Chips And A Butterfly: Memories And A Visit From The Spirit World

I felt a bit down on Friday as some results of a blood test I had weren’t quite as good as I expected. “I know,” I said to Karin in the evening, “Let’s go for a walk.” Can’t beat a walk for getting your head in order.

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