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From Wednesday to Friday of the week before the sixth weekend of the Kansas City Renaissance Festival it rained steadily, the result of a stationary front parking over eastern Kansas. It moved on the night before, and it was sunny and in the high fifties Saturday morning.

But the ground was still wet and muddy, causing the parking crew to direct all cars to the blacktop about 200 feet away from the gate, instead of the grass starting about 50 feet away - confounding my usual plan of showing up at 9 o'clock so my van is just a short walk away during the day. (If it weren't for their stamp your hand so you can leave and re-enter policy, I just about wouldn't be able to come. I've got to have a place to stash things I've bought and have a cooler for water and soda obtained at less than $2.50 a shot, and sometimes just sit in a quiet place.) An annoyance, but minor in the grand scheme of things.

All the cast members placed among the patrons gathering out in front of the gate shouted together the "one. two, three" along with the King, so the opening cannon sounded exactly on time.

Minstrosity was there among the musicians gathered under the tree for the combined jam just after the gates open, and they had a jig all warmed up and going for me as I came dancing in. After they were done Wendy came over and gave me a Vise-grip hug, followed soon thereafter by Josie and John. I spent a good part of Saturday following them around to their sets.

(And in response to your question, Wendy, your eyes are kind of a grayish blue.)

The rest of the day, and of a lot the rest of the last two weekends, was madrigal heaven. Loads of (Sat. only)s and (Sun. only)s in the program, meaning amateur groups from all over, mostly high school choirs, most in mostly noble costumes with a few men in monk's robes and one guy in jester's motley. Some read music held in their hands while the director in front waved his arms, many sang totally from memory, a few even sang from memory with the director standing off to the side doing nothing but listen. Many had rhyming segues between the songs recited by the students themselves. Almost all sang with energy psyched up by being in the surroundings of the faire.

It wasn't until Sunday of the last weekend that I finally encountered a lousy one. The director was a woman who looked about 50, and she also looked like a real slave driver. Sometimes she even yelled things at them like a basketball coach while they were performing the song. And there were bored looks on the faces of most of the choir and not very together music coming from their lips. And I could tell she had grandiose ambitions. There was also a dance troupe of 16 stepping to the music of the choir off to the side, and a lot of those steps were confused.

In the good choirs there would be good natured laughter from singers and director alike if somebody flubbed a line or two in their segue or made some other mistake. You could tell which directors were the most forgiving while still being demanding. The kinder ones always brought out the better music from their charges.

I started to hear a lot of songs again and again from different groups, and came up with a Top 14 list, Every group sang at least four from this list:

April is in my mistress' face
Chi manza mia, aka O eyes of my beloved
Come again sweet love
Il carda mia, aka My heart doth beg you not forget
In these delightful pleasure groves
Je te vous dirais
Mon coeur se recommend à vous, aka My heart is offered still to you
O solite unigenito
Fa una canzone, aka Sing me a song with not one note of sadness
Sing we and chant it
The cricket
Weep o mine eyes
Now is the month of maying
(The college groups sang: "and with his bonny lass, upon the greening grass",
the high schoolers: "and with his bonny lass, they dance upon the grass".)
Rio Rio Chio

The last song deserves special discussion. It is in Spanish with several solos for male voices, and everybody betrayed that they were gavachos when they got to "los guardó el lobo" with their u offglides on the o's, and when they sang all their infinitives with gringo r's at the ends. A veces me duelaban las orejas. Madrigalia Bar Nonne, the pro madrigal group hired by the Festival, even had a spoof verse that went, "Their are many verses to this Spanish song, To teach him to pronounce them would take us far too long. So were going to quit while we are still ahead..." This is definitely not a song for peckerwoods to try to sing.

It rained again briefly early Sunday morning, but it was sunny by opening. The temperatures were in the 40s, with a brisk north wind picking up, and I wore my cape as I had the day before. At 11 they had a "special brunch for season pass holders only", which was a pan of scrambled eggs, another of brown and serve sausages, another of english muffins, and another of gravy - serve yourself, all you can eat - a major pig out.

It was outside the fence near the north gate, and as I was walking back in a woman taking tickets at the gate, wearing a sign that said "Flirt", asked me if I would bring her some ("I am SO hungry"). I went back and as I was loading up a plate I came right out and told the caterer behind the table what I was doing. He said a long w-e-e-e-l-l, then, "I'll let you, but it's supposed to be for the season pass holders." I said thanks and took it back to her and said I wasn't going to be able to get any more after this, and she said that I was her hero.

The best bit in the scripted scenario was in the pre-opening gate show, where Aramis the Musketeer (played by Mark Fulbright) would bring a mundanely clad woman up the stairs to the little platform out in front.

He would look up across the courtyard at the Mayor on the balcony over the gate, and say in a heavy French accent, "THIS is the way with the ladies. You must treat her like the gentle flower she is. Your look must be one of enticement" Then he would back away a little and turn toward her, resting his elbow on the railing, and gaze at her with eyes opened wide and his eyebrows raised, and a smile of excited anticipation on his lips. Then he would turn again to the Mayor and say "One of temptation", and again turn toward the lady. "One of allurement."

"And then if she offers you her hand, you take it, always remembering that your touch must be that of a caress." Then a slow hand kiss, with the obligatory stare into her eyes. Then he would get down on one knee and say, "Then you gaze upon her, showing how unworthy you are to be in the presence of such beauty, and how fortunate you are to have found such a treasure." By the time of the hand kiss, the woman would be giggling and turning red, and the people who came with her would be hollering "Woo!" along with a lot of others in the crowd.

This was followed shortly thereafter by a close second best, The Spanish prince's guard,

Don Juan Diego (played by Michael Menendez) would proclaim in a WWF TV interview bellow, "I have heard so much of your women, and they are indeed beautiful. Fair warning, amigos, DON JUAN IS ABOUT!"

Then he would leap up onto a corner of the railing and sit, displaying an outstretched thigh covered in black tights. "Keep your women close, to protect them from falling hopelessly in love with my ... EVERYTHING. It's not their fault. Few women can resist the ANIMALISTIC temptations of ... DON JUAN!" Then a wolf howl, "A-woo-o-o-o-o..."

The best repeated gig by a street performer was Loaf the Baker (Myron Rhodes), carrying on his shoulder a burlap bag of loaves of bread and another of flour, his garb covered with flour, espying another performer dressed in fancy noble garb and breaking down crying while exclaiming, "My lord, I've heard so much about you, I've been wanting to meet you for such long time. I'm just so overwhelmed. MAY I HUG YOU?!", while clapping his hands to show more flour being shaken off of them. The objects of this affection would then have to come up with excuses for not letting him touch them while still not hurting his feelings. Usually the baker in the end got to do something like touch the hanging part of his excellency's sleeve, after lots of hilarious verbal parrying by his victim.

There were two things I never quite got used to the whole season:

A boy about four years old in an executioner's outfit of black tights, bare chest, and black hood. This was the son of some season ticket holders, so I saw him every weekend. He even walked holding Will Slaymore's hand in the parade the last day. I dunno, but it seems to me a few things aren't meant to be cute.

A woman almost six feet tall with long wavy light blond hair and prominent nose and chin, who looked like her name should be Grete or Brunhilde - telling us her name is Jesusa de Torquemada and she is Spanish (And she even pronounced her name hey-zoo-suh.). She was one of Commedia Sans Arte (which also bugged me, Commedia Senza Arte or Comédie Sans Art (but bugging me was probably what they intended)). All this still didn't stop me from developing uncontrollable unrequited love with her, she is an awesome vocal acrobat.

Saturday morning of Columbus Day weekend was gray and drizzly, and it continued so until about noon. There were no hammered dulcimers out in the combined band jam, and the cheap guitars were being used. I spent a lot of time in the Chapel of Blessed Mercy hearing more school choirs, the rest of the time was in butterfly mode, no particular plans of purposes, just lighting upon anything that caught my fancy..

Sunday morning it was beyond cool, it was in the realm of cold. In the pre-gate show, there was a part where Don Juan usually said, "And your weather, está la maldissima! It is so cold and wet...how do you say that?...(whipers something to the Prince then turns back to the crowd) ...sticky...Sí, that's it. So STICKY. But today, it is beautiful. I see why you stay." This day he said instead, "And today, it is so cold I freeze my nipples off". Then a few minutes later one of the Musketeers, after challenging the Prince to a duel, said - instead of "Ten and thirty, I will cut your nose off" - "I will cut your nipples off." By now the cast members in the crowd who knew how the lines were supposed to go were cracking up in laughter. There was yet another reference to nipples later on that I forget the rest of..

Monday, the last day of the season, was sunny and a little warmer than the day before, but not much. The wind was now from the south, and gusting up into the 20s of mph. This was also the day that five rows of about 20 school busses apiece gathered into the parking lot over by the amphitheater, after discharging a load of elementary school kids. A woman handing out programs inside the gate was hollering, "Keep moving, don't stop by the gate, or you will learn the origin of the game squash" You could see the edge of the big puddle of kids slowly oozing forward and then flowing down into the paths.

But none of this stopped this day from being as near perfect as it could be for me. The bands by the tree had a jig going, I started to pony step and kick, this darling pretty 8 year old girl in a peasant dress and cape like me started to join me, someone who looked like her older sister came in, and soon there were four women and I all in a circle jigging around. It went on for this for about 15 minutes, and I was in a state of absolute ecstasy, and I though to myself, "This is why I come to faire and devote so much time to it. So I can get 15 minuteses like this." When the music ended, I gave Wendy, John, and Josie long hugs just in case those were the goodbye ones (which they turned out to be).

But it didn't stop. I watched Commedia Sans Arte for the last time, during the part where they "recite a scene from Shakespeare and have somebody translate it into a dialect you understand" I asked for "Generation X", and dude, they like did it so totally awesome. Then over to the Da Vinci crane for another lovely set of madrigals while the south wind was blowing the noise from the joust the other way.

Now came sort of a break, sat and talked with Arachne for a bit, went into butterfly mode but alighted on two more choirs, listened to a last set by Misti Bernard, quite possibly the best pennywhistle player in the known universe, and finally wound up in the beer garden for Three Pints Gone and then Axel the Sot. Here were a lot of people who had been to their shows before, and there were voices all around joining in with gusto on the choruses of the Moose Song and Roll Me Over in the Clover. I had been thinking of trying to finally make it until the last cannon, but I was really getting too tired to make it home safely, and left at five. I got to say goodbye to most of the people I wanted, all my closures were closed, and I drove home in a glow.

- 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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