Creepy
This evening started off innocently enough. My mom had one of her spiritual meetings going on here. This one was for a German healer from the 40's who died a while ago, but apparently could perform miracle healings when he was around. The idea is that you can still tap into the same energy by gathering with others and sitting quietly. Then you just kind of let the healing energy run through you. With all this stuff, skeptical though I may be, I usually join in if I find myself at home with nothing more pressing to do. I figure it can't hurt, and sometimes it's nice to sit quietly and still with other people who are also sitting quietly and still.
Ok. Fine. I admit it. Sometimes I do feel "something" that could be the flow of said energy, though I'm not sure what it does for me as I haven't exactly experienced a miracle.
After a nice, quiet evening of sitting still, I answered the phone. It was my brother from California! We had a nice, pleasant conversation, briefly catching up on the goings ons in our lives.
I started up the sauna so that it would heat up and I could enjoy some time in it before going to bed. My mom just got the sauna about a week ago, and so far I really like it. Sure, you sweat like crazy when you are in there, but my skin hasn't felt this soft in a long time. Plus it's another chance to sit quietly and still, though this time with your own naked self, as opposed to with group of fully clothed people running energy. Usually I read and listen to my iPod (the sauna has built-in speakers!).
After a few minutes chatting and sipping some tea with a few stragglers from the group, I excuse myself and go down to take my sauna. I breeze down the stairs and around the corner, looking forward to a little solitude. Then halfway through the room, mid-stride, I freeze. I'm not alone. I see him. There he is. Shamelessly sitting in the middle of the floor. Between me and the sauna. A big fat, pebbly, cold skinned TOAD!
At this point I would like to remind anyone reading this of my last experience with toads, and the unexpected reaction that I had to them.
Indeed, I used to love toads and would catch them with admiration and glee. Alas, this carefree attitude is no more, and my feelings during "Toad Fest" were not a fluke one-time reaction. At the time, I thought maybe part of my uneasiness was due to the involvement and frenzied attitudes of the dogs. But now, down in the basement with my feet frozen on the cold cement floor, it was just me and the toad, and I wasn't filled with glee to see him.
A split second after my initial reaction to freeze, I regained my composure, and bravely walked toward and around him. He was facing away from me, toward the sauna, anyway, so probably didn't even know I was there yet. For a moment, I almost tricked myself into liking toads again, or at least into being indifferent and not a squealing little girl about them. But then, after my moment of bravery, I was on the side of the sauna in front of the door to the outside, and not on the side of the sauna with the chair where I could leave my towel and robe. I would have to pass in front of the toad in order to get to the side with the chair.
I stared at the toad. I noticed four little stubby "whiskers" on his lips. My mind immediately knew they must be venomous and that he would jump on me the moment I moved again.
An idea struck me. I first opened the door to the outside in case the toad wanted to leave, and then I created a "shield" with my towel that I held between me and the toad, careful that my feet were well protected. I quickly shuffled by. The toad didn't move a muscle. Crafty little thing. I knew he was just biding his time.
So then I disrobed in front of the toad. This didn't bother me nearly as much as the fact that I'd have to pass in front of the toad again to get to the side of the sauna where I could open the door and get in. I couldn't take my towel-shield with me this time, so I did a frantic little hop maneuver, and before either the toad or I knew it, I was in the warm sauna, safe and sound.
I sat there, and through the glass door I stared at the toad for a minute. I was feeling a bit awkward, so I concluded that it was best to ignore him. I plugged in my iPod and started reading my book. I'd read only a few sentences, when I remembered the toad. I set down my book and stared at him again. I think this was making us both a little uneasy, so I picked up my book. I really tried to read again, but I couldn't. Now I just sat there with the open book, looking sideways, staring at the toad. I don't know if I sensed just the tiniest movement before the real thing, but I suddenly thought, "oh God, it's going to move!" And then it did. It turned 90 degrees to its left and then sat there.
Even intuitively knowing it was going to move didn't stop my body from reacting. Both feet jumped right off the floor (as I remained seated) and my body recoiled from the toad as I let out a little "eep!" Not a full-on girly squeal, but a squeak did escape my lips. I started chuckling to myself immediately about how silly I was being (sound familiar?). I mean, I'm in a sauna. There's a pane of glass between us. Besides, it's just a toad! I'm quite safe.
I calmed down but still sat there staring sideways at the toad. The thought occurred to me how ridiculous this scene is. I mean, who has the odder view, the perfectly normal toad that's just innocently sitting in a basement, or the silly girl who is sweating in a wood and glass box and squeaking at the mere sight of the perfectly normal toad? Just as I was getting over another little chuckle of amusement, I sensed it again and knew, "oh God, the toad's going to move again!" And it did! This time it just raised itself up on all fours. I was a little creeped out, but no squeaks or jumps this time. I prepared myself for the inevitable hop.
Oh, but no... it didn't hop. No, instead it kind of stretched forwards and started WALKING!!!
WHAAAT?? TOADS WALK???
I mean, yes, I'm sure they do, but honestly I'd never given it a moment of thought. All I knew was that they hopped. Cutely, joyfully, toad-ily, they hop!!!! But this toad, no, it didn't hop. It didn't really even crawl. No, it definitely, deliberately walked away on all fours. My stare was now fixed on the toad, and a look of moderate horror was fixed on my face. Seriously, I had goosebumps, IN THE SAUNA.
He paused several times. Each time with a back leg fully, but ever so casually extended behind him. I got the feeling he was telling me. "No, I'm not afraid of you. I'm not weirded out by the sweaty jumpy girl in the box. I'm just choosing to go over here for a while, and I'm going to take my time."
Eventually the toad disappeared behind some spider plants.
Eventually I calmed down enough to really start reading my book.
Eventually I was sweating away peacefully by myself.
I do admit that a few times throughout the rest of my sauna, I peered over to the spider plants to see if I could spot the odd, non-hopping toad. I figured he was planning to come back my way with those venomous whiskers and startling movements.
I didn't see the toad, nor his whiskers, again, but when I was done with the sauna, I quickly gathered up my towels and clothes, and I carefully and quietly tip-toed across the basement and up the stairs.
Phew! I was still alive at the top of the stairs, and was greeted by my soft, warm, fuzzy little dachshund who squeaked with joy just to see me.
I don't care what anyone says, and I don't care how I used to feel about toads.
Today I officially declare: TOADS ARE FREAKING CREEPY!
Ok. Fine. I admit it. Sometimes I do feel "something" that could be the flow of said energy, though I'm not sure what it does for me as I haven't exactly experienced a miracle.
After a nice, quiet evening of sitting still, I answered the phone. It was my brother from California! We had a nice, pleasant conversation, briefly catching up on the goings ons in our lives.
I started up the sauna so that it would heat up and I could enjoy some time in it before going to bed. My mom just got the sauna about a week ago, and so far I really like it. Sure, you sweat like crazy when you are in there, but my skin hasn't felt this soft in a long time. Plus it's another chance to sit quietly and still, though this time with your own naked self, as opposed to with group of fully clothed people running energy. Usually I read and listen to my iPod (the sauna has built-in speakers!).
After a few minutes chatting and sipping some tea with a few stragglers from the group, I excuse myself and go down to take my sauna. I breeze down the stairs and around the corner, looking forward to a little solitude. Then halfway through the room, mid-stride, I freeze. I'm not alone. I see him. There he is. Shamelessly sitting in the middle of the floor. Between me and the sauna. A big fat, pebbly, cold skinned TOAD!
At this point I would like to remind anyone reading this of my last experience with toads, and the unexpected reaction that I had to them.
Indeed, I used to love toads and would catch them with admiration and glee. Alas, this carefree attitude is no more, and my feelings during "Toad Fest" were not a fluke one-time reaction. At the time, I thought maybe part of my uneasiness was due to the involvement and frenzied attitudes of the dogs. But now, down in the basement with my feet frozen on the cold cement floor, it was just me and the toad, and I wasn't filled with glee to see him.
A split second after my initial reaction to freeze, I regained my composure, and bravely walked toward and around him. He was facing away from me, toward the sauna, anyway, so probably didn't even know I was there yet. For a moment, I almost tricked myself into liking toads again, or at least into being indifferent and not a squealing little girl about them. But then, after my moment of bravery, I was on the side of the sauna in front of the door to the outside, and not on the side of the sauna with the chair where I could leave my towel and robe. I would have to pass in front of the toad in order to get to the side with the chair.
I stared at the toad. I noticed four little stubby "whiskers" on his lips. My mind immediately knew they must be venomous and that he would jump on me the moment I moved again.
An idea struck me. I first opened the door to the outside in case the toad wanted to leave, and then I created a "shield" with my towel that I held between me and the toad, careful that my feet were well protected. I quickly shuffled by. The toad didn't move a muscle. Crafty little thing. I knew he was just biding his time.
So then I disrobed in front of the toad. This didn't bother me nearly as much as the fact that I'd have to pass in front of the toad again to get to the side of the sauna where I could open the door and get in. I couldn't take my towel-shield with me this time, so I did a frantic little hop maneuver, and before either the toad or I knew it, I was in the warm sauna, safe and sound.
I sat there, and through the glass door I stared at the toad for a minute. I was feeling a bit awkward, so I concluded that it was best to ignore him. I plugged in my iPod and started reading my book. I'd read only a few sentences, when I remembered the toad. I set down my book and stared at him again. I think this was making us both a little uneasy, so I picked up my book. I really tried to read again, but I couldn't. Now I just sat there with the open book, looking sideways, staring at the toad. I don't know if I sensed just the tiniest movement before the real thing, but I suddenly thought, "oh God, it's going to move!" And then it did. It turned 90 degrees to its left and then sat there.
Even intuitively knowing it was going to move didn't stop my body from reacting. Both feet jumped right off the floor (as I remained seated) and my body recoiled from the toad as I let out a little "eep!" Not a full-on girly squeal, but a squeak did escape my lips. I started chuckling to myself immediately about how silly I was being (sound familiar?). I mean, I'm in a sauna. There's a pane of glass between us. Besides, it's just a toad! I'm quite safe.
I calmed down but still sat there staring sideways at the toad. The thought occurred to me how ridiculous this scene is. I mean, who has the odder view, the perfectly normal toad that's just innocently sitting in a basement, or the silly girl who is sweating in a wood and glass box and squeaking at the mere sight of the perfectly normal toad? Just as I was getting over another little chuckle of amusement, I sensed it again and knew, "oh God, the toad's going to move again!" And it did! This time it just raised itself up on all fours. I was a little creeped out, but no squeaks or jumps this time. I prepared myself for the inevitable hop.
Oh, but no... it didn't hop. No, instead it kind of stretched forwards and started WALKING!!!
WHAAAT?? TOADS WALK???
I mean, yes, I'm sure they do, but honestly I'd never given it a moment of thought. All I knew was that they hopped. Cutely, joyfully, toad-ily, they hop!!!! But this toad, no, it didn't hop. It didn't really even crawl. No, it definitely, deliberately walked away on all fours. My stare was now fixed on the toad, and a look of moderate horror was fixed on my face. Seriously, I had goosebumps, IN THE SAUNA.
He paused several times. Each time with a back leg fully, but ever so casually extended behind him. I got the feeling he was telling me. "No, I'm not afraid of you. I'm not weirded out by the sweaty jumpy girl in the box. I'm just choosing to go over here for a while, and I'm going to take my time."
Eventually the toad disappeared behind some spider plants.
Eventually I calmed down enough to really start reading my book.
Eventually I was sweating away peacefully by myself.
I do admit that a few times throughout the rest of my sauna, I peered over to the spider plants to see if I could spot the odd, non-hopping toad. I figured he was planning to come back my way with those venomous whiskers and startling movements.
I didn't see the toad, nor his whiskers, again, but when I was done with the sauna, I quickly gathered up my towels and clothes, and I carefully and quietly tip-toed across the basement and up the stairs.
Phew! I was still alive at the top of the stairs, and was greeted by my soft, warm, fuzzy little dachshund who squeaked with joy just to see me.
I don't care what anyone says, and I don't care how I used to feel about toads.
Today I officially declare: TOADS ARE FREAKING CREEPY!