Recently we’ve been watching “The Almighty Johnsons”, a New Zealand television series about four brothers who are the human embodiments of Norse gods. The story goes that the gods fled Norway in the 1800’s to escape Christian persecution and ended up in Hawkes Bay in New Zealand. Upon turning 21, each of the human brothers took on the aspect of a god and as such has limited godlike powers. But in order to attain their full glory, youngest brother Axl, who is the human vessel for the god Odin, has to find and reunite with the human incarnation of his beloved goddess Frigg.
And much intrigue and shenanigans ensue.
Watching this show, my husband and I can’t help but speculate on which god power we’d prefer to have, given the choice. Opinion is decided between being Ullr, who is the god of games and who cannot lose at Paper Rock Scissors (or more importantly, at Blackjack and playing the stock market), or being Bragi, who has the gift of persuasion and can talk anyone into doing anything.
The characters in the show don’t get a choice, of course. Frankly, some of their god powers suck. Poor Stacey is the goddess Fulla, whose sole purpose in life is to be Frigg’s handmaiden. With Frigg not around, though, she’s genetically compelled to handmaiden for any god or goddess who asks her too, which means she spends most of the series running errands and cleaning things. One of the brothers, Ty, is the god Höðr, in charge of all things dark and cold. This makes relationships with women rather difficult, as prolonged skin-to-skin contact with a mortal will induce hypothermia and ultimately death.
So let’s play the game of “Which Goddess Am I?” Not the goddess I’d want to be, but the goddess that my temperament and talents indicate most likely. Recent events point towards my being the Goddess of Finding Things. Like the deities in “The Almighty Johnsons”, my powers wax and wane, but when I’m on, I am freakishly on. Yesterday I told a friend where to find his misplaced copy of “Ghosts Can Bleed” – and lo, it was where I said it would be. Not so freakish, you’re thinking? Except that I’ve never been in the home of the friend in question. We don’t even live in the same country. Perhaps it was due to the psychic connection between me and the book (or perhaps it’s because I remember him telling me where he’d put it…).
I’m particularly good at reclaiming objects that have passed into the mystical state of Not Anywhere. As in, “I’ve looked all over for my shoes, but they’re Not Anywhere.” Sometimes I only have to enter a room, and the missing object will magically reappear.
It’s a double-edged sword, though, this power of mine; without it, I wouldn’t be faced with the burden of having to perform at 6.45am on a Monday morning, with my eyes still gummed shut from sleep and my son demanding that I find his school pants.