So on Friday, I ran around like a chicken with my head cut off in order to get ready for a weekend away — we went up to Sooke for an SCA tournament. Remote for Justice’s collar picked up? Check. Dog out to Langley? Check. Work? Check. Packed car? Check. Picked up Nick? Check.
Nick has been working late pretty much every day for the last month, so since my schedule tends to be a bit more flexible, I get to be the one stressed out and racing around. That said, Nick pre-loaded almost everything we needed into the car, so amazingly I did manage to get everything done and we arrived at the ferry terminal right on time.
Aside: What the FUCK is the point of the BC Ferries reservation system? Ok, sure, on days where there are 2-3 sailing waits, sure. It’s useful. Here’s the thing: We knew we wanted to be on the 9pm ferry. Also, since it’s the last ferry out, we really wanted to MAKE SURE we were on the 9pm ferry. Since Nick is working late, that means I pick him up at the last possible moment and race out as fast as possible, right?
Wrong. Even with the reservation, you have to be there 45 minutes early. What. The. Fuck. And worse, they don’t tell you this until AFTER you’ve made the reservation.
Seriously, I would be perfectly happy to pay the ENTIRE amount for our car + passengers, and reserve the spot right up until 5 minutes before loading so that we can be assured of having a spot and not having to worry about being there super early. That was the whole point. 45 minutes? Sure, it’s one of the last nice weekends before the weather starts to turn and people might want to buzz off to the island for a final hurrah to summer, but there’s no way it was going to be full 45 minutes early.
So. That was dumb. On the upside, we did get first-on/first-off privileges (after the motorcycles, that is.) But that’s not worth $20 and 45 minutes.
Anyway, we arrived in Schwartz Bay with little fanfare and sped off to Sooke.
Victoria’s always a little weird for me. I lived there for 2 years… ten years ago. Not only was it not a particularly bright period of my life, but a lot has changed since then. It’s bizarre to sort of recognize stuff, and sort of not. It’s like re-reading a book from my childhood that I didn’t particularly like the first time around, although I keep finding bits and pieces that I absolutely cannot recall reading the first time, and maybe those parts aren’t so bad after all?
I kept up a pretty much constant stream of inane chatter because Victoria makes me feel… odd. Nick put up with it with wonderfully good graces (and really, was only half paying attention to me, because Civilization on the iPhone is apparently pretty good.)
Anyway, we made it to Sooke with no trouble, and then down the dark twisty road toward the cub scout camp that we were headed to.
It’s a neat camp. It is, obviously, designed for scouts and other such camping activities and contains a series of cabins. We attempted to book a cabin a few weeks ago, and were waitlisted. Luckily, very last minute, we got an offer to share a cabin with another couple. Yes, we’ll take it! Even better: They never showed up! Woo!
The cabins are awesome. They each have 4 sets of bunk beds, cot-style with strong fabric hanging between heavy dowels secured into the frame. I brought my thermarest along, and that plus a bunch of blankets and I was very cozy indeed. Alas, the cot-sized beds were very definitely single-person-only, and that was fine because I wanted a top bunk, by golly, while Nick was less 6 years old than I am and was perfectly happy with one of the bottom bunks across the room.
One other bonus to hanging out on the island is… Sue & Artos! They used to live a block away from me… and now they live on an entirely different landmass. Bah! Yeah, yeah, family, kids, whatever. I’m selfish, and I miss my friends.
I made plans to head out to their place on Sunday morning for tasty, tasty pancakes, and to my delight, they came out on Saturday night to see what this SCA stuff is about anyway. We had a lovely dinner of tearing a (er, cooked) chicken apart with our bare hands, and then watched a rather entertaining display of night time cut & thrust (a type of swordfighting) under a couple of giant flaming (propane-powered) stars. They got to meet Nick, albeit only briefly as he was running off to go do silly boy things, which made it great for me to have Sue, Artos & Simon around because hey, people *I* know! People *I* get to talk to! MY friends, damnit! (I like going to SCA events, but if you don’t know many people and it’s dark and you can’t find the people you DO know, nighttime be kinda dull at times.)
Anyway. Tournaments were had, people were killed, a prince was made, and a king was stabbed in the junk… you know, the usual. I thought Nick fought wonderfully, and took many slow-mo videos. They look neat.
I’m also settling into my comfortable “field-side support” role. I like being useful, so I try to go out of my way to make life easier for Nick (and his friends.) I have a little basket of useful goodies, like a water bottle, a spray bottle, a towel for wiping sweat, scissors, a knife, some string, needle & thread, bandages, granola bars, digital cameras… I’m a freaking boy scout, I tell you.
Now I’m adding on an additional layer: snacks! I hit up the local grocery store in Sooke, and picked up some cheese, pepperoni, sausage, grapes & strawberries, and made up a little plate of sliced goodies I could take around to anyone who wanted a little something.
I gotta get a wooden platter or something. Paper plates are so not period.
I think it was appreciated. I like to be useful. I’m never going to be a fighter, and I like having something to do. So, this is what I do. (I don’t mind bruises, but ow, some of the injuries Nick has picked up look totally un fun. Also, being barely 5’3″ and 120lbs soaking wet… even the smaller fighters would throw me across the room by looking at me. The women who tend to fight are a hell of a lot tougher than I am, and I’m okay with that.)
Anyway, it was much fun. Simon is freaking cute, and if you ask him what zombies eat, he appropriately replies, “Braaaaains” in that adorable slightly undead voice that only toddlers can achieve. (He will also tell you what sounds pirates make: Arrr, matey. This is WAY better than the usual “What does a cow say?” boring crap.)
And, just because I haven’t publicly waxed poetic in a while about the sort of things that I am constantly thinking: I am still crazy, wonderfully, insanely, and fantastically head over heels for that boy of mine. I have no idea how I got so lucky, and even when he’s driving me nuts (and vice versa) it’s all I can do to keep from reaching over and grabbing his hand because I can be absolutely furious at him and still want to be touching him. Of course, when he’s mad at me, he generally wants to be left alone so he can cool off, which makes my “HOLD MY HAND, BITCH” routine a little less useful. But we make it work, and then he wraps his arms around me and kisses my forehead and life is totally awesome again.
I’m a tactile person. Can you tell?