Jun. 22nd, 2010
I'm a bit better this week. My darling daughter Victoria, (Tori) has started Almost crawling, and it's been a thrill. Most of the Postpartum Blues seem to be shrugging off as my hormones level out. A blessing to my husband who is patient and hopefully soon will be coming out of hiding in the bedroom to escape my frantic baking at 11pm and crying constantly at Black and White movies.
As for SCA updating. I tried on a friend's armor at the Heavy Fighter Practice and let a giant man kill me about 19 times before he decided that I couldn't hold the shield up any longer and was tired. I was horrid, the men were very helpful and tried to explain that I ought to be doing, most of it sounded like the Teacher from Peanuts, but I appreciated the time and effort. I have been mercilessly teased about this ever since, and find that the camaraderie this impulsive act has brought with it is worth the bruising my shoulder and ego took.
Garb wise our fabric store had a giant sale and I bought a few patterns. There is really only one I am interested in sewing, but at least I will have a guideline for cutting fabric without someone standing here to explain everything to me. It's a pity that I can hand sew and am terrified of my sewing machine. I'm not used to any of this anymore, sewing, making things, choosing fabric. I know hardly anything about it, and I find the idea novel, interesting, but have my trepidations as well.
For anyone who reads, I received a machine for Christmas and promptly lost the manual as an excuse to not use it. Then my lovely husband, kind soul that he is, printed my manual offline so that I could sew to my hearts content. After plugging her in I have decided that the foot pedal is very touchy. (Though I am unsure about what to do about this, I figure I can just spend a week squeezing it by hand to loosen the spring inside.)
My one saving grace seems to be that I don't give up on things. I'm absolutely lost about where to really start as a beginner. The whole Postpartum thing is awful because my memory retention is that of a goldfish and I feel very out of water. That having been said. My Shire will probably laugh that I have spent a good 100+ hours this month doing research, mainly trying to decide a period and area. Spanish? Italian? I do adore the Italian. All but the very odd little wooden over shoes.
May. 5th, 2010
ow I can't believe the layouts you can make on this site! I just found an amazing Lady on here who does SCA and Ren faire actively and I think I am smitten. yes, I know, I said smitten. That makes me an absolute dork, but, hey, I've been reading Jane Austen lately, and she has got a way into my heart. Or typing. Probably both.
Keith and I joined the SCA on Saturday. He was active in it about 10 years ago when their shire was young and new. I have a fetish for things like... being a lady, brewing beer, and making anything with my hands. Consider it an excuse to use my brand new sewing machine. (I got it as a Christmas present and have yet to even thread her!) You should see the stockpile of material I have been acquiring with the goal of talking Keith into reenactment. I'm absolutely terrified, but that is part of what makes it exciting. A goal to achieve, a tunic or 5 to sew. Not to mention Victoria is 5 months old, and won't she be adorable in baby garb all swaddled and mad that she cannot escape.
Nothing else much new. Life is slow, comfortable, and finally settled into a routine of loving familial bliss. I'm looking forward to kicking someone's ass with some rattan this Saturday. Bruises to be posted accordingly.
Love you as ever Robin, you had better read this!
Jun. 13th, 2007
Last night I was a speaker at a poetry feature In Fort Worth. I've only in the past year or so gotten back into the open mic scene after a very long and heartfelt "intermission." Most of the ten people who read have been living and breathing this form of art for years now. and I felt honored when I was asked to be one of the featured poets. Second Tuesdays at the Arts Center has been going on for years and our group of people, who co-moderate and promote heavily www.dfwopenmics.com were asked to come out and show Ft.Worth what we were all about.
One thing that wasn't mentioned was the fact that is a censored reading. We came into it under the belief that this was a venue for promoting exactly what we do in DFW, and that while it was not "open mic" they strongly wanted to encourage us to do it just like we do at our venues. So we did. Of course most of the places we perform are bars, which involves alcohol, so leave it to our outlaw rebel poet boy to bring in his poetry bag 18 bottles of double shot whiskey. The liquor of choice for almost every poet there...lol It was very funny to see something like this at an art gallery. Poets blantantly pouring whiskey into their drinks or shooting it from those tiny bottles...
And then it was time to read. Everyone got up there balls to the wall and read with a passion and intensity I have only ever seen in the third round of poetry at Mad Swirl. Basically by then everyone is so inebriated there is no holding back. It was amazing, and inspiring. We had one guy completely offend two well known poets we did not know. And somehow I got to go play fireman to make sure that it did NOT escalate into something completely full of nonsense. But after clearly stating I respected their opinions and that while they had every right to be offended my hope was that they were open enough to come back in and hear the others. COMPLETELY forgetting that I was the one up next. So that was fuuuuun...lol And I did indeed read a lot more passionately. Maybe for that reason. Art in this form is about freedom of expression, about inspiration, about inspiring others. I revel in the tone and words when I go to open mics, and i love that free spirit. Beatnik or not, these are my people. Offensive or not because someone did not get a metaphor... these are my people. And we had a blast just coming out to this event, showing them how our circle of poets represent all over DFW, and sharing a part of ourselves with strangers.
Below are the pieces I read. The last one is what I would call "bukowski-esque" because it reminds me so very much of Charles Bukowski. A writer I admire very much. Thank-You for reading...
Man In A Trenchcoat Holding No Sign
and vows no bliss,
for the discomfort soothes.
He would chastise himself,
again and again,
for the desire,
and hopes for autonomy,
amongst the clueless masses,
the precise amount,
of normalcy this requires.
His every success,
yet one more anxiety ridden night,
wondering why he didn't have the answer,
in the first place.
He creates contradiction,
He is not motivated by our groove,
unfulfilled by the trite and intricate webs of society,
He sits on the windowsill,
on the outside,
forever looking in.
While the rest of us,
see a plastic smile,
This life we live can be staid,
festering with unresolved emotion,
probably more then not,
repressed by tendencies and urges,
to go against our own natural inclination,
this life we live can be full of beauty,
found in the most unlikely of places,
a side street where people gather,
a cup of coffee.
Standing on the front porch,
we look out,
into a world of unknowns,
what we view,
echoes misery, pain, and past,
others view the simplicity of a cloud as a gesture from God,
none of it is irrelevant,
this is life,
this is ours.
it is lonely,
full of companionship,
created in passion,
often lived with a general sense of apathy,
one that lingers behind every moment,
at the end there is you,
and no one and nothing else.
this is what it's all about,
the experience of it all,
the future of a million unknown moments waiting to be held in your hand and spread like seeds,
this is life,
you can live it however you like because no one person can ever completely empathize,
the air you breathe can never be recaptured,
your pain, your bliss,
your feet on wet earth after the sky gives itself to you,
just don't ignore it,
because once it's gone,
and you exist on a plateau man did NOT make,
there will be no time to remember...
Sometimes You Need It.
It's moments like these that are made for the fight
when you want to give up
live in a grimy ditch
recycle newspapers for blankets
you toss back your head
unleash a healthy roar
This is when the battle is won
and a pain worse than a thousand thousand deaths
When the will of the gods cannot bend resolve
and not enough whiskey in the world will drown out the rage
You fight for dignity
This is no ordinary moment
This is the flimsy shadow
so you fight
And it don't matter who gets hurt