The delicious slimy feel of frogs' eggs *
by Charles C. Hall, Ed.D.

"Each man has his day, and the time of life is brief, and never comes again."

-Virgil's The Aeneid

You may or may not, have heard the quaint expression, "...the unexamined life is not worth living." Some wit added, ".. but some lives are not worth examining. The best thing for the entire gene pool is that this group should find a noose and barn rafter to spare the world of their ignorance. " The principal problem with the entire comment is that the ignorant don't know they are, nor how to examine themselves.

One's mind is a vagabond traveler which refuses to be content with the routine mundane and inanity of senseless trivia; read: much of TV). One must be comfortable in one's own skin to seek and enjoy healthful activities and pursuits. My skin and I have been together many years and are quite compatible. Oh, we've had a few squabbles over those years, but we've come to accept the bumps and strain of life.

A mind, as I said above, is a wandering vagabond. It finds roads, lanes, and highways to travel. One may lead to a small, trickling brook, or, to a roiling, angrily rushing river, or, to a mountain pass which leads to a high mountain meadow, over-flown by a clear, blue firmament, where a gentle rain may sprinkle one's face as he gazes upon the magnificence of Nature. The wonder of it all fills the soul with a sense of excitement and serenity, for here is Nature in all its splendor. I have known those wonders in my travels, and words do not begin to lend the full measure of their beauty.

Sometimes, I was accompanied by a valued relative, or, friend, or, both. The questions tumble. How does that tall pine survive and flourish when based in a sheer cliff? And those flowers, they found a home in a small crevice between two massive rocks. How does that happen?

A curious mind is the most satisfying to possess. That mind discovers phenomena of which most only dream. A pathway to the moon? You've got it! A view into deep space? Let Hubble mark your way. The curious mind is forever restless, searching, searching for who knows what? The vagabond mind forever spurns rest.

Some minds find comfort in ignorance and bigotry, not caring to be disturbed from their biased slumber.

The restless mind is always "on the go," seeking new and unusual adventures. It cherishes rumpled and unruly crevices as yet unexplained. Questions are its signature. Answers may come but they are fleeting and secondary to the questions. A good question beats a half-baked answer any old day of the week. Doubt is another of its stellar qualities. Finding one's own answers, however tentative, is far better than blindly following those who shout that their knowledge is all there is to be gleaned from the ever-expanding universe. Count me among those who have healthy doubts.

Whatever one holds dear will one day, too soon, perish. That's the nature of Nature. Therefore, hold fast to that which one ennobles and loves, and let it stand for the ages, and not simply for a fleeting moment. The nanosecond, in geologic time, of one's life span is brief. It is sometimes filled with tragedy and sorrow, but also with light, gleeful periods. Each soon fades to memory. Whether one grows from those experiences depends on one's ability to appreciate the ups and downs bound to touch each of us.

An unknown author penned it much more beautifully than I when he shared this thought:

"Forsooth, the Time we must give to that which cannot pass away. All Beauteous things for which we live, by laws of Time and Space decay. But, oh, the very reason why I clasp them is because they die."

Stan Deleplane's Postcard* reminds us that we can remain youthful in spirit all our days. He tells us of a small six-yearold boy who stops him and wants to know if he wants to buy some frogs' eggs.

"What in the world would I do with them?" he asks. "Well, you could `keep them,' the six-year old says. The boy took his pail in search of a customer with more understanding. "I should have remembered, recalled what it is like to dip in the cool, creek waters and pull the jelly strings away from the weeds. But memory was rusty and he caught me flatfooted. `You don't do anything with frogs' eggs. You just ... look at them.' It takes two boys really, to look and talk. About what? Well, you know -- just talk. I really do need some frogs' eggs, come to think of it. I wish that child would come back. Maybe he has some minnows, too. They're worth watching."

I think Aesop would say of this tale: "Youth comes around but once, and the young at heart are forever youthful."

So it goes . . . . .

* Stan Delaplane's Postcard, Salt Lake City Tribune, 1967.