The air is thick with humidity. The breeze is getting stronger. It is getting darker. Thunderstorms are predicted.

It rained last night for a short while but long enough for the dogs to leave muddy paw prints all over the kitchen floor. The floor was washed on Monday so I should have expected rain.

Last night calamity struck. I spilled my coke and some landed on the keyboard of this Mac. First the audio disappeared, no internal speakers listed, only earphones. I tried the suggested remedies. None worked. I decided I could live with no sound. Next, the keyboard stopped working. I couldn’t type my password to open the computer. That, I couldn’t live with. I felt doomed. I didn’t sleep well, but this morning, despite the dire predictions, all is well.

When I graduated from high school, a typewriter was my graduation present. It was a perfect gift to take to college, but there was a problem. I didn’t know how to type. I had tried my senior year to take typing, but my guidance counselor told me it wasn’t a college track course. He scheduled me for Latin IV instead. Such a good trade-off! I use Latin IV everywhere I go.

I didn’t bake anything ever until my first Christmas in Ghana. I made sugar cookies. It was quite the process. First, I had to travel 200 miles round trip to fill my gas cylinder so I could use my oven. Next, I looked for a cookie recipe and was happy to find one that looked fairly easy in the cookbook called Ghana Chop, a Peace Corps Ghana cookbook. It gave measurements in cigarette tins. I had Christmas cookie cutters my mother had sent. I used a Star beer bottle as a rolling pin. I sifted my flour to remove as many bugs as I could. After all that, and with a few bugs still in the flour, I was surprised by how good the cookies tasted. They even looked good. They were a Christmas hit.

Since then a lot has changed but a lot is the same. I have become quite adept at baking cookies. I mostly bake them at Christmas time. I use the same old cookie cutters. I ditched the bottle rolling pin for a traditional one. The flour has no bugs. I use confectioners’ sugar to make frosting; however, despite the batches of cookies I have made since then, that first batch is still the most memorable. It is one of my proudest accomplishments.

Last night it rained. I woke up to a dark, damp day stilled by the humidity. The weather prediction for today keeps changing. The latest said more rain is coming.

Henry is a barker. He barks at whatever passes by my house. That includes everything from rabbits on the lawn to school busses rumbling down the street. Nala seldom barks. She leaves that to Henry, but when she does bark, I am often the target. She barks at me in indignation of something I did or didn’t do. I have to guess.

My father always told me not to stop the dog from barking because he is protecting me. It seems Henry protects me from the mailman in his truck, people walking their dogs, my neighbor’s car, the brown rabbit eating grass and the kids who play on the street.

When I was a kid, certain things were inevitable. The summer would end. August was the last bastion of freedom as I knew it. School would begin.

Life as I knew it changed once school started. We only had a little time after school to play and the amount of playtime was ruled by the street lights. Bedtime was earlier. My mother woke us up early. It was always a bit of a shock.

I admit the first day of school was exciting though not worth the famous countdowns we used for Christmas and vacations. I carried my new lunch box and new school bag. I wore my uniform but every part of it was new, from my blouse to my shoes. I got to see friends I hadn’t seen since school ended. I met my new teacher. We all knew who taught what grades so we hoped for the nicer one. There were two classes per grade so it was happenstance if my friends were in my class. I remember for that first day my mother packed a special lunch meant to brunt the horror of eating it at my desk in my classroom. The Hostess cupcakes helped.