Owls can rotate their heads and necks as much as 270 degrees “. . . owls have backup arteries, which offer a fresh supply of nutrients when blood vessels get closed off by rapid turning.
Their arteries also swell to collect any excess blood created in the process.” National Geographic
I bought paint today for the bedroom – grey paint, Grey Owl, the name on the paint chip. A quick trip to the paint store. “I like how you smile. I just told my last customer that I like to see smiles. I always say the first wrinkles I get will be right here”, she swipes her fingers around her mouth, “from smiling,” the clerk behind the counter looks at me straight in the eye. “I like how you smile”.
Maybe from 30 years of being a therapist, a scent people pick up just like Freddie my dog picks up with his nose – scents that I can’t, don’t detect. I watch her ring up my paint purchase.
“I just have a happy disposition. They say I’m like my mother. Always laughing. If my Mother saw someone trip and fall out there” – she looks outside through the plate-glass window – “she would laugh and laugh. But people never know what you feel inside, people never know if you have just been in your car, crying. People can’t see the sadness or pain inside. You can swipe your credit card now”, she takes a breath, “My mother died when I was 4 years old. I wasn’t allowed in the hospital. Maybe my brothers got to see her, got to say goodbye. I never saw her. I never said goodbye. I have two boys and a girl. My little girl always wants to be with me. I try to imagine what it was like for my Mother.”
I say something rather innocuous struck by how beautiful – smooth skin, clear, dark kinky hair, color streaked, pulled tightly back in a careless knot, bright red lipstick. Turning, gesturing, looking up, looking down at the computer she doesn’t stop moving, trapped behind the counter. She speaks fast, effortlessly, her words softened with Spanish sounding consonants. “My aunt raised me but I’ve never felt like a daughter. I never felt loved. My aunt already had 6 children but she told my Mom she would take care of me. My mother never told anyone she was dying. She didn’t want anyone to worry. I talk to my Mother. I tell her when I’m angry. I want to give you a hug.” – an effortless, tight hug separated by a counter. She picks up the ringing phone and motions me to get my paint.
Two gallons, one in each hand. They’re heavy, the wire handles digging painfully into my palms. She smiles and nods in my direction, still on the phone, as I walk out the automatic doors.
Grey Owl paint on the bedroom wall. Surrounded by the stark white molding it looks fresh and soothing . I’ll smile at the Grey Owl walls when I wake in the morning, a smile for the young woman in the paint store and her mother.
“The owl was honored as the keeper of spirits who had passed from one plane to another. Often myth indicates the owl accompanying a spirit to the underworld – winging its newly freed soul from the physical world into the realm of spirit.” animal-symbolism