The Plush Owl

It peered down at me from the top shelf of the convenience store in the lobby of my office building. I looked back at it many times before succumbing to its allure.

The white plush owl with sand-colored wings, nose, and toes drew my attention often. Which was very often indeed, because I shopped in the store most work days. Its dark eyes were framed by inverted “V”s, leavening its apparent wisdom with a soupҫon of sorrow or anxiety.

I was reading Harry Potter during some of the years I worked in that building, but I don’t remember thinking of the owl as Hedwig. Plush owls aren’t very good at delivering messages. I thought of the owl as an embodiment of wisdom and calm, which I hoped she would share with me. At the very least, she would be something soft to clutch when the world seemed too much.

I don’t remember what I said to the clerk when I bought the bird, but given my penchant for honesty, I can be fairly sure that I didn’t lie about it being a gift for some youngster. I may have juvenile tastes, but at least I own them fair and square.

Nowadays she peers down at me from the top of the entertainment unit in my living room. Except for right now, when I have placed her on the table where I’m writing, for inspiration.

If I were to give her a name, what would it be? I am sure that she is female. I am a devout female chauvinist, so I wouldn’t be attracted by a male entity. Minerva might work, since the owl is her symbol. Minerva was the Roman goddess of wisdom, medicine, the arts, poetry, and handicrafts. I could hardly choose a better patroness to preside over my retirement. I’ve been seeking to artfully write and publish whatever scraps of wisdom I’ve acquired in my life. As my body ages, medical wisdom and the willingness to apply it come in handy. Maybe I’ll call my owl Minerva.

I hug her and close my eyes. There is a lump in my throat and angry sorrow in my chest over the departure of Elizabeth Warren from the presidential campaign. It helps a little that I have plenty of company feeling the same way. The situation reignites the gut-punch of Trump’s 2016 victory. Only misogyny explains why people would have voted for that mendacious, hateful, incompetent, self-absorbed, corrupt whiner instead of for the most qualified person who ever ran for the job. Lord knows the other Democratic candidates this year are immeasurably superior to Trump, but the standards applied to women candidates are also immeasurably stricter than those applied to men. It is still incontrovertible that a woman must be twice as good as a man to be thought even half as good.

Anyway, I hug Minerva, feel the lump in my throat, and wish for a good cry to wash the lump away.