We had light rain last night for a little while. It left the morning damp and the sky cloudy. A slight breeze ruffles the leaves every now and then. More rain is predicted for today. It is a perfect sloth day to stay home and be lazy.

I have always had a great memory. Sometimes I remember in words. Other times I remember in images. As I’ve gotten older, though, I’ve had to rely more on images as the words are harder to remember, harder to find. Those missing words eventually come to mind but often too late to be helpful. As for images, they stay. Even after all these years, I can still close my eyes and see my walk to school, what houses I passed and how the sidewalk was shaded by overhanging branches. I can count the houses along the street. I can see them all.

When I was in the eighth grade, the infamous Sister Hildegard made us memorize the Declaration of Independence, the Gettysburg Address and the Bill of Rights. Each of us had to stand and recite the parts we’d memorized until we had finished with each document. The Gettysburg Address was the easiest to memorize followed by the Bill of Rights. The Declaration of Independence took a long while. Somehow she kept track of our progress. It was easy for me.

In Ghana, my school was off the main road. Between the school and town there were fields and a few buildings. I used to walk to town to shop on market day. It was downhill into town and uphill back. I still remember the road, the kiosks and the buildings. I can close my eyes and see the post office, the bank, the Super Service Inn, the small kiosks selling canned goods like butter and a few veggies, the book store, the aunties selling food along the sides of the road, the entrances to the market and the few spots to rest a bit and have a Coke. It has changed over the years, but I still remember how it was. I think of that as a gift.

I store things in usual places figuring usual will help me remember where those things are when I need them. Sometimes, though, I go to those usual places and don’t find what I want. I had put them somewhere else, somewhere safe. My memory had failed me, but then an imagine, a snapshot, jumps into my head, and I remember. I get my stuff, use it and then put it back in a safe place.

The morning is cloudy but warm, 72°. I’m going to collect branches so I can be working outside enjoying the lovely weather. The dogs stay out much longer on days like today. Nala sleeps on a patch of grass in the sun. Henry is near the deck just sitting and watching the world. They appreciate the day.

When I was a little kid, I didn’t have many decisions I needed to make. I wore uniforms to school so I didn’t need to choose an outfit. I had school shoes which doubled as church shoes. I had church clothes, dresses or skirts. I had play clothes. The first thing I did after school every day was to change from my school clothes to my play clothes. That had been ingrained in me as soon as first grade, and it stayed with me all of my life. I never gave it any thought. It just was.

My father always claimed I had a wise mouth. He didn’t mean it as a compliment. He meant I answered him back. I even answered his rhetorical questions. That bothered him the most. My favorite was, “What do you think you’re doing?” I figured that deserved an answer. My father didn’t agree. His, “How many times do I have to tell you,” was also rhetorical, but I gave him an answer anyway. My mother’s favorite was, “Just wait until your father gets home.” When I was little, it scared me, but as I got older, I considered it an idle threat. At some point when I was older, the threats and questions stopped. I don’t remember when.

Spring and summer are noisy seasons. My windows are open so I hear all the sounds. The birds sing to welcome the dawn. On a breezy day, I can hear the winds chimes. Their sound sweetens the air. Henry barks if anyone dares walk by my house. He has a deep bark. At night, when he is outside, it can be disconcerting. At night, I can hear the frogs who live by the tiny pond at the end of my street. The crickets and katydids chirp, and sometimes I even hear the cicadas buzzing. The night is alive.

I know all the sounds my house makes. At night, it creaks and groans. The dogs’ paws click on the wood floors. Sometimes when both dogs run down the stairs they sound like a herd of buffalos. My street is small so I know when a car goes by the house. Henry sometimes barks. He is my protector.

As for today, I can hear the leaves rustling and the chimes ringing.