Three Fact Friday

I didn’t know what to write today, so I copied a blogger I follow on Facebook, who on Fridays lists three facts about her week and then invites her readers to post three facts about theirs. So here goes:

1. I had my first ever physical therapy session today on my frozen shoulder and it’s so sore. I took the pain meds my doctor prescribed and now I’m as dizzy as a drunk frog.

2. I love my grandkids more than they will ever realize. I love them so much it hurts sometimes.

3. I’m craving Italian for dinner, but Studly is exhausted and doesn’t want to go out. I’d call in an order and bring our favorite meals home, but I still have that drunk frog thing going on.

Okay, it’s your turn. Hit me with your three facts.

Song of the Lake 

Hear the frogs singing
Their song of the lake
Throaty and fervent
A call for a mate:

I’m strong and I’m virile
Froggy voices declare
I’ll take you by moonlight
My frog lady fair

Come croak to me, lover
I’ll capture your heart
On the still, calm waters
We’ll cavort in the dark.

Frog fortunes are made
In the conquests they make,
In the courtships brokered
On the shores of the lake.

Stranger in the Night

I have a fondness for wildlife, especially when I’m safely tucked inside my home or car or indeed anywhere that the wildlife cannot possibly physically impact me. Sometimes, though, these man-made barriers don’t hold up their end of the bargain and I find myself face to face, or as the case might be, butt to face with a denizen of the Florida fauna.

In the middle of the night I awoke with the urgent need to tinkle. As usual, both cats had to accompany me. Peeing alone doesn’t happen in a household of felines. Scout Kitty was her usual business minded self: “C’mon mom, get it over with and go back to bed.”

But Patches was hyper attentive, jumping up on the back of the toilet and meowing frantically. I felt a ping of moisture on my exposed derrière, and thought she had drooled on me. Ew. Still, something felt off. I finished my business and upon turning to flush realized that it hadn’t been cat drool on my hind end, but this:

Now, I didn’t shriek, but I did giggle as I imagined this little guy pinging off of my butt and onto the toilet. 

I carefully helped the little stranger climb into an empty trash can and carried him outside where he could rejoin the league of frogs serenading the night. 

“Run free little guy!” I called after him.

You might wonder what Studly Doright was doing during all of this excitement. Snoring. He was snoring. At least Patches had my butt, I mean my back.

How about a little Sinatra? Appropriate in this situation.

Peace, people.

Frog Talk And Wonder Woman

Studly Doright is still snoring. I’m sitting on the screened in porch, sipping my coffee and waiting for the sun to rise. It’ll be at least another half hour before the lake gets any rays, and the darkness is deep. I wouldn’t venture out past the back door just yet; although, I imagine Wonder Woman wouldn’t be afraid of the dark.

The frogs are busy. They don’t croak. They click and clack and chirp. Some sound like those pendulum desk toys with metal balls bouncing off one another faster and faster, louder and louder, until they suddenly cease as if a large hand has intervened in the laws of physics.

When the amphibians’ chatter ends, birds begin tentatively singing their morning songs. Some contribute lilting melodies while others sound vaguely like annoying car alarms. Where is the giant’s hand?

The sky has begun to lighten and the squirrels are dancing in the dry leaves as my cat Patches attends to their every move. I imagine in her dreams she chases them down and gives them a good scolding. 

I really don’t want to move from this spot, but even Wonder Woman has work to do.

Peace, and good morning, people!


I never knew I was a fan of frogs’ singing
until I moved into a home by a
Rough voices color the night while
with lights dancing off of the water’s

In unison the choir stops to admire the
to imagine the sound of joined voices in
A whisper bounces back from galaxy’s
ribbit! ribbit! echoing through the Milky Way.



mid 18th century (originally US): perhaps from Algonquian cau’-cau’-as’u ‘adviser.’

In Iowa, voters are meeting by party all over that state in order to demonstrate their preferences for the 2016 Presidential election. Members registered to vote Republican cast a ballot with their candidate’s name on it making the process similar to what occurs in all other states across party lines.

Democrats, however, use a process that includes meeting with others of their party and breaking into groups by candidate. They powwow and campaign citing pros and cons of their chosen candidate.

I’ve heard the word caucus forever, and speculated that it had something to do with the Caucasus mountain range in Europe. The same root of the word Caucasian.

Wrong! Caucus is derived from caucauasu, a word from the Algonquin peoples of the North American continent, and means “adviser.” It’s a genuine made in the USA word. 

Some day I would enjoy participating in a political caucus; however, I have no desire to move to Iowa. It’s a great state, but they have some nasty winter weather. In fact, there is a storm headed their way even as I type this. Iowans are a hardy bunch, though, and will caucus their hearts out. 

As for me, I shall sit in front of my television, (on my porch in 70 degree weather), to find out who comes out on top in this first big political event of the year. I can hear the frogs caucusing down by the lake. Maybe they’ll let me join in.

Peace, people!

Frog Chorus

I. Sun sets over lake
Rousing chorusing begins
Syncopated frogs.


II. Sing it again frog,
Your beautiful song of night.
Nature’s lullaby.


III. Thousands chirruping
Signal another day’s done
Melodic strains rise.

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