My main memory of my Aunt Lulu is her apparent dyspeptic personality. She always looked like she needed a Tums. Something had gone down wrong at dinner, and was sitting uneasily in her stomach. And her face wasn’t happy about it.
Of course, as a boy barely old enough to use two hands to count my age, I wasn’t great at interpreting facial expressions. I’m still not. In fact, I can barely recognize faces, let alone interpret them. I certainly didn’t understand that time weathers the fairest skin, and expressions can be misleading. So although she always looked a bit belligerent to my young eyes, she treated me very kindly. Her countenance and her deportment just didn’t seem to match. She was Winston Churchill with Betty Boop’s personality.