I am having a time coming up with something to write about this month. I've never burned my initials into anyone's grass (see Wednesday's post). I've got no money. I'm not even sure what leafy hash is--although I suspect it has something to do with what the Irish make out of their left-over corned-beef.
I am definitely boring.
Green is my favorite color. I should be able to come up with something. Hmmm. Let's see. Peas are green. Nope. Nothing there. Leaves are green. Boring. Bread turns green in my bread box. Nah. Frogs . . . Frogs!
I can remember the look on the man's face the day we walked in and found him sitting behind the large plastic container, his little round glasses perched on his potato-nose, secretive grin on his face. The three hairs on his head waved as he rocked back and forth in his small spring-loaded chair.
We were going to dissect.
Now, understand, I don't DO dissection. I don't do anything to animals, vegetables, or minerals that involves a knife and their innards. I am squeamish. Überly-so. Also ridiculously soft-hearted. I once ran over a mouse--a MOUSE--and cried for half an hour because I'd seen it's upper body in my rear-view mirror waving futilely about before it expired. Like my twelve year-old self was going to be able to have-at a frog.
But then something happened. I don't know if I was influenced by the mystical power of the color Green on that little frog-body, or if the formaldehyde had managed to penetrate my brain. But after forcing myself to cut my frog open, and watching its little ribs pop up to reveal the heart and stomach and other digestive bits, I was fascinated.
"Dude! That was cool! Did you see how that sternum just popped right up there? And look at that! That's the liver. I know! Awesome, right? Yeah, I'll do yours. There, see? Easy. Yours? Sure. You too? I got that. Wait, wait, get in line. I can only do one at a time. Yep. Put your frog right here, annnnnnd, snip-aroonie! Check it out! The awesomeness of nature. Oh yeah." Snip. SnipSnip.
So. I don't know what that was. I did not grow up and become a veterinarian. I don't even own a pet (Maegan forgive me)--although since my children feel that pet-less-ness amounts to child abuse, I am sure I will be acquiring one in the near future.
I guess I had a moment where something riveted me so much, grabbed me so completely by the curiosity-lobes, that I forgot everything else and became totally absorbed. There was no squeamishness, no fear, no anything. Just absolute commitment to what I was doing.
I wonder if I could do that on purpose? (The commitment, not the dissection.) It would sure help my writing. And a whole lot of other things too. Because, dudes. That was one cool class. Maybe it's a matter of just forgetting the fear and diving into the moment. Question is, how the heck did I do that?
Well, to begin with, I took one step. Just one little step. Then everything else followed. One step isn't so bad.
It probably also helped that the frog was green.
(And speaking of green, if y'all want a fabu recipe for Irish Soda Bread, check it out on my personal blog: janielmiller.com. Okay, the bread isn't green . . . )