Aunt Lillie (pronounced Ain’t Lillie) was a tiny little woman. I’d guess 110 pounds or less. She wasn’t very tall, but neither were any of her siblings. Her sister, who was my Mamaw, was about the same height, but birthing 10 children had made her much rounder.
Aunt Lillie and her husband, Uncle Oscar, who talked with his eyes closed, lived in Nantahala in a big weathered sort of spooky looking house. Most of the rooms were closed off and all the living I ever saw going on was in the room with the tall coal-burning stove. That room had chairs around the stove and a bed pushed up against the wall. Adjoining that room was a kitchen, and maybe an indoor toilet down the hallway.
During one visit, Uncle Oscar asked my dad if he thought swallowing a spoonful of rubbing alcohol would kill him. He had gotten ahold of the wrong bottle, probably with his eyes closed, and dosed himself. Since that happened earlier in the week and since he was still upright, Daddy reassured him that his death was probably not imminent. I remember that vividly because the adults talked about poor old half-blind Oscar all the way home.
When I worked for Macon Program for Progress and was in Nantahala, I stopped to see Aunt Lillie on a cold day that had my hands and feet longing for some warmth. You can’t imagine how much heat the upright stove was pouring out. The little closed off area was toasty, and I thought it was a good idea to prop my feet against the wall of the stove. The town girl that I am was quite surprised at how quickly my feet were no longer cold – along with how quickly rubber soles melt.
After Uncle Oscar died, not of alcohol poisoning but of natural causes, Aunt Lillie would come to stay with my Mamaw for weeks at a time. She, who had no children, was full of advice on child rearing — especially how to handle grandchildren, of which Mamaw had plenty.
Their one very bad terrible habit was that both Aunt Lillie and Mamaw loved their snuff. After a hard day, they sat and rocked on the porch, talking and spitting into what was gloriously called The Spit Can. Woe be to the youngster who accidentally tipped over the can, since there is not much worse than a spilled spit can.
Mamaw was just a dipper; but Aunt Lillie, who had no teeth, used what she called a toothbrush. Her toothbrush was a twig carefully selected for size from a birch tree, stripped of bark, and chewed until one end was bushy. She chewed the bushy end until it was nice and wet before dipping it into the snuff and then twirling it in her mouth.
Sometimes it was my honor to take Aunt Lillie and Mamaw to the Big Dollar grocery store. Getting them in and out of the car was not easy. Aunt Lillie, who was several years older and much feebler than Mamaw, walked with a cane. Once we were in the store, every purchase or possible purchase was discussed at length. It was quite an experience.
I absolutely loved these two old ladies, and I know they loved me. They were personable and very entertaining. Out of many conversations and many old sayings, the one I’ve remembered all these years was: “Speak of the devil and his imps will appear.” Very useful on certain occasions.