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Back to the Drawing Board

It takes a practice to train a kid

2005-10-25 - 1:35 p.m.

Just to See what Happens

This was an entirely too productive weekend.

First of all, our bathroom remodeling is officially finished.

We still need to add some pictures of the poor bathroom before the makeover. Suffice to say that it was much smaller, had green blinds, an ancient green and black shower stall -- the latter a bit on the disgusting side; some cheap, cracked tile on the floor, and the original aluminum-wrapped green formica top with a chipped sink.

Oh, and let's not forget the lovely purple and green paisley wallpaper bits that some enterprising spirit pasted on the doors of said vanity (brown).

Believe me, this is a much happier bathroom.

We also reorganized all the Elfa shelving in the sewing room, which now looks like a real room as opposed to just some kind of warehouse. I even found a folding work table at Joann's at half price ($50), which will allow me to cut my fabric in there without having to invade the dining room.

Yay!

Adventures in Heavy Fighting

So I went to our Sunday practice at the park, with the good intentions of doing some rapier.

Alas, this was not to be.

Most of the usual suspects were doing something else that Sunday, and the three people that showed up and could have been fencing with me -- namely Marcellus, Alric and Cosimo, decided to play heavy or, in the case of Cosimo, teach it.

I had brought my embroidery, though, but it was just too damned cold for me to hold a needle and expect to do any decent blackwork.

Not to be daunted by the present circumstances, and being too cold just to sit down and hang around, I decided to go ahead and start learning sword and board. Heck, in order to do footwork and learning how to land a flat snap, all I need is a weapon and a pair of gloves.

This was great fun. Cosimo took great pleasure in teaching me basic movement, doing drills and bringing out the wiffle bats. Sir Strykar provided the running commentary and instructions in the background.

"Belfebe! Don't lead with your head!"

"And don't go up and down!"

And so on and so forth.

My main concern, I must admit, is wether or not I will be able to land a good blow. I blame it on my distended chest muscles, courtesy of reconstructive surgery. Lord knows that I have enough trouble doing that with a spear, and that I must be one of the worst spearmen in the Kingdom.

(But the most enthusiastic, dammit!)

This was different.

This was fun.

Plus, since the power comes from a different set of muscles, I can actually do it!

I ended up practicing against an old tree, first with a wiffle bat, and later with a huge, heavy, padded club that Miquel brought out for me to work with. I felt like Fred Flintstone with the darned thing. But the nice thing was that with such a heavy club I had no choice but to have a good form or my arm would hurt like hell.

Then I practiced on Miquel, who was wearing armor and decided to be my pell, just to figure out whether or not I would be able to strike a good blow. According to him, I could.

After I was done with that, Cos and Strykar said, "Okay, let's try it with a real weapon."

That's where the fun began. For some reason all the people that had gathered at the park thought it very amusing to see the belfebe swinging a club.

This time it was against the tree, not against my long-suffering friend Miquel. I was also to demonstrate that I could hit and recover while keeping the correct form.

Ohhh, that was beautiful! When the bark started flying, I realized that yes, I can land a good blow. And barring my tendency to go a little bit up and down, my form was quite decent.

I don't know, but this thing gives you a sense of power that I don't get from any other form of fighting.

Cos says that I should not try to authorize before the Spring. I say that I am in no hurry. And if I can get him and Stryke to work with me, I think I may be able to swing it. (Pardon the pun.)

Of course, there is the nagging little voice in my head that tells me that I am a 49 year old woman with asthma and distended chest muscles. That I am at the age in which most fighters retire and yet I am only starting.

But I am just too stubborn to listen to the little voice, so off the road I go.

Why?

Just to see what happens.

After all, you only live once.

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