The rain continues, but the darker clouds have given way to lighter clouds. A few leaves are moving in the breeze. The air is chilly with the dampness. The dogs are resting, having their morning naps on the couch. I woke up late. I went to bed late though I always think late is a misnomer. It was close to 4 when I turned off the light. That’s early morning.

My dance card is filled this week, all with uke. It starts tonight, and there is something every day through Sunday. I can’t remember any other week as busy as this.

My mother always made great lunches. We had bologna a lot which I loved. We never had peanut butter and jelly even on Fridays when we couldn’t eat meat; instead, we mostly had tuna salad or egg salad. I saw kids with gross peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The jelly seeped through the bread, and there was always a blue looking circle in the middle of the top bread. It was always Wonder Bread which was thin and sort of squishy anyway. Cookies were the usual desert. Oreos were my favorite. Chocolate chip was a close second. I bought my milk. It was delivered to each classroom just before lunch. Candy to be sold was delivered at the same time but in a lunch box. The bars were a nickel. Once in a while my mother would give me a nickel, and candy was my dessert. That brings me to Sister Hildegard. She was my eighth grade teacher. She was quite old. I remember that she would take the lunch box, check out the candy bars and take a few. She hid them in a desk drawer. Once in a while she’d eat some covertly. We always knew because she’d be chewing. I remember once she spit nuts on a paper of mine.

In the winter my mother sometimes gave us soup for lunch. It was always chicken noodle, Campbell’s chicken noodle. The top of the thermos was the bowl. I had to be careful pouring the soup as sometimes the noodles plopped hard and drops flew usually onto my blouse. My mother included saltines and dessert in my lunch box.

I am still partial to bologna and Oreos. I only have soup once in a while, but when I do, I sometimes crush my Saltines and put the pieces in my soup. I like chicken soup still, but I prefer tomato soup with grilled cheese. I love to dip the sandwich into the soup, a sublime taste, a heavenly lunch.

The rain continues. The day is dark. The wind strong. The ground is littered with leaves and twigs and small branches. It is a day to stay close to hearth and home, to wear comfy clothes and to read the day away.

I’m glad I live alone, not for me but for my non-existent roommate. I am grumpy, another day without my morning coffee. I should go out to get it, but that seems such an exertion. I want the coffee fairy to wave her wand then abracadabra coffee would appear in all its glory on the table in my den. I wouldn’t complain if her wand also delivered a butternut donut.

I like the rain. I love being surrounded by rain falling on the roof and windows. Last night, actually early this morning, close to 3:30, the wind howled. I could hear branches against the windows. Jack, my cat, was alert to the sounds but not for long. He went right back to his treats.

I remember walking to school on rainy fall mornings. The sidewalk was covered in yellow leaves pasted to the ground by the rain. Cars splashed as they rode by me. I didn’t have rain boots, only snow boots, so my shoes and socks always got wet. Sometimes water bubbled out of the tops of my shoes. My shoes would eventually dry still on my feet.

On the walk home from school, my shoes and I would get wet again. I’d change quickly after I got home but usually into my pajamas. There was no need for play clothes.

I grew up with categories for clothes. All of us did. Back then, I had school clothes, play clothes and church clothes. Pajamas were on their own. Now, I mostly just have play clothes.

Where I lived in Ghana has distinctive rainy and dry seasons. The rain comes almost every day. It never interferes with life, with daily living. No one has umbrellas or raincoats. I’d walk to the classroom block, go to town and shop in the market in the rain. If it got torrential, I’d take refuge under a market stall overhang. The aunties in the stall were always welcoming. My house had a tin roof. It made music when it rained.