3 Patriotic Things

(Ed. to add the Missing Man formation video link.)



Here are 3 patriotic things that make me cry.

1. The song America the Beautiful. First verse? I'm fine. Second? Still okay. Third verse? Not a chance in this world that I’m not crying by the end of it.

2.The Missing Man formation. The sight of one plane headed heavenward ... and I come undone.

These two I understand. Others understand. Nobody stares at me (much) when I start mopping my eyes and blowing my nose. But the third one? The National March of the United States of America?

3. The piccolo obbligato in The Stars and Stripes Forever. It's just the piccolo part, and it gets me every dang time. I don’t know why it makes me boo hoo -- it’s not like I’ve ever been terrorized by a piccolo, or anything. And  people do look at me funny for crying during this one.

BTW, did you know Stars and Stripes Forever has lyrics? Ones that don’t begin with “Be kind to your web-footed friends …”

Let martial note in triumph float
And liberty extend its mighty hand
A flag appears 'mid thunderous cheers,
The banner of the Western land.
The emblem of the brave and true
Its folds protect no tyrant crew;
The red and white and starry blue
Is freedom's shield and hope.

Other nations may deem their flags the best
And cheer them with fervid elation
But the flag of the North and South and West
Is the flag of flags, the flag of Freedom's nation.

Hurrah for the flag of the free!
May it wave as our standard forever,
The gem of the land and the sea,
The banner of the right.
Let despots remember the day
When our fathers with mighty endeavor
Proclaimed as they marched to the fray
That by their might and by their right
It waves forever.

Let eagle shriek from lofty peak
The never-ending watchword of our land;
Let summer breeze waft through the trees
The echo of the chorus grand.
Sing out for liberty and light,
Sing out for freedom and the right.
Sing out for Union and its might,
O patriotic sons.

Other nations may deem their flags the best
And cheer them with fervid elation,
But the flag of the North and South and West
Is the flag of flags, the flag of Freedom's nation.

Hurrah for the flag of the free.
May it wave as our standard forever
The gem of the land and the sea,
The banner of the right.
Let despots remember the day
When our fathers with mighty endeavor
Proclaimed as they marched to the fray
That by their might and by their right
It waves forever.

For all the “Camouflage People”

Sweet Daughter started drawing flag pictures around Memorial Day. We had done our best to explain how Memorial Day was to honor those people in uniform that keep us safe here in the United States. (We left out the part about honoring the ones that died. She’s four, and we figure five is old enough to introduce that buzzkill.) She remembered the “camouflage people” from our event at Petersburg in April, and she knows that there is evil in the world. In her case it takes the form of the Big, Bad Wolf in her dreams, but she understands that there are bad guys around and that special people exist to help keep her safe from them. Whether it’s a soldier, policeman or parent, some people step up when things go bad.

Her first flag picture was one of our house with a flag, and I was instructed to give it to a “Camouflage Person”. I tucked it away to put in the “forever box”, but I got busted. We were in line at the grocery store when she noticed a gentleman in uniform behind us.

“Momma! A camouflage guy! Where’s that picture I drew??”

“Ummm, I don’t have it with me, honey. It’s too big to carry in my purse.” (Yeah, that’s it!)

So she went home, drew a smaller one which she folded in half and tucked it in my purse with a reminder to give it to the next CP I saw. I carried it around for a week or so when I ran to the grocery store to pick up a few last-minute items for our trip to Williamsburg. The parking lot was mostly empty -- except for the car parked way over to the side with the guy in ACUs rummaging around in his very large, very full camouflage bag in the trunk.

Crap. I was hoping SD would be with me when this happened. I don’t do so well with strangers and she has no problem with them. But I promised, so I walked over, folded drawing in hand.

“Um, excuse me.”

He looked up. He looked tired and edgy. “Yes, ma’am?” He sounded tired and edgy, too.

“Uh, my-four-year-old-daughter-drew-this-and-asked-that-I-give-it-to-the-next-person-in-uniform-that-I-saw” I stammered as I kind of pushed the paper towards him. I felt like I was interrupting something.

He very politely opened it, looked at it, and soberly said “thank you, ma’am” before folding it back up and stuffing it in his bag.

I managed to blurt out, “No, thank you” before turning tail and hurrying into the store while wiping tears off of my face. I felt as though I’d made him feel worse, and I felt selfish, and small.

So. Here is the first picture that I was instructed to give to a Camouflage Person. I’m posting it to share it with any CP that would be happy to have it. Know that a four-year-old girl and her parents are praying for you, and that we're really glad you're keeping us safe.

Going out to eat tomorrow night!

Why? Because as of July 1st, concealed carry permit holders in Virginia may carry a concealed firearm for self-defense in restaurants that serve alcohol, provided they do not consume alcohol. Anyone else?

Death by petticoat - or how to do an 18th century patch job.

One of the prevalent reenactor myths is that the second leading cause of death for women during the 18th century was by what we call “death by petticoat*”, or women dying from their clothing catching on fire and burning them to a crisp. (With the leading cause of death believed to be complications of childbirth.) Those myths are busted here, but I can tell you from personal experience that your skirts catching fire is not an automatic death sentence.

I was assisting the costumer at a film shoot, dressed in my linen working gown with the back polonaised up off the floor. It was a bloody cold, windy day in December, and the cast and crew were inside one of the interior sets trying to stay warm while a couple of exterior kerosene heaters were going full blast. These heaters had the heating element/flame set up about three feet above the floor. I was standing about a foot in front of one, feverishly sewing one of the “talent” into her gown as the director was standing in the open door bleating “We must go NOW! We’re losing the LIGHT!” I felt what seemed like someone brushing against the back of me and thought nothing of it until the talent was out the door and a nice young man said to me “Ma’am – your butt was on fire. But I put it out for you!” Who said chivalry was dead? (And proof that at least once in my life I had a hot ... backside.)

Upon further examination, I found that my gown had some rather interesting holes burned in it. Had I been dressed in polyester, or some sort of poly blend, I would have been shrink-wrapped like a package of bacon. Wool would have shown less damage, as wool is self-extinguishing and won’t hold a flame. This is good to know if you are shooting anything that requires a priming pan filled with black powder. Wool is a good choice for your upper body garment.

Patching the gown was one of my projects this past weekend. In the 18th century, labor was cheap and fabric was dear, so patching was done a little differently – it was patched from the back.

First step is to find a piece of fabric that matches as closely as possible to the original. Or, at least as closely as practical for the character you are portraying. I had scraps from the original gown, and had my gown been old and faded I would have used these to show a subtle change of color. Since I was wearing for the gown for the first time when it caught fire, I found another shade of brown to use. I wanted them gown to be neatly patched, but still noticeable enough to use as a talking point.

Next, with the right side of the fabric facing up, place the patch behind the hole and pin in place making sure the garment fabric isn’t distorted. Try to match the straight-of-grain. Turn under a narrow hem (like about an eighth of an inch or less) and sew with tiny overcast stitches.

 

Partially done on the back.

Turn the garment over and trim the patch to about a quarter of an inch away from your stitching. Turn that raw edge under, and repeat with the tiny overcast stitches. Repeat for each hole.

Done in back.

Finished in front.

Five of the ten holes patched.

*Petticoat – what we today would call a skirt – a garment (usually at least two at a time) worn under your
gown (what we would call a “dress” today). Your skirts were the bottom portion of your petticoat or gown.

It’s not the heat, it’s the stupidity

Okay. So it was the heat this weekend. Friday was not unpleasant. We set up camp in the evening, and it dropped down to 75 degrees at some point that night. Nice sleeping weather. Saturday hit a high of 98 degrees – which was a bit rough. Saturday night reached a "balmy" low of 80. Even with both ends of my tent tied open, there wasn’t a breath of air moving. On Sunday it hit 103 degrees. Even the grass was hot to walk on. I knew it wasn’t 104 – a couple of years ago, it hit 104 and that’s when I found out the pointy bits of my elbows can sweat. But even with dry elbows, 103 was bad enough.

Time to cool off!

My favorite Tourist Stunt of the weekend happened as one family passed by, and the teenage son absent-mindedly grabbed a handful of grapes out of a bowl on the table where we had our lunch sitting out. That was actually pretty funny as you could tell the Dad was mentally calculating how much discipline he could get away with dispensing in public, and the son was properly horrified when he realized what he had done, and apologized profusely.

"Stay out of my grapes!"

We play the Palace

Why I think it’s a good idea to wait until the last minute to launch sewing projects – just in case my sewing muse returns – is a good idea is beyond me.

My old shift was in shreds, Sweet Daughter had outgrown hers, and I had a Banyan project that had been taunting me for close to nine months. SD now has two new shifts, mine is finally complete (I decided I had to sew the whole thing by hand. Even the interior seams that nobody will ever see), and I’m taming the banyan. The problem there was the “pattern” was a drawing with a few remarks written in French. I don’t read French, and I had no clue as to what the scale is supposed to be. With me doing the hemming in the car, it should be done in time for Chris to wear.

Did I mention this is all needed for an event in Williamsburg this weekend? Yup. It’s “Under the Redcoat” – the British Occupation of Williamsburg. The medical types get to interpret from inside the Governer's Palace. I'm stuck outside. It’s going to be hot. It’s going to be busy. We’re going to be shorthanded this year. But we love it.

Unicorn - it's what's for dinner.

Blending the crushed unicorn horn into the meat adds delightful, crispy flavor notes in each bite. We are confident you will find a world of bewilderment in every mouthful of scrumptious unicorn meat.

The sparkles are what send it absolutely over the top. Can't wait to try some -- maybe this November. On Election Day!