The sun, about which I waxed eloquent yesterday, has disappeared. It is 33°, and snow showers are predicted. It seems the sun has a cruel sense of humor.

When I was in the sixth grade, my teacher was Miss Quilter. I had had a nun in the fifth grade so the sixth grade was my nun-less year. Miss Quilter is one of the best teachers I’ve ever had. She pushed us to be better. She had us writing every week. She brought history alive. I love English because of her.

It was also in the sixth grade when I realized I could see things in my mind’s eye. That revelation happened during a history test about the revolution. Her tests were she’d ask a question, and we’d answer on our papers. One question had to do with Lexington as in Lexington and Concord. I couldn’t remember the answer then I saw the page it was on. There was a drawing at the top of the page of revolutionaries shooting at Redcoats from behind a New England wall. The text below the picture had the answer. I could see that answer in my mind’s eye. That was the beginning, the revelation. I had a neat talent. I could close my eyes and see things lodged in my memory drawers.

Yesterday I washed the kitchen floor and vacuumed the hall and upstairs. I don’t know what came over me. All the paw prints are gone for now, but I do fear the beasties will track in new ones if we had those snow showers. The dogs need boots or I need a maid.

The sun is here again. It will be a partly cloudy day. It will also be a cold day. It is my cleaning day. The dust is taking over. Every surface is covered. My sensibilities can’t take it anymore.

When I was in the eighth grade, President Kennedy signed the Peace Corps bill. “The toughest job you’ll ever love,” was part of all the TV public service announcements. I knew right then I’d go into into the Peace Corps. Eight years later I did.

My house in Ghana was on school grounds and was one side of a duplex. It was a brand new house. A living room, two bedrooms and an eating area were the inside rooms. Flanked around the concrete yard in the back were the kitchen with the stove and a shelf unit for storage, a shower, cold water only, a toilet, aka a nesting spot for the chickens, and an extra room where Thomas, my Ghanaian factotum, lived. The house was furnished, and I had a fridge, inside. I seldom used the stove, no gas. The house was by the back gate and across from the school garden. It was the last in a line of staff housing stretching from the front gate to the back gate. The school had a night watchman, but he slept a lot. When the gate was closed at night, I had to climb over. Scaling a fence in a dress and sandals is never easy.

I learned amazing things in Ghana. I could easily choose the good eggs over the bad. I learned to pluck a chicken. In the market, I bargained. Mammy lorries were the cheapest way to travel but not very far because the seats were like wooden stadium seats, and you had to climb up then shift your leg over the side to sit on them. I got adept at lorry climbing. I learned to eat t-zed, a blob made from millet, and soup, with my right hand without dripping and making a mess. When I went back to Ghana after so many years, my first meal was fufu, a Southern Ghanaian dish, and soup. I ate with my hand. I did not make a mess.