“For there we loved, and where we love is home,Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts…”
Posted February 9, 2023 by katryCategories: Musings
Tags: Bolga, generosity, Ghana, gifts, home, Pay it forward., Peace Corps, rainy season
We are in the midst of a heat wave, that is if you compare the temperature to last week’s when it was around 8°. Right now it is 46°. Even though we’re socked in by clouds spread across the sky I’m going closet hunting for my Hawaiian shirt. I don’t think I need sunscreen, but I’ll keep it around just in case.
Yesterday was an amazing day for me. I got to play the newest book at uke, and my finger barely hurt which is a great thing as next week I have 4 uke events: practice, a lesson, a mid-week concert and another on the weekend at the mall. I’m thinking three of those might be enough for my crooked, barely bending finger. Yesterday’s second event made me cry. I was bemoaning my fate of a dead TV to someone I don’t know all that well. When we meet, we usually chat so the TV came up in conversation. I told her how I compensate with my iPad. Why didn’t I buy a new one? I explained I was being given a TV which best fit my budget. She asked how much one would cost. I had no idea as the dead TV was one of the first HD sets and was massively expensive. It worked well all these years and deserves its eternal rest. She handed me a check for $500. I thanked her and refused the kind offer. She said she was paying it forward in honor of a relative who had passed. I couldn’t refuse. That’s when I cried. That’s when I got my hug. The third and culminating event was a package from my sister and brother-in-law congratulating me on the end of my PT, four months after the surgery. It was filled with cookies from Cheryl’s. I ate two.
Where I lived in Ghana was way up country. It was the poorest part of the country and the region with the most extreme temperatures. Right now it is 101°, a dry 101°, but soon enough the dry heat will disappear and the humidity will start. The rainy season isn’t far away. My students, on one of my return trips, told me they were amazed I lived in Bolga as many Ghanaians would not choose to live there, but a white woman did. I didn’t tell them I had been posted there even before I got to Ghana. I knew nothing of Bolga until mid-way through training when I spent a week there meeting the principal, checking out my town and what I needed for my house. It was the rainy season.
It didn’t take long for Bolga to feel like home. I got waves and greetings everywhere I went. I fell in love with my town and was so very thankful to have been chosen to live there. That’s what I told my former students. They said they knew that.
“The world is all gates, all opportunities, strings of tension waiting to be struck.”
Posted February 7, 2023 by katryCategories: Musings
Right now it is 33°, but it seemed warmer when I went to get the papers as there is no wind. The sky is covered in light grey clouds, but no rain is predicted until later tonight. l still have a few chores but easy chores, a little sweeping and a bit of dusting.
Last night, on my den table, were two iPads and my computer, all compensating for the dead TV which sits staring at me from across the room. If I were a character in a Stephen King book, the TV would be listening to me and watching me, turning itself on and off. It needs to go, but before that can happen, I’ll have to clear the top of my file cabinet so I can lean over and unplug the TV and the cable. Nothing is simple anymore. I have had two TV offers, kind, generous offers, so I am getting close to a TV, an actual TV. The primitive life is not at all appealing.
When I was a kid, the TV had tubes. If one died, the TV usually died. My father, the handyman (says I with tongue in cheek) would remove tubes and bring them to the TV repair shop to be checked. He’d buy new ones once the dead tubes were identified. He just didn’t remember where they went. Most times he’d have to call a repair man to put the TV back together.
This TV story reminds me of another Dad story. This time he was fixing the toilet (says I with tongue in cheek). He took the inside apart by pulling out the pieces. He bought a couple of parts but had no idea what was wrong. Cue the plumber who wanted to know who killed the toilet. That would be my father the TV repair man-plumber.
Nala is a whiz at taking down the gate protecting Jack’s room and his food. I only catch her once in a while. I always think the gate is secure. Most times I’m wrong. Her technique is to lean the gate against the side of the door so it doesn’t fall and make a noise. She jumps over it and then back. Sometimes she gives herself away by coming down the stairs with an empty can from the cat room trash in her mouth. I grab the can, run upstairs, clean up the trash and set the gate. This morning she did it again. I decided to move the gate so it is on the stairs about half-way up. I hadn’t done it before as Henry likes to nap in my room, but enough is enough, the perfect cliche for how I’m feeling. Well, just a short while ago, Nala tried to get pass the gate. She failed. It fell and slid down the stairs. I jumped at the unexpected crash. Nala ran. Solution? Maybe! But I never underestimate Nala.
A Cup of Coffee, a Sandwich and You: Gertrude Lawrence, Jack Buchanan
Posted February 6, 2023 by katryCategories: Video
