kareina

Someone brought up a conversation about SCA peerage, and the advisability of romantic entanglements between a peer and their students. To which I shared my story:

Back in the early 1990's I moved from Oertha to southern An Tir to transfer to a new university, and soon fell for a nice knight and we moved in together. In addition to all the normal boyfriend things helped me build armour, taught me the basics of fighting, taught me many sewing tricks, etc, We lived together three years and I enjoyed our very much poly relationship (the term had yet to be coined, but An Tir was a very friendly kingdom, and it seemed that most of our friends were, or had been, at least lovers with one of our lovers, if not one of our lovers).

Then I finished up my bachelors degree, and of all the graduate programs I applied to, the only one to accept me was back in Alaska. The above mentioned knight/boyfriend explained that he was allergic to cold, and thus wouldn't be moving with me. I to which I replied"but I am not done learning from you!". So, after discussing that there were no knights closer to the Barony of Wintersgate, to which I was moving, than a 5 to 8 hour drive away, so no matter what, if I were to be a squire, it would be long distance, we agreed that I would become his squire. We waited till my last event in An Ti, and after we took down the pavilion (and thus were no longer sleeping together, since he doesn't believe that Knights and Squires should sleep together, and I agree), I became his squire. He, sadly, dropped out of the SCA long ago, but we still keep in touch, are still friends, and I still count myself as his squire.

On the way to the lunchroom just now I caught a glimpse through the window of the reception area of... mom. My brain was totally convinced. The woman was wearing the right shape glasses, had the right haircut, and the right upright and slightly rolled forward posture of mom waiting.

Of course the illusion vanished once I got through the door and could see her features clearly, but still.

First time in a while I have cried. I guess that means that life is generally pretty good. But the joy of recognition/surprise of "seeing" a loved one in an unexpected place, followed by the memory of why it isn't possible...

Mom took us kids to Alaska for a two week vacation, and we never left. Well, eventually, but not for a long time.

We had been living in Texas for about three years, and during that time our dad retired from the military, then, after some time also living in Texas, where we got to see him every weekend, he moved to Alaska and started working as a laborer on the Pipeline. A couple of years later mom decided that it was time to take us kids north for a visit, as she had never been to Alaska and always wanted to go. I remember being told at the time that children flying alone had to pay full price, but if accompanied by a parent they got half price. If so then it makes even more sense that we all three went.

Our first stop was in the Fairbanks area, where dad's youngest brother, Lenny, his wife, and their three children were living. Dad picked us up at the airport and we went to his brother's place, where we stayed for some days. Those cousins were all three younger than Beth (who was 6 at the time, and I was 9), but all were old enough to enjoy playing with, and we enjoyed the stay there. They had a vegetable garden, and the carrots and raspberries were ripe, and I remember delighting in eating them straight from the plant. I had never had the chance to do that before. They also kept goats. I will never forget my first, unexpected, taste of goat's milk. After being tucked into bed that first night I was thirsty, and for some reason asked for a cup of milk instead of a glass of water. Mom brought me one, but it was very strangely sweet. I don't think I finished it. In addition to having fun at their house we also went to the tourist attraction Alaska Land, which was full of historical stuff and people in gold rush era costumes, and to Santa Claus House in North Pole.

After we left the Fairbanks area we took the drive south, through some truly beautiful mountains, (I especially loved Rainbow Mountain), with a stop at Paxson Lodge (which seems to have closed a few years ago) to the home of Unlce Joe, another of my dad's brothers, at mile 151 of the Richardson Highway, about three miles north of Sourdough Lodge, (which burned down some years ago). Uncle Joe's cabin was a picture-perfect old style log cabin, in the forest on the shores of a pretty lake, with an outhouse, a proper cashe (like this one), and a few more outbuildings. We stayed there a day or two, and Beth and I had ever so much fun playing in the woods and reading Joe's book on rocks and minerals (this was the start of the path that led to my becoming a geologist).

Then we went one mile further down the road to the home of uncle Bubzy (yet another of Dad's brothers) and aunt Ciel. They lived in a house that was a little bit bigger than Joe's cabin, which is a good thing, as they had five sons. Steve and Ray are two and three years older than I, Karl is between Beth and I in age, and Jon and Joe are one and two years younger than Beth. Arriving at this cabin was like coming home. Their lake was even prettier than Joe's to my eye, and this house was full of toys and people to play with. All of the boys were delightful, but Jon earned a special place in my heart that very first night. The boy's room was a very small room, just big enough to hold two sets of bunk-beds set at right angles too one another, and a trundle bed under one of the sets of bunks. That first night we stayed there I got to sleep in the trundle bed, mostly slid under the bunk above, but pulled a little bit out so I could breath. Jon had the bunk above me, with his head on the opposite end to mine, and I remember holding his hand and smiling at one another till we fell asleep, still holding hands.

The next day mom, aunt Ciel, and aunt Josie (dad's sister who lived nearby at the time) took off on a road trip to Anchorage, leaving us kids with our dads. We kids had a fabulous time together while our moms were away and the time flew by till they returned a couple of days later, and mom announced "I got a job, we are moving". Much to my delight, she decided to leave us with our cousins while she returned to Texas, sold the house, sold the car, bought a pick up truck, filled it with what it would hold and sold the rest at a garage sale, then drove it north. By the time she returned for us, a week or so later, I had been completely assimilated--my cousin's house felt like my home, and I didn't want to leave. However, mom insisted, and we did, in fact, move to Anchorage, a four hour drive to the south. I am glad that we did, because Anchorage had one thing that Bubzy's cabin lacked: Mountains! But it was sad to leave the boys behind.

Luckily, Mom remained good friends with Ciel and Bubz, so we made it up to their cabin several times a year, sometimes just for a weekend, sometimes for longer periods, and, until I found the SCA, it was always my first choice of a place to go if we had time and budget for a road trip. Even after I found the SCA I still got back up there at every opportunity. The nicest display of northern lights I have ever seen I saw standing in the middle of their lake one winter night, when I had gone out to use the outhouse, and stayed out to appreciate the show.

Before Donnan and I moved to Arizona by way of the SCA-20 year Anniversary event in Texas, I insisted that we take the detour up the Richardson highway to visit my cousins before doubling back to the highway going to Canada and then south. I haven't made it back to Alaska since 2009, when I didn't get to visit the cabin again, but I did get to see all five boys and their various wives and children. Years may elapse between each visit, but the connection is still there. Lately I have been chatting with Jon fairly often on line, and am trying to convince him that he wants to visit Sweden. I don't know if I will manage, but the conversations sure have been bringing up the old memories. It surprised me when I did the math and realize just how long it has been since we did that "vacation" back in 1976...

I really enjoyed reading aryanhwy's post today about her relationship with libraries, in part because hers was so hugely different from mine, and I started to type a reply to it to say so, but it quickly grew into an entire post, so I decided to put it here instead.

As a child the only library I had access to was the school library, to which the whole class trooped down the hall once or twice a month; we were permitted to check out one or two (depending on which school I was at) book(s), and it was made clear that if we forgot to bring it back for the following trip we would be in big trouble. At no time did anyone ever hint it would be permitted to ever enter that room in between special visits as a class, and there was always a lecture about how to behave and much angst that we would do something wrong (like speak too loudly, which, given my hearing problem, if I spoke at all, I did) and get into trouble.

Once I got to high school I was in a very small (200 student) alternative school that had very little budget. The library was a room no bigger than my current home office, with a few stacks of shelves. However, we were permitted to spend as much time in there as we wanted, and I made very good progress reading my way through the fiction shelves during the six years (grades 7-12) I was there, but only looked at the other shelves on the rare occasion I had to do a report for class, and, since I hated writing, I mostly arranged my classes so that I wouldn't need to (the advantage and curse of attending a school where the students get to dictate their own learning choices).

When I got to Uni I had already found the SCA, so I spent very little time on any of the six campuses I attended as an undergrad--I showed up for classes and went home promptly thereafter (rarely ever needed the full amount of time allotted to complete a lab assignment, either, so I wasn't there much). I went to the library only when I needed books to write a paper and found it very annoying to have to make the trip all the way across campus from where my classes were, tedious and unpleasant to hunt for relevant books among the tons of books that weren't useful for my paper topic, and bothersome to have to carry them back to the library when I was done. I loved the lectures, labs, and exams, and hated doing research (which felt too much like "shopping" to me--a quest to find something specific among huge piles of things I don't want--it always takes ages and only rarely yields what I was looking for).

Then I went to grad school and discovered that instead of bothering with books I could read interesting journal articles that are actually specifically relevant to what I am doing, and instead of "research" meaning looking up stuff in books I could do research by going out into the field and doing mapping, or into the lab and generating data. So much more fun! Later, journal articles started to become available on line, and I didn't need to go to the effort of walking all the way to the library, I could just download them. And I didn't need to bother with heavy paper copies that get lost, I could just read the much nicer pdf (with searchable text!) and file it in a logical system of folders (and keep a record in my citation tracking program as which folder each article is in).

Yet another reason I didn't like libraries--we weren't allowed food or drink! I have always loved best to eat while I read, and to eat while I read. Looking at books while not eating is just not as much fun. No wonder I did my reading at home, and mostly contented myself to reading fiction, which was fun to read over and over again.

Even so, reading her description of of her relationship with libraries, and I find myself kind of envious...

(As played by others; if you want me to ask you some, comment with a smile.)

1) What is your favourite memory from your childhood?

Favourite? Now that is a difficult task no matter what the category—how to pick only one? I have some very fond memories of making tundra forts with my cousins. They lived on an Alaskan homestead about half way between Anchorage and Fairbanks, and had no near neighbours, so we kids were free to run wild were we would, so long as we were home for meals. Needless to say, it was always a joy to visit them! To make the fort we’d find down sticks/logs and lean them against a tree like a tepee, then roll up large mats of tundra to cover it. We made one by our uncle’s house (one mile up the road—he had no kids of his own) and he later reported that a fox moved into it for a season. He was a trapper, and complained that the fox moved on elsewhere just a few days before fox season opened up. Smart fox.

2) If you had unlimited time and money what would you do?

Find a suitable location to build my castle—someplace north enough to have real winter, mountainous enough to suit me, and not in a city. Build a modest tower keep to call home base, and then alternate between enjoying being at home and travelling, filling my free time with some research, some SCA participation, and working on projects for fun.

3) Now that you have completed your PhD what do you see yourself doing 10 years from today?

Ten years? Well, that would be three vastly different moves from now, if my past pattern is anything to go on. Doing research at a uni somewhere +/- teaching?

4) With all of your travels do you have one particular place that you call home?

I call Alaska home, and have lived there more than any one other place. However, my travels in Norway spoke to me and said “home”, too, and I’ve never lived there. But the vegetation is “right”, as are the mountains.

5) You always seem to be working on some textile or fiber activity as you travel or when you visit with people. What is your inspiration for your projects?

I normally find inspiration at SCA events, or on SCA e-mail lists. I see something someone else made (or otherwise acquired) for themselves and think I’d like one of those”. The list of projects I’d like to do is way longer than I have time to accomplish, of course.