Posted tagged ‘harmattan’
November 4, 2017
The morning was chilly. I took Gracie out into the backyard and sat and waited for her. I smelled a wood fire and all of a sudden my memory jumped back to Ghana and mornings during the harmattan. Those mornings were cold, as cold as I ever felt in Bolga where daytime temperatures often reached over 100˚. The morning air was filled with the aroma of wood fires burning in the compounds behind my house. I could hear muted voices and the sound of water from the tap filling my students’ buckets for their morning baths. Roosters still crowed. Those mornings were a delight.
Gracie has muscular degeneration. Signals aren’t getting to her back legs. The vet said it will get worse, but she is hoping we can slow the progress. Gracie is now getting a pain pill every day. In two weeks the vet will assess the value of her continuing to take them. After that two week mark, Gracie is going to start acupuncture. She’ll have two sessions and then an evaluation to see if it has helped.
I could barely walk this morning and my back pain was horrific. Yesterday I had to lift Gracie three times: twice to the car and once to the backseat of the car after she had lost her footing and couldn’t get back on the seat; consequently, I have ordered a back dog lift. I wish I had it yesterday.
Every time I look out at the deck, I feel a bit of sadness. All the furniture is covered. The flowers have been moved off the rails. The candles hanging off the branches are gone. Only the bird feeders remain.
When I was a kid, the preparations for winter were my father’s jobs. He took down the screens and replaced them with the storm windows. He removed the screens from the two doors and put in the storm doors. He went to the gas station and had the snow tires put on his car. Every weekend he’d rake the lawn, move the pile of leaves to the gutter by the sidewalk and then burn them. The smell of burning leaves is one of my all time favorites, and it carries memories of my dad. I can see him standing there by the flaming leaves while smoke billowed into the air. He held on to his rake and used it periodically to move more leaves into the fire. I stayed until the leaves were gone.
Categories: Musings
Tags: acupuncture, aroma of wood burning, back dog life, Bolgatanga Ghana, bucket baths, buckets, burning leaves, chilly mornings, deck, harmattan, muscular degeneration, pain pills, Peace Corps, snow tires, storm windows, wood fires
Comments: 10 Comments
October 2, 2017
I’m getting used to these beautiful fall days. Earlier, the morning was crispy and chilly, but the bright sun has dispelled the chill. The sky is a deep blue. A breeze shakes the branches, and more leaves keep falling, mostly oak leaves. I was excited and surprised to see newly bloomed flowers in my front garden. The flowers are purple, and that’s all I know about them. Now,hite and purple flowers are blooming in the front beds. It as if the garden is giving me its last gifts before the end of fall, before the coming winter.
I slept the whole night last night. The phone woke me at 8:15. It was a robo-call which I didn’t answer. Ten minutes later there was another call, but this one I answered. I knew the caller. Gracie then joined me on the couch, and we both went back to sleep. The phone woke me again, and I cursed until I saw the time. It was late morning, close to ten. I answered the call then got up and began my morning rituals.
I am getting braced for the coldest times of year, for winter. In Ghana this time of year I braced for the dry season, for the total lack of rain for at least 5 months. I knew intense heat was coming with days hot enough to melt my unlit candle, but I also knew a reprieve was coming. The nights would start to get chilly, not New England chilly but chilly by comparison with the days. The temperature dropped over 30˚ every night. My bedroom had two rows of louvered windows; one row was the whole length of the wall beside my bed while the other was a single louvered window on the end wall next to the armoire. I’d leave the windows opened. It got cold, but feeling cold was glorious. I’d snuggle under the wool blanket I kept on my bed. I still have that blanket and keep it folded over the back of my couch. It brings smile from all the memories. It is also pretty itchy. I guess I forgot that part.
Categories: Musings
Tags: blankets, bloomed flowers, chilly, chilly days, chilly morning, cold nights, dry season, fall day, falling leaves, harmattan, morning rituals, phone calls, robo-calls, wool blanket
Comments: 10 Comments
July 18, 2017
Today was gray when I first woke up. I went back to sleep, and it was sunny when I awoke the second time. I stayed awake. After two coffees and two newspapers, I was ready to face the day. The animals got fed, I took Gracie outside, put dishes away and cleaned the kitchen counter. That’s it, my chores, for the day. I do have to take Maddie and Gracie to get their nails cut, but that goes into the errand column and is the singular entry in that column. Most of my day will be lazy and quiet.
I take Gracie out for her last outside trip just before I go to bed. It can be any time between 12:30 and 3. It was around 2 this morning. I turn on my outside light, and it is the only light. All of the houses around me are dark. I walk gently and slowly to the driveway feeling with my foot the change from grass to hardtop. It is downhill to the gate and I shuffle my feet for safety. Once Gracie and I are inside the gate, I sit on the deck steps and wait. After she triggers the yard lights, I can see when she’s done and when we can to go back inside to bed. Sometimes I sit outside a bit longer because the night is so lovely. Gracie recognizes my mood and leans against me, her pat me signal. I listen to all the night sounds. I check out the stars. After a while, I drag myself inside to bed.
The night sky in Ghana was ablaze with stars. Nights were never dark. When I slept outside, during the harmattan, I watched for shooting stars. I saw many. Despite the heat, I slept soundly in my back yard. Roosters were my wake-up calls. When I think back, I realize it all seemed ordinary to me, a usual night. When I go back to Ghana, I have the sense that all of it is familiar especially that rooster outside my window crowing as the day dawns.
Categories: Musings
Tags: chores, darkness, Dog, errands, face the day, Ghana, grey, harmattan, hot, lazy day, lovely night, night sounds, outside pee break, shooting stars, stars, sunny
Comments: 6 Comments
January 30, 2017
I woke up in the darkness of this cold early morning. I believe winter is most defined by cold darkness. I can hear the heat trying to blow away the coldness of the house. I am sleeping on the couch: actually, we are sleeping on the couch. Gracie is better, but this is the easiest way to keep an eye on her. I heard Maddie running up and down the stairs and across the floor. I wondered why, but cats aren’t easily explained.
When I went to get the papers, I gasped from the cold. I saw my windshield was coated in ice. I think that’s the first time this winter or maybe I missed the other frosty mornings by sleeping in late. The brown grass on my front lawn also had a coat of frost. Winter has made a grand appearance.
In Ghana, in the Upper Regions, this time of year is the harmattan. The days are hot and dry. The wind blows sand which obscures the sun. Day after day is the same. The nights, though, are wonderful. The temperature drops to the low 70’s which doesn’t sound cold, but the days are over 100˚ so 70˚ is chilly. I had a wool blanket on my bed to keep me warm. My students wore layers in the morning. My lips chapped and my heels cracked from the dryness, but feeling cold for a while was worth all of that. I just have to remember that feeling, that love of the cold, when the frost has to be scraped off the windshield, the house heat is blasting, I’m wearing a sweatshirt and socks to stay warm and an afghan on my knees is comforting.
Gracie and I are going out today. She will wear her coat for the first time this winter. I’ll just wear my hoodie.
Categories: Musings
Tags: cold night, cold nights, cracked lips, dark and cold, darkness, frost on the windshield, Ghana, harmattan, hot winds, rime
Comments: 10 Comments
January 15, 2017
This morning I just didn’t want to get out of bed. It was 9:15 when I first woke up. Considering how late I went to bed, I figured it was too early to get up so I snuggled under the covers and went back to sleep. I slept until 10. Maddie started howling. Gracie was snoring. I decided the bed was too warm and I was too comfy so I went back to sleep. It was easy. I slept another hour so it was close to 11 when I dragged myself out of bed. I have no guilt at sleeping the morning away. I have no obligations, no errands and no chores though I could do a laundry, but I won’t.
Last night I want the Patriots beat the Texans. It wasn’t the Pats best game as Brady was intercepted and sacked, but my Pats prevailed. The game started late, 8:15, and ended late so my friends and I decided to make it an evening. First, we ate Chinese and played Phase 10, our favorite game. I happened to win. Clare and I alternate winning. Tony hasn’t won since last March. We’re planning a gala for his anniversary of one year without a win. He isn’t looking forward to the festivities.
It was cold last night, 24˚, so today at 34˚ feels warmer. The low this evening will be 19˚. When I lived in Ghana, it was hot and dry in January. It was harmattan. Dust blew over everything. The sun was obscured. Rain was months away. My candle melted without being lit. The water was often turned off. I took bucket baths, and I had to take a few before I got the knack. I got good at it.
During Peace Corps staging, a time when we all came together for nearly a week before leaving for Ghana, I was asked if I minded going to the north. My response was to ask why the question. What was it about the north? The psychologist asking the question didn’t know the answer. I told him I didn’t care where in Ghana I was to be posted. That settled it. I went to the far north, the Upper Region. I even knew before I left staging I was going to be in Bolgatanga. The remote posting areas were filled first. That was Bolga. That was the place with a long dry season when days reached 100˚ or more. I think of that this time of year, the coldest time of year here in New England, but if I were given a choice between the two, the hot, hot dry days or the freezing days and nights, I’d chose the cold. I couldn’t escape the heat, but I can always bundle up to escape the cold.
Categories: Musings
Tags: 24˚, 34˚, Bolgatanga, close to 11, cold, football, Ghana, harmattan, hot, howling cat, Laundry, New England Patriots, obligations, Peace Corps, sleeping, sleeping the morning away, snoring dog, Upper Region
Comments: 14 Comments
May 28, 2016
My little nap seems to have done the trick. I fell asleep right away as the bedroom was still cool, and the outside world was quiet. The only sounds were from the chimes hanging off branches in the backyard and Gracie’s deep breathing. She had joined me for a nap. The two cats stayed downstairs for their naps.
Today is a perfect day. It is in the high 70’s, bright with sun and there’s a breeze to cool the air just a bit. We are 10 or 15 degrees cooler than Boston and a whole cooler than the western part of the state.
The deck is back to normal. All the furniture is in its usual place. Putting out the do-dads is all that’s left. When I say do-dads, I mean the rug, all the candles in the trees and on the tables, the window boxes, the flower pots, the prayer flags and the pictures for the wall. The shelf and the flower pots need to be repainted. I have new prayer flags and a couple of new strings of lights.
Yesterday while I was sitting in my car waiting for my friends, the wind blew, and I could see the pollen almost as dense as fog blowing off the tree. My car is covered in the greenish yellow pine pollen. I hate this season. When it gets hot, you don’t dare open windows as everything will be pollen covered. It’s like the harmattan in Ghana when the blowing wind brought dust from the Sahara, and it covered all the surfaces in my house. Dusting was a lesson in futility. It is the same with the pollen.
I drove my friends to the Logan airport bus because they were leaving for England early last evening. When I got home, the phone rang. It was Tony telling me Clare had left her pocketbook in the car, the pocketbook with the passports and plane tickets. Could I please hurry as the bus would be leaving in about 15 minutes, 10 minutes short of the drive. I drove like a maniac. The slowest I went was 75, and I cursed the car in front of me which kept me to that crawl. I swear G-force acceleration distorted my face. I drove into the lot and there they were, the last people. They smiled and threw their arms up when they saw my car. The driver was just putting the last piece of luggage in the bay. My timing was perfect. I handed them the handbag and Tony asked Clare if that was her bag. I wanted to say something sarcastic like I have 15 others you can choose from, but I figured it wasn’t the right time. Their gratitude was profuse. They immediately gave their luggage to the driver and got on the bus. Gracie and I went much slower on the ride home.
Categories: Musings
Tags: 75MPH, bus, chimes, deck, faster than the speed of light, flower pots, flowers, harmattan, herbs, luggage, nap, passports, pine pollen, quiet, tickets, two trips
Comments: 2 Comments
February 12, 2015
Earlier this morning I rolled over and looked out the window. I swear I saw the sun. Later, when I woke up, it was a gray day. It was yesterday and the day before and the day before that. I could keep going but you get the idea. That sun must have been a dream, a wanting and most of all a hoping.
More snow is in the forecast, light snow starting later today. I am passed screaming. I can only sigh. The temperature is going to plummet. It will be 12˚ tonight and 9˚tomorrow night. The 20’s during the day will seem downright tropical. Where did I put that Hawaiian shirt? I’m thinking mai tai, many mai tais, all with umbrellas.
In Northern Ghana this is the harmattan, the season when a cold-dry dusty wind blows from the desert. It is also the hottest time of the year. In Bolga, where I lived, every day this time of year was over 100˚. The cold shower was a blessing, a relief from the heat. I didn’t have a fan, never even thought of buying one. The heat was something to abide just as the snow is. The nights during the harmattan brought relief from the relentless heat of the days. The temperatures dropped as low as the 70’s. I was cold and even had a wool blanket on my bed. The early mornings were brisk, even chilly. They were a delight.
In the midst of the harmattan I thought of home and winter. I thought of snow but it was an idealized version conjured by my imagination. The snow was pristine, perfectly white. Snowmen with carrot noses, buttons and top hats sat on front lawns. Kids sledded down hills. Snowball fights were fun. Cars made a crunching sound from the snow as they drove down the street. We all looked healthy with red cheeks.
It is easy to get discontent with extremes so we have to remind ourselves that seasons change. The heat ends when the rains come. Spring always follows winter.
Categories: Musings
Tags: 12˚, Bolgatanga Ghana, drinks with umbrellas, grey day, harmattan, light snow, mai tai, over 100˚, plummeting temperatures, snowball fights, snowmen, sunless day
Comments: 8 Comments
October 22, 2013
Today is the last of the warm, sunny days. Tomorrow will be cold and rainy. I have been a sloth of late so I need to motivate myself to go out and enjoy today. I’ll grab Gracie and my camera and off we’ll go.
In the winter I stay home a lot. It is, after all, usually cold which is the best reason to stay inside cozy and warm. In the summer, I am a deck denizen and love to sit and read and watch Gracie in the yard and the birds at the feeders. Right now I am just… You probably wonder if I left off a word but I didn’t. I can’t describe my mood exactly. I am not sad but I am not happy either. I am just…
I am unmotivated though I did dust strange places this morning and wet mop the kitchen floor. There was no sudden burst of energy. They were necessities. I couldn’t take it any longer. The dusting was the top of the baseboard behind the tavern table and the back of the Morris chair. The kitchen floor was filled with Gracie’s paw prints.
Grace, my student, not to be confused with Grace my dog, had her appointment at the embassy today hoping to get a visa to visit. I think she is probably done already given the time change. I called but got no answer. She is willing to come even in the cold, but Grace has no idea what cold really is. During the harmattan, especially around December, the nights are cold but only in comparison to the hot, hot days. I had a wool blanket on my bed. The mornings during the harmattan were my favorite times of the day. They felt like cool fall mornings when you knew the sun would soon enough warm the day. My students wore layers of sweaters. They complained bitterly about the cold. I relished it. It was such a strange feeling to be cold in Ghana. Well, Grace is in for a jolt. I doubt she owns enough layers for November cold. Luckily I have plenty of jackets. I don’t even know if Grace owns shoes. Sandals are all everyone wears. Shoes are unhealthy. Maybe our first stop will be a shoe store.
I am on tenterhooks waiting.
Categories: Musings
Tags: a sloth, cleaning weird places, cold mornings, cold nights, cold weather, embassy appointment, harmattan, jackets and socks, mopping the floor, nothing sort of mood, shoes or sandals, warm and sunny, wearing layers
Comments: 16 Comments
December 18, 2012
As I was walking downstairs this morning, I could smell the Christmas tree. I smiled. I love that smell and can’t think of no better way to greet the morning. Right away I went over and turned on the tree lights. They brightened the room and chased away the clouds and the rain.
Yesterday Gracie and I went about doing a couple of errands. She got her nails trimmed, and while I waited, I bought her a few surprises for Christmas. I also stopped at a favorite bakery to get cookies to bring to the library for this week’s Christmas open house. The bakery owner, whom I see all the time, was there and asked what I was looking for. I told him about the open house and the library. He said he loved libraries and then he gave me three packages of his cookies as a gift to the library. How kind that was! How generous! I am forever thankful for the goodness in people.
I got a call from my friend Bill who had somehow managed to track down Patrick, another volunteer with whom we had served in Bolga. I had looked for Patrick for a while but never found him. Bill found a story in an Iowan newspaper about Patrick and send an e-mail last September asking if the Patrick he’d found was our Patrick, but Bill didn’t get an answer until now when Patrick called him. Pat’s memory is a bit fuzzy. He barely remembered Ghana let alone any of us. He asked Bill if there wasn’t also a gal in Bolga. I can’t remember the last time I heard anyone say gal. Bill told him I was that gal. I had to chuckle as did Bill. I have Patrick’s phone number and am aimin’ to give that galoot a call. I’ll introduce myself as a gal he knew from way back when.
I have a story I like to tell this time of year about my first Christmas in Ghana, my very first ever away from home. I was homesick and sad. My mother tried to help so she sent me a small tree, ornaments from our family tree, brick crepe paper so I could make a fireplace and a small stocking to hang. I decorated my house but it didn’t help much. Besides, the weather was all wrong. It was the harmattan, the driest time of the year with a hot, dusty wind which blew each day and covered every surface in my house with sand. The heels of my feet cracked from the dryness, and I had to walk on tiptoes until the skin hardened. The only redeeming parts of the harmattan were the nights. They were cold, put a wool blanket on the bed cold. I’d leave all my windows open so I could snuggle under my blanket. It felt a bit like winter.
The nights in Bolga were quiet. They were bright with stars which seemed to blanket the sky. I was in bed trying to fall asleep on a night close to Christmas when I heard a small boy singing. His voice carried though the night air. It was the only sound I could hear. He sand We Three Kings, every verse. His voice was beautiful. I don’t know where he was. I guessed he lived in a compound near my house, but that didn’t really matter. He gave me one of the most beautiful gifts I have ever received. He gave Christmas.
Categories: Musings
Tags: Bill, Bolga, Christmas, Christmas tree, cold nights, Ghana, harmattan, holidays, homesickness, Peace Corps, sand
Comments: 40 Comments
April 15, 2012
Today is beautiful with no breeze and the brightest sun hanging in the sky. Fern is so relaxed lying in the sun shining through the front door that I had to check to make sure she was breathing. Gracie is outside sitting in the sun. She has a favorite spot on the back side of the yard where she sprawls on the grass. When she comes in to check on me, her fur will feel hot to the touch.
Yesterday I heard dogs barking, including my own, mowers and kids playing but not today. My neighborhood is Sunday quiet as if there was reverence still left for the day.
I have favorite smells. The every day favorite smells give me a sense of comfort and continuity like the smell of coffee brewing first thing in the morning or the smell of the ocean borne this far by the wind or the fog. Other smells transport me to different times and places. Last week I smelled leaves burning and saw a man tending his small fire, rake in hand. I slowed down and lowered my window when I went by him and his leaves. All of a sudden I was a little kid again watching my father tend to his fire burning on the street beside the sidewalk. The smell of wood burning brings me back to Ghana. During the harmattan, when the mornings are chilly, the family compound behind my house had smoke whirling into the air from fires lit to keep everyone warm. The smell of that burning wood was almost sweet as it filled the air. Food in Ghana is still cooked on small, round charcoal burners, and the charcoal is still made from wood. Last summer when I smelled the cooking fires I was transported forty years in time to when I lived in a small white duplex and behind my house was a field with a family compound. I can still see and smell the smoke from that compound as it rises into the air. My mother and the smell of sugar cookies baking are forever linked in my memory.
Categories: Musings
Tags: charcoal, Fern, Gracie, harmattan, smells, sugar cookies, sun, Sunday
Comments: 14 Comments
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