Today is the perfect fall day, sunny and warm. The high today will be 68˚. Gwen and I are heading to the vets for a 10:30 appointment where I’ll learn how to give her the insulin injections. After that, the rest of the day is open. I may scour the yard’s back forty hoping to find missing items.

We’re back from the vets. It was easier than I expected to give Gwen her needle because it is so tiny. The vet had me practice using water. Gwen didn’t notice. I have to go to CVS to get her insulin and needles. I already ordered her special prescription food and treats at Chewy. Gwen goes back next week for a day of testing. Nala goes back for a booster. I’m thinking to add to it all by getting my flu shot.

Last night the Red Sox game was riveting, all thirteen innings. I jumped up, screamed and applauded the walk off two run homer. It scared Henry.

When I was a kid, you could get a day of game Red Sox ticket for anywhere in the park. I remember sitting in a box seat by the Sox dugout for a couple of games. I also remember the bleachers, the cheapest places to sit. We used to take the bus then the subway to Fenway. Sometimes we had money for a hot dog. Mostly we just bought peanuts. The bleachers were the most fun. They were filed with raucous fans, many of them my age, a kid’s age. Giant number one fingers seemed to be the most popular souvenirs. They were also good for hitting people on their heads without causing any damage.

My father was a football and hockey fan. He watched the Sox but always seemed to get bored. He hated basketball, the Celtics, and most times I listened to the games on my transistor radio. When the Celts played on the west coast, I had to have the sound way low so I wouldn’t get caught listening to the game when I should have been sleeping. I loved listening to Johnny Most, the radio announcer. When I could watch, I used to turn off the TV volume and put on the radio and Johnny. He made us excited about every play, every game.

Last year I bought a Halloween costume for Henry. I have no idea what I was thinking, but I couldn’t help myself. The costume is a spawn of Satan. I’m hoping Nala will be a bit more receptive. I’ll try it on her closer to Halloween. I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.

Today is an ugly day. It is cold, dark and damp. Showers are predicted for later. My concert is cancelled but not my trip to the dump as it is closed the next three days, and my car is already filled with trash and wet cat litter and probably flies.

My living room has been ravaged by a four legged marauder. I noticed today that a wooden figure from Ghana is gone, and a small pottery tagine from Morocco is missing its top. I’ll have to go through the yard and hope to find the missing items.

This morning I dusted places which haven’t seen the light of day for probably years. I hadn’t meant to dust, but I just couldn’t leave it. I used my sweatshirt sleeve, my handy dust rag. I found small chunks of peat my sister had given me. I lit one, and the aroma brought me back to one of my trips to Ireland, the one with my parents, my grandfather and two aunts, a tour group of sorts. We stayed a night in Youghal, a beautiful seaside town where some of Moby Dick was filmed. The place where we stayed was really old. The stairs to the rooms were worn and dipped in the middle. The dining room had a fireplace where peat was burning. The TV room had a small TV and rows of mismatched chairs facing the TV. My room had a saloon door for the bathroom. It was funny as you could see the toilet below the saloon door. My bed slouched in the middle. If you tried to sleep on one side or the other, you rolled to the middle. In the morning, while we were having breakfast, a parade of kids dressed in their uniforms went to school. I think I counted five or maybe six kids. That B&B is still among my favorite places where I’ve stayed.

This blog is a repository of my memories, the memories of my childhood and my wanderings. Ghana plays big because it has influenced all of my days since then. When I got to Ghana, I was only twenty-one. I was wide-eyed and took in everything, amazed I was in Africa. I remember training started the second day. My room in Winneba, our first stop, was on the second floor. I could look out over the town, and I remember being excited seeing my first palm trees. The ocean was a short walk away. Breakfast was the best meal because we could identify what we were eating. We couldn’t at dinner.

I etched all of those all those wondrous experiences into my memory bank so I’d never forget. Even now, I can touch it all. I can see and hear it. I see women in colorful cloths carrying babies on their backs. I can hear the tribal languages in the market and the calls to me, to the obruni, to the white person. I remember the market smells, the goats and the goat dung. When I close my eyes, I can see my whole town as it was.

When I finally returned, Bolga was far different, but I didn’t care. I was home for a while.