FROG, Part 2
Periodontal Providence

This year closes with a frigid bang in America. As for us deep Southerners, we soak up the sun with a shake of Canadian chill that will dip temperatures to the 20's tonight. The chill feels right for this season, the nip of frost a good excuse for donning jackets over long sleeve shirts.

This year not only did Buddy receive a frog that "ribbets" Jingle Bells, on Christmas he grinned over a reversible, full zip jacket. This was no mere reversible zippered jacket. It was an official NFL reversible, inside, a sweatshirt gray with Puma on the prowl and, on the outer side, a weatherproof black with a distinctive, yet diminutive seal embroidered on the upper left chest and a brilliant yellow stripe down each sleeve with the letters, STEELERS.

To think Buddy's mom got it for a song while in pain at the periodontal office. I just had year's worth of stress-induced plaque scrapped from my teeth. Hurrying to the desk to pay the bill and exit, I noticed another patient.

"Excuse me, but where did you get that jacket?" I asked the man who wore it.

"I got this on E-bay," he answered. "My wife and I always hunt on E-bay or trawl around garage sales."

Though he had just undergone major bridgework, he chatted away about his find and how little it cost. He sounded like my mother. Or like me whenever I snagged a great bargain.

"It's reversible," he said as he took it off to show me the Puma inside.

"Wow, that's great, two jackets in one," I remarked. "My family lived in Pittsburgh for many years. It would be neat to get one for my son."

"I got it for five, a real deal," he said.

My face reflected an inner frown, thinking how much time and money would be wasted to find to such a Steelers jacket for Buddy.

"I got it for five," he repeated, "But I'll let you have ... for three."

"I couldn't," I protested, but I did after paying my bill. We found we had diverse backgrounds, he a Floridian, computer engineer with eight kids, I an inspirational writer with a special son who loved the Steelers. As we stood there with our mouths both in numbed pain, providential serendipity shined on us.

"Now you can write a story about this," he said as I draped the jacket over my arm and exited.

As this year exits to give way to 2009, my prayer is that this rough draft of a tale nudges you to see Providence in the pain, serendipity in daily encounters, and deep joy as you F.R.O.G.

Remember, FROG stands for "Fully Rely On G. . ."

What to Wear

We arrived late to the house with appetizers for the church's Christmas progressive dinner.

"What do I wear?" I nagged my beloved husband earlier. In the closet organized by he and son Ty Buddington, I pouted and dallied. I finally chose a black pants outfit with a muted gold and red jacket.

After hasty appetizers, hubby and I traveled to church for the main meal, but skipped the trip to the desserts. Back home my soul gnawed hungry, though I experienced good food and good people chats. I could spread blame, concoct all manner of aspersions, but the blame rests on me and my self-deceptions.

This past weekend I stood in my closet, this time, in jeans, knit shirt, the unseen sackcloth and ashes of confessed misgivings.

"What should I wear?" I again bugged my beloved.

We did not look forward to his company Christmas party after hearing about last year's, a nicotine-hazed night suffused in eau de Tequila with coarse dashes of innuendos. This year the diverse employees doubled, so the party would be bigger. But would it be better?

Inwardly regretting last week's progressive dinner's pouts, I prayed, prayed, prayed to God as this second party's time neared. I hid my sackcloth demeanor under makeup, a glittery red, bolero jacket, and black cocktail dress. My beloved looked dashing in his dark corduroy blazer, olive shirt, and tie.

We settled at an unoccupied table for four where a couple joined us and gave credence to the lyric, "Blessed be the ties that bind." Both my beloved and the husband were new engineers to the company, each having survived five months unemployed. Since they worked on separate projects this dinner was their first time together.

Our foursome watched others scamper outside jiggling glasses and cigarette lighters. The engineer's wife shared that when she drank a glass of liquor, there was "no moderation [in the consequences]." She stuck to her iced water. My beloved only nursed one glass of wine the whole night, and I, my one Sprite. The gentleman across the table did likewise with his beer, drinking, instead Southern sweet tea.

Sometimes we mingled with other guests who had joined their tables into parallel lines of curious apartheid. At our table we held hands to pray before we grabbed our forks and fillet of steak knives. We discussed the spiritual, familial, and quirky connects. After the meal we gals sang harmony with the party entertainer, an amazing guitarist, who poured forth the intricate verses to what I confessed were "those heathen songs of our youth." My new gal pal laughed and kept singing. While she and her husband watched, I nudged my beloved up for a two-step, a Texas stroll, a couple of swings, ... no rock and roll gyrations. This was, after all, the Deep South, Baptist land.

We drove home, much later than anticipated. My beloved engineer puzzled: Why did we enjoy this dreaded event more than the previous weekend social?

I told him what I did before this party. Before I checked my closet, I let God check me via prayer.
Sackcloth, prayer shawls...what to wear before you go anywhere.

FROG
Part one

I flew to San Antonio to join my beloved attending a swank hotel conference. Confident, my bags secure, ID and personally printed pass in hand, I passed through the initial TSA security screen. Then I quickly deposited sneakers, a laptop, jacket, purse into the gray bins and a carry-on suitcase onto the rollers.

As I popped through the metal detector, the guard asked for my boarding pass, which was flying through the x-ray scanner. I tried to mimic Buddy’s puppy eyes innocence stare.

“You have to do 50 push ups and 50 sit ups,” he ordered.

I grinned and pushed my hands. He grinned and waved me through.

The week before I started solo daylight shopping, relying on my far vision glasses to enhance my healing eyes. The eyeglasses slide up on my hair whenever I need to read anything. Sometimes they pop up and down like a hotel elevator, especially, when I’m ferreting shop shelves with so many displays to glean at a glance.

If I’m alone with a shop lady, the eyes rest and the chats start.

At an imports store in the historic Menger Hotel, I met dear Connie. She convinced me to buy a three-inch frog and stick. The wooden pair formed a percussion instrument I could see my son Bud playing. Croak! But I also saw Bud re-gifting it to our new pastor since the two of us had seen his office.

Tall, thin, this soft-spoken theologian had the obligatory ceiling-to-floor books’ wall. About this wall, atop desk piles, in almost every niche, a Moses’ plague had broken out.

I nudged Buddy to ask the obvious, “Why do you have frogs?”

“Oh,” the pastor broke into a smile. “It wasn’t my idea. My congregants decided to give them to me as gifts. You see, I have this favorite motto, saying... and the first letters of the words spell out F.R.O.G.” Then he pointed to a sign with the motto.

Pastor handed my son a moving, musical frog, hoping, I think, to be rid of it. Buddy refused the frog, even though it sang his favorite country lyric, “It’s five o’clock somewhere...”

What do you think F.R.O.G. stands for?

a. Fully rely on government
b. Fully relaxed on grog
c. Foolishly rich on greed
d. Fully rely on God

Is this motto your personal motto? Why or why not?
Are you heading through life self-chained, without direction or a boarding pass to the final destination, to join your ultimate Beloved in a swank place that beats anything here?

T.M.T.T.L.T.T.L.
There’s more to this life than this life.