The first time you cross the bridge to The Island, you know you're in a magical place. It's peaceful, yet energizing. Many have said it's like the fountain of youth. There are fun diversions such as the old teepee, the treehouse, the swimming hole, the drum circle, archery, boffing in the meadow (foam swords, people, this is not that kind of resort!) and plenty of other things to do. And then there's the games: battle croquet, treasure hunt, water gun battles and if you bring someting to fence with you might even find yourself in a duel with a Rogue on the bridge by torchlight.
It's like turning back your clock and becoming twelve again, when you could still make a fort from blankets and couch cushions and be entertained all day long. The best part is I get no cellphone reception at all there.
If you are in the SCA and have NOT heard of the "Attack Laurel," you, my friend, are missing out.
She's an extreme costumer with deep intelligence, huge talent and a very good way with words. Oh, and also bright red hair, should you go for that sort of thing. And what many of us do at events pisses her off! In fact, if you've ever walked up to someone at an SCA event and started nitpicking thier non-period or modernish clothing, please, please read her LiveJournal post titled
Your opinion? What makes you think I want it? (rated PG for some swearing...)
Yeah, I know some of you are sooo busy right now, and you'll come back to read it later, etc, etc. So I'll quote a couple things here that are the most important takeaways from todays lesson:
"There is never any reason to walk up to someone and offer them unsolicited criticism on their clothes. No, not ever."
"It's rude. It's uncool. It's mean. It's not classy. And, most importantly, it is all pain and absolutely no gain for the person on whom you inflict your opinion. They will not be at all grateful that you appeared, as if from nowhere, just to tell them their outfit sucks. They will be hurt, confused, and think poorly of you, and by extension, the SCA."
"People who do not know me think I'm really demanding about authenticity in everyone around me, but I'm not. The only person I can hold to any standard is myself." (emphasis mine, because THAT is important advice, SCA or not)
"Don't harsh someone's squee. It doesn't make you look superior, it makes you look petty. It doesn't impress the Laurels, it shows us that you have a remarkable lack of peer-like qualities. It doesn't teach your target something useful, it teaches them that you're an asshole."
Again, I implore you to read the whole article/rant at the link above. I think this should be required reading for anyone in the SCA, newbie and old-timers alike.
Oh, and Attack Laurel? I think I love you. In a totally extreme costumer kind of way, of course.
The original Tron was so pivotal to my development as a young teen. I was playing lots of arcade games and Atari 2600 at the time so I was primed for the possibility of a 'game' world when I watched it. I dearly hoped that someday, in my lifetime, humans would be able to jump into networks of virtual landscapes and do combat similar to video games, be able to affect changes inside the systems, or soak up data like a sponge.
What with all those virtual reality gadgets and worlds (like Second Life), and augmented reality advertising starting to pop up everywhere, I think it's only a matter of time before we believe the world is one big computer simulation anyway.
I think we're almost there...
<span>Daft Punk for Tron Legacy Soundtrack by Hypetrak</span>
I used to love to bellydance, but lately (more like the last 5 years) I've been too anxious to dance. Maybe what I need is a nice dancable song about gaming to help me feel comfortable in my real skin again...
I love Bollywood! There are music, dance, cheesy plots, overdone 'martial arts' and great costumes. Hmmm...sounds pretty similar to the SCA, actually.
Every day we shed millions of cells, hundreds of hairs (if you are not bald already!) and an army of bacteria through our digestive system. Yet in real life, we cling to things long beyond their usefulness.
Those who know me in real life AND have had the pleasure/trauma of seeing my home will attest to the fact that I am acquisitive.
In fact, I have collections of collections. I have some genuinely valuable things that need appraising, and others that should probably just be burnt on a ceremonial pyre. I'm feeling the need to divest large amounts of 'stuff' from my life.
A bunch of the run-of-the-mill items will be gathered for a yard sale in Longmont CO, on August 7th ( which I will post maps and info about once time draws near), but if there is enough interest I may bring SCA items for sale as well. I have an awful lot of beautiful garb and accesories that I'd like to see go to someone who will love them as much as I did.
It's the sentimentality that holds things to us. Things can show us a happy time in our past that is easier to recollect when holding or wearing 'that' item. The memories are still there though. I just don't need the things anymore.
For the more...unique items, I'll probably post photos and memories of them here so that once they are gone I can just read about them. And the rest of the world can read along with my neurosis as well. Just follow the bouncing ball...
Just when you think you've got a disaster-free week, something happens. Like your fridge gives out.
For now the freezer still works, but the repair guy isn't here until tomorrow (and then who know how long parts will take or how expensive they'll be) so I'm borrowing a small dorm fridge to save our precious cheese.
Too bad about all the condiments and jams and such things that won't make it.
This will be the third fridge in three years. I'm just sure the electricity is wired wrong in the kitchen. Something has to keep making them die like that.
Maybe we should go back in time to turn of the century ice boxes...at least electricity is never a problem with those.
Please read the first part of the story, posted yesterday.
When last we left the little girl, she was found at the mouth of the Dragon's cave. He had just started a conversation with her when her stomach growled and she realized she was very, very, hungry...
The Dragons' eyes softened, and he pulled his giant head and neck back into the cave opening. His scraping along the walls caused rubble and sand to puff out, choking and blinding for a moment. When the dust settled, all I could see, recessed in the dark mouth of the cave were his eyes, blinking.
"What... do you want? Gold? Like the... othersss?" His sandy voice seemed to echo deep down into the mountain, slithering and sussing like a low wind.
"Gold? No... I want to know why you shake this mountain. It makes the goats run away and then I have to find them. And the chickens won't lay for days and days after the smoke makes the air taste bad. And all the villagers are afraid that you'll get so mad one day that the whole mountain will crumble and kill all of us!" It all came tumbling out so fast.
"Mad... What issss mad? I... have no memory of it."
"Mad is when you are upset or angry...but my mother tells me it's not good for you to be mad very long. I guess it makes you sick or something."
He sighed again, sending another puff of sand out of the cave mouth. "I am... not mad. I hurt."
"What could hurt you? You are the biggest thing I've ever seen! Even bigger than the elephants that come with the traders!" I was saying this even though I had only seen the Dragon from the neck up. The high sun slanted shadows down into the cave mouth and darkness covered his true size.
The rumbling started from somewhere below me, and within moments, the ground was heaving back and forth. There was nothing to hold on to, and the rubble and sand seemed to come from everywhere at once. The shaking slowed, then stopped, and I could finally see through the dust, as the last obsidian point of his tail came dragging out of the cave behind him. I looked up to see him towering over the mountain, perched on a rocky slab. All over his skin, bits of mica and black glass glittered in the sun. His wings shuddered and flexed, sending a shower of sand and debris raining down on the mountain top. And his claws, oh, how sinister and and deadly they looked, as they curled around and crushed the edge of the slab. Somehow they were much more scary than the rumbling mountain, and I couldn't take my eyes off their polished black curves.
"Inside. It hurts... there." My eyes followed his clawed hand as one shaped itself into a familiar gesture, pointing at his own chest.
My stomach growled again, more insistent this time, and the Dragon dropped his long neck down to look at me closely once again.
"You make noissse. Do you hurt... too?"
"Uh...no...that was my belly growling. I have not eaten for a while." How long I'd been away from my village I wasn't sure, but it took all night and most of a whole day to reach the mountaintop. And I was getting hungrier by the minute. But I realized I proabably shouldn't be talking about food to a Dragon.
"Iss that why... you are so sssmall?" He hissed, and wrinkled his brow, just like my mother does, when she's pulling fidgety wool across the loom.
"Small? I'm just a girl. I'm not grown up yet." I said, a bit defiantly, as I was hoping he thought I might be too small to eat.
"Ahh..." he rumbled. "Justagirl isss ... a child. A child! Wonderful, brave...and ssso ssmall..." He seemed to be talking to himself, but in an amused way, like the old men sometimes do.
"I have never sssseeen a child in all thisss time. Thank... you, Justagirl." When Dragons smile, there are more teeth than you can ever count. And I can count pretty high, because I've counted our goat herds and chicken eggs and even rows of men praying at the Temple...
"You've never seen....a...wait...thank me for what?" Now I was sure I was lunch.
"For helping me...remember what isss... yet undone."
"Oh. Uh.... you are welcome, then." I had no idea what he meant. How can you remember what hasn't been done yet? But then, I'd never met a Dragon either, so who was I to question his memory? He looked away for a while, towards the west, and all I could hear (other than my growling belly) was the sound of a wailing wind whooshing back and forth inside his great body. A series of small amber glittering stones dropped from his eyes, and landed in the sand around me. Now that the sun was lower, and the warm rays reached into the cave, I noticed for the first time that the floor of the cave mouth was covered in these stones. and realized that he must have cried like that every day for a hundred years to make that many stone tears.
After a time I said softly, "The elders say that you forgot the whole world."
"Yesss. It wasss... better that way."
"But why? How could that be good? I've never seen the whole world but I bet there are lots of nice things in it. Things that should not be forgotten." I'd never seen anything beyond the village and the valley and this mountain, but I knew from stories that the world was a wide and amazing place, full of wonder, but also of danger.
"All I remember isss... when I will die." He bowed his head, and more amber dripped glittering from his eyes.
"You know when you are going to die?" I asked. "Things like that should not be known."
"You are wise.... for one so young. All of my kind know thisss.... but try to forget."
"All of your kind? Then there are more like you? But you are the only Dragon I've ever heard of."
"Are there not... more like you? More children?"
"Yes, all over the world, I'm sure! Adults make babies, babies grow into children and children grow up to be adults. Then those adults can make babies. That's how it works everywhere!" I was starting to get short and cranky from lack of food.
"You are... the only child I've ever.... heard of. Now let uss eat....and become friendsss."
And with that, the Dragon rose up, and opened his sandy wings, catching the low sun, and he became all the colors of the sun setting on the desert, like the slow lizards the traders bring that can blend in with any color carpet or pattern. He dove off the mountain ledge, towards the valley, blending into the surrounding colors, so that it looked like only his long shadow was racing across the dunes towards a small herd of horned deer, grazing on cactus.
I watched from the mountaintop as he plucked a pair of them, just like the hawks do when they hunt mice, and wheel around back towards the mountain, with the struggling, bleating animals clutched in his claws. He squeezed once, and they stopped, so they were dead before he reached his cave. One he gluped whole, and I watched as the lump moved down his long throat, thanking whatever Gods I could remember that it wasn't me in there.
The other one he set upon a cedar tree, and said "Go far into the cave," motioning with his head towards the opening. I went in as far as I could see, and as the setting sun lit up the cavern tunnel, I could see that there were piles of rubble and glass melted in place. Then the whoosh of his firey breath nearly knocked me off a ledge, so I curled into a ball, closed my eyes tight and prayed the Dragon hadn't just tricked me into becoming dessert.
But it was the smell of meat cooking that brought me out of the cave. The deer, held aloft by an old knarled cedar tree, had provided just the right amount of dry wood to sustain a fire long enough to cook through at least the legs of the deer, and the Dragon, using his claws deflty, again reminding me of my mother with the wool, peeled off some leg and handed it to me.
"Maybe your noissse will.... ssstop now." He said, smiling again, and I could see bits of deer in his teeth. I wondered if it would be rude to tell him. Adults sure seemed to tell each other when they had food in their teeth, and sometimes it made them laugh.
"You....um... have....something stuck there," I pointed, then giggled as the Dragon sat back and picked away at his teeth with his claw, just like my papa does when the meat is too stringy. I burped and did the same.
Then a rumbling started again, but it was different. Stones once again fell from the Dragon's eyes, but this time they were clear. He rummmmmbled and coughed and howled. But the mountain did not shake with him.
"Thank you child. It has been many agessss.... since I laughed. Or wasss... happy at all."
And with that, I will leave now, to contine the story later on, as real life is calling me away from this wonderful dream.
...to be continued...
Two nights in a row of very lucid dreams with animals in them have me wondering...
The first night I was surprised to have adventures with my cat involving the outdoors, with lots of butterflies and things to chase. They were much like the dreams I had when my dog Vaugner died, but she's still alive. Vaugner still visits my dreams occasionally, but less and less now that he's been gone so long. I've never had a dream where a living animal showed up.
But last night was much different. I dreamed I was a young girl in a desert, and that I and my family had lived there for some time. There was a mountain nearby, that shook and smoked, and sometimes made the air taste funny. It was believed that a Dragon lived in the mountain, and the smoke and noise were because he was aware of the time of his death, which was drawing near. 'Near' being still a few centuries away, but when you have a life expectancy that spans milleniums, I guess knowing you'll be dead within a few hundred years is depressing. The village elders said the Dragon had forgotten about everything in the world because his despair consumed him.
So the whole village knew that their existence 'depended' on the Dragon, somehow. That one day, it would die, and the mountain would explode, and probably wipe out all the little villages nearby. This was no 'monthly virgin sacrifice' type of Dragon - no one had ever seen it, and it had never rained fire down upon us. So basically, just a lonely, sad Dragon, aware of his mortality. But no one knew what to do about it. Various people had tried to find the Dragon, but of course, none ever returned.
Yes, you know this part of the story, the girl decides to climb the mountain and see if she can cheer up the Dragon. There's the argument with the family, and the sneaking out in the middle of the night and all that. This part seemed kind of rushed to me, but my mind was probably just hurrying my subconscious along to the 'great adventure' part.
You know, climbing a mountain in the desert is perilous work. You can't possibly carry all the water you'll need. And when the Dragon finds you, passed out at the mouth of his sandy cave, nothing will prepare you for the giant glassy eyes, striated with all the colors of the painted desert, that blinks silently as you gulp the last of your water, sure that this is one powerful hallucination from being waaay too dehydrated.
At this point, I did wake up, and I think that is why I can remember so much now. It was too hot to sleep, and I kicked off the covers and tried again...
The Dragon was made of sand and obsidian, crusted with pieces of old wind-sculpted rocks, chunks of dead cedar and sparkling mica. He sighed, and his breath was rotten, like when goat milk stands too long in the pan. And then he inhaled, and I was sure that within seconds I'd be roasted into charcoal, like my parents said would happen.
"What.... are you?" he said slowly, and it sounded like the wind over the dunes. The black part of his eyes became larger, and I could see myself in them as he drew closer.
"I...I'm just a girl. From the village. Down there." I pointed towards a smudge on the landscape. My home looked so small I couldn't see the mud brick Temple or the large market tents. But from here, on the Dragon's mountain, I could see many other smudges, and some cookfire smoke curling up into the sky. My stomach growled, realizing that even in times of great peril, one can still be quite hungry...
And damn if I'm not hungry in real life now. I'll have to continue this story later on tonight. As much as I hate to say 'to be continued,' it will have to do...
He was loved and respected by so, so many of us. A legend in our Kingdom, and many others. Many today are remembering his deeds and words, and I wish that I had a memory to share, but I didn't know him at all. In fact, I've probably had less than 10 minutes conversation with him, since moving here in 1993.
I only saw him from a distance, really, all crimson and gold, like a man on fire with passion. He transferred that passion to many new people, and through his household, enabled many, many more people to play this fun medieval game than can be counted. He welcomed many into his fold, and forged friendships stronger than the blackest iron.
So many 'normal' people look down on the SCA because we are sometimes misfits, outcasts or otherwise just 'weird' people with too many costumes and drinking problems. I suspect, not knowing him well, that he was somewhat of a misfit himself. Imperfect. Human. As are we all.
What I've seen, as a collective coping mechanism in the SCA, is to assume all of our fallen go to someplace lke Valhalla, where they can continue to fight, drink and flirt with the Valkyries for eternity. Because in Vahalla, all the wounds you take are miraculously healed every morning, so that you can go out and fight again and again and again, until the end of time. Which is what all of us in the SCA really want to do: go to that 'great big SCA event in the sky' when we're done here.
Traditionally, one must die 'in battle' to gain admittance to the Great Hall. So, here we are, the misfits, waging war against the modern world, escaping to the past. At all of our tournaments, melees and battles, death is as 'real' as a video game. Just go back to the ressurection point, and you'll be revived! Or, in the case of punitive death, you just take off your armor, grab a cold one and you're done for the day. Or if you've got more fight in you, just wait until the next battle.
We will all be felled by the axe of mortality one day. Every time it 'really' happens, we all feel the hand of Death, closer by one more day, to our own ends. It's sad when an SCAer dies at an SCA event, but sadder still when one dies in the mundane world, far from thier freinds, costumes, tents and swords. For he may arrive to Valhalla underdressed, and without weapon. I'm sure that the Dieties in residence have heard the tales of his accomplishments, and will grant him the garb and weapons fit for a hero. I imagine that many dead SCAers, gone there before him, will assist in his transfer to this new game, and they will feast, fight and frolic forever.
You see, here I am, practically an atheist, and I'm coping with the death of a man who I barely knew, by writing his 'happliy ever afterlife' as one JUST like the SCA. Many will do this tonight. And the normal people will shake thier heads and wonder how so many of us could be off our medication.
When we, in the SCA, raise our cups tonight ( or at the next event), full of mead, or beer (or stronger stuff) and hail our victorious dead, we will gloss over his imperfections and remember the best, the brightest moments, and try to cope with the death of one who is just like us. He was, and is, what every member of our strange society is: mortal, yet we raised him up on a pedestal, God-like in his accomplishments and respect. And that is where he will stay,
And to those who knew him well; may Duke Leif be waiting with a horn of mead, when you approach the Great Hall for the first time. And he will say, "Welcome, friend! I can't wait to show you around!"
Yep. Just like the SCA.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? This heat will make me wish I was dead soon.
Since I missed my chances of fencing at BattleMoor over the 4th of July weekend, I'm taking my blades and armor with me to SCA fighter practice tonight in Longmont.
Apparently my Don (aka fencing teacher) has some duels that still need fighting, so I'm going to go see if I can do my best impersonation of swiss cheese. I expect I'll get hit a lot, having been over 6 months since the last time I held a blade.
I know. I'm a terrible cadet. Can you believe I used to fence 3-4 times a week?
Oh, yeah, that was when I had a job and money.
http://www.bing.com/videos/watch/video/season-4-episode-1-epic-guilt/y0ytgrbc
Season 4 started today (or at midnight last night if you prefer) and we get to see just how awkward it is when you tell your Guildmates that you've been literally 'sleeping with the enemy.'
When I grow up, I want to be just like Felicia Day! Which could be a problem because I'm older than her. Better get back to working on that time machine, I guess.
http://sandradodd.com/ideas/brightideas
And I'm not just saying it's amazing because she's an Outlander. OK, maybe I am, a little. I happen to think nearly everyone in my Kingdom is super intelligent and talented. Maybe it's the high altitude or something...
I got a chance, long ago, to peruse this book, and learned many useful things as a newbie in the SCA. Good luck finding a paper copy now. The last printing was in 1993, so there might still be a few around in those big book merchant shops at Pennsic or something. With that said, I shall say "Huzzah!" to the magic of the internet, which allows us this digital copy to access and share with others all over the SCA Known World.
And it should be mentioned that if you find the online version useful, there is a PayPal donation button if you feel so inclined so donate to her efforts.
The History of the Mullet: http://www.slate.com/id/2259939/?GT1=38001
Man, I know a bunch of guys in the SCA who are going eat this up.
Vegetarians beware! We're talking about meat here!
Last night my honey prepared some amazing Elk steaks on our small charcoal grill. I love elk, more than any other red meat, but it is a rare treat for me.
It's been a long time since my Father hunted, and I was twelve the last time he brought one home, already butchered and wrapped, for our deep freeze. Maybe I love elk so much because that was a great time in my life. The 'Last Elk' was eaten literally the night before our 2000 mile move to New England, as we couldn't ship any food with us. One last barbeque with friends...and I cried as I ate the last Elk burger I thought I'd ever eat.
I was terribly sad to be leaving the mountainous regions, knowing we'd be moving far, far away from the Elk. My Dad tried to console me by telling me that the deer were plentiful where we were going, but I just said, "Pffft. Deer. That's not Elk!" Just try reasoning with a 12 year old who feels entitiled to great wild game. I'm sure I pouted and snarked over the two week roadtrip. My parents were, and still are, very patient and tolerant people. I still wonder how they put up with me through my Elk withdrawals.
Upon our arrival to the coast, I discovered a whole new wild creature that was wonderful in it's own right: LOBSTER. And now I crave that, being over 1000 miles from an ocean. And of course it's suuuper expensive here. But I digress...
Now that I'm back in the mountains, I can, presumably, eat Elk any time I want. It's unbelievably expensive to buy, and as much as I'd love to be THAT much more self-sufficient, I just can't pull the trigger on a rifle during a hunt. So I bartered for this meat, with purslane from my own garden. That I can do, and happily. Purslane sells for as much as $9 a pound at those high-end health/organic food stores, which is a little less than Elk per pound, but I'm happy to make up the difference.
Last nights' feast seemed small, but I'm still full the next morning. I've eaten plenty of cow burgers and steaks, but felt hungry again within hours. So, here's to super lean meat, with no fillers, chemicals, antibiotics, steroids or slaughterhouse handling! I like to think this elk had a much happier, healther life than cows raised for meat, and maybe I could taste the happiness, and that has been what has kept me sated so long. Or maybe it's my own happiness keeping me full.
Now if only I could find someone who'd trade purslane for live lobsters...
