messages from ghosts, and had long conversations with Jesus (who must be terribly busy). I've known people who jabbered with their dead ancestors or wives or husbands as if they were standing right beside them.
Who am I to say they're mistaken?
And who are they to say that Chief Leopard Frog is nothing but a figment of my imagination?
Mr. Riley, who once lived three miles down the road before he went to live with his daughter in Florida, used to talk to his dog Flag all the time, and Flag had been dead and buried for five years!
I used to leave pork bones on Flag's grave.
Mr. Riley wouldn't make a decision without first talking it over with Flag. Heck, it was Flag who'd said, "Let's go to Florida and see the sights."
There are millions of people who talk to their cats. How many cats are listening? There are people who talk to goldfish, and hamsters, and parakeets, and I've read in magazines about scientistsâeducated peopleâwho talk to plants.
Potted plants.
When we pray, to whom do we pray?
When we ask for forgiveness, whom are we asking to forgive us?
Ourselves?
I found Chief Leopard Frog squatting underneath a walnut tree, whittling a talisman in the shape of a pony.
"I wish you'd let me explain," I said.
"I know what happened," he replied. "I figured it out."
"It's turned out well," I went on. "Commercially speaking."
"That's good luck, then," he said.
"Yes," I agreed. "Very good luck."
"Bad art, though," Chief Leopard Frog added. "Aesthetically speaking."
"Who's to say what art is?" I asked. "The sender or the receiver?"
"You may have something there, Spencer," Chief Leopard Frog observed, thawing just a little bit. "Who's the girl?"
"Someone looking for you," I answered. "A poetry writer. She wants to make you famous, but you scared her last night."
"I was looking for you," he said.
"I figured," I replied. "What'd you want?"
"To say I'm sorry for my anger," he explained. "Not for my disappointment. I'm entitled to that. But it was wrong to blame you for events."
I held out my hand.
"Friends?" I said.
He covered it with his own while at the same time placing the freshly carved pony into my grasp.
"Always," Chief Leopard Frog said.
Thinking of You
IN OVER MY HEAD , I sought practical advice from a man in daily contact with ancient wisdom.
"What shall I do about this visitor?" I asked Chief Leopard Frog.
"Ha!" he laughed loudly. "An excellent question. Give me a few days to ponder the answer."
Back at the house, my mother and Merilee Rowling were laughing and carrying on like old friends while they sorted the mountain of mail, most of it for Chief Leopard Frog, but one letter for me was from Maureen Balderson, plus a packet from Sparkle Snapshot and a small box from the Cayman Islands.
There's an old sayingâas least I'm told it's an old saying; I'm not exactly old enough to know how old the sayings areâbut at any rate it goes, "Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it."
But have I mentioned that already?
Like many sayings, this one is a trifle vague, but I think it means that if you're wishing you had excitement in your life and all of a sudden you're dealing with the bruised egos of sensitive imaginary Indians, and the sudden bursting forth of motherly behavior by a former television vegetable, and the unannounced arrival of a smart-aleck cutie-pie way too old for you, and letters from modern-day pirates of the Caribbean, not to mention notes from girls who once lived next door and the occasional unexplained photograph of a vanished person, well, it's like that other old saying that goes, "It's either feast or famine."
Suddenly I had too much to do.
I could feel the pressure building.
I think I liked it better when I was bored.
The giggling subsided when I entered the room.
"You've got quite a few book orders here, Spencer, which I presume you will process promptly," my mother said, like she was giving instructions, "and there's some personal mail for
Who am I to say they're mistaken?
And who are they to say that Chief Leopard Frog is nothing but a figment of my imagination?
Mr. Riley, who once lived three miles down the road before he went to live with his daughter in Florida, used to talk to his dog Flag all the time, and Flag had been dead and buried for five years!
I used to leave pork bones on Flag's grave.
Mr. Riley wouldn't make a decision without first talking it over with Flag. Heck, it was Flag who'd said, "Let's go to Florida and see the sights."
There are millions of people who talk to their cats. How many cats are listening? There are people who talk to goldfish, and hamsters, and parakeets, and I've read in magazines about scientistsâeducated peopleâwho talk to plants.
Potted plants.
When we pray, to whom do we pray?
When we ask for forgiveness, whom are we asking to forgive us?
Ourselves?
I found Chief Leopard Frog squatting underneath a walnut tree, whittling a talisman in the shape of a pony.
"I wish you'd let me explain," I said.
"I know what happened," he replied. "I figured it out."
"It's turned out well," I went on. "Commercially speaking."
"That's good luck, then," he said.
"Yes," I agreed. "Very good luck."
"Bad art, though," Chief Leopard Frog added. "Aesthetically speaking."
"Who's to say what art is?" I asked. "The sender or the receiver?"
"You may have something there, Spencer," Chief Leopard Frog observed, thawing just a little bit. "Who's the girl?"
"Someone looking for you," I answered. "A poetry writer. She wants to make you famous, but you scared her last night."
"I was looking for you," he said.
"I figured," I replied. "What'd you want?"
"To say I'm sorry for my anger," he explained. "Not for my disappointment. I'm entitled to that. But it was wrong to blame you for events."
I held out my hand.
"Friends?" I said.
He covered it with his own while at the same time placing the freshly carved pony into my grasp.
"Always," Chief Leopard Frog said.
Thinking of You
IN OVER MY HEAD , I sought practical advice from a man in daily contact with ancient wisdom.
"What shall I do about this visitor?" I asked Chief Leopard Frog.
"Ha!" he laughed loudly. "An excellent question. Give me a few days to ponder the answer."
Back at the house, my mother and Merilee Rowling were laughing and carrying on like old friends while they sorted the mountain of mail, most of it for Chief Leopard Frog, but one letter for me was from Maureen Balderson, plus a packet from Sparkle Snapshot and a small box from the Cayman Islands.
There's an old sayingâas least I'm told it's an old saying; I'm not exactly old enough to know how old the sayings areâbut at any rate it goes, "Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it."
But have I mentioned that already?
Like many sayings, this one is a trifle vague, but I think it means that if you're wishing you had excitement in your life and all of a sudden you're dealing with the bruised egos of sensitive imaginary Indians, and the sudden bursting forth of motherly behavior by a former television vegetable, and the unannounced arrival of a smart-aleck cutie-pie way too old for you, and letters from modern-day pirates of the Caribbean, not to mention notes from girls who once lived next door and the occasional unexplained photograph of a vanished person, well, it's like that other old saying that goes, "It's either feast or famine."
Suddenly I had too much to do.
I could feel the pressure building.
I think I liked it better when I was bored.
The giggling subsided when I entered the room.
"You've got quite a few book orders here, Spencer, which I presume you will process promptly," my mother said, like she was giving instructions, "and there's some personal mail for
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