Honoring a Kindness

    Sometimes when you least expect it, a stranger shows you a kindness that brings you great joy and reminds you of the power we all have to encourage each other.

    It was last year (July 2012) when just Vicki & I were at a reenactment in Lombard, IL. doing our Christian Commission thing.  The tent was set up and the food was out.  The lemonade was mixed.  It was a nice sized event for the two of us to handle, with a steady flow of reenactors coming and going under the tent.  We had a couple of additional volunteers helping out throughout the morning;  gracious young ladies that know us and our children, offering their help as they had time.

    All morning Vicki had been dealing with her snood letting her hair straggle down out of the holes that had been worn in it over the years of use.  Yes, she needed to get a new one, but just hadn't had time to try and find one.  I remember picking on her about her looking a bit bedraggled.  And she would joke back about it, stuff her hair back in, and a little bit later, it would be dangling back out of the holes that had gotten too big in her favorite black snood. 

    I was busy toward the front of the tent fly, talking to spectators and inviting the soldiers to "come on in and help yourself", explaining the variety of tasty delights that Vicki had prepared.  She was busy working to replenish the food trays.  As she was moving around, she stumbled and fell.  As she got back up, we all realized that she was holding a large knife that hadn't hurt her.  One woman watching all this unfold said "you must have an angle watching over you."  Vicki brushed off the straw, got back to work filling the food trays.

    The fall was quickly forgotten, and we returned to serving the troops.  The day went well, we packed up and went home.  "Yep, someday" Vicki said she'd get around to "looking for a new snood".

    A few weeks later, Vicki got a phone call from a woman caller wanting to confirm she had reached the people who do the US Christian Commission.  The woman explained she was under the tent and saw Vicki fall and not get hurt by the knife.  She had also noticed Vicki's struggle with the hair snood.  She had bought a handmade snood and was mailing it as an encouragement and thank you to Vicki.

    We reenact the US Christian Commission to be an encouragement to others.  But over the years, the Lord has brought along others to encourage us with an unexpected surprising acts of kindness.  Helping our ladies carry the water pots back to the tent.  Help setting up or taking down the tent.  Helping us locate in a high traffic area so we can reach the most troops at the event.  The gift of the quilt we use on the gift table.  A few of the enamel pots we use for lemonade and tea have been donated to us by individuals who saw us using the ones we had to encourage the troops and wanted to add to our tools.  To all those unnamed and often unknown fellow travelers "May God see your kindness and bless you too".

US Christian Commission Station Duties June 1862

What did the US Christian Commission Delegates do?  Anything and everything they could for the soldiers. 
    This summary from John Patterson gives us an excellent description of the many activities the Delegates engaged in to encourage the troops.  He was involved with the White House Christian Commission Station during June 1862, just before the retreat of the Eastern Army from the Peninsula:

    We had two tents and a cook-shed;  one tent for sleeping in, the other for storage.  We were three Delegates of the Commission, assisted by a young convalescent soldier, and cooked for by a negro boy and woman, whose hoe-cakes were our great solace three times a day.  We worked in pairs;  two at the hospital, two at the store-tent, and two at the cook-shed.  We tolerated no drones in our bee-hive.  When the negro boy was not employed in chopping wood and carrying water for Dinah, he was regaling himself and a circle of select admirers with a genuine Virginia "breakdown;"  and when Dinah had fixed up all the odds and ends about the tents, she began manufacturing corn-starch, in huge cauldrons-full, five or six times a day.  The two store-keepers were kept busy from morning to night by a hungry-looking crowd, which we called the "staff brigade," who begged for themselves, and their comrades incapable of locomotion.  Supplies were here dispensed in the shape of shirts, drawers, handkerchiefs, books, papers, combs, soap, pickles, sugar, tea, bread, and nearly everything eatable, wearable and usable to be found in a regular "Yankee-notion" country store.

    But the two itinerants had the most exacting and delicate duties.  It was theirs to visit the sick and dying, to bear them little comforts; to cheer the despondent;  to soothe the agony of some, the last moments of others;  to play, as occasion required, the parts of nurse, physician and clergyman.  Evening brought no rest.  The semi-secular employments of the day gave place to the religious labors of the night, and so pleasant and blessed were these, that we longed for the evening, when we could meet the eager congregations.

    We began early, and ended late -- so that more than once we paid the penalty of our protracted devotion, in arrest by the night guards, whose duty required them to stop all stragglers.  But the young Delegates were well known and easily recognized, and no authority would cage them.  Such meetings, too, as we enjoyed, would repay one for an occasional arrest, and for the dark and muddy walks by which they were reached.

    After a short sermon, studied between our tent and the church, came a prayer and inquiry meeting.  This was open to all.  One after another would lead in prayer, testify to a newly-found faith, or make an exhortation to his comrades.  Some were hoary-headed sinners;  others mere boys.  Some would flounder painfully as they tried to express their feelings, frequently bursting into tears;  while other would charm with the simplicity and power of their native eloquence.  From such men we had no difficulty in securing an effective corps of tract distributors.  Every morning a number of bronzed faces would look in at our tent door, and then, supplied with loads of tracts, papers, hymn books, &c., the men betook themselves to the different houses and tents, and to the camp of the "Lost Children."
    One day, the quiet was disturbed by the thunder of distant cannon.  Soon after stragglers from the front came in;  than a battery of field artillery which had desolated the path of the advancing enemy.  Then came the order to break up the hospital as soon as possible, which was interpreted to us to mean twelve hours.  That evening, all who could walk or hobble to our tents were there.  We distributed our entire remaining stock.  Farewell addresses, delivered by two of us, were answered by the hearty cheers of our audience, and the whole was concluded with a hymn.

[Incidents of the U.S. Christian Commission  1869 p.32-34]

    Such benevolence was repeated over and over in different locations and situations by the Delegates who volunteered their lives to minister to the soldiers far from home.  It is important to note how they blended spiritual help in with the practical help generously given.  They provided for the physical needs of the soldiers.  They engaged the soldiers personally and in group settings.  They pointed them to the truth of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  These Delegates took seriously Jesus' words that the righteous show their faith through compassion, even to the least of the brethren (Matt.25:31-46).
    The Christian Commission understood that our soldiers needed more than weapons and uniforms.  They needed compassionate encouragement to face the trials of war.  And they needed the eternal truth of the Gospel.

"The Foolishness of Civil War Reenactors" Reconsidered

Do Reenactors INSULT True History?

    After putting up my post about Living History being a snap-shot of history, I decided to do a search on what others had written on Living History.  Mostly what I found were links to living history events taking place around the nation.  But I did happen across one post on Solon.com by Glenn LaFantasie, Professor of Civil War History at Western Kentucky University from May 8th, 2011 in which he laid out the insulting stupidity of reenacting the Civil War.  His post title says is all:  "The Foolishness of Civil War Reenactors".  I will admit I did not discover his profound revelation of the stupidity of my hobby until after I wrote my post about Living History.  I now realize the error of my way.  It's two years later, the sesquicentennial is in full swing, and sadly we stupid reenactors continue to distort the truth about the Civil War.

    What LaFantasie's post shows is the typical hubris of progressive elitist thinking:  ONLY the credentialed few can lead to truth.  The rest are mere peasants which must be herded, kicking and crying, into the light of elitist truth.  We stupid reenactors despise the truth, we distort it by selling it to the interested but sheepishly more stupid spectators as entertainment.  There is no real blood, no real death, no Quentin Tarrantino revelations of horror.  LaFantasie is ashamed of the many military veterans who should know better, but insist on reenacting anyway as a way to reconnect with their shameful dependence on the military.  Ah the wisdom of "credentialism".

    Do reenactors do a perfect job in teaching history?  Of course not!  Some excel, some are OK, some don't care much about teaching, and some are just plain nut cases.  But according to the elitist LaFantasie, NONE are "Living Historians" -- ALL are perverts seeking "an excitement like that of sexual arousal".

    Just for the record.  The "I now realize the error of my way" was said sarcastically.  I will continue unrepentantly doing my attacks on the elitist progressive history LaFantasie fantasizes about.  I reject the arrogance of LaFantasie's credentialist world view -- that ONLY those who have gone through the leftist educational system can know the truth.

    As I read his tirade against our hobby, and I do have a real life in which I work and pay taxes, I thought back to two years ago and the Fort Sumter reenactment.  I wasn't there.  But by coincidence my stationery was.  Earlier in 2011 a reenactor contacted me about getting stationery he could use when on site so he could write letters as part of his reenactment presentation.  I was honored to be able to help him enjoy the event.  When I asked how the event went, he emailed back he had so much fun it should be illegal.  He felt a sense of connection with the past and satisfaction in being part of an event that reminded people of a pivotal event in US history.

    There are some good rebuttals on line to LaFantasie's tirade.  Check out:  The Sable Arm May 10, 2011 post by Jimmy Price who does a good job of taking on LaFantasie.
    One of the greatest things about our nation is that LaFantasie is as free to espouse his elitist views as I am free to stupidly muddle through wasting my time reenacting.  He can post his rantings against reenactors on line.  And I can post my rantings supporting "Living History" on line too.  I have a recommendation to those who think reenacting is worth the effort:  do NOT buy LaFantasie's books and tell other reenactors to not buy them.  Avoid events which promote him.  Oh, I know he will still make money, but lets' not have it come from us 'stupid reenactors'.  He is free to despise us . . . and we are free to reject him. 
    Do reenactors insult true history?  Pick a side.

Living History Goal: Becoming a Snapshot of History

Why do Civil War Living History?  Is it worth the effort?
    When you reenact, you do it for -- fun, or to honor those who really lived the history, or to explore what it must have been like, or to step outside of what you know -- the reasons vary from person to person.  That's what makes our hobby so interesting and enjoyable.  (Just pray with me that the politicians don't start regulating it!)
    We started reenacting because of my interest in history.  Because I couldn't see how we could afford to buy a rifle at that time, and because of my background, I felt I could do a chaplain impression.  Because Vicki & I wanted to make it a family hobby, that also channeled our interests.  As we learned about the US Christian Commission, together our living history presentation developed.
    But when you reenact, especially with a living history emphasis, you always wonder how you actually come across to visitors who stop by your tent.  Over the years, in various ways, the Lord has sent along encouragements that kept us going -- from the surprised "thank you, it's really free?!?" of a first time soldier-guest enjoying the food at our tent to the firm hand shake of a veteran reenactor we've known for years.
    While going through some old magazines recently, I ran across one that was tagged "Keep".  The old issue of the Camp Chase Gazette reminded me of a visit in 2004 by a woman reenactor who stopped by and started asking us a lot of questions.  As she talked with us, she shared she was reviewing the Marengo event for the magazine.  We answered her questions, shared lemonade and food with her, and told her come again anytime as she went on her way. I didn't give it a thought after that until later that year while reading the event review I saw our USCC presentation was mentioned in it;  only one paragraph, but her summary was a written encouragement that we were accomplishing our goals:

"Do you know what the Christian Commission really was and what they did?  I will admit that I had heard of them, read some basic information on them, but had no real idea of the impact they had on the soldier during the Civil War.  As their 19th century impression, Glenn & Vicki Rowe of Addition, IL do a superb job of teaching the public, and reenactors, what the Christian Commission was.  Hand squeezed lemonade is either poured into a soldiers cup or provided to those who were cupless in a tin can covered with a period label.  Stationary, stamps, pencils, religious information and other small luxuries are available to soldiers at no cost, just as it was done during the Civil War.  Glenn and his family walked the event handing out cookies and cakes of all sorts, not to mention a wonderful sponge cake with cherry topping.  On a large tarp next to their tent was an enormous pile of breads of all shapes and sizes, there for the taking.  Their tent fly is a warm and welcome place for reenactors to sit and socialize, learn about the Christian Commission, or chat with reenactors and spectators alike.  A small donation bucket sits on the ground next to a straw bale, but it was very obvious that financial gain is not what prompts them to do this amazing impression." 

[Camp Chase Gazette  Vol.XXXI No.9  Aug 2004 p.39  

"Marengo, ILL -- A Diamond in the Rough" by Connie Sims]

    

    Introducing people to the history of the USCC is one of our primary goals.  That Connie learned from her visit with us is a prized complement.  Another major goal has always been to let the reenactors experience on a small scale the encouragement that the Civil War soldiers experienced when they came under the USCC tent during the war.  So Connie's enjoyment of our hospitality is also prized.  (Confession: if you have perused our recipe page, you know that we don't hand squeeze the lemons.  That Connie thought we did is a credit to Vicki's talent for hospitality.)   

    So if you are doing a living history presentation, keep focused on what you see as "your mission", especially if your goal is to educate others.  Probably most of the time you won't really hear how you are doing.  When the "thank you" or "I never knew that" comments come, take those encouragements as affirmations that you are communicating.   Once in our lives we got written up;  a sort of "official recognition" if you will.  That was a pleasant surprise.  But most of the time our audience -- and your's -- will only be reenactors and spectators who happen to stop by and learn something they didn't know before . . . and that will be a "good a day of reenacting" . . . a quietly personal reward for all the work of "doing" Living History.

Some suggestions about doing a Living History Presentation:
1)  Pick something you have a passion for.  Since it takes time and effort in research & in putting it together, choose an aspect of history that you enjoy.
2)  Set some mental goals of what you hope to accomplish.  These will likely change and develope as you develope your presentation, but goals will help you focus your energy and resources better.
3)  Search for things that will draw people in to "see" what you have to teach.  To set up a tent and sit out in front in a chair and hope people will "just stop by" is not the best approach.  At least have a banner or sign out front ("Journalist"/ "Soldier's Aid Society" etc) which identifies and invites people to stop and look.  Displays also are invitations.  When people stop and look, you can begin to engage them in conversation about what you are portraying.
4)  Say to yourself often "There is no such thing as stupid questions, only obnixous questioners".  As much as some questions may make you roll your eyes, realize that the person asking may not really understand much about history.  Treat them with hospitality and you will be able to lead them along.  Yes, there will be know-it-alls that will play games with you, but at least give every person the benefit of the doubt when you first meet them.  Especially children.


Postscript:  Sadly, a few years later the reenactment at Marengo was discontinued.  It was always one of our favorites, even though it was never one of the biggest.  To those who worked so hard to put it on over the years -- "God bless you for your efforts".

Who, thin, pays ye -- the Guvermint? (Yorktown, 1862)

The Skeptical Irish Soldier meets the Determined Scottish Delegate.
An Illustration of What Motivated the U.S. Christain Commission Delegates to Serve Among the Troops.

    The Following bit of Rev. Mr Mingins' experience will show how [the U.S.C.C.] gained favor with the men in the ranks, for whom it was especially intended.  The scene is at Yorktown [1862];  the subject an Irishman:

    Well, this was a very tough Irishman I assure you.  It was at a time when a great many were sick at Yorktown, -- men who had marched and dug and delved, until they were completely broken down.  A great many of them had no clean shirts on.  I had got a large supply, and was going through the tent, giving them to the poor fellows.  I came to this Irishman.

    "My dear friend, " said I, "how are you?  You seem to be an old man."

    "Shure an' I am an ould mon, sir."

    "Well, how came you here in the army, old as you are?"

    "Och, sir, I'm not only an ould mon, but an ould sojer too, I'd have ye know."  He had been twenty years in the British service in the East Indies, and had fought American's foes in Mexico.

    "Yes, sir" he continued, "I'm ould, an' I know it, but I'm not too ould to sholuther a musket, and hit a rap for theo ould flag yit."

   "You're a brave fellow," said I, "and I've brought these things to make you comfortable," as I held out to him a shirt and pair of drawers.  He looked at me,  Said he --

    "Is't thim things?"

    "Yes, I want to give them to you to wear."

    "Well, I don't want thim."

    "You do want them."

    "Well I don't;"  and he looked at me and then at thr goods, and said somewhat sharply, as i urged him again,  "Niver moind, sir; I don't want thim;  and, I till ye, I won't have thim."

     "Why?"

     "Shure," said the, "d' ye take me for an objic uv charithy?"

     That was a kind of poser.  I looked at him.

     "No, sir" said I, "I do not take you for an object of charity, and I don't want you to look on me as a dispenser of charity, for I am not."

    "Well, what are ye, thin?"

    "I am a Delegate of the United States Christian Commission, bearing the thank-offerings of mothers and wives and sisters to you brave defenders of the Stars and Stripes."  And I thought, surely, after such a speech as that, I would get hold of the old fellow's heart.  But he looked at me and said --

    "Any how, I won't have thim."

    I felt really hurt.  I did not at all like it.  I have told you, he was an Irishman, and I happened to be a Scotchman.  I was determined not to be conquered.  I meant to try further, and when a Scotchman means to try a thing, he will come very near doing it.

    I didn't talk any further then, but determined to proved by my acts that I had come down to do this old man good.  So day after day I went about my work, nursing, giving medicines, cleaning up the tent, and doing anything and everything I could.

    One day, as I went in, a soldier said --

    "There's good news today, Chaplain"

                             (The soldiers, almost uniformly styled the Christian Commission Delegates "Chaplains".)

    "Ah, what is it?"

    "Paymaster's come."

    "Well that is good news."

    "Yes, but not to me, Chaplain."

    "How is that?"
    "I've not got my descriptive list, and if a fellow's not got that, the Paymaster may come and go, and he's none the better off for it."

    "Well, why don't you get it?"

    "I can't write, Chaplain;  I've got chronic rheumatism."

    "Shall I write for you?"

    "If you only would, Chaplain."

    I hauled out paper and pencil, asked the number of his regiment, name of his Captain, company, &c., and sent a simple request that the descriptive list might be remitted to that point.  When I had done this, I found a good many who wanted their lists, and I went on writing for them until I came to the cot next to the old Irishman's.  It was occupied by another Irishman.  I asked him if he had his descriptive list."

    "No."

    "Shall I write to your Captain for it?"

    "Av ye plaze," and I began to write.

    I noticed the old Irishman stretching over, -- all attention.  I spoke now and then a word meant for him, though I affected not to notice him.  After I had written the request, I asked the young man if I should read it to him aloud.  "Av ye plaze, sir," and I read him the simple note.  When I had done, the old Irishman broke out with --

    "Upon me sowl, sir, ye wroite the natest letther for a disheriptive list, that I iver heerd in me loife.  Shure an' a mon wud thing ye'd been a sojer all yur dyas, ye do wroite so nate a letther."

    I turned round and asked, "Have you got yours?"

    "An' I haven't, sir."

    "Do you want it?"

    "An' to be shure I do," said he, flaring up;  "an' thot's a quare quistyun to ax a man, av he wants his dishriptive list -- av he wants his pay to boy some dillicacies to sind home to the ould woman an' the chilther.  I do want it, and ave ye'll lind us the sthrock uv yur pin, Chaplain, ye'll oblige us."

    I sat down and wrote the letter, and when I had done said, "Now, boys, give me your letters and I'll have them postpaid and sent for you."

    When i returned, sad work awaited me.  One of the Massachusetts' sons lay in the tent, dying.  I spoke to the dying boy of mother, of Jesus, of home, of heaven.  I believe it to be a great characteristic of the American heart, that it clings to home and mother.  I remember passing over a battlefield and seeing a man just dying.  His mind was wandering.  His spirit was no longer on that bloody field;  it was at his home far away.  A smile passed over his face -- a smile, oh of such sweetness, as looking up he said -- 

     "O mother!  O mother! I'm so glad you have come."

    And it seemed as if she wad there by his side.  By and by he said again --

    "Mother, it's cold, it's cold;  won't you pull the blanket over me?"

    I stooped down and pulled the poor fellow's ragged blanket closer to his shivering form.  And he smiled again:

    "That will do, mother, that will do!"

    And so, turning over, he passed sweetly into rest, and was borne up to the presence of God on the wings of a pious mother's prayers.

    But to come back to the case in the tent.  After I had done all I could for the dying man, and had shaken his hand in farewell, I turned to leave the tent.  Who should meet me at the door but the old Irishman?  He looked very queerly.  There was certainly something the matter with him.  He was scratching his head, pulling at his beard, and otherwise acting very strangely;  but I did not take much notice of him, as I had been so solemnly engaged.  He came up to me and clasping my hands, said --

    "Be me sowl, sir, ye're no humbug, anyhow."

    "What do you mean?" I asked.

    "Oh," said he, "haven't I watched ye ivery day, as ye've been goin' through the tint, carin' for the byes?  An' ye've been loike a mother to ivery wan uv thim.  Thanks to ye, Chaplain, thanks to ye, and may God bliss ye," he repeated, as he again wrung my hand.  "And," said he, "ye do all this for nothing'.  The byes 've been tillin' me about ye."

    "Oh," said I, "that's a mistake."

    "Well, now, how's thot?  They've been tillin' me, ye wur a Prisbytharian misinther, an' thot ye came away from yere home down here, for the love ye had for the byes.  But ye don't do it for nothin', eh?  Who, thin, pays ye -- the Guvermint?"

    "No.  If it had to pay me, it would take a great deal more money than it can spare."

    "Well, does the Commission pay ye?"

    "No."

    "Well, thin, av the Guvermint doesn't pay ye, nor the Commission doesn't, who does pay ye?"

    I looked the man straight in the eyes and said --

    "That honest, hearty grasp of the hand, and hearty 'God bless you,' are ample reward for all that I have done for you.  Remember, my brave fellow, that you have suffered and sacrificed for me, and I couldn't do less for you now."

    He was broken down.  He bowed his head and wept, and then taking my by the hand again said, "Shure an' av thot's the pay ye take, why thin, God bliss ye!  God Bliss ye!  Ye'll be rich uv the coin uv me heart all yere days."  And then, after a few minutes' pause, he added, "An'now, Chaplain, av ye'll jist give us the shirt an' the dra'rs, I'll wear thim till there's not a thrid uv thim lift."

[the above is from:  Incidents of the United States Christian Commission. 1869. pp.20-24]

    I enjoy handing out copies of the above incident to people who come to our tent as an excellent explanation of why the delegates invested their lives in ministering to the troops.  Our nation's leaders sent "the boys" off to war with uniforms and weapons.  The family members left behind realized their beloved menfolk needed more than just tools of war.  The USCC Delegates volunteered to become a bridge between home and soldier.  They volunteered to became God's hands, feet and voice to every soldier they met.

    Over the years of our reenacting the USCC we have come across those who could not believe what we offered was "really free".  I still remember going through the camp at Cedar Creek when we first began, offering lemonade and pumpkin bread and having to convince the men we were "giving it away".  We'd say "US Christan Commission -- Lemonade -- Pumpkin Bread" and we'd hold out the food trays.
    "How much?"

    "It's free."

    "Really?!?"

    "Yes, take what you want."

    I remember walking up to one tent and announcing "US Christian Commission" and hearing:  "No good Christians at this tent, Chaplain!  Guess you don't want us taking any!"

    I replied "God's love is free and so is this food to anyone who needs it.  Take all you want."  After a few more words of encouragement, they helped themselves and enjoyed the food.  Whether they blessed us or thought us fools was not our concern.  Each cup of lemonade or each bit of food was an offering to the Lord to do with as He saw best.

    America was stronger as a nation when it believed that "charity" arises from the people, NOT the government.  Mothers, wives, sisters spent hours sewing clothing to be given away to the men in hospitals who lay in torn blood-stained rags.  Families sacrificially gave money to the USCC to buy food and material to be given away as reminders that the soldiers were not forgotten. 
    Today, we as a nation are being deceived into believing that "the government" will take care of the needs of those struggling in life.  This is convenient in that it allows us to selfishly pursue our personal dreams, comfortable that we can hire others to do good and not be inconvenienced ourselves.  The more socialistic we become, the less compassionate we become.  The reality is, we CANNOT hire others to show compassion for us.  We only cheapen ourselves in God's sight.  Anything the government takes over becomes a means of enriching the connected at the cost of doing just "enough good" to be able to justify the administrative costs and pensions of the government workers.

Support High Capacity Ban For the Sake of the Nation

An Observation on Politics and The High Capacity Ban

  Yep, it's taken me a while to get to this point, but for the sake of our nation, we MUST BAN HIGH CAPACITY photocopier and computer printer cartridges! 
    Think of how these high capacity cartridges are misused by the politicians & bureaucrats in Washington DC as well as on the state and local level.  They print out reams of laws & regulations that are destroying our American dream of "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness".   These high capacity cartridges are used to create congressional bills that are not even read by the lawmakers voting to make those bills "the law of the land".  Yes, I know that the final versions of the congressional laws and bureaucratic regulations are sent off to commercial printers for production to be distributed to the cowering masses of citizen-slaves who must obey the political elite masters.  But if even ONE law or ONE regulation can be prevented from being shot at the American population, isn't it worth the cost and frustration of having to replace our own printer cartridges after SEVEN sheets of paper?  If we can prevent political elites like Senator Feinstein from getting their freedom destroying anti-American agendas codified, isn't it worth the personal inconvenience? 
    Obviously the dream of limiting all laws and regulations to being ONLY ONE page in length, single spaced, front and back, with NO options for amendments being added is a "fool's dream".  I know it will never happen because of the elite's control of the political system.  And I know we will never force the elites to have to hand write out their proposals the way our founding fathers had to when the Constitution was being written.
    BUT we MUST start somewhere!!!  IF we can slow the political hacks down in spewing out their power grabs . . . IF we can hinder them from compounding their money grabs of our income, isn't it worth it?  IF we force them have to choose between 'do I want to work harder to generate laws and regulations' (which they exempt themselves from having to obey) and 'going out to relax, golf and party like I am entitled to do', it may give us citizen-slaves a better chance at being let alone.
    This cartridge limitation will never come from the political elites themselves.  We cannot depend on the political hacks to limit their power or their income from their pandering lobbyist network.  We MUST RISE UP to save our children and grandchildren from the devastation that is being caused today by these high capacity cartridges!  We MUST join together to force printer cartridges manufacturers to make this vital change at the production level!
    America, will you rise up . . . or will you give up . . . and remain the citizen-slaves you have been drugged into being by the political elites?!? 
    Now, you will have to excuse me because Don Quixote just called, and I have to go see how I can help him out on his quest.
   

Honorable Women Among Us

A Mother's Day Tribute to Reenacting Women

    The first large reenactment we went to as spectators was to Cedar Creek.  I remember the infantry, the artillery, the cavalry, the sutlers, the battle, and oh yes, there were women there in hoop skirts.  But to be honest, I don't have a memory of the women in camp dresses.  I know they were there.  But as a first time spectator, a male interested in military history, what women I noticed were nice but not needing great attention.  I do remember one woman in black mourning clothes.  But my focus was on what the men were wearing and doing. 



Lemonade Conference



     After many years of reenacting I now realize how much the women, especially those in camp dresses contribute to the hobby.  Now for the record I am not against women who wear hoop skirts.  They have their place of adding to the perspective of the encampment for the spectators.  They are the "celebrities" the spectators see.  But my experience has been that it is the camp dress women who are the oil in the reenacting machinery.  I've seen this in the units we have reenacted with over the years. These women bring the food, tend the fires, clean up after, patch up the outfits, manage the kids, find the canteens or the socks or the haversack or whatever else "was just here honey".

     Yes, I know that the women can wear both hoop skirts and camp dresses.  And some actually do both roles well and with balance.  But I think we will all have to admit that there are certain personalities that do better at being the served than serving, and so the dress often does distinguish the heart.

     On this mother's day weekend, I want to pay tribute to my wife who has been a camp dress lady.  She has worked hard prior to each reenactment getting us all ready, preparing food for sharing, often baking for the entire week before hand what we would offer at the tent.  Early on she did try wearing a few hoops under her skirt but gave up because "there is just too much work to get done to be bothered trying to maneuver around in it".  I think of the many other women who I've known who came along with their husband's odd hobby out of love and loyalty to him, and have contributed so much to making the hobby great and gotten so little recognition.  If you have such a woman who comes along with you, you need to say a heartfelt thanks many times throughout the year to them.  If there are women in your unit who serve your unit you need to show them respect and honor.

     The women will notice they are honored even if they don't say so.  Let me give two examples.

     One time we did an event in Columbus, OH. (Vicki is from that area).  We didn't know people at the event.  We just showed up, set up and began to do our Christian Commission thing.  We were odd birds to them I know.  After the weekend on the drive home, Vicki remarked how that at first the men didn't say much to her as she went about camp offering the lemonade and food.  But as the weekend went by and they got to know us, they became friendly and respectful, even offering to help her carry whatever she was walking through camp with.  And it made her feel a part of the event.

     Contrast that to this example.  Last year at a reenactment a women stopped by the tent for a lemonade.  I know her to be a hard working woman who cooks food for the men of her unit.  Being single, she does it out of a love of history and the enjoyment of reenacting.  She has adopted the unit she serves and adds a lot to their having a good weekend event.  (By the way, she usually wears a camp dress, but also at times wears a nice hoop skirt for the dance and such, showing a woman can do both.)  Anyway, back to the point of the story.  She came to our tent with her tin can for a refill of lemonade to eat with the meal she had just finished cooking.  And I caught that she was a bit exasperated.  Evidently the guys had all just come down to the tent for refills to go with the food and though her can was on the table, no one had thought to bring it and get her a lemonade.  And she noticed that she went "unnoticed".

     The women will notice they are honored even if they don't say so. 

     Vicki didn't come to the reenactment to be a celebrity.  She didn't come out of a deep love for history.  She came because her husband wanted to do this crazy hobby, and we were going to do it as a family, and she would find ways to make things go smoothly.  If God's given you such a woman as a wife, thank her often for being so gracious and loving.  If God's placed one or more caring women in your unit, thank them often by words and respectful actions.  Don't be like the spectators who don't know what it really takes to make a reenactment go well.