First things first: Yesterday’s picture was indeed, as some guessed, hail. We had a very brief little “storm” – more like a minor spat – a few nights ago, and I took a few shots.
I asked Karen, who correctly guess hail, an additional question: “Where is it?” I should use this as an example to my students of what happens when one is not precise with one’s language. Of course, the question seems to be asking where on the globe the hail fell. As Margaret pointed out, this would have indeed been a spurious question! What I should have written was something much more exact, such as “On what kind of surface is it lying?”
The answer to that question is: Lucille. I was at Buzz’ house and after the hail spat, I stepped outside to get something out of the car. I was struck by the contrast of the white against blue in the darkness, and I just put the camera on the roof and starting shooting, playing with focal lengths.
Thanks everyone for playing along! This was my second abstract-ish photo I’ve tried, and I think it’s fun so you might see some more of this type of photography as the year goes on.
And now onto new business:
This is the key to the front door of my parents’ house. I was entrusted with it when I was 10 years old. I will never forget my mother telling me how convinced she was that I was going to lose the key. She made me wear the key on a homemade knitted lanyard around my neck. I can’t remember how long I had to wear it that way, but eventually I graduated to permission to use a key ring.
I confess that I get a little smug at times when I remind my mother that 30 years later, I still have the same key. I’ll also confess that she doesn’t seem very surprised that I never lost the key. She may have realized before I did that the best way to get me to do something was to tell me that I couldn’t.
Tonight, I was looking at that key and saw the words engraved on it: Hudson Glass. That’s where the key was made for me. It’s taken me far too long, but I finally made a connection between my key and two other doors in that house.
My father made those doors. I used to go with him to the glass shop. He’d check out the pane glass while I played with the little beads of colored glass stored in bins near the front of the store. There were all different sizes. I generally like the smaller ones, but the larger ones were also tempting. When I was well-behaved – or when I was charming and he was in the mood to indulge me – my father would buy me a few beads.
I still have one of those, too.
Do you still carry physical reminders of your childhood?