Today is cloudy and humid. The air is still. Scattered thunder storms are predicted. I have an errand which I may skip as the roads will probably be filled with vacationers looking for diversions, reasons to leave their small hotel rooms and cottages. I, however, don’t need a diversion. I have books to read. I also have weird chores I can do, the sort tackled in times of boredom, chores like hunting down expired can goods. That’s always exciting, think tongue in cheek here, a whimsical exaggeration.

When I was a kid, the floor of my closet was piled high with shoes, boots and whatever else needed a home. I’d have to pull out what was there to find what I needed. After I did, I’d just put the pile back. It never occurred to me to sort the pile. Seriously, why would I? It didn’t pain my sensibilities. My bureau drawers were neatish, not the bovine neat but neat meaning close to organized and tidy. My mother did that as she put the laundry away.

In my bedroom in Ghana, I had a chifforobe, an armoire, as I had no closet. It was against one wall. One side of it was for hanging my clothes while the other side had shelves. It was my only storage. It was always neat. In my shower room outside, I used the windowsill as a shelf for my soap, shampoo and a sort of loofah. The window had a permanent shutter so you couldn’t see out, but even better, no one could see in. The shutter was green. The shower room was concrete.

In Accra, I always stayed at the Peace Corp hostel. It was only 50 pesewas a night with breakfast. The women slept downstairs. Breakfast was coffee, cereal, eggs and toast. I remember the plates were colored plastic and many had scratches and were faded. I can still picture the bedroom and the common room where we ate breakfast and socialized. It is odd what our memory drawers hold.

When I traveled, it was on the cheap. Every Peace Corps volunteer travels on the cheap. Some countries had hostels. I remember the one in Niamey. It was comfortable and decorated with Nigerian blankets and baskets. Niger just had a coup. I watched the news and films of the uprising in Niamey. I remember a quiet Niamey with camels on the roads, women washing clothes at the river and French shops with silver services in the window. It is no longer the Niamey my memory drawers keep safe.

When I went back to Ghana, everything physical had changed. Accra was huge. I saw only a few places exactly as I remembered them, but that is what happens in time. Bolga had spread, gotten bigger, but it didn’t matter. I felt the warmth of the Ghanaians in Bolga and heard all their greetings. I felt at home, the same sorts of feelings I had felt so many years ago. Sometimes time does stand still.

Hunker down and stay safe is the advice. We have had an extended thunder storm and a tornado warning. Already nearly 2 inches of rain have fallen. The wind is blowing over 40 mph. On the local news channels, the cape’s weather is usually an after thought. Today it is the news. I’m thinking because we haven’t had rain in a while, this storm is the Rain God having his way.

I have to go out later. The dogs expect to eat today. They need both wet and dry food and even biscuits. I have uke practice tonight. We practice outside so I hope the sun comes out of hiding. Our music this week is from the color book. This is our only practice, but we have played this book before. My uke calendar is short this week: last night’s concert, practice today and a lesson tomorrow.

When I was a kid, the kitchen always had a junk drawer. In it was a strange assortment. Some things, like buttons, just landed there having no other place to go. Small tools, like a screw driver, were there in case of a kitchen emergency. Elastics, pencil stubs, glue bottles, mostly dry, band-aids and loose paper clips also called the junk drawer home.

I have a junk drawer, but it is in the living room, in an old table, one of the first pieces of furniture I ever bought. Sometimes the drawer is difficult to open. That is the main characteristics of a really good junk drawer.

I keep all the orphan socks. The law of socks dictates you never throw an orphan away because, after you do, the other sock magically appears. Besides, I figure if I wear my high tops, no one will notice two different socks. I might even start a fashion trend.

I love my house when it is raining, especially during the fiercest of storms. It seems to hug me. When the rain is beating the roof and sides of the house, I am safe and dry inside. The lights cast a comforting glow. The rain is the only sound.

The rain has stopped. The sky is lighter. The day is looking promising.