Our school production is called 'Chickenheart' It is about a tailor from the 1340's who falls in love with a noble woman but the noble woman must wed a tax collector or else she and her family will loose their estates. (I play the whiny, waily, loud mother of the noble lady...my coolest line is: I had this thing about knights in shining armor. Nice to hold, lovely to look at but they always came back in boxes before they got too old.)
It is pretty darn hard to make a costume from that era, especially since it is only a high school play and they think that hockey's more important. (Am I bitter? You bet your left toe I am!! I could drone on and on about it...but I won't [img]smilies/mad.gif[/img] ) So, the cast has to put their own resources together to get up the money and materials to make it all come to life from paper. In order to keep it simple, we figured we would just stick with the renaissance. The make of the dresses are definetly easier to make than one from the 14th century!!! I mean all those ruffles!! That's inhumane!!
When we do the play, I am gonna get pictures taken, I will put one up so you can all laugh at me. -_- Just not too hard, I don't want anyone hurting themselves (or am I giving myself way too much credit [img]smilies/rolleyes.gif[/img] ).
I heard that my family clan actually has a plot of land with a castle on it. It was from my mother's side of the family, and the main head of the clan (Or the ones that are most entitled to it) live in Boston. Ah well, it's makes for pretty cool dinner conversation.
I would like a log cabin in the middle of the woods, far, far away from any civilization. That would be cool. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]
~~Daegwenn
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"And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—Riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard.
And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair"
Highwayman
Alfred Noyes
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