The Yellow Birching

I received the worst beating of my life when I was about thirteen years old. I was a firmly established tomboy at that time, and I loved to climb trees. One of my favourite trees was a big old yellow birch tree which grew from the midst of a rock pile. The rocks were field stones of slate and granite, and were an unfriendly combination of rough and sharp.

My favourite thing about this tree were the two long branches which jutted out parallel to the rock pile. The bottom branch was about six feet over the pile, and the other one a few feet above that. I liked to climb the tree, stand way out on the bottom branch while clutching the top one, and bounce as hard as I could.

Yellow birches aren't the sturdiest of trees when they age. The branches are prone to rot. My father told me countless times not to climb this particular tree, but I risked the Darwin Award for the sake of the bottom branch's trampoline-like qualities.

One day, I was happily boinging on the branch when my father stormed into the woods and caught me in mid-bounce. I bounded out of the tree and tried to make my escape, but he grabbed me by the leg and with his free arm, snapped my bouncing branch off the tree in one quick motion.

He broke a switch off the end of it and punctuated each word of "I told you not to climb this tree" with a good, hard whipping.

I screamed like a pig being slaughtered.

Watching the ease with which he broke that branch certainly sobered me up. It would only have been a matter of time before that branch broke and upended me amongst the rocks and boulders. The whipping left me with plenty of big red welts, but no broken bones.

I learned my lesson, though. I never climbed that tree again. I climbed other trees, instead--ones which didn't overlook rock piles, and ones which weren't rotting. I guess that was good enough, because I didn't get whipped again, and I've yet to be toppled from a tree.

Watch Mine!

I came out of retirement, today. This afternoon was my first time modelling for a figure drawing class in well over a year. Many of my poses were from Sup Bat Sou, and they impressed the artists and the teacher. I guess none of their models have ever used Praying Mantis style kung fu in their drawing sessions before. I told them I'd do some Hung Gar for them next week. Is this why I've been doing my martial arts training?

Your Kung Fu is Weak

After a bazillion kicks and punches, and 250 dragons, my body was creating new orifices from which to sweat. I looked like I was lactating and pissing my pants all at the same time, and the floor was awash with my perspiration. At one point, during a kick/block drill, I had to stop because my eyes were filled with burning sweat. Eeugh.

It was an awesome class. I'll betcha Tuesday's will be even rougher.