Mojo's Favorite Mother's Owl Collection, Volume 3:

Two Tiny Glass Owls

Mojo does not know or remember or particularly care if her Favorite Mother's Owl Collection was something her mother actually wanted to collect, or if it was intially or subsequently foisted upon her by a large family desperate for ideas for holiday gifts to give her. All she knows is, now her Favorite Mother no longer wants or needs or desires her Owl Collection. So Mojo's Favorite Mother cunningly foisted these things on her Forgotten Middle Daughter, in a pretense of supporting the Craptacular, but we all know the reality is, it saved her a trip to the dump. And now these things are cluttering Mojo's house instead of her own, heh heh heh. Now you see where Mojo gets her cunning, cleverly wrapped as it is in a verbose folly of ineptitude and greed. And you can also see, perhaps, that Mojo is no match for her senior when it comes to wheedling manipulation and distraction techniques while foisting crap upon a gullible subject.

Next up in our tour of all things owly is the shimmering, delicate realm of pointlessness Mojo reserves for tiny glass figurines. You may like them. That is fine. Mojo does not care much for them, herself, which is why they are up for sale .It's like The Glass Menagerie. The Glass Menagerie was Tennesee Williams' first big hit on Broadway, but it is hardly the sort of feel-good laugh-fest Mojo prefers. That's not to say it is not well-written, or that Mojo cannot appreciate a good drama once in a while. But drama after drama after drama is Not to Mojo's Taste. Like Ibsen. I mean, it's well done and all, but man! You just want to KILL YOURSELF at the end, it's so bleak and depressing, no matter which play it is. Name one happy woman Ibsen ever wrote about. It's like they're all from the Anna Karenina School of Dysfunction.

Great job, Mojo, people will just FLOCK to this item now that you have associated it with "bleak and depressing". Sometimes Mojo does not think. ("Sometimes?" you are now thinking to yourself, and I will thank you to keep your oh-so-smart thoughts to yourself.) But you know something? Mojo thinks true happiness is not the thrill-a-minute you experience being at an amusement park. True happiness is more like quiet contentment. Like sitting near a fire some winter evening with your feet up. Granted, it's boring to read about quietly content people, I suppose, but Mojo much prefers her quiet "boring" life to all the screaming and yelling you see in soap operas or "reality" shows or even fine classic drama. Because unlike the unhappy people in The Glass Menagerie, Mojo much prefers the solid kiss of true reality to fantasy worlds or made-up corporate swill masquerading as "reality".

Okay. Enough lecturing. Glass owls. Two of 'em. About an inch and a half high. One appears to be blown glass, with some fishing line for a string. The other seems to be a bunch of bits either glued or melted together. You see stuff like that in crystal shops, so maybe it's crystal. I don't know. And no, as fascinating as you find the subject Mojo does not particularly care to be Enlightened, even if it's something Utterly Priceless and I am a Fool for Selling It. All I know is, I don't particularly want them, they are cluttering up the house, so they are yours if you want them. And you wanting them is all that matters, isn't it? At least it should be. To heck 'n' tarnation with what Mojo says. If these little glass owls bring you joy that's all that matters. Mojo of course includes the Certificate of Craptacularity for these magical critters. Here's hoping they fare better than that poor unicorn in The Glass Menagerie.