Sharon's Peace Pilgrimage

Heart of the Heartland

2007-03-03T18:30:00.000-08:00

This morning I returned from a whirlwind (LITERALLY!!) visit to Kansas City, Kansas where, in one 24-hour, period I experienced tornado warnings, tornado watches, lightening storms, flash floods, snow, freezing winds, and, oh yes, balmy spring sunshine. It all started with a last-second aborted landing at the Kansas City, Missouri airport to avoid collision with a plane that was taking off! Yikes!! That should have been a clue.

The purpose of my visit was several speaking events at Kansas City Kansas Community College's celebration of Women's History Month, arranged by Karalin Alsdurf, Executive Director of the college's Leavenworth campus and Melanie Jackson-Scott of the college's Intercultural Center.

Generations of Women Moving History Forward was the theme for the Women's History Month events. Five remarkable women from the community were being honored for their contribution to the greater good of society. I got to meet them all:

Karen Hernandez, who with her husband Gene, hosted me in their home filled with artifacts honoring Dr. Martin Luther King and peaceful others (it was in their basement that I hoveredin abject terror my first night waiting to be swirled to death by a fast-approaching tornado); Sally Hatcher and Carolyn Walden, who restore and preserve historical sites; Connie Thao, a small-business owner and president of the National Hmong Alliance of Women's Ministries; and Phyllis Bass, an 80-plus bundle of goodness and joy who is the Director of the Richard Allen Cultural Center, a museum of African American History and a tutoring center for the community's youth. She told me all about the Buffalo Soldiers and the underground railroad.

At an elegant luncheon on the Kansas City campus where the women were honored, most thanked God and acknowledged their husbands for the role they played in their achievements. It was touching and tender and altogether genuine. I realized in listening to them that Heartland doesn't refer just to the center of the country, it depicts the open-hearted, warm-hearted heartfulness of the people who live there. It gives me hope.

Thank you Kansas!

Spontaneous wave of heartful intention

2007-02-27T07:22:00.000-08:00

Dear friends of The Great Silent Grandmother Gathering,

Something amazing is happening!!! Here's what I know from a few of the emails I've received in the past week:

1. Deb Ballam, Associate Provost for Women's Policy Initiatives at Ohio State University and a group of women from Columbus, Ohio were so inspired by The Great Silent Grandmother Gathering they created a website (translated into 15 languages!), a YouTube video, and 20,000 postcards and are blanketing the globe -- literally! -- with a message asking women and men to stand in their local parks at 1 p.m. on Sunday, May 13, 2007 -- Mother's Day. See www.standingwomen.org.

2. Teena Booth, a television screenwriter who works in Hollywood and lives in Arizona had the same idea at the same time and created a website inspired by the Grandmother story, asking people to stand at 1 o'clock on Mother's Day. Please see her most compelling website at www.standintheparkforpeace.org.

3. Linda Merryman, a convener of the Millionth Circle Initiative inspired by Jean Shinoda Bolen's book, linked up the two women and made sure news of the Mother's Day event made it onto the Millionth Circle website. Linda emailed this morning to say already she's gotten word that Millionth Circle will host a Gather The Women of South Florida Mother's Day event. (See Linda's poignant letter about standing in Ashland to help save the world at www.standintheparkforpeace.org)

4. Justine Willis Toms, co-founder and co-president of New Dimensions World Broadcasting, whose weekly in-depth interviews are heard on National Public Radio, will announce Deb and Teena's events in the March New Dimensions Newsletter and will call for people to stand at 1 o'clock on Mother's Day (www.newdimensions.org).

5. A woman from British Columbia who was representative to the 5th Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues at the United Nations and is part of a grassroots grandmothers-to-grandmothers campaign to help women in Africa, wrote to say she and a woman from India are organizing a Great Silent Grandmother Gathering on the steps of the Parliament Building in Victoria, B.C.

Please tell your friends and groups. And please consider standing, if only for a few minutes, at 1 o'clock on Mother's Day, May 13, 2007. Maybe, just maybe, this spontaneous wave of heartful intention will be the tipping point.

With love and hope.

He that forgives wins the first laurel

2007-02-27T06:36:00.000-08:00

My friend Nancy and I drove from Ashland to Redding yesterday, over Siskiyou Summit which had hours earlier been closed to traffic because of a blizzard. More snow was predicted and I have to get to Sacramento to fly to Kansas City tomorrow for a long-planned speaking event. We squeeked through between storms.

Last night, in the lounge of the Holiday Inn, Nancy gave me my Christmas present (yes, I know it's the end of February, but things have been a tad hectic). It is glorious. And perfect. A quote by George Fox (Quaker, 1624-1691) calligraphed by Ashland's Diane Amaratico on ivory-colored art paper. I want to share it with you.

"A good end cannot sanctify evil means nor must we ever do evil that good may come of it. It is as great a presumption to send our passions upon God's errands as it is to palliate them with God's name...We are too ready to retaliate, rather than forgive or gain by love and information. And yet we could hurt no man that we believe loves us.

"Let us then try what love will do, for if men did once see we love them we should soon find they would not harm us. Force may subdue...but love gains, and he that forgives first wins the laurel." George Fox

Let there be peace on earth...

2006-08-12T13:52:00.000-07:00

"He got it right," Nancy said as she read the article in today's Daily Tidings. She was talking about the reporter who interviewed us two days running about why we are standing in the park. A woman at Starbuck's told me we were on the front page. I asked Nancy to read the story and tell me if it was okay. (I can't bear to listen to myself on radio interviews or read articles where I'm quoted.) "It's good," she said. She was smiling. "He really got it."

* * *

Linda Merryman, who stood with us in the park for the first time yesterday, afterwards wrote the following Letter to the Editor of the Daily Tidings. She gave me permission to reprint it here.

I go this morning a little before 8 to join "The Great Silent Grandmother Gathering" in Lithia Park. Like the book by that title, it's mostly women and a few men. It's cool and the sun is starting to warm the dew covered grass. I have come to stand peacefully and in silence. It's not easy. A siren is shrieking as I enter the park. It pulls my mind to the idea of all the places sirens are going off around the world right now, where fires are blazing and people are suffering. I am immediately in my head aware of why I'm here. There are so many fellow human beings being murdered right now by the violent acts of some other human beings who have found a way to go to war. I am standing in silence for those being killed. I am standing in silence for those killing. I am standing for the ones who made the weapons, and the ones who sold the weapons, and the ones who bought the weapons, and the ones who made money off the deal. I am standing in silence for the ones who are shopping or sunbathing or yachting off the money made from the sale of the weapons. I am standing for all the soldiers decked out in matching outfits whose adrenalin is surging as they wait poised to defend their own life and possibly take someone else's. I am standing for their Mothers and Fathers who are trying to live their life today, but part of their thinking is always on their soldier aching for their return to "home". I have only been standing 5 minutes and I have been anything but silent in my mind. I have been with all these places and people around the globe. I have not been standing in silence in peace. I've not done what I came here to do. I begin, "Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me..." just that first line of the song. It becomes my mantra, silently over and over calming my thoughts. Pulling them in from what I always feel on some level.... the fighting that is happening, the suffering. My mind jumps to the barbarism that human beings are experiencing at Guantanamo Bay. I see the images of the torture by "our side/the good guys" those pictures I can never forget. There I am no longer doing what I came here to do...."Let there be peace...." I get myself back on track. Gradually the beauty of the morning is my experience. Other people just standing very quietly. Dear precious not on fire, not filled with armored humvees, blessed thank you thank you Ashland is coming alive. People in trucks are driving around with tools to do their day's work. The birds or chirping and flying in and out of the three big trees and one small one. A runner with a beautifully fit body comes by in his light blue baggy running shorts and no shirt. He stops for a drink of water at a fountain I've never noticed. Then he disappears behind a door that says 13. I notice above it a rainbow colored peace sign. Very shortly he reappears in regular shorts with his cell phone and wallet and still no shirt and walks now up the street. Noticing. I don't let my mind follow him past the corner. Soon a woman in navy long pants, wearing a shirt, comes out of the door, goes around the corner, and begins to sweep. Lucky human beings not at war. Not in fear. Not carrying weapons. It's been 20 minutes. My mantra continues, "Let there be ...." Finally now I get very still. I expand out from Lithia Park and loose the sense of my physical form. I just am.... now..... standing..... peacefully in silence. Gratitude. My eyes closed, the warmth of the sun on my face makes an orange red color that is me. Wow 8:30 already. I must go, but just a few more minutes. This feels so good. I look over at the standing ones. A couple have gone now. Someone else has come. The rest stand still. They are a chorus of silence. Mostly they are wearing blue, beige, and brown as though it were planned. My eye catches off to their left a contrast in color. The sparkling white Sculpture of the headless statesman. He stands proudly immortalized in his stuffed suit and shirt. Honored right here in Lithia Park for moving ahead at all cost, whatever it takes to be secure and safe and right and doing it all without a head. The statesman of our time. My eyes go back quickly to the silent chorus of human beings all with heads. Wow, now I notice they also have hearts. There they are simply standing. Because they can. Because they must. Because something must be done. Our leaders, long feared to be heartless, now have no heads. Quick get the mantra going before you forget why you're here..."Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me..."

Blessed are the peacemakers

2006-08-11T14:07:00.000-07:00

I got an email last night from my friend Chris, who with her husband Jack, just returned from four weeks in China where they used the Grandmother book to teach English to Chinese children. (Buffety blustery??? I cannot even imagine it!) This isn't the first time Chris and Jack have done extraordinary things. There were trips to Rawanda...to Somalia...their careers with the U.S. government abroad...their commitment to the church...Chris's healing work. They devote their lives to making peace. To being peace. And this morning they stood with us in Lithia Park. At this point I would start a new paragraph, but something's up with eblogger.com and it is not letting me start new paragraphs. Bear with me.
A lot of new people joined us this morning. Susan, who parked her bicycle and helmet by the ornamental maple tree. Linda, who stood in the park with Jean Shinoda Bolen and some of the Millionth Circle conveners last April. And beautiful, welcome others I didn't know. It was chilly this morning. Most of us weren't dressed for it. Some stood stoically in the shade, while others of us followed sunspots across the lawn. At 9 o'clock we joined hands (in the sun) and sang. Peace is flowing like a river. And it was. Wilma said what we're doing is like taking an aspirin. You don't have to tell an aspirin where the pain is -- it knows just where to go. We don't have to tell the loving energy we send out into the world where to go -- it knows where it's needed most. Blessed, indeed, are the peacemakers.

Peace is flowing like a river...

2006-08-10T11:31:00.000-07:00

"Peace is flowing like a river...flowing out from you and me...flowing out into the desert...setting all the people free." My friend Cathy Burgess who lives in Edinburgh, Scotland taught me that song. She and her friend Peter bought a hundred copies of the grandmother story when it was just a little booklet.

SORRY, SOMEONE HACKED THE BLOG SPOT AND ADDED A BIT OF NONESENSE WHICH I HAVE DELETED. I WAS NOT ABLE TO RESURRECT THE ORIGINAL MESSAGE. Sharon

And then there were ten...

2006-08-09T11:32:00.000-07:00

One by one they came. First Nancy who had been standing alone at a park in Palo Alto. Then Marta whose quiet, steady support has been a mainstay of the Grandmother book project. Elizabeth, our P.R. maven who sent out over a thousand emails to women around the country. Jean and Kay, with big smiles on their adorable faces. Little Wilma, who at 79, can stand longer and stronger than the rest of us put together. Kate, a mediation attorney/professional photographer, who has been taking the photos you see on this blog so is never in the pictures herself! Then Grandma Ginny in a bright Hawaiian shirt. And Ellen who brought a chair in case her ankles didn't hold out, accompanied by her friend Ron -- a brave and stalwart gentleman -- whose pastor told him about women standing in Lithia park to save the world. "My mother would know just what to do," his pastor Pam said when talking about the warring factions. "She'd sit everybody down and say 'I don't care who started it -- it's got to stop.'" And the people said Amen.

Right on cue, Jason P. Mason, a reporter for the local newspaper, showed up to interview us. Actually, he's nothing like Jason P. Mason! His name is Bob and he'll be back tomorrow with a photographer. We're hoping some members of the Ashland Peace Choir (returned last night from a wonderously successful singing tour of Japan) will be joining us.

And so it continues. Two hours -- 7:30 to 9:30 each morning. The big grassy area in Lithia Park. A blessed way to start the day. Join us -- in spirit or in person.

Not speaking. Not looking at squirrels. Not munching on coconut candy...

2006-08-08T12:17:00.000-07:00

"Ryan Reilly was clearing off the window table at the cafe when he saw them: the two grandmothers standing smack in the middle of the park's big grassy area. The only difference was, they were holding umbrellas instead of wearing sun hats.

"Well, that would have been the only difference, if it weren't for the other one. This time, standing with the grandmothers were Erma Beans, Madeline Swivet, Leslie Plunkett and his very own mother!"

I was startled awake at 5:50 this morning by the loudest, longest thunder roll I've ever heard. Then the rain. Gobs and buckets and sheets and torrents of rain! WAY too much rain to expect grandmothers to show up in Lithia Park's big grassy area to save the world. And yet they did. Erma, Madeline, Leslie and Mrs. Reilly were there, with big smiles and big umbrellas. The exact number as in the story. The exact weather conditions. The exact umbrellas. And there we stood. Grateful and amazed.

An elementary school principal from Santa Rosa, CA who just returned from Lebanon, Israel and Jordan wired flowers addressed to the grandmothers in Lithia Park. Friends in other towns are standing at 7:30. I had 51 emails from listeners who heard the New Dimensions interview (www.newdimensions.org). More to come.

And so it begins...

2006-08-07T13:37:00.000-07:00

August 7, 2006

I walked to the Artisans Market by the creek in downtown Ashland yesterday. My friend Jean Bakewell was there. She and her partner Kay have a booth at the weekend market where they sell handmade jewelry and boxes full of empowering words and sacred message stones and fanciful paintings. Jean was in a twit. The worst twit I've ever seen her in. "We have to DO something!" she said. She was, of course, talking about the sad and sorry state of the world.

"Indeed we do," I answered. And at that very moment, without hardly thinking about it, we agreed that it was time for two grandmothers to start standing in the park to save the world. And we were the two.

"Seven thirty tomorrow morning?" I asked.

"Perfect," she said.

And so it began.

The morning dawned grey and drippy. A day not at all befitting Ashland summer. We arrived at the big grassy area in Lithia Park exactly on time and were soon joined by two others. I'll forever think of them as Erma Beans and Madeline Swivet, even though their names are Elizabeth and Ginny.

We started by holding hands and asking for the blessings of all those Beings of Light who have guided the idea of The Great Silent Grandmother Gathering since I wrote the first few words of the story on a paper napkin two years ago. Together, we held the intention that our small, simple action might somehow help save the world.

What happened next was just like in the book! People drove by slowly, craning their necks to see what four cute, colorful little old ladies were doing standing stock still in the middle of the big grassy area. We smiled. They smiled. Ashland City workers in street cleaning trucks and recycle trucks and electric service trucks and on riding mowers and in police vehicles and on foot stopped and stared and drove around the area and came back to stop and stare some more. We smiled. They looked puzzled and perplexed.

People with dogs walked by and stared. People on bikes rode by and stared. Several middle-aged tourists stood on the corner for many minutes, peeking at us from behind the wall of a building.

It started to sprinkle, but for some reason we didn't get wet. We watched the town wake up. We felt blessed. "When two or more are gathered..." Jean reminded us. When I finally looked at my watch, two hours had passed. We were astounded.

We will be there tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. Starting at 7:30 a.m. Maybe others will join us. Maybe women will start standing in their own towns. You never can tell.

xoxoxoxo

Stefana's Song

2006-08-01T11:28:00.000-07:00

Hi and welcome to all of you who have reached this blog because of the New Dimensions radio interview. And hi and welcome to all of you who just stumbled on the site by accident! In the interview (www.newdimensions.org), I talked about an amazing song, Women Saving the World, written and recorded by Stefana Dadas, who heard me read the Grandmother story at Santa Barbara Unity Church. Stefana's song is just absolutely beyond wonderful. It will lift you up and fill your heart with hope. In the background are women from a dozen countries saying "I'm saving the world," in their native languages. And the ending, ohmyohmy, if you're anything like me, it'll make you cry. You can get the CD at a special discount at www.CDBaby.com or at www.StefanaSD.com. And if you want to write Stefana and tell her how much you love the song, her email address is Stefana33@aol.com

Pigtails and pinto beans

2006-04-06T18:42:00.000-07:00

Remember Judy and Joe -- the couple from the church in Loomis who drove me 30 miles to Sacramento in the middle of an early morning rainstorm so I wouldn't get lost on the freeway exchanges? Well, I got an email from Judy the other day. I loved it. Hope she'll forgive me if I quote a bit of it here:

"After we dropped you off in Sacramento and came home we both sat down on the couch with silly grins on our faces and joy filled hearts. Joe asked me if the house felt different. I understood exactly what he meant. Yes! We both think it was the residual of angel dust or star dust or energy that is surrounding you as you walk this journey right now. I described the feeling as being in a little boat on the ocean when a really BIG SHIP goes past. You get caught in the wake for a while and bob up and down and it's thrilling and exciting and you laugh and hang on tight until the waters calm down again. It sure puts you on the lookout for another BIG SHIP!

"Incidentally, I decided to look up 'pilgrimage' in the dictionary...an old habit...just to try to see all the nuances that may be listed. I laughed when I discovered that the lead words on the two pages where I found pilgrimage were 'pigtail' and 'pinto beans'. I can't think of two things that are more frivolous and practical...I imagine you find all kinds of pigtails and pinto beans on your journey."

I got emails from two Judys that day. The second one was from my friend who is a nurse in the cardiac intensive care unit of a medical center. She gave me permission to reprint her message. I have changed the names.

"I want to tell you about one of my patients yesterday. Her name is Annie and she is 73. I took care of her when she was in the hospital last January. She has a very bad heart. When I got to work yesterday, she was crying and continued to cry off and on for several hours. Her long-time doctor had come in that morning to say goodbye to her. He told her there was nothing more they could do for her heart. She was being released to hospice care. Annie knew she was going home to die.

"I sat with her for a while as she cried and talked about letting go. Her husband came in and we all sat and talked. Then I had the idea to give her your book. I decided to read it to her first. As I read, both Annie and her husband seemed to be enchanted with the story. She smiled and laughed and cried and hugged me after I finished reading. She said she was going to read it to her daughter and her granddaughter and then give the book to her daughter who is a third-grade teacher so she can read it to her class.

"I discharged Annie about 11 a.m. She and her husband walked out of the hospital arm-in-arm. They seemed happy to be going home. Annie had the book tucked under her arm."

Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou

2006-04-02T09:59:00.000-07:00

Re-entries, especially after a pilgrimage, are sometimes hard for me. This one is particularly tricky. My body has been back in town a couple of days, but the rest of me hasn't quite caught up. I'm still in a journeying mode.

Right now I'm sitting by the fire in the lobby of the Ashland Hotel. It's the coziest place I could find on this buffety blustery early Sunday morning -- that also has wireless access. I told the desk clerk I'm not a guest at the hotel, but hoped it would be okay if I used their internet connection. "Of course," she said with a charming smile. I had a feeling if I'd asked for tea and a laprobe, she would have brought them herself. This is, after all, Ashland.

Which brings me to the purpose of this message. For those of you who know, and those who don't, the book-reading pilgrimage I've been on this past month was made possible, mostly and almost entirely, by the people of Ashland. The Grandmother book itself, which is what I went on the road to read, was also made possible by the people of Ashland. In actual point of fact, there is pretty much not one miraculous thing that has happened to me or through me in the last two years that wasn't, in some way, facilitated by someone in this town.

Like, for instance, but by no means only:

Tia Hatch, who met me that fateful morning, two years ago, when I snuck into the wooden church with the red door to see the pretty stained-glass windows from the inside. "Let me introduce you to every single person I know in this town," she said. And she did.

Elizabeth Austin, the very wise life coach Tia told me about who tried and tried to help me heal my writer's block so I could finish the Serious Nonfiction book I came to Ashland to write. And when she couldn't (because, as we all know, those pesky Story Angels had other plans), she introduced me to a woman who needed a bit of healing -- which is what I do when I'm not trying to write Serious Nonfiction. And which, in the most roundabout way, is what ultimately led to the story I was supposed to write AllAlongInTheFirstPlaceForHeavensSakeDuh! I told you she was very wise. And so she is.

Nancy Bardos, a woman I met at a movie theater during the Ashland Film Festival two years ago. She was there with--you guessed it--Tia. "You need to write a children's story for grownups," she said a few weeks later. At first I said, "No!" but then I said "Yes!" Whereupon, she said, "I think I will do three thousand four hundred and thirty-three things to make your life easier and your path more joyful. I will start by making a Grandmother pendant that says 'We're saving the world.' And, one day, you can give them to lovely people when you go on a book-reading pilgrimage." And so she did.

Jean Bakewell, who collects river rocks on the Oregon coast and decorates them with beautiful designs and calligraphed words. Bet you know who introduced us. "You must read your story at Bloomsbury Books," she said. So she arranged it. "You must read your story on the radio," she said. So she arranged that, too. "You must sell me ninety-two books," she said. "I will send them to teachers here and there and everywhere. And one day, when you go on a book-reading pilgrimage, I will give you hundreds of my decorated river rocks to give to lovely people along the way." And so she did.

Marta Gomez, one of the kindest, most computer-savvy persons this side of Hewlett Packard. I met her, too, in a movie theater during the Ashland Film Festival. (Quaintly pitiful synchronistic factoid: My birth was announced on the marquee of my father's movie theater in Fresno.) Marta was there with her best friend, Tia. "Soon I will send you a greeting card with an illustration of cute little grandmothers that will change your life, and the life of the illustrator," she said. "Then I will spend days and weeks and months of my life at the computer helping Nancy create an artbook about your book that will be so especially special it will be put on display at Gallery deForest across from the Peerless Hotel starting April 7, 2006." Well, maybe she didn't say exactly that, but she did say: "And then I will spend hours and days and weeks of my life at the computer doing exceedingly creative things that will help raise money for your book-reading pilgrimage." And so she did.

Brenda Barnhill, proprietor of The Pelton House Bed and Breakfast, who just floated on a cloud of angel dust into my life one day not too long ago. She had never even heard of Tia! "I want to have a fundraiser at my Bed and Breakfast for your book," she said. "Maybe my friend Cathy deForest who owns a gallery across from the Peerless Hotel will help." I was puzzled and perplexed. "But my book doesn't need a fundraiser," I said. "Ah yes," she said, "but in eight days it will." And eight days later, as I stood in front of the wooden church with the red door, looking up at a pretty stained-glass window, an idea spoke to me. "Take your story to small towns," the idea said. "Read it in schools and churches and hospitals and centers where old people gather. Read it on reservations and in prisons. Read it wherever there are people who believe they can't save the world..." And so, with Brenda's help, and Nancy's and Jean's and Marta's and Cathy's and so many, many others from the little town of Ashland, I did just that.

But it's not the end. In fact, I have a feeling it's just the beginning.

Seize the day

2006-03-31T10:38:00.000-08:00

Anne had arranged two readings in Santa Rosa at the end of my month-long pilgrimage through California. The first was at a joyful sit-down dinner for 50 lovely, accomplished women (and one lovely, accomplished man) at a Catholic retreat center run by Ursuline nuns. China plates. A choice of wine. A giant gift basket of edible, drinkable treats from Sonoma County; greeting cards made by Sister Diane; a salsa cookbook... The women in Anne's meditation circle, who over the months had bought hundreds of Grandmother books to give as gifts, prepared the dinner and gathered the gifts. By the end of the evening, there was an envelope filled with gas-money donations, and an invitation to spend the next two nights with Jacqueline and David at their exquisite home in the Santa Rosa foothills. I felt like a princess at the ball.

The second reading Anne arranged was for the next day. It would be my last on this grace-filled journey. And it would be the tenderest of all.

I read to a handful of young women, and one tiny baby boy, at a safe house for victims of domestic abuse.

I want to tell you about them. Not their stories, because those I don't know. About their eyes, and their words, and their reaction to hearing a little story about saving the world.

One of the women spoke only Spanish so a simultaneous interpreter quietly translated to her as I read. The women looked directly at me. They didn't move. Every time I looked up, their eyes locked on mine. Almost as if they were trying to hang onto something. They smiled when I read; they laughed. But when the story ended, they were silent.

The girl with the baby was the first to speak. Shyly, at first, but with a determination I don't often hear. "My grandmother told me something," she said. "She told me that the most important thing we can do in life is be kind." Tears filled her eyes. I could hear the interpreter quietly translating her comment.

One of the young women reached for a box of Kleenex. She took a tissue and passed the box to the girl sitting next to her. And so on around the circle. Once again, the young women were quiet.

My friend Marta sent me five books to give away when my supply ran out. It was Marta's books that I signed for the women in the shelter. And the last of Jean's sacred stones decorated with hand-calligraphed words that went to them. There was only one stone left. I gave it to the facilitator to use as a touchstone for the women who come to next. Marta and Jean are grandmothers. They are two of the kindest women I know.

Jean's last stone read "carpe diem." Seize the day.

Katie

2006-03-31T10:26:00.000-08:00

Katie was my host in Oakland. She just turned 80. To celebrate, she bought herself two big beautiful rings and had a butterfly tatooed above her wrist. In the bedroom where I stayed, there's a photograph of her daughter -- tanned, in shorts and hiking books, with a red bandana tied around her brow. She's sitting atop a large rock, so high up only clouds and sky can be seen in the background. She's beautiful, with a smile that would melt your heart. The photo was taken in the 1970's when her daughter was a student at Evergreen State College in my old hometown of Olympia, WA. Not long after, Katie's daughter was killed in an avalanche while climbing Mt. Rainier.

Katie has six surviving children. One of her sons, a sculptor, won a design competition in Rhode Island to build the state's 9/11 memorial. Katie has a framed photo of the sculpture on the wall of her apartment. Reminds me of a Celtic symbol I've seen -- like a three-dimensional looped cross. It appears to be made out of thousands upon thousands of tiny mirrors. Magnificent. Just like Katie.

Generosity of strangers

2006-03-26T05:58:00.000-08:00

Before I left Ashland nearly a month ago, my friend Nancy said she was going to walk the town's outdoor labyrinth every day until I returned. Her prayer, she said, would be for the generosity of strangers along my route.

If there has been one overriding theme of this journey, it has indeed been the generosity of strangers. At every single stop along the way I've had warm beds and wonderful meals and the tenderest of loving care. I have been blessed beyond measure by old friends and new friends and total strangers who have gone out of their way to help me in remarkable ways. I will tell you more in days to come. For now, two quick stories:

Judy and Joe, who have to be two of the dearest, happiest people on the face of this earth, invited me to stay with them the other night after a reading at their church in the tiny town of Loomis (pop. 6500). They have a little waggy-tailed, curly-haired dog who is blind and keeps running into the furniture. Which has nothing to do with the story -- I just thought he was so cute and funny. Also having nothing to do with the story is Joe's collection of about three bizillion model cars, trains and planes that take up one whole huge floor of the house, and the fact that his grandfather was in Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show. And that the room I slept in had paintings of angels on all the walls and statues of angels on all the tables.

It was raining hard the next morning (it has been raining nearly every day since I left Ashland!) and I had an early event in downtown Sacramento. Judy and Joe were concerned I might get confused with all the freeway changes I'd have to make. So Judy drove me and my car 30 miles to the door of the Sacramento reading, while Joe followed in his truck so he could drive his wife the 30 miles back home. I had known them roughly 12 hours.

* * *

It was gloomy dark the morning I drove from my friend Joetta's house in the country to downtown Oroville. I switched the car lights on so it would be easier for drivers on the winding, narrow road to see me. My destination was Mugshots, a coffee shop with individually wrapped pastries, peppermint candies, and free Internet service.

I found a parking place in front of the antiques shop across the street and dashed from the car, clutching my laptop to my chest. I ordered a small French roast and settled in to read the emails that have been my lifeline of this journey.

I looked up a couple of times in response to a bit of clatter and futzing around behind the counter. "No more hot drinks," the barista told customers. "We have a problem." Not good on a cold, rainy morning.

Shortly, two guys appeared. They knew about coffee-making equipment, so I guessed they were probably the owners. More clatter. People who came in for coffee left to find it somewhere else. Definitely not a good thing.

I looked at my watch. I'd been on the computer over an hour and had just enough time to get to Jo's school where I was scheduled to read the Grandmother story to the children in her class. I ran across the street, jumped in my car, turned the ignition. Click. Dead as a doornail. I'd forgotten to turn the lights off!

I ran back across the street to Mugshots. All the customers had left. There were now three guys behind the counter deep in electrical talk. They looked stressed.

"Is there a gas station close by? My battery's dead." Nope. No gas station.

"I have a battery cable," one of them said.

"My truck's parked in front," said another.

They left the mess behind the counter, dashed to their respective vehices, and within a couple of minutes I was set to go.

"Please let me pay you," I said.

One guy put his hand over his heart. "Never," he said. "It's our pleasure."

Mugshots. Next time you're in Oroville, California.

Stefana's Masterpiece

2006-03-23T08:06:00.000-08:00

Remember Stefana, the gorgeous Greek tambourine-playing music director at the Unity Church in Santa Barbara? Well she was inspired to write a song for/about the Grandmother story and is doing a studio recording of it this week. She says it's her Masterpiece and it will be waiting for me when I get home to Ashland on April 1st. In the background are the voices of individual women saying "I'm saving the world" in their native languages. So far, according to Linda, the minister at Unity, Stefana has recorded women speaking French, Italian, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, East Indian, Pakistani, Hebrew and Russian. She is tracking down a Native American language, Arabic and someone with a British accent to round out the mix. Can you imagine how great that's going to be?!!! Of course my mind immediately jumped to a music video!

I'm heading into the busiest week on the tour. A new town every day for the next eight days -- but happily they're all pretty close together: Oakland, Loomis, Sacramento, Grass Valley, Santa Rosa, Ukiah, (I'm forgetting something), and then home. I'm reading at the Book Seller on Mill Street in Grass Valley at 2 o'clock next Sunday, March 26, for any of you who in the area.

Sonora

2006-03-19T21:22:00.000-08:00

Healing in Sonora

2006-03-19T16:43:00.000-08:00

Sometimes something happens that is so perfect and perfectly orchestrated that it's clear those Angels of Mercy I'm always praying to have had a hand in it. Today was one of those days.

I drove from Lodi to Sonora this morning and arrived several hours before the appointed peace rally. So I walked up and down the one main street eight times. It was Sunday morning and not much was open. On my ninth pass, the Veteran's Memorial War Museum, across from the park where the rally was going to be held, was open. Standing on the front steps was a big guy who looked to be maybe in his 50's, wearing a cap that had lots of army stuff on it -- like badges and little pins. I decided, MOST uncharacteristically for me, that I would visit the war museum. What I heard myself say to the big guy with the war cap, was: "This seems like the perfect day to visit a veteran's museum." Turns out he was the volunteer curator and was happy as could be to show me his museum.

It only took half a minute for him to start telling me how he felt about the peace demonstrators across the street -- he believed, he said, that they were agitating and demonstrating against him and people like him who had fought in wars to keep us free. Clearly, he was angry. Last night's peace vigil in the park had served to further antagonize him.

Now here's where the Angels of Mercy come into the picture. As I walked through the rooms of the little museum with the guy in the cap, whose name is Fritz, and saw uniforms and photographs and letters and memorabilia from every war we've fought in from the Civil War to Shock and Awe in Iraq, something happened. I was overcome with sadness and gratitude -- for all the men and women over all those years, who lived and died doing what they believed they needed to do in order to assure their country and their families would remain free.

Standing next to Fritz, who has been volunteering at the museum every Sunday for eight years, and using his disability payment for injuries received in Viet Nam to buy pocket copies of the U.S. Constitution that he offers free to museum visitors -- and reading the poems he writes (nearly 200 so far) and makes available at the museum, my heart and my judgement and my belief in right-and-wrongness melted. Tears came to my eyes. Tears came to Fritz's eyes. We both stood there crying. I asked if I could hug him and he said he wasn't big on touchy-feely stuff.

I had a copy of the Grandmother book in my bag and decided to give it to him -- even though I figured he'd think it was dumb. But he seemed genuinely grateful. When I got to the rally and met the coordinator who had arranged for me to come to Sonora, I told her about Fritz and asked if she'd come with me to invite him to the rally. She did. We did. Fritz said he'd already read the book and thought it was wonderful. He said he'd close up the museum at 3:00 and come hear me read the book.

It was a very big crowd. When I was done reading, Fritz came up behind me (where he'd been standing the whole time, I guess -- I hadn't seen him) and took the microphone. He told the crowd he was from the Veteran's War Museum across the street. He said he was happy to be at the peace rally and wanted us to know how proud he'd been to fight for us in Viet Nam. And then he put out his arms and said to me, "And now here's that hug." The whole crowd cheered. And so it is.

The mouse and the dove

2006-03-17T17:39:00.000-08:00

For the last two days, I've been staying in Oroville with my long-time friend, Joetta. She and her lab Chesty (short for Chestnut), live in the country on 20 acres of rolling meadowland dotted with mossy rocks, giant oak trees and black satin blackberries. Joetta teaches middle school children with profound learning disabilities. She is a potter. She makes the best blackberry jam I've ever tasted. And she has worked for peace most of her life.

A few minutes ago, Jo showed me this little story. I want to share it with you. It comes from the Fellowship of Reconciliation.

"What is the weight of a snowflake?" a coal mouse asked a wild dove.

"Nothing more than nothing," the dove answered.

"In that case, I must tell you a marvelous story," the coal mouse said.

"One day, I was sitting on the branch of a fir tree, when it began to snow. Since I didn't have anything better to do that day, I decided to count the snowflakes settling on the twigs and needles of my branch. I counted exactly three million, seven hundred and forty-one thousand, nine hundred and fifty-two. When the next snowflake fell -- nothing more than nothing, as you say -- the branch broke off."

The dove, who since Noah's time had been an authority on such things, thought about the story for a while. "Perhaps," she said finally, "there is only one person's voice lacking for peace to come about in the world."

Arco Angel

2006-03-16T13:06:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, en route to Davis from San Luis Obispo, I was trying to read my Mapquest instructions while zooming along a six-lane stretch of freeway during rush hour. I lived, but missed a crucial turnoff and ended up some unknown somewhere on a one-way street in a kind of ucky area of Sacramento. I pulled into a gas station to ask for directions. The counter person had been in this country five minutes and spoke Tagalog.

"How do I get to I-80 West?" I asked.

"Ah," he said. "Cheebongbipflapzippyneenee."

"Thank you," I said.

My only other hope was a fellow in a sweatshirt who was filling his Buick Regal. He didn't look like an angel, but clearly that's what he was. "It's a little complicated," he said, "because of all the one-way streets."

Even though he was headed in another direction, he offered to lead me to the freeway. Not only did he get me to the onramp, but he got on himself and maneuvered into the lane next to me so he could mouth the words: "San Francisco" -- which was the direction I needed to take. Then he waved, blew a kiss, and got off at the next exit. Imagine!!! I kept saying out loud, over and over, all the way to Davis: I am so blessed. I am so blessed. I am so blessed.

I arrived in plenty of time to read to a small group of Quakers. I love the Quakers. They're kind of like Christian Buddhists. We sat around a folding table at the Friends Meeting House. They shared a potluck supper, while I read. When I'd finished the story one of the men asked me if I was a Friend. I told him no. He said I sounded like a Friend. That made me happy.

Tonight I read at the Church of Religious Science in Oroville. I love this journey!

2006-03-13T15:20:00.000-08:00

2006-03-13T15:13:00.000-08:00

A matter of faith

2006-03-13T12:32:00.000-08:00

A month ago, while still in Ashland, I woke up at 3 a.m., dragged my laptop into bed, and googled Unity chuches on California's central coast. No dream, no nothing. Just seemed like a good idea to google churches in the middle of the night. There was one in Santa Barbara that caught my attention.

I sent The Rev. Linda Spencer an email saying I'd written a little story about peace and wondered if she'd like me to read it at her church when I was in the area on a book tour. I then turned off the computer and went back to sleep.

That same day I received a response. "Something in me tells me that something in you is doing remarkable work," she wrote, "and it will be an honor to support you in this way."

"Something in me tells me..." was Missed Clue #1 of wonderment at work. Well, wonderment may not be the right word. Providence maybe. Divine Providence. Bolt-from-the-blue-knock-'em-flatout-silly Extreme Divine Providence.

The night before I arrived in Santa Barbara, I got an email from Linda saying they hadn't been able to get copies of the Grandmother book to sell after the service. She hoped I had some. No problem. I had 12 copies of my own, which I was sure would be plenty. And I had a hundred copies that Viking donated for me to give to peace groups. In a pinch, I could always sell one or two of those and replace them later.

Linda had arranged for me to stay at the home of her board president who would be out of town for the weekend. Staying with me would be the church's music director and her partner. Missed Clue #2.

I don't know what your image of a church music director is, but bet it's not a young, exotic-looking Greek woman named Stefana who sort of hip-hops hymns while dancing with a tambourine -- and who, when she's not directing music or recording CDs, is art therapist at an institution for the severely, criminally mentally ill.

And I'll bet your image of the partner of an exotic Greek tamourine-playing church music director is not a serene black woman who teaches substance-abuse issues to inmates at a jail for women in Watts.

I was enthralled. We went to dinner at a restaurant called Epiphany. Of course!!! We talked for the several hours it took to get our food and the check (Bill Mahar was performing at a theater next door and the restaurant was full of show-goers.)

It was then I found out that the minister had not read the Grandmother book, had not even seen the book, didn't know anything about it at all, or anything about me. She was letting a stranger read godknowswhat at two services because "Something tells me..." I was astounded. And frightened for her. And for me! What if she hated the story?!?

The only thing I could think to do was read the book to Stefana and Barbara and hope they'd warn Linda (and me!) if it seemed not a good fit for the church.

Instead, at 7:30 the next morning, Stefana phoned Linda and said something else. I'm still not clear what. And Linda decided to throw away her sermon and devote the entire lesson time at both services to the story. And the story behind the story.

It was utterly and unbelievably courageous! She cried through the reading at the first service, and the whole on-stage dialogue afterwards. An assistant finally had to bring her a box of Kleenex. There were standing ovations! I swear!!! Like six of them.

When it was over there was this stampede to the book table to buy my 12 books. Bedlam and mayhem ensued. Barbara (Stefana's partner) was handling book sales. "We need more books," she said, the second I got to the table. "Now. Get more books." Remember, she works at a women's jail.

I ran to the car and got 24 of the Viking books. Five minutes later I ran back and got 24 more. Checks were flying and I was signing as fast as I could.

The second service was much like the first. We went through another 50 books and I bet we could have sold twice that. (I now have no books and eight appearances scheduled in the next two weeks!) But what do you bet it all works out?

By the way, remember when I started on this pilgrimage I said I wanted to read the book in schools and churches and libraries and senior centers and on reservations and in prisons? I have so far read in everywhere but prisons. Barbara is in charge of bringing in speakers at the women's jail in Watts. She invited me to read there. Thank you God.

San Luis peace rally

2006-03-09T15:12:00.000-08:00

San Luis Obispo peace rally

2006-03-09T15:05:00.000-08:00