Twelfth Night -- My Day with the SCA

Today I had the pleasure of accompanying my daughter to a SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) event, specifically "Twelfth Night."  I realize that technically twelfth night was a couple days ago, but I don't imagine it's very easy to get a bunch of people together around Thursday school and work schedules.  For those of you unfamiliar with the term "twelfth night," it's basically the twelfth day of Christmas like in that never-ending song we all know and love.  Many people today still sing the song without really knowing when the twelve days of Christmas actually are.  They start on Christmas Day rather than before as many believe, ending on January 5th before the Feast of the Epiphany on the 6th.

Anyhow, my daughter has become very involved in the SCA over the last year.  She has long been interested in joining a group (though perhaps not as long as myself; I've just never had any groups nearby before now).  Also like myself, she has long enjoyed science fiction/fantasy; in her teens she became enamored of the author Tamora Pierce, particularly Pierce's book series about a girl knight named Alanna who happens to possess a very similar personality to my own danger girl.  Ever since reading these books she has harbored a less-than-secret desire to become a girl knight and, after becoming involved in SCA fight practices near her college, is well on her way to doing so.  In fact, she is due to become squired to her "knight" (also her fight instructor) next month, at which time she will receive a red belt designating her as such; she is so excited she is practically bouncing off the walls.

I myself must admit to a certain fascination with it all.  On the one hand, how many mothers would enjoy watching their only child--only GIRL child at that--running around in armor with a bunch of grown men twice her size and getting battered and bruised by rattan sticks?  Most people, especially women, prefer to avoid getting smacked about.  Even most men I know wouldn't do something that basically amounts to running deliberately into a brick wall (unless drunk), yet many of the Scadians do exactly that in the name of honor and glory (and geekery).  On the other hand, the girl clearly loves it and, while still inexperienced, is actually good at it.  SCA lights her up even more than gymnastics or Irish dance ever did.  In addition, she is quick to point out that kitting herself out with armor doesn't cost any more than her accoutrements for Irish dancing did.  And she does have a point, the little bugger.

Don't get me wrong; I like the SCA, and God knows I'm am a total geek myself.  When I was studying for my Master's in English, my specialties were the Medieval and Renaissance periods, and I've always been a sucker for anything related to Arthurian legend.  True, I've probably forgotten half of what I learned in the last 20-odd years as a stay-at-home mom, but my office shelves are still littered with books about those time periods and I still love reading about them.  I've loved making Medieval costumes for my girlie's youth madrigals every year.  I love the idea of going to SCA events while wearing historically-accurate costumes and learning crafty skills from eras long since past.  I've always been a crafty sort of person after all.  Still, even with my profound affection for the time periods in question, my first choice for the girlie probably would not have been to watch her getting bashed about by men and spending the week afterwards week all bruised and sore.  It all rather defies one's maternal instincts.  But she is now almost 20 (clearly I had her at age 12) and is more than capable of making her own decisions.  She is also the sort of person who would never put up with crap from anyone and can give as good as she gets, so I don't have to worry too much about men twice her age giving her a hard time about being a girl fighter.   Mind you, it doesn't hurt that the whole philosophy of the SCA revolves around honor and chivalry; from what I could see today she is treated with respect, which she says is true in her home kingdom as well.  And as her mother I appreciate that.

Nor can I deny that in many ways her experience with the SCA thus far has been great for her.  I've enjoyed watching her growing enthusiasm over making her own "garb" with which to outfit herself for the various events.  She's always wanted to learn to sew but until now has never been sufficiently motivated actually to do so.  Now, with the joy of SCA coursing through her veins she can hardly stop herself sewing, reveling even in advanced techniques such as patterning her own clothes and hand sewing them (she doesn't have a sewing machine in her dorm room).  She struggled a bit over the summer while trying to make her first gambeson (which is basically a quilted vest/coat one wears for additional padding under armor), though she did remarkably well all things considered.  She'd pop into my office regularly to ask me for advice, then would disappear back into the sewing room till the next issue arose.  Since her successful completion of this first garment, she has practically flown through several additional garments--in spite of taking 31 credits last semester--learning with a speed that is nearly astonishing even to me and I probably know her capabilities better than anyone else.   She made a second gambeson in short order before returning to school; once back in her dorm she also made a skirt and overdress to wear to local SCA events.  This week she made a kirtle and surcoat in anticipation of the Georgian Twelfth Night festivities.  I had to help her finish parts of both garments because of a slight miscommunication about them (I originally didn't realize she was making them for today so I unintentionally delayed her construction), but even so she finished them almost entirely herself.  But this is about more than just sewing.  She's always been one to stand up for herself, but I've had fun watching her confidence blossom even more as her fighting continues to improve, and seeing her increasing maturity in handling any problems both at school and at home.  While a lot of that would have probably developed just by being independent at college and/or through her faith, I know that much of it also derives from the skills she is learning through the SCA and its code of acceptance and respect of others.

The girlie has been encouraging me almost since she herself joined to become involved in the SCA, telling me how much I would enjoy the "Arts & Sciences" aspect of it all.  And no doubt she's right, though I've often felt rather awkward about the prospect of going to an event without knowing anyone ahead of time.  However, this seemed like as good an opportunity as any to go to an event and check things out.  Besides, she really wanted me to see her fight (as did I).   Unfortunately, in the press to get her own garb finished in time there wasn't adequate time left over to whip something up for myself, nor did I had anything even remotely period-like to wear to the event.  Instead of missing her fight because I had no attire, I decided to try throwing together a toga this morning.  While looking for an appropriate sheet, I had a sudden inspiration.  Sitting in the closet before me was a faded plaid king-size sheet.  I immediately thought "Wouldn't it be cool if I could make that sheet into a girl kilt?"  Even though we were getting ready to leave, I grabbed it anyway.  Why not?  I might as well at least try.  I folded the sheet quickly in half, put it around my waist and did some hasty finger pleating to see how big or small I'd have to make the pleats all the way around.  Next I ran up to my sewing machine and, using a basting stitch, rapidly pleated the sheet as I was sewing.  Although the pleats were by no account even, I somehow managed to estimate the size of each well enough that the skirt came out almost exactly the right length, with just enough overlap left to avoid the skirt's gaping open and to give me a place to stick my kilt pen.  I then folded up the bottom of the two edges and quick-basted a hem so the "skirt" wouldn't drag.  Ten minutes later, I had a fake kilt.  I took a matching pillowcase with me; while waiting for things to get started at the event, I pulled out my seam ripper (because I'm geeky that way) and started picking out all the stitching so I could turn the pillowcase into a shawl/arisaid of sorts.    Don't look at me like that...who doesn't carry a pocket seam ripper in her purse?  Men get to have pocket knives.  We all have our own weapons of choice--the girlie uses a sword and shield and I have my seam ripper and blog.

While I proceeded to plunder my pillowcase, the girlie changed into her fighting clothes.  Once I was vaguely garbed (newbies only have to make a "reasonable" attempt at pre-17th century clothing) in my handy-dandy plaid sheet, Celtic jewelry and very non-period glasses frames, I trundled off down to the field of battle to watch the fighting and to see what this passion of hers was all about.  The battlefield was placed down a hill behind the small chapel (which I found somewhat ironic) on the church grounds where the event was held.  Just outside the chapel were a couple of metal benches.  I turned one around and settled myself in for a long winter's watch.  When most of the fighters had finally arrived, the round-robin tournament began.  It was fairly easy to tell who were the more experienced fighters; they tended to have more speed and finesse.  One fighter was nicknamed the "Mace-breaker" because what he lacked in experience and skill as a newer fighter, he more than made up for in brute force.  Then there was the girlie.  She looked child-sized next to most of the men both because of her height and her slender build; she was a veritable pygmy on the field.  I fully expected to sit up on the hill, watching the entire time from between the fingers clenched over my eyes and wincing with every blow.  To my very great surprise, I didn't.

King-size candy bar vs. fun-size snack bar.

One by one the girlie took on her 11+ competitors in the tournament, all but two of whom were significantly taller than she and even those two were still a good bit wider.  Initially I thought she had vanquished her first competitor; while she did take out one of his legs, he still managed to defeat her before the match was over.  She did succeed in conquering one gentleman, however,  who later turned out to be the spouse of the woman I met while watching the combat.  The girlie was thrilled to win her first bout especially after fighting for less than a year.  Several of the ladies watching near me discussed her openly, not realizing we were related; they called her "ballsy" to be out there fighting with the men and were generally quite impressed by her, not the least because of her "stunning" armor.  I must admit it was rather gratifying to overhear my daughter spoken of in such glowing terms.  She told me later that several of the other competitors had been impressed with her fighting skills as well.  She then informed me that while she only won the one bout, she still came very near to taking out a couple of other fighters as well.  That's my girl...kicking butt and taking names!

Facing down her first opponent of the tournament after "taking" his legs.
It's only a flesh wound after all.

And down she goes,  a giant grin on her face.

One skirmish before successfully taking down an opponent for the first time ever.

Travel-size vs. Economy-size, or "better off red than dead."
(Photo credit:  Jessi Moss)

"Might as well JUMP!"
[Ironically, "Jump" by Kriss Kross was the number one hit song during the week
of her birth.  Oddly appropriate, no?]  (Photo credit:  Jessi Moss)

The Baron and Baroness of Bryn Madoc chatting during the action with Illy.

During the battles, some of the church ladies came to clean poinsettias out of the chapel.  One stopped to ask a gentleman behind me what was going on and to take pictures of the action.  He explained about the event, telling her that they used rattan poles instead of actual swords because they have a realistic force but are flexible enough that they rarely give more than bruises.  "We hardly ever get broken bones!"  Um, thanks, dude--music to a mother's ears, that.  But it was funny.  He went on to mention that they even sometimes get lady fighters, directing her attention to the girlie.  Heh.

"Though she be but little, she is fierce."
Shakespeare, Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 3, Scene 2.
(Photo Credit:  Jessi Moss)

When all was said and done, the fighters were pretty tired.  Eleven bouts is a lot of fighting to start, never mind when some random duke shows up late in the game and asks to fight each of the other combatants in turn after the main bouts are finished.  Duke Orlando went around the circle of fighters, taking each on in turn.  He lost a few of the battles, but mostly he won.  The entire time I was waiting for the girlie's turn with him, the words "there was something in the air that night, the stars were bright, Orlandoooo..." kept running through my head.  Yup.  Because that's just how my brain works.  After the girlie's bout with Orlando, I headed back to the main buildings to get a late lunch of soup and bread and to take a much-needed bathroom break.  The girlie meandered up the hill a half hour or so later, grabbing her own bowl of soup after changing back into her normal garb.  While waiting on her I chatted more with Illy, the woman who was sitting by me during some of the fights and who seems to have a similar sense of humor to mine.  Illy introduced me to some of the other ladies, all of whom answered several of my questions about the SCA.  I then got to watch them work on some of craft projects such as knitting caps and mittens and a scarf that would ultimately become a bag after being felted.  A woman in a fantastic Elizabethan dress had a rather elaborate hand loom on which she was weaving some trim.  I asked how it worked and she demonstrated it.  Later, Illy showed me the illuminated scrolls on which she'd been working, after which she began to work on a needle case.  We all chatted for some time while other people strolled in and out of various arts and sciences classes nearby, such as those on sleeve or hood patterning, Italian mask making, music for beginners and the advanced, and baronial history. 

After her lunch, my girlie wandered off into the advanced music class for a while where she played a borrowed recorder and fife.  When I heard singing in the class, I wandered in as well.  A couple of people were playing various types of recorders and wooden flutes and the like while the leader played an interesting-looking harp.  Another minstrel showed up later and began playing the psalter.  At one point the local baron even joined in on a drum.  I sang a few madrigal-like canons with the group; the young man next to me (one of those fighting earlier) turned out to be a music student at UGA with quite a lovely voice.  I very much enjoyed singing with him and the girlie.

After the music class disbanded, the girlie and I went off to see the vendors' wares.  I told her that since Doctor F was unavailable to look at my problem toe today, she was welcome to stay for court and the feast if she wanted.  Because the fighting took rather a long time and had delayed several of the classes (though I gather that late starts are fairly common in the SCA), court was not due to start for another hour yet.  The girlie didn't feel obligated to stay for the local court since she was visiting from another kingdom; also, she decided that she was hungry from her earlier labors and didn't want to wait another couple of hours for dinner, instead opting to leave early.  She gathered her things and we walked out to my car.  I unpinned my minute-kilt and threw it in the back seat while she threw in her equipment, then we headed over to Applebee's for dinner.  More than a few heads turned when my girlie walked in wearing her garb, even though it was much less elaborate than many of the outfits I saw today.  I kinda wish she'd shown up in her armor, just so I could have seen everyone's reactions.  I'd still like to have seen the faces on the TSA agents when they ran her checked luggage through the scanners and saw her helmet show up on the screen (when she came home from the airport last month, she discovered a note in the bag holding her helmet, or "helm" as it's more commonly called, stating that the bag had been searched).  No doubt TSA thought she was illicitly transporting torpedo heads.  I would have paid good money to watch their jaws drop in a giant "WTF??" when her helm lit up the scanners.

While today was a long day, particularly with my aching toe, it was a very enjoyable one.  I finally got to see a little of what the girlie does for "fun" (though personally my idea of "fun" does not involve getting hit with sticks); oddly enough I actually feel a little better about the whole fighting thing after seeing some of it for myself.  These guys may take it pretty seriously but they are clearly good-natured about it and the fighting doesn't look anywhere near as dangerous as I'd feared, even given the girlie's size.  Besides, she definitely acquitted herself well--though she did receive some bruises from being whacked a few times in the gap between her neck protection and the armor on one shoulder.  She also sustained one really good hit to her wrist, making it bruise and puff up noticeably.  Even so, sore and bruised though she was, when I asked if she'd had fun she replied, "SO much fun!!!"  Well, that's all right then.  Carry on, soldier.

I don't know yet whether or not I will get involved with the SCA.  Perhaps I will; I did enjoy myself.  We'll see how it goes--it partly depends upon my schedule.  I'm a little concerned about the time commitment.  If nothing else, perhaps I could become a garb vendor; I've always enjoyed making costumes.  I'd probably have to adjust to using more period techniques to make my work more authentic, but it could be fun.  At least now I've met some of the local group and can join if I like;  also, I can still go to some of the girlie's events (though I think I'll make an effort to improve on my sad, flannel sheet kilt if I do).  I know some people may think the SCA is full of weirdos (well, duh, that's what makes it great), but how can you not give mad props to a group of people dedicated to learning from history and to recreating a nearly lost code of honor, of which modern society is in desperate need?

SCA rocks.  Period(s).

Twelfth Night -- My Day with the SCA

Today I had the pleasure of accompanying my daughter to a SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) event, specifically "Twelfth Night."  I realize that technically twelfth night was a couple days ago, but I don't imagine it's very easy to get a bunch of people together around Thursday school and work schedules.  For those of you unfamiliar with the term "twelfth night," it's basically the twelfth day of Christmas like in that never-ending song we all know and love.  Many people today still sing the song without really knowing when the twelve days of Christmas actually are.  They start on Christmas Day rather than before as many believe, ending on January 5th before the Feast of the Epiphany on the 6th.

Anyhow, my daughter has become very involved in the SCA over the last year.  She has long been interested in joining a group (though perhaps not as long as myself; I've just never had any groups nearby before now).  Also like myself, she has long enjoyed science fiction/fantasy; in her teens she became enamored of the author Tamora Pierce, particularly Pierce's book series about a girl knight named Alanna who happens to possess a very similar personality to my own danger girl.  Ever since reading these books she has harbored a less-than-secret desire to become a girl knight and, after becoming involved in SCA fight practices near her college, is well on her way to doing so.  In fact, she is due to become squired to her "knight" (also her fight instructor) next month, at which time she will receive a red belt designating her as such; she is so excited she is practically bouncing off the walls.

I myself must admit to a certain fascination with it all.  On the one hand, how many mothers would enjoy watching their only child--only GIRL child at that--running around in armor with a bunch of grown men twice her size and getting battered and bruised by rattan sticks?  Most people, especially women, prefer to avoid getting smacked about.  Even most men I know wouldn't do something that basically amounts to running deliberately into a brick wall (unless drunk), yet many of the Scadians do exactly that in the name of honor and glory (and geekery).  On the other hand, the girl clearly loves it and, while still inexperienced, is actually good at it.  SCA lights her up even more than gymnastics or Irish dance ever did.  In addition, she is quick to point out that kitting herself out with armor doesn't cost any more than her accoutrements for Irish dancing did.  And she does have a point, the little bugger.

Don't get me wrong; I like the SCA, and God knows I'm am a total geek myself.  When I was studying for my Master's in English, my specialties were the Medieval and Renaissance periods, and I've always been a sucker for anything related to Arthurian legend.  True, I've probably forgotten half of what I learned in the last 20-odd years as a stay-at-home mom, but my office shelves are still littered with books about those time periods and I still love reading about them.  I've loved making Medieval costumes for my girlie's youth madrigals every year.  I love the idea of going to SCA events while wearing historically-accurate costumes and learning crafty skills from eras long since past.  I've always been a crafty sort of person after all.  Still, even with my profound affection for the time periods in question, my first choice for the girlie probably would not have been to watch her getting bashed about by men and spending the week afterwards week all bruised and sore.  It all rather defies one's maternal instincts.  But she is now almost 20 (clearly I had her at age 12) and is more than capable of making her own decisions.  She is also the sort of person who would never put up with crap from anyone and can give as good as she gets, so I don't have to worry too much about men twice her age giving her a hard time about being a girl fighter.   Mind you, it doesn't hurt that the whole philosophy of the SCA revolves around honor and chivalry; from what I could see today she is treated with respect, which she says is true in her home kingdom as well.  And as her mother I appreciate that.

Nor can I deny that in many ways her experience with the SCA thus far has been great for her.  I've enjoyed watching her growing enthusiasm over making her own "garb" with which to outfit herself for the various events.  She's always wanted to learn to sew but until now has never been sufficiently motivated actually to do so.  Now, with the joy of SCA coursing through her veins she can hardly stop herself sewing, reveling even in advanced techniques such as patterning her own clothes and hand sewing them (she doesn't have a sewing machine in her dorm room).  She struggled a bit over the summer while trying to make her first gambeson (which is basically a quilted vest/coat one wears for additional padding under armor), though she did remarkably well all things considered.  She'd pop into my office regularly to ask me for advice, then would disappear back into the sewing room till the next issue arose.  Since her successful completion of this first garment, she has practically flown through several additional garments--in spite of taking 31 credits last semester--learning with a speed that is nearly astonishing even to me and I probably know her capabilities better than anyone else.   She made a second gambeson in short order before returning to school; once back in her dorm she also made a skirt and overdress to wear to local SCA events.  This week she made a kirtle and surcoat in anticipation of the Georgian Twelfth Night festivities.  I had to help her finish parts of both garments because of a slight miscommunication about them (I originally didn't realize she was making them for today so I unintentionally delayed her construction), but even so she finished them almost entirely herself.  But this is about more than just sewing.  She's always been one to stand up for herself, but I've had fun watching her confidence blossom even more as her fighting continues to improve, and seeing her increasing maturity in handling any problems both at school and at home.  While a lot of that would have probably developed just by being independent at college and/or through her faith, I know that much of it also derives from the skills she is learning through the SCA and its code of acceptance and respect of others.

The girlie has been encouraging me almost since she herself joined to become involved in the SCA, telling me how much I would enjoy the "Arts & Sciences" aspect of it all.  And no doubt she's right, though I've often felt rather awkward about the prospect of going to an event without knowing anyone ahead of time.  However, this seemed like as good an opportunity as any to go to an event and check things out.  Besides, she really wanted me to see her fight (as did I).   Unfortunately, in the press to get her own garb finished in time there wasn't adequate time left over to whip something up for myself, nor did I had anything even remotely period-like to wear to the event.  Instead of missing her fight because I had no attire, I decided to try throwing together a toga this morning.  While looking for an appropriate sheet, I had a sudden inspiration.  Sitting in the closet before me was a faded plaid king-size sheet.  I immediately thought "Wouldn't it be cool if I could make that sheet into a girl kilt?"  Even though we were getting ready to leave, I grabbed it anyway.  Why not?  I might as well at least try.  I folded the sheet quickly in half, put it around my waist and did some hasty finger pleating to see how big or small I'd have to make the pleats all the way around.  Next I ran up to my sewing machine and, using a basting stitch, rapidly pleated the sheet as I was sewing.  Although the pleats were by no account even, I somehow managed to estimate the size of each well enough that the skirt came out almost exactly the right length, with just enough overlap left to avoid the skirt's gaping open and to give me a place to stick my kilt pen.  I then folded up the bottom of the two edges and quick-basted a hem so the "skirt" wouldn't drag.  Ten minutes later, I had a fake kilt.  I took a matching pillowcase with me; while waiting for things to get started at the event, I pulled out my seam ripper (because I'm geeky that way) and started picking out all the stitching so I could turn the pillowcase into a shawl/arisaid of sorts.    Don't look at me like that...who doesn't carry a pocket seam ripper in her purse?  Men get to have pocket knives.  We all have our own weapons of choice--the girlie uses a sword and shield and I have my seam ripper and blog.

While I proceeded to plunder my pillowcase, the girlie changed into her fighting clothes.  Once I was vaguely garbed (newbies only have to make a "reasonable" attempt at pre-17th century clothing) in my handy-dandy plaid sheet, Celtic jewelry and very non-period glasses frames, I trundled off down to the field of battle to watch the fighting and to see what this passion of hers was all about.  The battlefield was placed down a hill behind the small chapel (which I found somewhat ironic) on the church grounds where the event was held.  Just outside the chapel were a couple of metal benches.  I turned one around and settled myself in for a long winter's watch.  When most of the fighters had finally arrived, the round-robin tournament began.  It was fairly easy to tell who were the more experienced fighters; they tended to have more speed and finesse.  One fighter was nicknamed the "Mace-breaker" because what he lacked in experience and skill as a newer fighter, he more than made up for in brute force.  Then there was the girlie.  She looked child-sized next to most of the men both because of her height and her slender build; she was a veritable pygmy on the field.  I fully expected to sit up on the hill, watching the entire time from between the fingers clenched over my eyes and wincing with every blow.  To my very great surprise, I didn't.

King-size candy bar vs. fun-size snack bar.

One by one the girlie took on her 11+ competitors in the tournament, all but two of whom were significantly taller than she and even those two were still a good bit wider.  Initially I thought she had vanquished her first competitor; while she did take out one of his legs, he still managed to defeat her before the match was over.  She did succeed in conquering one gentleman, however,  who later turned out to be the spouse of the woman I met while watching the combat.  The girlie was thrilled to win her first bout especially after fighting for less than a year.  Several of the ladies watching near me discussed her openly, not realizing we were related; they called her "ballsy" to be out there fighting with the men and were generally quite impressed by her, not the least because of her "stunning" armor.  I must admit it was rather gratifying to overhear my daughter spoken of in such glowing terms.  She told me later that several of the other competitors had been impressed with her fighting skills as well.  She then informed me that while she only won the one bout, she still came very near to taking out a couple of other fighters as well.  That's my girl...kicking butt and taking names!

Facing down her first opponent of the tournament after "taking" his legs.
It's only a flesh wound after all.

And down she goes,  a giant grin on her face.

One skirmish before successfully taking down an opponent for the first time ever.

Travel-size vs. Economy-size, or "better off red than dead."
(Photo credit:  Jessi Moss)

"Might as well JUMP!"
[Ironically, "Jump" by Kriss Kross was the number one hit song during the week
of her birth.  Oddly appropriate, no?]  (Photo credit:  Jessi Moss)

The Baron and Baroness of Bryn Madoc chatting during the action with Illy.

During the battles, some of the church ladies came to clean poinsettias out of the chapel.  One stopped to ask a gentleman behind me what was going on and to take pictures of the action.  He explained about the event, telling her that they used rattan poles instead of actual swords because they have a realistic force but are flexible enough that they rarely give more than bruises.  "We hardly ever get broken bones!"  Um, thanks, dude--music to a mother's ears, that.  But it was funny.  He went on to mention that they even sometimes get lady fighters, directing her attention to the girlie.  Heh.

"Though she be but little, she is fierce."
Shakespeare, Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 3, Scene 2.
(Photo Credit:  Jessi Moss)

When all was said and done, the fighters were pretty tired.  Eleven bouts is a lot of fighting to start, never mind when some random duke shows up late in the game and asks to fight each of the other combatants in turn after the main bouts are finished.  Duke Orlando went around the circle of fighters, taking each on in turn.  He lost a few of the battles, but mostly he won.  The entire time I was waiting for the girlie's turn with him, the words "there was something in the air that night, the stars were bright, Orlandoooo..." kept running through my head.  Yup.  Because that's just how my brain works.  After the girlie's bout with Orlando, I headed back to the main buildings to get a late lunch of soup and bread and to take a much-needed bathroom break.  The girlie meandered up the hill a half hour or so later, grabbing her own bowl of soup after changing back into her normal garb.  While waiting on her I chatted more with Illy, the woman who was sitting by me during some of the fights and who seems to have a similar sense of humor to mine.  Illy introduced me to some of the other ladies, all of whom answered several of my questions about the SCA.  I then got to watch them work on some of craft projects such as knitting caps and mittens and a scarf that would ultimately become a bag after being felted.  A woman in a fantastic Elizabethan dress had a rather elaborate hand loom on which she was weaving some trim.  I asked how it worked and she demonstrated it.  Later, Illy showed me the illuminated scrolls on which she'd been working, after which she began to work on a needle case.  We all chatted for some time while other people strolled in and out of various arts and sciences classes nearby, such as those on sleeve or hood patterning, Italian mask making, music for beginners and the advanced, and baronial history. 

After her lunch, my girlie wandered off into the advanced music class for a while where she played a borrowed recorder and fife.  When I heard singing in the class, I wandered in as well.  A couple of people were playing various types of recorders and wooden flutes and the like while the leader played an interesting-looking harp.  Another minstrel showed up later and began playing the psalter.  At one point the local baron even joined in on a drum.  I sang a few madrigal-like canons with the group; the young man next to me (one of those fighting earlier) turned out to be a music student at UGA with quite a lovely voice.  I very much enjoyed singing with him and the girlie.

After the music class disbanded, the girlie and I went off to see the vendors' wares.  I told her that since Doctor F was unavailable to look at my problem toe today, she was welcome to stay for court and the feast if she wanted.  Because the fighting took rather a long time and had delayed several of the classes (though I gather that late starts are fairly common in the SCA), court was not due to start for another hour yet.  The girlie didn't feel obligated to stay for the local court since she was visiting from another kingdom; also, she decided that she was hungry from her earlier labors and didn't want to wait another couple of hours for dinner, instead opting to leave early.  She gathered her things and we walked out to my car.  I unpinned my minute-kilt and threw it in the back seat while she threw in her equipment, then we headed over to Applebee's for dinner.  More than a few heads turned when my girlie walked in wearing her garb, even though it was much less elaborate than many of the outfits I saw today.  I kinda wish she'd shown up in her armor, just so I could have seen everyone's reactions.  I'd still like to have seen the faces on the TSA agents when they ran her checked luggage through the scanners and saw her helmet show up on the screen (when she came home from the airport last month, she discovered a note in the bag holding her helmet, or "helm" as it's more commonly called, stating that the bag had been searched).  No doubt TSA thought she was illicitly transporting torpedo heads.  I would have paid good money to watch their jaws drop in a giant "WTF??" when her helm lit up the scanners.

While today was a long day, particularly with my aching toe, it was a very enjoyable one.  I finally got to see a little of what the girlie does for "fun" (though personally my idea of "fun" does not involve getting hit with sticks); oddly enough I actually feel a little better about the whole fighting thing after seeing some of it for myself.  These guys may take it pretty seriously but they are clearly good-natured about it and the fighting doesn't look anywhere near as dangerous as I'd feared, even given the girlie's size.  Besides, she definitely acquitted herself well--though she did receive some bruises from being whacked a few times in the gap between her neck protection and the armor on one shoulder.  She also sustained one really good hit to her wrist, making it bruise and puff up noticeably.  Even so, sore and bruised though she was, when I asked if she'd had fun she replied, "SO much fun!!!"  Well, that's all right then.  Carry on, soldier.

I don't know yet whether or not I will get involved with the SCA.  Perhaps I will; I did enjoy myself.  We'll see how it goes--it partly depends upon my schedule.  I'm a little concerned about the time commitment.  If nothing else, perhaps I could become a garb vendor; I've always enjoyed making costumes.  I'd probably have to adjust to using more period techniques to make my work more authentic, but it could be fun.  At least now I've met some of the local group and can join if I like;  also, I can still go to some of the girlie's events (though I think I'll make an effort to improve on my sad, flannel sheet kilt if I do).  I know some people may think the SCA is full of weirdos (well, duh, that's what makes it great), but how can you not give mad props to a group of people dedicated to learning from history and to recreating a nearly lost code of honor, of which modern society is in desperate need?

SCA rocks.  Period(s).

iPad Wishes and Hassenpfeffer Dreams

Earlier this month, I posted in honor of my father's birthday. Since then, both my father-in-law's birthday and my own have passed. My father-in-law would have been 78 last Thursday, but sadly he left us two years ago after a very long battle with prostate cancer. His presence in my life was both a joy and a blessing because he was far more father to me than "in-law," and I miss him easily as much as I miss my own father. Louis was a very generous and giving man, always looking out for his kids and pretty much everyone else as well. He was the kind of man who would give you the shirt off of his own back and then ask if you were warm enough while he stood beside you shivering. Near the end of my own father's life, Louis was there to help assuage his fears of dying and point him on the path of peace, for which I will be eternally grateful.

Christmas, 2003

Louis left us quite an example to which we should aspire, as well as sufficient funds to pay for my daughter's college tuition--though I'd have rather have him here to see her graduate. I also inherited his beloved dog Lady, who appears to be an strange mix of Rottweiler and possibly bassett hound. She is an odd little creature, but I adore her. After his wife passed away in 2005, Louis got the 0ne-year-old Lady as a rescue dog. I don't know what had happened to the poor thing in her previous life, but I sometimes wonder if she had been abused a little because she twitches and shrinks away from almost every unexpected sound, no matter how small. She is the jumpiest dog I have ever known, though she has settled somewhat in the two years we've had her. In spite of this, she is also easily the sweetest and cuddliest dog I have ever known, wanting nothing more than to snuggle up next to her people, preferably on the couch or bed (she thinks she deserves diva comforts). Because Louis was lonely after his wife died, he spoiled Lady rotten. She became literally a lap dog, often sprawling across him in his recliner, as though a 40-50 lb dog could really be called a "lap" dog. Fortunately, through a doggy diet, she is now a much trimmer 35 lbs, which puts far less strain on her hip dysplasia. Lady also slept with Louis. It's been difficult trying to untrain all her bad habits while teaching her new ones, but I am slowly making progress. At first, I thought she wasn't very bright because she seemed oblivious to everything I tried to teach her. And while I doubt she'll ever be the brightest crayon in the box, she is definitely smarter than I originally thought, or at the very least much sneakier, like when she waits till we fall asleep and then climbs off the bed to curl up on the couch, where she's not allowed. Devious dog, Lady.

Lady suns her buns on the deck.

I tell you this because Lady gave me a very unexpected present on my own birthday, which was on March 17th. I always loved having a St. Patrick's Day birthday, because it was on a "special" day rather than some other boring, run-of-the-mill day. I got to dress up in green (which goes great with red hair, btw) and parade about like the Irish princess I pretended to be. The only downside to having a St. Patty's birthday was that in school my sadistic classmates wouldn't settle for spanking me the number of years old I was at the time, but would instead both spank and pinch me the correct number of years in spite of the fact that I annually wore green from the skin out in an attempt to stave off their onslaughts. It never worked, though, and I have vivid memories of backing into corners all day long so that my posterior could neither be pinched nor spanked, during which my classmates enthusiastically tried to yank me out of said corners.

St. Patrick's Day is better with a springy shamrock headband.

But I digress. Anyway, very early on the morning of the 17th I was preparing for bed and so let out Lady for one last pit stop as is our custom. Normally Lady is so ready to jump into bed with me (having already given me the hairy eyeball for two hours for delaying her bedtime) that I'm convinced her feet barely touch the ground before she has done her business and vaulted back up the deck stairs, ready for her treat and her cushy position curled up between my legs in the bed. On my birthday, however, she did not come back in as quickly as normal, so I just figured she had more "business" to do and proceeded to put a load of laundry into the dryer while I waited. Why I can't be that productive in daylight hours, I'll never know. Anyway, I finished that, looked on the deck, and still didn't see the dog. Weird. I didn't think much of it, and so went on to empty the dishwasher while I waited, after which Lady still wasn't waiting impatiently by the door. Odd. I opened the door and called her name, which usually brings her running whether she's finished going or not, even if there are other dogs around outside the fence (though that usually makes her have to think twice about whether or not she wants to obey me). But she didn't come running, nor did I hear the tell-tale jingle of her dog tags as I usually do. So I called again. Still nothing but silence. I went out on the deck in my PJs, barefoot, and called her again. Still nothing. Maybe she was sick. I walked across the deck and finally saw her near the steps, all hunched over like she was indeed ill. I called her again, and she looked up, but kept slinking around like she was in trouble or still ill. She was acting very strangely. She kept hunched over, and refused to come to me. I finally grabbed a pair of shoes and went out into the yard where I found her lying next to what appeared to be a dead rabbit. Well, okay, that was unexpected. So I called her again, and it rapidly became clear that she did not want to go. Eventually I got her to head to the stairs, though she kept looking back to the bunny and trying to sneak around behind me. I pretty much had to block the stairs so she couldn't go back down and eventually managed to get her back in the house without actually dragging her by the collar.

Innocence incarnate.

Once inside, I noticed that she had a disturbing smear on her forehead. I got a wet paper towel and proceeded to clean it off. The paper towel came away red. Ewwwwww! I was so hoping that she was merely keeping the bunny company. Sigh. I cleaned off the rest of her face, as well as her paws--just in case. I think most of what was on her paws was just mud, but as the clay here is also red, there's just no telling and I much prefer it that way. Lady continued to slink around the kitchen, knowing I was displeased with the morning's turn of events while trying to evade having her feet washed. After Lady was cleaned up, I decided to go outside with a flashlight to make sure the bunny was really dead and not just injured. BIG mistake. The bunny was indeed dead, or so I assume given the gaping hole in its side from which poured disgusting squiggly gut-like things. Needless to say, I beat a hasty retreat back inside. Good morning and Happy Birthday to me.

The Killer Bunny of Caerbannog

I will probably never know what actually happened outside. It seems unlikely that some random bunny would be crossing our yard and then drop dead of a stroke or heart attack or something and be found by Lady, the world's most passive dog. But if she'd actually chased it down and savaged it, wouldn't I have heard her running around or barking or scuffling? Even with the water running in the sink and starting the dryer? It's a mystery. All I know is that my sweet, passive, cowardly rescue dog has now turned out to be the Backyard Bunny Ninja. I guess I need to make her a cape and build her a phone booth for these instant transformations. I finally got to bed around 3-3:30 am after all the excitement (though it took over an hour to dispel the image of bunny guts and get to sleep), but not before leaving my hubs a lengthy note exhorting him NOT to let the dog out until after he had performed disposal service on the bunny's remains. I don't do corpses. Especially not on my freakin' birthday. And, sure enough, the second he let her out Lady rocketed directly to the sight of Bunnygeddon to look for her lost plunder. Too bad, so sad, Lady!

Lady should be glad the bunny didn't bite back.

By comparison, the rest of my birthday was relatively sedate. I assiduously avoided doing chores or anything else productive for the day, instead choosing to relax and enjoy the day. I already had one present, given to me by my daughter when she was home for break. Ironically, she bought me the book on which the movie "King's Speech" was based, only to discover that I'd purchased a copy for myself a week earlier. She was only slightly bummed, though, because she wanted a copy for herself anyway and now has one. Not that we ever think alike, or anything. By contrast, my husband informed me earlier in the week that he was going to be "spending a lot more money on my present than he'd expected." Okaaaaay. What does one do with that, really? Is that meant to get me all excited because he's spent so much on me, or insult me because "OMG, I've spent SO MUCH on you!!" as though somehow I'm not worth it? Either way, it's an awkward way of doing things. You've gotta love Aspie boys; they try so hard but just never quite get there, do they? The funny part is that he does stuff like that all. the. time. and then is terribly disappointed when I always know what I'm getting, in spite of the fact that he's basically told me in giant, neon letters. Well, I guess he thinks he's being cagey. LOL. Anyway, after this blurted pronouncement, my first and immediate thought was iPAD!!!!!!!!!!!!! because my daughter and I had just been discussing them the week before after seeing the big, long line full of people waiting for the iPad 2 wrapping around the Mall of Georgia's Apple store when we went to get her phone fixed. To be fair, I have been interested in getting an iPad. Initially I thought they were little more than glorified iTouches, and wasn't particularly impressed. After becoming addicted to my iPhone, however, and after playing with my brother-in-law's iPad, I started to think they would be really handy when traveling, since most of what I do on the road is check email, play on Facebook, and surf the 'net. I even considered saving up for a first generation iPad since they went on sale for $100 off the second the new ones came out, but eventually decided I'd rather wait and get the newer one, which had a processor that was 8 times faster and had dual cameras built in like the iPhone 4, so I could actually Skype the girl child on it.

Nerd toys rock.

Of course, after telling me that he was spending "so much money" on me and making me suspect an iPad, I did ultimately wonder what would happen when my birthday actually rolled around. As a result, when the doorbell rang that afternoon, I was rather surprised to receive a small arrangement of flowers. My first thought was that my hubby had sent them, which I instantly disregarded considering that in nearly 25 years of marriage, plus a year or so of dating before that, I can count on less than one hand the number of times he has actually sent me flowers from a real florist instead of just picking up whatever flowers were leftover at Kroger's or wherever 15 minutes before he arrived home from work on holidays such as Mother's Day or Valentine's Day. My next guess was that one of my sisters-in-law had sent them, since she did something similar for Thanksgiving last year. I got the vase into the kitchen and set it down so I could remove the card and solve the mystery. Unexpectedly, it was indeed from my husband, so score one for the hubs--he actually surprised me and that's very difficult to do, especially for him.

Birthday flowers.

The rest of the day passed quietly and peacefully with a merciful lack of bunny bits. Later in the afternoon the hubs asked if I wanted to go out to dinner. Well, duh--how long have you known me, Dude?? Since he works downtown, rather than have him come home and then go right back downtown, I drove over to meet him there. I wanted to go to my favorite restaurant in town, called (amusingly enough) The Last Resort. Normally the place is pretty packed, especially after 6 pm or so; however, not only was I able to find a decent parking spot (free!), we were seated immediately on the patio where we could enjoy the lovely temperate weather. Turns out the local university was on Spring Break, so the pace of downtown that week was decidedly more leisurely than normal. I had a lovely steak with mashed potatoes, grilled corn and a burgundy (?) reduction, topped off by a slice of the famous Cecilia's (a local baking goddess) raspberry cake. Yum!

Painting by our table. It's okay as far as art goes, but I don't think I would want
a unicorn's horn standing ready to pierce my goodies...

While at dinner, the hubby informed me that my gift had not yet arrived, because he'd only ordered it a day or two before (also par for the course, lol), so I probably wouldn't get it until Friday or Saturday. Friday passed with no special mail for me. The next day I was upstairs in my office when he came up with my gift (unwrapped) in hand, freshly retrieved from the mailbox. It was (drumroll, please) an iPad! Why, thanks, dear, however did you know? I must admit I was slightly disappointed that it wasn't one of the newer iPads, but mostly because I'd gotten myself all excited by the possibility of Skyping on it. Plus, with Apple being Apple, no doubt they'll be up to the iPad 6 in a couple of weeks. Besides, the lack of magic cameras (which I still have on my phone) didn't stop me from messing about with the thing all day Saturday instead of spending the day painting like I'd intended (not that I'm not always finding some new excuse or other to avoid painting the interminable shelves, mind you--like writing blog posts, for example). So I have now downloaded a few apps and have a nice long list of others to explore. I even bought a case for it this week so it wouldn't get so abused when I go visit the girl in NY next month. Best of all, the saleslady at the Mac store told me that my iMac's wireless keyboard could also be used with the iPad. Score!

Moshi, Moshi.

So, all in all, it was a good and very relaxing birthday for me this year, disturbing bunny ninjas notwithstanding. (And for those of you who are wondering, I celebrated the very appropriate 17th anniversary of my 29th birthday on March 17.) Now excuse me while I go put my new old iPad in its new case...

See? I used to be cute...

I haven't had anyone make me or buy me a birthday cake in 3 years now
(other than the slice I had with dinner at the restaurant), so I took
matters into my own hands this year and made my own "cake" out of a
slab of Kilwin's fudge. Hey--a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

iPad Wishes and Hassenpfeffer Dreams

Earlier this month, I posted in honor of my father's birthday. Since then, both my father-in-law's birthday and my own have passed. My father-in-law would have been 78 last Thursday, but sadly he left us two years ago after a very long battle with prostate cancer. His presence in my life was both a joy and a blessing because he was far more father to me than "in-law," and I miss him easily as much as I miss my own father. Louis was a very generous and giving man, always looking out for his kids and pretty much everyone else as well. He was the kind of man who would give you the shirt off of his own back and then ask if you were warm enough while he stood beside you shivering. Near the end of my own father's life, Louis was there to help assuage his fears of dying and point him on the path of peace, for which I will be eternally grateful.

Christmas, 2003

Louis left us quite an example to which we should aspire, as well as sufficient funds to pay for my daughter's college tuition--though I'd have rather have him here to see her graduate. I also inherited his beloved dog Lady, who appears to be an strange mix of Rottweiler and possibly bassett hound. She is an odd little creature, but I adore her. After his wife passed away in 2005, Louis got the 0ne-year-old Lady as a rescue dog. I don't know what had happened to the poor thing in her previous life, but I sometimes wonder if she had been abused a little because she twitches and shrinks away from almost every unexpected sound, no matter how small. She is the jumpiest dog I have ever known, though she has settled somewhat in the two years we've had her. In spite of this, she is also easily the sweetest and cuddliest dog I have ever known, wanting nothing more than to snuggle up next to her people, preferably on the couch or bed (she thinks she deserves diva comforts). Because Louis was lonely after his wife died, he spoiled Lady rotten. She became literally a lap dog, often sprawling across him in his recliner, as though a 40-50 lb dog could really be called a "lap" dog. Fortunately, through a doggy diet, she is now a much trimmer 35 lbs, which puts far less strain on her hip dysplasia. Lady also slept with Louis. It's been difficult trying to untrain all her bad habits while teaching her new ones, but I am slowly making progress. At first, I thought she wasn't very bright because she seemed oblivious to everything I tried to teach her. And while I doubt she'll ever be the brightest crayon in the box, she is definitely smarter than I originally thought, or at the very least much sneakier, like when she waits till we fall asleep and then climbs off the bed to curl up on the couch, where she's not allowed. Devious dog, Lady.

Lady suns her buns on the deck.

I tell you this because Lady gave me a very unexpected present on my own birthday, which was on March 17th. I always loved having a St. Patrick's Day birthday, because it was on a "special" day rather than some other boring, run-of-the-mill day. I got to dress up in green (which goes great with red hair, btw) and parade about like the Irish princess I pretended to be. The only downside to having a St. Patty's birthday was that in school my sadistic classmates wouldn't settle for spanking me the number of years old I was at the time, but would instead both spank and pinch me the correct number of years in spite of the fact that I annually wore green from the skin out in an attempt to stave off their onslaughts. It never worked, though, and I have vivid memories of backing into corners all day long so that my posterior could neither be pinched nor spanked, during which my classmates enthusiastically tried to yank me out of said corners.

St. Patrick's Day is better with a springy shamrock headband.

But I digress. Anyway, very early on the morning of the 17th I was preparing for bed and so let out Lady for one last pit stop as is our custom. Normally Lady is so ready to jump into bed with me (having already given me the hairy eyeball for two hours for delaying her bedtime) that I'm convinced her feet barely touch the ground before she has done her business and vaulted back up the deck stairs, ready for her treat and her cushy position curled up between my legs in the bed. On my birthday, however, she did not come back in as quickly as normal, so I just figured she had more "business" to do and proceeded to put a load of laundry into the dryer while I waited. Why I can't be that productive in daylight hours, I'll never know. Anyway, I finished that, looked on the deck, and still didn't see the dog. Weird. I didn't think much of it, and so went on to empty the dishwasher while I waited, after which Lady still wasn't waiting impatiently by the door. Odd. I opened the door and called her name, which usually brings her running whether she's finished going or not, even if there are other dogs around outside the fence (though that usually makes her have to think twice about whether or not she wants to obey me). But she didn't come running, nor did I hear the tell-tale jingle of her dog tags as I usually do. So I called again. Still nothing but silence. I went out on the deck in my PJs, barefoot, and called her again. Still nothing. Maybe she was sick. I walked across the deck and finally saw her near the steps, all hunched over like she was indeed ill. I called her again, and she looked up, but kept slinking around like she was in trouble or still ill. She was acting very strangely. She kept hunched over, and refused to come to me. I finally grabbed a pair of shoes and went out into the yard where I found her lying next to what appeared to be a dead rabbit. Well, okay, that was unexpected. So I called her again, and it rapidly became clear that she did not want to go. Eventually I got her to head to the stairs, though she kept looking back to the bunny and trying to sneak around behind me. I pretty much had to block the stairs so she couldn't go back down and eventually managed to get her back in the house without actually dragging her by the collar.

Innocence incarnate.

Once inside, I noticed that she had a disturbing smear on her forehead. I got a wet paper towel and proceeded to clean it off. The paper towel came away red. Ewwwwww! I was so hoping that she was merely keeping the bunny company. Sigh. I cleaned off the rest of her face, as well as her paws--just in case. I think most of what was on her paws was just mud, but as the clay here is also red, there's just no telling and I much prefer it that way. Lady continued to slink around the kitchen, knowing I was displeased with the morning's turn of events while trying to evade having her feet washed. After Lady was cleaned up, I decided to go outside with a flashlight to make sure the bunny was really dead and not just injured. BIG mistake. The bunny was indeed dead, or so I assume given the gaping hole in its side from which poured disgusting squiggly gut-like things. Needless to say, I beat a hasty retreat back inside. Good morning and Happy Birthday to me.

The Killer Bunny of Caerbannog

I will probably never know what actually happened outside. It seems unlikely that some random bunny would be crossing our yard and then drop dead of a stroke or heart attack or something and be found by Lady, the world's most passive dog. But if she'd actually chased it down and savaged it, wouldn't I have heard her running around or barking or scuffling? Even with the water running in the sink and starting the dryer? It's a mystery. All I know is that my sweet, passive, cowardly rescue dog has now turned out to be the Backyard Bunny Ninja. I guess I need to make her a cape and build her a phone booth for these instant transformations. I finally got to bed around 3-3:30 am after all the excitement (though it took over an hour to dispel the image of bunny guts and get to sleep), but not before leaving my hubs a lengthy note exhorting him NOT to let the dog out until after he had performed disposal service on the bunny's remains. I don't do corpses. Especially not on my freakin' birthday. And, sure enough, the second he let her out Lady rocketed directly to the sight of Bunnygeddon to look for her lost plunder. Too bad, so sad, Lady!

Lady should be glad the bunny didn't bite back.

By comparison, the rest of my birthday was relatively sedate. I assiduously avoided doing chores or anything else productive for the day, instead choosing to relax and enjoy the day. I already had one present, given to me by my daughter when she was home for break. Ironically, she bought me the book on which the movie "King's Speech" was based, only to discover that I'd purchased a copy for myself a week earlier. She was only slightly bummed, though, because she wanted a copy for herself anyway and now has one. Not that we ever think alike, or anything. By contrast, my husband informed me earlier in the week that he was going to be "spending a lot more money on my present than he'd expected." Okaaaaay. What does one do with that, really? Is that meant to get me all excited because he's spent so much on me, or insult me because "OMG, I've spent SO MUCH on you!!" as though somehow I'm not worth it? Either way, it's an awkward way of doing things. You've gotta love Aspie boys; they try so hard but just never quite get there, do they? The funny part is that he does stuff like that all. the. time. and then is terribly disappointed when I always know what I'm getting, in spite of the fact that he's basically told me in giant, neon letters. Well, I guess he thinks he's being cagey. LOL. Anyway, after this blurted pronouncement, my first and immediate thought was iPAD!!!!!!!!!!!!! because my daughter and I had just been discussing them the week before after seeing the big, long line full of people waiting for the iPad 2 wrapping around the Mall of Georgia's Apple store when we went to get her phone fixed. To be fair, I have been interested in getting an iPad. Initially I thought they were little more than glorified iTouches, and wasn't particularly impressed. After becoming addicted to my iPhone, however, and after playing with my brother-in-law's iPad, I started to think they would be really handy when traveling, since most of what I do on the road is check email, play on Facebook, and surf the 'net. I even considered saving up for a first generation iPad since they went on sale for $100 off the second the new ones came out, but eventually decided I'd rather wait and get the newer one, which had a processor that was 8 times faster and had dual cameras built in like the iPhone 4, so I could actually Skype the girl child on it.

Nerd toys rock.

Of course, after telling me that he was spending "so much money" on me and making me suspect an iPad, I did ultimately wonder what would happen when my birthday actually rolled around. As a result, when the doorbell rang that afternoon, I was rather surprised to receive a small arrangement of flowers. My first thought was that my hubby had sent them, which I instantly disregarded considering that in nearly 25 years of marriage, plus a year or so of dating before that, I can count on less than one hand the number of times he has actually sent me flowers from a real florist instead of just picking up whatever flowers were leftover at Kroger's or wherever 15 minutes before he arrived home from work on holidays such as Mother's Day or Valentine's Day. My next guess was that one of my sisters-in-law had sent them, since she did something similar for Thanksgiving last year. I got the vase into the kitchen and set it down so I could remove the card and solve the mystery. Unexpectedly, it was indeed from my husband, so score one for the hubs--he actually surprised me and that's very difficult to do, especially for him.

Birthday flowers.

The rest of the day passed quietly and peacefully with a merciful lack of bunny bits. Later in the afternoon the hubs asked if I wanted to go out to dinner. Well, duh--how long have you known me, Dude?? Since he works downtown, rather than have him come home and then go right back downtown, I drove over to meet him there. I wanted to go to my favorite restaurant in town, called (amusingly enough) The Last Resort. Normally the place is pretty packed, especially after 6 pm or so; however, not only was I able to find a decent parking spot (free!), we were seated immediately on the patio where we could enjoy the lovely temperate weather. Turns out the local university was on Spring Break, so the pace of downtown that week was decidedly more leisurely than normal. I had a lovely steak with mashed potatoes, grilled corn and a burgundy (?) reduction, topped off by a slice of the famous Cecilia's (a local baking goddess) raspberry cake. Yum!

Painting by our table. It's okay as far as art goes, but I don't think I would want
a unicorn's horn standing ready to pierce my goodies...

While at dinner, the hubby informed me that my gift had not yet arrived, because he'd only ordered it a day or two before (also par for the course, lol), so I probably wouldn't get it until Friday or Saturday. Friday passed with no special mail for me. The next day I was upstairs in my office when he came up with my gift (unwrapped) in hand, freshly retrieved from the mailbox. It was (drumroll, please) an iPad! Why, thanks, dear, however did you know? I must admit I was slightly disappointed that it wasn't one of the newer iPads, but mostly because I'd gotten myself all excited by the possibility of Skyping on it. Plus, with Apple being Apple, no doubt they'll be up to the iPad 6 in a couple of weeks. Besides, the lack of magic cameras (which I still have on my phone) didn't stop me from messing about with the thing all day Saturday instead of spending the day painting like I'd intended (not that I'm not always finding some new excuse or other to avoid painting the interminable shelves, mind you--like writing blog posts, for example). So I have now downloaded a few apps and have a nice long list of others to explore. I even bought a case for it this week so it wouldn't get so abused when I go visit the girl in NY next month. Best of all, the saleslady at the Mac store told me that my iMac's wireless keyboard could also be used with the iPad. Score!

Moshi, Moshi.

So, all in all, it was a good and very relaxing birthday for me this year, disturbing bunny ninjas notwithstanding. (And for those of you who are wondering, I celebrated the very appropriate 17th anniversary of my 29th birthday on March 17.) Now excuse me while I go put my new old iPad in its new case...

See? I used to be cute...

I haven't had anyone make me or buy me a birthday cake in 3 years now
(other than the slice I had with dinner at the restaurant), so I took
matters into my own hands this year and made my own "cake" out of a
slab of Kilwin's fudge. Hey--a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.