Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet.

Yesterday it rained. Last night it poured. I was at the Cape Playhouse to see Kiss Me Kate when the heavy rain started. It pelted the roof so loudly I saw most of the people in front of me look up as if they were expecting to see drops falling. After what seemed like a long time, the heavy rains were finally quiet. By the time the play was over, the ground had absorbed most of it.

This morning we still have rain, small intermittent drops of rain. Condensation is on the outside of my windows from the AC  interacting with the humidity. It’s what I call the glasses effect. When I leave the cold car, my glasses fog over and I can’t see. I stop and wipe them before I bump into someone or something. It always amuses me a bit.

In the summer, my mother was reluctant at first but after a while was only too happy to let us out of the house when it rained. When we were stuck inside, boredom settled in quickly then the fights started, the he called me this and she called me that sort of fight. My mother always yelled for us to stop, and that worked for a few minutes but then back we’d go to sniping at each other. We’d ask if we could go outside, and she usually agreed. With us gone, peace was restored in the house.

We’d put leaves or paper boats in the gutters and watch them float down the street. We’d whip branches and soak each other. Sometimes we’d take our bikes and ride as fast as we could through puddles so the spray would fly into the air on each side of the bike. We got soaked.

When we’d go back into the house, my mother would make us take off our sneakers then she’d send us upstairs to change into dry clothes. Our feet were usually so wet we always left footprints on the wood floor. I always liked that part.

That’s all the motorcycle is, a system of concepts worked out in steel.”

I thought I heard rain this morning, but I just turned over and went back to sleep and slept in. I didn’t wake up until 9:30. I even went to bed early for me last night so this was a where’s my prince sort of deep sleep. It wouldn’t have surprised me to see the Seven Dwarves standing by my bedside. The streets were damp when I went to get the paper so it had rained, and that little rain brought us a cloudy day and thick humidity. The sun is appearing infrequently as if it doesn’t really care one way or the other. The paper predicts a hot day.

Sounds are always muted in the humidity. The thickness of the air drowns everything and brings a sort of lethargy. Even the leaves on the oak trees barely stir. The house is cloudy day dark and the window here does little to lighten the room. It’s morning nap time for Fern, Maddie and Gracie. The loudest noise in the house is the tapping of my fingers on the keyboard.

When I lived in Ghana, I had a Honda 70. It was the demure moto, as the Ghanaians call motorcycles, for a woman who always wore a dress. My first year volunteers weren’t allowed motorcycles, but when that changed my second year, I bought one. My first trip, just after learning to ride it, was the hundred miles from Tamale where I bought the bike to Bolga where I lived. I loved that ride. It was a freedom I had never felt in a crowded lorry with every seat taken, people sitting in the middle on small stools and a few chickens and goats along for the ride. That moto gave me the freedom to take back roads leading to the small villages which ringed Bolga. I always brought a canister of extra gas. My friends and I would usually go together; Bill took the baby Kevin safely tied in a backpack and I took Peg his wife on the back of my bike. We’d often bring lunch and stop for a picnic. Those were fun days as we found ourselves in amazing places. Once some guys hauled our bikes across a small pond and we sat by a village watering hole to have lunch. Small boys stood around and watched us. The guys at the pond waited for us to finish as we had given them half a cedi for one way and told them we’d give them the other half if they waited to take the bikes back. That was a lot of money in those days. Another time we went to Tongo. We had brought a small charcoal burner and hot dogs that came in a can to cook almost like at a real barbecue. We set up the burner on a rock. A bit later a man came and yelled at us in FraFra. The small boys in school uniforms who had been standing around and watching us translated. The man wanted money to appease the gods on whose rock we had rested the burner, but the rock had bird poop on it so we didn’t buy his story figuring it was another scam for money. His response was something along the lines of  misfortunes would follow us, but that too we ignored. We finished and packed up to leave. Not far from the rock, Bill’s bike stopped suddenly for no reason. We looked at each other wondering, but Bill’s bike restarted with no problem. We were just glad the old man hadn’t seen it.

The fireflies o’er the meadow In pulses come and go.”

A dead mouse was on the floor in the hall today. I think Maddie did the honors. I tossed it outside. Dead mice don’t bother me. It’s the half-alive ones I hate.

The day has humidity almost thick enough to see. The sky is cloudy. Nothing is moving. Even sounds seem muted. My house is dark. I needed a light on to read the papers, but once I finished, I turned it off. A dark house feels cooler or at least gives the illusion of being cooler. I suspect the AC will get a work-out a bit later.

Gracie woke me up at five by ringing her bells to go out. I went downstairs and opened the door then went back to bed. I didn’t go to sleep as I was waiting for Gracie to come back inside. I know she’d can’t get out of the yard, but I still worry. Finally, after what seemed like a long time, I went downstairs and onto the deck to call her. She didn’t come, and I couldn’t hear her. I called a couple of more times, and then I heard her collar way in the back of the yard. The shadows had hidden her. I called again and offered a treat. She came running. We both went back to sleep.

It’s deck movie night. We’ll have a couple of appetizers and then chicken and a salad for dinner. I haven’t figured out dessert yet, but I do know I’m buying malted milk balls. They all disappeared last week. We’re seeing Night of the Hunter this week.

We never had a Saturday matinée in the summer. That was winter entertainment. The summer was spent outside even when it rained. The idea of staying inside the house never occurred to us. Every summer day meant fun and adventure and playing games like hide and seek, statues or red rover. Our grassy backyard with the big hill was usually filled with kids. It was always noisy in the summer. Kids were laughing and shouting at one another, and mothers were calling out from the screened doors announcing lunch or dinner or time to come inside. Sometimes we’d get to eat lunch outside. It was always a sandwich. Dinner was at the kitchen table. Even if the meat was barbecued, we’d eat inside. Every summer day bedtime came all too soon, once the day had given way to night.

I think my favorite time of day back then was when the fireflies came out. They’d flit all over the backyards and the fields. I’d follow one with my eyes until I’d lose it among all the others. It was always amazing.

I still love fireflies, and I still watch one until it disappears. It is still amazing.

What dreadful hot weather we have! It keeps me in a continual state of inelegance.”

The air is already thick with humidity. Nothing is moving. The leaves just sit there on the branches. Even the birds are quiet. This room, at the back of the house, is still cool and dark, but it won’t be by mid-afternoon. Today the house with the AC will be my refuge.

We are spoiled. Our expectations have changed. The house is too hot? Put in central air. It’s a pain to move the hoses around the yard and garden. Time for an irrigation system. You want dinner ASAP. Put it in the microwave. Don’t want to wait for the charcoal for the barbecue. Buy a gas grill. Go from the air-conditioned house to the air-conditioned car to the air-conditioned store.

I remember summers when I was young. They were filled with wanderings and woods and the swamp. Being sweaty and even a bit dirty were signs of a good time, of a day well spent. I was always so exhausted I fell asleep in the sweltering heat of my bedroom. Even my father hunting and killing mosquitoes with his rolled-up magazine woke me for no more than a minute or two even though he sometimes stood on my bed to reach the ceiling. That ceiling and all the others in the house had blots which represented another kill. My father was possessed.

I lived in Bolga. It was the hottest part of the country with the least amount of rain. I didn’t even have a fan. I went to bed still wet from my shower and slept through the hot night. Later, just before the rains when the humidity came, I moved outside and slept on my mattress in the back of the house. I saw a sky filled with a million stars. I always had no trouble falling asleep.

My bedroom on the third floor with the heat from the afternoon sun was so hot I couldn’t fall asleep so for most of the summer I slept downstairs on the couch with the back door opened. Later I splurged and bought a fan. One year I finally broke down and got a window air-conditioner for my bedroom. I tolerated the hot-house downstairs but luxuriated in the coolness of the bedroom where I easily fell asleep. Then I decided it made no sense to be hot and uncomfortable or to have to sit upstairs all afternoon so I went with central air.

It seems the older I get the more spoiled I become. I have to admit, though, I’m loving it.

“He slud into third.”

It rained all day yesterday, sometimes heavily. Gracie didn’t go out until early in the evening when it was just sprinkling. Today is cloudy and humid, and I feel closed in by the humidity which sucks in all the air making it difficult to breathe. A leaf bounces in the air every now and then but there is no breeze. Even the birds are quiet, their songs dulled by the thick air. I have no ambition whatsoever.

I stayed up late and watched the Sox-Yankees game and was rewarded with a Sox win in the 10th. It amazes me that after so many games already played this season these two teams are only one game apart. Not bad for the Sox who started out 2-10.

Baseball is easy to understand which is probably why it is my favorite sport. I have no idea how football works other than the basics. I don’t even know what most of the guys standing on the line are supposed to do. I don’t care about my football ignorance  nor do I care to learn any more. I still watch and applaud a first down for my team or a great run or a magnificent pass; however, when the  announcer describes the play, he might as well be speaking gibberish.

From the time I was young, I understood baseball, even the intricacies and most of the terminology. I did learn a new one last year, the Mendoza Line. It hadn’t come up much with the hard hitting Sox. Years ago one of the male coaches in the high school where I worked considered women dabblers when it came to sports. I was in the teachers’ room when baseball was the topic of discussion. I mentioned it was my favorite sport, and he sort of smirked and asked if I knew anything beyond nine innings and three outs. I said I did, and he questioned me. Most of the questions were easy, and I handily answered them. He thought he’d get me with hitting for the cycle, but I knew it. He gave a look at the guys at the table and asked about a Texas leaguer. He stopped asking when I knew the answer. I was tempted to ask him about the last book he’d read, but I figured I’d be stereotyping, and besides, I knew from past conversations he considered Sports Illustrated a classic right up there with A Tale of Two Cities.

“When your friends begin to flatter you on how young you look, it’s a sure sign you’re getting old.’

The rain stayed around all night, and I fell asleep to the sounds of raindrops. Now it is still quite damp and humid. The sun struggled twice to come out, but it didn’t and still remains a hazy ball of light behind a mass of clouds. A slight breeze saves the day from strangling humidity. Tonight is movie and dinner on the deck night. I’m not making anything: it’s cold cuts, cheese and rolls and a few salads for sides. I’m even going to buy dessert and a few movie munchies. I haven’t chosen the movie yet, but I know it will take place in Boston as I have dubbed this summer The Boston Movie Festival. Last week we saw Blown Away. One movie we won’t see is The Brink’s Job. It’s not on DVD. I really wanted to watch it as a small part of it took place in the square of the town where I grew up. I  can’t understand why it’s unavailable on DVD.

My whole street is quiet, unusual for a Saturday. I don’t even hear a single lawn mower. Off in the distance I hear a few birds, but that’s all. Even Gracie is inside napping. It’s one of those days which seems to sap energy. I’m already thinking about my own nap.

Getting older has some perks. Being crotchety is expected, and I’m wondering when that entitled feeling kicks in. All the old people seem to have it. Maybe it’s at seventy. I know it wasn’t at sixty. Last night I watched the news, and one of the reports was about a woman who thwarted a robbery in her house. She said she grabbed the would be burglar by the nape of the neck and made him sit and wait for the police. She looked really old to me, but the reporter said she was sixty three. I ran to the mirror. One look convinced me that had it been me, the audience would have said no way that woman is sixty three. She looks so much younger.

“If the English language made any sense, lackadaisical would have something to do with a shortage of flowers.”

Mother Nature seems to be extending the summer just a bit longer than usual. The last few days have been hot, and by the time I went to bed last night, it was still so uncomfortably warm and humid I ran the air conditioner in my bedroom. The paper says rain this afternoon, but the day belies the forecast. It is sunny and warm with a deep blue sky. It is deck weather again.

During my first week in Ghana, we sat in a group lecture to learn about Ghana’s culture and languages. Back then, I was the poster child for Boston accents and a great source of humor for my fellow trainees. Prior to the lecture, I had been asked if I would stand up and recite a sentence aloud. I did, and after I’d finished, there were quite a few laughs at the oddity of my accent. The Peace Corps staff member giving the lecture told the group that what they’d just heard was as close to Ghanaian English as anyone of us would get. I smirked.

It took a while for me to learn to speak Ghanaian English. The first month of teaching was a nightmare. I’d teach the whole period, and usually, at the end of the lesson, a student would raise her hand, stand up and say, “Madame, we didn’t hear you.” That meant they didn’t understand a word I’d said. Every lesson was discouraging. I was depressed and lonely and decided I’d leave before Christmas if things didn’t change. Why stay if I was ineffective?

I did learn to speak Ghanaian English well before Christmas. I learned to speak slowly. I learned that words like leTTer, beTTer and waTer had a stress on the T. Students no longer had trouble hearing me. I forgot about leaving.

A strange phenomenon took place whenever we were with our Ghanaian friends. We’d speak regular English to one another then turn and speak Ghanaian English to our friends. We didn’t do it consciously. It just happened.

On the flight home, I asked the stewardess for some waTer. She looked at me and repeated, “WaTer? You want waTer?” I was being made of fun again. This time it was my Ghanaian English.

“Our birthdays are feathers in the broad wing of time.”

They are my fault. The last two thunder and lightning storms started when I got up to go to the bathroom. This morning it was around three when the sky lit up several times over and over and the thunder roared. The same thing happened last week. It sounds unlikely I know, but it is far too much of a coincidence to ignore. I will no longer have any cold drinks before bed.

It is a damp, dark day, befitting after all the rain we had. The humidity is thick enough to cut, and the house feels closed as if the walls are getting closer. Nothing is stirring, not the slightest breeze. I do hear a few birds but all else is quiet, dulled by the heavy air.

The roads will be filled with tourists looking for something to do, something to amuse them and keep their kids occupied. The movie theater will be crowded and parking will spill over to the grass and the road across the street. I will stay home.

Today I will don my tiara, my long gloves and my favorite gown with matching slippers, figuratively of course, to celebrate this auspicious occasion. It is my birthday, and I am as old as I have ever been. My friend Clare always leaves on my front steps the biggest mum she can find, and there it was when I opened the door. I can think of no lovelier way to start a birthday. Tony and Clare will make dinner, all my favorites, and we’ll celebrate.

I don’t remember most birthdays when I was a kid. There were probably parties and gifts, but for some reason they never stayed in my memory drawers. I remember turning  twenty-one when my friends took me out for dinner and my first legal drinks. They had a few drinks themselves and forgot to buy my dinner. They also forgot the tip so I got stuck with both. Once they realized what had happened, they offered to take me out again, but, with tongue in cheek, I told them I couldn’t afford it.

Birthdays need to be celebrated with balloons, confetti, noisemakers and good friends. I’ll have those tonight, and it will be a grand celebration.

“It is too humid to continue.”

The day is dark. It has rained a little, small drops which fell for only a while, disappeared for a bit then fell again. I was outside under the umbrella the whole time and stayed dry. I love the sound of the rain on the umbrella. In Ghana, I loved the sound of the rain on the tin roof. I’d sit on my porch under the overhang to watch the rain fall. It was all around me falling in heavy drops with a bit of lightning for drama. I’d listen to it hitting the roof over my head and never tire of the sound. Sometimes I wish I still had a tin roof.

I hope the rain doesn’t mean my first outdoor movie will have to be postponed.

The air is oppressive right now. It dulls sounds and curtails activity. Not a leaf moves in the thick humidity. I should be hearing lawn mowers and kids’ voices. All I hear are a few birds. It will be a day on the deck with a book and some cold drinks.

This week I lost track of the days. I thought yesterday was Saturday. That confusion happens every once in a while and comes from my not keeping a personal calendar any more. The computer is nice enough to give me a day’s notice if I have an appointment, but beyond that I’m on my own. It used to be I knew it was Sunday when The Amazing Race was on, and that was all I needed to help keep track. Now, baseball is on every night, no help there, but I don’t really care all that much. The day is mine to make of it as I want. That’s good enough.

The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit.

Oppressively humid is about the best description I can give for today. Even Gracie, the whirlwind, is lying in the cool darkness of this room. The two cats are stretched out as far as they can be, both near windows. I actually slept until 10, unusual for me. I think it was the air conditioning and my body’s reluctance to get up and leave the cold. Then again, it might be the traveling. It does take a toll whether I realize it or not. My coffee maker didn’t work this morning, a tragedy. I think it has gone to appliance heaven. I, uncombed and unkempt,  jumped into the car and drove to buy a cup.  No morning can start without coffee. Later this afternoon, despite the heat and humidity, I’m shopping to buy another.

Nothing was air-conditioned when I was a kid. We had fans which my father carried from room to room, and I can remember pushing and shoving my siblings so I could be the one in front of the cool air. The worst, though, was any car trip. The six of us were crammed together. The seats were upholstered, and they were hot. Even opening all the windows barely sent a breeze our way. I used to put my arm out my window and use it like a propeller to push a bit of air my way. My father would seldom stop. He was a get there right away sort of driver, but sometimes, with four kids, he was forced into a bathroom stop. I remember the backs of my shirt and shorts were always soaked from sweat when I got out of the car. I have to think we were miserable and cranky. It’s no wonder we seldom did long rides.

I love my cold room at night for sleeping and the chill of the car as I drive. Just about everything is air-conditioned now. We’re spoiled, and there’s no going back.