LJ Idol Week 5, Topic: Build A Better Mousetrap
I've been in the SCA for 26 odd years now, and I've come to a few conclusions. Sometimes bigger is not always better.
When I lived in Caid (So. Cal for you mundane people) I saw men in full plate armor. The kind you had to be wrenched into and out of.
Literally.
Then I moved to Ansteorra (Texas and Oklahoma) where they had the lightest armor restrictions in the Known World. I thought they were insane......wearing what looked like next to nothing while fighting.....but these men and women were some bad ass, hardcore fighters.
And they showed me bigger is not always better.
When it comes to garb, I learned that the richer the fabrics, the bigger the dress, the tighter the corset generally meant the less one could actually do. For instance, I have never seen a woman in full Elizabethan run across the field to greet friends exuberantly. She can't. She'd die. However, if one is garbed more simply in skirts and a simple bodice, one can still climb trees if the mood takes them.
And bigger is not always better.
~*~
Then there's my job in the SCA. My chosen profession. I am a Wench.
When I was 13, I joined this crazy game and found a woman who I regarded as my SCA Foster Mother. She was loud, flirtatious, and always had a crude joke ready. She was my role model. Not some prim and proper lady to teach me manners and how to act in polite society. So when it came time to develop my persona, I took it upon myself to be the bouncy, flirtatious, trouble making woman that most of polite society looked down on, but who was always ready with a joke or a song, and was generally welcomed around any campfire. I was told that this wasn't the proper way to play the game....but damned if I didn't do it anyway.
Oh, one other thing she instilled in me. A sense of honor and service that is so deeply ingrained it's written into my DNA.
So imagine me at 17. Almost a woman grown, with the dignity of an alley cat, and the personal drive to make everyone happy. To make everyone feel welcomed.
~*~
We were at a Crown Tourney one spring. The weather had been horrible, all weekend. The fighters were fighting in water to mid calf. The skies had been pouring buckets all day, and then there was the tornado.
Yes folks, Northern Ansteorra (North Texas) has this nasty habit of producing tornadoes in the Spring.
So the event was put on hold as people sought shelter. I ended up crammed into a small restroom with my Household sisters and some strangers. I'd been stressing the importance of what being a Wench really meant, to my sisters, all weekend. It didn't mean flirt with the cute guys. It didn't mean ignore anyone you didn't think was attractive. It meant be bouncy and fun to and for everyone. You didn't have to make a commitment to everyone, but you did have to make everyone feel welcomed, no matter what.
And that's when I spotted him. My newest victim. The man in the wheelchair.
I didn't know his name. Didn't know how old he was. Didn't know him from Jesus.
Didn't care.
I bounced over, plopped myself into his lap, and proceeded to be exuberant and flirtatious and suggestive to both him and the gentleman who was with him at the event. I recall that I welcomed them both to our Shire, to Crown Tournament, and then accused them of fabricating a tornado warning so that they could lock themselves in confined spaces with all of the beautiful women at the event.
We laughed and joked, these gentlemen, my sisters, and I. Seems like we were trapped in that bathroom forever and not nearly long enough. We were having a grand time.
But eventually a knock on the door told us the danger had passed (as had the tornado.....right over the top of the event site, apparently) and we were free to exit our hideout.
We all tumbled out of the bathroom, got ourselves sorted, and began to drift off to our respective areas of the event. When I was stopped by the gentleman who was with his friend in the wheelchair. He tapped me on the shoulder and began to thank me. He said that this was his friend's first event and that all day long, they had basically been ignored. No one had made any effort to welcome them to the SCA, no one had taken it upon themselves to greet them or make sure they were doing well. They had been observers only....until I dropped into his friend's lap and my sisters and I began flirting.
He thanked me for bringing that bit of the SCA to his friend, who had never been to an event before. He thanked us for being the happy part of the SCA for them both.
~*~
I could have been a Lady. I could have traded my low cut bodices and crude jokes for hoop skirts and court dancing. I could have put on layers and accoutrements and accessories and been an example of how to play this game.
But I am a Wench because sometimes bigger isn't always better, and sometimes the best mousetrap is the simple one.
For more information about the SCA, check out this website!
When I lived in Caid (So. Cal for you mundane people) I saw men in full plate armor. The kind you had to be wrenched into and out of.
Literally.
Then I moved to Ansteorra (Texas and Oklahoma) where they had the lightest armor restrictions in the Known World. I thought they were insane......wearing what looked like next to nothing while fighting.....but these men and women were some bad ass, hardcore fighters.
And they showed me bigger is not always better.
When it comes to garb, I learned that the richer the fabrics, the bigger the dress, the tighter the corset generally meant the less one could actually do. For instance, I have never seen a woman in full Elizabethan run across the field to greet friends exuberantly. She can't. She'd die. However, if one is garbed more simply in skirts and a simple bodice, one can still climb trees if the mood takes them.
And bigger is not always better.
~*~
Then there's my job in the SCA. My chosen profession. I am a Wench.
When I was 13, I joined this crazy game and found a woman who I regarded as my SCA Foster Mother. She was loud, flirtatious, and always had a crude joke ready. She was my role model. Not some prim and proper lady to teach me manners and how to act in polite society. So when it came time to develop my persona, I took it upon myself to be the bouncy, flirtatious, trouble making woman that most of polite society looked down on, but who was always ready with a joke or a song, and was generally welcomed around any campfire. I was told that this wasn't the proper way to play the game....but damned if I didn't do it anyway.
Oh, one other thing she instilled in me. A sense of honor and service that is so deeply ingrained it's written into my DNA.
So imagine me at 17. Almost a woman grown, with the dignity of an alley cat, and the personal drive to make everyone happy. To make everyone feel welcomed.
~*~
We were at a Crown Tourney one spring. The weather had been horrible, all weekend. The fighters were fighting in water to mid calf. The skies had been pouring buckets all day, and then there was the tornado.
Yes folks, Northern Ansteorra (North Texas) has this nasty habit of producing tornadoes in the Spring.
So the event was put on hold as people sought shelter. I ended up crammed into a small restroom with my Household sisters and some strangers. I'd been stressing the importance of what being a Wench really meant, to my sisters, all weekend. It didn't mean flirt with the cute guys. It didn't mean ignore anyone you didn't think was attractive. It meant be bouncy and fun to and for everyone. You didn't have to make a commitment to everyone, but you did have to make everyone feel welcomed, no matter what.
And that's when I spotted him. My newest victim. The man in the wheelchair.
I didn't know his name. Didn't know how old he was. Didn't know him from Jesus.
Didn't care.
I bounced over, plopped myself into his lap, and proceeded to be exuberant and flirtatious and suggestive to both him and the gentleman who was with him at the event. I recall that I welcomed them both to our Shire, to Crown Tournament, and then accused them of fabricating a tornado warning so that they could lock themselves in confined spaces with all of the beautiful women at the event.
We laughed and joked, these gentlemen, my sisters, and I. Seems like we were trapped in that bathroom forever and not nearly long enough. We were having a grand time.
But eventually a knock on the door told us the danger had passed (as had the tornado.....right over the top of the event site, apparently) and we were free to exit our hideout.
We all tumbled out of the bathroom, got ourselves sorted, and began to drift off to our respective areas of the event. When I was stopped by the gentleman who was with his friend in the wheelchair. He tapped me on the shoulder and began to thank me. He said that this was his friend's first event and that all day long, they had basically been ignored. No one had made any effort to welcome them to the SCA, no one had taken it upon themselves to greet them or make sure they were doing well. They had been observers only....until I dropped into his friend's lap and my sisters and I began flirting.
He thanked me for bringing that bit of the SCA to his friend, who had never been to an event before. He thanked us for being the happy part of the SCA for them both.
~*~
I could have been a Lady. I could have traded my low cut bodices and crude jokes for hoop skirts and court dancing. I could have put on layers and accoutrements and accessories and been an example of how to play this game.
But I am a Wench because sometimes bigger isn't always better, and sometimes the best mousetrap is the simple one.
For more information about the SCA, check out this website!