Rough week.....
::heavy sigh:: It has been a particularly trying week. TMT was this past weekend, and I had to get things ready for that. I had a squire fighting in Crown List, so I had to help prepare him, and keep him focused. I had to arrange the schedule so that we (management team) could all be off. That part didn't work out so well. I ended up having to schedule myself to open the new shop on Saturday morning (even though I worked 'til 4am the night before), and closing the 13th Street shop on Monday. Only one day off in between, but I managed to get a (sort of) full weekend in between.
Sheeps is going in for her surgery on Monday, so we're all a little nervous/on edge. It is for the best, and will make our lives much easier in the long run, and improve her quality of life, but for now, it is nerve wracking.
Then, to top it all off, last Wednesday, I was on my way to the bar for my shift when I got a call. Now, as many of you may know, my squire is rooming with me, and holds a fighter practice at the house on Wednesday evenings. Well, it seems that one of the fighters wasn't feeling well. He stopped fighting, stepped back to take off his armor, and collapsed. He had stopped breathing. Squire's wife started administering CPR, and 911 was called. To their credit, they showed up very quickly, and took over. They had to shock him with the defibrulator, but managed to revive him. He passed away later at the hospital.
This came as quite a shock. He was only 34. Sometimes our part in the tapestry of life is smaller than others. So let it be with Scout. He was a good man. He always had a smile on his face. Not generally the ear to ear grin kind of smile, but the corner of the mouth lifted up, and twinkle in the eye kind of grin. And yeah, you hear people say that his/her eyes "twinkled", but Scout's really did.
He was everybody's friend. If you'd ever met him, then you were his pal. If you never had, then you were a potential friend. And it worked both ways. Everyone who met him liked him. He made you feel comfortable. Right away, in some kind of magical, unspoken way. He didn't say much, but he wasn't shy. Just very quiet.
And he was helpful. He was an armorer, one of great talent. He did some beautiful work. Mostly he stuck to "munitions grade" armor, because it was cheaper, and helped get people on the field, but he could do some remarkable things with metal. Actually, he preferred to make you come out to his shop and teach you how to make your own. You could get spiffy armor for the just the cost of the metal, and your time, and you would learn something in the process. And what an interest teaching method. He wouldn't do anything for you. He tell you how, maybe demonstrate briefly and then wander off to do other things. But he'd be watching over your shoulder the whole time, and if you started to get off track, he'd give you a "Hmmmm...." followed by the classic, "I suppose you could do it like that, but that's not the way I'd do it...."
And he loved the SCA. He loved to make armor. He loved to fight. So much so that he risked his life to do it. Scout had a heart attack when he was only 18. He knew that his heart wasn't as strong as it should be, and that everytime he donned his armor that he was taking a risk, but he didn't care. That's not accurate. He did care. But he loved the game more. It was his life, his passion.
I'm going to miss you, Scout. Sorely. But I'll never forget you. I have the armor that you made for me, and that you taught me to make for myself. And your spirit will be an inspiration to me, forever. Goodbye, friend.
Sheeps is going in for her surgery on Monday, so we're all a little nervous/on edge. It is for the best, and will make our lives much easier in the long run, and improve her quality of life, but for now, it is nerve wracking.
Then, to top it all off, last Wednesday, I was on my way to the bar for my shift when I got a call. Now, as many of you may know, my squire is rooming with me, and holds a fighter practice at the house on Wednesday evenings. Well, it seems that one of the fighters wasn't feeling well. He stopped fighting, stepped back to take off his armor, and collapsed. He had stopped breathing. Squire's wife started administering CPR, and 911 was called. To their credit, they showed up very quickly, and took over. They had to shock him with the defibrulator, but managed to revive him. He passed away later at the hospital.
This came as quite a shock. He was only 34. Sometimes our part in the tapestry of life is smaller than others. So let it be with Scout. He was a good man. He always had a smile on his face. Not generally the ear to ear grin kind of smile, but the corner of the mouth lifted up, and twinkle in the eye kind of grin. And yeah, you hear people say that his/her eyes "twinkled", but Scout's really did.
He was everybody's friend. If you'd ever met him, then you were his pal. If you never had, then you were a potential friend. And it worked both ways. Everyone who met him liked him. He made you feel comfortable. Right away, in some kind of magical, unspoken way. He didn't say much, but he wasn't shy. Just very quiet.
And he was helpful. He was an armorer, one of great talent. He did some beautiful work. Mostly he stuck to "munitions grade" armor, because it was cheaper, and helped get people on the field, but he could do some remarkable things with metal. Actually, he preferred to make you come out to his shop and teach you how to make your own. You could get spiffy armor for the just the cost of the metal, and your time, and you would learn something in the process. And what an interest teaching method. He wouldn't do anything for you. He tell you how, maybe demonstrate briefly and then wander off to do other things. But he'd be watching over your shoulder the whole time, and if you started to get off track, he'd give you a "Hmmmm...." followed by the classic, "I suppose you could do it like that, but that's not the way I'd do it...."
And he loved the SCA. He loved to make armor. He loved to fight. So much so that he risked his life to do it. Scout had a heart attack when he was only 18. He knew that his heart wasn't as strong as it should be, and that everytime he donned his armor that he was taking a risk, but he didn't care. That's not accurate. He did care. But he loved the game more. It was his life, his passion.
I'm going to miss you, Scout. Sorely. But I'll never forget you. I have the armor that you made for me, and that you taught me to make for myself. And your spirit will be an inspiration to me, forever. Goodbye, friend.
posted by Turtle at 12:47 PM
1 Comments:
Hey, Dude. Sorry I haven't said anything yet, but I was trying to think of the right thing. I would think that no person could have a better epitaph than your post here, and for someone to have such a friend as you pen such a tribute is a rare and wonderful gift, and surely if there is something beyond this life then he is smiling at you.
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