Nature vs Nature

He (or she) was sitting there, all googly-eyed and slimy, with no particular goal in mind other than to sun him (or her) - self.  The only problem was that there was no sunlight to be gathered, only the off-white glow of flourescent lights and their infernal, nearly imperceptible humming.  The frog sat on the edge of the toilet, the third one that had appeared recently, each one larger than the one preceding it.  This one was light green, very large and very spotted.  Weeks ago I flushed the first one.  But with the second and now the third, I did the manly thing.

I called my daughter. 

With a gloved hand she gingerly trapped the beastie, and gently let it back outside.  I wonder if there is some sort of conspiracy or collusion behind my back, because an hour and a half later that same frog had hopped up onto my porch railing, and was looking at the house.

The other day, I stepped out my front door, and there was a snake.  Not a moccasin or a rattler (which are common in this area); just a small black racer.  I am not afraid of snakes, but I still jumped;  anti-venon now costs up to $3000 a dose in this area, with the average number of doses being between 5 and 7, depending on the size and weight of the victim.  Once again, I bolstered my masculinity and called my daughter.  This time we shooed it away with a water hose.  Naturally, my wife now wants me to reapply all of the liquids and powders around the house perimeter and stink up the garage with mothballs.

When I left New York years ago, I swore that as long as my mind is good, I would never live with rats and roaches.  So far, so good.  Meanwhile, I am surrounded by a veritable menagerie.   Recently I got up in the middle of the night, opened a window and told a fox to shut up.  She ran to another yard, taking her yelping with her.

Nature never quits.  So why are humans so quick to give up on their most cherished goals and dreams?

Always B Positive!

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?