Remember the scene in The Return of the King where Denethor sends Faramir off to his death while eating his roasted chicken and cherry tomatoes? I feel like Denethor sometimes.
I warmed up some KFC for lunch today. And I achieved that heavy-browed, John-Noble stare and that ill-mannered chewing, and of course I couldn't avoid the greasy fingers. I was only missing the great fur cape, the cherry tomatoes, and a small tenor hobbit. (A couple of baritones were lying around, but what good are they?!)
And while it was all play today - Avery and Will laughing and telling me I wasn't using my manners - as I sat there play-acting, the clothes seemed a little too comfortable, too familiar.
And I think of how we are murdering our children with impatience and anger and harshness, how we muddy these pure springs with our busyness and inaccessibility.
What I wouldn't give some days for a do-over.