Nina Fraley

Nina Fraley

1927-2013

THE BEST OF ALL POSSIBLE MOTHERS…

By Tobin Fraley

Obituaries are odd. One attempts to distill however many years into a few words. Yet when you start, you realize it is an impossible task, so you touch the surface, the high points and do your best to capture some kind of essence.

So it is with my mother, Nina Fraley. She lived a complex life and struggled for a good part of it. But she was also an extraordinary person who gave so much to so many and in particular she gave to her family. My brother Carl, my sister Jenny and I were extremely lucky to have been born to such a woman.

Most people reading the CN&T will remember her contribution to the carousel world. The research, the magnificent paint jobs, the creative presentations and the tenacity to start what she felt was an organization that was inclusive to anyone who wanted to participate. She was certainly passionate about her work, even though there were times some people would wait for years to have her paint a figure (and perhaps there are people who are still waiting).

A special gift horse for Nina at Asilomar 2010.

But to a few, including our family, the carousel world was only a small portion of her life. Some may remember the Christmas parties at the Redbug where Nina developed her own stage version of A Christmas Carol and parceled out the roles to various friends. Basil Johns was always Scrooge since he was the least Scrooge-like person she knew. I was young Scrooge, which was probably a bit of type casting. She made paper maché Punch & Judy puppets for an annual show in Seattle. The performances were always packed with children and adults who would roar with laughter at the Nina scripted antics of those popular characters. The unfinished children’s stories that floated around in her head were endless and her abilities as an illustrator were nothing short of astounding.

After I left California, I would call her every Thanksgiving to hear a refresher course on the world’s most amazing turkey dressing and I kick myself for not writing down her recipe for macaroni salad. She taught pottery at the art gallery in Berkeley and she had an extraordinary eye for design that could be seen in the way the American Carousel Museum had been set up.

But I can also add in the debilitating migraines, her overwhelming lack of self-confidence, her inability to know how much she was loved and you have that complex person I spoke of earlier. One of my greatest frustrations in life was my own inability to help her understand her amazing talents, but as much as all of the family tried, it was too much of an uphill battle. In the end, I doubt if any of us, including Maurice, my brother, sister or Nicole would have traded her for a different person. On the good days I used to tell her that she was the best of all possible mothers. I still think that.