One afternoon I drove home from Lake City after teaching all day. When I pulled into my driveway I was astonished. "Oh, my word? What is he doing?"
Truett had pulled all of the stained glass panels, glass, drawings, cartoons, lead, tools . . . everything off of the front porch studio and had put them in the front yard.
I jumped out of the VW Beetle and screamed, "What are you doing?"
He came to the driveway and said, "I need help. I'm trying to organize the 'porch studio'.
My mouth hung open. "WHY?"
"Well, I've got all this energy so I thought it would be a good time to do it . . . plus, I fell off the ladder at First United Methodist Church today and landed on my back and then I went to the dentist down the road and he gave me a percocet and I came home with all this energy!" Non stop rattling, I'll tell you.
"Oh, Truett," I said. "Let's put this stuff back. Help me."
Then he calmly said, "I can't. I need to lay down."
And he did. He layed on the couch for two whole days because of the percocet. I covered the drawings and tools and glass the best I could with tarps; but, I'll tell you now. I was not a happy camper.
Just a tiny memory of my husband, but one I'll never forget
I love you, Truett George. You silly man.