First of all, how is it that almost every line Legolas says sounds like it was written by Percy Shelly?  Almost every time the elf opened his mouth I cringed.  Not b/c Orlando Bloom doesn’t do a great job with what he’s given.  But because as an actor, I have read scripts and then looked at someone (director, playwright etc…) and said “Seriously.  I have to say this for real?  Really?”  I think that Orlando Bloom probably said this 40-50 times throughout the reading of the Lord of the Rings scripts.  And then continued with “That’s not just a place holder until we come up with something that doesn’t make me sound like a 19^th century romantic poet?”

Secondly, Orlando Bloom is my age, more or less (late 20s), and he already has TWO action figures of himself.  And they are of himself as a kick ass warrior ELF and a kick ass sword master PIRATE.  I would have those in every room of my house.  Does he pit Legolas and Will Turner against one another to see who comes out victorious?  Or does he have them band together with HeMan to fight Darth Vader and the Evil Empire?  Two action figures.  Homeboy is LIVING THE LIFE. 

1. Is your name one of the following: Andrew, James, John, Judas, Bartholomew, Simon, Thomas,
Matthew,Peter, Jude or Phillip?
2. Are you a former fisherman?
3. Are you a former tax collector?
4. Have you sold all of your belongings and given the money to the poor?
5. Do you walk everywhere you go?
6. Do you have a close circle of 11 friends?
7. Do you sometimes speak in a foreign tongue that you didn’t know you could speak?
8. Do you have a friend that can control the weather?
9. Do you have a friend that calls himself the Son of God?
10. Have you ever walked on water, realized what you were doing and then sunk?

Here’s how to score yourself:
Yes to 1-3 questions: Discipleship doubtful. You may now get your money back from the poor.

Yes to 4-6 questions: You are well on the road to being a Disciple. Watch out for people that want you to sell out your best friend for 30 pieces of silver

Yes to 7-10 questions: You, my friend, are the REAL DEAL. Look out for the flaming tongues, they may descend at any moment.

She is also dying.

She has been battling a very aggressive form of colon cancer for 4 years.  The cancer moved to her liver about a year and a half ago.  Despite everyone’s best efforts, the cancer has taken up residence in her liver and isn’t going away.  She’s been in the bed for about 3 weeks, just getting sicker and sicker.  Hospice has come in now, but the pain is so bad that the morphine really isn’t working anymore.  So she is, quite frankly, waiting to die.

With my dad being a priest, dying and dealing with the dying and their families has simply been a part of our lives.  We talk about death, we see death as part of the Circle.  We understand that yes, we will grieve and be sad and that’s ok.  We also understand that, at some point, it’s ok, even preferable, to let someone die.

Jamie didn’t have this experience growing up, and neither did his family.  His family doesn’t talk much (ok AT ALL) about the Big Things.  So this has been a doubly difficult experience for him, for all of them.  Jamie’s Dad died suddenly last year, on Feb. 28, and now he’s loosing his mom as well.  She’s 55 years old.  Just 55.  55 years seems like a whisper, although she spoke and acted loudly during her 55 years.

One of the hardest parts for the both of us is the sudden changing picture of our future.  Jamie and I always thought that we’d have kids and they’d know their Pops and their Granny (Jamie’s parents) and their Bigmomma and Bigdaddy (my parents).  Jamie was really excited about this, because he didn’t know any of his grandfathers, and only one of his grandmothers.  And now our kids won’t know Pops and Granny.  They won’t get to learn the things we wanted them to learn from those two.

There are so many thoughts in my head, about love, death, ressurection, silence, fairness, grief, joy, the worst things and the best things.  I still haven’t gotten it all sorted out and I suppose I won’t for a long time to come.  We are down to taking it minute by tiny minute.  Making this minute the best one, better than the last one, and so on.  Which may be, in the end, the best way to live all of our days.

Receptionist:  Ok, what is the problem? 
Me:  Well I have a UTI and I have for about a week.
Receptionist: A week! Well have you called previously?
Me: Yes, I called yesterday and left a message and I called last Friday and got a recording saying that the office was closed.
Receptionist: Well if you call when the office is closed…
Me: Actually I called at 9am.
Receptionist: Oh well if you don’t pick an option that’s what it tells you (subtext: if you were smart like me you would know that.)
Me: Unfortunately the first thing the message told me was that the office was closed. I wasn’t given any options.

Now at this point I’m thinking WHY is this woman being so hostile to me? I just want to make a doctor’s appointment! And just as soon as she can get me in. I’m not being demanding. Making doctor’s appointments is HER JOB, right?

The conversation continues:

Receptionist: Well we’ll have to look into that phone thing. That shouldn’t have happened.
Me: That’s ok. What times do you have available?
Receptionist: When was the last time you were here?
Me: Uhh, I’m not sure. It’s been a while.
Receptionist (shocked): You haven’t been here since 2005!!!

I’m thinking, so what? Is it like frequent flyer miles? The more appointments I have the better appointment I can get? If I had seen the doctor last month I would be in like Flynn but since I haven’t been there since 2005, well, that’s a whole nother thing. Apparently I am no longer on the A list.

Me: Yes that sounds about right. But Dr. P is my primary care physician. So when I can I get an appointment?
Receptionist(accusingly): Well, I just don’t see any way we can get you in today. It’s just going to be impossible.
Me (thinking to myself, ok, I didn’t ask for today but whatever): When is the next earliest time?
Receptionist: Not today. I can’t do it today.
Me (thinking JESUS woman, I get it.): That’s ok, not a problem. When CAN I come?
Receptionist: The earliest will be 9am tomorrow. That’s the absolute earliest.

Finally an actual quoted appointment time!! Sound the trumpets!

Me: That’s great! I’ll be there!
Receptionist: Ok, I have you in there.
Me: Thanks! (I quickly hang up the phone before she has time to take back the appointment.)

Is it just me, or was that just WAY OUT OF HAND?! Should it really have taken me 15 minutes to schedule a doctors appointment? And I didn’t know I had to keep my patient membership current, apparently I let mine lapse in 2005.

I crashed on my couch and thought to myself, “This is not good. It’s 8:45am and I’m already at my limit.” Woe to those who call ME today.

Being from the rural South, we grew up with guns in our house.  Most of my family hunts, and all of us know how to handle guns safely and respectfully.  Those of us who do not hunt actual animals (i.e., me) still enjoy skeet shooting and target practice.  We keep our gun closet locked, and our ammunition locked elsewhere.  It is important to remember these facts as you read the rest of the story.

My Dad is an Episcopal priest.  He used to be a lawyer.  (Yes it IS ironic, isn’t it?).  He has been the rector of a parish in a small Southern town for about 17 years.  Recently, he has been looking for a new church, a process we call “entering the search.”  Interviewing for a priest job is an intense 4 step process.  First, the church and priest exchange profiles.  If both parties are still interested, there will be a telephone interview between the candidate and the church’s Search Committee.  If that goes well, members of the Search Committee will come visit the candidate.  Then they will invite the candidate to their church and make a decision from there.

The Search Committee visiting the candidate phase is where our story begins.  A couple of weeks ago, representatives from a church in a Southern metropolitan area came to visit my Dad, to do an onsite inspection if you will.  There were four of them and my Mom made a very nice dinner that everyone enjoyed.  All was pleasant and going quite well.  As well as eating dinner with strangers who are evaluating your every move can go.

After dinner, the committee members and my parents were sitting in our great room, chit chatting.  My brother Garrett (Age 18) and his girlfriend came in and said their hellos.  Garrett then took Luke, one of the family dogs, outside to do his business.

A few minutes later, Garrett walked back in the door and went straight to the gun cabinet, located in the great room (it was built there before we moved in), opened it and got out his .22 pistol.  No words, no explanation, just straight to the gun cabinet.  

My dad stops Garrett and says “What are you doing?  What’s going on?” 

Garrett:  “There’s a possum out there, he attacked Luke.  I’m going to take care of it.” 

My Dad:  “Ok, well use the .22 pistol, not the .357 and aim as close to the head as you can get.  Be careful, and be quick.”

(Now before you go all soft on the possum, you should know a couple of things.  Possums are mean sons of bitches.  They do not just roll over a play dead.  They have sharp teeth very capable of biting and very sharp claws to boot.  A possum will do serious harm to a dog, and can do serious harm to a human.  Having a possum in your back yard when you have 3 dogs is not something you can let ride.)

So Garrett heads outside to kill the possum, and his Pageant Queen girlfriend Jaclyn says “Oo, I’m going to watch” and heads out there with him.

Meanwhile, these people from the city are sitting around with their mouths open, not quite knowing what to say.  These are people who go to the golf course to see wildlife.  Canada geese are exotic to them.  They probably don’t own a gun, or know anyone who does.  And they have just heard their prospective priest give advice to his son about going to shoot the POSSUM in the BACKYARD. 

There are two shots, and Garrett comes back in and replaces the gun.  “He’s dead.”

So conversation resumes as Garrett takes the second family dog Belle out.  He quickly reappears at the door, white as a sheet, eyes like saucers.

Garrett:  “That possum is not dead.  He is standing up.” 

My Dad: “Alright.  Get the gun.  I’m going with you this time.”

At this point, these people have not only heard their prospective priest give gun advice, but are now witnessing said priest (yes, Dad was wearing his clerics) going outside with a gun to shoot a possum in the backyard.

My mom, who is completely mortified by the whole situation, tries to make light of things.  “My boys are all just a bunch of hunters.” 

Search committee woman: “Well, I guess so.  You have a GUN CLOSET IN YOUR LIVING ROOM.”

Luckily, before my mom could get into a fight with this woman about gun closets, Dad and Garrett appear at the door, having successfully killed the possum.

Later that evening, after the committee members had left, Dad said he didn’t see why the whole thing was such a big deal.  My Mom, who sat in the room with these people and saw the looks on their faces, explained.  “To most people, shooting possums in the backyard is not routine.  In fact, it is something that only NRA-card-carrying, Dixie-flag-flying, these-colors-don’t-run-singing rednecks do.   These people have gotten the wrong impression of the whole family and there is nothing anyone can do about it now.  Thank God you and Garrett didn’t cart the possum’s body up to the porch for all to see!  What on earth are those people going to tell the rest of the committee??”

What on earth indeed.

“Well, he was certainly a good preacher, and his wife was very nice.  But those people are REDNECKS.”

I am having some serious envy of other people’s lives.  One of my favourite blogs right now is  www.soulemama.com.  This family lives in Maine, and the Mama home schools her kids, is an excellent seamstress and crafter, and a wonderful photographer.  She’s been teaching her kids about the medieval era.  They’ve designed and built castles, made armour, are about to work on some weapons.  For one of the boy’s birthdays they had a medieval feast.

I’m sure that her life isn’t all wonderful and beautiful, after all she’s living in Maine with a lot of cold cold coldness.  So cold that someone would have to teach me how to live in a place that cold b/c I would injure myself.

I’ve also been reading The Omnivor’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan.  It’s a great book, following the source of the food we eat.  The part I’m reading right now involves Polyface Farm in Swoope, VA.  The farm had cows and chickens and vegetables etc…It sounds amazing.

I’m sure it’s hard work, as hard as hell, but right now it sounds wonderful.  To be quiet and secluded, creative and productive.   I’m not any of those things right now.

I do have excuses though.

1.  My brother Bo moved in.  Bo, he is so awesome.  I’m so glad he’s living with us.  But we have had to do things like, clean the house.  Make his bedroom not smell like cat poop.  Move our dress clothes and board games out of his closet.  And the like.

2.  I have been bestowed with some new duties at work, so my workload has increased significantly.  And since I do payroll, at a couple of points it’s been “Do I work on the novel or do payroll?”  People who work for you don’t like to hear “I don’t have your paycheck because I was working on my novel.”  They never ask you what your novel is about when you tell them that.

3.  My cats, they are crazy.  I clean up one part of the house, they destroy it while I’m cleaning the next part.  I bought a runner for my hallway, and it is currently in a wad on the side of the hall table.  There are various cat toys wadded up with it.  I think they’re building a fort.

 So there.  Those are my excuses. 

While I was not working on my novel, I went to the coolest “sell stuff in your house” party.  It’s a pearl party.  The person selling the pearls brings oysters, un-shucked, salt water and fresh water.  Each oyster is $21, and is guaranteed to have a pearl in it.  So you pick your oyster, and she pops in open and you get a pearl.  It might be blue, white, gold, black, silver etc….you don’t know ahead of time.  It could also be any size.  Mine was goldish-white.  You can have it set in a piece of jewelery that they sell (then your oyster only costs $8.95 plus the cost of the jewelery) or you can just keep it and have it set later.  I’m thinking about hosting one of these shindigs.  It was really fun and kind of addictive.  Once I opened one oyster, I wanted to open about 5 more.

More later on the lack of novel writing and the adventures of Bo, Brother of Molly.

There is a program called NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and every November they challenge people to write a novel in 30 days.  I’m taking the concept and holding my own NaNoWriMo in January.  Because I missed it in November and I don’t want to wait until next November.  The point of the exercise is to get the words flowing, get in the habit of writing, and just go for it.  You don’t have to write anything brilliant.  You just have to write.

I love to write and I’ve had an idea for a novel for a while and I’ve decided that THE TIME HAS COME.  So I’m doing it.

Please ask me how it’s going.  If you ask me I’ll have to answer and I don’t want to answer “Not so well.”  So it’ll make me do it.  I’ll also maybe not promising anything post some excerpts if I write anything that approaches readable.  Maybe.

So stay tuned to see how it goes.  I could use the support!

My Dad is an Episcopal priest.  When Christmas Eve is on a Sunday, he does two services in the morning for the Sunday of Advent 4, and then does a 5:30pm Family Service complete w/ Christmas Paegent and an 11pm Midnight Mass.  We, the family, are usually involved in all of the services as well, as choir members or acolytes or chalice bearers or something else that wears vestments.  We fondly refer to it as The Henderson Dog and Pony Show. 

In between all of these many church services, we try to eat Christmas dinner, figure out last minute gifts, cook for Christmas breakfast the next day (a big tradition in my family) and take naps so that we will actually be awake for the 11p service.  By the time actual Christmas day rolls around, we are all so exhausted we sleep till 10a.

But then it gets to be Christmas Day.  Christmas Day is quite possibly my favourite day of the year.  Because of what my Dad does for a living, we can’t go anywhere for Christmas (or Easter which usually fell on Spring Break most of my life but that’s another story) so we are always at home.  Sometimes our grandparents would come, or cousins and aunts and uncles, but usually it was just me, my parents and my brothers.  It is a great day.  We’ll usually get up, look at Santa and open stockings, eat breakfast then open presents.  Then we spend the rest of the day in our PJ’s just being together.  We’ll watch movies, read, mess around with our Christmas presents.  Then for dinner we’ll get dressed and go to the Waffle House. 

Christmas is a very sacred day for my family.  It is the one day that I remeber us always being together, all day, with no interruption.  So often, when we went on trips or vacation, someone in the church would get sick, or someone would die and my Dad would have to go home.  But Christmas day was OUR DAY.

I’m going to see my family for Christmas this year, for the first time in two years.  I’m really excited.  I will miss Jamie terribly, but I’m excited to be with my family.  Even if I have to take communion 4 times in one day.