Last minute thoughts in this year of two thousand and fourteen.
I had a few images I wanted to share of some of the stuff I had done
right prior to having an almost two week break from work, and during it.
Hallmark has this over week and a half time frame that no one goes to
work, so it's a heck of a mental reset for people including myself, that
work there. Top that off with all of our offices being moved shortly
after we come back to work, and I'm sure as a creature of habitual
routines, it will be uncomfortable and welcome at the same time.
I got to customize a stocking at work. To get candy in.
When I got to work one day, all of the people in my work group were
requested to take some of the handed out craft materials and dress up a
stocking so that our managers could stuff them with assorted candies. It
was a fun break from the norm, and was the first time I'd ever used
glitter glue. It's not something that I use everyday. :D
The finished stocking. The Nelson Atkins Museum had a beautiful Christmas tree on display.
That's the customized and now filled stocking up above. Later that
week, I went to go see the Native American Plains Indian exhibit at the
Nelson. The center entryway had a magnificently large Christmas tree
with a manger scene.
I've always been one that holds off on being overly excited about
Christmas. I'm not a fan of the commercialism of it by any stretch of
the imagination. But I do like how, for at least a little while many
places seem cheery and more joyous to be at during this season. I think
it's the decorations that get me now as I get older.
To
this day, I am still very guilty of drawing things in my notes margins.
(Right) A recording booth I was totally unaware of at Hallmark.
Before we broke for the holiday break, I auditioned for another voice
role at Hallmark. This time I got to do it in a studio that I didn't
know was there. Hallmark is a massive, and winding place. I know for the
first few months when I came back as contractual, I literally videoed
with my phone, where I had walked in at and how to get to my cubicle.
It's so odd because I rarely get lost in the outdoors, but stick me in a
building, and I'm hopeless.
The
recording booth was huge. I actually preferred this one because if I
had wanted to cut loose and get into character, I had the space to do
so.
So some of the other things that have happened,... hmmm, well I went
to go see the final Hobbit movie. I enjoyed it, a lot. It was like
watching a massive table top miniature game come to life at times, and
there were some deviations from the Hobbit book that at first I really
questioned, but in the end, I think it was my favorite of the three. I
was sad that this would be the last of Peter Jackson's vision of his
take on Tolkien's world. Well, save the obligatory extended directors
cut that is sure to be out by March or August.
When I had watched the LotR movies he made, I enjoyed watching the
appendices because of all of the behind the scenes stuff. It had been
some years since I last watched them, and was happy to see that his new
extended editions for the Hobbit movies continued with more appendices.
I
think this eternally makes me a geek for all the ages, I don't know
anyone else that has shadowbox framed thier old video card that met it's
end during an especially monumental day, the last day of Warhammer
Online. The video card on the left above is the latest one I am using in
my rig.
One good thing that happens around Christmas is all of the insane
restocking sales that occur everywhere. I picked up some shadowboxes
from Micheals, and used the first one already. Yes, that is indeed an
Nvidia graphics card, the one that had been in my gaming rig for all of
the time that I had played WAR: Age of Reckoning when the game was still
live and on EA servers. I gamed until I had cramps in my wrist that
hurt like hell. I literally had my video card burn out the morning after
almost 36 hours of power gaming with the rest of my online guild.
So, I took one of the last time cards I had for the game, a
screenshot of my Disciple of Khaine named Gillradon in his best armor
and items, and my burned out cpu graphic card and framed them. That is
how much of a geek I am. And I have absolutely no shame about that. In
fact, check out my hobby blog if you'd like, I just updated that tonight as well.
Well, I'm going to be happy that for the first time in over a decade, I don't have to baby sit a room full of drunk people.
See you all next year, when I'll talk about and show more artwork that I've been working on.
[This
is a re-post of an earlier entry from last year, as when originally
posted it had a whole bunch of extra non Gettysburg blogging involved
with it's entry. I don't plan on doing this for many of my past entries,
as that would be redundant, but over the year and a half since I first
posted this story originally, I've become a more active and better
blogger that realizes you can't cram stories of reenactment in with
going to an art gallery. :) ] - Mario, 12:06 AM Thursday
150th Anniversary of Gettysburg:
Now I get to tell you about a crazy long experience that I am so glad
I attended, but going to and during it all, I was sure my sanity was
going to crumble. So in other words, it was one of the BEST TIMES EVER.
Read on good friends...
the Drive there...
I both love and loathe my GPS. In one fell swoop it is
a tech marvel that so proudly announces distances, arrival times, and
other information at the touch of a finger tip in either a jaunty female
British accent, or the voice of Daria. It makes even the longest trips
seem like something well within reach, easily conquerable, and woefully
apparent to anyone with a brain that a 19 hour drive is nothing to joke
about. But I was walking with a fresh bit of adrenaline and chance on my
side! To quote Jon Stewart, and I paraphrase some here, "Live life
right by getting in trouble." Boy would those words haunt me...
I've driven my truck pretty far before, down to Louisiana, out across
Kansas, up to Chicago, through Texas, and into Oklahoma, and all back,
with only the occasional technical mishap, like a dead battery, or a
flat tire. I normally will try and study my route that I drive to see if
there are more scenic routes, or places that would be good safe stops
depending on time of day, or where I am eventually heading. Because of
my current schedule and really the almost last minute decision to just
go in lieu of thinking about it back and forth for weeks prior, I feel
that I had left somewhat unprepared.
I could go into the tire troubles, the road pain of being a solo
driver on what turned into a 22 hour drive (2 hours extra for fueling
and stopping and stretching) in which over the years, rest stops have
become FAR more luxurious than they were even back in 2001 when I drove
with some people to go to Gamesday in Chicago. But the drive itself was
actually not that bad as a whole and for really the first 90% of it. But
towards the END, as the sun rose in the mountains around Gettysburg, my
legs were cramping up, and my lower back was beginning to revolt in
pain, I finally came upon the first sign on the road that signaled that I
had indeed arrived.
As a general rule of thumb, no matter the type of reenactment event,
bike tour, campground vacation, or convention building location, the
initial arrival (or as I like to call it, the first landing approach)
always plays out like a crap scene of an F-14 Tomcat trying to land on
the deck of an aircraft carrier on a stormy night, yours truly the
pilot/driver, all bleary eyed, yet full of adrenaline, just like in some
Micheal Bay movie. There is usually a lot of cussing, missed turns,
close calls, and nervous wild turns of the head as if you've either just
missed your sign to turn, or you've just seen Bigfoot out of the corner
of your eye. The radio who had been my faithful companion on this
lonely trek now is the most annoying thing to squawk noise since the
beginning of time, and rolling down the windows and sticking your head
out to look for any signs of direction like a demented Labrador enjoying
the wind, sounds like complete and total brilliant reasoning until you
take a june bug to the eye.
Registration...like the DMV, but outside...
Now upon finally finding the registration tent, I joined a few more
reenactors who were slowly coming in, many of them with the same
caffeine deprived now winding down look that I had plastered on my face.
Thankfully, people that can bond just as easily in mirth and hobby, can
find common ground in waiting for administrative staff to finally show
up and get us approved or registered so that we can somehow locate the
people we need to find by placing random drop out calls with one bar of
signal, or by shouting out "Marco" and hoping someone you know yells
back "Polo".
I made fast acquaintances with a fellow from Brooklyn named Chris,
who had just come in from a late night drive preceded by doing the
memorial service for James Gandolfini. Yeah! No joke! But as we talked,
it turned out we had some mutual ground in doing comics and graphic
novel work, as he is a writer. So after some nice conversation, and a
thankfully short wait in line to register, we exchanged info, found the
reenactor's parking lot located like a mile at least from the Union
camp, and bid each other a good time at the event. Off to a good start,
and my mood was quickly rising.
Holy $#%@... that's a LOT of reenactors...
After hitching a ride up to the Federal camp with Chris and probably 7
others in full gear in the back of a "temporary transport replacement"
(look up 1992 small body Mazda truck) with little to no rear suspension
left, I finally came upon the area in the woods where all of the Union
troops were camped.
Now, my phone at this point is riding the AT&T signal that it's
not accustomed to (being that I am with T-Mobile, and the rest of
Pennsylvania clearly is NOT), and mocks me with faux bars of signal, and
no one is answering my call efforts. Mind you, that 22 hour drive is
taking it's toll, but my adrenaline at seeing SO MANY at an event is
literally making my head swim with the moment. And then it dawns on me
that I am in the woods with at LEAST five to six thousand federal troops
all dressed fairly similar.
I had no clue how in the world I was going to find my unit in the
least. At least all I brought with me was on me, as I opted to do a
campaigner's take on roughing it, which meant what I brought strapped
onto me or in my double knapsack, was all I had to make it through the
next few days out there as far as personal items.
-[For
many months prior I had taken to wearing a sling backpack that carried
all my art and tech gear that I use daily in it, and would walk 9 to 10
flights of stairs about every other day, and walk everywhere I could
with it. I carry a 32 oz. bottle of water with me that I was constantly
filling and drinking down at least one of daily in preparation for the
hydration needs of this event. I did not want to fall victim to heat
exhaustion like I did at Shiloh and Ft. Larned. Both efforts paid off
brilliantly as even with wool blanket, ground cloth, clothing, and
assorted personal items and all of the rest of my gear, it felt like I
was literally carrying half the weight of my daily bag, and I found
myself more than well hydrated. ]-
As luck would have it, as I walked into the area, many of the units
were already mobilizing, either for parade dress or for the first battle
event. I did not know the schedule, but it's not hard to discern that
by seeing columns of troops marching about all heading in a similar
direction. But as I filmed the column walking by as my initial footage, I
never noticed my group, the 2nd Colorado marching right past me until
I'd put my camera up. Thankfully, the column had stopped and I looked up
at that moment to see Eric, Jim and a few others that I did not
recognize.
After some quick hellos and info gained, I found that not all was
well, and out of respect for my dear friends that were involved in an
argument that would set the stage for the mood for the rest of the days
there, I will leave out names and incidents. It is not my story to tell,
but I can say this. It brought to bear a new meaning at this
reenactment for me about the concept of brother versus brother in a way
that in my adrenaline fueled and excited mood, I was not completely
ready to accept, nor believe had happened. In the end, it made the event
that much more poignant and powerful of a moment in my life, as I am
sure it did for the ones that were more involved directly than I.
In the mountains, no one can hear you complain...so why bother?
Let me put this out there. I love camping. I love roughing it. I
mean, the no camper, no tent, build a fire pit, bring what I need on me
to make it kind of camping. I like to pretend I am Bear Grylis Lite (I
mean, sans the extra bad ass martial arts prowness, and years upon years
of becoming one with the environments to survive at all costs, I make
tea with my urine on the run, kind of insane testicular fortitude). I
like looking up at trees while I sleep, hearing the crackle of a
campfire as it dies down, the random cold bursts of night time rain that
allow me to wake up in a wallow of mud the next morning, and the sounds
of birds in the morning. No mattress is as comfortable to me as the
earth (although Pennsylvania seems to birth rocks like they are going
out of style, no matter WHERE you chose to lay down), and it was just a
matter of finding the softest rock and going all neanderthal early man
and passing out.
And imagine not bathing for days, sweating profusely in it, with
leather accoutrements on TOP of that, and then unless you go TOTALLY
period with the undergarments you have little leg protection against the
itchy stiff feeling of dirty wool on you. All the while ticks,
crickets, spiders, twigs, leaves, and rocks work their way into your
pants and sleeves while you sleep. In other words. It's awesome.
There are things that one has to keep organized and ready. Rain is
not great for your gun, rust will find you. Your gun powder must stay
dry, or you run the risk of having a misfire or worse when all you are
shoving down the barrel is black mud essentially from damp paper
cartridges. And we do have instances of mingling with the public at most
events, which means that smelling or looking like unfortunate roadkill
is not really an option if we choose to bring more people into this
hobby.
Most days comprised of one or two battles, cooking, drilling,
talking, or spending time at the Sutler's Row, cleaning rifles, and
meeting new people at every turn. There were quiet times, nap times,
stressful times, but all memorable times.
There were some injuries, I had a slight issue with my shoulder
almost dislocating when I had put too much powder down the barrel during
the aftermath of Pickett's charge, and a total of what I know to have
been three charges were in my barrel when it finally went off.
A fellow even fell off of his horse while trying to ride up onto a
ridge, and I was pretty sure he was was just absolutely hosed when his
horse looked like it fell back on him from my vantage point. This was
when we reenacted the moment when the defense of Little Round Top
happened with a (in our case for safety's sake, a non-bayonet) bayonet
charge by the 20th Maine (whom we had the honor of portraying) through
the trees.
-[Later
when I was talking to one of the Sutlers I know well from James Country
in Liberty Missouri, I found out that there were near 134 heat related
injuries over the course of that weekend. With one being flown out by
helicopter from what she knew.]-
Each day I was there, I got up about 4am, prior to the sunrise for a
morning constitution, to stretch, check the dryness of my clothing on a
nearby rope, and drink in the sunrise over the mountain ridge across the
grassy slopes below. No city skyline, no modern civilization does, what
viewing a sunrise does for me. It's reaffirming of living life, of
renewal, of perpetual motion in life, of so many things that are easy to
forget when we view life through screens on desktops and portable
devices.
I met people from Australia, Japan, Spain, Ireland, Scotland, a few
Welsh, and of course all over the U.S. from Brooklyn to San Antonio,
from Seattle to Tucson. Of particular note was the Australian who sat
next to me on one of the transportation trams who was there for a week
already, and was staying for the second reenactment the following
weekend. I wish I'd had more time to talk to many of them, hell, FILM
their stories and reasons for why and how they got there to Gettysburg.
To see the masses of sheer manpower, the huge numbers of cavalry, and
everyone marching and moving in unison; to see just a fraction of this,
to FEEL just a notion of what those days for all of those Americans on
both sides must have felt like and looked like. It's something to watch a
reenactment, but to DO one? There are few better natural highs than
that for me. (The short film below showcases a bit of this.)
Trouble found me...
Now, I have happily found that if you lose something at a
reenactment, MOST people will go out of their way to return said items
to you, pass word along that something has been found, or later after
the event, take to posting it online everywhere to return these waylaid
items to their former owners. It's in fact one of the things that most
draws me to be a part of like minded hobbies like reenactment. It's
usually one of the last bastions of non bastardness left for me to
enjoy.
So much to my displeasure, I awoke the second day after a mid day
rainstorm to find that my canteen was gone. Not, I rolled over in the
mud and pushed it into the earth gone, not I left it in the woods gone.
No.
See, at these events, that item is literally life and death for
people. Hydration is key, and I am a thirsty and large fellow who has
been known to break a sweat while peeling an orange. So what choice did I
have but to go and try and get to the Sutler's Row (the market place
area) and procure a new one? It was an unplanned expenditure, but a
necessary if annoying one. But I know that heat stroke is FAR more
annoying, so in lieu of taking my chances, (which my superior officers
and really anyone with a brain, would never have let me do), and doing a
march without a canteen, I got a new and bigger one.
For the most part, the morale and spirit of most of the unit I was
there with seemed alright, but there was a tension, and it was palpable.
Not because anyone was trying to make anything worse, but coupled with
the schedule, the needs, and all going on, it seemed at times that the
tear in the fabric of the flag of unity in a reenactment group that I
very VERY strongly feel constitutes a group of adopted brothers for me,
would never be mended. Decade old proverbial seams wear out just as
unexpectedly as the ones in our uniforms, but I've found that it takes
many to repair those frayed ends.
But I often voiced my opinion that I (and so many others) had not
driven in excess of 1000 miles ONE WAY, to not live in the moment of 150
years of history happening around me. Even in the face of someone
taking my canteen, I tried to keep a stiff upper lip.
Later that evening, as the Formal Ball and another rain storm of
scattered density went head to head, I wentn with two of my comrades to
visit some other friends over in a campsite just a short walk away. I
made it a habit to carry my credit card and driver's license in the
space between the screen protector and the belt clip carriage on my
Otterbox for my phone, so I felt that they were pretty secure and safe
there.
As the night went on, it was one of those fantastic in the moment
kinds of conversations where people that normally do not see each other,
nor under most normal circumstances would probably ever get to speak to
one another, much less meet in the first place. We spoke of the current
and past presidents, the economy, the great issue with incomes, does a
college degree REALLY mean anything anymore, life experiences, time
spent in the hobby, drinking stories, the whole basket. I imagine that
there were many such candle lit sort of conversations like that,
including one I heard later that night between some Irish fellows a few
camps over that had a bit too much to drink and sometime later actually
had a ripe old time settling it with fisticuffs.
So, where trouble found me just prior to that point was as the
evening chat came to an end, I and the others that came to visit went
our own ways, but on the way out, I decided to pull my phone out to
light the pathway, since it was crossing by a heavily foot trafficked
area that was just nothing but slick mud, rocks and roots. It was where a
large watering set up was located at, so I just wanted to make sure
we'd not slip and fall in the mud (I didn't want to get the mud that was
caked on me any dirtier mind you...), so I unlocked my phone case,
thinking nothing of the side effect of my actions, and went on walking. I
was so tired by the time I got back, I curled up on my favorite rock
and scrubgrass pile, hugged my rifle, tucked my ammo in my knapsack,
rolled up into a gum blanket burrito and went to sleep, just as the rain
began to fall once more.
...but so did my faith in humanity and more.
The next day brought a whole new level of panic that not even the
most MGM studios kind of sunrise could quell. I had discovered around 11
pm after waking up from what I hope was an acorn and not an oversized
big of dry squirrel dung hitting me in the face, that I now had lost my
debit card and license. Two MAJOR strikes on being able to get home. As a
rule, I don't carry cash. So after also realizing that somehow I had
lost a day in the process of being out in the woods and not being able
to charge my phone, I re-awoke, walked out to the line of artillery that
was near the outskirts of camp and did something I rarely do, and that
was... talk to God out loud. Yes. The big guy in the sky, the beardy
fellow or long tressed omnipotent lass that sits up there and listens to
so many.
See, by this point, I was feeling pretty beat down, and frankly
stupid. I actually saw no end to the internal strife that was happening
in our group, try as many of us did to help fix it, it was not working. I
felt that maybe,... this had been the worst decision to drive all this
way and literally get stranded from home and work over a thousand miles
away. Perhaps it had not been the best financial decision, the best
timing, or whatever. So I figured, hey, maybe enough time has passed
that he who dwells up in the sky might have an opening to hear me out.
I asked for a sign, a shooting star, a breeze, SOMETHING that would
tell me that this was going to be alright. That the rift in my unit
would heal. That today would get better, and that I would have a safe
trip home, because I had seriously underestimated my level of fatigue.
After going all "emo" for about 5 minutes solid, I started feeling a
bit moronic, yet oddly better, not because I was talking out by the
artillery battery to what seemed like myself, but because I was
forgetting all of the GOOD things that had indeed happened and that I
was grateful for. So as I got up to come back to my camp, I stepped
about four feet, and tripped on something in the grass and mud, dang
near slamming my mouth into the wheel on the nearby cannon.
There, laying in the mud, not but about 6 feet behind me, was my
original canteen. How, do you ask, do I know it was my canteen? Well,
based on a historical one that had been fixed with what looked like red
thread on the white cloth strap, I had started to sew in a notch of red
thread for each time I would go to an event or muster in my reenactment
career.
The cork was missing off of the chain holder, it was filthy and
soaked, but it was mine. I felt warmth on my face as the sun broke
through the skyline, and I watched the early rays revive the green
foliage all along the slopes before me. I kind of laughed a bit at my
previously hopeless outlook, and walked back to camp to get the fire
going for the rest that had not yet woken up.
I didn't get a shooting star, but I did get my old dirty canteen, and that was enough of a sign for me.
A few hours later, as we were getting final plans figured out, a lone
fellow comes down the busy pathway, and older gentleman with what
sounded like a faint Rhode Island accent. I could hear him, but I did
not discern what was being said until he came up to our campsite and
called out, "Is there a... Feliciano Mario Mora anywhere here?"
Gravity had nothing on me, a weight lifted off my shoulders, I don't
even remember clearing the short distance to the man as he handed me my
debit card and I.D. in literally the same condition I had lost them in.
Somehow, in that muddy bog of an area by the watering hole, the two
cards had fallen into a plastic bag that had been thrown by the wayside,
and as some members of this unit from Rhode Island had been cleaning up
the trash there, one of them had looked in the bag and found my cards.
One of them was sure he'd seen me out and about, he'd recognized my
beard, but my unit was not portraying the 2nd Colorado, we played the
part of other units, so the really astronomical chances of first
recognizing me from my I.D., then them wanting to take the time to hunt
me down, and all of that in an area comprised of several thousand guys,
probably a good couple of hundred of them with beards like mine, and you
can see how I was taken aback at it all that they even found me.
Resolutions, farewells, and the long drive home.
I think it's fair to say without going into too much detail that the
hardest steps to take in situations unknown, are the first ones. There
had been a feeling that maybe, as a group, we were at the end of all
things, that maybe these farewells would be harder to cope with, and
more final than anyone had anticipated. Then... beneath a tree, two
brothers came once more together. The held in tears and regrets that
flowed were certainly not their own. Someday, when I am a braver man,
and I can formulate what I will write down privately now in another
place, into something that I feel more comfortable about letting others
read, I will tell a deeper tale of these days. But for now, I beg pardon
in respect for two men, whom I immensely care for and respect more than
either are probably aware that I do.
As the last moments there were spent packing items, rubbing
sore feet, and the prospect of getting on the road again, it is always
with a bit of sadness, and a sense of gratitude. And for that, I am glad
those were again the travel companions we would all take with us.
I chose to drive through Gettysburg, for a bit of food, and to see
the sights from my car. Mental notes and photos were taken of places I
want to come back to see maybe in the years to come, perhaps the 155th
Anniversary or so.
In closing...
Heck of a long update huh? Well, hopefully I did not bore any of you
in the process, for me, it was partially a huge load off of my mind to
get this caught up, and in truth, this ended up about only 2/3rds the
length it originally was. There were some things I thought about adding
back in, but I think I've talked about just about everything I can get
out at this point.
A slew of shows and new things await to be discovered and talked
about in the coming months. I look forward to it. I look forward to...
getting in trouble.
Till next time, adopt don't shop, take time for those sunrises, and
those in your life that are most important.
