Moon River

Meet, our Frog. 

He is one of our most recent purchases at out favorite second hand store. As often happens with items we love, we saw it on Saturday, for some unknown reason delayed purchasing it, only to return on Sunday and buy it. If nothing else, it makes the purchase special and stand out in our memory. To say it's her favorite piece in the house would be an understatement so huge I do not possess the hyperbole to express it.

What makes him so intriguing is his pose. No. His intensity. She even pointed out the other night that the sinews in his neck are standing out. At first we just assumed he was praying. Well, if frogs pray, or have the need to. But as we have sat, night after night, contemplating him, we have begun to see alternate interpretations. So far we have dozens. 

For example, is he a suppliant or a celebrant? Is he really praying or beseeching the frog deity? Is there a frog deity? Or is he clapping? I offered the possibility that he was the reptilian equivalent of Rodin's The Thinker Before the Gates of Hell. She offered the more reasonable likelihood that he is serenading his girlfriend. 

Early on, we wondered if he was simply enraptured at a piece of art on some unseen wall. You know, the way frogs gaze in awe at a painting. Well, anyway, they do. 

A neighborhood boy, upon seeing him for the first time, reacted a lot like we did. He was nearly stunned by the electric energy he expresses. His whole body taut with whatever he's really doing or anticipating. Then he offered, "It looks like he's about to do a backward dive." 

Regardless, last night, without any hedging, she said, "I know what he's doing tonight." 

"What?" I replied.

"He's whistling Moon River!" as though there could ever be any doubt.

"And," she continued, "His name is Irving. Irving Berlin."

Suspicious, I asked, "And how do you know that?"

"I just do," she replied. "Doesn't he look like an Irving?"

I offered, sarcastically, "I suppose the other night he was serenading his girlfriend, named Lilly . . . at her pad?"

"Maybe," unflinching, "but his name is Irving, and tonight he's whistling Moon River."

Strangely enough, that seemed reasonable to me. However, maybe we shouldn't apply reason to such an emotional piece.

So, we enjoy sharing the room with a frog named Irving. Tonight, however, for whatever reason, he's just a frog standing on our coffee table in his baffling pose again, clearly not making any sound at all. 

Regardless of what he does on a daily basis from this position, we both love him. On the up side, since he is, after all, only a statue of a frog, he'll never croak!