Effie in the Middle with Greta and Yuyu on either side. Young Matt Search in lap.And that (story about Corky below) reminds me of another aunt, Aunt Effie. She was my father’s youngest sibling and in many ways the hell raiser of the crowd. Effie was born sometime in the early 1900’s and grew up in the flapper and depression days. She never missed a chance to have fun. She wandered from job to job and man to man, marrying one twice, and scandalizing the family. She borrowed money when stuck in some dive of a town, and made the rounds from brothers to sisters when she was “between situations”.
Aunt Effie had one son, Wallace, who had lots of children and grandchildren, so in her later years Effie was always surrounded by family. She started every phone call with a sighed “Oh Kids” and went on to complain about everything possible. Sally and I stayed with her on one occasion and developed a particular mode of “sleeping”, since her bedroom and ours were connected by a closet with no doors. She was often fun despite herself and as Aunties go she was OK. A bit of hard work sometimes, but then who isn’t.
There were many legends about her, but the one most whispered about and never directly confirmed by me was the tattoo. Now you have to remember that in the 20’s and 30’s only thugs, sailors and very loose women had tattoos. Sometime during that time she got a tattoo. But not a butterfly on her shoulder or ankle, or a Celtic knot on the small of her back. No, she had a simple one: initials of someone, presumable a boyfriend, and an arrow pointing up. So far so good. The shocking part (to those who knew about it) was not only the tattoo that couldn’t be seen easily but the place where it resided. On the inside of her thigh. Remember the design, then think of the location, then think of the information content. Shocking.
Good old gal though.
Aunt Effie had one son, Wallace, who had lots of children and grandchildren, so in her later years Effie was always surrounded by family. She started every phone call with a sighed “Oh Kids” and went on to complain about everything possible. Sally and I stayed with her on one occasion and developed a particular mode of “sleeping”, since her bedroom and ours were connected by a closet with no doors. She was often fun despite herself and as Aunties go she was OK. A bit of hard work sometimes, but then who isn’t.
There were many legends about her, but the one most whispered about and never directly confirmed by me was the tattoo. Now you have to remember that in the 20’s and 30’s only thugs, sailors and very loose women had tattoos. Sometime during that time she got a tattoo. But not a butterfly on her shoulder or ankle, or a Celtic knot on the small of her back. No, she had a simple one: initials of someone, presumable a boyfriend, and an arrow pointing up. So far so good. The shocking part (to those who knew about it) was not only the tattoo that couldn’t be seen easily but the place where it resided. On the inside of her thigh. Remember the design, then think of the location, then think of the information content. Shocking.
Good old gal though.
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