Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost.
A couple of weeks ago, at a party, I met up with some old friends from the Fencing community. They had been pretty cranky at having not seen me regularly at the Fencing Club, and strongly requested my presence.
For the past couple of years, on Monday nights, I’ve spent my time with people in the teaching profession. The change of schools has made a serious change to that schedule, and my time, such as it is, had an opening. Since the club meets nearby in Culver City, on Mondays, it was pretty simple to begin to adapt my schedule. I needed to get the green light on my left arm, the one that I don’t fence with. Even though I don’t fence with that hand, the blades can hit pretty hard, so I needed to be sure the kind people in charge of my healing said it was okay.
That happened. I have the green light to use that arm, provided I’m not trying to bench press a volkswagen, or something stupid like that. Just as a note, I’ve avoided that.
A week ago, on Sunday, I got a text. “Your presence is expected at the Salle tomorrow night, no excuses.” Salle is a french word, generally used in this context for “fencing club.” That text message is pretty much the message being referred to above.
As of last week, I was not yet green lit to go in, and have my left arm potentially whipped with a three foot long piece of spring steel. Still…I went to the club. I took my lap around the park, at a brisk run, and did drills. I spent time directing bouts, and more importantly, reconnecting with people who are family. With people who have always been there for me, through thick and thin, good and bad.
It was time well spent.
This week, I have the go ahead from various medical types to fence myself, and step into the round robin. I am looking forward to it in a way that is hard to express.
The art is about that…about getting a message to come back to that which you might have left behind, by accident or mistake. The Best Pony brings the message, and the message is an old, cracked, battered blade from the past. The kind of thing your friends keep for you, because in their own way, they love you.
Next Issue: Aloha Week!