in which we are fitted for bows and arrows

limbs (bolt end), bow stringer

After minor deliberation, we chose KAP T-Rex takedown recurve bows, slightly-better-than-absolute-beginner level. They have a riser (the thing you hold on to) made of cast aluminum, and laminated wood and fiberglass limbs that slip on and off with a satisfying system of set screws and bolts. We are trusting our teacher’s recommendations here totally. I love being a beginner!

magnetic arrow rest, grip

Mr. Dean is making our arrows to fit us exactly. Many charts were consulted, measurements taken, and performances observed. Mine will have gray and yellow feathers; Mr Speed chose black and bright pink. The arrow shaft is Easton Jazz Purple, described on their website as “an economy shaft for youth and archers shooting low poundage bows… exciting, durable, hard anodized violet color with highlights.” A girl’s first arrow should be a special thing.

upper limb tip, bow string

We got a hardshell case big enough to hold both of our disassembled bows and all the weird new stuff that goes with them: bow strings (also handmade by Mr. Dean), a bow stringer, complex bowsights, finger guard thingies, a little bag of tiny hex wrenches, and our beautiful arrows.

The whole process took about three hours, and about $800. Happy birthdays!

where the limb fits into the riser

In between being measured and assessed, I chatted with a gentleman as he was packing up his gear, who has been shooting arrows for 24 years. His stuff was futuristic space age jetpack amazing, like when you’re 11 years old and you get to hang out with your friend’s teenage sister, and she has beautiful hair and is really nice to you. Something to aspire to.

That’s another thing I’m really enjoying — a peek into this archery community. There is a diverse cast of characters, and they’re thus far all so very encouraging of our decision to learn. For now, though, I’m an outsider, a fledgling: hopeful, determined, wanting their help and their welcome.

Both of my parents were archers. I claim a place here, in the lineage. Last night, invoking my father, I shot my first bull’s eye.

Not only the bull’s eye, but the x.

limb (bolt end), handmade bow string with brass nock point

in which I learn of something I cannot do

My mother, Louise, circa 1957. Apparently, archery is genetic.

After the success of our family archery debut in Pacifica, Mr Speed and I took another lesson, an hour long, with a local teacher named James Dean. Mr. Dean has been shooting arrows for 44 years, and his enthusiasm is as fresh and apparent as the depth of his knowledge. He is also funny, and a storyteller, and he kind of reminded me of Dennis Leary. We were both captivated.

We used recurve bows with sights this time, and one of the assessments Mr. Dean made was to determine our dominant eye for the purpose of sighting and aiming. Mine is my right eye, and so, at final aim before loosing the arrow, I was to close my left eye. Except… my left eye will not close independently of my right eye.

Go ahead. Try it. Can you close your left eye while keeping your right eye open? You can? Fine. Well, can you close your right eye while keeping your left eye open? At the same time? You can? Oh, don’t be so innocently smug.

WTF. Somehow, I have gotten along my entire life — until this moment — being able to close only my right eye. What’s more, I didn’t even know that I don’t know how to close my left eye at will. Why this gap in core competency? Where were my parents when I was failing to develop this ability?  What else do I not know I can’t do?!

After offering to smack me in the left eye to close it, Mr. Dean quickly reassured me that I could then sight and shoot with both eyes open… until he determined that, in fact, I was focusing with my left eye. Which I guess goes a long way (finally) in explaining my notorious left/right directional dyslexia. Or something. Anyway, my homework this week is to learn how to close my left eye and at the same time keep my right eye open.

Though I am an old dog, I can learn new tricks. I will make up for my obviously impoverished and deficient childhood, which is when I assume regular people learned this stuff. (Let it be known, however, that I can do the “live long and prosper” sign. On both hands.)

And we’ll be back at the archery range next Friday, for our new date night. I cannot wait.

vampirelike, assuming a life of its own

pewter ex-voto, made in Germany, purchased in San Francisco, where I left my heart

Regarding the color gray, as I am for February, let’s consult the master, Johannes Itten:

Neutral gray is a characterless, indifferent, achromatic color, very readily influenced by contrasting shade and hue.

cast aluminum lowercase n and b, latex paint

It is mute, but easily excited to thrilling resonances.

New England summer storm clouds

Any color will instantly transform gray from its neutral, achromatic state to a complementary color effect corresponding mathematically to the activating color.

.25 inch (6mm) vitreous glass tile, from Italy, in quartz, smoke, mushroom and coal

This transformation occurs subjectively, in the eye, not objectively in the colors themselves.

cement, containing crushed quartz and a drop of green stain

Gray is a sterile neuter, dependent on its neighboring colors for life and character.

stone

It attenuates their force and mellows them.

merino wool sweater

It will reconcile violent oppositions by absorbing their strength and thereby, vampirelike, assuming a life of its own.

fleece sheep, de-squeakered

in San Francisco

the labyrinth at Land’s End

Lovely family stroll and picnic along the cliffs at Land’s End. Good to see my ocean again, and just enough wind to salt the air. I have history here.

Look into the sun and smile

No idea

This morning I woke directly from a vivid dream in which I had the care of a two-headed bird. It had come into the house nestled in the fur of my childhood golden retriever. The other indoor birds would have nothing to do with it, having their own concerns. It was a lively, mostly black and white thing, kind of long in the shared body, so I could cradle each end in my cupped hands. Each would look at me lovingly with bright black eyes.

Since I woke so abruptly (downstairs clatter of coffee being made) I feel like I still have it with me, and can feel its fluttering in my hands. Oddest damn thing.

Just before we begin

Happy birthday, A. A. Milne. The winter I was nine years old, my mother gave me a set of the Winnie the Poohs and the two poetry books as an early Christmas present, just before we set off a on train trip to visit my aunt and cousins in Minnesota. I read them over the next few days in between exploring the free-range world of the train, from San Jose to Minneapolis, cradled in the stiff velvet splendor of the dome car seats.

A. A. Milne, your work (and that of your illustrator E. H. Shepard) expanded my universe and bent my mind in a fundamental way, and I was a better person after that. Thank you.

“Wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing.”

Perseverance

I’ve been thinking about perseverance today. First I had to learn to spell it correctly, all the time. I liked the definition:

steadfastness in doing something despite difficulty or delay in achieving success

It adds a nobility to the concept, rather than just drudgery, and I felt encouraged. But I was delighted to read a secondary meaning, a theological one:

continuance in a state of grace leading finally to a state of glory

I’ll have some of that, please! Totally worth perservering for.