Once on a shopping trip with my wife while we were feeling the exhilaration of knowing that money could be spent, unnecessary things could be purchased, life could be decorated, we bought a large colorfully painted ceramic frog. The frog was intended to be placed outside on the blue wall that rose a story above the sidewalk. The wall protected our old house, adding some dignity to her commonness, making her almost elegant.
We named the frog Humberto and hung him near the top edge of the wall, as if he were perpetually on his way over the top. Once he reached the top and surmounted the wall perhaps, he would pop in for dinner and meet the other critters who lived with us. I spoke to Humberto every day when I came home from work and his silent acknowledgment welcomed me home.
After a few months of Humberto’s residence on our wall we were beginning to take for granted his charming presence. And then he was gone. We knew the thief would sell him at a sidewalk flea market to a new family who could not possibly love him as much as we had, would not even know his name. He would probably be stuck on a garden fence, not in a place of honor, and no one would remember to speak to him. For weeks I thought I could see his sticky footprints near the top of the wall. We were so saddened by the unnecessary loss of our friend that we vowed not to replace him, not to be brokenhearted again.
The sadly barren blue wall greeted me for several weeks. Then one day when I was arriving home from a particularly taxing day at work I looked up at the wall before beginning the climb up the long stairway to the front door. Taken aback by the sight of a new frog climbing up Humberto’s path, I stood frozen on the sidewalk. Was this a surprise purchase from my wife? The newcomer was slightly less imposing than his predecessor, a bit smaller, a bit less colorful. Yet, he looked as if he belonged on our wall; “Joss, did you shop for a new frog without me?”
“No, I have no idea where he came from. He just appeared there this morning.”
“This must be some kind of frog magic. Let’s call him Joaquin and welcome him to our family.”
We wondered if the frog thief had felt remorse and was making amends. After several weeks, a neighbor admitted to replacing the frog because she missed seeing him on her morning dog walk. We had often shared cheerful greetings with this woman, but we had actually not even known her name. We were awed by her quiet gift to us and our neighborhood. So, Joaquin came to symbolize a poignant kind of anonymous generosity.
But, of course, Joaquin also vanished just as we were letting our guard down.
On a day when Joss was gardening in the pots on the sidewalk an old man we had never noticed before walked past and looked up at the wall, “I’m so sorry your frogs have been stolen. Please wait here and I’ll be right back.”
The man hurried around a corner and returned shortly with a small carved wooden cat. The cat stood about 6” high in a position of alarm with his tail high, his ears pointed, his meticulously created face in a scowl. He was painted a shiny black with yellow paws and many yellow and red dots covering his entire body. The man said he had created the cat himself and even though it would be an indoor cat he hoped it would make up a bit for the missing frogs. Then, he was gone and we never saw the man again.
We named the cat Ángel and he watches over our kitchen, standing guard on a shelf with the cookbooks. Sometimes, when the atmosphere at the breakfast table has gone a little sour and love leaks out of the morning to melt on the floor, I can almost see his tail vibrating in anger and hear a menacingly high-pitched cat growl directed at us. He seems to have accepted the role of guardian of the balance between morning grumpiness and affectionate thoughtfulness, between the love that nourishes the day and the carelessness that gives the day away.
Humberto, Joaquin, and Ángel remind us that often the balance tips and there is a critical mass of goodness, a great swelling of human kindness in the most unlikely places, if we are willing to see it. If we are willing to see it.
