Last night was cold. I was reading in bed when the rain started around 12:30. I fell asleep to the sound of the drops hitting the roof. Henry woke me up early, 6:55, the crack of dawn for me. He wanted out. Nala followed us. I waited to let Henry in then went back to bed. Henry didn’t follow. Nala came to bed but no Henry. It was 7:30 by then so I went downstairs and Henry was at the back door. He drives me crazy picking and choosing when he’ll come in by himself.

The morning is pretty. The day will be sunny and in the 50’s. With no wind, it will feel warm. I did go to the dump yesterday with a filled trunk and a backseat loaded with boxes and papers.

My nephew Justin’s baby boy was born on November 11th. Justin looks so delighted in every picture. One e-mail he sent me said he couldn’t wait to be a dad. He sent pictures from the hospital. Grayson, his son, is adorable.

When I was a kid, we all walked to school. I lived about 3 long blocks away. The school was in an enclave of sorts. Across the street was the convent. On one side was the rectory where the priests lived. Beside that was the church. Later, the parish bought a house which had meeting rooms and a small library. The new school was perpendicular to the rectory in the back. The school yard had a bicycle rack and two baskets. It was the church parking lot on Sundays. I attended that school for eight years.

My school in Ghana had houses for tutors, the name for teachers in Ghana, dorms, outside shower stalls, an outside bathroom, a cafeteria, a huge beehive oven for baking bread, a wooden house, a library and two classroom blocks. The sports field was below the buildings. Track events were held there. There was an outside netball court. Netball is a woman’s game similar in some ways to basketball. The court had small stones or cinders of some sort as a base, and there was blood from scrapes if you fell on the court. That didn’t bother the players. They just kept playing. Volleyball was played under trees in an area cleared for the net. The school buildings were made of concrete and had metal roofs except for one building made of wood, an anomaly in Ghana, too many wood eating bugs. I don’t know anything about the wood house. The school was off the road to Navrongo and down a small dirt road, a rutted road. After all these years, I can still close my eyes and see every part of that school. I remember it bustled each morning and afternoon. It was quiet during the day when classes were held and at night for study hours. Those two+ years have their own memory drawers maybe even some neon lights. That school was home.

The morning is cold. I wanted to stay bundled under the covers, but it was time for Gwen’s shot, and the dogs wanted out. The heat was on the night setting so I turned it up to warm the house. It feels cozy now.

Henry came in the dog door four times yesterday. He banged the door for me to let him inside three times. This morning it’s one and one. I think I’m being used.

When I was a kid, I liked Sunday the least. My bike stayed in the cellar. I had to go to church. Wandering was limited to the fields below my house and the backyard because I needed to be around for dinner, but I didn’t mind too much as Sunday dinner was the nicest meal of the week, and the only meal we called dinner, a fancy name for a fancy meal. The crowning glory of Sunday dinner was the roast. If it was chicken, my mother stuffed it with her sage dressing. If it was roast beef, my mother put cut onions on the top for flavor. I used to try to steal the onions. We always had mashed potatoes and gravy and a couple of vegetables including peas, my favorite. The whole family was always together for dinner.

When I was in Ghana, Sunday dinner was unusual. It was the only day of the week we ate food sent from home. I remember beef stroganoff kits and macaroni and cheese. Other times we’d ride our motos into town and buy dinner from the aunties along the road or from chop bars in the lorry park. From the aunties, we’d buy fried yams and kelewele or fried plantain and whatever meat we’d find. In the lorry park, we’d buy fufu and soup or stew. I remember light soup and okra stew, my two favorites. We’d bring our own pots, fill them with dinner then bungee them to the backs of our motos. We were careful riding home.

Sunday at school was also special. A service was held in the morning. The girls wore their church dresses, three pieces of traditional cloth: a top, a dress skirt and a cloth around the skirt. Each class had its own cloth design. In the afternoons, the girls wore their own fancy dresses. The upper classes could walk to town. Photographers often came in the afternoon so the girls could have their pictures taken. I have a few of those pictures given to mw by the students. They were always in black and white.

Today I am going to the dump. My car is nearly filled with bags and boxes. I might even stop to buy dinner. It is Sunday after all.