I grew up in a huge rambling bungalow….with huge gardens and orchard…my very own outhouse that was my dollhouse, I had my own pond complete with lotus plants and frogs.
Summer evenings meant making mud pies and chasing my dogs. Summer afternoons were for sitting in the guava tree and winters were made delicious my mom’s Swedish fried potatoes and Enid Blyton.
At some point I had a huge stuffed frog. Long legs, big bulging eyes, and greeeennn!. Deep in thought one night with the frogs in the pond singing merrily, I suddenly thought about how lonely my little frog must me and how mean I was for keeping him in my room when he obviously belonged in the pond with his family. So pushing away my fears of going out from the warmth of the house to the long walk down to the bottom of the garden where the pond was, I ran out and very gently put him in the pond, said a small goodbye and told him to be a good boy.
He is still there I hope …..living merrily among his friends.