This morning I am behind my time. The day is dark and rainy, a soft rain, a quiet rain. Taking my time to read the paper, to do the puzzles and to enjoy my toast and coffee just seemed the perfect way to appreciate the morning.

The rain started yesterday morning around 3:15. First came the far off rumbling thunder. Lightning was next. The thunder kept getting louder and closer until it was over the house. One rumble shook the house, and we all jumped, Henry, Nala and I. Lighting out the back door lit up the kitchen. When the rain finally came, it was a heavy rain blunting all other sounds. We went to bed with the rain all around us.

Yesterday the rain was intermittent, but it started in ernest last night. It stayed around. The hot days have given way to the cooler rain. It is only 69° right now. The rain will be around all day.

When I was a kid, I loved the heavy summer rain. The water in the gutters was so fast it jumped over rocks and debris as if it were a sort of domestic white water. I’d walk barefoot through the gutter kicking up the water, pounding it with my feet. I’d get soaked.

I loved the rainy season in Ghana. Everything was green, the crops were high and the air was redolent. It rained just about every day, but it never stopped anyone. The market ladies still sold their wares. Farmers worked in their fields. Villagers walked on laterite back roads barely wide enough for one car. Fields with ripening millet and corn lined the sides of the roads. I’d sit outside my front door and watch the rain. I never tired of the rain.

The dogs and I are lounging in the air conditioning. The heat is brutal. It is 88°, far too hot for this time of year. Nala went out, sniffed the air but then decided to come right back inside the house. It did rain around 3:30 this morning but only for a short time. The forecast is for more rain, but I am a skeptic. The sun is high, the sky is blue.

The deck flowers are beautiful. The begonias are huge. I chose a variety of colors to put in pots across the deck rail. I think the pink is the brightest. The basil is ready for picking. The lavender and the rosemary smell the best. I run my hand up each plant to press the smell onto my fingers.

When I was growing up, I never learned to cook beyond a hot dog, canned soup or a hamburger. In Ghana, I baked cookies for the first time, sugar cookies for Christmas. My mother had sent me cookie cutters and colored sprinkles so I figured I’d give baking a try. The first thing I had to do was travel 100 miles south to a town called Tamale (tarm a lay) to fill the gas cylinder. My town had no gas so I didn’t use my stove but rather cooked food on a small charcoal burner. I hauled the cylinder onto a bus. The trip took around two and a half hours each way. In Tamale I found a station, had the gas can filled then hauled the heavy canister onto another bus for the ride home. When I got back to Bolga, I took a taxi to my house, no way could I have hauled the heavy canister through town and up the hill to my school. I used a beer bottle to roll the dough, cut trees and stockings then baked the cookies. I was surprised. They were delicious. They made the trek worthwhile.

I loved my mother’s brownies. One bite was a burst of chocolate. She sometimes added chocolate chips to the batter and always frosted her brownies with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles. I liked the crisp corners.

This is a busy week for me and my uke. I just wish it were cooler.