The government discovered a rare butterfly in pupa form on one of the properties my husband is selling, which may hinder its sale. When he told me, I laughed aloud, angering him, as the proceeds for the sale are intended to buy a house for his blind cousin. I don't know why I laughed. The absurdity of a butterfly messing up human affairs, I guess.
Later I remembered those stories of mortal men marrying fairy women; how these otherworldly wives would cry at weddings and laugh at funerals, completely unsuited to the emotional demands of mundane life. Perhaps I am a changeling, I muse sometimes.
I had my first driving lesson yesterday. My father would have been pleased: finally! I have never done things on time. Plus I've always lived in cities where I could walk, bike, or take the train/bus everywhere. Moreover, I think I have a stubbornly wayward streak, a strong inclination to not participate in suburban California's car culture, even if not driving hindered me. But here I am, nervously puttering on the narrow country roads of Ireland, swerving to the left whenever a car approaches. I am changing in so many ways.
The documentary Worlds of Ursula K. Le Guin is available to watch on the PBS website, please watch it for me if you can; US viewers only *weeps*.