Shire of the Falling Star

Like a whole lotta people, I have found and been found by people I lost touch with years ago through the modern magic of social media.

Sometimes I send a FR sometimes they send one. Me, I’m pretty nondiscriminate. You send me a FR and you are pretty much on the list. If you turn out to be obnoxious, I drop and block. It’s that easy.

When I send one out, well now.

Sometimes we don’t realize what people think of us until years later.

A buddy Phil, now living in Washington State, and I came across each other a while back. A few weeks ago, he messages me. He found a bunch of the crew from the Shire of the Falling Star.

While that name means little to you, I tell you it was the name of a historical re-enactment association I and a bunch of other folks belonged to whilst we attended college. Mostly Shire meetings were an excuse to get together on a regular basis, drink to much for those of who drank, eat and play Dungeons and Dragons for hours and hours and hours. We also caravanned to multi-state meetings of like minded folks on a regular basis.

Some other activities also took place within the group, but hey, not all stories need to be told, eh?

I have found Rebel, his real nickname who was a gamesman nonpareil. He verified my identity when he posted “It's funny, but you never really realize just how active and vital an ecosystem your backyard is until you get snow. Then you look out and see the hundreds, even thousands of paw prints of all shapes and sizes covering the yard showing all the animals that you rarely see but thrive there. It is almost Zen.”

I fired a comment: “Ooo. Got ammo?”

He came back with: “You know, Ben I can honestly say that I don't think you have changed since the old days at all. No, no ammo. Heck I don't even currently own a gun. Two swords, dozens of very large knives and even two Boar Spears, but no gun.”

Phil also pointed me to Tom, whom I remember as one of the most creative and intelligent members of our group. He, like me, had his own way of looking at things. This morning he approved my FR with this message: “Is this the same ben baker with the crazy beer opening arm trick and the venison fetish from GA?”

There’s no trick to the way I used to open my beer and as for a venison fetish, I plead guilty to that, as I told him.

I look back and see myself through the eyes of my longtime friends via this tiny glimpse of memories and I recalling my memories of them.

Someone once said friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies.

Regardless of what they remember of me, my favorite memory of them is their support. College was rough on me because my Dad died when I was in college. These people, my friends, picked me and carried me through that time. They never left or abandoned me. They became part of my family.

I’m glad to have em back, however electronically, in my life.