Good morrow me ladies and gentlemen!

There are times when I feel like I wasn’t born in the right time. As if I’m supposed to be somewhere else. It’s a feeling I can’t describe and it’s more than a deja-vu experience. This past weekend, I took my daughter to a Medieval Festival and Banquet out in Carnation. A wonderful experience. I’ve always been drawn to the 14^th & 15^th century time line. The dress, the lifestyle, medical practices and social practices are a strong fascination to me, as well as the horror. I can’t believe those people lived as long as they did without proper health care! It’s amazing. I could continually learn about that time in our world and never get bored. We didn’t dress up, basically because we do not own anything to dress up in, but enjoyed the festival none-the-less.

It was St. Bartholomew’s Festival.

A bit of history on old Bart. I digress, but to get a context, it is needed. (Taken from the ol’ trusty internet)

St. Bartholomew, 1st. century, one of the 12.

“All that is known of him with certainty is that he is mentioned in the synoptic gospels and Acts as one of the twelve apostles. His name, a patronymic, means "son of Tolomai" and scholars believe he is the same as Nathanael mentioned in John, who says he is from Cana and that Jesus called him an "Israelite...incapable of deceit." The Roman Martyrology says he preached in India and Greater Armenia, where he was flayed and beheaded by King Astyages. Tradition has the place as Abanopolis on the west coast of the Caspian Sea and that he also preached in Mesopotamia, Persia, and Egypt. The Gospel of Bartholomew is apochryphal and was condemned in the decree of Pseudo-Gelasius. Feast Day August 24.”

We entered through the wooden archway into a nestled wooded area of those in dress selling their crafts, clothes, garlands and even took a stab at the bow and arrow (which apparently I’m fairly good at) First try and I was mere inches from the center of the target! Girl power abounded. Fortune telling also graced the grounds, yet we passed that one up. I am a staunch believer that we should never know the future regardless of the seriousness or silliness of its context.

Through the storefronts we walked. It was a lovely day. Overcast with a slight damp breeze due to the humidity in the air. My daughter fell in love with the essential oil lotion made of spices. They were displayed in beautiful corked glass jars of all colors graced with a ribbon for finish. She chose the purple bottle. We then visited the resident sheep. One forgets how funny sheep are and how much funnier they sound. But they sure can eat!

Next onto watching a playful wrestle and joust and to pass the candle maker and blacksmith. Later we learned to juggle. I am using the word “learned” very loosely here. I was a hopeless case, but the juggler was rather cute and he was making me nervous. I caught all 3 balls only once and called it good. I was off to buy my honeysuckle head garland to wear the rest of the day.

My daughter kept returning to the dagger and leather front. The woman dressed in a lovely empire-waist white dress with floral garland to match introduced us to satchels of all sizes and daggers/swords to match. My daughter had quite a time touching each blade and gripping the handle with each hand to make sure she received just the right fit. At last, she came upon a 12 inch metal and black knife with its own sheathe. I bought it for her. Now, one could say that I was crazy to buy my 12-year-old a dagger, but hey, for some reason, she is drawn to it and she is in to WOW and gaming and wanted to display it on her wall. Who knows? In a past life, she could have been a kin to a warrior or something and has an affinity toward the art. I question not. I completely believe that we go on after death. I’m almost positive that I am a reincarnation of some woman long ago. I feel like I’ve been around a lot longer than I have. I don’t dismiss those kinds of feelings. I believe it to be true.

We then sit for an hour concert and listen to ancient instruments like the hurdy-gurdy and fiddler-type of instruments and a wonderful harp. A lovely display of talent and a graceful voice by a handsome young chap with tatooes of old on his neck and face. I still can’t be sure they were real or not. They could have just been for “play” purposes, but they looked real to me-and I have three tats to compare by!

Then came the Dance Macabre; very creepy indeed and a mysterious way to end the festival. I danced as my daughter finished her goddess candle. Then the feast. By that time, we were starving, so anything could have been eaten and we wouldn’t have cared. We didn’t have plates. We had “trenchers.” A large round piece of bread that was to be eaten and to be ate upon. So, let me preface this by saying we are not big meat eaters. We’re not vegetarian; we just don’t prefer meat. Well, this night provided a plethora of meat. Very good meat, but I fasted for 20 hours just to cleanse my system! What heaven was put upon us but a cherry pudding. Yum yum! Sweet pitted cherries drenched in red wine, cloves, cinnamon and sugar. I thought I had died and entered another realm. I could live off that stuff. So beef, chicken, hens, more chicken and more beef later and then we finally topped it off with grapes and cheese to cleanse the palate. It was wonderful. And it was fun to eat with our fingers too! A good time had by all.

Cowgirl Up and Git 'er Done!

This past Saturday I took my daughter on a horseback riding day trip up at Crystal Mountain. Okay, first let me preface this by saying we are city gals. So the smell of horse crap and all that goes along with that is all very new and interesting to us.

We left early Saturday around noon. We didn’t need to be there until 3:30, but I thought I’d get a head start. Good thing. I got lost just trying to get to Auburn. I’ve never ventured to Crystal Mountain. I’m no skier, so why else would I go? Skis are not my friend. So, through Auburn we go; my daughter discussing life’s mysteries and humorous insights that she had recently discovered now that she is 12. I listen, I laugh, I offer advice and be the mom that I’m supposed to be. We get lost, or I should say, I get lost. I made a left where no left should have been taken. I ended up going past elaborate ranch homes and end up on a dead end trying to find WA-410. We backtrack, trying to ignore the stench of crap and skunk road kill. It’s weird out there in the boonies. People are different.

So we finally enter Enumclaw; a small “quaint” little town. We stop and eat at the local teriyaki joint where “oriental” had been spelled wrong. It was missing the “I.” I’m a writer and I notice these things and I have to say it bothered me. However, I digress. We continue on our “road trip” as I was then calling it and drove for what seemed like ages; my poor 20-year-old Volvo, Daisy, trying to last just a while longer. We get on WA-410 and drive through forestry that makes me smile. I love the water and all it has to offer, but the forest feels like my home. I feel a connection that I cannot explain to anyone. For being a city gal, I could make the great outdoors a home. So with the windows rolled down, I let the forest breeze hit my face and arms and enjoyed the incredible day that the Fates had allowed.

Well, the breeze got colder and colder and it was getting late and I soon found myself on a very scary road. Holy crap! I’m going over Chinook Pass. A gorgeous pass, but none-the-less I felt a little frazzled looking over those cliffs with not much of a guard rail thank you! As I continue to bite everyone of my nails off in anticipation of the fact that we were lost, my daughter says, “Maybe we should ask someone.” What a girl! So I pulled over because I lacked any logical thought process at the time and we asked a very handsome tattooed young man with his dog, if we’ve missed Crystal Mountain. He smiled, got out his map like a good boy and calmly told us we had passed it. Feeling like a complete idiot, I turned around and headed back down the pass and drove to the “Info Center.” Why I hadn’t stopped there before is beyond me. Well, we drove 45 minutes past our mark. So again, feeling like an idiot, I drove a half mile up the road and turned left to Crystal Mountain Resort Area. In my defense, the directions on their website said to turn left on Crystal Mountain Boulevard. There was no “Boulevard” posted anywhere. Just a “Resort Area” that I was supposed to interpret as a Boulevard. I did mention that to them when we finally arrived.

So we arrived right at 3:30 and I had to pee like a racehorse and then attempt to swing my short legs over the gigantic horse. I am 34 and hadn’t been on a horse since I was about 8, so my fears were relevant. The older cowboy running the show said, “Why don’t you get on this horse little lady.” I smiled because that was the cutest accent ever! I managed to get on and then proceed to imagine all that could possible go wrong with me on this horse named, “BP.” Yeah, guess what that stands for? Big Pain. Well, he ended up being a big pain alright. Stopping to munch on the greens, bucking the horse in back of me because he wanted his “space.” I can appreciate that, but not while I’m riding him! So, it took an hour to ride up the mountain. Rough track indeed. It wasn’t well paved; it was a mountain trail with huge rocks, dirt, very narrow, very scary at times. I was so hoping that the horses knew what they were doing, especially on those sketchy cliffs. So an hour passed, beautiful scenery had been appreciated and we came to Bullion Basin. An incredible clearing at the top with a small Artesan Spring. It was lovely, I must say. Like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I mean, we were really out in the middle of nowhere. We had our water, I took a few pics of Nadine trying to make her horse like her and off we went…this time with the other young cowboy right in front of me.

Well, about a dozen bad jokes later, he finally asked me if I was married or had a boyfriend. I said neither. He said, “With a pretty face like yours, I find that hard to believe.” Well, flattery will get you EVERYWHERE! Whether it was lip service or not, it boosted an ego that had been deflated for months now. We enjoyed our talk and he discussed his life and I found out it was his birthday that day. A mere 23 years old. He was an old soul. He was every bit a gentleman. He made me laugh and I didn’t even care that I was violently jostled by BP the whole way down.

The dinner back at base was home-cooked. Nothing fancy. BBQ’d steak, potato salad, baked beans right off the fire and the best chocolate cake I’ve ever had. After we ate, we sat around the fire and listened to some good country music on the guitar. Country music is okay with me around any fire. Anywhere else, well we may have to compromise, but that night, it all sounded good to me. The cute young cowboy asked if I was warm enough, I said yes, but he fetched a plaid flannel jacket for me anyway and I sat and enjoyed the music, in a warmer state of being. A few glances and few wishes that he lived closer...but you gotta let a cowboy do what they’re gonna do. A gal can wish though. I would have taken him home in a minute!

Overall, a delightful day, wonderful memories and a boosted ego will go a long way!