Indes - Practical Applications for Wielding a Double-Edged Lenticular Steel Bar

Rabbits toting colorful eggs, a canine crisis, and a film shoot for a zombie-filled music video kept us from having regular sword classes for a few weeks, but in the meantime, I still managed to keep busy, and sort of almost got in some practice too. I was missing it a lot- which surprised me a bit. I'm generally not a big one for exercise in any form; I'm more baker than athlete really, but swords are fun. I'd mentioned it to the Professor at one point, and he pointed out that I could do a bit of practice even without using the swords.

I'd been trying to keep up with my Meyer challenge. When I mentioned I thought we were Lichtenauerian and didn't believe in Meyer, the Professor pointed out that we were ok with his Square, just not his fashion choices. I don't know about that though... I bet that puff and slash stuff could start a new- albeit really, really retro- trend. So I'd been practicing the Square thing, but was apparently mixing it up with square dancing, Punnett squares, and square roots- because it totally wasn't working. I must've watched a dozen YouTube videos on various people's interpretations, but I apparently have some visual translation problems, because I don't think I was getting it. Or maybe I was getting it and it just feels weird. Either way, I tried at least, and am still trying to get my footwork to be somewhat useful too. I don't think that's working either. So after several days of attempting practice on my own, I gave up and did the yard work I'd been procrastinating on for weeks. Actually, first I tried setting up my own cutting space and ended up severing a small section of the railing on the deck, but we won't go there just now. I also practiced my 500 zwerches, and can reliably get the sword wind nearly every time- it just sounds a good 18 inches behind my left shoulder. I'm thinking if I stand with my back to the pool noodle, then maybe....

Anyway, practice wasn't helping me accomplish the yard work, so I switched gears. Besides, I'm not nearly good enough at cutting yet to try pruning my poor trees with a sword, and I'm a bit worried about accidentally lopping off limbs- the weeping cherry is already splitting open and oozing sap for some reason, and it needs no more reasons to cry. So I put the swords away and busted out the weird farm implements. Some of the manouvers and positions we've learned have come in surprisingly useful in yard work.

When I was little, we used to visit my grandmother's house in Kentucky. As nearly as I can tell, no work was ever done on the house since the moment it was made, and I think that's the last time grandma threw anything away as well. At least I come by my pack-rat tendencies honestly. Grandma's house had a lot of... character... and my brother and I never slept easy when we were there. Once you got past the taxiderm-ied animals that filled the corners of the room where we slept, overlooked the rifle cabinet filled with knives and guns, huddled under the covers to avoid the creepy shadows cast by numerous sets of elk antlers that decorated the walls, and hid from the porcelain dolls with missing eyes and cracked faces, then you had to try and forget that our room was a simple, unlocked door away from the porch we called 'the children of the corn' room. Every inch of the ceiling of that room was covered with hooks from which dangled countless scary-looking farm implements. Tarnished bee smokers, viciously pointed ice picks, tools with rotting handles, rock hammers worn down to nothing, and axe blades hung in the corners. Half a lethal-looking thresher hid amongst broken furniture and a decrepit spinning wheel. Rusty two-person saws, wicked hay hooks, jagged sickles and broken scythes all decorated the walls while piles of rust sifted down to the rotting floor. Critters of some kind made their homes beneath the floor, and they'd skitter back and forth at night, their little clawed feet pattering on the wood as the lone, flickering streetlamp outside shone through the broken window and made shadow daggers and eerie saw blades dance on the wall of our room....

I've never forgotten that room, and to this day get an uneasy feeling when walking through some aisles at Home Despot. Regardless, I have several sharp instruments in the shed at my house which have purposes I do not know exactly- but I've discovered uses for them all through improvisation. One of these things is a large curved blade on a 3ft. hickory shaft. It's not a sickle or a scythe- I know those, thank you. I've no idea what it's called, but it's got a wide blade, squarish at the bottom. It's thick, curving gently to a point about eight inches from the base of the shaft, and ending in rather a rounded tip. (Minds out of the gutters, please.) I'm fairly certain it's got something to do with trimming tree branches, though it seems kind of short for that. Even if that's not what it's for, it works surprisingly well in that capacity, especially when used with a schielhau sort of motion from underneath. Probably you don't really need to flick the wrists quite so much when just trimming a tree, but it worked, and my weeping cherry tree has a lot less dead branches now. It also worked great to lop the low-hanging branches of a pair of dogwood trees so I can mow under them- a quick zucken seemed to do the trick perfectly.

There's another weird contraption in the shed, a six foot pole with a curved saw blade at the end, along with a string that attaches just below the head. I'm not sure what it's for either, but discovered that when you're trying to trim branches in the middle of an apple tree, a thrust with that thing helps. Wild apple trees are messy, and have all kinds of knobbly branches splitting off every which way, and they're hard to get to with pruners to just snip them off neatly. Using that saw on a stick thing and sawing most of the way through in one direction, then durchwelchseln-ing around to the other side and finishing the thrust that way, made for nice clean cuts and a neat pile of branches beneath the tree. The deer won't thank me for trimming the lower branches so they can't munch them, but at least I can get the tractor under it now.

The Professor also had me working on point control while I was repairing the deck. Three taps with the hammer before driving the nails home. Unfortunately, it seemed like every nail in the entire stupid deck had worked itself loose in anticipation of getting attention, so it took the better part of the afternoon to tap, tap, tap, drive them all into place. But the hammering did help with the point control- by the time I reached the bottom of the deck stairs, I hadn't missed in an hour. Hopefully I can translate hammering the point home into thrusting with the tip of a sword. We'll see how it goes.

During my swords' restful period though, they were not alone. I'd been using this sword oil that came with a little sword-care kit I bought off Amazon. The label's in... Japanese, I think, and I have no idea what it says. All I know is that whatever it is, it has clove oil in it- I've made enough candies to recognize that smell. I'd been stashing the oiled swords on the antique hall tree I got from my grandma, in the stand that had been used to house canes back in the day. The sharp has a sheath, so was safely ensconced, but the blunt was just leaning against the wooden railing. I didn't think anything of it being exposed- it's blunt, so no critters would slice off whiskers or anything, and the house isn't terribly humid, so the hall tree seemed a good place to stash it... until I came around the corner and saw the dogs licking the oil off my sword. I shooed the dogs away, pulled the sword out, and whimpered to see a fine layer of surface rust speckling the length of the sword. The furry menaces had licked the whole thing clean of oil.

My break in practices taught me many things: how to improvise tree-pruning devices, how very much plants hate me, how much the dogs dislike being stuck inside or on the deck when I'm mowing, that I still haven't forgotten the horror of that 'children of the corn' room, that it's an awful pain to sand surface rust off a blade, and more. But mostly? I just really missed my sword classes.

Week 19 - Timing is Everything

Saturday
It had been book fair all week at school, and though carrying around boxes full of books is great for strength training, it also wears you out pretty quickly. Plus I think I lifted something funny and ended up with a sore back. When I got home, I collapsed on the couch for a quick nap before choir. The puppy was busy with a bone and the cats were fed, so I figured it was safe enough. The sun was streaming in through the window, the +2 cat of sleep was sitting on my chest, and I drifted off to dreamland.

I woke half an hour later to find myself surrounded. It looked like either a massacre or a ritual of some sort. Tonka had apparently wanted to play, and deposited all of his toys in a perfect semi-circle around the sofa. Floppy pigs, a headless skunk, sharks, half a rabbit, a duck with no squeakers left... It looked for all the world like an army of toys bowing at the feet of an angry (they're all stuffing-less, so look like they've been skinned) and vengeful goddess. Or like small sacrifices, one or the other. Either way, it was more than a bit creepifying, and did inspire me to get up and start practicing. Outside. Away from the fuzzy, eyeless hordes. Swinging the sword gave me back a modicum of control and banished the freakishness from thought. And as a side note, the smooth, repetitive motion of a bunch of krumphaus is great for stretching and soothing a achy back. The dog sat in the bushes and watched, a legless ex-stuffed badger hanging from his jaws.

* * * * *
Sunday

Over the rivers and through the woods,
to sword practice I go.
The truck knows the way
to get there Sundays.
Still an hour and a half to go... oh.
Ick.

So driving through the grey and sleet and snow is no fun, especially when you're stuck on back country roads with no passing zones and cars going a good ten miles an hour under the speed limit. Admittedly I usually go too fast, but still. I was looking forward to seeing what the emus at this one farm do in the snow, but I guess they were all hiding inside. I have this odd idea for a picture book involving jousting on emus... I think we need more picture books featuring sword play. Maybe a twist on some of those crazy illuminations from medieval manuscripts with the killer bunnies. Killer bunnies on emus! With swords! I may have to get on that.

Anyway, when I finally did get to practice, it stopped snowing, of course. We started off the day reviewing our zorn orts, and proved once again that I have the memory of a drunken goldfish. Actually, it wasn't quite that bad. We were using the nylons, which don't bind worth beans but at least they don't hurt too much when you accidentally clock someone either (sorry about that!) We were supposed to be making sure that all of our cuts ended in some kind of ward. Defense first! I can't seem to remember that, but I'll get there. Honestly, I know exactly why I can't seem to do it- because I'm so focused on getting the strike right that I stop in surprise when it lands and forget to do anything else. Or the instruction will be 'do x' and so I perform x and quit, while the intention was apparently to keep going. I'll figure it out eventually. 

Zwerch! Actually, we did double zwerchaus today, which are all kinds of fun. Defending against them though, that was all about timing. Throughout practice, we were supposed to be focusing on timing and staying in tempo while countering for everything. With the zwerches, it was especially important since we had to slip a counter zwerch under the incoming one. We practiced more with the duplieren, mutieren, and durchwechselns too, all trying to pick up on the sense of tempo. I'm thinking maybe if I practice with music it might help- the footwork too. That triangle step ought to go well with a waltz, don't you think? Both have the same  rhythm at least. Might not be a good idea though... watch me show up at Longpoint this summer and be "Blue Danube-ing" under my breath during my matches.

We also learned schielhaus, and how they are ALL about timing. I kind of like those too, winding up to strike with the short edge on the underside, ending in some kind of ochsish ward and hopefully not getting stabbed in the meantime. I got stabbed more often than not, usually running myself up on the sword while trying them, but still... I can tell when I'm supposed to go- just after the opponent's break, and I can pick out that point mentally while it's happening, but telegraphing that thought to my sword seems to take longer than it should, so I keep getting there late.

We did more cutting practice too. I've been working on my zwerches at home... some day I'm going to be able to cut with one. I can at least get the sword wind to sound fairly consistently now, but I think I need to move where I'm standing if I'm going to be able to cut anything. From the sound, I'm hitting maximum velocity long before I get to the target- a good foot and a half early. I'm sure that involves more footwork to practice, so I'm totally looking forward to that. Hardly. I still need to make those bubble wrap shoes so I can hear it when I step correctly. Or maybe I need to practice in tap shoes! The little clicks of the heels would let me know when I did it right... and as an added bonus, the sound would drive the Professor and everyone else nuts. Hmm....