Uncle Tillis was my Grandpa Russell's brother. They had lots of fun together, probably because they were so much alike. Both of them loved to work with their hands, they loved to make things grow, and they loved the cabin. Between their two cabins they planted apple and pear trees, a large corn patch, and a wonderful garden. They were both big men, strong and tough from sturdy pioneer stock, but the other thing they shared was their sense of humor and their smiles.
One day Keith went for a ride with Uncle Tillis in his old truck. They bumped along, the truck shaking so hard that it made Keith’s teeth chatter. Finally someone asked Uncle Tillis why his truck shook so much. He laughed and said, “Heck! Some people pay lots of money to got to a spa and have their liver shook up and down to make them healthy. In my truck you can get it done for free, because I don’t have any shocks!”
Uncle Tillis liked to tell us a story about a rancher from Texas who took a vacation to California. His friends took him to a fancy restaurant, where they ordered Mexican food. When the waiter brought them a bowl of corn chips with a side of salsa and guacamole the Texan raised his eyebrows. When his friend took a chip, scooped up a large helping of the green, slimy looking dip and popped it into his mouth the Texan looked sick to his stomach.
Seeing his reaction, the friend laughed and said, "You've got to try this guacamole. It's delicious!"
Shaking his head with finality, the Texan replied, "I've smelled it, shoveled it, and scraped it off my boots all my life, but I'll be durned if I'm ever going to put that stuff in my mouth!"
Then Uncle Tillis would laugh and laugh, and we would all join in, not because the joke was new or funny, but because Uncle Tillis got such a big kick out of it.
I remember Uncle Tillis' funeral, not too many years later. He was always healthy as an ox, but one day he came in from working out in his garden (Aunt Cleo had been ironing and the ironing board was still standing in their living room), Uncle Tillis walked in, grabbed onto the ironing board, and collapsed. He'd had a massive heart attack and was gone that quickly. It was such a shock and surprise for everybody, but at the funeral they all agreed he'd gone the way he wanted to, with his boots on. I was very young, but I still remember looking at him, lying in his casket, dressed in clean, white clothes, with his cowboy hat and his pocket knife lying next to him where his sons had placed them to honor their rough, tough, wonderful father.
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