She is Aunt Freddie to three generations, and Freddie to her peers. She should have been Elizabeth. A determined aunt intervened, however, and she was named Frederica after her father. Somehow, though, the atypical Freddie fits this oh-so-feminine woman, who celebrates her 100th birthday this month.

She would firmly deny that she is anything special, and would have demurred if I had told her I was going to write about her. She would say something like, “I’ve had a very good life, but I haven’t done anything unusual. I left the country, came to the city, got married, and lived a wonderful life with Pete until he died. Now, I am still relatively healthy, and I’m fortunate to be able to live the way I want to, in most respects.”

So, I didn’t tell her, because, to all who know and love her, she is special, and deserves to be celebrated.

Aunt Freddie, my father’s sister, has played a significant role in my life. Because she had no children of her own, she “adopted” my brother and sister and me. Later, she would “adopt” our friends, her friends’ children – and, eventually, our spouses, our children, their spouses, and, now, our grandchildren. To one and all, she is Aunt Freddie.

Early on, she strictly defined the limits of our relationship. I was the eldest child, and would frequently visit her and Uncle Pete in the city. These visits were my Disneyworld. Frequent trips downtown on the streetcar to get books from Holmes’ library and have lunch. Winning hams at Pontchartrain Beach. Getting dressed up to wait for Uncle Pete to come home. Cocktails on the porch – I had a “pink drink” – and dinner, served by a maid, in the formal dining room.

Galatoire’s or Arnaud’s on Thursday, Tujacque’s on Sunday – and the Beacon, with its magical claw machine. Once, I cried because I didn’t want to go back to Houma. She quickly let me know that they didn’t always live like that – and that I had a mother and father, and belonged with them.

In spite of her name, Aunt Freddie is the definitive lady, in the best sense of the word. Her favorite color is pink; she loves fresh flowers; she is always beautifully dressed, perfectly coiffured and flawlessly manicured. She is at all times the lady of the house; her home, no matter the location or size, takes on her character. The furnishings, the décor, the scent of her perfume never change – they all say to me, simply, “I’m at Aunt Freddie’s.”

So many memories with her are of happy gatherings of family and friends, inevitably involving delicious food and drink. Always, there were her signature creations: shrimp with anchovy dip, salted pecans, cheese straws, sugared grapefruit peel, finger sandwiches. Her special hollandaise, mayonnaise, cranberry relish, and oyster stuffing. Grillades, avocado stuffed with crab, homemade cream cheese or peppermint stick ice cream – the list is endless.

As I grew older, I realized what a role model she has been for me. A lady, yes – but also a survivor of cancer and life-threatening allergies. Her life-long love affair with her husband. No children of her own, but her heart and life and home opened to so many. Refined – but, oh, those times when Freddie-the-cut-up from the flapper era appeared and had a ball! And that wonderful tradition of gracious hospitality.

Her strength and her faith stand out most of all. Always practical, for 100 years she has taken all that life can send her, enjoyed the good times to the fullest, and made the best of the rest.
Her finest recipe.

Copyright 2003, M&L Publishing, all rights reserved.