Sunday, August 7, 2011

The Journey

Oui, c'est moi. It has been a long while since my last posting. Etienne has been hogging the keyboard, oui? Of course in the pond we do not use expressions with pigs; one who is taking more than one's portion is as a bullfrog. But he has been tres busy and the drawings have come more rapidly than in the past, so he has had more to show.



But it seems there has been less to say? More show, less tell, non? I feel certain, if Etienne's inner artiste spoke, and he has said it is perhaps more French than the rest of him, that it might say things more familiar to this frog. Things this frog might be prepared to share, as well.



Et voila, as with this illustration Etienne has made for me, I have been thinking. Perhaps we make our decisions a little like pants turned with the pockets on the outside. We choose a destination and then this determines the vehicle. We spend much of our time, perhaps the lifetime, journeying hard in this way. Is this how we wish to spend our days? Should we not perhaps choose the travelling companions and coach and then see what destinations are possible? Like the Triplets of Belleville film - he chose his bike and look where he went - she found the Triplets and then her true journey began. (We shall overlook the treatment of grenouilles in this movie, non? Incroyable!)


Etienne sometimes says the tres grande decision of his life was made the right way, pockets side in as I put it. (It is so much simpler for les amphibiens - we have no pockets.) Before knowing much else he chose his cheri. They chose the road and the vehicles together. This has made all the difference.



If I choose to fly, though perhaps not so high as this for my first voyage, then where may I go? Etienne says it might be unhappy to wish for wings when instead we have webbed feet, non? (Though I asked him why I might not have both? Planes with pontoons fly and land on water, why not Grenouille? Flap flap glide swoosh splash!) Etienne says we should dream and wish and reach, but it is perhaps more fun if we can choose a more comfortable vehicle. A hawk may not prosper in a submarine, a goldfish may not truly enjoy a trapeze. Oui, I am more happy on the lily pad than as Grenouille over the Grand Canyon.



Where is the frontier that borders dreams and happiness? Where do you live? Do you prefer to drive, walk, fly or swim? How do you want to get there - where will you go?

8 comments:

Summer Kinard said...

My salty Aunt Paula often says stuff along the lines of, "If frogs had wings, they wouldn't hit their asses when they hopped." She says other little gems of profanity and folk wisdom, too, but this one was evoked by the wonderful situation of the painted frog. I am very glad that art transcends the places where we might otherwise be stuck. I'm glad that at least one frog has wings.

Linda said...

oh, I am so happy to welcome back wise frog(toad?)
often so much clarity, no wonder he has sprouted
wings!
XX to you frog o' flight!

Gina said...

I live through my eyes in my mind. I like to flutter from thought to thought and feeling to feeling and land where I may.

At least that is how I'm feeling right now.

Bienvenu, Grenouille!

TheCunningRunt said...

This is so totally Escher, with the tile-friendly lines and the hand of the Creator.

And Grenouille has such a comfortable way with weighty words, it's good to hear his voice again!

Grenouille said...

Merci, everyone.

Cher Summer - to your Aunt Paula: this is one advantage frogs have over toads, oui? Even without wings... We prefer to hop into the water - much better for the derriere amphibienne.

Cher Linda, Merci! Fortunately your kisses will not change me into a human prince. Etienne says we have plenty already.

Cher Gina, You are, perhaps, a hummingbird, non? Fast but certain, lighting where the nectar is sweet?

Monsieur CR, Merci. Etienne will have to opine about Escher, but I am certainly the one to lighten up the mood for heavy things (after all, I weigh only an English ounce). Mon ami can border on the tragedian and accuses moi of being "droll."

Summer Kinard said...

Just between you and me, Grenouille, I have heard of a lake accessed through heavens of heavens. It is said that the greatest doubters and the criers of tears walk there with so much love buoying them that they float if their concentration wanes from swimming or flying. I am pretty sure you can get there easily with your smile. They all know you there. They scribble little messages on leaves for you to find that say, "we are listening.". You only have to speak the word, and a place packed deep in joy will fall into your path, as small a package as a fly. I am always stumbling over just such a place. I have gotten used to the leaves speaking words of courage. Perhaps you have seen them, too? Perhaps Grenouille has heard the listeners?

Lisa said...

It has been far too long!

I seem to be getting where I want to go by creating a path with words. Finally.

susan said...

How sweet to see Grenouille again flying high too.

For me the frontier is where I find the balance between a significant understanding and being able to create something harmonious to suit. It's a narrow path that must be walked.