The thunder started last night with a few rumbles. The rain came later in spurts. By the time I went to bed it had stopped for the meanwhile. The morning is damp and dark with a bit of a mist. My plans to get the deck summer ready are thwarted. I will get a few plants and animal food, but I’ll do house chores instead of outside chores. It is time to put in the door screens which I dread as the storm door windows are really heavy. I go backwards one step at a time down the cellar stairs. May God be with me.

Henry update: I switched dog door flaps and removed the frosted one for the clear one. Henry now goes in and out the dog door. Henry is a peculiar dog.

When I was a kid, the milk man came every week. I could hear the rattling of the bottles in the wire carrier as he walked from his truck to the backyard. At first he put them on the top step then later we had a container for them. We had bottles of white milk and one bottle of chocolate milk delivered. We mixed the chocolate with the white. The chocolate went fast. The backup was Nestle’s Quik.

My grandparents lived down the street from the First National grocery store. My grandmother did the shopping. I don’t think my grandfather ever saw the inside of a grocery store. He had his roles, and she had hers. My grandmother always dressed up to go anywhere. She wore her day dress, stockings, not nylon, and clunky black shoes. She never learned to drive so she walked to the store. She took her basket with her, the sort you hauled behind you. She went shopping a couple of times a week.

Even through margarine was cheaper, we had butter. My mother told us how during the war they had to use lard because butter was rationed. The lard came with a packet of something yellow you added to it to make the lard look like butter. It tasted awful. That was why she always bought butter.

In Ghana I had to make do. I could buy butter in tins, in cans, but it was expensive so I used margarine, also in tins. It had a weird yellow color. For special meals, like for holidays, I splurged and bought butter. It lasted a long time in the tin. I never buy margarine now.

The morning started with a saga. Yesterday a line of ants was moving from the small space beside the butcher block to the door. I vacuumed them up then took the vacuum outside, emptied it and let the ants go over the deck rail. They were in clumps of Henry hair so they floated to the ground. This morning the ants were back. I vacuumed them then decided to find why they were there. (I know this is long, but I swear there is an ending). I took everything out from the space between the butcher block and a small shelf. I took out a tray, a huge round tray I use on the deck for food, a pizza stone and a cover for the electric burner I need when I use my clay tagine. Underneath them the floor was disgusting. It hasn’t been cleaned in millennia because the space is small, and I never looked. I think archeologists would find it fascinating. But here’s the kicker: I found three dog door flaps. I have just a bought a new flap which brings the total to 4. Two are just like the new one, frosted, while the other is a clear door. I may have to put the clear one on the door as Henry is afraid of the new frosted flap and won’t come inside. I then cleaned everything and disappointed the archeologists. The floor is shining.

Today is hot again and sunny. Thundershowers are a maybe for tonight. We missed last night’s rain, and we do need the rain. On my dance card for today is another uke concert and a play tonight at the Cape Playhouse.

In Bolga, Ghana, this is the rainy season. The days are in the 90’s, but the nights cool down to the 70’s. Millet and corn are growing high. The family compounds are hidden by the tall stalks. The paths among the fields get narrow. The red laterite roads are bounded by fields of tall millet so all you can see is ahead or behind. It rains every day. The market is filled with fresh produce. In my day tomatoes and onions were sold all year, but in the rainy season you could find garden eggs, Guinea corn, maize, okra and hot red peppers. I became an okra fan.

Yesterday my Oreos arrived, not just any Oreos but Star Wars Oreos. Embossed on one side of the cookie you can see a Star Wars character. I recognized Yoda, C-3PO, Princess Leia and I think Chewie. The insides of my cookies were blue for the light side. You can also find red cream which is for the dark side. The middle of the creams have “kyber” sugar crystals inspired by the crystals found in a Lightsaber. They were my supper.

Yesterday was a scorcher, at least for Cape Cod in June. It got into the 80’s, about as hot as we usually get in August, but I was lucky as my house got a breeze so it stayed cool. I did have to go out as I had an afternoon concert. We played bluegrass, and it went well. I have another concert this afternoon. We’re playing Beach Boys’ music.

When I was a kid, I didn’t know anyone who played a musical instrument. My grandparents had a piano but neither of them played. I think it was more of a status symbol and a place to put knick-knacks. I never saw the keys.

The last day of school was always a short day. We cleaned out our desks and got our report cards. The first thing each of us did was turn the card over and check the bottom where it said promoted to whatever the next grade was. You could hear sighs of relief from all over the room. Nobody cried or looked downtrodden so I figured everyone got promoted or there were some very fine actors in my class.

Summers always seemed endless back then. When I was young, I spend many hours at the playground under the trees on the field at the bottom of my street. I played softball, threw horseshoes, took tennis lessons, played checkers, learned to play chess and worked with gimp. I also remember one particular craft. I painted a wooden tray with rabbits among some branches and leaves. When I finished, it was beautiful which came as a huge surprise. I had no talent for painting or drawing though I do think my stick figures were fairly attractive. I always thought that tray was my biggest summer accomplishment.

Words and phrases go out of fashion. Yesterday going through the wringer popped into my head. My mother used to have a washing machine with a wringer, and I knew a kid whose arm had gotten caught in a wringer so that phrase had meaning for me. When we were going to bed, my mother used to say, “Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.” I never quite got that one. Hit the hay meant going to bed. I never questioned it. I just went to bed.

There are phases we still use which make little sense anymore. I understand get off your high horse and burn the midnight oil but neither has a frame of reference. When I taught, I used to make carbon copies then I’d use a mimeograph machine to print pages. When I’d pass the pages out in class, many of the students used to smell the paper.

Sounding like a broken record was never a good thing not was the need to bite the bullet. When was the last time you rolled up the window or hung up the phone?

I have a night light in my upstairs bathroom. On it are umbrellas, and it is raining cats and dogs. I love the imagery.