TOADS AND MUPPETS

Journal Entry
Thursday 11/25/2004
Thanksgiving Day
Afternoon


Max’s brother used to call him Toad. It had a way of sticking. In fact, one Christmas I bought Max a little light-up toad for his jacket. He even deigned to wear it when he was in the mood. And we ordered “Mistletoads” labels for all our Christmas cards. Toads had become a delightful way of celebrating our lives.

Then, one day we were telling each other stories about some of the shenanigans we got into when we were kids. Max confessed that one time when he was no more than a tyke, he did something “just plain stupid.” Of course, he did this thing because his parents had told him never to do it.

He had been playing a game of, “I wonder what would happen if….” and, as if to challenge the very laws of nature, he stuck his tongue up against an icy pole. Well, needless to say, his tongue stuck to it. That must have been spine-chilling enough. But, to make matters worse, the boy soon realized that no one was around to help him “unstick” it.

What a quandary for such a small child. What could he possibly do?

Well, before long, Max figured out that whenever he exhaled, the warmth of his breath melted some of the ice. And in minutes (seeming like hours) he was finally able to retract his tongue without undue suffering… except perhaps for the indignity of it all when he finally told his parents about the ordeal.

*****

So today, I’m sipping a mocha coffee, my Thanksgiving dessert, while watching a Muppet movie. And what, or who, should appear on screen? Why, it’s a tiny toad. But the poor little fellow is crying for Kermit’s assistance. Due to toady’s miniscule size, I am barely able to make him out. It seems he is saying something like this: “Ermie, elp ee! Elp ee, ermie!” He moans but to no avail. Then, as the camera rolls in, I finally catch a glimpse of the toad in full view.

But alas, the little guy’s tongue is stuck to something.

No, it can’t be.

Yes, it is.

A pole, an icy pole.

I’m “losing it,” coffee backfiring through my nostrils, splattering all over my jeans. I grab a heap of napkins from the table and shout, “Wow!”

“It’s like déjà vu,” I cackle, catching dribs and drabs of coffee straight away.

Then, in a flash, comes a high-spirited sound… like from where, another dimension?

Regardless, the words are clear and strong: Luv, it’s like déjà went! he cries.