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Well, I bought another season pass and went back to the Kansas City Renaissance Festival (which is really in Bonner Springs) for another season. I was the very first person in the line at the first ticket window to open on the first day. The price had gone up from last year, 60 dollars from 55, and the single day price had also gone up a dollar, but that didn't stop me.

I followed the method I had developed last year: show up by 9 in the morning, an hour before opening and 45 minutes before the pre-gate show starts. This not only gives me plenty of time to lace up shoes and bodice and get my hand stamped at the Will Call booth, as season ticketholders are had to do, but be able to park only a short walk from the front gate, and be able to easily get my hand stamped, leave, and go to my ice chest in my van during the day. (Am I the only person on a.f.r. who never has any trouble making it to opening gate?).

On this opening day (Sat. before Labor Day), it was past just warm to feeling hot by 9 in the morning. The weatherman had predicted a high of 94, and it actually got to 97. I took playtron's license and wore just chemise and bodice, dispensing with the overskirt, and carried a non-period black terrycloth towel to wipe off the copious sweat I was producing. I have a purse that I have engineered to store an easily removed and reinserted water bottle.

The cloudless hot weather persisted thruout the two weekends. I was bone tired at the end of the first Sunday and chickened out and stayed home Labor Day Monday. It got all the way to 100 in Lawrence, 20 miles away. I didn't even consider the noble gown, and kept my peasant chemise at max decolletage. The second weekend was a little better than the first, there was a typical Kansas south wind of 10 to 20 mph. thruout the day.

What I beheld as I walked in - after the "cannon" (really an aerial firework that bangs loudly) had sounded and the actors had all shouted together, "...and let the festival begin" - was basically the same as last year. On the right the peasant girls were dancing around the maypole. Only two were back from last year, the rest were all new ones I hadn't seen before. In the middle, standing up on the edge of a fountain, were the Jolly Rogers singing pirate songs. Over to the left, under a few trees, were musicians from several bands all together, each band presenting one number while the others sometimes joined in. And I renewed last year's ritual of dancing in front of them and all passers-by

Several were back from last year, including Three Pints Gone, with Bill Masino, a singer who puts more feeling into his words than most any other I have heard. Queen Anne's Lace was there, six women who sing in lush a capella harmony, and Tippler's Way, a new group who was only there the first weekend, three men who sing in harmonies just as lush. Brollywacker, name changed to Olde Souls, whom I had seen at Wentzville, was there with Misti Bernard, the best pennywhistle player I have heard anywhere. One of my Holy Grail searches came partially to an end, instead of a CD of a madrigal group I found a cassette by the Glastonbury Revelers, who were there the first weekend. The song that everybody seemed to be doing everywhere at this faire was "The Bonny Ship the Diamond."

While still viewing the maypole dancers I ran into Bruce the Bruce, but we didn't get to talk because he was joining the musicians. We didn't meet again in circumstances where we could really stop and talk for the rest of the weekend, which left me a little disappointed. In the crowd I saw John Auld, here acting as part of a comedy group called Commedia Sans Arte (yes, a French word between two Italian ones), and complimented him on his performance as the King in Oklahoma, and he did a beautiful job of not dropping character. He acted all flustered, said that he hoped that it would not get out that he had dared to attempt to impersonate His Majesty, that was all meant to be a jest - then finally he winked at me as he walked away.

I went down one of the paths from the front courtyard and heard Goat's Ear's bagpipe again, and began anew a ritual much repeated last year of dancing in the lane, but soon I saw Brother William beside me, again in his monk's garb and bag of carving implements and wood, and we walked off together in conversation. The following weekend he made me a flower twice and I managed to lose it twice. His wife, Lady Niniane, was at the flute booth a little way further, and Arachne was again at her psychic reading place. I sat there for a while and talked, it was slow the first day of the first weekend - and one of her young lady friends who was also there told me about the four kinds of bodices:

1. Hi, I'm Lisa, and these are my breasts.

2. Hi, we're Lisa's breasts, and this is Lisa.

3. Hi, we're Lisa's breasts. Lisa will be along shortly.

4. Hi, I'm Lisa, and I think my breasts are in here somewhere.

There was an almost surreal feeling walking around for the first time after the lapse of several months. Everywhere I walked I saw places that brought back memories of intense things that had happened there last year, that swirled thru the sights I was seeing now. I approached the board stage where I had danced in front of the Rogues, almost as if on a pilgrimage. It was all still here, but I was feeling I maybe should be preparing myself for a little letdown, because it couldn't possibly again be so poignant as it was last time. However, this letdown didn't come.

A lot of stage shows were back from last year. Bob the Juggler was back, standing on top of the big ball using his whip to clip off the end of a styrofoam stick being held in the teeth of a frightened and giggling young woman from the audience. Dr. Dumpe was eating fire, and the Ficklebiches were still bringing men up on the stage and decking them out in tutus and bikini bras with shellfish on them. Alana Fulcher (whom I have a groupie crush on) was back as Jura, but Ima was replaced by a new woman, Sasha. Will Slaymore, the black hooded and black tighted executioner, still marched last in the noon parade with a little sign saying "The End" hanging from his waist over his rump.

On the Festival's website, under "New in 2002", they listed "New improved Royal Privies and a cracker jack clean up crew!" I went in and found they had been repainted, and new wooden comfort tissue dispensers and long hooks for the stall doors had been installed. The floors stayed much cleaner than last year, but their job fell short of perfect. It didn't look like anyone was taking a scrub brush to the thundermugs, and one of them displayed the same brown spots for two weekends. The grounds were still kept clear of litter very well by roving bands of kids with plastic bags, like last year.

I went into Heart's Delight again and bought another new chemise, one that I could mix and match with my reversible bodice. It is bright pink and purple in a pattern they said was batik, but looked more like tie-dye - giving me a look vaguely like a Tudor Deadhead. I looked all over the faire for the object of my second Holy Grail search, a bodice that truly fits, and remained unfulfilled. I eyed the gypsy outfits and wondered how real silk would feel, but finally didn't buy because I don't really know if I would look good with a bare midriff (which in my case is somewhat hairy).

I saw one other patron in drag, and he was camping it up with a bleach blonde Daisy Mae wig. One of the street performers told me in a private e-mail before the faire to "take quite a good look at our court ladies this year. One of them isn't exactly what she seems..." Sure enough, the Queen's Maid had a bodice that was rather straight in the front. The transformation was excellent, I probably wouldn't have read her if I hadn't been alerted.

I'm going to start a count of how many times I get asked, "Did you lose the bet?", to which I reply, "No, I won it. He bet me I wouldn't." It is now at 3. I got to use twice the answer most graciously provided by Melissa last year to remarks about my beard, "Why this is the latest in facial warmers. They are all the rage in the court of France." Mostly, I got compliments on my appearance thruout the two weekends, from young and old, male and female, mundane and garbed. One of the answers I give to the oft repeated question of why I am dressing like this is to say I get to meet a lot more people and hear a lot more compliments than if I did otherwise.

I got thoroughly reacquainted with why I go to faire. It's like being in the middle of a big group hug, with music in six-eight time with lots of II chords in the harmony, and not an overdriven electric guitar to be heard.

Looking forward to the next five acts.

- Butterfly Bill

"Greetings, milady...or is it milord?...or..um...."
RenGeek with pewter computer imputer
IWG reject
"So did you lose the bet?"..."No, I won it, he bet me I wouldn't"
First Rogu'ench of Renntopia
Solarus Juvenillius Pastritis of Sarcastica. He who Grouches
while Biting the Wax Tadpole.
"possunt vincere nothi solum si facetias tuas a te tollunt"
http://www.grapevine.net/~butterflybill/BB.htm

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