Remember: Click on pictures to see a larger view

January 17, 2002

One evening, early in December, I was browsing the internet for costumes. The historic costume party I had organized in November was still fresh in my mind, and had inspired me to continue pursuing that hobby.

Perhaps I should put on another costume party, I wondered. But how would I persuade everyone to dress up again? It had taken plenty of convincing before, and although everyone agreed it was a tremendous success, I doubted even the most persuasive wheedling would induce them to do it again.

Not only that, I wanted to do more than just dress up. I wanted to role play, just like my sister and I did as kids. And THAT was asking a lot of my good natured, but very serious, mature friends.

Tapping my fingernails on the desk, I stared at the keyboard and lamented the fact that life was flying by so fast, and I didn't know what to do with it. Here I was with something I really loved to do, but feeling embarrassed because it seemed so juvenile.

But I'm not the only one who likes to dress up and goof off, I realized, staring at the screen. My search had taken me to a page advertising authentic medieval and renaissance costumes and armor. These people were crazier than I! They were asking $174.95 just on a pair of gauntlets (metal "gloves," like what you'd see on a knight in armor), and I assume there's someone out there that's willing to pay that. Wow.

I smiled as the memory of a life-size suit of armor flew to mind. I remembered the awe of staring up at the shining figure and marveling that it wasn't alive... just an empty shell. As a young person, barely a teenager, I had been a little unnerved by the house we were visiting. The rooms were dark and bare, furnished only with simple wooden furniture and in one of the rooms, a brilliant red tapestry.

In one room, my sister had discovered a suit of armor standing in the corner. She came back to tell me, and now we stood gazing at it in astonishment. Somehow, I had the uneasy feeling it would suddenly come to life and threaten us with the massive sword gripped in his gauntleted hand.

"That belongs to my roommate," our host had entered the room, and saw us staring. "There's another one in the hall. Have you seen my shop?" our host turned to my parents who had followed him in. "I make chain mail. Have you ever seen chain mail?"

I trailed along behind as he led the way out to the shop where a strange assortment of tools met my eyes. "This is almost finished," the man announced, holding up a length of something that looked like crocheted wire.

"What is it?" Dad asked. "It's going to be a shirt," our host replied proudly. I could see my dad was unimpressed.

Dreams

I laughed at the memory. It had been a long time since I'd thought about that day. It had made a real impression on me. Then I frowned as another memory came to mind. A year after that, when I had been organizing a play for the church retreat, the same man had been there, and volunteered to be in the short drama.

Hal was a lot of fun, and threw himself wholeheartedly into the role of Valjean, inspiring everyone else to get involved. Since I had written the play, basing it on a chapter from Les Miserables by Victor Hugo, it was my duty to direct the play. I was deeply grateful for Hal's help. After all, everyone in the play was older than me, and I had difficulty holding their attention and respect.

He also helped with costumes. He surprised us with a box full of tunics and props that he just happened to be carrying with him. And in the end, the little amateur production was an amusing if not a fabulous success.

Afterward, Hal entertained us with stories of an organization he was involved with that put together medieval-style events, including swordfights and tournaments. I listened eagerly as he explained how there was a king and queen, and a whole sub-culture who took it very seriously.

As the retreat came to an end, and he gathered up his costume props, I asked how I could attend one of those events. He had seen how interested I was, and quickly offered to take me to the next event. I was delighted.

Someday

I waited enthusiastically for an invitation. I waited through winter, knowing that such a thing would only happen in the summer. Summer came, and I learned that Hal had moved away, no forwarding address. I never heard from him again.

I told myself that "someday" I would find that group, and maybe attend an event. It still sounded like fun. So the years rolled by, and all I had was an idea; a vague concept of what I planned to do. And I didn't even have a name for the organization.

Now, eight years later, I winced at how much faith I'd put in that little dream. In so many ways, I had just expected "someday" to work itself out. I had never even doubted that somehow, someway, I would receive an invitation and everything would just work out.

The rapping of my nails had become louder, irritable. I thought of so many things that way. So many things were waiting for "someday" with no resolve. I was patiently waiting for opportunity to knock. But in sudden clarity, I realized that I hadn't even invited it! How was opportunity to know I even existed?

Pulling the keyboard toward me, I clicked to the Google search engine. R O L E  P L A Y I N G, I typed. Then, as an afterthought, + oregon. It was all I could think of, but it was a start.

Lots of entries were found. The majority were about online role-playing games, which I expected. But I wanted to find people who did it for real.

Finally I found the acronym, LARP: Live Action Role Playing. So I updated my search to +larp +oregon. More search results. Many were dark, most were meaningless to me. Annoyed, I gave up for the evening. "Someday," I would try again.

The next day I was sitting at the computer again. I needed a break from the website I was designing. I pulled up Asheron's Call, a massively multi player online role playing game that I played occasionally. There, I was able to role-play with lots of gamers in a fantasy world. (click pictures to see larger view)

But today it was quiet in the game. Everyone was too busy trying to level their character. So I closed the game and pulled up a browser.

I found myself musing over costumes again. Should I put on another historical costume party? But how would I get everyone to dress up? Maybe I should put on a play, for entertainment. It had been awhile since I'd considered that dream. Acting was something I'd wanted to do, for awhile. But decided to put it off. Maybe someday I'd have the courage to audition at a local theatre.

Suddenly a thought struck me. Someday is never coming! I gasped. All I have is today. That's all I'll ever have - today.

If I wanted anything, I'd have to do it today. And with that in mind, I pulled up the Google.com search engine again. It was time to make tomorrow's dreams a reality.

The SCA

I was on a quest. It had to be out there. Then doubt hit me. Why didn't I spent all this newfound energy on the work projects I had going? This larp thing was just a hobby, at best.

I cringed. Ewwww. Where did that thought come from? What a sinker.

But I defended myself with the realization that my work was going unusually well. I could use a new hobby, especially since hiking season was over.

So I searched on. A name kept coming up. "Can be worn for an SCA event..." "Our organization is not affiliated with the SCA..." "This is not the SCA..."

I ignored it at first, but after awhile I began to wonder who this SCA was, anyway? 

Just when it happened, I'm not sure, but I finally decided to search out this "SCA" thing. And struck gold.

The Society for Creative Anachronism (SCA) is an international organization dedicated to researching and re-creating pre-17th-century European history. All persons interested in such study are invited to use these pages to obtain information about the SCA. - From the official SCA website

From there, it was easy. I found my local branch, which happened to be in Salem. And with a little courage, I emailed them.

To my surprise, they were delightfully hospitable, and invited me to one of their gatherings. I had just missed their Monday night ceilidh, but there would be another one in January. I had a whole month to prepare.

The New Year

It was difficult preparing for something I'd never seen. Ceilidh was a full garb gathering, where everyone was expected to wear clothing from the past. And for all the costume collecting I'd done in my life, I felt a little dubious.

I'd never tried to be authentic with my costumes. I just tried to create fairytale outfits, using an odd assortment of items that had caught my eye and found their way into my closet.

I had just finished a floor length gray cape I had been sewing. It had a period look, but was hardly authentic. I was also starting on a bodice, which I converted from lacing up the back to lacing up the front. (This had a rather interesting outcome. It almost worked. But something about it was off. I'll have to get a real pattern someday- ooo, I haven't totally vanquished "someday" yet, have I?? *laughing*)

The new year came, and I was invited to an all-night celebration at a local church. I tried to turn it down, wanting to spend it with my family. After all, this was the first New Years Eve without my sister. I needed to be there for my parents.

But the directors, Eric and Candy, kept inviting me. It sounded like a bear... a large group of kids locked up in a church all night with a few games to play and a "rockathon" in rocking chairs sounded like trouble.

But I guess I'm a little bit of a pushover. Somehow, I finally agreed to go. And I justified it with the idea that my parents could have a romantic New Years Eve alone - the first New Year alone since I was born 22 years ago!

So that's why I found myself packing a heavy bedroll into the church on December 31st.

The evening started out as I had expected. Kids grumbling about being at church on New Years Eve, and wanting to tear up and down the halls rather than sitting still for games.

But breaking out the snacks helped a lot. That kept everyone in one room. I had brought two coconut custard pies, and laid one out beside the pizza, chips, cookies, fudge and cheese dip.

The first game was Pictionary. The moment we divided up into teams, things started getting fun. A person would be chosen from a team and have to draw a slip of paper from the basket. Then he would have to induce his teammates to guess what was written on the paper based on pictures he scrawled on the whiteboard.

It was both hilarious and amusing to watch people take turns drawing. The subjects were all from the bible, and the most difficult, perhaps, was the parting of the Red Sea. Both teams were very competitive, and it was only by a few points that my team won.

The evening flew by, and as midnight approached, I found myself feeling vaguely depressed, and slowly disconnected from the group. Everyone was having fun. We were playing hide and seek, and I had discovered that if I hunkered down and sat perfectly still in a darkened room, IT would pass me by every time.

But my heart was wandering. New Years Eve had always been a little sad for me. It was supposed to be a time of celebration, but I liked spending it alone. I liked to sit outside and contemplate, and had managed to slip out in the past, to watch my wristwatch alone (except for the cat doing circle 8's around my legs).

Yes... it does seem like a depressing thing to do, even now. I'd rather spend it in a crowd, wearing white silk and dancing to a waltz, just like in the classic old black and white movies. And counting down the seconds until the new year when fireworks go off and party confetti fills the air.

But there's something to be said about celebrating alone. It allows a person to think and enjoy the moment, without distractions.

But tonight was a totally different kind of new year. I wasn't in a glamorous ballroom, and there was no chance of sneaking off alone. The youth leaders had delegated me among the chaperones, and it was partly my duty to see that no one left the group. So it would be glaringly inappropriate for me to break the rule myself.

Three minutes to 12 found us all in the drive outside the church, lighting sparklers. The air was clear and crisp, and even over the streetlight, we could see the stars.

We counted down the seconds, and on the stroke of midnight, the boys set off the fireworks. Then, after a loud "Happy New Year!" we all trooped back inside where it was warm. It wasn't romantic, but it was fun nevertheless.

By this time, the sugar had hit the kids. The youth leaders were encouraging everyone to wind down for the night, but that was to be an impossible feat. A pillow fight broke out, and suddenly everyone was involved. I assumed a good pillow fight would wear everyone out, but it didn't.

At four a.m., everything in the room had been pushed up against the wall, and an all-out war was going on. I settled down in a chair and watched with amusement. Long hours don't bother me so much, but I wondered how everyone could have such energy. (In fact, it's almost 1:30 a.m. as I type this.)

Finally, someone decided it was time for everyone to get some sleep... tired or not! The girls were marched to one end of the church, and the boys were sent to the classrooms at the other end, amid loud objections.

After herding everyone into their respective rooms, those of us over 21 met in the main room. We could see that it would be an all-night chore to keep the kids in the rooms. We agreed to stay up the remaining few hours, and keep an eye on things.

The halls remained empty, but strange noises emitted from the girls' rooms, while the boys' room was suspiciously quiet. Finally someone decided to check on them. The girls were busy doing makeovers. The boys were fighting, as silently as possible. No one was sleeping.

I went home that morning feeling like I'd been run over by a truck. It was a New Years Eve to remember.

Ceilidh

Monday came swiftly enough, and I was ready for it. I was hoping to purchase a computer program while I was in town, so I prepared to leave early. I dressed up in a full length skirt, the bodice I'd sewn, and the gray cape.

The Chatelaine for the local SCA group had offered loaner garb for the evening, but I was a little apprehensive about it. Call me vain, but I was afraid of getting stuck with an outfit that didn't fit well or was totally unflattering. I decided to take my chances and to wear my own clothes... authentic or not.

My first stop was Best Buy, where I draped my full-length cape over my arm and marched into the store like I owned the place. No one looked. Not a lift of an eyebrow, not even a snicker or an amused smile. I seemed to be invisible to the world.

My confidence was high. I wasn't afraid of wearing a costume in public. In fact, I relished it!

This was cool... until I pulled up in front of the grange hall where the gathering was to be. Suddenly a flood of doubt hit me. What if.. and this thought was devastating... what if they thought I was some Lord of the Rings freak or Harry Potter devotee who wanted to parade around in a cloak?

Why that thought occurred to me, I will never know. But it scared me. I hadn't even watched Lord of the Rings yet, nor Harry Potter, for that matter. Both movies were in the theatre, but that had nothing to do with me. I was on a quest to defeat "someday," and it was coincidental that I chose to wear a cape.

Well, too late for doubt and regret. I only had a moment to sit in the parking lot and wonder where all my confidence had gone before I must go in and face these people. Finally, I got up the nerve and headed for the door.

The moment I walked in the door, I knew I was in the right place. They welcomed me with open arms. I felt awkward, and tried to be nervous, but there wasn't a lot of time for that. The two women who greeted me at the door were excellent at drawing conversation out of a person, and made me feel at home.

I mentioned that I'd been shopping in my outfit, and they burst out laughing. "Aha," one of them exclaimed. "You're our kind of person!"

I glanced about, and tried to take in the people and their garb, without staring. The two ladies who helped me sign in were simply dressed in tunics and cloaks, which were actually quite flattering to them.

I was surprised to notice that the gentlemen in the room were more elegantly dressed then most of the ladies. Some of the costumes were strikingly elegant, and all were creative.

The door was thrown open and a young gentleman with a lady on either arm came bursting in. I noted with relief that one of the girls was similarly dressed to myself, with a simple skirt, bodice and peasant blouse.

The other girl had a sweet smile, and I approached her after a bit. She immediately greeted me in a foreign language; I assume French. I blew it right there and said, "huh?"

She blushed and said something about that she was new. "Ohh," I lit up. "I'm new too. This is my first time here."

I kicked myself for not even attempting to be "in period" in my speech. But I'm sure she forgave me, being that we were both in unfamiliar territory anyway.

Dancing lessons were announced, and those interested were instructed to report to the middle of the floor, so I did so. A kindly, bearded gentleman who appeared to be helping organize the lessons, approached me and with a bow, asked if I would allow him the pleasure of being his partner, or something perfectly charming like that.

Ooof, I was caught off guard again and my mind went blank. His manner seemed so natural, that for a moment I was sure I had stepped back in time for real.

It took awhile to get everyone gathered to the middle of the floor, but in the meantime, my dance partner instructed me on the steps. The steps were easy enough, and soon I was having fun. After a couple practice sessions, music began playing and away we went.

It was easier than I had anticipated, though I kept confusing my lefts and rights. Several years ago I trained my left hand to eat, draw, and brush my teeth. In doing so, I learned to be semi-ambidextrous. It has been invaluable to have the use of both hands, but has left me confused at times, finding it difficult to keep right and left straight.

The second dance I stepped out to watch. I wanted to see what it looked like, from the sidelines. While the steps were being learned, I noticed a tall, dark-haired young man in a blue tunic standing nearby.

I recognized a digital camera hanging from his neck. For several months, I've been wanting to get a digital camera, and just that afternoon I'd been looking at them at Best Buy.

Without thinking how glaringly out of period it was to talk about digital cameras, I asked him about it. Specifically, I wanted to know what the resolution was. Thankfully, he was gracious enough to forgive me my modern language. He told me I could see examples of the pictures online, and I made a mental note to revisit the photo page.

Dancing the Night Away

The next dance was announced. This time I was ready to attack the floor again. I found myself with the same partner as before, and again he helped me with the steps.

But as we waited for enough couples to gather, I noticed the other new girl I had talked to before. She was sitting on the edge of her chair, trying to get up the courage to dance again.

I motioned for her to come on out, knowing that if she joined us, a partner would be found for her. But she was shy, and couldn't bring herself to it.

Then, to my relief, one of the more elaborately dressed young gentlemen stood up from the men's' table and approached her. With a chivalrous bow he drew her out onto the dance floor. Even from a distance, I was impressed.

These people were so courteous and thoughtful! Good manners are sadly lacking in today's world, I thought. It was refreshing to be among people who truly cared, and actually took good etiquette seriously.

This dance was in a circle, and I found myself between my partner and the young man in gold. While we learned the steps, I glanced around at people's garb, and again tried not to stare.

Several of the married couples wore clothes that were vaguely coordinated, and from across the room you could see they were together. There were several children, also in garb, and I learned from one of the ladies that their father had made the outfits himself.

After the dancing lessons were over, I found myself at the table making a game board for Nine-Man-Morris out of muslin and fabric markers. While I was tracing the lines with a ruler, I began eavesdropping on a conversation on the other side of the table between the gentleman in gold and one of the ladies. They were discussing the possibility of him becoming a courtier.

These people aren't role-playing, I realized. That's why it comes so naturally to them. They aren't acting.. they're living it! And for two short hours, I had the privilege of visiting their world, and being part of it.

The evening was over far too soon. The unfortunate thing was that half an hour after getting home, I completely lost my voice, due to a case of laryngitis which lasted two days. I wasn't able to convey my adventures to anyone for two days. Talk about frustrating!

Now I'm busy anticipating the next SCA gathering, and digging into the rest of my "someday" file. There's a lot of stuff stored there, and plenty of dreams to fulfill. As rewarding as it is to get in and do something, it's difficult to learn the lesson. Old habits die hard.

But someday.... *wink*... I'll get it right.

Until next time, God Bless!

Lady Brooke