An electric thunderstorm, brittle cracking of tiny hailstones, white and dissolving instantly in the warmth of my wet hand, but for the space of a minute the grass was white, the mud white, the tarred road white, a splintering cracking fury of white hail about to become snow melt, streams of languid brown water.
How the Great Dane dislikes a storm with noise, the banging thunder and whiplash of lightning. I turned off the computer as I saw the skies darkening to blue-black. Then we had deafening thunder, power surges that knocked out electricity, followed by sheet lightning that turned the skies as fluid and luminous as a celluloid Hollywood screen. In Zimbabwe I grew up with the wild terrifying storms of the monsoon season and so I ignore the fury and go on reading or sleeping. The big dog trembles and runs up and down like Chicken-Licken waiting for the sky to fall on his head. I pay no attention because otherwise he will expect attention whenever there is a winter storm, and feel abandoned or frightened if he is alone. My small dogs pay no attention and curl up snuggled under a mohair rug
Dog: Am I the only one who knows the Apocalypse is on its way? Repent and give the dog a biscuit!
Got up early to make a bobotie dish requested by the former art teacher. This is a traditional South African dish with Cape Malay influences and some Indonesian rendang touches, a spiced mince dish with a savoury egg custard dotted with young lemon leaves. Not really one of my favourites, but the former art teacher insists only I can get the spice blend right. As it happens, I make it a little too sweet-sour for my taste and very mild.
Slept badly and sat up reading Wittgenstein, which threw me into an elevated but melancholy frame of mind. The thing about reading a genius like Wittgenstein or Walter Benjamin is that they say very simple things, but the kind of things I would never see or think of for myself. In my bedroom I have a small framed photograph of Wittgenstein’s cabin in Norway and that is where I go in my mind when I need to spend time thinking about the meaning of life, the purpose, the wonder of it, the despair and exaltation, our powerlessness.. That the problematic is the meaning. An eye in its visual field. Here is a meditation by Tom Clark on phrases from Wittgenstein.
“Repent and give the dog a biscuit! ” I love it, and it probably isn’t bad advice!
Well, so long as the dog is peckish and eager for his biscuits, he is not too scared of the storm. He is a perpetual scrounger of a dog, but we don’t let him put on weight.
That cabin looks like a place that I would like, perched overlooking a fjord perhaps. I do like Norway and Sweden.
My old girl hated storms and fireworks!
Yes, I like those mountain eyrie cabins too, especially looking down on fjords or glaciers. Sadly the quality of my thoughts lacks any of Wittgenstein’s genius.
Some dogs do dislike the noise and lightning — others don’t bother. Because the Great Dane is so young, I hope he will grow out of his nervousness because we have storms all winter. If he is still anxious in a few years time I shall pet and reassure him, make a safe place for him to lie when the storm is at its worst.