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“They sowed the duller vegetables first, and a pleasant feeling of righteous fatigue stole over them as they addressed themselves to the peas.”

The morning is a short one. I slept in again. I did wake up around ten when the dogs chased each other on my bed. I brought some really heavy litter bags downstairs, let the dogs out, cleaned up a bit of gross stuff on the dining room floor, fed the cats, combed Jack, let Henry inside then went back to bed for another hour. The dogs joined me. When I woke up, I made coffee, got the newspapers, put the litter bags in the trunk and finally sat down to have a cup of coffee and read the Boston Globe, saving the Cape times for later.

I already feel as If I have had a full day, and I’m not even dressed. I’m not even sure I’ll get dressed. Mostly my chores are inside the house. You know the usual: pick up the huge clumps of hair and vacuum downstairs. I do have a growing basket of laundry. I might have to pay it some attention.

Last night was quite comfortable for sleeping, no need for the AC. Today is hotter than yesterday. Henry is resting on the cool kitchen tiles. It is 77˚ which is the predicted high for the day. There is a now and then breeze from the north, from the window behind me. It is pleasant.

I have a ripe plantain. It will be part of my dinner tonight and will join the rest of my meal, the pork chop and the fresh tomato. I first tasted plantain in Ghana. It looked just like a banana to me, maybe a bit bigger, thicker and green, sort of a banana cousin, but plantain is also called the cooking banana so cook it you must. I’ve mentioned several times that kelewele is my favorite Ghanaian dish. It is street food and is still sold along the sides of the main street in Bolga where I first tasted it. I always have kelewele when I go back to Ghana. I also have Jollof Rice, my other favorite Ghanaian dish; in fact, I think on my last trip to Bolga I had jollof rice just about every night.

When I was a kid, I don’t think I ate any rice except for Chinese fried rice. My mother made potatoes, mostly mashed but baked for Sunday dinner. On Fridays, we sometimes ate French fries, the Frozen Sort. They went perfectly with the fish sticks, also the frozen sort. We didn’t eat fresh veggies much. I think beside the ever present potato we only ate summer corn.

My street is so very quiet. The dogs are milling. Henry is hoping for someone or something to bark at incessantly. He’s in luck. I’m expecting groceries, just a few things, mostly produce. The order is actually late, unusual for them, but Henry will let me know when the car has arrived. He is my early warning system.



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

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“They sowed the duller vegetables first, and a pleasant feeling of righteous fatigue stole over them as they addressed themselves to the peas.”

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