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“The rhythm of the weekend, with its birth, its planned gaieties, and its announced end, followed the rhythm of life and was a substitute for it.”

The morning is again lovely. A breeze is keeping the predicted heat at bay for a while although I can already feel it in the air. The sky has a few clouds so the sun hides for a bit but it always returns.

Saturday has always been the best day. When I was a kid, it meant no school and a day to do whatever I wanted. Any homework was pushed off until Sunday. Even when I was a teacher it was the same. Saturday was my day for me. Sunday was prepare lessons, do chores and go to the dump day. On Saturday I could stay up as late as I wanted. On Sunday it was early to bed to get ready for Monday. It is no wonder Sunday and Monday were not on my list of favorite days.

Ghana was a little bit different. I did use Sunday to prepare lessons for Monday, but that was all I did. My students had a service of sorts on Sunday morning and Sunday afternoon was visiting day. Any Student expecting a visitor was dressed in her finest cloth in a three piece outfit which included not only a top and bottom but also a wrap around the waist. This is the same wrap mothers used to carry babies on their backs. Photographers were hired and pictures were taken, always in black and white. Many students gifted me with a picture. They seldom smiled. I always wrote their names on the back. Mostly I stayed home on Sunday unless it was market day. Students without company came to visit. They stayed for only a while. By late afternoon, visiting was over.

Peapod arrived so I had to take a break, but I have just finished putting my groceries away. I indulge myself with no guilt. Thursday the house was cleaned. Yesterday the lawn was mowed. I’d pay for the trash man to come, but I’d have to haul barrels from the back to the front going and coming so I’ll save the effort and the money and keep going to the dump. It was always a fun ride for Miss Gracie and maybe it will be the same some day for Henry.



This post first appeared on Keep The Coffee Coming, please read the originial post: here

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“The rhythm of the weekend, with its birth, its planned gaieties, and its announced end, followed the rhythm of life and was a substitute for it.”

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