What a day! The breeze is cool. The leaves on the backyard trees are swaying, almost musically. The sun is glinting through the branches of the trees. It is 72° and won’t get much higher.

I don’t eat beans except maybe string beans which I don’t really think are beans at all. Kidney and Lima beans are the grossest. My chili never has beans.

When I was a kid, Italian and Chinese foods were considered exotic, especially Chinese. Every now and then my father would get take out from the China Moon. Jumbo shrimp and scallion pancakes were my favorites. We ate spaghetti with meatballs. Everybody did.

Even on the coldest winter days, when I had to wear layers on my walk to school, I never wore tights. I wore knee socks and pink long underwear under my skirt.

When I was growing up, we ate far more ground beef than any other meat because it was so versatile and it wasn’t expensive. My mother had a repertoire of ground beef recipes so we never tired of eating it. I loved her American chop suey and her Chinese food which had water chestnuts and bamboo shoots so it was exotic and Chinese to us. We also had chicken but not as often. The best was Sunday dinner, always a roast with mashed potatoes and some sort of canned vegetable. Baby peas and corn were my favorites.

Christmas was amazing. My mother always had a Christmas club at the bank so she could afford the gifts we wanted. I don’t remember ever being disappointed. I do remember being surprised in the best ways.

It never occurred to me we didn’t have a whole lot of money. Much later, when my father had a different job, things changed. We went out to eat often. Ground beef became only hamburgers for weekend barbecues. My parents took some cruises and even went to Egypt. Christmas was still a delight. My gifts were wonderful surprises. My parents were generous.

I am thankful for all the wonderful memories my parents gave me. I consider myself extremely lucky.

Today is already in the 80’s. The sun is in and out. Rain is likely tonight but after my concert. Nothing is moving in the stillness of the day. It is quiet.

When I was growing up, summer seemed to last forever. Every day was filled with fun, especially the rainy days. I loved playing outside in the rain. I’d walk in the gutters and kick up the water, the deeper the water the better. I’d ride my bike through the puddles and watch the water spray to each side, like a parting of the Red Sea moment. I’d get soak, but I didn’t care. The sun, after the rain, would dry my clothes.

In Ghana, the rainy season meant rain, if not every day then every couple of days. I had brought an umbrella, a travel umbrella, with me when I packed. I never used it. I loved watching the rain, and sometimes I’d sit outside under the metal awning covering my tiny concrete sort of porch outside my door. It was amazing, sitting in the rain without being in the rain. Where my fridge and kitchen table were was in a room with a screen, not a glass window. When it poured, the floor got soaked, but it was concrete so it didn’t matter. If I was in the market and the rain started, I’d just find a place to wait out the heaviest of the rain. When I went back to Ghana, I was in the market when the rain started. I stood under a sort of eave but was still getting wet. A woman in a shop near where I was standing invited me inside and gave me a chair. She was a seamstress. There was another women with her, and they spoke FraFra. I didn’t. I just kept smiling. On another visit, I sat outside under a thatch roof and watched the rain. I was surrounded by the rain but I didn’t get wet.

I still love the rain. Sometimes I sit under the umbrella on the deck and watch it rain.