Frog Blog Christmas Reunion---Kerry Blair

Just for the record, I voted to hold this reunion next week. My thought was that it would make a nicer gift coming that much closer to Christmas, and . . . okay! Hold your comments! I’ll come clean. My actual reasoning was that if we “reunited” next week my day would fall on Friday, December 21 and, with any luck at all, the ancient Mayans would be right, the world would end, and nobody would ever know I missed yet another Friday! (Worst case scenario: the world wouldn’t end, but none of you could expect me to hear that news from my bunker deep beneath Mingus Mountain.) But, nooooo. Everybody else wanted to blog this week, so here we are pre-apocalypse. I’m sorry.

I sat down to write this yesterday. I had just teared up over Julie’s blog, so I started out echoing what everybody else said about how much we love, appreciate, and miss you guys. Well, you know me: six thousand words later I was sobbing outright and my elderly pit bull, picking up on the maudlin vibes, was pressed against my leg, howling harmony.

For the sake of us all, I walked away from the computer then to try again this morning. You’re welcome.

So, first I asked myself: Back in the days of Froggy yore, when I wasn’t being sloppily sentimental and/or preaching to the choir, what did I do? Honestly? Mostly I ditched. Every once in a while I ran a cheesy contest, but when I wasn’t doing any of those things, I liked to hang out with the Frog. This prompted me to wonder: Where is that little terd . . . er . . . toad, anyway? Shouldn’t he be here, too?

Alas, what came of all that is all this:

‘Twas twelve days before Christmas when all thro’ the bog

Six Writers were blogging—but where was the Frog?

The notes were all posted, lest anyone care;

All hoped that our Frog friend soon would be there.

The readers were nestled all snug at their screens

While visions of frog legs danc’d thro’ their beans.

And Janice with her candy canes, and Jon and his dogs

Had just settled their brains to write their own blogs.

Then out in the weeds there arose such a clatter

I fell from my chair, wond’ring what was the matter.

Away to the pond edge I staggered, not fast,

Tripped into the cattails and fell with a splash.

The moon as reflected in newly-stirred muck

Lacked luster, thus seeing required some luck,

When what should appear to my dim, blurry eyes

But a miniature sleigh pulled by six dragonflies.

With a sprightly green driver so quick with the goad

I knew in an instant it must be our Toad!

More rapid than Rob-whines his coursers they came,

And he croaked as he called out to each one, by name:

“On, Julie! Go, Kerry! You, Robison! Now, Steph!

“On, Sariah! On, J. Scott—or, wait—are you Jeff?

“To the edge of the bog! To the top of the weed!

“Now, dash it all ‘flies! Slow it down! I must read.”

(And then there was this whirlwind of leaves and . . .

Some other stuff happening with eagles or buzzards

Or something . . . and the next thing I knew . . .)

As I drew back my head lest my staring eyes pop

To the bog Saint Amphibian came with a plop.

He was clad all in green from his head to his feet

But he wore a fake beard that was white as a sheet.

I rubbed at my eyes, hoping it was the fog

That had me believing I saw Santa Frog.

His eyes—how they twinkled! His wide lips—how scary!

His feet were like rubber; his toes were webbed, very.

His looooooong, sticky tongue he shot out like a whip

And the moth it encircled was gone with a “Ziiiiiiip!”

The stump of a pen he held tight in his mitt,

It was full of red ink. Had the Frog come to ed-itt?

He had a broad face, and great round white eyes

That could turn in his head and indeed hypnotize.

He was chubby and plump and looked like an elf

But I didn’t laugh. (I’m too elf-like myself.)

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I’ve delusions to dread.

He spoke not a word. (But, hey, no surprise there!)

And read all the six blogs—which was rather rare—

Then, laying a finger aside of his nose . . .

(I looked away at this point so I wouldn’t even be

Tempted to rhyme whatever he might do next.)

He hopped to his sleigh, to his team gave a shout!

I stood there still wond’ring, “What’s that all about?”

But I heard him exclaim ‘ere he sped out of sight,

“Merry Christmas to all! Hope your New Year is bright!”

I hope that, too. And I really do miss you all! Merry everything!