In Case You Missed It . . .

Please let me be clear.

The last thing I wish to do is be redundant.

I realize that some of my readers may have already partaken in the verbose response that the GilGuy gave me yesterday (er, this morning) in response to my public appreciation of who he is regarding a private conversation.

If indeed, you've already been baptised in our mutual affection for one another, please feel free to truncate your time here now. Otherwise, please stay on the line for a very important message.

{ahem}



One of the things I love most about Gil is his ability to be verbally and emotionally fluent (well, ok. most of the time!) :)

When I met him, I informed him that under no uncertain terms, I was looking for a man who could communicate.

(Oh. Pardon me one moment! Speaking of looking for a mate. . .if you or anyone you know is currently looking for one, you might wish to introduce them to my friend Doug . . .)

Boy howdy, can Gil communicate!

When we were engaged, Gil once gave a descriptor of his role in my life. One of protector. Not a fence builder, capturing me within; but the roof of a pavillion, protecting me from the elements, giving me free rein to move about as I was wont to do. A kind of building without walls.

So it is, that we encountered a conversation that took us back to that analogy the other evening. I so appreciated Gil, that I posted a Love Poem to him. He responded with the following:

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]

{dreamy sigh}

Isn't it obvious WHY I love him so?