A Burrowing Owl

That Christmas cactus that has been blooming since Thanksgiving is starting up for a third time with new blossoms, while the last few are still remaining from Christmas. I was admiring the newcomers on this constantly budding plant when I looked out ot the window, and there, to my amazement, a few feet away, was a fluffy looking ball of grey and white feathers, perched on the railing of our back steps.

Even though it was the middle of the day, I recognized that pile of fluff as an owl. What a thrill! An owl was a rare sight even when we lived in our land in the country. But just at that moment I saw my husband drive up and park in the garage. The owl did not budge. I ran frantically to my office window in the next room and pounded on the window. The owl remained still. My husband, loaded with shopping bags, paused at the bottom of the steps, looked up at me and past where I was pointing to the yard next door. I gestured frantically to try to stop him. He shrugged his shoulders and started up the steps as I ran to the back door. I was too late. The owl flew away as Bob stepped inches away from him.

In hindsight, I knew I should have gestured Bob back, instead of toward our visitor, but the deed was done, the owl flew away, never, maybe never, to be seen again.

Bob had a brief glimpse of him and identified him as a burrowing owl. The internet proved him correct, and they do appear during the day, hunting mice, lizards, small birds and insects during the summer season. Oh, small birds. Well, that could explain the absence of birds the past few months at our feeders. And all along I was blaming that on the neighbor's cat.

I have looked for that owl since his mysterious, wondrous appearance in our back yard in town. Where is his home? Will he show up again? Then, if it is a "she", will we have some owlets this spring?

Ah, sweet mysteries of life - always popping up, always entertaining, always enriching my small, brief spot in this world. I may never see that tiny owl again, but I have that picture etched in my memory because I happened to be at that place and looked out that back window at that moment in time.

Never Too Old

How many Valentine Days have I celebrated? Too many to count? Not really, as only a few have made a lasting mark in my memory.

There were the elementary school days when we walked up to a large, gaudy red and white box on the teacher's desk, and dropped in our small cards with funny little verses, one for each child in our class. (That was the teacher's rule, that no one was to be left out). I remember the excitement as we opened our cards, scrawled out with our name, dried, white paste surrounding the off-kilter heart, that said something like, "Will you be mine, valentine?"

In high school it got more personal. I waited for that special card that came in the mailbox that was really meant for me. Sometimes there were flowers or that large box of chocolates that came in a rather tacky, red and white box. The glamour grew as I shared those moments with my girl friends, giggling around our lockers or in the lunch room, sneaking peeks at the sender of those mushy notes. It was an introduction to the adult world of "love and romance".

As an adult I was the teacher, admonishing my elementary students to make a valentine for each child with that "no one left out" rule. The excitement in my classrooms from the other side of the desk never failed to delight me. It would only be too soon before the hurts would come from those who would not receive that special card from that special someone in their teen age life. During these years they would all get valentines from everyone, even though it was obvious that some of the sparkly girls received the more flashy cards.

Most of the February 14 days faded from my memory with the exception of our wedding in Malta early in February of 1997. That was a memorable day, but the day that is most special to me today is the one I had yesterday. I was under the weather. We did not go out as planned, but my husband made me soup, my comfort food when I am not up to my usual self. He also brought a small rose plant, sweet and blooming. The directions advise planting outside in the spring. I have not doubt that when I look at that rose bush I will be reminded of our love, but the sweetest of feelings is when I remember that wonderful aroma of the chicken-noodle soup drifting from the kitchen and the deep feelings stirring inside when he brought that bowl to me, steaming with love.

Whoever said that Valentine's day is for the young, has not known the quiet love that grows, at times unevenly, but steadily, with time, patience, forgiveness and acceptance.

Where, Oh Where Can He Be?

Once in a great while during these past few weeks I thought about my blog. My energy was drained, down the sink and into the sewer, and I flushed away the thought along with other daily tasks.

Have any of you ever felt this way? I remember being exhausted during my younger days - after all, teaching and parenting have a way of doing that at times. But never, ever, have I been this wrung out, with nothing left for this blog or other personal stuff in my life.

Perhaps it is my age that gets in the way of all of my involvements, or, maybe, just maybe, I need to say "no" a bit more often.

As I lay in bed this morning, trying to review my to-do list for the day, I felt some of my usual spunk returning and the song popped into my head, "Oh, where or where has my little dog gone? Oh, where oh where can he be? With his tail cut short and his ears so long. Oh, where oh where can he be?"

Well, my life may be cut short these days, but my ears remain long. I will listen to my old body more carefully and make the effort to say no, no, no!

This I do know, I am grateful that my years still allow me to join in the battles that are most important to me, even though I may slow down a bit. I will keep the songs in my heart, and remember that the little dog is around. I just need to reach out and hold him close.