As we drove to home church at Dawn and Chris' place on Sunday, we rounded a curve at which another car was momentarily stopped for traffic. I saw the cutest little dog (cute because it belongs to someone else!) in the window of the stopped car and recognized it as a papillion dog.
I decided to spring an improptu Socratic dialogue upon 14-year-old Aubrey. I am cruel that way, so they say.
GIL: Aubrey, do you know what kind of dog that was?
AUBREY: Uh, no.
GIL: It was a papillion dog. What language do you think papillion comes from?
AUBREY: German?
GIL: Nooo. Do you know another word that sounds like papillion?
AUBREY: Uh, no.
************************ At this point my limbic system received the following message from Aubrey:
Dear Universe,
I regret having declined the invitation to make this 5-mile trek in Jodi's car. It seemed wise at the time to seek refuge from my everpresent, everannoying brother, but I appear to have made a poor choice.
Can I please be given another chance? Is there any way to fast forward to the lunch part of home church?
Please stop the noise.
Stranded, Aubrey ************************
GIL: [interrupting the limbic message, impervious to its pleading urgency] What about croupillion?
AUBREY: French. Papillion is French. [terse limbic message: over now?]
GIL: Good. Now, what does papillion mean?
AUBREY: Ankle-biter?
GIL: No, but good guess. It means butterfly...
AUBREY: Because its ears and head look like a butterfly![limbic: definitely freaking over now!]
Which brings me around to this: papillion and pavilion come from the same butterfly root in Latin - a pavilion being a strong, sturdy tent in Roman days -- and whose canvas flaps resembled a butterfly's wings.
How fitting that a fenceless pavilion carry the notion of freedom in something so delicate and beautiful as a butterfly.
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As we drove to home church at Dawn and Chris' place on Sunday, we rounded a curve at which another car was momentarily stopped for traffic. I saw the cutest little dog (cute because it belongs to someone else!) in the window of the stopped car and recognized it as a papillion dog.
I decided to spring an improptu Socratic dialogue upon 14-year-old Aubrey. I am cruel that way, so they say.
GIL: Aubrey, do you know what kind of dog that was?
AUBREY: Uh, no.
GIL: It was a papillion dog. What language do you think papillion comes from?
AUBREY: German?
GIL: Nooo. Do you know another word that sounds like papillion?
AUBREY: Uh, no.
************************
At this point my limbic system received the following message from Aubrey:
Dear Universe,
I regret having declined the invitation to make this 5-mile trek in Jodi's car. It seemed wise at the time to seek refuge from my everpresent, everannoying brother, but I appear to have made a poor choice.
Can I please be given another chance? Is there any way to fast forward to the lunch part of home church?
Please stop the noise.
Stranded,
Aubrey
************************
GIL: [interrupting the limbic message, impervious to its pleading urgency] What about croupillion?
AUBREY: [silence]
GIL: [egredious, slow, nasal overpronunciation]CroupilllioonnNNN...PapillioonnNNN.CroupilllioonnNNN...PapillioonnNNN.
AUBREY: [silence]
GIL: What language is croupilllioonnnNN?
AUBREY: French. Papillion is French. [terse limbic message: over now?]
GIL: Good. Now, what does papillion mean?
AUBREY: Ankle-biter?
GIL: No, but good guess. It means butterfly...
AUBREY: Because its ears and head look like a butterfly![limbic: definitely freaking over now!]
Which brings me around to this: papillion and pavilion come from the same butterfly root in Latin - a pavilion being a strong, sturdy tent in Roman days -- and whose canvas flaps resembled a butterfly's wings.
How fitting that a fenceless pavilion carry the notion of freedom in something so delicate and beautiful as a butterfly.
[limbic: hug]
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