Update

I always get a bit annoyed by bloggers who don't update in a timely manner and now, look, I'm one of them.

A quick update then. Today on Palm Sunday, I made calls, a Texas sheet cake, rehearsed, went to church, sang at church with my niece Halli (Gethsemane by Melanie and Roger Hoffman), went to choir practice, and about four and one half hours after I left for church. I went home for dinner, helped a bit with cleaning up, did a facial mask, shower and spent some time catching up on my emails and blogs.

That was my day of rest!

air freshener is EVIL and should be illegal! (small rant)

Talk about an unhappy homecoming. We'd just returned from my sisters Deborah and Tara's home, where we had a lovely dinner. Walking in the living room, bam, burning eyes, tight chest, and instantly irritable, a cloud of air freshener. I'd rather smell whatever they are supposed to be covering, then feeling sick and headachey. clean linen and blue sky-my ass.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving dinner is over. It came togather pretty easily this year, no drama, which is always nice...I was in charge of apple and pecan pie and stuffing. I made everything yesterday and I am sure that contributed to the ease of today.

Since this is Thanksgiving Day. I'd though I'd list some of what and who I am thankful for:

Music

Food

The roof over my head

New, Nice FREE clothes

my very cozy bed and room

Mom, Dad, Matt, Laurel, Nicole, Deborah, Tara, Leah, Brandon, Braedon, Jordyn, Bryson, Jack, Jackie, Jo, Grace, Sam and Parker, Colby, Halli, McKinnley,Charlee, Reilly

Charlie, Houdini, KittKatt, GrisGris, Jasmine

My Aunt Margie and Uncle Richard, Kim and Rick and their families, my Aunts Jeanie and Suzanne, Uncle Frank and their families and all my Cluff cousins.

My garden and wild house finches, hummingbirds and the Desert Botanical Gardens

BOOKS, and the wonderfully talented Authors and Editors who created them

Theresa, Toni, Suzanne and Carla, Sheston, Connie, Shannon, Leslie, Mark, Vicki, Lisa

The ability to attend College and the teachers who work there

yarn and floss and the wonderfull people who create patterns

Singing in the choir

The list could go on and on...If I left someone off, it was just because I got tired. I'm thankful for you too!

Happy Thanksgiving.

So...

I'm sitting on my bed listening to Christmas music (yes I know it's not even Thanksgiving yet, but I love Christmas music). I'm trying to decide how to start my essay and know that the only way to start is ...wait for it... to simply start writing.

not that I haven't had plenty of time today to write, but oh, I've had some lovely distractions. My sister Leah and hubby and kids all showed up to visit this afternoon with bags of clothes for me to sort through.

I have better stop and start what I'm really supposed to be working on.

Aude, igitur, semper esse idem! (Dare, therefore, always to be the same (man,person))

I'm back.....

Haven't felt like writing, then I felt to busy to write. It is, however, time to get back on the bandwagon. I turned in my first paper of school year today and thought I'd share it. I just
hope my instructor likes it.

Wandering at the War

On the long President’s weekend in February, an oddly assorted group of people gathered at Estrella Mountain Park for what we called the “Estrella War”.  Produced by the members of the Society of Creative Anachronism or the SCA, this war brought together about 3000 of our closest acquaintances from around the world to recreate the Middle Ages (just the good parts).  One week to leave the everyday mundane world behind to become the person we wished we could be. Knights and ladies, merchants and bards, the war enabled us to play ‘let’s pretend’ on a truly life-sized stage. Camping and costumes, hard-suit fighting and arts competitions, music, dancing, shopping, feasting and especially camp-hopping were the order of the day.

 Wandering the war during daylight hours is bright and busy. There are bravely colored banners billowing in the wind, bright painted tents and outlandish garb to behold; it hums with voices, with the crash and bash of the fighters on the field, marshals crying “hoolldd…” Merchants on merchant row selling, customers buying trims, knives, books, jewelry, anything and everything we could need to help create the semblance of medieval times. In the market are exotic delights called ‘ice cream’ or ‘fry bread’ as well as stew or steak on a stick to try. We greet friends, unseen since the previous war. There are classes to go to, art tourneys to attend, battles to observe, bards to hear, and courts to grace with our presence. At times, wearing full garb, we run into town for ice or something else that was forgotten. We call that ‘freaking the mundanes’ for obvious reasons.  We cook and clean, and we prepared for the coming darkness with prepping lanterns and fire pits, setting out candles ready in their holders. Just going to the privy (the port o’ johns) at night necessitated taking a lantern.  As wonderfully anachronistic (an anachronism is something belonging to a time other than the one being represented) as the day-time hours were, night-time transported us even further from the modern world. At dusk we let the bright colored business of daytime pass away.

We forget how deeply dark the night is, in the modern cities we have. There are no street lights or lit houses here. Out in the middle of nowhere, we remembered and played in a world lit by only by fire, moonlight and the faint glow of stars. 

Walking away from the camp’s ruddy glow into the chilly unlit lanes to visit other camps, darkness folded in around us. Over head were the stars, beautiful sparks brighter here than in the city from which we had fled. Surrounding camps were marked by greater sparks, glimmering guides to lead us in. Under foot was the crunch of gravel giving way at times to the softer brush of shoes on sand and dirt. At times, a grunt or exclamation as someone miss-stepped then caught themselves. The thud of drums playing came from several encampments, accompanied by strains of violins and flutes. The thump of feet, women’s voices exclaiming ‘lalalalalala’ as they shimmied ‘round the blaze. Those drums played till the wee hours of morning, a steady rhythm that underlay the night so thoroughly as to wake many from sleep when the constant thump gave way to quiet. Further off the mumble of faint conversations, sweet whispers of singing and the snap of banners arrived on a gust. Occasionally we’d hear the swoosh of cars or the rumble of airplanes reminding us the everyday world was still there. That same wind brought the familiar scent of desert plants, wood smoke, roasting meat, cooking food, perfume and incense. A heady mix stirred -up wonderfully together.  Other times, the cold draft also carried the tang of piss, sickly sweet odor of human waste, the rot of garbage letting us know we were passing by the privies.

Approaching the encampment of fellow players, we call “Hello the fire”.  Drawing closer, the firelight reveals a peculiar assortment of modern 20^th century camping supplies with items painstakingly recreated to carry out the illusion of the medieval era. Coleman tents sit side by side with brightly painted pavilions, hand embroidered cloths disguise coolers, and propane stoves as well as campfires cook food and heat water. We seat ourselves on store-bought fold-out seats as well as elaborate hand crafted chairs. Even our appearances mixed medieval and modern, cloaks and robes covering tee-shirts and jeans as often as they did tunics and kirtles. But somehow the cloaking darkness and the firelight that played hide and seek with our eyes, made it all fit together.

 We settle around the fire, bringing out drinking horns, tankards, earthenware cups and goblets to taste whatever libations are to hand. Then with faces and knees warmed and our backs nipped by the breeze, the serious work begins: Gossip. We speak, of course, of our interests;  different ways to make garb (costumes) that are true to the medieval ages, how to embroider and embellish them, to paint or do calligraphy or dance more authentically, better ways to make armor or fight.  Mostly, however we gossip, the ever human need to know what our fellow humans are up to. The old who was doing what for how many chocolate chip cookies?

So our nights go, wandering in the icy dark until we found a warm haven to visit for a bit followed by yet more meandering through the fire lanes.  We go dance at the drummers’ encampment, listen to a first timer wonder at everything they’d seen that day, hold a baby that was conceived on the chilliest night of the war prior, flirt with tipsy strangers in the shadowed lanes and congratulate a friend on finally getting their award of arms to become a lord or lady. Finally our feet worn out and our bodies chilled to the bone, we find our way back to our home camp. There, we receive our own camp-hoppers wandering in the dark, drawn to the spark of our fire to be warmed under a cold starry sky.

zuchinni and onions

Weird opening I know but that's how today rolled. See, I was given a HUGE zuchinni about three weeks ago. Today I grated it up and using a recipe by Paula Deen, made the best zuchinni bread ever. Or at least I think it is. It's been a while since I've had zuchinni bread.
Onto the onion part, My Dad has managed to grow onions in the garden and harvested them yesterday. actual real onions. So, I made spanish rice with onions and bell peppers from our backyard garden. I should have used a hot peppers as well. We have tons of them growing and don't really use them much.

touching my toes

It seems a simple thing, but the truth is, I haven't been able to touch my toes for a long time.
 It's a little validation that I am on the right track.
I just need to keep reminding myself that I am a work constantly in progress.