The rain is heavy. I can hear the drops hitting the top of the barbecue which long ago lost its cover. The dogs went out reluctantly. I went out to get my papers, also reluctantly. It is supposed to rain into the night with thunder and lightning coming later. I won’t complain about all the rain. We still need it.

My neighborhood is quiet. The house beside me is empty for the winter. On the other side of me, Brazilians live there, guys who work for my landscaper. We do say hello the few times we meet. In the house across from me are two people I never see. I do wave at the woman in the corner house. She waves back. Down the street are the only other houses with people. Eight kids live on the street, down the other end, but they are all in school. Not even the dogs bark.

When I was a kid, I liked school, but some of the nuns scared me. All you could see were their hands and faces. Their orders were instantly obeyed. Nobody dared whisper. Nobody wanted the wrath of the nun. My classroom was filled with close to forty kids. All the classrooms were filled. We were the boomer generation. The parish had to build a new school, but before it did, we went to double sessions. I hated getting out so late in the afternoon. In winter it was getting dark by the time we got home. The street lights came on quickly, no going out to play.

I don’t remember a time when we didn’t have a TV. I remember the giant console in the corner of the room. Behind its doors was a tiny screen. My father put an antenna on the roof. Sometimes, though, the picture got snowy. We’d wiggle the dials and the rabbit ears hoping to clear the picture. All the stations were local. I remember Big Brother Bob Emery and Rex Trailer. I learned that Eisenhower was president and Hail to the Chief was his song when we toasted him with milk on the Big Brother show. His theme song was The Grass is Always Greener. He played a ukulele.

I don’t remember when I went to bed back then. I remember watching a bit of evening TV. I remember all the westerns. I think I got my fill back then as I am not a fan of westerns except maybe for The Lone Ranger, Annie Oakley and Rin Tin Tin. “Go Rinny!”

Today is lovely with clear, still air and a temperature of 77˚. These are the days I love the most. They invite rides along the water, stops at vegetable stands and the flower stands people put along the sides of the road. Everything is quiet. The kids are in school.

The morning didn’t start well. My half and half had lumps. It went into the trash. I couldn’t imagine a morning without coffee so I ordered Dunkin’ from DoorDash, expense be damned. The driver was here in no time but not with my order. He brought iced coffee. I checked my order just in case, no ice coffee. I called DoorDash. They gave me credit and told me to enjoy the ice coffee and offer one to the driver. I did. He said he doesn’t drink coffee. I asked him where he was from. “Africa,” he said. I asked where. “Ghana,” he said. I was so excited and told him I had lived in Bolga which surprised him. He had never been to Bolga, no surprise there as most southern Ghanaians never go north. He was from Cape Coast, a city I love. It is filled with old buildings, tiny streets and people, always people, people walking on sidewalks and the sides of the streets. How wonderful it was to talk to someone from Ghana. He said he hoped he’d have to deliver here again.

My parents used to take cruises back in the day when men wore tuxes and women wore long dresses to the formal dinners. They usually traveled with my aunt and uncle. Their cruise ships stopped at mostly Caribbean islands. At one stop my father rented a car and drove into the mountains of one of the islands. He told me how they stopped at a local place for some drinks, and he took a picture of an old woman who yelled at him. His response, ” I have your soul in my camera.” She didn’t speak English. Good thing.

When I was a kid, I loved geography. I remember a map which had tiny drawings representing what crops each country grew. I remember coffee and bananas. I remember the rice growing countries. I used to pore over each map imagining what the country was like. Holland had tulips and windmills. South America had llamas, mountains and coffee. Latin American had bananas and pineapples. Later, much later, I traveled to some of those countries. I saw the windmills and tulips. I traveled through the Andes and saw llamas, so many llamas. I don’t remember the coffee, but I do remember seeing banana trees filled with not yet ripe bananas. My geography book had come to life. I was thrilled. I was living my dreams, my imagings.