I snapped this photo of Greg in his garden late yesterday. You can see he has some ripe tomatoes.

We decided to go to Arlington for dinner last night, to Carolyn's Essenhaus. It was really tasty - there was pie - what more needs be said?

After dinner we stopped on a country road to take some photos. Greg was looking for cicadas... I was just seeing what there was to see, which included this neat old fence post.



After stopping by Greg's garden, I went into my own to check on things. I have many tomatoes. And pumpkins. Lots of pumpkins. I don't know if they're still growing or if they're done or what. I guess I'll just see what happens with them.



It has been incredibly beautiful weather here for days - sunny, with moderate temperatures. Tonight it's getting down to 58 here. It's just unheard of, but I've decided it should be enjoyed as long as it lasts.
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Defining Moments

"At various points throughout life, we arrive at a crossroads, where our self-understanding and our understanding of the world around us are thrown into scrutiny.                               
Dr. Kevin Leman

I've always referred to these as "defining moments," when our idea of who we are and our place in the world is thrown into question.

They can come at the oddest of times, in seemingly innocuous circumstances. Yet, there it is - a moment that gives you reason to pause, to think, to consider, to rethink. On the other side of that, sometimes you come out a different person.

One of the things I've had on my "gonna do it at some point for my own good mental health" list for quite awhile is to list ten defining moments in life. I'm guessing there may be a pattern that emerges there. But, for reasons I can't explain I've never actually gotten around to making that list. I think it might start out with more than 10 and have to pared down. Not that there's any magic in 10. It could be 20 or three or seven.

What's reasonable? One per year of life? One for every five years of life? It's all arbitrary. But 10 seems like a good amount to see a pattern emerge.

I'll have to think about it some more, but I know at least a couple of things on my list would be:
1. Going to the University of Kentucky
2. Meeting Greg and being friends all these years
3. Traveling to Egypt alone

I'll think about it some more. Seems like an interesting exercise.
________________

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Crabby Patty

If you want to do a good deed without even leaving your house I've got a deal for you. A project of the Kansas Sampler Foundation is to encourage businesses in small towns that are hanging on, sometimes by a thread, to help provide services in their areas.

One such place is the a convenience store in Dexter, Kan. The proprietor is "Crabby Patty," who's less crabby now that folks from all over and sending her encouragement.

Here's the deal. If you can, stop by and spend $5 in the store. That's the perfect solution. But, if you can't just happen by Dexter, there's another plan. Drop a $5 bill in an envelope, along with a post it note, card or other encouragement and send it off in the mail.

The address is:
Crabby Patty
501 K-15 Hwy
Dexter KS 67038

Obviously, I've already done it. Now it's your turn. It's just one way you can do a good deed with little investment, time or trouble.
________________

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How I almost accidentally went to Dusseldorf

Matthew's wife has asked for stories about Matthew... I'm still working on mine, but here's a rough draft. Please be aware there is some language that might not be work appropriate.

A few years ago, Matthew and I went to Europe. The plan was to go to Paris, then from there to Belgium, Amsterdam and Luxemborg. Along the way we almost ended up in Dusseldorf, although we didn't make it to Luxemborg.

We had spent a few days in Paris and were headed to Amsterdam to connect with Jacob, who we had met in Honduras a few years earlier. Along the way we intended to spend a little time in Brussels. It's not that we had any business there, but it was on the way and somewhere we hadn't been - no better reason to go somewhere as far as we were concerned. We weren't sure when any of these things would happen - we were just traveling and finding the places where we would lay our heads as we went. 

So, we arrive at the train station in Paris, Eurail passes in hand, and procure our tickets for Brussels. The attendant tells us Platform 16. When she asks if we understand, Matthew pipes up and says, "Oh yes, my friend Patsy speaks perfect French." I shoot him a withering look and beg him to please stop lying to people. He has been perpetuating this lie for days, and no one believes him when they look at me, and with my eyes wide in fear I'm muttering, "un peu, un peu" and holding my fingers a millimeter apart to illustrate only a little French, a tiny bit.

We head to track 16, which I had understood, not to mention it was written on the tickets. We settle ourselves into a very nicely appointed train car. We toss our backpacks in the overhead racks and sink into the cushy seats, ready for what promises to be a luxurious ride into Belgium. We can't help but notice that everyone around us is dressed far better than we are. Not only are our backpacks unusual in the sea of leather briefcases, but all around us are men in suits and women in high heels. Not that that last one means anything in France because for reasons I don't understand French women's feet are made differently than ours and they can wear high heels 'round the clock, walking on cobblestone streets - nay, running, on uneven cobblestone streets - with no discomfort at all. Anyway, we're not feeling any embarrassment over our jeans and sneakers. We're on vacation, after all.

We're sitting there, playing with the trays like you see on airplanes, wondering if food is going to be served, when we become aware of someone beside us. I look up and there is this older French woman, perfectly coifed, in an elegant red skirt suit, designer handbag over her delicate wrist, speaking to us and holding her ticket. I look at her with what I'm sure was a deer-in-headlights look because I do not speak perfect French, despite what Matthew kept saying. Recognizing the look of yet another American who is incapable of learning a second language, she switches to flawless English and says, "I believe you're in my seat."

We fumble for our tickets - they're somewhere - maybe in the backpacks.

While we hunt, she says, "Are you going to Dusseldorf?"

We look at each other and then it dawns on us that Dusseldorf is in Germany, which was not on our original travel itinerary.

Trying desperately to maintain her composure, and brushing away a piece of lint with a perfectly manicured hand, she says politely, "This train is going to Germany."

Matthew and I begin to apologize to her profusely, although we're a bit unsure where we're supposed to go. Even I think my French is good enough to have heard "16," and it is written on the ticket. Isn't it?

"Where do you want to go," she asks.

"Brussels," I reply.

"The OTHER train is going to Belgium," she says.

"The other train? What other train? There's another train? Is this platform 16?"

"There are two trains on this track. You want the other train," she says as she motions behind us.

So, we get up, grab our backpacks and head out, thanking her all the while.

Her parting words were, "You must hurry."

And, let me tell you, she was right about that. We walked on down and sure enough there was another train. We were the last people on it. It started moving before we found seats.

One of the things I loved about traveling with Matthew is that if we had ended up in Dusseldorf, it would have been fine. We would have gone to see whatever there is to see in Dusseldorf, had some dinner, stayed for the night, maybe for a day or two, took in the sights, met some folks, and then proceeded with the rest of our trip.

I'm very choosy about travel partners and Matthew was a perfect one. He never got upset - even when his wallet was stolen in Paris on another trip. We just dealt with whatever crossed our paths - from lost luggage to machine gun toting "officials." We lived by the travel rule of always keep on your person three things - your passport, a credit card and some cash. Everything else you can leave behind if you need to get out fast.

But, alas, that was not the day for us to visit Dusseldorf. We arrived in Brussels that evening, and met a nice lady named Catherine at the visitor's center in the train station, who found us a nice second floor walk up room to stay in. When she mentioned the proprietor spoke no English, Matthew again piped up, "Oh, that's no problem, my friend, Patsy, speaks perfect French."

Other than his propensity to tell bald-faced lies like that, Matthew was a great travel partner. He told me once that he loved traveling with me because he always came home with some stories that start out, 'No shit... there we were...'" I thought it was HIM that was causing those stories to happen.

"No shit, there we were, on the edge of a volcano..."
"No shit, there we were, and this guy was telling us about how the 'lion et the lion tamer' in his circus... during the show..."
"No shit, there we were, and we saw the boat leaving shore..."
"No shit, there we were, and she says, 'oh, we don't have the 3 p.m. flight anymore - that plane crashed'..."
"No shit, there we were, and the guys says, 'oh, doesn't your friend live here? Her French is so good'..." (I still think Matthew put him up to that.)
"No shit, there we were, and I swear the guy says, 'be sure you get the hostage insurance before you leave'..."
"No shit, there we were, and we figure out the guy is a monk..."
"No shit, there we were, in El Salvador..."
"No shit, there we were, and there was this banging on the door. It's 4:35 a.m..."
"No shit, there we were, about to go to Dusseldorf by accident..."

I think it was the combination of the two of us that resulted in those stories. We always found people to talk to, wherever we were, even if we didn't speak the language. We met people in airports, busses, restaurants, piano bars and cathedrals. We had Italian food in almost every country we went to, but oddly enough never made it to Italy together. On our last flight together, coming home from Paris, we were talking about the next trip.

"I need something a bit more exotic," I said.

"How about Peru," Matthew asked.

"Maybe so," I said. "I just want something less 'antiseptic' next time."

"I know what you mean," he said. "This was great, but I want to get closer to the people."

"I want my next trip to involve negotiating with a goat herder for transportation at some point," I said.

Matthew leaned back, gazed off into the distance, smiled wistfully and said, "Yes, exactly... A goat herder, a chicken bus... something interesting..."

Unfortunately, we never got to take that trip. But if I ever do get to Dusseldorf, I'm going to drink a toast to Matthew and the trip that almost was.
________________

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Hair Donation for Pantene Beautiful Lengths

I did it again - cut about 10 inches off my hair to donate to Pantene Beautiful Lengths. They only require 8 inches, which is why I chose them.



I first did this on Valentine's Day of 2008, so this is my second go 'round.

I still have plenty or hair left, or so people tell me. For me it seems short - I keep brushing after I've run out of hair. But it looks healthier after the serious trim, and someone will benefit from it. You can judge for yourself if it's short - below is the "after" photo.

Thanks to Greg for documenting the process again.
________________

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Surrounded by Love

I attended Matthew's memorial service today and it was good to be surrounded by other people who loved him. It was held in First Presbyterian Church in Wichita, which is a stunning place and a fitting for a tribute to a man who loved beauty in all its forms.

Afterwards I spoke to his mother and her husband briefly, but didn't get a chance to talk with his dad. I also got to meet some family members I had heard Matthew talk about, but never met, which was nice. I also talked with Kim, who I'd only "met" on facebook during the past few days. Even in death, Matthew is connecting people.

I saw Lora, Matthew's wife, as soon as we walked in the door today. Even though she was no doubt overwhelmed, she came over to give me a hug. It felt good to connect with her in person. I was incredibly touched that after the service, at the reception, she asked if I'd like to go to Honduras with her to spread some of Matthew's ashes. Of course, I would be honored to do that.

Grief is not something that ends for me. I still grieve for Mama, for Pat, for my Aunt LaVerne who died more than 25 years ago, and for others who are gone. Grief just settles into my being, finding a place in my heart as one way of remembering, of celebrating, of appreciating the life shared with that person. So, I've made a place in my heart for Matthew, where he'll live on in happy memories, bittersweet only because we can't make new ones together.
________________

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All text and photos on this website are copyright Patsy Terrell, unless otherwise noted. All rights reserved. None are to be used without permission. Thank you.

Where a Dream became Real

I'm sitting in a booth at McPherson's Main Street Deli. It's the exact spot where Matthew and I sat some years ago and plotted out the Global Development Foundation on a napkin.

GDF was his brainchild, to do relief work in Honduras. He wanted to talk with me about it and on the spur of the moment we drove up to McPherson to get a sandwich. We talked and got excited by the possibilities.

I took a napkin and started writing down the names as we brainstormed. By the end of the night we had the name, a rough logo and the tag line of "We Change the World." The logo would say that in French and Spanish as well as English. And we had a mission - to do sustainable work. I would be the chair of the board and he would be the Executive Director. Somehow, over sandwiches and soup, it became real instead of just a thought. It took shape. And it "became," because Matthew made it happen. The next week I designed the logo and Matthew made business cards, and never looked back.

I don't remember when that was. But I remember the night. And I remember the conversation.

Like we all are at that stage of life, he was questioning what he should do, and what he could do. Only fools are overly confident in themselves at that stage of life, and Matthew was no fool.

At one point he asked me, "What if I fail?" I responded, "What if you do? If you really live life you're going to fail at things. You learn. You go on. You do better."  It was not wisdom talking, just experience. I was older than Matthew and had screwed up more than a few things by that point. (And more since.)

Matthew said he thought it was the right time for him to do something like move to Honduras to do relief work. He was young, about to graduate, and had nothing to prevent him from going.

He was worried that his mom would be disappointed by him not going on to graduate school. I assured him no mother would be upset by a son who wanted to truly do good works in the world. And not that I'm authorized to speak for his mother, but I'm confident she was proud of Matthew and his accomplishments, and he knew that.

And, of course, Matthew did go on to graduate school, after he lived in Honduras for awhile. He was there after Hurricane Mitch. He connected people and resources and accomplished much. When he and I went down there in 1999 it was easy to see that Matthew had made many friends in Honduras.

When we went to the clinic in El Ocotillo that the Global Development Foundation had helped establish, I was in awe. To say it was inspiring would be an understatment. I was honored to have had a tiny role in the whole thing, and it was tiny. It was Matthew and his force of personality that made it all happen.

What can you say about such an experience? Well, people are alive who would not be if Matthew Thompson hadn't touched their lives. You can say that with absolute certainty. Even in death, he was still helping people as his organs were donated.

It's funny how life works out sometimes. Who would have thought that a girl from rural Kentucky would be sitting in a deli in McPherson, Kansas having a conversation that would lead her to witness miracles in El Ocotillo, Honduras?

So, now, the night before Matthew's funeral, I've come to have a sandwich as my way to commemorate the work of the Global Development Foundation, which was an extention of Matthew. Yes, it was short lived. Yes, we didn't know what we were doing. Yes, we made some mistakes. But, Matthew did some good. Some serious good. Despite all that. And that clinic is still going strong - sustainable -  because of Lisa, who got there because of Matthew. I guess it's all the circle of life in many different ways.

A couple of years ago, Matthew told me he still had that napkin. I know it was because it was a turning point in his life - when something became more than a dream, because he had the courage to let it be.

So tonight, the evening before his funeral, I celebrate Matthew's life in a way maybe only I can. I feel priveledged to have been present at the birth of something so important. I'm thankful Matthew allowed me to bear witness.