The rain is still falling. I have started to build the ark. I haven’t told the dogs yet. They’ll be surprised. It is supposed to rain all day. It will be chilly, in the low 60’s, and also quite windy. Even the branches are swaying. I’m in my winter ensemble which includes a sweatshirt and socks. Days like today mean cozy and warm.

When I was a kid, I watched a lot of TV while sitting on the floor close to the screen and, despite my mother’s prediction, I did not go blind. TV was black and white then, but it was still a bit of a miracle. I had favorite programs, many of them westerns, but I guess I got my fill back then as I am no longer a fan of westerns except for a few of the old ones like The Lone Ranger. I still watch that every now and then.

I have always wondered why people didn’t notice that, except for the glasses, Clark Kent and Superman looked exactly alike and that Clark was never there when Superman was. Later I learned about suspension of disbelief, and it works for everything, especially my B science fiction movies. I enjoy the stories by ignoring the silly, even ridiculous, plots, by suspending disbelief. I had an answer when I was asked, “How can you watch this?”

This morning I had to grind more coffee before I could make a pot of what I suspect was the original nectar from the Gods. The aroma of the coffee beans was, and please excuse this as I couldn’t help myself, heavenly.

Where I lived in Ghana, there were no TV’s and computers were way off into the future. Telephones were scarce, and all calls from my school were long distance if they connected at all. My principal had a phone in her office, but I never saw her use it. Radios were the news and entertainment centers, but I didn’t have one of those either. Ghana had several newspapers, most of them graphic, but I didn’t buy those either. Each week the Peace Corps sent us the NY Times section The Week in Review, their attempt to keep us connected. It didn’t work. All of that news was in another world, far away from mine.

I remember once when I was sitting in the yard of the Hotel d’Bull, the only decent hotel in town, and having Coke after market shopping. There were a couple of white guys sitting at another table. That was a rare sight in my town. I guessed I was a rare sight to them as well because they asked me what I was doing there. I told them I lived there, in Bolga, that I was a Peace Corps volunteer. They had trouble digesting that. They couldn’t wait to leave. I felt sad for them.

The rain hasn’t stopped, and now there is also a wind. I’m wearing my sweatshirt in the chilly house. I have an empty dance card so I’m going nowhere, not for groceries and not to the dump. The dogs are quickly out and back. I’m watching Godzilla attack Tokyo.

When I was a kid, on Sunday rainy days, we were inside the house. We were many and the house was small. It always felt crowded when we were all there. I’d hang out for a while in the living room reading the Sunday comics and watching the Sunday movies. For some reason I remember Lassie, Come Home. Dinner was usually around two. I think the whole neighborhood had dinner around two. The backyards were empty and no cars drove up the street. After dinner we usually just lazed around. I’d sequester myself in my room with my latest book in hand.

Sometimes we’d go to East Boston in the afternoon to visit my grandparents. Sunday was the traditional day for the whole family to visit. My mother was the third of eight. We had a million cousins. They were all there some Sundays. I remember the younger cousins running up and down the stairs from the first floor to the kitchen below where my mother, my grandmother and the aunts hung out. I remember smoke in the air and spaghetti on the stove. My grandmother always had a hunk of parmesan cheese and a grater on the table. That was when I found out that not all cheese comes sliced in a package. I loved using the grater so much my spaghetti was hidden. The cheese looked like snow on a mountain top.

We’d go home in the early evening just as it was getting dark. My sisters would sometimes fall asleep. I’d look out the window. I remember a ranch house with a huge oxen yoke on the garage. That was the sign we were almost home. The yoke didn’t seem strange back then, but now I wonder. Why in the heck did they have an oxen yoke?