|Chips from a traditional Fish & Chip shop|
It was chilly and windy and when we went out of our front door we just followed our nose(es) - as my mum would have said. We found we were heading towards our local town. Before reaching there, however, we passed a traditional British Fish & Chip shop.
Being a vegetarian I hadn't been in there for donkey's years but Karin asked, "Fancy some chips?"
I knew they would most likely be fried in some sort of animal fat but I still answered, "Yes."
As soon as we opened the wrapper, while continuing our walk, the smell and taste immediately transported me back to when I was a child.
Mum and I always visited my Gran on a Sunday evening while Dad got ready for work the next day. If I'd been good, on the way home, I was allowed a bag of chips - and back then the outer wrapper was still newspaper.
I remember eating the chips, while walking home with Mum, on a cold evening and that's where it seemed I was again last Friday.
Lost in my own world Karin said, "You're quiet." Then she said, "I know what you are thinking about - your mum."
That's the trouble of being married for a long time, spouses often know what you are thinking! So I told her about my memories of walking home as a child from visiting my Gran, while finishing off the chips.
It's strange where smell and taste can take you.
The next day (Saturday) I had been lopping some branches off a tree that had got too big in our garden. Karin came out to see how I was getting on - or maybe it was to supervise! But whatever, she said, "Whose your friend?"
I had no idea what she was talking about. "On your jacket. The Butterfly."
And sure enough sitting there was a butterfly, even though they aren't usually about this time of year. Goodness knows how long it had been with me, but it continued to stay with me as I carried on with the secateurs and tidied up the branches I had already cut. The butterfly didn't move, just sat there as I bent and moved about.
It stayed with me for ages even when I started to put the tools away in the garage. As I took off my boots though, the butterfly flew over to the wall and sat very still again. When I next turned around it was gone. The garage window was open so it could have flown away.
This made me remember a post I wrote this time last year His Dead Son Visited Him As A Butterfly. This is a story about how the English actor, Ricky Tomlinson, is convinced his son Clifton, who had died, visited him as a butterfly. Ricky said:
"... but he [the butterfly] stayed with me all night and I just thought that this was wonderful. I felt his presence, it was Clifton. I was made up. I loved him, he was a cracking lad."
Later Karin remarked about how she wondered if the butterfly was someone visiting me. I'd been wondering the same.
Who knows, perhaps chips and a butterfly can be more meaningful than most people would imagine.
Other 67 Not Out Posts:
His Dead Son Visited Him As A Butterfly
Laparoscopic Nephrectomy Coincidences And Synchronicity
The Unicorn The Virgin And Opening The Third Eye