Renaissance Festival War Stories Sept 25/26, 2021
Weekend 6 of 7. War weariness is setting in
It's the sixth weekend of the festival season. I am getting tired. My voice was strained badly leading into this week. I had to explain to my callers that I had laryngitis again and again. It's embarrassing, and I am not easily embarrassed. I was ill (in a non-contagious way) on Thursday and Friday and had terrible sleep before the weekend and was worried about being my best for the weekend. No, not even my best, just exist for the weekend. As tired as I am, as much as I am missing my husband, who doesn't work or play at the festival, it would still break my heart to miss out on it due to illness.
Through lots of drugs, an early bed time on Friday night, and lots of coffee and a good breakfast Saturday morning, I am feeling like myself again. I am ready to go. I have my full deer face on; I have my war paint on: I am ready to head into battle.
...
I take a privy break and walk from the back stage area to the front again, and here is a group of patrons, about 8 of them, most of whom appear not to know each other, standing in a big circle. Two of these gentleman are singing a song, one I know: Davinci's Notebook's 'Irish Drinking Song' I know this song. I've probably listened to it 50-100 times. I join in singing with them as best as I can. But there's more than one problem: I am getting exhausted. I am not as sharp as I was a month ago. I am singing off key. I'm forgetting words. I am having trouble catching my breath from my rush to the privy. But I am face-masked and these two singing gentlemen are much stronger and more talented singers than me. The other patrons are just surprised that someone is joining in and knows the words and the song, one woman step-dances. After the song ends, we all applaud each other. I've been listening, at home, to a lot of Irish, Celtic, Pirate, and drinking songs during the week. I should be able to name ten more songs to follow this song with when I suggest we sing another. But I am to the point of un-focus, that I can't think of a single song. Thankfully, one of the gentlemen starts singing a song that I to know a little from the same music station I listen to; enough that I can sing the chorus and clap at the right spot in the song. He has a beautiful voice and I am just as entertained as everyone else. When he's done, both gentlemen get four-leafed clovers from me. I am weary, but they do not see it. They cannot see it. I will not let them.
...
Before and over the course of the season, I have made an impassioned plea to my high school graduating class encouraging them to come out to the renaissance festival, telling them I want to see them. I want to say hello, exchange hugs, give them a riddle that I wrote dedicated to them. This is after we lost one our class members this summer: a wonderfully sweet, funny, lovely soul; his passing shocked and pained many of us. So at his funeral, about a dozen of us from our class spent the afternoon and evening bar hopping and reacquainting. I was not close with these people, they were all much closer with each other; but after 17 years, it doesn't matter. Alumni you barely know hug like best friends.
There was one woman imparticular who replied to my plea to come to the renaissance festival, her name is Anna. Anna did not graduate with us. She moved away half way through our freshman year of high school. We were not that close, but we were friends enough: We stood next to each other in the 8th grade class photo, we sat together in art class, I brought her to her first concert - Weird Al. I left tickets for her and her family at will call a couple weeks back and at this point, I had forgotten. So when a woman waves to me in the riddle booth, someone not in garb, it takes me more than a moment to put it together, this is Anna. I have not seen Anna in 20 years. I have to say it more than once: 20 years. I've had my best friend Laura come, we talk all the time. Nella is a friend from high school that I am still in touch with, I just went to her wedding, she came out a few weeks ago too. But something about Anna, I squealed when I realized it was her. I cried hugging her. I held her for what felt like several minutes. We talked about ancient jokes and obscure references. The last time I hugged her was saying goodbye to her after Mr. Tideman's Earth Science class 7th hour freshman year before she moved. 20 years I waited for that hug from Anna. Those tears were more than half a lifetime in the making.
While we were talking, Anna saw Sonia, another woman from our class. I almost missed her completely from being so tired and excited to see Anna. But Sonia got big hugs too. I got to see their husbands and children and they got to see me continue to be ridiculous.
This warrior is getting to see hometown civilians, and it feels amazing.
...
One of my favorite new bits has grown from weekend to weekend. It started out with, "I have a question: How dare you?" It then evolved to "I have two questions: How dare you? And how do you sleep at night?" As of this weekend, it has become "I have two questions and a statement..."
I have a great blast of energy in me on Sunday and I am riddling hard on our stage. I do our riddle that includes some of the following lines, "Bladder full and bones a flailin'... a fellow bites my tail..." I am in near-dance mode. I am waving my arms when I say bones a-flailin'. I turn and show the audience my tail when I say bite my tail.
A woman answers, "A pregnant woman." I act shocked, hurt, and insulted; pretending to tear up a little.
She gets the full reply, "I have two questions and a statement to that. One. How dare you? Two. How do you sleep at night? And three, I regret nothing...No. I am not a pregnant woman."
'Two questions and a statement' worked wonderfully the times I did it this weekend, and all in different contexts.
...
Sunday night, after cannon and close, I pack my clothes and my stuff from my tent and I start my walk to my car. I did not drive alone this weekend. Saturday morning, I had picked up fellow riddler Nestor and another friend Rachel. On the drive home, I only needed to give Nestor a ride home. Two ten-hour days in a row working on less than stellar sleep; we walk heavy steps to the car, both our voices about an octave deeper than normal from performing all weekend.
Side note: over the course of the weekend, I told Nestor an epiphany I had between weekends five and six. We have spent so much intense time together, over 100 hours in the last five weekends by my count. Nestor is sitting on the front rock where I am in this picture and I am behind him where Bertram is and I am leaning on the table and say, "You know we're best friends now, right?" He says, "Yeah, 100%."
Anyways, Nestor starts telling me about a book he's been reading. It's a book that inspired the mini-series "Band of Brothers." The mini-series came out in 2001. IMDB.com summaries it as 'The story of Easy Company of the U.S. Army 101st Airborne Division and their mission in World War II Europe, from Operation Overlord to V-J Day.'
I had to admit to Nestor, I have never seen the series or read about it. I thought it took place during WW1, not WW2. Nestor describes a little of the book. These soldiers are going through the same experience together. They share their hometown stories, joys, pains, inside jokes, laughs, and tears. They bring one another up when one of them is down. They share a bond that, while it can be described to others, unless you were there in the trenches with them, you won't know. They have the warrior's respect, and so do Nestor and I. It's like we said before, we're new best friends. But it didn't hit me until Monday morning what he's telling me: I am Nestor's brother now.
For more war stories: Last week's, Opening Weekend 2021, Second Weekend 2021
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The Poisoned Pen Scroll 2024
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By Tinka Boudit She/HerExclusive • about a year ago
Hind Rajab: A Child the World Heard Too Late
Cinema has always been a powerful medium for telling stories that history books often reduce to numbers. When a film chooses to focus on a single child caught in the machinery of war, it forces audiences to confront reality not as statistics, but as human loss. The movie inspired by the tragic story of Hind Rajab, a young Palestinian girl, does exactly that. It is not merely a film; it is a testimony, a memorial, and a question posed to the conscience of the world. Hind Rajab’s name became known globally after reports emerged of her final hours during the Gaza conflict. She was a child trapped in circumstances no child should ever experience. The film based on her story does not sensationalize her death, nor does it turn her suffering into spectacle. Instead, it approaches her story with restraint, dignity, and an unwavering focus on innocence lost amid violence. The Story at the Heart of the Film The movie centers on a young Palestinian girl who becomes separated from safety during intense military escalation. Through her eyes, viewers witness fear, confusion, and the fragile hope that someone, somewhere, will come to help. The film follows her final journey—both physical and emotional—using minimal dialogue and powerful visual storytelling. Rather than relying on graphic imagery, the filmmakers choose silence, pauses, and close-up shots to convey terror and vulnerability. This artistic choice makes the film even more haunting. The audience is left to sit with the child’s fear, her calls for help, and the unbearable waiting that defines her final moments. By focusing on Hind as an individual rather than a symbol, the film restores her humanity. She is not portrayed as a political tool, but as a daughter, a child with dreams, and a life that mattered. 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By Hasbanullah7 days ago in Humans
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