So, there's a running joke that esty is infested with owl stuff. Owls flying everywhere. Hoot hoot hoot. It's a trend that people are capitalizing on. It's a fad. Dang owls. Too many owls.
I make owl stuff. But I didn't just jump on the band wagon, oh no. I am not some MABBY come lately to the whole owl scene. I have loved owls forever. When I was in elementary school, I wore a gigantic owl necklace nearly every single day. He was silver and big-eyed and had a large fake resin turquoise belly. He was the greatest owl ever.
I have another lovely owl memory. When I was in seventh grade and living in the Everglades, my English teacher was a Baptist reverend named Mr. Jones. He wore platform shoes, pink ruffled shirts, and carried a handbag. Quite a character. One morning, when we entered his classroom, the transom window over the door had been left open all night, and an owl had found his way in. When Mr. Jones turned on the overhead lights, the owl went completely insane and started dive bombing his head repeatedly while screeching like a banshee. Mr. Jones also screeched like a banshee, ran from the room and refused to go back in until the custodian came and somehow removed the poor disoriented bird.
Gosh, I love owls.