A Moste Faire Day
Our merrie clan—m’lady, me and young Princelings three—journeyed to a Renaissance Faire a fortnight thence, and didst enjoye a mightie fyne tyme.
(Whoa. Methinks a column writ thusly shalt fryeth mine spelle-checke).
I confess that, before this event, I didn’t really know much about the Renaissance. And my kids were no help; until we got there they thought we were going to a “Restaurant Fair.” Now that we’ve soaked up the Faire’s sights and sounds, we know lots more about the Renaissance. Maybe.
For example, when people talk about “The Renaissance,” they’re talking about events in 15th and 16th century Europe. Unless they’re not. They might mean the 12th century Renaissance, which started the third week in September, 1122, but fizzled out after less than a month when they switched to a cash bar.
Or they might be referring to the 9th century Carolingian Renaissance, which never quite established itself as THE Renaissance because no one could pronounce "Carolingian."
Depending on their medication, people who like to “live” the Renaissance might even be dreaming about “tymes that never were”—fantasy worlds with dragons, fairies and the Cubs playing in the World Series.
So “The Renaissance” is pretty much whatever/whenever you want it to be, which goes a long way toward explaining the variety of costumes we saw. You see, frequent Faire-iers love to dress up, in looks that range from Maid Marian to Conan the Barbarian, from Frodo Baggins to Barbarella.
There were authentic outfits too: dashing cavaliers, knights in chain mail and buxom barmaids. My wife accused me of ogling one barmaid in particular, but, honestly, I was merely admiring the cell phone she had tightly wedged down into her, um, buxom region.
At mealtime, the kids were delighted at the wide range of goodies to choose from. But they liked the names of the food sellers even better: “The Inn of the Fat Cook,” “Dragon Droppings,” and “Pickle Fool,” which they decided was the perfect Renaissance name for me. At least they formalized it to “Sir Pickle Fool.” They also loved Renaissance-era table manners: eat with your hands, wipe your mouth on your sleeve and steal food from your dad’s plate.
This particular Renaissance Faire offered visitors the chance to watch jousts, with real horses, swords, lances and horse pucky. This was a relief, because I was glumly expecting dry lectures on physics and chemistry. After all, the official Faire program said the performers were the Knights of the “Nobel” Cause.
While wandering about, we bumped into the official Renaissance Faire Queen. Well, the kids were actually five feet away from her, and only bumped into her gigantic skirts. I, on the other hand, was severely chastised by my wife for (quite accidentally, honest!) bumping into her buxom region.
The Faire Queen gave the kids gold plastic coins that bore authentic Renaissance mottos such as “Avag Co Bepsic” and “Made in China.” I later learned “Avag Co Bepsic” is Cantonese for “China had a Renaissance and it happened 1,000 years before the one in Europe, you Pickle Fools!”
As we left the Faire, we passed a guy in a bulky robe, with chalky white makeup all over his face and his shaved head. He was shouting angrily into a cell phone. “Okay, OKAY! So you wanted me to wear my uncle’s JESTER costume! I thought you said my Uncle FESTER costume! Maybe it would be easier to understand you if you didn’t keep your PHONE wedged down so far in your BUXOMS!”
As he stomped away, No. 3 and No. 4 sons told me that they thought they could cheer him up. They ran and talked to him, and after a minute, the three of them shook hands and parted ways with big grins on their faces. “Dad, it worked!” they said. “He’s taking over for you as Sir Pickle Fool!”
I began to shout “Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!” which is a traditional Renaissance-era cry of approval. But then the boys told me the rest of the story. They had actually worked out a trade with the new Sir Pickle Fool, and for the rest of the day I was “Uncle Fester.”
# # #
TakeFiveT5@yahoo.com
(Whoa. Methinks a column writ thusly shalt fryeth mine spelle-checke).
I confess that, before this event, I didn’t really know much about the Renaissance. And my kids were no help; until we got there they thought we were going to a “Restaurant Fair.” Now that we’ve soaked up the Faire’s sights and sounds, we know lots more about the Renaissance. Maybe.
For example, when people talk about “The Renaissance,” they’re talking about events in 15th and 16th century Europe. Unless they’re not. They might mean the 12th century Renaissance, which started the third week in September, 1122, but fizzled out after less than a month when they switched to a cash bar.
Or they might be referring to the 9th century Carolingian Renaissance, which never quite established itself as THE Renaissance because no one could pronounce "Carolingian."
Depending on their medication, people who like to “live” the Renaissance might even be dreaming about “tymes that never were”—fantasy worlds with dragons, fairies and the Cubs playing in the World Series.
So “The Renaissance” is pretty much whatever/whenever you want it to be, which goes a long way toward explaining the variety of costumes we saw. You see, frequent Faire-iers love to dress up, in looks that range from Maid Marian to Conan the Barbarian, from Frodo Baggins to Barbarella.
There were authentic outfits too: dashing cavaliers, knights in chain mail and buxom barmaids. My wife accused me of ogling one barmaid in particular, but, honestly, I was merely admiring the cell phone she had tightly wedged down into her, um, buxom region.
At mealtime, the kids were delighted at the wide range of goodies to choose from. But they liked the names of the food sellers even better: “The Inn of the Fat Cook,” “Dragon Droppings,” and “Pickle Fool,” which they decided was the perfect Renaissance name for me. At least they formalized it to “Sir Pickle Fool.” They also loved Renaissance-era table manners: eat with your hands, wipe your mouth on your sleeve and steal food from your dad’s plate.
This particular Renaissance Faire offered visitors the chance to watch jousts, with real horses, swords, lances and horse pucky. This was a relief, because I was glumly expecting dry lectures on physics and chemistry. After all, the official Faire program said the performers were the Knights of the “Nobel” Cause.
While wandering about, we bumped into the official Renaissance Faire Queen. Well, the kids were actually five feet away from her, and only bumped into her gigantic skirts. I, on the other hand, was severely chastised by my wife for (quite accidentally, honest!) bumping into her buxom region.
The Faire Queen gave the kids gold plastic coins that bore authentic Renaissance mottos such as “Avag Co Bepsic” and “Made in China.” I later learned “Avag Co Bepsic” is Cantonese for “China had a Renaissance and it happened 1,000 years before the one in Europe, you Pickle Fools!”
As we left the Faire, we passed a guy in a bulky robe, with chalky white makeup all over his face and his shaved head. He was shouting angrily into a cell phone. “Okay, OKAY! So you wanted me to wear my uncle’s JESTER costume! I thought you said my Uncle FESTER costume! Maybe it would be easier to understand you if you didn’t keep your PHONE wedged down so far in your BUXOMS!”
As he stomped away, No. 3 and No. 4 sons told me that they thought they could cheer him up. They ran and talked to him, and after a minute, the three of them shook hands and parted ways with big grins on their faces. “Dad, it worked!” they said. “He’s taking over for you as Sir Pickle Fool!”
I began to shout “Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!” which is a traditional Renaissance-era cry of approval. But then the boys told me the rest of the story. They had actually worked out a trade with the new Sir Pickle Fool, and for the rest of the day I was “Uncle Fester.”
# # #
TakeFiveT5@yahoo.com
posted by Don Stuart at 1:11 PM
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