where I was. Other than the lodge, all the eggs tasted the same. They were fried and had no yolks. The toast was always cold. I tried once for French toast but my description produced an egg sandwich with the bread fried on one side. It was good but not what I expected.
The former students who visited brought bananas and oranges for my friends. I did snag a couple of oranges, and they were as sweet as I remembered. We tried sweet apples for the first time. You eat the petals and spit out the seed. They were work but they were delicious.
Today I have a library board meeting. It is truly back to the usual.
I’m Ghana sit right down and write myself a letter.
October 2, 2016The morning is again lovely, but today there is no breeze. We are eating breakfast with the fan above our heads working its heart out to give us a bit of cool air. The last two days have been hot and so humid rivulets of sweat ran down my cheeks. Yup, it was not a pretty picture.
Thursday was market day. We wandered in the cloth and leather markets, and my bag was filled with beautiful traditional Ghanaian cloth. The market men were eager to entice us to their stalls, but I didn’t mind as I got to sit on benches in the shade.
Later on Thursday we went to see my student Grace’s house, a house in progress. It was quite a distance from Bolga and the laterite road had bumps and grooves. Some traditional huts and many unfinished houses line the road. The houses are concrete and in various stages. Grace’s house is far from being finished.
Friday was a trip to a basket village. The women were all seated under a tree in the shade. They were working on different stages of the baskets from splitting the reeds to finishing the baskets by cutting the threads. They would periodically stop working and clap in unison. When we started to leave, the women encircled us and began to sing. A woman would then enter the circle and dance. One of the women grabbed my hand, and I went to the middle and gave it a go. They were thrilled.
On Thursday we had guests for dinner, three current Peace Corps volunteers. I remember how grateful I was back when if someone bought me dinner. We talked about Bolga and Peace Corps in our day and in theirs. We decided we served at a wonderful time when the world was safer.
I wish you were here with me in the mornings. The air is clear and as cool as it will get. Roosters compete with each other. The women clean the compound using small reed hand brooms. All the leaves are swept and cleared. You can hear the swish of their brooms. The air smells of charcoal fires and the lush greenery only found during the rainy season.
The other night we had a spectacular thunder storm. First came the wind and the darkest of skies. When the rain started, it was all we could hear. The thatch roof above us kept the rain off our heads, but the wind blew the sheets of rain, and we got wet, mostly our feet and legs. It was wonderful.
Today is another market day, and I can’t resist the lure so that is our morning plan. Tonight former students are coming to dinner.
Check out this link. It is updated often:
https://goo.gl/photos/3KcWPUGewdXxsvza7
I’m Ghana wash that man right out of my hair.
September 29, 2016This morning I was up at 5:30. My friendly rooster was right outside my window. He and I greeted the dawn together though I refrained from crowing. Last night I think it was a bird which made all the noise. I remember thinking I’ll never get to sleep, and that was my last thought before the day and the heat had me falling asleep despite the noise
I am at the restaurant, but no one is here yet so no coffee. As bad as the coffee is, I still can’t start my day without it. I was even earlier than the sweeper. She bends over and sweeps the grounds every morning with a handful of stiff, dried reeds. She sweeps then collects all the leaves lying on the dirt around the hotel compound.
The breeze is cooler this morning, but it will be hotter than yesterday’s 95. We went to see the house Grace, my former student, is having built. That meant a short walk through the uneven grass. It was no ladylike perspiring. I was a sweaty mess. Getting to the taxi was no relief. It was a wreck with the windshield looking like crackle glass, no handles on doors, torn seats and no gas cap. At least the ride was cheap.
Today is market day. The town is filled with women carrying goods on their heads to their stalls. They are wearing a combination of modern, their tops, and traditional clothing, their wraps. The market is divided in sections. You can find everything, all sorts of food, fruits and vegetables, eggs which may or may have been fertilized, live chickens, pots and pans, bruni wawu, translated as dead white man’s clothes because why else would they give up such wonderful clothes, men who sole sandals with tire treads, seamstresses and Bolga crafts. It will be hot today, but I can never miss market day. I’ll go to the bank first of course.
