
…the drowsy hum of crickets and other sleepy sounds of the summer day…
Posted July 19, 2024 by katryCategories: Musings
This morning is a delight. The air, blowing a bit from the north, even feels a little chilly. It is 70° with no humidity. Later it will get warmer, 78° being the high for the day. I haven’t a list so I feel a bit at sea. Yesterday I not only completed my list but also filled the bird feeders, not on the list. I feel accomplished.
Every season has a feel about it. Every season even has a wardrobe. My favorite season is fall, but I do love summers, especially summer nights. The doors and windows are open. The air is filled with the chirping of katydids and crickets. Sometimes I can hear a frog, and I swear I sometimes hear an owl. My neighborhood is always quiet. I can see the lights in the windows of my neighbors’ houses. In my house, the lights somehow look dimmer at night, a bit diffused. Out the back door, white lights are on the fence. I keep lit candles in the windows. Sometimes I go out just to sit on the deck in the dark. The dogs come with me. They lie down but stay alert. I keep watch for fireflies. The dogs just keep watch.
When I was a kid, Duke, our boxer, followed us everywhere. We used to yell at him to stay, and Duke would sit. We’d walk a little bit then turn around to check on Duke, and he’d still be sitting, but the distance between us and the sitting dog never changed, never got any bigger. Duke knew how to dupe us. My father and mother were also his victims. Duke sometimes escaped in the morning and would start to follow kids to school. My father would yell out the door for Duke to come. He’d turn around, give my father a defiant look and then keep walking even a little faster. My father would get so mad he’d hop in his car and chase Duke. He usually caught him as Duke couldn’t resist a ride in the car. My mother tried to bribe Duke with bologna. She’d hold the meat out the front door, shake it so Duke could see it. He’d run to the door and snatch the meat. My mother never caught him. Nala has a bit of Duke about her, a big bit of Duke, and I am her victim.
I don’t know what I’ll do today. Maybe I’ll sweep the deck. Maybe I’ll check a few stored bins as I’m missing some shirts I hand made in Ghana. I might even make my bed, but then again I don’t want to go overboard. (I’d like to point out that I started this with an ocean idiom and am finishing it in like fashion!)
”Summer is a time for popsicles.”
Posted July 18, 2024 by katryCategories: Musings
Tags: Street markets Accra popsicles heat
Today will be in the 80’s with thick humidity. The sky is cloudy but was sunny just a few minutes ago. They, the sun and the clouds, will take turns. I have only one errand, to buy dog food, and my to do list is short, water plants inside and outside. Friday’s uke concert was cancelled so no uke until Monday.
A little while ago I watched a spider hanging on his web in mid air then I saw him scurry up the web to the ceiling. I’m watching to see if he floats back down. He did right in front of the TV. August is spider month in my house. It is when all the babies are born. They are so tiny only their webs give them away. They tend to spin their webs on window sills making them easy to see in the sunlight. Hoardes of spiders live behind things. I saw an entire city of them behind my headboard. I vacuumed them and let them go outside as I tend to leave spiders alone. They eat bugs.
I’m watching another Accra street market video. Each is seemingly the same, but they hold my attention. Women are the sellers in all the markets. They line the streets, sit on their chairs, chit chat and sell about everything. Men walk around selling stuff easily carried like mesh bags. They have them hanging by their handles up and down their arms. I am always amazed at the number of sellers and wonder how any of them make money. I seldom see a buyer.
I loved popsicles when I was a kid. Root beer and cherry were my favorites, but I’d take an orange if I had no choice. When you’re little, the drips as the popsicles melt are inevitable. They go down the sticks, down the hand and down the arm. I remember seeing lines of drips on little kids’ arms. They always licked from the top, bad strategy. When you get older, you know to lick from the bottom. Popsicles melt fast. If you aren’t careful, the bottoms near the sticks fall off. That is the tragedy of a popsicle.



