This weekend, Arlene Atwell Thompson turns 91. If the past is any predictor of the present, she’ll receive many cards and cherish every one. She’ll open several gifts, and enjoy each immensely. But I’m betting she gets only one of these:
Yep, my contribution to the august occasion. And I know when she watches it she will laugh out loud. Because (a) she has an amazing sense of humor, and (b) she loves frogs. As a child on a farm miles north of Plano and east of Confidence, she had a rain barrel full of the little hoppers. And as an older adult, she had a collection so vast it made my dad crazy.
There were the little ones–the angel frogs, the husband-wife frogs, the birthday frogs–and the larger ones, such as the ceramic toilet tissue dispenser my sister-in-law J, my sisters Marilyn and Sue and I purchased for her at the Thanksgiving craft show at Seymour’s American Legion. There was even a mummified formerly live one that a friend of theirs had picked up off the highway in her honor.
At one point, Carl Thompson pleaded for mercy: whatever we gave our mother, please. NO MORE FROGS.
And while he was living, we pretty much honored that request.
These days, all bets are off. Which means there are more frog pillows (including the one above from my friend Susan in Florida), stuffed Beanies, balloons, pens and cards than one can easily count. There’s the Kermit with the “Our pad.” note my sister Marilyn had in the apartment when the folks arrived in Fort Dodge from Promise City.
And odds are, there will be more come Monday.
And happy 91. 😉