The Owls, episode 2. In which immigrant owls take flight.

When I was recently forced to pack up all the belongings in our kitchen and living room to prepare for a summer remodeling project, even I was surprised at how much "stuff" I had accumulated in the 24 and a half years that we've been living in our home.  It shouldn't have been that much of a surprise considering all the collections that have found their way into my life and considering the kitchen is primarily my domain, it's all actually my (fault) stuff.  When I finished packing the fourth Lowe's medium-size box full of cookbooks and was only about halfway done, I had concrete (almost as heavy) proof that my cookbook collection was out of oven-mitted hand.

During this summer that Mari and I have been squeezed into the back half of our house, spare bedrooms packed with furniture and boxes, I have had some time to consider my boxed and bubble-wrapped collections and do some mental organizing.  I know I should release some of my collectibles back into the wild and give others a chance to share in the joy they have brought me.  Eventually I will, of course.  An important yet difficult part of collecting is knowing when it is time to let things go.  Otherwise, those speed-dial presets for the hoarding authorities may actually get some use.

My home office owl shelf (pictured in last week's episode) has begun to bulge, too, but I think its denizens are all contentedly crowded.  There are a few strays that have wandered away from the floating collection and migrated to other perches around the house where they have more sensible homes.  There is an owl-shaped snuff bottle, for example, with the snuff bottle collection (you knew about that, right?) in the guest bath.  There is also a very helpful owl-shaped stoneware ginger grater in the kitchen whose sharply ridged belly has served me well on stir-fry nights.

No real owls have been injured (or sauteed) on stir-fry night.

Four owl-shaped ice cubes are also currently freezing away in their hot pink silicone tray in the mini-fridge that has been our main fridge since late May, awaiting the opportunity to luxuriate in another summer sweet tea.  

Okay, I know.

Call the authorities.

WeatherOwl has a few international friends which are among the most recent additions to my hovering hoard.

This slender and elegantly mosaiced Spanish gentleman caught my eye in a tiny touristy souvenir shop a few years ago as we strolled the tree-lined boulevard known as La Rambla in Barcelona in search of both shade and souvenirs. Señor Lechuza is about two and a half inches high and made of resin, but covered completely (except for the surprisingly sage saucer eyes) in a bright, multi-colored enamel mosaic treatment that serves brilliantly as his own feathered technicolor dreamcoat.  The bright colors and geometric shapes forever remind me of the eclectic retro-modern and bold architecture of the colorfully engaging city we enjoyed so much.  When a simple souvenir can evoke such wonderful memories, it deserves a place in your home.

This most recent owl travel souvenir made a brief appearance during my labored (but educational) lament about the nativity set that almost got away in Vienna (Vienna Markets, episode 3) where he was pictured still in the artisan's booth amongst his handicraft brethren.  Here he is today in his new home, getting his very own "glamour shot."

I loved being able to buy a hand-crafted, wooden owl directly from the craftsman.  It is an important memory for an amateur collector like myself, similar to having a book signed by a favorite author.  His deeply-set, perfectly round eyes are stained a little darker than the rest of the body, giving Herr Eule a certain air of mystery, like an international spy or a distant relative who has suddenly joined the family for an unexpected but welcome visit.

Time for one more traveler.

The smallest, but dearly treasured owl pictured here is actually a tiny (just barely an inch in diameter) brass hinged box from Portugal that has patinaed gracefully in the five years that he has been looking down on me.  Along with the majestically poised owl on its lid, Senhor Coruja is also adorned with two tiny owl siblings around its fruited and leaf-embossed outer rim.













I don't know if the gifter intended the symbolism of the two small owls protected by the larger owl from above, but I will never forget the thoughtfulness of this seemingly simple souvenir.

As with most collectibles, it is sentiment that often defines value.  As many of my friends would argue, I'm full of it, but my collections wouldn't have it any other way.

A final visit to the floating shelf next time.