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”Some of my best leading men have been dogs and horses.”

August 1, 2025

We didn’t get the thunder, but we got the rain. The storm started around 1:30. Henry ran out before bedtime, but Nala went out and turned right around. The rain got heavy quickly. The night was chilly, a shut your windows sort of night.

This morning is damp and cold. It is only 64° and won’t get much higher. The day is dark. The sky is all clouds, but no rain is predicted, just an ugly day.

When I was really young, my mother read Golden Books to me. My favorite was Henny Penny, and I demanded she read it to me all the time. I loved all the rhyming names like Turkey Lurky, Goosey Loosey and the villain, Foxy Loxy. Poor Henny believed the sky was falling when an acorn hit her on the head. She told all the other animals who got frightened so they followed her to tell the king. Now, I hadn’t read this book in years, but one Christmas my mother put a copy of it in my stocking. I read it with glee until the ending. I had forgotten the ending, purposely I think. At the end, the animals follow Foxy Loxy to his lair. He eats them all except for Henny Penny. She escapes. I don’t know what attracted me to this story. It can’t be the tragic ending. I’m thinking it’s the rhymes.

My dogs are having their morning naps. Each is sleeping on one side of the couch. I am in the middle. I remember Lassie Come Home. It was the very first Sunday movie. Lassie is sold. His poor family needed the money. Joe, who loved Lassie, was inconsolable. Lassie is taken hundreds of miles away to Scotland to stop her from escaping to go home. She escapes anyway but with help. Lassie survives a violent storm and dog catchers but makes it home. Old Yeller made me cry, probably still would, but I don’t choose to watch it. Many movie goers won’t watch a movie if a dog dies. People can die, just not dogs. I remember the movie Volcano. The dog made it. Grandma died. A website called Doggone will tell you if a dog dies in a movie. It gets a lot of traffic.

My dance card is empty until Monday. I get to loll around the house and eat bonbons, yes on the lolling but not really on the bonbons though I wish it were so.

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“Let the rain kiss you, Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops, Let the rain sing you a lullaby.”

July 25, 2025

The wonderfully cool days and nights are done, kaput, over. We now have that heat wave which has been working its way across the country. It is already 84° and will get hotter. The only saving grace is the possibility of thunder showers in the late afternoon. It has been a long while since rain.

I love dramatic rain with its thunder and lightning. I love the sound of the pouring rain hitting the doors and windows. It’s raining cats and dogs comes to mind. There seems no connection between the rain and the cats and dogs, but we all know what it means. I even have a night light of cats and dogs falling in the rain. I am hoping to see those idiomatic falling animals late this afternoon.

I loved the rainy season in Ghana. It rained almost every day. Some storms were heavy, but most were light, the sort which don’t interfere with going to town to the market. In the market, women sat in the rain under umbrellas to sell their wares, but I never saw Ghanaians walking under an umbrella. I didn’t either. Getting wet was cooling.

My classrooms and my house had tin roofs. I wish my house now did. When it rained and hit the tin roof, the sound seemed to have a beat. It was soothing, relaxing, Mother Nature’s white noise, but it did make teaching a bit complicated. The rain was louder than I was.

When I was a kid, summer rain was fun. If the storm was heavy, the rain quickly flowed into the gutters beside the sidewalks. There was white water close to the drains. We used to walk in the gutters kicking up the rainwater and getting soaked. Now, when that happens, I always think of It and keep an eye out for Pennywise and that red balloon.

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“Into each life some rain must fall, some days must be dark and dreary.”

March 23, 2024

Today will be the warmest day in a while, in the 50’s, but it will also be a windy rainy day. The rain will start this afternoon. We already have the wind. I’m thinking I’ll stay close to hearth and home today.

When I was a kid, a rainy Saturday was the worst. I was stuck in the house on my favorite day of the week. My trusty bike stayed in the cellar. Mostly I’d read in my bedroom or watch TV in the living room and look out the windows hoping to see no rain. Staying inside stretched the day to last forever.

Ghana has a dry season and a rainy season. I lived in the driest, hottest part of the country. When the rains came, the early storms were terrific as if Mother Nature was making up for the all those dry days. I had to walk in the rain to the classroom block to teach. I didn’t have a rain coat. I don’t think I saw one my entire time there. I got wet. The rain happens. Live with it.

One of my favorite rain stories happened on market day. I rode my moto to town and parked it near one of the market gates. I locked it. While I was shopping, the rain started. I didn’t care. I kept shopping. When I was done, I headed out. I got to the gate. My moto was gone, but then I heard, “Madam, madam,” from across the street. The policemen guarding the outside of the bank were under an awning. They had my moto. They had carried the bike across the street to put it under the awning so it would stay dry. They were thoughtful and kind. Ghanaians are like that.

I love the sound of rain. I had a metal roof on my house and classrooms in Ghana, and when it rained, I was surrounded by the sound of it. It was so loud I couldn’t teach. I’d use the blackboard for instruction. Often I’d fall asleep to the sound of rain. Sometimes it was a soothing sound, a gentle sound, while other times it was fierce, loud and pounding. It didn’t matter. I still fell asleep and slept soundly.

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“Morning is wonderful. Its only drawback is that it comes at such an inconvenient time of day.” 

March 7, 2024

Today is an ugly day. It rained heavily all night, and the rain, now only a drizzle, continues on and off. The wind is strong and cold. I was out earlier but am now home wearing my cozies and drinking coffee. I am staying put for the rest of the day.

When I lived in Ghana, mornings started in different ways. I never had an alarm clock. I always woke up early enough. During my live-in, I could hear the muezzin call for morning prayers from the small mosque on the side street my bedroom faced. I didn’t know the words, but the call became familiar. I’d sort of drowsily wake, listen, then fall back to sleep. When I was at my own house, the rooster was the most intrusive. I tried keeping him in the dark shower room so he wouldn’t wake me up with his crowing, but it didn’t work. I didn’t really care all that much. I usually fell back to sleep anyway. My students had morning chores. One of the chores was sweeping the compound. That included the dirt in front of my house. I’d wake to the sound of the straw hand broom being swished against the dirt. I could hear my students talking. It was always early, far too early. I had them stop cleaning in front of my house.

When I went back to Ghana, I visited my live-in family. The house where I stayed was still there but empty. I went up to my room and onto the porch outside my room. The small mosque was there on the side street, but speakers had been added on each side of the roof. I wished it was time for the call to prayer. Outside my hotel bathroom in Bolga, a rooster greeted the morning. I loved it. All of a sudden I was in my small house on the school compound listening to my intrusive rooster.

I had a clock radio for years. It was the iconic brown radio with sliding buttons on the top for the alarm and the radio tuning. It had an actual clock on the front. It was set for 5:15 every work day. It was turned off for weekends. When it was years old, the buttons broke. I had to use a small screw driver to move the metal slide. When I retired, I kept the radio so I could see the time, but I never used the alarm. A few years back the radio finally gave up the ghost. It was unceremoniously tossed away.

Alexa is my clock now. The first thing I do when I wake up every morning is ask her the time. She is set with only one alarm, for Wednesday mornings when I have my uke lesson. Alexa is sometimes annoying.

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“The sound of the rain needs no translation.”

September 18, 2023

Today is an ugly day, the mirror opposite of yesterday. The morning air is damp-chilly after last night’s rain. The day is dark. On and off rain is predicted. I have no plans, nothing on my dance card, for today, but I’ll give a nod to personal hygiene and take my shower. I may even change my sheets.

The dogs are curled asleep beside each other on the couch. They both love cozy and neither one is fond of the rain. That makes them sensible.

I don’t remember when I started to love the rain. The summer rains were my favorites. I could stay outside and get wet, unless it was a thunder and lightning storm. Winter rains were never gentle, even the slightest rain made me feel cold from my head to my feet when I’d home from school, but I loved finally getting home. I’d put on my flannel pajamas, get comfy in bed and read. I always felt protected by my house. I could hear the rain on the roof and windows, but I was cozy and warm.

When I lived in Ghana, I loved the rainy season. It rained just about very day. The early rains turned the brown trees and grasses to green. The dusty roads disappeared, hardened by the rain. My house and classrooms had tin roofs so the heavy rains muted any sounds. My students read or wrote. At my house, I’d sometimes sit outside protected by the tin awning over my steps and I’d watch the rain. It was mesmerizing. I remember one market day riding my moto to town to shop. I left it, my moto, by one of the market gates. It started to rain but a softer rain so I just kept shopping. When I was finished, I went out the gate and found my moto gone. I heard calling and turned to see the bank guards gesturing to me. They had carried my locked biked across the street to a protected area to keep it dry. Such are Ghanaians.

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“You are the sum total of everything you’ve ever seen, heard, eaten, smelled, been told, forgot – it’s all there. Everything influences each of us, and because of that I try to make sure that my experiences are positive.”

August 29, 2023

The morning is wet with spitting rain. I can feel the dampness, the thick humidity, in the air and in the house. Showers are predicted. It is in the low 70’s and will stay there all day. I have errands, four of them.

I was going to skip today’s Coffee as I have a lot to do; instead, you’re getting a mishmash.

Sometimes I write a thought or an experience I delete mainly because it doesn’t fit, doesn’t take me anywhere. Some of those I save. Today I am going to post them. They have no connection to one another other than I chose to save them. They are in no specific order. Here they are.

By the time I left Ghana, I had replaced my entire wardrobe. I’d buy cloth in the market and have my seamstress make a dress. I especially loved tie-dye cloth. Some dresses had embroidery on the front. They were my favorites. The only thing I still wore from home were my sandals. They had tire soles put on in the market so they’d last forever.

I have the most annoying neighbor in the house behind me. He plays his music so loud I can’t sit on the deck. Worst of all, it is country music of which I am not a fan. I do like rockabilly and way back classic country music like Hank Williams, Patsy Cline and The Stanley Brothers, but I don’t like contemporary country. When I used to call for Gracie, he would yell and tell me to quiet down. He is the one who thought Gracie was a wolf when she climbed the six foot fence into his yard. That should tell you all you need to know about him.

I have told this story before, but it is one of my favorites if not the favorite story of my day to day life as a Peace Corps volunteer in Ghana. I had taken the magic pills and traveled to Old Tafo to visit my friends Bill and Peg. They lived on the second floor in a house with no plumbing. Bill hauled water in buckets for the house. Down the stairs were the necessities, a row of single seat outhouses. No longer taking the magic pills meant running down the stairs and staying awhile in one of the outhouses, my own single seater. Now that you have the background, here is my story. I was sitting there in my little house biding my time when I heard a sound behind and underneath me. I stood up and a head appeared below the hole. It was the night soil man whose job it was to empty the buckets. He saw me, gave a little wave and said, “Hello, madam,” as he emptied the bucket. When he was finished, I sat down again.

This one I posted, but it is also one of my favorites. I thought I’d end with it:

It didn’t take long after training to realize the best part of Peace Corps isn’t Peace Corps. It is just living every day because that’s what Peace Corps comes down to, just living your best life in a place you couldn’t imagine. It is living on your own in a village or at a school. It is teaching every day. It is shopping in the market every three days. It is taking joy in speaking the language you learned in training. It is wearing Ghanaian cloth dresses and relegating the clothes you brought with you to the moldy suitcases. It is loving people and a country with all of your heart from breakfast to bed and forever after. Peace Corps doesn’t tell you that part, the loving part, but I expect they know it will be there.

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“Spring being a tough act to follow, God created June.” 

June 20, 2023

Today is lovely. It is sunny and bright and in the high 60’s. This, for me, is perfect weather. Even the nights are wonderful with temperatures in the mid 50’s, light blanket and snuggling weather.

Nala and her cone are at odds. She comes to an impasse and stands with her head down. If I don’t see her, I go hunting. If she is out, I keep checking the backdoor as she can’t get in by herself, but she does sleep well with her head resting on her cone and often on me.

The concert yesterday was wonderful. The weather was perfect, the crowd was enthusiastic. Because of the dogs, I didn’t played all last week so I was loving being back with my uke.

When I was a kid, I loved everything about summer. The trees were heavy with leaves. I could find chestnuts below the tree at the top of the road. I’d smash them with a rock then eat the nut, the fruit. On rainy days, I’d go outside and get wet. I’d run in the rain and kick up the water in the gutters. I’d let paper boats float in the rapid water like the scene in the movie It though without Pennywise. I could stay outside later. The streetlights were no longer my curfew. Every day was mine to do what I wanted. I wasn’t a sloth back then. I was busy every day.

When I lived in Ghana, I had a lot of free time. My house was on school grounds so it only took a few minutes to get to class. In between classes, I’d walk home and usually have another cup of coffee while sitting on the porch. In the afternoons, I’d prepare classes and then read for the rest of the day, my routine until Bill and Peg moved to my school. We’d always eat dinner together and then have game nights. I played my music. I had a cassette recorder and tapes. I didn’t have a transformer, only an adapter, but I did have an amazing electrician. He attached a Christmas sort of bulb to the adapter to suck up the extra wattage. The bulb was red. It lit up the wall. I always thought it kind of festive.

My life now more than any other time resembles my Peace Corps days. I have unlimited time to read. I play my music but without the red bulb, a loss of sorts. I often take afternoon siestas. I shop at outside farmers’ markets.

Every day something reminds of Ghana. For that I am grateful.

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“A man’s palate can, in time, become accustomed to anything.”

May 7, 2022

The morning is ugly. The rain comes and goes. The high will be in the low 50’s, and the day will stay rainy. I’m glad I have nowhere I have to be. The house is warm and the coffee is hot. I have harkened back to my childhood and am watching Monster from the Ocean Floor, a 1954 black and white science fiction movie. All I’m missing is the Rice Krispies.

The dogs watched from the deck while two spawns of Satan chased other from tree to tree, branch to branch. I figure the chase is a prelude to romance. Ah, spring!

Puddles were always inviting. When I was little, I loved stomping in the water until the puddle disappeared. I always rode my bike through puddles. I’d raise both legs off the pedals and watch the water spray into the air on each side of my bike. It was a bit like the parting of the Red Sea.

When I was a kid, I remember being excited when I started reading chapter books. Gone were the chickens, the hens, small animals and the colored pictures of the Golden Books. Because the chapter books were long, I always used a bookmark to keep my place. I thought it a sin of sorts, a sacrilege, when people dog-eared pages. I still use bookmarks. Some are official while others are just torn pieces of paper. My current book mark is from a bookstore no longer around. It is ephemera.

My father liked spaghetti with stewed tomatoes. That was the way his mother cooked it when he was a kid. He always said the only places for garlic were shrimp scampi and garlic bread. He didn’t like Romano cheese, only parmesan, but he was easily duped. As long as he didn’t see the garlic or the Romano being used, he didn’t taste them. I loved watching him eat Chinese food. He’d keep his handkerchief close so he could blow his nose and wipe his eyes, effects from the amount of hot mustard he used. He often chose foods with his eyes. He wouldn’t eat hummus. He said it looked like wallpaper paste.

My palate expanded when I lived in Ghana. I was introduced not only to Ghanaian food but also to Lebanese and Indian. Hole-in-the-wall Lebanese restaurants were all around Accra. The food was cheap so I ate a lot of Lebanese food, mostly for lunch. Indian food was a treat. The one Chinese restaurant in Accra served its Chinese food with a Ghanaian twist. The flavors were unique. We always ate outside on the veranda. Eating there was a bit expensive. Even the taxi ride was dear, but we didn’t really care. We were on vacation when we went to Accra, the big city, the city of cars and lights and street markets. I knew the city well, but being from the Upper Region, I always felt a bit like a rube, a country cousin.

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“My weak spot is laziness. Oh, I have a lot of weak spots: cookies, croissants.”

August 18, 2020

We had plenty of rain last night. I fell asleep to the sound of it. I woke up earlier than usual this morning to a lovely day, cool and sunny with a slight breeze. Yesterday I was feted at dinner by my friends. I also unwrapped amazing presents and ate lemon meringue pie, my all time favorite. I have a couple of slices to eat today thus prolonging my birthday yet another day.

Henry drives me crazy some times. Last night he went out, but I didn’t hear him. A long while later I noticed him looking into the house from the deck. The poor baby had been out there a long time. This morning I let him out, and he came back inside through the dog door. I always hope he’ll do that every time, but after his next trip out, he was back on the deck looking inside hoping I’ll see him. He even ignored the dog biscuit with frosting and sprinkles I had put on the rug to entice him. I went and let him inside. He went right to the biscuit.

Everything is quiet. A while back I heard thumps from upstairs. They sounded like a dog jumping on and off the bed. I guessed Henry and Jack were having some fun. Later, they both came downstairs together. Henry looked sheepish. He went right outside. I had to let him in. He is now napping upstairs on my bed.

Tomorrow I’ll do my errands. Today I’ll refill bird feeders. The laundry still sits. I just don’t feel like doing it, and I’ve learned to stave off guilt. Also, I haven’t run out of clothes yet.

The first time I really did any cooking or baking was my first Christmas in Ghana. My mother had sent me decorations, a small plastic tree and Christmas cookie cutters. I made my first ever batch of sugar cookies. The flour had to be sifted first to get rid of the bugs. I used a beer bottle to roll out the dough. Because I couldn’t get gas in town for my stove and oven, both were seldom used, but after a 200 mile round trip to Tamale, I had a full tank. I didn’t know how true my oven was so I watched the first batch of reindeer bake. They were perfect. I grabbed my beer bottle, my Star Beer bottle, and rolled out some more already de-bugged flour for my next batch.

The cookies were perfect so I had to put them away before I taste tested too many.

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“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

January 20, 2019

The rain is a deluge. Poor Henry went out then turned around and came   right back inside. His fur was soaked in that short time. Last night the wind blew. It rattled the windows and shook branches. Limbs swayed. This morning I was surprised how warm it was when I dashed to get the papers. The temperature is in the 50’s, but tonight, it will drop to the teens. All that water will turn to ice.

Nothing much is happening. I liken January to the doldrums. I could go out as I do need a couple of things, but I’ll manage. I have a few avocados and a half bag of chips, snack treasures. I have chocolate chips and caramel chips, eggs, flour and sugar. All I need is energy.

Life continues to amaze me, especially its simplest moments, those times of simple pleasures: freshly brewed morning coffee, the smell of sheets dried in the sun, funny movies and buttered popcorn with just a touch of salt, warm slippers on a winter’s day, an afternoon nap on the couch, a hot shower after a tiring day and brownies, any kind of brownies, as long as they’re chocolate. The rain sustains me, not the lightning bolts.

I haven’t made my chicken curry in a long while. It’s time. I think curry with its bit of heat is the perfect winter dinner. I can remember the last time I ate curry. Actually, I still remember the first time. I filled my fork and tentatively took my first bite. I could have done a happy dance. I tasted the heat of the curry, watermelon and peanuts, coconut and bananas.

My life has had momentous events, life altering events, but I’ve learned it is the little pieces gathered together in my memory drawers which give life meaning and depth, which make it whole.

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