When I taught in Ghana, I became close to some of my students. They were FraFras, the local tribe in Bolgatanga. The students to whom I was the closest were Grace Awae, Francisca Issaka, Bea Issaka and Francisca Ateri. Francisca Issaka lives in the United States. The others stayed in Ghana. Grace spent time between Accra and Bolga. Bea stayed in Bolga as did the other Franciska. On my first trip back, the only one I didn’t see was Grace, but she met me at the airport on my second trip. We traveled Ghana together. Grace saw places she had never seen. When we reached Bolga, Bea joined us for our explorations. Both of them were in their 60’s but still called me madam. I had the best time. We laughed a lot about their school days, and Grace told me how she used to sneak into my backyard to have her hair plaited during the week which was against the rules as that was only supposed to be done on the weekends. I told her I always knew and even sneaked a picture. She laughed for so very long.

This morning my friend Peg called me. She told me Grace had passed. She was in Bolga, had trouble breathing and was taken to hospital where she died. I have no words.

This morning I dragged myself out of bed to watch the coronation. The pomp was perfect to consecrate and crown a new king. The ceremony and the traditions kept me interested. The music was beautiful, the audience colorful. I watched for three hours then went back to bed. Long Live the King!

Today is beautiful. It is 62° and will get even warmer. The sky is as blue as it ever is. The air is so still not even a leaf blows. Nala is asleep on the deck in the sun. A dog’s life is well lived, at least in this house.

When I was a kid, we had milk delivered. I remember the milkman’s truck and the jingle of the bottles clinking against each other in the wire carrier. The box for the milk was on the back steps. We always got a bottle of chocolate milk. We never drank it straight but mixed with the white milk so it would last longer.

I remember eating Rice Krispies while watching TV on Saturday mornings. I always lifted the bowl to my ear so I could hear the snap, crackle and pop.

I had winter boots. I never had rain boots. Nobody I knew had two sets of boots. My shoes and socks always got wet in the rain, even sodden. My socks sometimes got so wet I’d leave prints on the kitchen floor.

Saturday was my father’s errand day. He always wore white shirts to work and every Saturday he’d take them to the Chinese laundry uptown and pick up his clean shirts. Each shirt package had a sheet of cardboard keeping the shirt from wrinkling. My father gave the sheets to me, and I’d use them for crafts or drawing. My father used to get a trim at the barber shop. It only had a couple of chairs. The barber always wore a white coat.

When I was a kid, my favorite sandwiches were bologna with yellow mustard and sliced hot peppers. The peppers came from a jar, and I had to slice them. I also had to slice the bologna as it was from a roll. The slices I cut were irregular and sort of lumpy. The soft white bread collapsed around the lumps. Those were the ugliest sandwiches but they were also the tastiest.

I still like bologna, but I get it sliced from the deli. I don’t even have any yellow mustard. I often change the sandwich up and buy different mustards. My favorite of late is German mustard. I don’t buy white bread anymore, at least not soft white bread. Right now I have rye bread.

I have no beans, but I have hot dogs and top sliced rolls. I also have cole slaw. I toast the rolls with a bit of cheese. On the cooked dogs I add toppings, my mustard and Stonewall Kitchen’s Farmhouse Green Relish. That’s my dinner tonight.