Monday, May 31, 2010

Spirit of Vincennes--Viva le Vigo

Well, despite my best predictions, it did not rain on us at the reenactment this weekend. It was, however, beastly hot. One does not, I imagine, truly appreciate heat until one is wearing outfits like these:
Mostly chose this shot for the fab stacked muskets in foreground. Yes, I'm carrying a bucket--it's the only way to haul enough water for all the thirsy soldier-folk.

Yes. Hot. And the water running through the hose-connected faucet tastes a bit like it was pulled directly from a somewhat stale chlorine pool. Interestingly, one does not care four hours into a 90 degree day what one's water tastes like so long as it is cool and wet.

Instead of attempting to be cognizent, a series of vignettes:

Saturday night, 11 p.m. Arrived three hours ago wearing vintage-y purple dress, straight from a wedding. Briefly entertained notion of changing, decided I had already sweated into one outfit, would stay in it. Gathered at statue of Francis Vigo :


where spent the waning hours of the night chatting, playing music, and occasionally climbing on the obliging Vigo's lap to tell him what we wanted for Christmas.

Sunday, 2 a.m. Finally decide to head back to camp and go to sleep. Realize that the delightful lingering smell I keep catching on the breeze is from a huge linden tree in full bloom. As I consider how it is terribly early for the lindens, and how elusive their beguiling scent is, I am caught up a chain of three others skipping down the sidewalk a la The Wizard of Oz. Contemplate how the lindens remind me of the brevity of life, their intoxicating scent as capricious as the breeze that carries it. By the time you have named the scent, it has gone, borne away on the wind. Arrive back at camp and have another glass of Merlot. Sleep can wait another hour...

Sunday, 7 a.m. Wake up. Throw on petticoat. Find stays. Am laced into them. Consider walking to the Visitor's Center for free coffee, then consider that the temperature is likely already 85 and decide that hot coffee is not appealing.

Sunday, 10 a.m. Morning troop and inspection, followed by Memorial Service for a member who passed away over the winter. In the most appropriate of tributes, his ashes were fired from the cannon over the Wabash River, propelled by a grand ceremonial round that echoed on the water in a resounding triumph. Would have appreciated remainder of service and church parade more had someone not passed out in line. Assist with first aid for victim. Good thing I brought my bucket of water and rags...

Sunday, 12 p.m. Battle demonstration. As we form up, our Corporal announces, "Tonight...we dine...at Fazoli's!" a la the movie 300, which sends us into hysterics. Battle includes only one wind sprint, for which I am thankful. Battle includes one kilted Scotsman falling at the same moment as an inopportune breeze, for which I am not at all thankful. Aforementioned Corporal among the causualties. Revived with mention of garlic breadsticks and promise of Gatorade in camp.

Sunday, general p.m. May have fallen asleep at some point in here. Blue Gatorade consumed. Too hot for shopping. Another battle demo late in the day. Mourned loss of aforementioned Corporal for the second time.

Sunday, 7 p.m. Dine at Fazoli's. With air conditioning.

And there we have it--and just think! We do this for fun!

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