I rarely saw Aunt Berthie, and I saw even less of her husband Babe. (I'm awfully sure Babe was a pet name, but I have zero interest in knowing his real name. Berthie and Babe is such a terrific name for an elderly couple, don't you think?) Babe was always spoken about with a downcast look and a woeful head shake. "Babe's just not doing so good," someone always said. Or, "Babe's going downhill." For my entire childhood, Babe was doing poorly or dying, it seemed, but he always hung on. To this day, I have no idea what Babe's problem was, or if he simply preferred to keep to himself and claiming poor health was the only way to do it.
Anyway, back to Aunt Berthie and the colour Red.
Aunt Berthie was petite and slim and quick in her movements. She had snowy hair, cut short, and she spoke very fast. She liked to wear more sporty clothes and bright colours. My grandmother was methodical, deliberate, and wore hearing aids. Grandma worried that some prints were Too Loud, or even worse, Kiddish (too youthful). She had terrible arthritis in her feet and had to wear orthopedic shoes that were specially fitted.
I once accompanied Grandma and Aunt Berthie on a shopping trip, probably for fabric, and we went to pick Aunt Berthie up at her house. We went in, and Uncle Babe was not available for a visit, of course, due to his declining health. Aunt Berthie put on a pair of bright Red Keds to match her outfit, and I saw my grandmother wince. "Oh, Berthie. Why oh why are you going to wear those red canvas shoes? They're so kiddish!"
Aunt Berthie turned to look at Grandma and cocked her head quizzically. She said, "Why, Ethel--" and I honestly could not tell you what else she said, she spoke so fast. She spread her hands across her Red skirt and looked at my grandma.
Grandma said, "Those Red culottes are so loud, and with those shoes!" She put her hand on the side of her face like she was in pain. Then she reached for her purse and the discussion was over. Aunt Berthie said a few more things in a rapid stream on our way out to the car, and we were off.
I was hugely entertained by the entire scene because my grandmother was the closest thing to a perfect human being I ever knew. Her few impatient outbursts were always funny because they were so rare. And the contrast between her and her sister was enormous.
This summer I found myself thinking of my Aunt Berthie as I was driving to the grocery store. I passed by this house as its awnings were being painted, closely supervised by a snowy-haired, tiny lady.
I want you to know that there is a lightpost painted bright Red, an address plate also painted bright Red, and her car in the garage is a fire engine Red compact SUV. All of the awnings on the side of the house are Red, and I'm sure if there are any on the back, they are Red as well.
If she were alive, this would be my Aunt Berthie's dream house, and my grandma would have cringed and sighed every time her Oldsmobile rolled up its driveway.
I bet the lady who lives here loves her Loud Red, Red house.
