Origins: Most
superstitions came into being during a time when what made the
world tick was far more of a mystery than it is now. Our ancestors
were quick to assign subtexts to events as one of the ways they
tried to make sense of an existence that appeared frighteningly
capricious and unpredictable. All manner of occurrences, both the
mundane and the unusual, were subject to scrutiny and
interpretation.
Everyday things, such as the way fires burned or candles sputtered,
were studied for their portents. But it was to out-of-the-ordinary
events that special attention was paid, because these were believed
to foretell the greatest shifts of fortune. Unusual incidents were
understood as urgent messages falling directly from the lips of the
gods.
Strange behavior on the part of animals was cause for concern. A
hen that took to crowing, for instance, heralded a death in the
owner's family, as did the sudden howling of otherwise placid dogs
or the midday crowing of a rooster. Wild birds that tried to get
inside houses (whether they succeeded or not) were also seen as
presaging deaths. A bird that flew in through an open window,
circled the room or landed on the back of someone's chair, then
flew back out was saying as clearly as an omen can that someone who
lived in that dwelling was about to clutch the lily. Birds that hit
glass windows were likewise trying to provide the same message, as
did those who sat upon sills peering into rooms or tapping on the
glass. Some placed no time limit on when the death was to take
place; others said it would happen within the year.
Because of this superstition, some folks will not even keep a pet
bird, not so much as a budgie or canary. And there are those whose
aversion to indoor avians runs so strong that they eschew pictures
of our feathered friends, even representations of them on
wallpaper. One of those persons was Lucille Ball, who dated her
antipathy to birds to the 1915 death of her father when she was
three years old she recalled that a picture fell from the wall
that fateful day, and a bird flew in the window to become trapped
inside the house. Even as an adult, the comedienne would refuse to
take lodgings in any hotel that displayed pictures of birds, either
framed or incorporated into their wallpaper. She was no less
particular about her home in the 1950s she had Japanese silk
print wallpaper that went for $90 a roll ripped out of the front
hallway of her Beverly Hills home because only after the paper was
up did it become apparent the shadowy images of birds were part of
its pattern.
One of the older books superstition books we consulted stated that
interior decorators knew better than to suggest wallpaper with
little birdies on it simply because this belief was then so
widespread.
Not everyone holds the opinion that having birds fly into the house
is bad news. Our cats, for instance, view such incursions as having
their prayers answered.
