We had a couple of days of rain then came the perfect day. Today, though, is hot at 84° with humidity making the day uglier. I have a new fan, a gift from my sister, so let the heat can come.

I have lived alone for most of my life. I’ve been mostly okay with that, but there are times I am lonely for conversation. I talk to my dogs, but they just listen. It is not a conversation but rather a soliloquy. I’d be gobsmacked if they talked back to me. When I do call people, I really don’t have anything spectacular to talk about. Mostly I just chit-chat about my days, unexciting as they are. The other day I chatted to my friend Peg about my uke events for the week and going to the dump. I added a bit of excitement to the narration by talking about how crowded the dump was. She listened patiently. We usually discuss the weather. She lives in New Hampshire so the weather is different, an exciting edge to the conversation. She tells me about her garden. I am always envious of her flowers and her vegetables. We talk doctors. Never did I envision that doctors would ever be part of any conversation of mine.

I left you at Logan the other day when I told you about the start of my Peace Corps journey so let me continue. I got to my seat in the plane and tried to put away everything I had carried with me. My seatmate wanted to know if I was running away from home. When I told him I was going into the Peace Corps, he bought me a drink. In Philadelphia I shared a cab to the hotel with another volunteer hopeful. I had seen some guy surrounded by luggage and asked. We were at the hotel Sylvania. I checked into the hotel, left my luggage then checked in with Peace Corps. I gave them my missing information and received my packet with the schedule and some per diem. I met people in line who over time would become good friends. It all started that evening. We met the staff, heard about Ghana, got an overview of the week and felt overwhelmed. Scheduled were lectures, slide shows, a one on one with a shrink of some sort, a dental checkup and a yellow fever shot. We were given addresses and had to find our way to the dentists assigned to each of us. Mine was a bus ride or two away. It was the same with the yellow fever shot.

I took some time alone by the fire escape and read an evening or two. I decompressed. I saw a movie I don’t remember. I do remember walking back to the hotel. I loved the interview with the psychologist. He worked at BU. He had a huge book of what he needed to ask and observe and gave it to me to read a bit. He walked me to the elevator, put his arm around my shoulder and said Africans liked big women.

That’s the end of today’s installment. There is only a bit more before our flight to Ghana.

My world is awash. It started raining yesterday and is still raining. It isn’t a heavy rain, but it is a noisy rain. I love it. The dogs don’t mind the rain. They do leave paw prints in the kitchen despite the rug by the door so I see washing the floor in my future. Right now it is their nap time. After all, they have been awake for about an hour.

When I applied for the Peace Corps, I wrote my preferences for placement as South or Latin America. My parents didn’t even know I had applied so I chose Latin or South American as I figured those places would be easier for my parents to accept, not so far away, somehow a bit familiar. When I was accepted for Ghana, I was over the moon. I couldn’t even imagine living in Africa. I accepted right away. The next hurtle was telling my parents, especially my father. I knew Africa would be a problem. I told my mother first. I asked her to tell my father. I just didn’t want to hear him. She reluctantly agreed. I called a day later. My father screamed, said some unkindly things about Africa and forbade me to go. I would have laughed outright but that seemed just the wrong time. I said I was going. He said he would stop sending money. I would have to support myself for my last semester of college. I said fine knowing that would never happen. It was one of his idle threats. I hung up on him when he started yelling again. That was where we left it.

I had to go home the next weekend as my parents were going to an off-Cape wedding and needed me to stay with my sisters. I persuaded a friend to come with me. He said I was using him. I said I was. My father picked us up at the bus station. He did not talk to me, only to my friend. It was sort of amusing. They all left the next morning.

My father finally accepted my choice. He never did stop sending money. Later, I found out he had talked to a friend of mine who convinced him this was a good thing. The preparations began. I had five months from acceptance to departure. I was allowed 80 pounds of luggage. I had a list from Peace Corps with suggested packing items. Women wore only dresses so that was first. I also had some skirts which would work, but we needed to shop. Check! We bought luggage, an Instamatic, the height of new technology, slide film, plenty of underwear, toiletries, sandals and sheets and towels. Those were the main items.

Peace Corps had sent me a bus ticket from Boston to Philadelphia for staging as I didn’t live far enough away for a plane ticket. My father bought the plane ticket. We drove to Boston, to Logan. We didn’t talk much. I think we were all afraid to talk. We walked to the gate together. I have mentioned before the hugs and that last view of my parents, and my mother’s little wave. There is more to this story, this start of my journey, but I’ll end here. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.