For Frieda Marie Soto-Paras Jones
Last night, I attended a memorial for a dear friend. I spoke at the memorial, as did many others. I did not trust myself to remember what to say- Frieda herself knew how terribly scatterbrained I can be, especially when I am emotional. So below you'll find the reading, and the remembrance that I shared with a room absolutely filled with love and sorrow, and yes, laughter, for her. I think she might have been surprised at how deeply she touched so many people, and at how fiercely we all loved her. I wish that wasn't so, but I knew her well enough to say that she had no idea.
From The Velveteen Rabbit:
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit
by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It
takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who
break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.
Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved
off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very
shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are
Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
It takes a long time for a child to become real. Kids are all elbows and knees, and Teenagers are... teenagers.
Frieda was a pretty big part of my becoming real. I met her in 1989, when I was just ten - old enough to know my own mind, and young enough still to speak it. It was my first day at Glen Helen Regional Park, and the first time I’d ever heard of a Renaissance Faire had been only a few weeks before. What a bunch of WEIRDOS.
My mother, seeking guidance, found the costume shed. Frieda was there, dispensing advice and sass to every comer. I am sure my mother got the guidance she needed, as she didn’t look *too much* a mess that first season, but what I remember was this exchange:
“And what do YOU want to wear, missy?”
“I’m gonna be ROBINHOOD!”
“Don’t you want to wear a pretty dress?”
“NO WAY! How can you climb trees in a dress! Princesses are STUPID.”
“Trust me, you’ll figure it out.”
And I did. That’s why I know that ladies always wear bloomers.
It’s pretty hard to explain what an enormous influence Frieda had on my life. She taught me about costumes and fabric and style, sure. Frieda also taught me to be a good hostess, that bossing is the same as loving, that hems sewn straight are less likely to unravel, that more blush is better, that I’m not spoiled, I’m special, that sangria is meant to be enjoyed with friends, that men should be told they are handsome, that children are people, and that please and thank you are the easiest things in the world to say. She was always willing to teach those who asked, or those who simply paid attention.
But for me, she was something special. It was like having an Auntie of my own choosing. We all have dozens of funny stories, times she made us laugh ourselves silly… and we each of us in this room had our own relationships with her, whether as coworkers, heart-friends, students, or even just someone who had a little piece of paper stamped by her every year. I think my relationship with Frieda spanned a lot of categories, but is best summed up in the way that she soothed my tears.
When I had my heart broken - really broken, for the first time ever - she sat me down next to her. She held my hand in the shade, and she didn’t say a word about it. Later, she did what all good Aunties do, and she said mean nasty things about him. She made me laugh, and she let me know that I could do better than a man who would break my heart. But those first few days, she just sat, and did her job, and gave me handwork, and held my hand when she wasn’t busy.
I’m pretty mad at her right now, because she made a promise to me that now she can’t keep. But I figure I’ll have a chance one day to pinch her elbow really good, and pull her hair, and tell her what a brat she was to leave us like this.
From The Velveteen Rabbit:
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit
by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It
takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who
break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.
Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved
off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very
shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are
Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
It takes a long time for a child to become real. Kids are all elbows and knees, and Teenagers are... teenagers.
Frieda was a pretty big part of my becoming real. I met her in 1989, when I was just ten - old enough to know my own mind, and young enough still to speak it. It was my first day at Glen Helen Regional Park, and the first time I’d ever heard of a Renaissance Faire had been only a few weeks before. What a bunch of WEIRDOS.
My mother, seeking guidance, found the costume shed. Frieda was there, dispensing advice and sass to every comer. I am sure my mother got the guidance she needed, as she didn’t look *too much* a mess that first season, but what I remember was this exchange:
“And what do YOU want to wear, missy?”
“I’m gonna be ROBINHOOD!”
“Don’t you want to wear a pretty dress?”
“NO WAY! How can you climb trees in a dress! Princesses are STUPID.”
“Trust me, you’ll figure it out.”
And I did. That’s why I know that ladies always wear bloomers.
It’s pretty hard to explain what an enormous influence Frieda had on my life. She taught me about costumes and fabric and style, sure. Frieda also taught me to be a good hostess, that bossing is the same as loving, that hems sewn straight are less likely to unravel, that more blush is better, that I’m not spoiled, I’m special, that sangria is meant to be enjoyed with friends, that men should be told they are handsome, that children are people, and that please and thank you are the easiest things in the world to say. She was always willing to teach those who asked, or those who simply paid attention.
But for me, she was something special. It was like having an Auntie of my own choosing. We all have dozens of funny stories, times she made us laugh ourselves silly… and we each of us in this room had our own relationships with her, whether as coworkers, heart-friends, students, or even just someone who had a little piece of paper stamped by her every year. I think my relationship with Frieda spanned a lot of categories, but is best summed up in the way that she soothed my tears.
When I had my heart broken - really broken, for the first time ever - she sat me down next to her. She held my hand in the shade, and she didn’t say a word about it. Later, she did what all good Aunties do, and she said mean nasty things about him. She made me laugh, and she let me know that I could do better than a man who would break my heart. But those first few days, she just sat, and did her job, and gave me handwork, and held my hand when she wasn’t busy.
I’m pretty mad at her right now, because she made a promise to me that now she can’t keep. But I figure I’ll have a chance one day to pinch her elbow really good, and pull her hair, and tell her what a brat she was to leave us like this.