The Year of the Frog

The Artist was a little disappointed and embarrassed to find out it isn't The Year of the Frog.

His first mistake was listening to his mother, Big Linda, when she said with unquestionable authority it was the Year of the Frog.

In preparations for Shenandoah's Asian-styled birthday party, The Artist was intent on carrying through on the theme. He asked the lady behind the counter at the Asian market if they had any frogs.

"Frogs?"

"Yeah, frogs. This is the Year of the Frog in the Chinese calendar."

She held up a paper placemat and pointed.

"Year of Dog. Year of Dog. There no frog in Chinese zodiac."

Elderly Asian men in the back of the store giggled, and murmured something that sounded like "crazy roundeye." The Artist gathered his chopsticks and fortune cookies, and left under of a cloud of Eastern ignorance and Western shame.

Frog or dog, Happy Chinese New Year, anyway.

And while I'm not sure but I think that the changing of Rooster to Dog might explain the restlessness I've had all weekend.

I tried to draw. I've read. I started and finished a new painting. While I was waiting for the paint to dry, I gave my blog a re-design. I had lunch with a guy. I ran on the treadmill yesterday and today for 30 minutes each time. I swept the floors. I scrubbed the tub and the bathroom sink.

The Chinese horoscope for Rats in the Year of the Dog says nothing about a sudden burst of energy.

"You'll be on good terms with your nearest and dearest, in an atmosphere of warm complicity, and in an ambience that you'll know how to make welcoming and full of life. However, remain on your guard concerning certain persons, as the risk of a dark plot cannot be totally excluded."

Not that I'm putting a whole lot of faith in Chinese astrology. Last year's horoscope turned out to be completely unreliable. Much like Big Linda.