Our Dear Aunt Fredia.

With my Mommy having been in the hospital we have been

blessed with many visits from family that love her.

Her brother, Our Uncle Luke who is 94 and his daughters,

Chris and Liz visited as well as his son, Mark coming

the day after. We also always love the visits we get from

my "Aunt" Jerry. She is not my aunt, she is really my cousin,

my aunt Ora Lee's daughter but because she was grown and

had kiddies the same age as my Mommy, we always

called her Aunt Jerry. She brings along with her visit

her famous tea cookies. She brings many as it is my Mommy's

favorite but us sisters love them too.

Aunt Jerry shares that is our Aunt Fredia's recipe and this

brings out many stories about Aunt Fredia.

This morning a friend posted this picture below, and

right away it reminds me of Aunt Fredia.

You see, she was this kind of woman. An old Cajun lady

who wore dresses with aprons over them always.

She had this build because she cooked constantly and ate

what she cooked, Her son, Randolph owned the famous

restaurant in Golden Meadow called none other than

Randolph's. Aunt Fredia did lots of the cooking for the

star restaurant. I share with our visitors that day one of 

my very favorite memories of this dear lady.

As I walked home from Golden Meadow Jr. High each afternoon,

I would pass by the restaurant and the window in the kitchen

where Aunt Fredia sat. She sat on a high stool looking out the

window always. She  could be found cutting vegetables for 

whatever gumbo/soup that was being prepared.

There was no food processor for our Aunt.

She cut em' up manually. 

I would run into the restaurant to see my Mommy who

worked there as a waitress for many, many years.

I would hug and kiss the Momma and plant a kiss on the

cheek of this fine lady and usually she had something

to fuss me about. Usually it was because I

always had an ulterior motive to be there and

it was for Olives. I would grab a handful of those babies and

put them into the pocket of my GMJH red sweater.

That pocket always had the sour smell of olives.

'Little girl, get you dirty hands out of those olives

and go on home"

She didn't mean it, said it with her head turned from me

and I could always see the corners of her mouth turned up.

She adored me, she adored all of us.

Such wonderful memories of such a wonderful woman.

(The real Aunt Fredia)