Last night it rained again, and the clouds are hanging around as showers are predicted. It is in the 50’s, Cape Cod spring warm. The dogs have been out a couple of times. Nala is disappointed by the weather. She likes to lie in the sun, but, instead, she is on the couch. Henry is on my bed upstairs. He likes to stretch out. My dogs live better than I do. 

When I was a kid, our dog Duke was not allowed on furniture, but he had ways around it. He’d lie across the bed with only the tips of his nails on the floor. At night, he’d sleep on the couch, and we would hear him get off the couch s we went downstairs. He never got caught. My dogs think the couch is theirs. I sit in the middle and one dog is on each side of me. They are comfortable, but I am not. My dogs definitely live better than I do.  

I still moan a bit when I move, but it is getting better. I don’t moan as loudly. My hand is still ugly. If I had a job as a hand model, I’d be out of the job. My friends have been wonderful. They feed me and keep me company. They call to check on me. My neighbor stops by every day. My sister calls every morning. I am being well taken care of.

My front garden is lovely, filled with color. The dafs and the hyacinths are high. The dafs are yellow while the hyacinths are purple, red and orange. More flowers are getting close to blooming. I can see buds on my lilac tree. Spring is barreling through the cold nights and mornings. It is taking its turn.

My yard is littered with Nala trash. It looks like an empty lot. I haven’t been vigilant enough with used paper goods and such, but I have protected my food. From the deck I can see paper plates, my stolen cough drops strewn around, a few stray pieces of paper and some paper towels. I am tolerating the trash. 

I have no lists. I am bereft. My house is filled with tumbleweeds disguised as balls of fur. I grab them when they float in the air as I walk by them, mostly in the hall. My sweatshirt sleeve is my duster. I run it across table tops. I think of it as piecemeal cleaning. 

I am about to be throned sloth queen. There are no other contenders. 

I am getting a bit better. I just have to be patient. I spend most of my time on the couch, and as long as I sit still and not reach for anything, I’m okay. I did find a gigantic black and blue I had missed before. My hand is still swollen but not as much. The bruise looks red and goes all the way up to the knuckles of my fingers. It is ugly. 

The rain keeps coming. My lawn and garden are flooded. The dogs are soaked when they come back inside after a trip to the yard. They are now having their late morning naps. Such is a dog’s life in this house.

Ghana has only two seasons, rainy and dry. I lived in the driest part of the country. Both seasons were uncomfortable in their own ways. The dry season was longer, and temperatures were usually in the high 90’s and low100’s. The roads turned to dust. Everything was brown. My lips and heels cracked. I learned not to dry myself after my shower so I could feel cool enough in bed to fall sleep. Sometimes they turned off the water. I became quiet adept at taking bucket baths. I even left enough water in the bucket to flush the toilet. I could buy tomatoes, onions, tuber yam and rice. I ate so much rice I didn’t eat it for the longest time when I got home. The dry season was never enjoyed. At best, it was tolerated. 

The rainy season was a rebirth. The first storms were magnificent. I once saw lightning hit the ground. Because of the dryness of the ground, the water made rivulets which turned into small streams. I used to watch the one in front of my house. Fields were planted. Leaves returned to trees. The air felt cool. The nights got as low as the 70’s. I needed a blanket. More citrus fruits from the south were sold in the market where the tables had pyramids of oranges and bananas piled high. The pineapples were sweet. Aunties, the women who sold food along the roadsides, would use a single edge razor blade to peel around the top of the orange then slice the top so you could suck out the juice. Their dexterity was amazing to watch. Millet, maize and corn grew tall in the fields. I was surrounded by green.

When I travel back to Ghana, I go during the rainy season, but Bolgatanga, my other home town, still feels hot and the humidity is thick from the rain, but I have always loved the rainy season. I love the sound on the metal roofs and sitting outside under an umbrella surrounded by rain but staying dry. The fields are filled with crops. The air smells sweet.