Start praying for my household, please. Yesterday, was a horrible, no good, terrible, bad day. I'll start my tale of woe with my husband's problems. Our bank is in Attleboro, which isn't far, but rather a bit of a bother to deposit checks. After depositing his check, he realized that he needed cash. This is an ATM machine. So he put in his password and it was wrong, so he tried again. It was not accepted. He didn't dare try again because the machine would have taken his card. So he left to go home. On the way home, he remembered it. Once back in our home town, he went straight to an ATM machine and put in his code. It wasn't accepted. He tried again, same refusal. At home, he couldn't remember where he put the notebook with our pin numbers and pass codes. He couldn't believe it; not only couldn't he remember the number, he couldn't remember where he put the pass code book. He telephoned the bank. They told him to come in person back to the bank with identification. Once more he drives all the way to the bank in Attleboro and tells the bank manager what had happened. Evidently, he had locked him self out and a new pass code had to be issued.
I had a different problem. We have a summer cottage in Falmouth on Cape Cod. That's about an hour ten minute drive. There is a Summer Speaker Series going on, every Tuesday night, during the summer. A friend and I drove down, planning to meet up with another friend at a local restaurant. We ran into traffic because of the annual event, The Barnstable County Fair. But after a few anxious moments we made it to the restaurant in time. I texted my friend, "We're here." She responded, "Sorry, I forgot."
At least the meal was good. After which, we went to the Summer Speaker Series. The place was dark. All the doors were locked. I tried telephoning the Chamber of Commerce--no answer, the newspaper office--no answer. The same with Town Hall. I didn't know who else to call. I tried google on my cell phone but on the way down I was listening to Spotify and my phone said "low battery." Just at that time, I saw a man walking his dog and I asked him about the Summer Speaker Series. He remembered it before COVID, but this summer it had moved to the town of Brewster, on the Cape.
"Oh." That's too far. Falmouth is over an hour away, Brewster is another hour--during the summer tourist traffic and coming home late in the dark, made it "out of the question". We turned around and came home. That's a lot of bother just to get fried clams.
As hubby and I compared our hard luck stories, my eyes saw a quick movement. I looked in that direction and saw a tiny bird sitting on the lamp shade. We have no idea how it got in the house.
The problem is, my husband is Irish. I have a little Irish, too. And in Ireland, it is an accepted axiom that a wild bird in the house is invariably associated with death or extremely bad luck. It definitely heralds impending doom, especially, the death of a loved one within three days. Birds are bad news. We have no bird wallpaper, pictures, statues, or even clothes. I know it's a silly superstition. But a wild bird in the house begs the question, how did it get in?
A bird messing in a house is certainly bad luck. Maybe that's the reason for the "bad luck" reputation. Trying to hunt the bird down could bring havoc around your nick knacks. If the bird dies trying to get away, what then?
There's even a nursery rhyme called "One for Sorrow" about a bird in the house:
“One for Sorrow” Original lyrics
One for sorrow,
Two for mirth,
Three for a wedding,
And four for death
But this is all silly superstition right? Right?
