This World Cup has been exciting!
I’m not a football/soccer fan; I don’t even pretend to be.
I do however like the spirit of the game, and I love how friendly competition between nations brings people together.
Any sport that can get folks this passionate is worth the respect.

And thank God for live blogging eh?, I enjoy that better than watching the actual game – it’s actually gripping.
Ghana plays the US tomorrow; big surprise… I will not be watching the game.
I’ll be on a long hike in the morning but I’ll be wearing my Ghana t-shirt and sending out positive vibes towards the Black Stars.

My brother Joe, who’s the real football fan went out and bought everyone these t-shirts.
The shirt is made from 100% African Cotton. I think the tag also said it’s Fair Trade cotton, but don’t quote me on that.
It’s soft, lightweight, has a nice stretch and fits quite nicely.
Joe has been wearing his shirt for the past two weeks; I’m pretty sure he sleeps in it too.

Outfit Details: Ghana Football Association tee – Puma, Jeans – The Gap, Boots – Liz Claiborne, Belt – DKNY, Apple watch necklace – MBMJ

Joe is passionate about football and Ghana, so he’s doubly passionate right now.
I try to stay out of his way for the most part, he hasn’t shaved in a while and he looks like he needs a hug.
He’s a little frustrated with the Ghanaian team but like every true fan has complete faith in them for tomorrow.
My brother Joe is a great guy,  and I hope Ghana makes him happy tomorrow.

Even though she’s hasn’t been around for most of my life, my maternal grandmother has had a huge impact on my life.

She passed away a few months after my 7th birthday.

My memories of her are mostly fused with what I’ve gleaned over the years from others about her.

She defied the conventions of her time and lived her life her way.

She was a great woman, what I’ve learned of her life inspires bravery and courage in me.

My grandmother wasn’t wealthy by any means, but she had strong work ethics and a keen dedication to saving and investing.

She used to say “If you learn to live within your means, the rich man cannot make you his slave”.

I guess with the holidays coming up and being around my mom, I’ve been thinking about her lately.

I’ve always sort to be closer to my grandmother’s memory, I’m fascinated by her life.

There are so many things I’d would have loved to asked her, and so much more I don’t know about her.

There are a few things of my grandmother’s that I keep with me, makes me feel closer to her.

These vintage Pyrex bowl sets belonged to my grandmother.

She collected a wide variety of designs, of mixing bowls, baking and casserole dishes.

I faintly remember those Christmases, where she’d bring out her best dishes.

Somewhere out there are sea chests full of these beauties,

I intend to rescue them one day and bring them back to their glory.

According to my mom, my grandmother had this necklace custom-made.

She said my grandmother loved how it turned out so much she said it’ll go to her first girl grandchild, – so technically this is my sister’s.

A couple of years ago my mom decided that my grandmother’s jewelleries were antiquated so she had them melted down and made these earrings and charms out f them.

That made me sad, it was almost as if I was losing her over again.

Thankfully we’ve managed to convince her that vintage is in again.

Mike’s one of my favourite Facebook ‘friends’, he’s outspoken, laid-back, fun and not creepy.

He lives in Ghana, very dedicated to the business he runs and plays hard as well.

I may have gone to school with him, I don’t remember.

He has understated chauvinistic opinions but in a way that adds to his humorous personality because you really don’t want to believe that he’s serious about the things he says.

Mike seems like he’ll be a riot in person, every once in a while Mike and I would talk on Face Book chat – about what he’s been up to, his strong mistrust of his government and how he thinks I should be living my life, short fun conversations that breaks up the monotony.

Mike has one repeated request though; he’s wants to see pictures, close to the end of our conversations he’ll just put it out there “so, any new pictures?”

I gave him the link to my flickr account once, he came back and said he wasn’t looking for pictures of ‘things’ I’d photographed; he wants pictures of me. I’m sure he tries this with all the ‘girls’.

Mike and I talked yesterday, we hadn’t spoken in months, things are going well for him, he still hates the government and he has broadband now, so he’ll be online more. I try not to belabour my point when he insists he’s good to drive after several bottles of beer. And then he asks for those photos, I tell him I’m taking more pictures now and blah blah blah… that’s exactly how he probably hears it because he insists on those shots of me.

I give him a link to a flickr set of photowalks, there’re a few shots of me there. Mike browses for a few minutes and comes back with this; “Nice pictures, but I think you could do better with a bit more short dresses, don’t you think?”

I LOLZ it away because, oh Mike he’s so funny… but he’s not done yet, “You should try some short skirts and shorts too, and stop wearing trainers, you’re a sweet lady, get some high heels”

I’m a little dumbfounded so I try to inject weakly “but… these are photos of me in a park though”

“Yes, but you should try and show more of your assets, don’t wear slacks, get some shorts and high heels when you’re going the next time” He says.

I decide I’m fighting a loosing battle and I really don’t want to make excuses, I say he’s right, I’m wrong and thanked him for his help. Next time I’ll wear high heals and short shorts to walk the Seawall, besides I see people do it occasional and think they’re idiots but I guess they’re friends of Mike.

He goes on to give me this piece of advice “You have to have a bit of tease in you, I saw some of your backside in the slacks, we want to see more of that”

“Ok” I say

But then he leaves me with these parting remarks “If you want to become a pro in photography, you have to make your pictures look like it’s about to explode in your face”

Huh? I’m confused; I have to dress like a slut to take great pictures? I’m not sure what one’s got to do with the other but I don’t ask Mike.

)

I start to think that maybe he’s on to something so I talk about this to the only sympathetic person I know. Guy listens quietly for a while and then says “If you care so much about this person’s opinions then wear some of those ‘inappropriate’ clothes your mom complains about, take pictures and send them to him, I’m sure his face would explode”

My friend E. sent me a box of Kingsbite chocolate bars last month. He brought these back from his visit to Ghana last year. He’s gone back again vacationing and I hope he brings more and this time, they get to me sooner.

Kingsbite is manufactured by the mostly state owned Cocoa Processing Company under the Goldentree brand name. Ghana is one of the leading producers and exporters of cocoa and thousands of its citizens are cocoa farmers. My grandmother had a cocoa tree in her yard when I was a kid and what I remember most about it was that each bean was encased in a sweet pulpy substance.

I haven’t had Goldentree chocolate in a while but I’ve had other bars produced from Ghanaian cocoa beans. Divine Chocolate uses Fair Trade Ghanaian beans and makes pretty good chocolate too, I highly recommend their products.

There were three varieties of chocolate in the Kingsbite box; dark chocolate and two milk – I couldn’t really tell the difference between the two milk chocolates except for the wrapper colours.

The texture is matte, not shiny or glossy like other bars. It doesn’t melt in your mouth easily; it melts slowly. The consistency is slightly coarse, a little hard – you can’t break a piece off easily.

It has a uniquely strong cocoa-y taste and a wonderful sweet aroma of cocoa and something else – light and sweet but not vanilla.

I really enjoyed the bars because they were a little different in flavour and texture. A friend called them exotic; I like to think of them as unique.

“They” say “you can always go home”, they are probably right as that’s one of my favourite sayings.� Except sometimes it’s not that easy, sometimes you simply can’t go back home because you have no home to go back to.

Maybe I misunderstand the concept of home; is it the house you grew up in, a place where family lives or that place where you feel you belong?

The house I “grew” up in technically doesn’t exist, I can’t pinpoint a specific location where family is and I certainly don’t feel like I belong in that place where I’m supposed to belong.

I’ve rediscovered a lot of great old friends lately; and some that I would have liked to remain undiscovered, some remind me of home. A home I sometimes desperately want to forget.

My friend D is a believer in recreating good memories out of the bad – I don’t always quite understand how that works. Returning to the place of bad memories to rebuild happier ones seems like something that only works in theory.

There’s also a saying about home being where the heart is, my heart is in a rickety house off the beaten path few kilometres from the most glorious beach in the world on a very remote island, but that’s not really my home.

I have a thing (with songs) where certain songs are linked to certain memories so hearing these particular songs will take me back to these instances in my life. Sometimes when the memories are unpleasant I play the song over and over again until get through the emotions of that difficult time. I’m a big proponent for working through emotions; I never been one to sweep the ugliness of the past away and pretend it never happened – I don’t have the luxury of doing that for the sake of my sanity. But there are days when I tend to look back on the past as if it were someone else’s life or a dream.

Sometimes I imagine going back “home” to live happier memories, it would probably be easy but then I consider how true it is when they also say: “Humans, not places make memories”.

My co-worker’s son left for Ghana yesterday, I’m afraid I might have convinced him to go to a place that only exists in my head. I spoke from happier memories, of a place that I never got a chance to get to know. Of a culture that I only understood as an adult, and a people with an overwhelming pride in their heritage.

Maybe I’ve read too much into this home business than it really is.