so i just wanted to share a story about the director of my guild at my renn faire who just recently passed away, under the cut

Her name was Pam, and she was a stubborn West Virginian grandma who ruled our court with a loving, iron fist. She had forgotten more about the Renaissance than I will ever know and just wanted to share that passion with every single person who walked through our gates in the morning.

As our director, it was her job to make sure everything we (the nobles) were involved with ran smoothly. And because she was stubborn as hell, she was directly involved with every little thing, even when we patiently explained that Pam, you are super old and mildly broken, you cannot singlehandedly move six cinderblocks, especially when there is a pack of healthy twentysomething guys literally right over there, Pamela, Pamela you set that rock down RIGHT NOW PAM PAM which was ironic, because she was normally the one bossing us around. Didn’t reverence the queen properly? Pam saw. Pam saw, Pam knows, and Pam will sweep over and make you do it again, and again, and again, until you are less of a fuckup.

Her pride and joy was our Glade, and rightly so, because it was GORGEOUS. A stage adorned with pretty white curtains and flowers, the queen’s tables set for a feast, rugs rolled out for us to walk on as we approached the queen, the works. Really, just the loveliest place. She was a tyrant when we set it up every morning, making sure every detail was *just so* and it always turned out lovely under her watchful eye.

One day last season, me and Pam were a bit uphill of the nobles’ Glade, shopping at one of the vendors’ stalls, when it started to rain. We took shelter in with the vendor- he wasn’t getting any more customers anyway- and Pam just sort of turned towards the Glade with a contemplative look in her eye.

Pam: I hope the boys have packed up the rugs so they don’t get moldy.
Me: I’m sure they have. They know the rugs should go away. Our boys aren’t stupid.
Pam: …
Me: …
Pam: … our boys?
Me: Okay fine we will go check on them the second the rain lets up a little.

Once the rain is down to a mere drizzle me and Pam book it down to the Glade to make sure everything is all right. It’s covered with some sails so the seating areas are at least dry, but our rugs lay out in the open. We arrive to see all of our lovely courtier boys playing with the patrons in the nice dry covered seating areas, completely ignoring the rugs.

They are nice. They class up the joint. They were donations to our broke-ass little nonprofit festival, and if they get gross and moldy, we will simply be rug-less, and that will Not Do in Pam’s eyes. 

I look at Pam. She looks at me. Her voice was weak last season- her last season- and there was no way she could shout over the rain and the boys being idiots and the patrons enjoying themselves.

So Pam looks at me, and she says, “Go for it.”

I nod, and then I walk over to the boys and shout as loud as I can, in my best Pam voice, “GENTLEMEN, ROLL UP THESE RUGS BEFORE THE RAIN COMPLETELY SOAKS THEM AND WE MUST DEAL WITH MOLD, WHAT ARE YOU ALL DOING STANDING AROUND WHEN THERE IS WORK TO BE DONE, AND WHY MUST YOU BE REMINDED BY THE TEENAGE GIRL?” All the boys abruptly notice that they’re idiots, and moreover that Pam is standing there seeing them be idiots, and immediately hop to and start fixing our shit. I remember standing there and like, smirking, because is this what Pam felt like all the time?

I remember I looked over at her and just saw her smiling. Her court was working smoothly, making sure everything would be Just So. That was because of her, and her wonderful presence. She kept us running smoothly, out of love for and fear of her.

She has left behind tremendously large shoes to fill, and I will miss her every day I walk into our Glade, because it just won’t be the same without her.

And I’m posting this online because everyone says the internet is written in ink and nothing on it ever goes away, and I want this bit of Pam to never be forgotten.