The snow arrived for maybe 4 or 5 minutes yesterday afternoon. After that it got really cold then it got even colder overnight. While I was reading in bed, I heard the wind. It was tremendous, a howling wind. This morning is only 20˚ with a still heavy wind. The expected high is 24˚. Where did I put my sunscreen?

The weekend was quiet. I did nothing except change the cat litter. I rested after the exertion.

My dance card has turned yellow and its corners have curled. The ink is faded. I can’t even read the last entry. My table is empty of stickies. I have no lists. I could do my laundry, but I am not yet that desperate. The filled pillow case still sits in the hall leaning against the cellar door.

My freezer is almost full. Every now and then I pull out some chicken or ground beef always with the best intentions. Half the time, though, I just don’t feel like cooking. The ground beef ends up fried then in marinara then back to the freezer. The chicken bakes. Usually I make a chicken salad or just leave the chicken intact for grazing. I open the fridge and pull off a few pieces and share with Jack and Henry.

Yesterday I had cheese for lunch and dinner, a different cheese and a different cracker for each meal. For lunch I finished off the white Stilton with mango and ginger on Club Crackers. Dinner was Vermont cheddar on Saltines. Henry and I shared a banana as a snack. I still have plenty of cheese. I’m thinking my Monterey Jack might serve as lunch, maybe even a grilled cheese with tomato. I hope that’s not too ambitious.

During the two+ years I lived in Ghana, I had no fresh milk and no cheese. At first I really missed cheese, but after a while, I forgot to miss it. For a snack, I’d have a peanut butter and jam sandwich. The peanut butter was groundnut paste sold in the market as a soup base. The paste was so thick I had to add peanut oil to make it spreadable and to keep my bread intact. The jam came from England.

My back still hurts and still makes me howl. I sit on the couch with pillows strategically placed behind me. My laptop is truly a lap top. I won’t be doing much moving around today.

The morning is warm and sunny at 46˚, but I’m not taken in by by the blue sky and the bright, squid your eyes sun. I checked the weather report which says rain and snow and a low of 19˚. I will not be going anywhere today. I won’t even get dressed. I will brush my teeth, wash my face and hands quite a few times and sit on the couch and read or mindlessly watch TV. I’ll probably end up getting restless and dust my way through the dining room and living room with my favorite dust cloth, my handy sweatshirt sleeve.

When I was in Ghana, I needed items not sold in the market where I got my fruits, veggies, eggs, meat, both chicken and beef though the chickens were live, and whatever surprises I sometimes found when I wandered. Everybody knew me because I was the only white woman in town my first year in Bolga. The market sellers always wished me a good morning and addressed me as madam, the title for female teachers. In small kiosks a bit back from the street I shopped for packaged goods. I bought canned margarine mostly but canned butter for special occasions like Christmas. I have no idea the shelf life of those cans. I never thought to look, but the sellers usually gave us the good stuff not because we were white but because we’d shop there again. Coffee came in cans but it was instant. Milk came in cans but only evaporated milk even though there were cows. The bread was amazing. It was sugar bread and was always sold uncut. It made the tastiest toast.

In Ghana there are chop bars and spots. Chop bars are mostly hole in the wall eating stops. In Bolga, chop bars ringed the lorry park. We had a favorite, and on Sundays we often bought take out dinner. That meant we brought a pot with a cover, filled it with Sunday dinner and strapped it to the back of our bikes hoping it wouldn’t spill. I remember fufu with light soup and goat though once in awhile it was chicken. Spots are bars. During training in Koforidua starting week 7, we used to meet at a spot on a corner of the main road. We’d pool our scant daily allowances and buy beer. We met after dinner and sat together a long time. I remember laughing a lot and complaining a lot. They sort of went hand and hand during training.

Bill and Peg and I love Ghanaian food. Kelewele, a plantain dish, and jollof rice are easy to make here. Both are favorites of ours. I could eat jollof rice with a giant spoon as my only dish at dinner. It is the same with plantains cooked any way. They are that tasty.