In its metamorphosis from the common, colorless caterpillar to the exquisite winged creature of delicate beauty, the butterfly has become a metaphor for transformation and hope; across cultures, it has become a symbol for rebirth and resurrection, for the triumph of the spirit and the soul over the physical prison, the material world. Among the ancients, [it] is an emblem of the soul and of unconscious attraction towards light. It is the soul as the opposite of the worm. In Western culture, the butterfly represents lightness and fickleness.*
Next door to Houndstooth Hall this morning, roofers are working on our neighbor’s house. Roofing is loud: the hammering, banging, dropping of shingles; the calls of the workers to one another. Inside, the dogs’ reaction is also loud, and while I can modify how much they can see and are aware of, there are frequent, outraged outbursts that all of this should be disturbing their peace.
The dogs don’t have my appreciation, despite the noise, for the job next door. It means something is being repaired. My neighbor has the means to afford it. Work is being given to people with a hard job. They’ll be paid for it, and that money allows them to pay for their own roofs and the needs of the families who live under those roofs. This is the noise of something that is working, something that has value beyond its immediate reward to my neighbor.
It does mean I don’t have quite the best environment for writing, even though I got a great night’s sleep, which I always hope for because it means I’ll have a sharp mind when I awaken, but I see that as an opportunity to adapt.
On my birthday, my mother-in-law sent the butterfly she drew that you see colored above. She based the butterfly’s pattern on that on the Stone of Turoe, Lochgrea, Galway, Ireland, which has particular significance to her, her family, and their origins.
Later…
It was a pleasure to color Mary’s butterfly this morning while I finished listening, on Apple Podcasts, to the Renegades: Born in the USA Spotify podcasts featuring conversations between Barack Obama and Bruce Springsteen. It was a riveting journey, to hear these two discuss so many parts of their lives, both with commonalities and differences, as related to childhood and definitions of masculinity; race, war, family and fatherhood with strong partners; country, careers, and the larger picture of America. Some of the conversations were painful. Some gave me insights into the hearts and consciences of the characters I write. I compared my own American story to theirs. I got other perspectives of the power of determination, the frailties we share as humans, the personal and cultural reasons we have to always look forward and feel hopeful. The need to recognize the better natures in ourselves and in others.
All is metamorphosis.
The podcasts were worth hearing on many levels. Now, the roofers are still working but are not as noisy, the dogs have been out and seen Pixie and Pollock, and all is mostly quiet inside. Time for me to get back to the Neverending Saga. Hope you’re all having a good hump day.
*Description of Metamorphosis from The Dictionary of Symbolism, originally constructed by Allison Protas, augmented and refined by Geoff Brown and Jamie Smith in 1997 and by Eric Jaffe in 2001.
One of the few books I read in 2020 was Barbara Neely’s Blanche on the Lam, the first in a series of four that I bought and downloaded as ebooks. Though I hadn’t previously heard of her, when Neely died in March 2020, many writers and booksellers whose accounts I follow on social media mentioned her and piqued my interest in her work. I enjoyed that first book, but like so many others in the TBR pile, the series fell victim to my pandemic non-reading issue.
