Happy spring!

Finally, spring is here, and, despite the clouds and dampness, today is warm. A little sun would have been an ideal way to greet the long-awaited new season, but I’ll take warmth.

The morning is filled with the songs of birds. The front garden has all sorts of flowers popping through the ground. The daffodil bulbs have color now, and a couple more of the hyacinths are poking out of the ground. So far they all look purple. The day lilies, a row of them where the lawn ends, are the slowest to grow.

When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to shed winter, to say good-bye to the heavy layers. I’d wear my spring jacket to school even if it was cold. I never admitted to cold. I wouldn’t go back to winter.

When I lived in Ghana, I didn’t miss winter though there were days when I wished for the cold instead of the heat, over 100˚most days this time of year, down to the 80’s at night. Instead of waiting for spring, we waited for the rain, for the start of the rainy season, for the end of the dry season, the end of brown.

In Ghana, I had a cook book called Ghana Chop, meaning Ghanaian food, Ghanaian chop. It was basic with measurements in cigarette boxes, metal boxes. It was from Peace Corps hoping we’d stay healthy. I ate pretty much the same dinner every night, meat and yams. Usually it was beef cooked in a tomato based sauce with onions, tomatoes and onions being the only vegetables I could consistently find back then in the market. The beef had to cook a long while to be tender. Chicken was the other meat we ate.

We sometimes bought Sunday dinner, fufu, from a local chop bar near the lorry park. For a big night, we went to the Hotel d’Bull for a really old movie and kabobs for dinner, beef and liver kabobs, for a mere twenty pesewas. We sat on the roof, the expensive seats. The movies were reel to reel. I remember seeing the ending before the middle in a western. The Ghanaians didn’t notice. I didn’t care. It made the spaghetti western a bit more fun.

I have plantain ripening in the kitchen. I’m going to make kelewele, my favorite Ghanaian dish. I do need some fresh ginger, integral to the dish, and peanuts, an optional ingredient I like. I already have the music, a cd of the songs of the FraFra, the local tribe where I lived. I have the right clothes. I have a matching bag. I have sandals in Bolga red leather. I’m ready for a trip back to Ghana, figuratively for now.

55˚ is the current temperature. The dense morning fog disappeared when the rain started. It will rain most of the day. The dogs will be in and out and will leave more paw prints. I’ll complain, loudly. The dogs won’t care. The day will go on as usual.

I’m tired. I need more sun so I can regenerate. I want to bake on the deck in the warmth of a spring day, but, instead, I get fog, clouds and rain, not a bit of sun. It seems I’m wanting a weather miracle.

I used to love to ride my bike through the biggest puddles. It was my version of the parting of the Red Sea. My bike made tsunami like waves on each side when I rode at top speeds through the puddles. The center was dry. Sometimes I’d lift my feet off the pedals into the air, my legs splayed over the water. It was part of the fun.

When I was a kid, I liked to roller skate in the parking lot up the street from my house. I had the old key skates, and, like the rest of the skating world, I kept my key on a string around my neck. I’d sit on the curb and use my key to tighten the clasps, as tight as I could get them, to my shoes. I always wore shoes when I skated. Sneakers didn’t work so well. The skates often came loose. I can still see in my mind’s eye the skate hanging loose attached only by the strap, not by the shoe. You always exaggerated the lift of the hanging skate on the walk to the curb.

Today is a day to languish on the lounge dressed to the nines with a wet cloth over my eyes and a tray of bonbons beside me. I will moan dramatically every now and then to punctuate my situation. A few words of comfort and an endless supply of chocolate would be perfect to heal the soul, with an emphasis on the chocolate.

I have no plans for today which take even the tiniest amount of energy. The bonbons should come unwrapped.