Monday, February 8, 2016

February 8: Duck Pond, Dance Competitions, Snow and Dead Frogs

All this comes to mind at the duck pond, because the duck pond is rapidly turning into a landfill of its own, a landfill paved in frogs. There are a million frogs here, bullfrogs hopping all over each other on tangled mats of algae.  And the pond is filling up.  Small ponds don't live very long, especially in the South.  Decaying matter piles up on the bottom, depleting oxygen, and the shore plants march to the middle.  In another couple of centuries, if no one interferes, the duck pond will be a hickory forest.

It's not a very beautiful picture Dillard paints.  A pond being eaten by the bodies of frogs.  Bullfrogs.  Piling up like snow during a blizzard.  The water dies, depleted of oxygen, and vegetation takes over.  Imagine the stink.  It's a story of decimation and reclamation.  Death and rebirth.  Rebirth and death.

I have had a bad day.  In the coming two months, my daughter has two dance competitions, one in March and one in April.  I will not be able to go to these competitions with my family as in years past.  I can't get the time off from work.  That means, for the first time since my daughter has been dancing, I will not be there to see her dance.

This morning, I shoveled my driveway.  Tonight, I shoveled my driveway again.  The snow will pile up again overnight, and I will have to shovel again tomorrow.  The frogs pile up, and the pond dies.  No matter how hard I work, how much I love my wife and daughter and son, I will be alone during those dance competition weekends in March and April.  There are things I simply cannot change.  Like snow in winter.  Dead frogs in a duck pond.

If you can't tell, my mood is a little fatalistic at the moment.  My life has not turned out as I planned.  I try to be a good person, hard worker, loving husband and father.  I treat everyone I meet with kindness, never act in anger.  I'm not perfect.  Far from it.  But I am not an asshole or abuser or Republican.  Yet, disappointment follows me around like a stray cat.

That's all I have to say.  The snow is falling already.  I will have to get up early tomorrow to shovel.  Probably have to shovel tomorrow night again.  Because that's life.  Or that's my life, anyway.

Saint Marty is tired of dead frogs.

I laugh because it's true

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