Years ago when my husband read Lord of the Rings to our children, I figured that was “their” time together.  After all, hobbits and elves and wizards?  Not my thing.

Then, the movies arrived.  Although I wasn’t dragged to the first one, neither did I go with much enthusiasm.  And then, the magic.

At one point while we were waiting for the third movie to debut, I turned to my husband and said, “You know, if I die before this movie comes out, that’s going to be the last thing I think about.”  And while that probably wasn’t strictly true, it was nearly.  I still think watching the movies on the largest and best screens in our area were some of the most pleasurable moments of my life.

Until I was on my way to New Zealand, I forgot that the films were made here.  Then we had the pleasure of meeting Robin Murphy, who was our guide around the islands for several days.  Robin was the location manager for Lord of the Rings, and of course, had fabulous stories to tell us.  She also offered to take us to some of the sites.  So here we are at Hobbiton, in Rivendell, and finally at the stately home where Gollum commits the act that turns him from a happy fisherman into the creature he becomes. 

Novelists deal in fantasy, but we all have our personal fantasies, too.  Mine is of a life in Middle Earth.  I’ve yet to decide whether I’ll be a Hobbit or an Elf.  I just know that if Middle Earth is half as beautiful as the country where the movies were filmed, I will be eternally happy.