Lessons from a pottery frog

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The picture above is the broken remains of a ceramic figure of a frog. Not just any frog, but Froggie, as named by a 3 year old in my neigbourhood.

Today, as one of the plumbers was coming out of my place, he accidentally knocked Froggie from his place on my stairs and, as he was made of clay, he shattered when he hit the ground.

Froggie came into my life in March of 2006 when I moved into my apartment on Burnaby Street in Vancouver.  My Mom bought him for me as a house-warming gift and he (always seemed a bit more on the masculine side) sat watch over the neighbourhood from the right corner of my balcony. He was there for so long, that there was an imprint of his base on the balcony.

Froggie travelled back to Victoria with me and since March of 2012, came to rest on the back stairs of my place, again watching over the neighbourhood from the top step.

I was out running an errand when this happened so I wasn’t there for his demise. When I came back, the plumber, Andrew, was coming out of my place and he told me he had some really bad news. I thought it had something to do with the pipe or it’s location for the plumbing he was working on, but no, it was that Froggie was no more. He told me that when he realized that he had accidentally kicked the statue that he reached down to grab him, but just not in time.

I stood and looked at the remains and I will admit that I was sad.  While he was an inanimate object, made of clay, I had become attached to him. So much so that I had assigned it a gender. ( My car is a boy too…his name is Jack.) At this point, I then had to do my best to reassure Andrew that it was okay, that it was just another thing that I had collected. He felt really awful that it had happened. Maybe someone else would have yelled and screamed or raged, but in that moment, I really truly took it as a sign that it was time to start letting go of ‘things’ and of anything that is holding me back. That we have stuff just try to fill the moments of silence and doubt within us. That things break, yet life still continues. That it’s time to see what other places in this world need some ‘Seanna-izing’ (Yeah, I just thought of that) and see what places on this planet will add even more sparkle and shine to my life.

Andrew came back later to tell me that he had taken the broken pieces of pottery and buried them in a patch of sand under the house. That way, he said, a part of me will always be here. That was the best way to honour Froggie and me.

Hanging out on a lily pad, strumming a guitar, and humming the Rainbow Connection,

Seanna

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