owl

A carved wooden Owl looked out of a shop window. Staring at the bus stop across the street as if it were a hedgerow full of mice.
An unremarkable looking woman. Not young, not old, and not married, stood on the pavement and looked in at it, returning the stare. Owls she knew a little about. She knew a little about most things. This was a Tawny Owl, not a little Owl. No ear tufts, or was it the other way round? About wood though, she knew a little less. Guessed she could recognize oak, as that was the same as her photograph box. And she knew what mahogany looked like, as her small table in storage had been identified as such by her Father, whose word she believed in anything. The wood of The Owl was neither of these. Hadn't she heard that wood carvings were from lime wood, or apple, or pear? Anyway this Owl was light brown in color with lighter bands of grain sweeping in a curve from ears to feet. The wood at the bird's breast was lighter still. She guessed, with no knowledge, that this had been the newest wood, the part of the tree close to the bark.
The Owl was large, over a foot tall, and she was relieved to see that its talons were not hooked into a carved, permanently suffering mouse or vole, but were curled round a thick log complete with carved knots and bark.
The shop was on the mid-day lunch-break route from her office to the mall. She went out every lunchtime to get some air, buy a sandwich, and indulge in a little real shopping and a lot of window shopping. There were always plenty of things she would have bought if she had the money. Strong common sense and a limited budget meant that things she saw and would have liked, but did not need, were left in the shops for someone else to buy.
This time was different. She did not want anyone else to buy The Owl. She wanted it as soon as she saw it. If she had been with a friend, and her companion had asked. 'Why do you want it?' Her reply would have sounded very feeble. 'Because of the way it looks out.' But that was the reason. The Owl concentrated, as if on a distant goal, and every grainy wooden feather led to its piercing eyes.

Her head should have walked her away from the window with a calculation of her finances, but her heart walked her through the door into the shop.
There were other customers but The Owl was close enough to the shop doorway to be accessible. She stood by it and put her hand on its head. It was smooth and just filled her palm. When she touched it something seemed to happen to her for which she could not find a word. The nearest she could get to it was 'cool', which was not normally in her vocabulary. She felt, and it was a new sensation to her, confident. She didn't have to apologise for the way she was with her hand touching The Owl. She did not have to feel vaguely sorry for her presence all the time. She felt as good and capable as anyone, not better, not worse, but as good as any other for the first time.
The white price tag round the birds neck had turned over and was showing its blank side. Though she was not now resting her hand on the Owl's head, the confidence had remained, and she did not worry what the price might be. Her previous habit of imagining a price of thousands, and going away did not affect her today. She flipped over the tag and bent down to look at the small writing. A hundred and twenty dollars. She felt a flush and her heart and breathing became irregular for a few moments. She let go the tag and put her hand back on the Owl's head. She would have it. She even looked around the shop nervously as if the people already being served were Owl buyers. There was only one couple who were just getting their change and receipt for a wicker basket. She was next. It would be hers. Unless, fear struck her, unless it had been bought and they had forgotten to move it or to put a label on it. Time dragged and the wicker basket transaction seemed to take for ever.
Her mind raced through a series of lightning calculations.

The wicker basket left the shop and the assistant approached her. Perhaps he was expecting the usual response of 'Just Looking,' which he heard too many times a day. She anticipated his question.
'I wish to buy The Owl please.' She said, turning and indicated the carved Owl by placing her hand on its head again.
The assistant was vaguely non-plussed, he had not had to work to sell it, or explain it. Not that he could have done much, except to say it was an Owl, carved out of wood, both of which were perfectly obvious. He smiled and nodded at The Owl as if he had been introduced to it.
She also pre-empted his next question.
'I don't have my check book with me I'm afraid, and I don't have a credit card. I wish to leave thirty dollars to secure it and I will come in this evening before you close with a check for the balance.' She seemed to rush her words, though trying to speak clearly and deliberately. 'Will that be alright?'
The assistant still had not spoken, and was reaching for his pen.
She had a moment of real fear. Was he now going to write on the label, 'Sold to Mr Smith or Mrs Jones' and shake his head at her. Or would he just note her name now, to wait for full payment, and sell the owl in the meantime if he could?
'Is that alright?' She asked again, anxiously.
'Of course.' He said. 'I'll just note on the label that it is sold to you. I'll put your name on it.'
She took her hand from The Owl's head. It was safe now. She could breathe again. 'Harrison.' She said, feeling, as usual, that she spoke her own name very strangely.
He wrote her name and the word 'SOLD' on the tag. She produced the thirty dollars and walked with him to the till to get the receipt.
'I'll be back at 5:30.' she said. 'Thank you very much.'
'That's fine.' He said, 'Thank you.'
Outside the shop, she paused and looked at The Owl, her Owl. She was directly in its line of sight and it looked at her now. Not through her. It made her more solid, more real, her shadow was now darker on the pavement.

things for your (small) earholes.

I thought about writing a blog again. I can't look at the myspace anymore because I don't want to. Facebook does not have a place for the blogs, which is fine with me because I don't like looking at facebook either.
The problem with social networking for me is that I'm not very social.
I figure the second day of a year is a good time to start writing my blog. I was thinking about few things I wanted to write about like bad US economy or the pending Great Depression II or my thoughts on the Clinton's or peace in the middle east (lol) but a lot of people are talking about those things right now.
So I'm going to talk about headphones. I'm into headphones for a lot of reasons. The reasons are obvious. I suppose I have extra small ear holes because none of the headphones they sell these days fit in my ears. It would be nice if ear cartilage was stretchy but its not. If headphones are too big for your ears, you simply can't use the headphones. About a year ago I found these headphones at the Best Buy that had interchangeable rubber things that fit into your ears. They were great. The only problem with them was they came with an extension wire which made the headphones a normal and comfortable length. I of course lost the extension wire making the headphones a short and uncomfortable length. Especially on airplanes when you have to plug the jack into the arm rest. I went to California last weekend. The movie was the Santa one with the sexy Vince Vaughn who was supposed to be Santa's brother Fred, who was not so Jolly as his brother Santa and I don't really know how it ended because tilting my head to one side so the headphones could reach got too uncomfortable and I gave up. The second movie they played was Jingle All the Way which amused me because it stared the Governor of California and I enjoy the way he pronounces the word 'California' with all the extra syllables. But generally his pronunciations are difficult on my ears so I did not bother with the head phones.