Seeing hail, seeing light

I got caught in a hailstorm by the river 35 minutes ago. Before turning off my flash, I let the camera take a few frames with, because although it doesn't light up the landscape, it leads to a different exposure, which I thought might be interesting under the dark sky. What the camera could see, which I didn't, was hailstones falling through the air and floating on the surface of the water before they melted.





You can also see a beam of light from the camera flash, refracted downward by the ice crystal. Weird things like this excite me.

More images later. I need to do some housework this morning.

Old-fashioned laundry

Yesterday I cheerfully did a couple loads of laundry. It's nice, now that the dryer is fixed. Without it, I could only do one small load at a time because everything had to be hung to dry around my apartment: on the hall banister, over a drying line strung in front of the bathroom door, over the shower rod, over the rungs of the bunk and on a drying rack Danny salvaged. Doing two loads yesterday meant I could catch up on a pile of towels and place mats I seldom use. Towels come out of the dryer much fresher than after hang-drying indoors. It was heaven.

To do laundry I have to go through the back of the florist shop downstairs to reach the basement. The woman who usually works there, Joanne, is pleasant to chat with, but occasionally someone else comes in to replace her. Sometimes it's a nosey and irritating blond woman in her twenties. Yesterday it was an elderly couple in their seventies; I think they're the owner's parents.

The sun had come out when I went downstairs at noon to check the dryer. As I passed through, the woman said, "The rain has stopped. It's a nice day for doing laundry now."

I said yes or something, but the statement didn't make sense to me. Frankly I would just as soon do laundry on a rainy day. Her comment was one of those puzzling things that gets filed in the G section of my brain, but sometimes comes sifting out later.

This morning it occurs that she probably remembers a time when a housewife's delight was a sunny spring day when she could hang the laundry out.

It reminds me that Mom once told how her hands were always sore in the winter when she was a young woman, and she couldn't figure out why. Eventually my parents got their first dryer, and Mom's winter hand aches stopped. It wasn't until then she realized it had come from hanging out loads of diapers and other laundry in cold weather.

I'm still doing housework, expecting a friend to drop in shortly, but wanted to record this while it was on my mind. I like when people give hints of what everyday life was like in a by-gone era. We shouldn't lose these cultural memories. Maybe someday I'll have a chance to write some of them into a book.

Walking through a storm

Since lisalemonjello asked about my meditations, I have intended to post a couple. Some of the guided meditations I use are fairly intricate, but what follows is a very simple one. The words are slightly adapted from one recommended by Jack Kornfield in A Path With Heart. This is a good one for frequent use. Try sitting quietly in a chair and repeating it for 15 minutes once every morning. Practise saying it alound, but once it becomes familiar you can say it quietly to yourself, or just let the words run through your head. Repeat the whole thing slowly, perhaps three times a minute, giving yourself time to reflect on the words.

Let me be filled with kindness and love.
Let me be well.
Let me be peaceful and at ease.
Let me be happy.

Perhaps they sound hokey. Whether or not you think so, you'll probably find yourself resisting them sometime in the process. Observe your own emotions with kind attention and let them wash over you. Keep going.

What I was pleased to discover last spring, and have rediscovered this year, is it's easy to use as a walking meditation. Once you become familiar with the words, you can repeat them silently to yourself while walking on the beach or down the street. After a few days or weeks you might choose to focus the thoughts on someone else: a loved one, a sick relative, a someone you're having trouble getting along with, or a politician or world figure.

Let George be filled with kindness and love.
Let him be well.

After using it for a while, you'll find the words come easily to you in moments of anxiety or conflict. I used it in hospital last March, but somehow over the course of the spring I forgot about it. I'm pleased to have unearthed it again.

This morning I left the apartment early to walk and use this very meditation. I had only gone halfway down the block when I heard thunder. I considered turning around, but the meditation compelled me to go on. There was something fabulously cliché about repeating these words to myself in the middle of a storm.

Then it started to pour. I kept going.

By the time I reached the pond, the rain was mixed with hail.

I couldn't resist pulling out my camera and taking some photos; I so rarely see the Eramosa River in such a state.




Geese on the dark pond with hailstones.


I kept repeating the words of the meditation while I took pictures. Using my camera comes so naturally to me, I decided it was okay. Unusual circumstances.

The rain lasted about 10 minutes and I arrived home wet but not drenched. Because of the distraction of the storm, my meditation lasted 20 minutes, five minutes longer than intended.




Maple buds on York Road.


Don't wait until your walking in a thunderstorm to learn this meditation.