Family Life

“Jesus Christ Hal, another one?” My aunt Sandra chortled out from the kitchen. She was tired of stepping on all these fucking toad turds. Unlike ordinary amphibian excrement—generally 2 inch segments of brown silly string piled neatly—toad turds boasted in their magnitude. It was not uncommon for a seasoned toader to shit out a full two-thirds of his internals. This time Sandra was especially piqued as she toed straight through the acrid jelly; well, that and she had also decorated the house to be perfect for James’ arrival.

My uncle Hal had promised her that he would speak with the neighbors last week. The proposal had sunk into his head each night for too long. Sandra was not inconspicuous with her dislike for the random piles accumulating throughout the house. She wouldn’t pee in her own toilet for nearly a year when a midnight bit of business landed right on top of what would have otherwise been an unusually considerate toad.

Ironically, whenever Hal started his heroic bounce next door, Sandra would distract him with other chores.

Pond Scum 2

He was born in the marsh under the open sky as has become a sort of tradition for us Legers. Don't ask me how or when it started, but people around here all say that the first thing a Leger hears when he drops out into this world is the sound of croaking toads. And it's true. It must be like waking up to a dog licking your face from all angles, except you don't know what a dog is or why it's there. You get used to it pretty quick though and soon you don't even hear it unless you're listening for it.

Anyway, James was born in the marsh under rain clouds and amidst a heavy fog. When he came out it was so dark that nobody noticed his extra leg. He got all wrapped up pretty quick and taken inside to eat and sleep with his mother. It wasn't until the next morning that we found out about the leg.

pond scum

I verge on intractable when I write, but this moment must be documented. I will try to keep my extraneous thoughts at minimum. An incorrigible element to the day’s progress stood as a fixture mocking me. Angst and incrimination were as heavy in the room as my eyelids. A mélange of miniature singing toads harmonized the sunset as it drew near. But a painful gasp in my recollection jettisoned their stoic display of piety and joy.

Look at me dance. I am a portentous mammal swimming about the whim of melancholy tides. My kin are near but without swollen gullet. I should not eviscerate the calm their presence shunts over our pond with, but I must tell you about a disturbing event involving my three legged cousin James. At first most are inclined to avoid considering such a preposterous affair solely due to a lack of belief. Not regarding James, who I assure is much too potent to disregard, but rather due to the enormity of the story’s unnerving palpability.

The quagmire we call ours is more the Thompsons than our own by propinquity’s sake, but we are truly the caretakers of the marsh and thus feel obliged to defend its perimeter from assault. A feat that we have managed without disturbance for two or three generations, at least until James’ disfortuitous encounter (with the pond dweller).

James had always been my favorite cousin. He was …

Photo Magic

There is a story behind this piece of photo art, but not an interesting one. Jason was taking suggestions for creative photos of himself for his department website or something.