How does your frog taste?

Someone once said that "if you have to swallow a frog, don't stare at it."

Recently I have taken on more than I can chew.  I have ample time, but frankly, my heart is not into much of the volunteer work on my plate.  When added with the Summer doldrums, the juggling of family tasks and the never ending quest for dollars, I find myself in a place too familiar.

I have a frog to eat.

Years ago, my father was into eating frogs' legs.  These were disgusting looking drumsticks that were pre-cooked and propped up vertically under heat lamps in Brooklyn's Coney Island.  While chewing on our Nathan's hot dogs and french fries, we recoiled at his vile choices.  Years later I tried canned frogs' legs but never developed my father's penchant for amphibious appendages.  Still, I tried it.

I am still eating frogs' legs, particularly when dealing with life.  Only now, those legs have morphed into a large, living, warty beast that will spill its vile guts down my chin if I chew it slowly.  Furthermore, if I don't eat it, it will eat me.  Life will eat us if we don't choose to eat it first.

I choose to attack and enjoy life.

It is time to eat my frog.

How does your frog taste?