“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.”

I heard the most welcome of sounds when I woke up this morning, the sound of rain on the roof. I didn’t hear people shoveling or a plow working its way down the street. I heard heavy rain, and I was glad. The day may be dismal and dark, but the rain is a bright spot, sort of oxymoronic I know, but that’s the way it feels.

I am going to Hyannis today. It is really not very far, but I sometimes think of the journey as a trek of sorts. I’m attending a luncheon with the Cape Cod Returned Peace Corps group. We get together every now and then. The last time was in October for the dedication of a stone we’d purchased with a plaque on it celebrating fifty years of Peace Corps and honoring all who served. This luncheon is to recognize Peace Corps week. It starts early so I should be home early which is perfect as I have promised Gracie we will go the dump even if it’s still raining.

When I was younger, not young, but younger, never did I imagine I would pamper myself so much. My groceries were just delivered by Peapod, and they’re already put away. I didn’t have to go up and down aisles silently cursing the aisle hogs or make three or four trips from the car to bring the groceries into the house. When snow fell the last two weekends, I waited for Skip who plowed out my car, the driveway, the mail box and the place in front where I usually park. He shoveled two walks. My front lawn is covered in small, broken pine branches felled by the winds. The back yard has several larger branches on the ground, also victims of the wind. I know in a few months my landscaper and his crew will come and spring clean both yards. Roseana and Lee will be here this week to clean the house. They come every two weeks. I do cleaning in the off-week but usually as little as possible. I have had cleaning people for years, even before I lived here. They date back to when I had a roommate and we shared a house. We both worked, and that was our excuse for housecleaners. She got married and sold her house so I bought my own house. For a long while I cleaned it myself due to finances, not a work ethic, but as soon I could afford it, I hired housecleaners again. When I stopped working, I still kept the housecleaners. Age and a bad back finished off my shoveling career. When I redid the yard, I used a landscaper and decided he was the best choice to keep the grass green and free of weeds. I am, for the most part, a woman of leisure though I am still stuck making and changing the bed and doing laundry. I guess we all need a bit of suffering to keep us humble.

“As long as we know in our hearts what Christmas ought to be, Christmas is.”

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.

“Forever on Thanksgiving Day The heart will find the pathway home.”

It was not a hallucination. I swear when I first woke up this morning there was sun. I smiled, turned over, went back to sleep and missed it. By the time I woke up for good, it was gone; however, these familiar clouds have proverbial silver linings. On the weather last night we were fifteen degrees warmer than Boston and Southern New Hampshire. The weatherman said it was a combination of the warmer ocean and the cloud effect so I have stopped complaining about the lack of sunlight. I’ll just take more vitamin D than usual.

With Thanksgiving being an American holiday we still had to teach when I was in Ghana, but that didn’t stop us from honoring the day. We had a huge Thanksgiving dinner one year with several guests, one turkey, a few chickens, side dishes and pies. The owner of the turkey was a hard bargainer and Thomas, the cook, had to follow the man all the way to his village before he’d sell the turkey. When I was in Bolga last summer, I was amazed by the number of turkeys wandering around. In my two years living there I saw only that one which ended up being the showcase of our feast. The chickens you bought live, still do. You get to pick yours like we pick lobsters from the tank. The man hands you the chicken by its bound feet. I used to hang them from the arms of my moto (motorcycle) to get them home. Someone else always sent the chickens to their heavenly reward. I never could. The year of the giant feast we plucked the chickens. All of them, already having met their demise, were brought to us in a huge bucket. All of a sudden a few of them popped right out of the bucket onto the ground. No, they didn’t run around without their heads. They just popped. I knew scientifically why that had happened but it was still sort of amazing in its own weird way.

That was the year I made my very first pies ever, pawpaw pies. I made the dough, cut up the pawpaws and then added sugar and cinnamon. The cookbook Peace Corps had given us, Ghana Chop (chop being food), said that pawpaw pie would taste just like apple when you added the spices. I brought the two pies to the school’s beehive, clay oven. The cooks put them on the side of the oven away from the intense heat of the middle, but they still took only about 15 or 20 minutes to cook. They were delicious and they tasted exactly like apple pies.

That Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorites.

“I didn’t know that the world could be so mind-blowingly beautiful.”

The day is perfectly beautiful; it’s so warm and sunny I have “unbattened” down the hatches and opened windows. I feel as if  sitting inside is wasting the day so I keep going out to the deck and just standing there to enjoy the warmth before the rain starts or it gets cold though I don’t know if either is predicted. Weather just changes so quickly this time of year. It rained last night. I never heard it. The only way I knew we had rain was the wet street.

Yesterday it rained during the ceremony. Fewer people were there than expected, but the hardy ones came anyway armed with umbrellas and wearing rain gear. I was a fashion statement, a fashion statement for Ghana anyway. A reporter from the Cape Times took my picture and interviewed me. She asked what were some of the difficulties of living in Ghana. I came up with a lack of cole slaw. She also asked about Peace Corps, and I said it was the most remarkable experience, an unequaled experience. She wanted to know about what I was wearing. I swear it was the matching hat which caught her eye!

I’m going out and about today. I have an appointment at noon then I can roam. I have no set destination, but I’ll stop if something catches my eye. Back roads are favorites of mine. I like to go places I’ve never been. You can never get lost on the Cape. When you hit the ocean, just go in the opposite direction. Almost any road will lead to a main road as there are so few of those. Figuring out where you are is usually easy.

On The Amazing Race last night they were in Bangil, Indonesian, and it was beautiful, strikingly beautiful. I immediately put it on my wish list of place to visit. I haven’t ever been to Asian so I’m figuring it might be, in a year or two, my next destination. That will give me time to plan the trip and save enough money.

I love my life, but for this, I wish I were wealthy. I could just pack a bag, book a trip and leave.

Bolika ( Good Morning in FraFra)

My favorite place to sit in the morning is outside the gates of the house on a concrete slab of a bench under a baobab tree. The yellow birds no one can name fly around a tall palm tree and at the fruit of the tree. Their fluttering wings as they eat remind me of humming birds those these birds are larger and more easily seen. As I sit, I see small boys carrying buckets of water on their heads to and from the bore hole. Everyone stops to greet me with good morning in FraFra. I have learned to reply, to offer them a good morning, to say I am well and thank you in FraFra. If I forget a work the small boys says it for me and waits until I repeat then he smiles. The women in the compound beside my house come out to greet me every day. They are pleased when I can answer them in FraFra. I can hear roosters and see goats foraging in the tall grass. I can also hear the mumbled voices from the compound beside me. This is the nicest of all mornings.

Sunday was market day, and I had arranged to meet a few of the volunteers who are posted near here. I said the magic word, cheese, and they all came. I had bought the cheese in a obruni (white man) store in Tamale expected to share. When I was a volunteer food and recent diseases were our favorite conversations. They devoured the cheese and even took pictures of each other eating it. I totally understood.

When they had left, I decided to walk to the internet cafe. My back has been horrendous since last week, and I walk as if I were a mobile question mark. I walk and rest then walk and rest again. I sat down on some steps, and the man at the stall beside me offered his stool, and I sat down. He asked where I was going and i told him. He offered to take me on the back of his motorcycle, and I accepted. It was wonderful, a ride up the whole street. I was reminded of my easy rider days and remembered how much I loved the wind as I rode.

Today was the first day of school. Here punctuality is in the mind of the beholder. I went to Kantia Primary with the crayons, pencils and sharpeners I had brought. Some students were still walking to school, some were sitting and eating while only a few were at the school. The bell was rung so they started drifting in. I went to primary 1 and gave then each what I had brought. Then I went to the pre-primary or nursery school as they call it here and did the same. The kids were thrilled at the new school supplies.

Last night all the lights went out in the village and a few neighboring villages. It was pitch black. I used my iPad for light and went outside on the porch. I could hear voices and the usual night sounds, and I sat there taking it all in for the longest time then dragged myself inside the hot house. I had brought a hand fan with me so I arranged it on my face and fell asleep. A couple of hours later the light and the air came on.

I am going shopping for cloth today and may be going to Kongo to see the chief, but mostly the day is still in the planning stages. I’ll finish here and wander the town a bit.

I have noticed that it is all familiar to me now.

“Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.”

It’s a beautiful day for anything but especially for flying. When I woke up, I changed the bed, took my shower and did a laundry. All that’s left is to feed the cats, change the litter and take Gracie with me to the dump. My bus to Logan leaves at 2:40.

The adventure begins.

I remember the first time I was leaving for Ghana. I was scared, excited and totally ignorant about Africa. Peace Corps had sent me a bus ticket to Philadelphia where we were meeting for staging, a lengthier process then the one day of staging now. My father said no bus so he bought me a plane ticket. Both my parents drove me that Sunday to Logan and walked me to the gate. We didn’t say much as we waited. Two + years loomed in front of us. After what seemed forever, it was time for boarding. My father told me I could come home if I didn’t like it. My mother clung to me, a two year until I see you again hug. I promised to call before I left Philadelphia then walked down the ramp to the plane. When I looked back, both of them were there. I waved then went around a small corner and boarded the plane.

Today it is only excitement while last year there was also apprehension. I didn’t know what to expect, but not this year: I have an itinerary, a driver, places to see, a student for company and friends waiting. Sounds like a perfect trip to me!

I just used the downstairs bathroom and found a dead mouse, compliments of Maddie. She had been chasing it the other night until Gracie got involved and the mouse escaped, but obviously that was short-lived.

Well, I’m done here. I’ll post some music and finish my final pre-trip chores. I’ll try and post after a day or two in Bolga as there is an internet cafe. I will miss talking to you every day!

“I have learned that to be with those I like is enough”

We have sun, that bright orb in the sky which sheds light on the world. It has brought warmth and dispelled the damp so tonight will finally be the oft postponed movie on the deck night. It is supposed to pleasant and cool.

It was a mirror under her nose to see if she’s alive type morning. The dog wanted out. I don’t know when. I heard her bells, went downstairs, opened the door and turned off the AC so I could leave the door opened and she could come in which she wanted. I went back to bed. The phone woke me at 10:30, that’s right, 10:30, but I didn’t let the late morning change my ritual: two papers and two cups of coffee later, here I am.

Now I’m stuck with nothing to day; my mind is a tabula rasa. I write six days a week (it used to be every day) and have been writing this blog for at least six years maybe even seven I’m not sure. I have discussed every aspect of my childhood, my teen years, college years, Peace Corps service and the day-to-day stuff which keeps me busy or idle depending upon my mood. I have excoriated tourists, supermarkets, slow drivers who can’t see over the steering wheel and the weather, can’t forget the weather. I have taken you with me to Morocco, Ghana and South America, though that last one wasn’t live. Soon enough you’ll be going back to Ghana with me. You have been made privy to the number of underwear I’m bringing on my journey, and I’ll be posting my flight times and numbers so you can make sure I arrived safely. I have told countless dad stories. You even know some of my failings as I’ve lamented them a few times, a tin ear being one and impatience being prime. You have essentially become family but don’t expect post cards!

“After enlightenment, the laundry.”

It’s another beautiful day. The sun is bright, and it’s not yet too warm. The weatherman says low 80′s for today.  I have a bunch of errands to do later including sending for my Ghanaian visa. I’ve already bought a few things to take with me: wipe on insect repellant as last year my feet got eaten, wash cloths which start out in a small pill shape and a personal fan, hand size which runs on batteries. I don’t think I need anything else as I still have a few things I bought and never used for last summer’s trip, a first aid kit being among them.

When I was in Peace Corps training, we had two choices for washing clothes: a bucket for hand-washing or finding someone to wash them. I, of course, chose the latter as did most of the other trainees. I remember Winneba, our first training site, and following a dirt path among trees to the house of the woman who washed our clothes in buckets for a small amount of money. I have no idea how she was found, but I was thrilled not to have to bucket wash my clothes. I don’t remember the rest of training or my laundry, but I also don’t remember washing my own clothes. I’m thinking we found someone everywhere we went.

When I got to Bolga to live, I didn’t wash clothes there either, except for what one might call my personals. Thomas, who worked for me, washed the rest of my laundry in metal buckets then he’d iron my dresses using a charcoal iron. I noticed the seamstress who made my dress last summer uses that the same type charcoal iron.

At the hotel where I stayed last summer, I asked about someone doing my laundry. They recommended a woman who washed my clothes for not much money. She barely spoke English, but she filled in the gaps by smiling a lot. Always on her back was her small daughter. My clothes came back in one day. When I left Ghana to come home, my clothes, except for the personals, were all clean. That has never happened on any trip before, but I expect it to happen again this summer.

“I say, if you believe what you read in the comic strips, then you believe that mice run around with little gold buttons on their red pants and drive cars.”

The morning is overcast, damp and foggy. I was woken up by a small plane landing on my neighbor’s runway. Okay, I admit there is no runway, and there was no plane, but it sounded like one, maybe the Songbird; instead, it was the loudest, noisiest lawn mower in existence. To top it off, the house across the street was being mowed at the same time by a stand-on mower. I had no choice but to get out of bed.

Creature News: a new segment today on Coffee. First news is the frequent sightings and finally a picture of the black bear on Cape Cod. The paper says black bears have not been here for centuries, but one is back now. The consensus is it swam across the canal and is probably a young, around two-year old, male very capable of making the swim. The paper warned people to protect their beehives and watch their bird feeders. The article also said to expect more bears. The second piece of animal news has to do with my electrical problem. The lights went out in the same spot again almost right after I’d turned them on so down cellar I went and threw the switch, but I heard a sizzling noise and turned the switch off. I called my friend Shane, the electrician, and he came over yesterday and went right downstairs to check. He came out to the deck where I was and said he’d found the problem, and he wanted to show me. Downstairs we went and he shined his flashlight above to a hole. Halfway through the hole was a mouse, a dead mouse with eyes wide opened, who had bitten into the wire. Shane will come back to fix it as I have to move furniture in my den so he can attach a box from the inside-outside to by-pass the eaten wire. That mouse really did look surprised.

Today I am going to be in Hyannis at spot number 7 on the Kennedy trail. It will be Peace Corps and a few of us will be there to answer questions. I’ll have my Ghanaian flag and wear Ghanaian dress, traffic stoppers for sure.

The Dylan song, My Back Pages, was removed from the server so I deleted the posting. It surprised me as I have posted several Dylan songs in the past. I figured he must be getting really grouchy in his old age. The good part of that deletion is that MediaFire gets the complaint, not WordPress, so I am in no danger of being deleted as I was on Blogger. Putting the link in the comments was a great idea instead of making it part of the posting.

I get to buy my annuals for the deck today. Nothing better than a stop at the garden shop. I will be circumspect. I promise!

“Africa is less a wilderness than a repository of primary and fundamental values, and less a barbaric land than an unfamiliar voice”

It’s an acceptable day: not too cool, not hot, and varying between sunny and cloudy. Rain is predicted for this afternoon but right now the sun holds sway. I have a bunch of stuff to do today, a listful, and it’s been a while since I’ve needed a list. A couple of the errands are for tomorrow, but I figured I’d add them anyway while I was listing, so to speak.

I need a little excitement. Over the winter, my life was a bit humdrum. Okay, it was hugely humdrum. I didn’t go anywhere. Even my night out for trivia was sporadic. The one social event I could count on was on Sunday nights when my friends and I had our Amazing Race evening together. We’d play games before hand and eat dinner while watching the race, but that was the sum total of my excitement.

In Ghana, there was little to do at night. The occasional movies were shown at the Hotel d’Bull and many of them were Indian with all the singing that goes with them. It wasn’t Bollywood back then, but all the pieces for it were in place. Mostly we played games, but I was never bored. Life was never humdrum. All around me was Africa with sights and sounds I never knew existed. I couldn’t have dreamt them as I had no idea what Africa was like. I had to experience those sights and sounds, absorb them and etch them into my memory so I could draw on them and bring them back.

I brought them back often. I’d close my eyes and remember. I’d see the road to town and all the stores across from the post office, and I’d remember market day with all the bustle and noise and the stalls filled with fruit and vegetables. I remembered the beautiful colors and patterns of the cloth and how women carried babies on their backs and baskets on their heads. I kept my memories vivid.

Last summer I saw all of those things again. My town was huge compared to forty years earlier, but its essence hadn’t changed. The market is enormous now but still filled with color and with women carrying baskets on their heads and babies on their backs. I heard the sounds of FraFra, the local language, everywhere I went. I greeted people just as I used to but in Hausa, the language the Peace Corps taught me, and the Ghanaians always greeted me back. I didn’t have a TV, and there is no more Hotel d’Bull with its Indian movies, but none of that mattered. Just as before, I wasn’t bored once.