A Slippery Situation

While gardening with my dad this weekend, he found a toad.

We both got very excited. My dad picked him up and handed him to me and I held him so I could observe him. Although toads are not known for their beauty, there was something about his glossy eyes and the way his nostrils flared at me that made me just want to keep him forever. Unfortunately, it was clear from his squirming legs that he wasn't interested in such a relationship with me, and I put him down. He didn't hop away right away, but by the time I was done staking the tomatoes, he had made his way down the old dusty highway, never to return again.

I was absolutely delighted by the whole experience. When I was little I used to read The Adventures of Frog and Toad, but I'd never seen either in person. This year I adopted a pet frog that my friend could no longer keep, and after this weekend, I had a face-to-face with a toad, thus completing my amphibious experience.

As much as I wanted to hold onto the toad, I knew that he didn't belong with me, much the way my frog doesn't belong in the tank in my bedroom. Goodness knows where he came from, but given that I think he is an African clawed frog, he belongs somewhere in sub-Saharan Africa. His life in my room is probably dull at best and such a life would be torture for me.

So I wonder about the source of my desire to keep the toad, knowing very well that he'd only get bored and lonely with me. I'm always collecting stuff which I think is a fairly human trait. There were times when people gathered what they needed, but the trick of the system is that they can only gather what they need. If people gather all of the flowers needed for a certain medicine, they could be sure that they have all they can take, but then they wipe out the possibility of more ever growing. And then they could also take more than they need, rendering themselves overwhelmed by a menacing stack of flowers. And that's me. My favorite part of Mary Poppins is her bag because I'd love to be able to take anything and everything with me all the time.

What am I afraid of losing?

So the toad hopped away and now I'm toadless. I debated for a long time on whether it was worth shucking off my dirty gardening gear so I could fetch a camera from inside to at least keep a memory of him and ultimately I decided to get over it. When I saw the toad had gone, I was so sad. I missed him like an old friend and what I lack in ownership of a toad, I more than make up for in nostalgia for the absolute delight of looking into his eyes.

There is a quote from the movie, Troy, that haunts me.

"I'll tell you a secret, something they don't teach you in your temple. The gods envy us. They envy us because we're mortal, because any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now, and we will never be here again."

When I first saw it, when I was fourteen, I completely didn't get it. My reaction was that human moments are not more beautiful because they are doomed, but instead they are tragic because they are fleeting. For me, the most beautiful things are the ones worth keeping and if you can't keep them, is there a point?

I know my attitude often times prevents me from enjoying that which I can't preserve. I keep trying to learn from the wisdom of Achilles (or David Benioff, the screenwriter..)

I let the toad go. I didn't even give him a name. He isn't mine to name, but now, actually, I think I should name him, so that he'll be preserved in my memory.

This post is dedicated to you, the mysterious traveling Achilles the Toad and to my delightful yet anatopistic pet Delta the Frog.

❀Dana