Owl be Seeing Who?

This weekend a return to winter- cold and windy, time to be inside.  I have had this *thing* for weeks now- not really a cold, just a persistent cough/sore throat/stuffy ears thing...and by the time I got home Friday from adventures-with-Grendel, it was kicking up.  Charles dosed me down with Nyquil and put me to bed, and well, I just can't handle my Nyquil anymore.  Slept for over 12 hours but was groggy all day- ended up staying in bed pretty much with my Ricola drops and a book (which was wonderful- like a vacation).  Pampered with homemade soup and a forbidden bowl of ice cream for the throat, some lovely green grapes and the right kind of medicine. (Whiskey with honey stirred into it.  Does the same thing as Nyquil but tastes ever so much better and no sloggishness this morning).  Sleep and sleep and sleep.  I did wake up enough to read my homework (50 pages of internet security manuals for class....argh) and watch a movie with the manz.  During the movie I made the owl- it's just felt, and quick and messy- something a child might sew- but it made me happy and it has its own special charm.   I have no idea what to do with it- but it wanted to be made and so it was.

Owls.  I've not been an owl person before- oh, I always liked them well enough, but never really paid much attention to them, even though an owl was one of my first introductions to creative vision in school.  When I was little- I'm thinking second grade, which I think was Mrs. Banda - we had an assignment to make an owl and bring it to class.  We all trotted home where our mothers (of course) helped us (it is a rare second-grader that could use a sewing machine, but it was kind of understood that we all had mothers who were at home and sewed. Times have changed~).  Anyway, in a few days the owls were due- the typical owls showed up, grey and brown and black.  And then there was *my* owl- it was decidedly an owl, but made of a dark blue-purple fabric that had small brightly colored moddish flowers on it (this would of been the late 60's)  and yellow button eyes.  It had the owl-horns (the feathers that stick up on the side of the head) and a black beak.  It looked like the jungle at night- strange and beautiful and not like anyone elses owl, not at all.  Mother had created an art owl- a creature of dreams and magic.

Of course, being a child, when I looked at everyone else's owl, I thought that mine was wrong because it was different.  And being me, I probably got all teared up.  (I rarely, rarely cry when sad- but I cry when I am angry or embarrassed or criticized).  But then my teacher explained that my owl was *not* wrong, but beautiful, and creative and different- and that is why it was special.  I don't know if she was just saying 'teacher-talk' so I avoided a meltdown (even then I was queen of meltdowns), but I think she meant it.  Anyway, I took it to heart- and even though I still hid behind the conformity of others, I remember that owl, and what it stood for, and the visions within it.  It was an awesomely cool owl.

My owl here is not so creative- it's more of a basic owl shape, basic owl colors, doodling with thread and felt- but- it was my medicine of the moment.  Making something always makes me feel better- it's a grounding of the soul, a meditation for restless hands.  I have a really, really hard time paying attention to video if I am not making something- even the most compelling films require engagement.  (with the exception of when I am sick or tired to the point that I just lay there- and that only works with really, really good tv.)

Back to the owls- these past few years/months owls and I have become more drawn together.  I acquire them by accident.  The bright tin owl lantern on the studio wall, the glow in the dark owl key chain with the diamond eyes Mr. Owens found me, a brass dish with an enameled owl on the lid. Not only things- but I have been drawing them obsessively without realizing it- not in the new book, which is way under drawn, but my most recent sketchbook is owl-heavy.  A new totem or guide? perhaps. Owls are symbols of wisdom and death, women and observation.  I can understand that, and it makes sense as I get older and my roles change.  I am still the crow and coyote, but there is also room for rabbit and owl in there as well.  Seasonal totems, and the owl would be winter  (rabbit has always been spring, coyote summer, crow fall).  And today, in this early morning, the wind is howling, the cottage is creaking, all are asleep- but me, owlish, looking for wisdom and the words of the day.