Tag: late period

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Winter nights 2019-To Give a compliment

Typically I would talk about my event and my connection to it. I will briefly, but I want to talk about something more than that in particular so I will provide the lead up to it.

This years winter nights was just a time for me to go and hang with my other Bardy friends(not to be confused with baudy, though these are not mutually exclusive) , get a little challenge. No intent on winning. I went with the intent of celebrating Bard friends and being connected to my community, old and new.

This was also Aegir’s first true bardic event. I wanted him to get a view of my world. The second we got there, he ran off with a friend he had made at another event to go make arrows. Whatever.

Round 1 had 26 competitors and every last one was enjoyable. I had asked Aegir what he wanted me to perform and he picked an Irish traditional piece called ” If I were a blackbird”. It fits the SCA feeling so I decided to go with it. It felt solid and I felt like I performed it well.

Round 2 was my first (and only challenge, spoiler alert). I was challenged to do a late period piece which would “Blow a hole through the roof”. This made me a little nervous as I hadn’t sang in about 2 weeks due to being ill. Whatever, I’ll pull it out. I’m a big girl! (5’11 and built like a valkyrie). I decided to go with a Monteverdi piece, “Lasciate Morire” from the opera L’Arianna composed in 1607 into 1608. I did indeed, blow the roof off. Everything, for the first time, with this piece lined up, like the stars and heavens. I was moved to even take the ground and sing from the ground. This isn’t easy to do, but it felt like the right thing to do.

Fast forward to the end of the event. We were all cleaning up and I was approached by someone who knows me from the outskirts but we haven’t been close. She approached me to tell me how much she enjoyed my performance and was wowed by me singing from the ground. I thanked her immensely for her words. They meant a lot to me.

Shortly after, Aegir advised he had been speaking with the same woman earlier. This is the conversation he provided to me. “She said she almost didn’t tell you that. She said you needed to hear it like you needed another hole in the head because you know it to be true.” So, moral of the story. TELL EVERYONE

The reason I wanted to bring this up is for one reason. If you hear or see something you like, tell the artist. We are our own worst critics. We have our own brain worms.  I can tell you, day after day, I never feel good enough. The only thing I have to remind me I have some semblance of talent are your words and your tokens.

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Birka 2018 – The First Voyage

My second largest pilgrimage of the year is to Birkacon, where vikings and Elizabethans alike update their bling. This year, I had virgin blood in hand, something all good vikings treasure. Except wait, no longer viking… As a proper late-period lady, I am introducing a good friend to upstanding society. In fact, my best friend.

With wide eyes full of wonder, and my vehicle exceptionally light for going to an event, we arrived at what would be the last time Birka was at the “Raddisson” (because the hotel is changing names, of course). A bag of fencing gear in one arm, the other armed with a small suitcase, and my best friend with his little back pack — clearly this was his first event — I led him like a sheep to slau- I mean, through the fields. This was a sight, of course, because my friend is an ex-military man, six feet tall, covered in tattoos, well built, and topped with a brown mohawk. He was quite a tall dwarf, he’d proudly proclaim.

We dropped our stuff and trolled in Friday evening, and as per usual, we could not walk more than five feet without being stopped with hugs and salutations. Steve quickly became an introvert. I proudly paraded him, proclaiming that this was his first event, and he was my best friend, so he better be taken care of.

This statement went to to the lowliest beggar to the highest of points and pearls, After unloading our items and having a quick meal, we would make him not-naked for the first time. I hurried him into garb, which I had been wearing for eight years now, and said, “Let’s party!”

That night he got his first taste of Birka, the friendly hospitality, and the beverages. Saturday morning came early, and it was time to show him the real event. I took him up to the fighters, and let him watch them wail on one another. Just over the railing, I myself suited up in my fencing gear and showed him how to feel people up — I mean inspect their kits; I am a proper marshal after all.

After a list-field-side court took place, it was time for me to have a taste of blood from my enemies. Typically I would choose to fence in the tournament, this was not for glory but for the learning experiences. However, I did not want to leave Steve up to his own devices for so long — we all know what type of trouble someone can get into on their own at Birka — so I had sectioned off one hour for pick up bouts.

I danced with friends and strangers alike, who then became new friends. The dance with a sword is a magic friendship builder. And when the hour was up, the sweat from my brow was quickly wiped on the body of my best friend, because I am a jerk.

We both decided to go change, and then hit up the shopping — the best part of Birka. I was going in disguise — I mean, my new later period me. I was decked in a Greenland gown, and my hair was wrapped in a veil. Bling was nominal, but definitely there. The elevators were surprisingly fast today, so with haste we made our way back into the great hall of Birkacon! Steve’s eyes exploded with wonder at how many sharp objects there were — and he could afford them!

His first purchase, of course, was on two wee-sized pocket knives. We continued to build his kit and expand mine, until it was time for Stonemarche’s Baronial Court. At Stonemarche’s court, I had been commissioned to compose words for two award scrolls. Where the words had been posted previously in my blog, I would like to note that I had asked special permission to herald these into court.

So many deserving people got awards this day, both in Baronial and Royal court. But when court was over, my true joy was to begin. It was time for Bardic Circle!

I had set up a circle of about 30 chairs, this was clearly not enough. Bodies began to pour in and fill the seats. And when we had enough people, I felt that we could begin. There were both locals and those from out of kingdom. There were some as young as ten years old, and some as old as in their sixties. We had stories, songs, poetry, Shakespeare, and instrumentals. We had skill from novice to master. And this was the magic of the Bardic Circle.

No one said, “I can’t follow that,” after all, that was my first rule. Everyone was supportive. In the middle of the circle, we had a brief interlude. Mistress Aneleda Falconbridge, who was co-running the circle with me, had announced that she would be taking her first apprentice. The bardic path is not an easy one, and to see the family and support grow is it’s own form of magic. Aneleda’s household took her new apprentice into their ranks so he would have a family in both the US and Canada. I swear I’m not choked up, these aren’t tears, I’m writing in the kitchen, someone’s cutting onions. Stop that, Karen, damn you.

My cup was filled with not only the alcohol that my best friend had been supplying me in my tankard of unusual size — TOUS — but my cup was filled with joy that is this community. We grow together, and we grow stronger and larger each day.