There’s many jokes to be made about marriage here, so I’m going to ask y’all to sit down about that.
But, in short, in the last year, I’ve started the process of making my late husband “Larger than Life” in the SCA (I mean, aside from dragging him for filth with his hoarding, I guess), and wanted to start a sort of ongoing A&S project on Folk Saints.
After being poked and prodded by local friends to go ahead and make this so, especially since I creeped nobody out on social media by pouring him a pint of Guinness or Dr. Pepper, there is now a website devoted entirely to the Cult of St. Jeff the Moneyer. We already have some traction, even with folks that did not know him, and so far I’m very pleased at how this is being received.
I’m sure there is going to be a corner of the population that is very not-okay with this, and that is your choice. The veneration of folk saints is incredibly period, and honestly this is a practice I think that the SCA could have a lot of fun with. Obviously I’m still working out details, this is a living project, not a one-and-done deal. So anticipate changes and updates overtime as more people become involved with this “cult”.
Welcome to another unfun grief-addled post here at Anna’s New Rome!
Setting: I just returned from Jeff’s storage unit in Virginia. Warning: Strong language, marital issues.
Okay folks in the SCA, 501st, cosplay, military, and everything in between: We need to have a Very Serious Chat.
I am putting on no airs here: I own a lot of stuff, but I’ve also made a conscious effort to cull this stuff significantly in the last few years when I realized it was not sustainable anymore. Us who craft, especially in any form of reenactment or living history, have to juggle owning things for multiple people when it’s really just us. I have a whole room just for my SCA life, this includes a sewing table, cutting table, painting table, and all the accoutrements needed to do all of these things. And while that sounds reasonable, it gets out of hand very, very fast if you aren’t paying attention. It’s so easy to go on insane shopping sprees for fabric, trim, pigments, tools, etc when we do this, and that’s okay, but we need to remember to USE these things and to part with those that no longer serve their purpose. The problem, as many of us addressed when faced with our imminent mortality since 2020, is the “sunk cost fallacy,” which is what I struggle with the most. But every time I throw out bags of junk, I feel more free. Right now I’m staring at my entertainment center and wondering if I can take this on this coming weekend and really get rid of a lot of extraneous bric-a-brac. I’m that over it.
When lived in Providence, I still had this whole room, but I had a hard time managing it, often having to call in friends to help me figure shit out because the executive dysfunction of ADHD would win every damn time. This just got worse in Portsmouth, which is when I decided NO MORE, and started to manage my belongings better when it came to a cross-country move to San Diego, despite Jeff glittering the ceiling with pewter and lead when he got a bit too torch-happy indoors. Unfortunately, San Diego is when Jeff really took over.
We didn’t have a garage in Portsmouth or Providence, we did in San Diego. And despite leaving items in storage in New Hampshire, he insisted on getting more out west, starting with the Bug and all of the tools needed to work on her. This seems benign, and it felt that way, because it was contained in the garage and I managed to keep a pretty tidy home there, but Jeff was also not home a lot, it being sea duty, so I didn’t get the full brunt of what hoarding really looked like until Jacksonville, and especially, COVID.
I need to remind folks that the Jacksonville move was not good. He had orders back to Groton that were stripped and replaced with a Kings Bay hot fill. This was enough to make me actually have a nervous breakdown because I had a home and a job lined up in Connecticut, developed mood disorders, and have to begin therapy after a fun stay on the grippy socks floor at Balboa. (People forget that the military life generally sucks, and it’s not the aristocratic nostalgia for wartime glam that some assume it is.) I also assume this is about when Jeff started to become sick, only we had no idea. Between the two of us struggling, cleaning was not always easy, but I managed to always pull it off, no matter how shitty I felt, because being a Florida native I know what can happen if things get nasty. *shudder*
But, Jeff didn’t just get out of control with the Bug, he got out of control with the bar, brewing, moneying, and 3D printing at the same time I was trying to make a living with silk painting and sewing thanks to being unable to find decent work in Jacksonville, and later Norfolk. Remember: milspouses are discriminated in the workplace because we’re seen as temps, so trying to find work, even with my resume from CA, was impossible on the East Coast. So every room in the house had a project. Every. One. The dining room was where I painted silk. The library became the 3D printing lab alongside my jewelry bench, the garage became an epicenter of pure madness and the bar appeared in the middle of this in the dining room and then lanai. It was too much. When Covid hit and we were both home, at first it sounded like a great way to catch up, but it just got worse. I ended up not sewing the nifty fabrics I bought to make cute dresses, he didn’t use the piles of lumber he bought to make furniture. He also wasn’t out there working on the Bug, citing Florida heat in the garage, but still buying parts for it. I brought this up to my therapist and she warned me that it was going to balloon if I didn’t nip it in the bud. Hoarding behavior, even when started as benign, is a form of addiction, addiction to consumerism, and the _idea_ of project completion, and if projects are not coming to fruition, then the supplies are now a hoard, and need to be dealt with. This was the time when I should have gone to Oxford for my paper on the Marian Relics, but because of Covid, I opted to go to visit Bestie for a week and help him untangle his father’s estate and the last of his grandmother’s belongings.
So there I was, going through boxes and boxes of someone else’s things, getting a firsthand account of what happens when you die and your possessions become “somebody else’s problem”, and it was also when the Cymbalta they gave me for fibromyalgia caused tardive dyskinesia and amplified my depression. I got back to Jacksonville off an emotional rollercoaster into a house that I left Jeff in unsupervised for a week, and threatened to walk into the Atlantic Ocean. Instead, I got carted back to therapy twice a week and told to stop taking the pills and I would feel better. At this point we already knew we were moving to Norfolk, they just weren’t settled on the timeline yet. I was angry that we had to deal with another move, surrounded by junk, and wanting none of this. So, one day, I called him at work, which I rarely did because calling base is one of those, “This needs to be urgent” calls, yeah well, direct line to his desk, and I just unloaded on him:
“You get the fuck home right now and clean this place up, or I am taking my things and the cat home to Tampa for good.”
He did come straight home. He did straighten up, but what I wasn’t seeing is that his “cleaning” was shoving random things into bins. These are the doom boxes I had to look at in Norfolk this weekend. This didn’t stop. He didn’t stop. He insisted he wasn’t a hoarder, but a packrat (really?) and there were regular fights about how he managed his belongings. So, we started couple’s therapy that summer with my therapist who needed to attempt to hammer it into his head what was going on. This was also about when he started having visible symptoms of cancer and getting ignored by the Navy, so in hindsight my behavior feels awful, or, maybe, I wasn’t hard enough. Jeff had me leave when the movers came for our things because of the “anxiety” I would have watching them touch my things, and to get Harald out of the way so he didn’t flip out either, but that didn’t stop me from seeing the bins and bins that went into the now 2-car garage we had in Norfolk, which just gave him more space to collect more tools.
We never really fully settled in up there. I hated it immediately, I was unable to find work because of the pandemic and obvious Navy base resume, so that’s when I started applying for PhD programs after a lengthy discussion with him on what I needed to do with my life to be happy. The answer was to get out of there, away from him, in my own space while he finished up the last 2 years in the Navy as it would be mostly deployment anyway, and we could both downsize and work on our issues. It wasn’t separation, it was geo-baching, but my unhappiness with his hoarding was becoming a major issue, and he promised me that he would go through all of his junk and such and get rid of what he could. I have no doubt it started like this, there is a rhyme and reason to the rear of the storage unit, but the bins and bins and bins say otherwise. I don’t want to say I was lied to, but neither of us knew what was coming, so I assume that he planned to just address it during his time in port.
What my brother and I opened the door to.
This all makes me feel terrible, but also angry. When we rolled that door up on Friday afternoon I could have spat. The first thing on my mind was “gas can”, but that’s irrational, no matter how fun it sounds. I knew I would have help. I knew this needed to be tackled. But I also know I shouldn’t have had to do this. He had warning that his hoarding made me loathe his existence, that it was the catalyst that was well on the way to destroy our marriage, and now it’s entirely on my shoulders. All of his years of accumulated junk tools from Harbor Freight, a completely disassembled 1976 VW Sun Bug, and whatever else he had on top of four 3D printers, a shelf of filament, all of our collective brewing materials and camping equipment. Hell, there’s a full oak barrel in there used to age stout.
This is not just a vent, this is a cautionary tale: It is not sustainable or healthy to live like this. While you may not think that your precious “collections” harm anybody, they are. We couldn’t have friends over in Jacksonville because I never knew what the house would look like.
I’ve also made it perfectly clear, many times, that books are a Problem. I have almost all the books, I found ONE box up there (thank god). Everything else is here, and I cut my stacks by half last year. You need to keep a working collection, not piles. I cannot stress this enough as a former librarian and archivist: Books can actually kill you, and the answer is not “more shelves.” They attract major pests and mold, in addition to being heavy and unstable if not shelved correctly. If you haven’t read a book in over 10 years: get rid of it. If it’s a scholarly publication that has had updated research in the last 20 years: Get rid of it. This is not a joke. I am serious, and I make these posts regularly to remind people to weed your collection. Libraries do this for a reason, and if you want a working library in your home, you need to act like it.
Fabric can also kill you. It attracts pests and mold, much like books. Even when stored appropriately the natural decay of cellulose and protein creates dust, and that causes microscopic issues around your home including making you ill. If you’ve been saving a special linen for a decade or so, there’s a good chance it may not survive the sewing process if you don’t live in a home with central AC, or worse, you store it in storage or a garage. Get rid of it.
PLA is biodegradable. My guess is that most of those tubs of 3D printing material in there are full of goo, not filament, but I won’t know until I can open every single one of them.
What an average box or bin looked like.After the path was discovered.Piles and piles of tool bins in the back.
Jeff left a mess of tools. Some are very expensive and carry value, but that’s just some, and I have most of them here already. Those bins and bins and bins of Harbor Freight doodads? Junk. Pot metal. I may not even be able to recycle them, so I have to figure out how to safely dispose of all of this when I’m not a resident of Norfolk and have no access to their dump facilities. There’s also bins of flammable and caustic chemicals still in there because we have no idea what to do with them until I can do more research and determine the cost of disposal. The two shelves in the middle were full of spray paint that was exploding. We removed them and were able to dispose of the paint.
Storage after the first “recon” mission. The trailer was given away, the center shelves were removed. We did 5 loads of large trash, and have empty bins and a ton of Damp Rid in there to help us when we return.
The reason for this post is that I know I’m not alone. I know that there are many of my friends and associates out there that have piles and piles in their garages, a timebomb of “that’s somebody else’s problem after we die.” Don’t do this, please. Consider the future and the impact you’re leaving on others and the planet. Consider the burden your loved ones will inherit when you do, eventually, shove off this mortal coil. While it’s not easy, or cheap, to juggle the living history life, we need to do better for ourselves, our mental health, and our loved ones. Don’t leave them with a sketchy storage unit 5 states away and the monetary burden it will be to disperse and dispose of it.
If, after reading this, you’re still on team, “They who die with the most books/fabric/tools/insert junk here, wins!” I beg you to reconsider.
No, Jeff didn’t know he was going to die, but there’s a chance neither will you. Please don’t leave your partner in the same predicament I am in. I miss him terribly and this weekend was a horrifically emotional journey, but if necromancy was real, I’d kill him again for this.
This post has been in the wings for a bit. It was not easy for me to write and I kept putting it off.
Oh March 18th, 2023, The Honorable Lord Gieffrei de Toesni, known as Jeff the Moneyer, Order of the Maunche and Order of the Silver Crescent of the East Kingdom, beloved populace of Trimaris and former populace of Caid and Atlantia, passed from this mortal coil after a short but fiery war with a rare, aggressive form of cancer found only 8 months prior. He was two weeks sky of turning 42 years old. I was by this side when he took his last breath, as our adopted daughter Aethelflied Brewbane felt his heart stop, and as Konstantia Kaloethina held my hand.
Aethelflied, a death doula, and I performed the sacred post-mortem, clothing him in a shroud made from his Manazan tunic and trimmed in fine Sartor brocade silk that was to be used for his eventual elevation to Laurel or Pelican. We felt the warmth depart from his body as I poured a libation of Guinness beer into his mouth for one final time. Coins that he struck himself were placed over his eyes to pay Charon so that he may cross the River Styx. We did shots of Jameson in the hospice room, that, ironically, was decorated with swallows.
Jeff’s shroud: His Manazan caves tunic, trimmed in fine silk brocade by Aethelflied.
We cried hysterically as his body was wheeled out under the American flag to Taps, the only ones who came to watch his service to the nation end. The next day was filled with the usual chaos following any death: The funeral home arrangements, people bringing us food to my parents’ house to comfort myself, my immediate family, and his, who were in town but couldn’t bear to spend another day watching him waste away in a hospice bed. The Navy showed up, of course, and the paperwork to ensure I wouldn’t be starving for the rest of my life was completed while Aethelflied and Konstantia took messages for me.
…within hours I had people asking for his belongings, both mundane and SCAdian.
This is not uncommon with death, unfortunately, in fact I was regaled with horror stories of people breaking into homes while families sat shiva or church “friends” putting stickers on items around a home to claim them. But this was maddening. His VW Beetle was the top request, followed by his moneying materials, a certain tunic, or drinking horn, or or or, the list goes on.
I stared at my messages in disbelief, especially since I had asked for peace and privacy. How could people who are part of a club that purports grace, chivalry, and courtesy be so selfish? Didn’t I have enough on my plate?
Facebook accounts were blocked, text messages were responded to with vitriol, and we made the decision that when we emptied storage that someone with a concealed weapons permit should be present.
“He would have wanted me to have this.”
I’m sorry, who are you again?
The tent is still in storage. So is the bug, so is everything, because it takes time to liquidate a life, and I should be granted time to mourn with those that came to support me, not watching best friends of mine telling random people I haven’t spoken to in five years to screw. It was awful and disheartening, but it didn’t stop there.
“You need to come to Pennsic.” There was no asking, “You need to come to Pennsic. We’ll put up the tent for you, just bring garb. His arms need to be on the boat.”
It was less than 24 hours after he passed. I became anxious and mortified that plans were being made for me, and him, without my consent. I eventually just started replying to every message with a single “No.” And left it at that. I imagined being confined to a room without a door, but shadows of people banging on the walls and windows to be let in. It was insane. It was unkind, and I don’t think I will ever mentally recover from any of this.
Again, this is not limited to the SCA, but I didn’t have any of his Navy shipmates reaching out for his things. If anything, they were the first to send monetary aid or gift cards for food, laundry services, and groceries.
My immediate family lives the next county over, so it’s not like they’re distant, but not close enough for daily help. I was told to go stay with my parents. I refrained. I figured I needed to get this over with sooner than later.
Ever see a cat grieve? Oh my god. My poor Harald. He hid in my craft room for 3 months, coming out for food, pets, and the occasional bit of attention before sequestering himself in there on a cat bed, sleeping the day away and not grooming himself.
Harald enjoying a moment with his daddy during Jeff’s final months.
For 2 weeks after I hid in my house, trying to catch back up on schoolwork that I was floundering on as a result of his sudden turn and passing, and trying not to fail out of my PhD program. I made plans to go to Malta for an archaeological dig, and then some additional time in Europe visiting friends in Germany. I’d be gone for a full month abroad, making Pennsic not possible. This made people angry. Those people got blocked. My non-SCA best friend who I’ve known longer than anybody other than my parents helped me do the big cull of Jeff’s mundane clothing and objects, and reminded me to take care of myself. His SCA life started to slowly disperse across the SCAverse.
My grief is not something to display like heraldry. My grief is my own. And while I invite all to grieve with me of course, I knew damn well that I would be paraded around like some dark royalty and I didn’t want, or need that. To be honest, I don’t know when I will ever return to Pennsic. I don’t want to at the moment. The pictures are destroying me, especially of those around my camp and the surrounding blocks.
He will not be there.
The bar will not be there.
The tent will not be there.
Everything that made Pennsic “ours” is gone. There is no more “us”, it is only “me”. And that is a loneliness that not even a two week event of 10,000+ people can fill. It’s not that I can’t do it, of course, I’ve solo-Pennsic’d and evented many times considering his Navy career, but I don’t want to. Because I know it won’t be the same. I know that by the time I finally make it back, some jerk will tell me to stop crying and get over it, because they haven’t yet discovered that grief is a non-linear menace.
I need to sell the round tent, it’s too big for just me and I don’t have the means to transport it, but I know that people are waiting for me to just give up and offer it for free. I also want to be picky about who I sell it to, which just makes it worse. I almost want to keep it out of spite, but I don’t have the space. It’s still in storage in Virginia, with our bar, his armor, and a full ¾ of our SCA life I haven’t been able to get to yet. I won’t be telling anybody when I get up there to empty it. Hell, aside from the car, I may even just make that my final Navy move, bring everything to Florida, and deal with it when I can despite the cost of storage.
I need to sell the flatbed trailer, because I’m not getting an SUV or truck anytime soon that will allow me to tow it. I’ve already given his truck to my brother who desperately needed a car. Again, someone is just going to wait for me to give it up for free. I may as well sell it for scrap. The VW has a home.
(Do not, and I mean, DO NOT, dare message me asking to purchase any of these things. When they are listed on public sites like SCA yard sale, that is your chance.)
His tools are all going to people I have chosen specifically to receive them. His scribal kit is now mine. His armor will forever be enshrined on a stand in my living room.
I sold a great deal of his garb to newcomers at Trimaris Memorial Tourney (Spring Crown), it gave me a significant amount of spending money to bring to Malta, which I figured I would use to treat myself to something nice.
The month abroad didn’t provide me with the reset it craved, because every piece of ancient and medieval architecture I took in reminded me of him. The cancer center calling me at 9pm CEST because insurance was playing chicken made it even worse. My mental exhaustion coupled with the physical exhaustion of excavation weakened my immune system and the medieval experience I craved became a little too real when I contracted a superbug version of shigella, or dysentery. Considering my affinity for hand wipes and washing, we have no idea where I picked it up other than careless preparation of food or a momentary encounter in a busy airport. This destroyed the relaxing week I had planned in Germany, and a 2-week recovery back in the states that resulted in an additional ER visit for fluids. I still haven’t fully recovered from the severe dehydration and inflammation, and it’s been nearly a month.
All I wanted was some peace, and I wasn’t even granted that. I am now tasked with moving to a new apartment while fighting with receiving his benefits so I can afford it. It’s not a lot, I will never not have a job, and I am not permitted to get married again until I’m over the age of 55. All this, and I keep getting asked why I’m not at Pennsic. The world does not stop for the SCA.
Two days before I departed for Malta, King Hans of the West died suddenly, and I watched the whole thing go down again, but knew better than to reach out to Duchess Helga or Queen Ciar. They asked for privacy, and I would give it to them for as long as they wished, knowing damn well that people were ignoring that.
When you play in a game that is 50% popularity contest, when you attain peerage, when you run a blog and become a favorite personality among people, you become a celebrity, and while this can be great fun, in the worst cases, it’s jarring and uncomfortable, and I wish more people understood this.
It doesn’t matter how many people want to talk to you or send thoughts, the death of my husband is the single loneliest experience I have every felt in my life because that’s what grief does. Period. Full stop. For every person that told me I was strong, I wanted to counter with a punch in the face. For every person that offered me “moral support” instead of coming over to do my laundry, I wanted to punch in the face. For every person that sent me “thoughts and prayers” instead of Doordash I wanted to punch in the face, and so on. I wish I could explain this, because none of these folks did anything wrong, and their words were not necessarily empty, they were just at a distance and a loss of what they could do to help, but all I could muster in return was a shallow “thank you”, and manifestations of anger unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. Plenty of people helped, I always had food on my plate, gas in my car, and the rent was paid, but it didn’t stop the loneliness. Once the guests that were here for the small backyard wake we had left, the silence was deafening. Jeff’s arms from the Memorial Shield Project disappeared from accounts on Facebook, and life continued.
Jarring and uncomfortable.
I am going to post the Ring Theory for those that need to read about it. I think it’s important not just in the case of the SCA, but also for anybody who is experiencing a traumatic event, especially death.
Grief is non-linear. I am not better now than I was in March, and Pennsic wasn’t going to fix that. I am not going to be okay ever again, and you know what? THAT IS OKAY TOO. I am never not going to be grieving Jeff, and the life we had and the one we had planned. He was a year from retiring from the Navy, and the adventures were being planned. This summer, we had a hopeful pipe dream of going to the UK and hiking the Pilgrim’s Way from Southwark to Canterbury. Instead I’m moving to a new apartment paying $600 more a month so I don’t have to look at the cancer center and VA hospital every day when I leave the house. I will never not miss our crazy projects, his ADHD explosions of SCA crafts all over the house (which honestly used to make me lose my mind) and his greasy smile after a day of working on the Bug. I will never not miss watching our favorite shows together, I have yet to finish the Mandalorian’s most recent season and don’t know if I’m ready to yet. I don’t know how to fix the 3D printers properly. I won’t miss the screaming at each other we did before each Pennsic, but I will miss the cool dewy nights at our camp bar or cuddling on our bed in the tent, looking up at the kaleidoscope of blue and green of our colored canvas as the sun rose at events in three different kingdoms. I’m going to miss our hiking trips into national parks and marveling of the natural beauty of the US. I’m going to mourn the future that was taken from me for as long as I need to. One day, I will see our tent somewhere else. It will hurt, but I know it’s bring someone joy, the same joy Jeff had when he ordered it in his colors.
Jeff in is element: Filthy at Pennsic after digging for clay to make paint.Us in our Norman finest with our tent and bar behind us.
Be gentle to those you know in the SCA that have experienced loss. Give them the space they ask for. Help them when they ask. Don’t assume you will be given anything of the deceased’s belongings and keep your tantrums about it to yourself. The bereaved are not your jewelry, do not wear them at events, instead, make sure they’re eating, drinking, and that vultures and collectors are kept at bay.
A medieval village would come together in times of crisis to help their community, the SCA should be doing the same.
Jeff’s time in the SCA is not finished. His ashes are with me, and his art and service will continue in different forms inspiring others.
I never really settled into living in Atlantia. In fact, I generally hated the region of Hampton Roads. Nothing against the people of the Barony of Marinus, who were awesome for the short time I was there, but after getting turned out for a ton of jobs, I decided that it was time to do something for myself.
I am back in Trimaris.
I am in the Barony of Wyvernwoode, my ancient and venerable stomping grounds, and have embarked on my PhD at the University of South Florida in Tampa.
THLord Gieffrei is remaining in Norfolk to finish his naval career, and I will remain supporting him from 800mi south. He wasn’t really around at all for my MA in the East, or even when I lived in Caid, so this is nothing new for us. In fact, we do better when apart. My immediate family is still in the Tampa Bay area, and out of the schools I applied to, USF offered the most funding and the best track for what I want to go into in order to further my work with museums and public history. If anything, the Pandemic has taught me that it’s important to be near those you care about, and I did not have that in Virginia. Jeff was out a lot, I barely knew anybody, and frankly, I’m very burned out of this whole “Navy wife life” BS. It was time for the Byzantine Girl Summer, so to speak. (You know, my almost-40 year old “girl” self.)
Needless to say, I am BUSY. I am in 3 classes in addition to working as a grad assistant. I do still plan on making it to a few events here and there, but with COVID being so badly managed here in Florida, and the SCA’s adoption of an “honor system” versus mandating vaccines, I don’t see myself out much until things change. I am fully vaccinated (House Moderna!), and I am masked and exposed to germs daily on campus. Not to mention, the SCA’s continued bad acting in the face of issues including white supremacy, sexual assault, and even D&I issues (though I applaud the D&I staff and office), I just can’t grok with the game right now. Things need to turn around.
I know there’s a lot to be said about a new peer sort of backing off after elevation, but it’s more common than people think. The system is designed to wear us down, and I am not tolerating it, nor am I allowing my associates to tolerate it. I haven’t even posted about my elevation ceremony itself yet, because I was so damn burned out from it all I ran completely out of steam and didn’t want to blog about anything at all.
So this is what I have done instead:
-Lost 30lbs by watching my food intake and working out. Kettlebells, yoga, and Body Groove have changed my life. I’m working on my next 20lbs. -Returned to Taekwondo after a 15 year hiatus, and will be pursuing my next black belt degree. -Applied to, and was accepted to, 3 PhD programs. USF being funded enough for me to live on my own. -Bought a new car! Nothing that special, but hey, new cars are always nice, right? -Took a total break from sewing aside from masks, and SCA related art, and sold half of my fabric stash. -Enjoyed reading fiction again. -Reconnected with my best friend of 30+ years (no he’s not SCA, and never will be.)
This doesn’t suck.
Do I miss my SCA friends and family? Of course I do. Every day. I miss camping. I miss events. I miss the old normal as much as everybody else, but the New Normal is what we have, and we need to accept it and adapt to changes, be it Pandemic-related, or cultural. The SCA is stuck in the 1970s when other similar organizations are moving into the 2020s. When those who dislike change to the point they become a viable threat to the game bounces, they start a new SCA clone with blackjack and hookers, and none of this looks okay for somebody like me who is entering the dreaded enemy of the SCA: Academia. They don’t care what game I play. They just see the press releases, social media posts, and take the next step.
I will be back. I want to come back, but I want to see changes first:
I want a vaccine mandate. If the Boy Scouts can do it, so can we. If you’re going to be an ass and bring up “freedoms”, allow me to remind you of the preamble of the US Constitution: “Promote the general welfare.” Full stop. Get over it.
I want white supremacists GONE. Not coddled, not “well they just have a difference of opinion”, no, Get them. The fuck. Out of. My Game. And no, not “Conservatives”. Most of my household is _conservative_. They also are pro-vax and anti-Nazi. Get with it, “conservatives”.
I want sexual assault investigated swiftly, safely, and any assailant removed from the Society IMMEDIATELY. No beating around the goddamn bush. “Oh but the BOD…”, the BOD can also change procedure.
I want a better environment for BIPOC and LGBTQ+ members. I want to see more inclusive events and development opportunities for non-Western European personae. This is already going well, but we can do better. I also want people to understand that “inclusion” does not mean just BIPOC and LGBTQ+ individuals. Seeing the social media reaction to the D&I office sponsoring a session on active duty military made my blood boil, and almost made Jeff quit entirely.
Likewise, I want SCAdians to realize that my husband’s job takes precedence over events and commissions. Asking for a commission from Jeff a month or so before we PCS or he deploys and then pitching a fit when he says no is not a good look and bluntly, we’re sick of it.
I want our bullying policy to be revisited and less able to be weaponized. Yes, I’ve been bullied, but I didn’t say anything because the person at the helm held more power than me, and we all know how that works in the end. All it takes is for me to snap back at somebody on social media, and then, snap! I’m the bully. If I defend myself against sexual assault, I can be kicked out as a bully. Think about that. Since the day I was elevated, I’ve had frequent attacks on Facebook wherein my posts are repeatedly reported for bullying and hate speech if I speak out against certain individuals and their behavior. (Getting banned from Facebook is now my Stupid Peer Trick.)
The SCA needs to not lean on Facebook so much. It is a flawed platform that allows for abuse of reporting and algorithms to control speech from all angles. It makes it harder to determine who are actually missing stairs, and who is just getting piled on for dropping an F-bomb. Unfortunately, it’s also the best platform as far as discussion groups go that isn’t Discord. That is a problem in itself.
When the SCA does better, a lot of us will come back. Until then, don’t be surprised if you don’t see me much until Jeff retires, or I’m done with school. I certainly don’t plan on attending Pennsic for a while.
Does that mean you shouldn’t contact me? Absolutely not. Please email me. Please message me. I know I owe a couple of folks silk banners (military movers did not play nice this last go around and things…yeah things. I need to replace lots of things.) I still want to share my wealth of knowledge with everybody, but my brain is elsewhere right now. I still care, maybe I still care too much, and that’s the point of this rant.
I just think we can do better, and I’ll be around.
This is more of a cautionary tale than an actual report of what went down.
Long story short: when you’re a very popular person in the SCA, there’s a good chance that not everybody who wants to get into your vigil tent is going to get in. This is at least thwarted with the usual in-person festivities of a party-like setting with snacks and drinks to sate visitors while they wait.
You get no such thing when your vigil is online. This can make some people a bit cranky that they have to sit around in a Zoom waiting room. I received no major complaints in my direction, other than Facebook messages of, “I fell asleep/I waited too long/I wanted to get dinner/I didn’t want to sit in garb all night/etc.” But that didn’t stop me from feeling bad about it. We did the best we can under the circumstances of hinky tech and overloading rooms. Please keep this in mind as the society as a whole continues to navigate this time of weird should you end up in another digi-vigil.
This is how it went down:
Originally, I was to sit in a tent in a friend’s backyard, at least, to emulate the idea of a larger in-person vigil. There was a nice selection of snacks and drinks for the local crew, and the incense and candles I purchased from an Orthodox Monastery here in the states as part of my almsgiving plan (see forthcoming post about ceremony.) I had my icon of St. Michael the Archangel, a 3D printed bust of Empress Ariadne from the Louvre, and my Tampa Bay Rays ball cap (hey, it was the playoffs and I was missing the game!) with incense and candles as a table nearby. I had printed fabric of Empress Irene from the Hagia Sophia as my backdrop. It was going to be -pretty- and -medieval-.
Except that no matter what we did, the internet refused to comply with me being outside. So, as the waiting room filled up, I couldn’t let anybody in. We hastily relocated me inside to the dining room. The ballcap was lost in the shuffle, and by the time it was found in the dirt outside, the Rays were losing that game to the Astros.
Once we finally got going, I only got a few visitors in before the first major crash happened. It took a bit to rebuild the queue, and Master Herman had to stick around as a tech support presence in the vigil room the entire night to stop subsequent crashes, of which there were two more. But as long as he was “in” there, the room stayed open and we didn’t have to start a new one. In order to help, Mistress Maol created a breakout room for guests to be able to chat in, and other rooms formed as well from what I heard. All I know is that I sat on a wooden chair from 7:30pm to 12am and my legs were none-too-happy about it. Something else to think about. The plus side to having control over who was coming in and out of my room was that I could run to the facilities as needed and get a leg stretch when I could. Something that would have been a bit harder in-person if there was a massive line building.
The other option we employed was the digital vigil book, which can still be found at www.annasvigil.northernarmy.org. As of this point, 2 weeks after the fact, I still haven’t read it because I’ve been so busy working on our next military move to Virginia, so all SCA is in the backseat until I know our lives aren’t going to shatter along with our TVs again. I’ll get there when I get there. My online presence was coordinated by Master Richard leHawke from the East Kingdom, since it didn’t require anything local.
Here’s my list of Digi-Vigil Pros and Cons:
Pros:
-Easier to sneak away for breaks.
-Being able to see friends from all around the world, and not just who’s at the event. I had several from Lochac (Australia), who were sharing their morning cup of coffee with me.
-You can record it and keep it forever.
Cons:
-Except for your local crew, nobody gets snacks.
-Tech can, and will, go down.
-It definitely pulls you out of the medieval experience.
To conclude, here are some tips to help those that are leading up to their own virtual events that I can only give because things broke on my end. Hahahaha, er…
1: TEST YOUR TECHNOLOGY. Do a tech week in advance. When we did our tech week, we thought a different router would help. NOPE. Get this worked out before you sit down.
2: MAKE SOCIAL MEDIA EVENTS FOR THIS. We referred everyone to the Trimaris Populace Facebook page. Bad idea. A Facebook event would have been better, and we ended up doing that the next day for the actual elevation.
3: BE PATIENT. Jeff kept going, “Semper Gumby” to me, over and over. But when your husband is used to nothing going right in the Navy, and you have generalized anxiety disorder, maybe consider medicating instead. >.<
4: REMEMBER TO EAT AND REST AS NEEDED. You are not strapped to the chair. Scream for snacks, and actually don’t take a visitor for a few minutes so that you can consume said snackery. I did not. I was HUNGRY when we left, even with a plate of food there. I did eat it, mind you, but probably not as much as I should have.
5: MAY I SUGGEST A NAP BEFORE SITTING UP ALL NIGHT? Oof.
Next post: A Peerage in the Time of Plague, Part 3: “Hey, remember I’m still a classicist!” Pouring a Libation to Poseidon.
This entire year has been rough on all of us, and the lack of in-person SCA events has definitely taken a toll on the organization in many ways. No, virtual events are not the same, and likewise, a virtual elevation to a bestowed peerage won’t be either. I’d like to think I did the best I could considering the circumstances, but I also admit that I was considerably comprehensive in having a solid ‘In Case of Peerage’ plan. (I will be making a post about that concept separately.)
This series of posts talks the method behind my madness of my 3 weeks from announcement, to vigil, to virtual elevation, and how my small bubble here in Castlemere pulled everything off in record speed.
And also, how everything that could explode, DID explode, and did so colorfully in only a way that I could manage.
“A laurel, and a hardy handshake! – er, sorry, no handshakes during COVID!”
Initial Planning
After the shock wore off, I realized I had a lot of work to do. The original plan was that it would be me in my wedge tent with the computer, sitting outside of our townhouse for vigil, and figuring something out for elevation. Thankfully, the Castlemere Bubble came to the aid, and decided this would not do. It was coordinated to be in a member’s backyard where there was space for everybody to social distance, but allowed for an actual proper looking site with a tent, hors d’oeuvres table, and likewise space for an outdoor elevation the following day as long as weather cooperated. It was short notice, but it was going to be now, or at a time when I could fly back to Florida from Virginia safely. Master Herman had already coordinated ethereal courts, so it seemed like a good crew to work through the elevation protocol. Their Majesties Trimaris were super flexible with whatever we needed, which was also super helpful.
Fortunately, I had a solid plan of what ceremony I wanted from De Cerimoniis (The investiture of a girded lady patrician/zoste patrikia) and the approach I wanted to take as far as regalia and appearance went, so that saved me a lot of grief. An additional post on the ceremony will follow this one.
This post is about the Garb!
I started my elevation planning shortly after I received my Eastern Maunche in 2014. When I started to see fabrics and trim I wanted to incorporate into an eventual ceremony, I bought it and squirreled it away. This saved my butt, because we decided to turn around a fast elevation from announcement since our next military permanent change of station is imminent. While it would have been nicer to have had the time to devote to rich embellishments and friends pitching in for the full shebang, Etsy has a treasure trove of sellers from India who work exclusively in recycled sari borders and materials for crafters around the world. Leaf motifs are very common in Indian designs, and it’s relatively easy to find something extremely passable for Byzantine bling, which is why I support the use of recycled saris for simple beginner or camp-grade SCA Byzantine. This is one of those cases where working smarter and not harder pays off.
Plus! It is SUPER PERIOD to procure materials via import and varied guilds for a Byzantine, . Please do not murder yourself, your household, and your friends making insanely embellished clothing when buying materials is more authentic!
Vigil Tunic:
For my vigil, I actually just wore the chiton I made for my Vestal Virgin. It saved me time, and seemed oddly fitting.
Elevation Dress:
Since I had the materials set aside regardless of geographic location, I decided to go forward with my plan for a full 3-layer ensemble that consisted of the body linen (esophorion), underdress (kamision), and dalmatic (delmatikion). Fortunately, I got lucky with highs in the 70s, so I didn’t feel totally melty.
Esophorion:
I rarely wear the standing collar esophorion, but I figured that for what was such a high court event, I needed to suck it up, comfort be damned. My body linen was constructed out of linen gauze — This sounds more romantic and lovely than it sounds. The fabric is beautiful, but it is hell to work with. Even the parts where I would normally hand sew entirely on the collar construction, I resigned to use machine, because my stitches were just not working the way I needed them too. The fabric pulled, warped, and did whatever it could despite careful cutting, frequent ironing, cursing, and candle lightings. I have no pictures of me wearing JUST it, because of the sheerness and my own modesty. the collar ended up being too big, so I pulled the placket over more to get a better fit. I think next time: NO gauze, and eliminating the Manazan collar construction for a shoulder seam split, and see if I can achieve a closer fit. Length is to my calves, and the gores go into the arms in the Manazan exemplar.
Kamision:
This was a simple tunic dress construction based on my preferred pattern with side gores and a rounded underarm from the “Persian Style Tunic” at the Met. The fabric is an orange linen twill from Sartor, and the trim was cut from a brocade I have in my stash. Collar is self-faced and tacked down with a blind hem stitch, and the cuffs and hem were whipstitched into place. Main seams were all machine for time crunch reasons. I had to wear something orange, of course, even if you can’t see it at all under the delmatikion.
Delmatikion:
I decided to use a different construction on the delmatikion than I normally would, in an attempt to stretch the fabric a bit more for a wider garment. It really didn’t work, and caused more frustration in application of the faux-tiraz bands on the sleeves. This is what I get for trying something -new- for the sake of authenticity, rather than going with my preferred fit. There’s more than one way to cut a garment, I just wanted to drive myself batty, I guess. Rather than having triangle gores from the waist, I have trapezoidal ones that come down from the sleeves as I did with my pilgrimage garment. This actually creates a great vertical seam that would work for potamioi embellishment, but that is out of period for my impression. This style DOES allow for keeping the hems very even, if you’re like me and end up with random excess length in places as a result of bad math. Fortunately, the collar neckline with the shoulder seam keyhole is something I’ve done a few times at this point. It creates a nice clean line at the neck when embellishment is elsewhere.
I constructed the sleeves first, as they would be the most time consuming with the lining, followed by the neckline, and the hem facing. After that, it was basically putting puzzle pieces together and closing the side seams into a finished garment. The neckline, trim, and hem were all hand-finished.
The main fabric is a silk brocade from PureSilks.us that has ridiculously long weft floats on the backside. This made it uncomfortable to sew by either machine or hand. Honestly, I wouldn’t recommend it unless you want to line an entire garment. I just lined the sleeves, and I still have floats that wanted to come out. The hem where the roundel silks are turned up? Oh boy. It looks like it’s FRAYING. I will have to apply some kind of fall or facing on the inside in order to control it for future wear, I just didn’t think this through, and you know, you’d THINK with LAUREL ELEVATION GARB, I would have paid more attention, but nooooooo. Murphy was well and truly sewing with me the whole time.
The roundel silk is a samite from Sartor. I only had two yards of it, so I knew that it had to be trim, plus, that many roundels on purple would be well and truly presumptuous to the throne, and while wearing purple when being invested into a high office was fine, there were still limits on the types of fabrics one could get away with.
Sleeves are bag lined in a lavender-white shot silk dupioni.
The trim was a lucky find on Etsy from a sari shredder in India. I was able to get 9 yards of it shipped via DHL quickly, so I had it on hand when I got to this part. They did have green leaves, but when I saw the orange, there was no turning back
Maphorion and Zonarion:
Nothing special to see here, but I needed a plain white maphorion, or hooded/semicircular veil, and a new belt, since, well, all of my belts are green! The maphorion should be stiff, so I used pure white silk taffeta versus linen or dupioni as my previous attempts. It ended up wrinkling too easily, so I wonder if adding the eventual fillet for the kharzanion will help it stay in place better.
The Regalia:
I’ll go more into this with the following post on ceremony, but I chose to mimic the investiture of a Zoste Patrikia because of the extra bling involved, because WHY NOT? The Zoste was the only woman permitted to wear the loros aside from the empress. Plus, it just made sense to be invested as a “mistress of the robes” when elevated as a costume and material culture laurel.
I outsourced the construction of all of these pieces to very caring friends and the husband who were happy to take the burden off of me while I screamed at my silks.
The Loros:
The loros was constructed by Lady Margaret. We were able to come up with a simple pattern on graph paper to aid her in getting the measurements right. It’s a golden silk taffeta, with more amazing sari trim from the same dealer as the orange leaves. It is deliberately longer in the back than the front which allows me to hold it, or pin it to the front of my garments. This served as my “robe”.
The Medallion:
The medallion is in the form of a thorakion, or body chain. This typically signifies the holder of an office. After checking out some extant chains full of fancy openwork, The Norman Husband cast the chain links in pewter using a 3D printed original that was used to form a silicone mold. The results were unreal. 60 links total were made that portrayed my heraldic dolphin, initials in Greek letters, and the laurel wreath. As a consolation prize, he also made me a cookie press from the same rendering.
The medallion itself was also 3D printed using our resin printer to emulate intaglio carnelian. Unfortunately, he ran out of time to make the silver setting for it, and the aluminum wire bezel failed. (Watch for this blooper during the ceremony in the next post.) C’est la vie when you only have three weeks to pull it off. While Gieffrei is learning the intricacies of openwork and lapidary, it will be after his retirement from the Navy before he can devote significant time in working in these techniques. Until then, I think the use of modern technology to pump out affordable, good looking jewelry is a great option, especially for newcomers who are daunted by more advanced hand techniques, or for people who can’t afford more authentic pieces from our amazing artisans (who are worth their prices!).
Propoloma and kharzanion:
Mistress Christine was kind enough to take on the burden of my propoloma, which was trimmed in fancy, but heavy, beaded leaf trim that was another killer Etsy find, and set amethyst cabochons for baronial coronet “pearls”. This is a more 12th Century than 11th Century style, but the single stripe of leaves from corner to corner didn’t have the same aesthetic.
The kharzanion, which is a specific type of praipendoulia worn between the veil and propoloma, were put together by Gieffrei, and are constructed of pearls, chrysoprase, and amethyst, with glass leaves. For the elevation, I attached them to the hat to eliminate a step, but they should be hung from a fillet that keeps the veil in place. If they didn’t have leaves on them, I probably could have worn them on a band, but hindsight et al.
Other accessories:
Earrings:
The earrings in my first whole were made for my by Maestrina Chiaretta di Fiore as an elevation gift, based on Byzantine examples. She even used a thicker wire to make them more comfortable in my stretched holes. My second holes had museum replicas from the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Fillet:
The fillet I did wear was in place to pin my veil. Since it already had leaves on it, I didn’t want it to be presumptuous of a wreath so it was hidden. The band itself was cut from the longer bands worn by Mistress Ellisif for her virtual elevation earlier in the year, another event that took place because of an impending military PCS, since she didn’t have the time to make me a new one after her OCONUS move to Drachenwald. We’ve decided that this could become a tradition, and the next poor soul who is dragged from post to post and elevated to the Laurel will also get a piece, and so forth, and so on.
Enkolpion:
I wore one necklace, a replica enkolpion, or reliquary cross. Rather than show the crucifix, it portrays the Virgin Mary, and possible an artifact of the Marian Cult, which was huge in Constantinople as it was the home to her relics. As my persona is very superstitious, and believes in the power of Mary versus Jesus (this is a heresy, btw, but a common one), this was a solid choice for low-key authenticity points.
Some pictures of me during the test wear, and from my elevation!
Next in the series: How we broke the internet during a virtual vigil!
On Saturday, September 26th during the Ethereal Court of their Majesties Trimaris at Village Plague, I was sent forward to contemplate my elevation to the esteemed Order of the Laurel.
My vigil will take place on the evening of the 16th of October, and my elevation the following day, on the 17th, which also marks the Hellenic Festival of the Khalkeia, which celebrates craftsmen under the patronage of Athena and Hephaestus. (The 18th is the anniversary of the Battle of Dyrrhachium, but we aren’t going to talk about that.)
This will be a virtual event, with only a small team present here in Castlemere to make this safe and socially distant. More information will be posted as I receive it.
Anna's New Rome 
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