newman | A Good Day

Up at 6 a.m., but I've written that already. Hard to believe that was this morning. It's been a long, good day. My guess is I'll be asleep before 9:30 again. God, I hope so.

The breakfast crew had things well in hand by time I wandered into the kitchen, so I helped restock the Hydration Station (the dozen or so collers where we keep beverages). The Master of Hydration is a huge, jovial, biker/carpenter named Ivan. He was pretty clearly a hellion at some point, but seems to have found a more spiritual path. We didn't talk too much religion, but he seemd to take it as a given that I had also done jail time and we connected well.

I asked if they had a way of us serving some of the juice we broght down (large cans, rather than individual containers) and Ivan dug up a pair of those large drink dispensers that get dumped over the heads of winning NFL coaches. We filled one with OJ and one with cranberry juice. It felt good to make sure that some of the supplies we brought were used.

The Boys from Boston helped serve breakfast which is probably my favorite part of the day. I get to interact with the locals, who for the most part are very polite and very grateful. I'm pretty lively and keep the brief conversations from being to serious, religious, or maudlin. This morning I was serving fresh fruit salad next to Pax, who was serving scrambled eggs. The food here is damn good. The eggs were more popular, although we were both at the end of the line (before us were grits, bacon, hash browns (the patties), and pancakes with brown sugar and butter sauce). I started exhorting people to eat the fruit salad. I was a snake oil salesman, a pitch man — with a somewhat one-sided rivalry with Pax's more popular eggs. When someone skipped the eggs and opted for fruit salad only, I cheered. I castigated skinny kids for not eating enough, and the round ones for eating pancakes instead of fruit. I asked an octogenarian didn't he want to grow up big and strong, which got a smile from him — and everyone in earshot. The acoustics of the big dome are such that my running commentary can be heard by pretty much everyone in the dome. I think I made breakfast a little more entertaining.

After breakfast we went off site. It was our intent to Do Some Good and no one was going to stop us. The first few places we passed (with people) were either well in hand, being handled by professionals, or (I think) refused our help thinking we were looking for paid work. Pax suggested a couple we had passed on our walk yesterday, so we drove towwards the beachfront. The trip is a damn sight shorter driving than walking.

The house was owned by Miss Hazel, a lady of certain advancing years. She was being helped by her "friend" -- Mr. Harvey -- and his daughter (who was probably in her 40s). Mr. Harvey was slowly clearing some brush, but a tree had fallen on Miss Hazel's house. Well, sort of. The tree was suppported by most of its branches, so it was sort of leaning towards her house. At a casual glance it looked like the tree was leaning on the house. After introducing ourselves, we got to work. Mr. Harvey had a chainsaw, but we opted for a handsaw that was around. It was a Bear saw (I think that's the brand). Remember the brand, kids; it did a damn fine job on this tree. I went up the ladder and cleared the bulk of the brush, then we decided the best plan of attack was to put someone on the roof. Pax went up, with his omnimpresent climbing tackle coming in useful -- and attached himself to the trunk. He cut off some sections of the trunk while The Ax supported them and handed them down to me (I braced the ladder).

We ended up with Pax straddling the tree trunk and sawing away, while I pulled on the cut section with a big damn rope and The Ax stood on a ladder to guide the cut piece away from the roof. My friends love and trust me. We work as a unit. I am awed by the amount of respect they give my words -- most suggestions carry the force of command, which is both gratifying and scary. We are three heroes, but if we go in three different directions, we'll fail. I don't know what I've done to deserve this unqualified support, but it's a gift I'll treasure long after we get back to civilization.

My human Rube Goldberg device to remove the section of tree worked without damaging the roof. Regardless of whether it was a stupid plan or not (I don't know; I'm sure a tree surgeon or anyone with common sense would have told me it was unsafe) we made it work without any discussion or squabbling. I don't know too many other people that I could say that of. I can't think of too many other people I'd rather have down here with me.

We got back to the compound, grabbed a quick shower, and The Ax and I set about making dinner. It worked -- more smoothly than most SCA kitchens I've been in. The food was good, hot, and plentiful. There were a lot more people than we expected. We spent a lot of time scrambling around to make more food. Industiral kitchens aren't without their share of accidents, but everything got out on time and I sure my hand will be healed by the time I get home. We tried to make "classy" food, and failed. It was frustrating. I wanted the meal we made to be something special. I think The Ax felt the same way. It ended up being decent restaurant food, but nothing mind blowing. Your standards change here. There's a lot of "Good Enough" and "The Best We Can Do is the Best We Can do".

In Atlanta, shopping for supplies, we bought about 3000 pounds of food. I was thinking of the end of Schindler's List ("What was I thinking?! I could have sold the car. I could have saved more") and trying not to cry — or let the desire to cry show. I was trying to be angry with myself for only renting a 5'x8' trailer instead of the 6'x12'. I was trying not to feel like what we were doing was of no avail. The Ax quietly asked "Have you ever seen Schindler's List?" like he was reading my mind. I said "The Best We Can do is The Best We can Do". And that's been my mantra for the time down here. Anything else and you go crazy.

More later.