In the SCA, you dress up in funky clothes, swing rattan swords at each other and eat weird food. Well, it is. All of it. It is a great group, and it is a wonderful place to learn things, but I do not think that I necessarily learned the proper things from the group. I learned that skirts are better for doing much of the hard labor out there because you have a handy carry pouch and ventilation. I learned that cheese gets soft in heat, but only on the outside. And I learned that most people have no idea how to cope with life.
At SCA events, there are feasts. I was cooking and serving feasts for a
rising number of people from the time I was old enough to hold a knife. I
took my first knife to school in first grade, and my mother fought to get
it back for me from the administration. She is so cool. I didn’t take
it to school again, but I learned one thing from the experience, other than
my mother is cool - teachers are snoopy and untrustable. My cynicism was
starting already. And at this point I never go anywhere without some sort
of a knife. You never know what you will be doing next.
I keep a knife with me because I do not like guns. I am a great shot, but
the concept that I do not know if the gun I, or you, have is loaded scares
me on many levels. I know my knife is loaded. I do believe in gun registration,
but also that everyone should be armed at all times. Just because you cannot
see my weapon doesn’t mean its not there. What
is a weapon?
When I helped with the feasts at the SCA events, I learned how to cook for
200+ people in a small kitchen, large kitchen or over a campfire. I also learned
how to butcher meat, clean veggies and to portion things out so that there
were extra portions, no mater what. My mother loved the fact that I wanted
to learn to cook. My father tried to help me learn, too, but he would serve
me things like saltine crackers and juice for breakfast(mixed together). Perhaps
it was incentive...?
In most of my life, the words ‘coping’ and ‘survival’
can be used interchangeably. We all have the survival instinct, at least the
ones of us who look both ways before crossing the street do. Not everyone
can survive or cope with the things the universe throws at us on a daily basis.
Be nice to your delivery person, they have one of the hardest jobs in the
world, and little compensation to show for it. To be able to cope is survival.
I did the runaway thing several times in my life, only once when I was a teen.
The timing was good, the end of a school year. The atmosphere was good, chaos
was keeping teachers, parents and others from noticing I was gone. I had been
packed for a month. I took my school backpack with me, full of what I thought
I needed at the time, and went from the bus stop at school into the wilds
of adventure.
This was the first time I hitch-hiked. I got all the way to Kansas City in
three days before I decided I was in over my head. I thought, as many runaways
do, that they would not miss me if I did not come home. I was wrong. My mother
and her best friend, my Other Mother, drove all night to pick me up.
One of the things I learned from my first runaway experience was that I could
survive on my own. At one place that I was dropped off at, there had been
a storm the day before and I helped a father and his young sons clear away
a tree that had been toppled. I wasn’t really expecting anything from
them, but the father 'knew' that I needed cash and gave me a twenty for helping
them. With that cash I bought lunch for the Moms and I on our way back home.
I know I was lucky, but who else can make a profit from running away from
home?
At this point, I try to stay aware of all the adventures I have, small and large.