The day is overcast and humid. I figure it’s setting the stage for Irene’s visit tomorrow. 80% of the Sunday flights out of Logan have already been canceled. I checked the status of mine just a while ago, and it is still scheduled. Tonight when I leave at 10:15 it may be rainy but that’s all. This morning I emptied the kitty litter and Gracie and I went to the dump then I dropped my car off at the car repair place to have some scratches and a small hole repaired. My house/pet sitter is moving in at five after she finishes work. All is ready!

I am beyond myself and wonder how I’ll get through the day. I feel like a little kid on Christmas Eve who knows it will be years until bedtime. Going back to Ghana is even exciting to say. I talked to my friend Ralph the other night and last night I spoke to another friend, Michelle, both of  whom were with me in Ghana. They were so very excited for me, and I promised a million pictures.

The first time I went to Ghana I had no expectations. Africa to me was a total mystery. Tarzan movies were about as close as I had even gotten. I read a few books before I left, including one on the politics of Ghana which Peace Corps had recommended. It was dry and boring, and none of the books on the list had pictures. My first impression of Ghana was it was a riot of colors and patterns in the clothes the Ghanaians wore. The women carrying huge boxes on their heads were a marvel. The markets were filled with the unusual: vegetables I’d never seen before, odd colored nuts and live animals. I was overwhelmed by the sights and sounds and smells I had never before encountered.

Ghana became home. Shopping for a live chicken became commonplace. Rambling through the market on market day was one of my favorite things. It always seemed a bit like a carnival to me. In town at night lanterns flickered beside stands along the roadside where women cooked and sold hand food. Plantain chips and kabobs were my favorites. Watching an auntie (an older woman) wield a single edge razor blade to peel around the top of an orange before she lopped it off never failed to amaze me. The orange, green in Ghana, was always sweet.

All of those are old images, old memories, cherished and saved in my memory drawers. Starting tomorrow I get to make new ones. Despite all my hoping, I never imagined I’d return to Ghana.