Seize the day

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

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

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

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

Healing in Sonora

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

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

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!

A matter of faith

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

San Luis Obispo peace rally

Marches and missions

Ever since the idea of a book-reading pilgrimage came to mind, I've imagined how much I'd like to speak at an event on March 8th -- International Women's Day. Guess I thought I'd get an email or phone call or Hogwart's owl-message inviting me to some perfect something (that's the way it has been working so far). But alas. No email. No phone call. No owl.

However, yesterday morning someone left a copy of the local newspaper on the table next to mine at The Nautical Bean. It was open to the calendar page which had an announcement about a Code Pink rally and march in downtown San Luis at 5:30. I emailed the contact person and said I was in town to read a little book about peace and would be happy to help in any way.

Lest grass grow under my pilgrim feet, I then drove 40 miles up the road to the largely hispanic village of San Miguel -- a taqueria, a laundromat, a general store, and a 200-year-old adobe and mud-brick mission that was badly damaged in the last earthquake. I left a copy of the Grandmother book for the nuns with a note saying if they'd like more to help with restoration fundraising, I would be happy to donate them.

By the time I got back, there was an email from the Code Pink person saying they didn't have a speaker for their event and would be delighted to have me say something!

Only hitch was, I'd have to use a bullhorn. Just like Police Chief Barker-Poles and his megaphone. Yikes.

Hundreds of people gathered across from the Government Building in the center of town. Many were in their 50's, 60's and 70's. Even though the march was sponsored by Code Pink, there were lots of men -- I love that about San Luis. Since I had no experience with megaphones or rally-the-troop-type speeches, I decided just to read two quotes. I started with a quote from the 19th-century British poet, Matthew Arnold: "If ever the world sees a time when women shall come together purely and simply for the benefit of mankind, it will be a power such as the world has never known." Then I read the Helen Keller quote that is the mantra of my journey: "I am only one. But still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something. I will not refuse to do the something I can do." Apparently the quote resonated because there was such whistling and clapping and whoopty-whooping as I've never heard!

A 97-year-old woman came up to me afterwards. She said she was too wobbly to do the march. I told her I'd walk for both of us. She smiled a teary smile and patted my arm. I've been thinking about that, and it occurs to me...what if the only way we'll ever really have peace is if those of us who are temporarily more able, agree to walk the walk for those who are temporarily more wobbly?

One small miracle

Some of you know my friend Judy. She's a critical care nurse in the cardiac intensive care unit of a regional hospital. After a long career in nursing education and administration, last year Judy went back to the exhausting rigors of bedside nursing. She is 60 years old.

Her patients are fragile, often frightened souls, who have had heart attacks or undergone heart surgery. I want to tell you about one of them. We'll call her Madeline.

Madeline is a gentle, sweet-faced grandmother in her 70's. Last week she had emergency heart surgery. Judy was her nurse. Madeline thought surely she would die. She was so convinced of it, in fact, that Judy was concerned her patient would give up trying to recover.

So Judy did the only thing she could think of. She brought Madeline a copy of The Great Silent Grandmother Gathering and asked her daughter, Amy, to read it to her mom. She did. Both women cried. "The story gave us hope," Amy said.

On Saturday, I arrived in the town where Judy lives. "One of my patients wants to meet you," she said. "Her name is Madeline."

I took Madeline one of Nancy's grandmother pendants and pointed out that on the back it says, "We're saving the world." I told her if she put it on that meant she was willing to do her part. She cried. Amy cried. Judy cried.

Then Madeline put the pendant on. Judy said she wore it all day.

I forgot to mention that Madeline is a gifted artist. Her work is part of a distinguished, juried show that will open soon. Looks like she will be out of the hospital in time for the opening.

Thank you Ashland.

DAY THREE

So here's a story. It's about synchronicity, magic, and little miracles. I think you'll like it.

A few months ago, I got an email from a woman named Karen who said she'd picked up a copy of the Grandmother book from a display while standing in the checkout line at a bookstore. It was just before Christmas. The line was long and the book was short, so she had a chance to read the whole thing before she got to the counter. She wanted me to know that she ended up buying ten copies and sent one to a friend in Jordan.

A month later, I got an email from Karen saying her friend in Jordan had sent the book to Lebanon. Then an email saying the person in Lebanon had shared the book with a neighbor who was a professor of political science at the American University in Beirut. They talked about how the story could be used in his curriculum. Finally I got an email from a woman in Lebanon who said her mother (name: Laila) had given her the book.

The only thing I knew about Karen was that she lived in Sonoma County and wrote short, no-frills emails.

Enter a woman named Anne, who phoned me at my home in Ashland the day after I'd decided to make this California book-reading pilgrimage. She, too, lived in Sonoma County, and was eager to share the story about how someone had read the Grandmother story to her meditation group -- whereupon, group members bought several HUNDRED copies to give as Christmas gifts. The group wanted to send me a thank-you card. She was calling to get my address.

Anne wanted to know if I'd ever be coming to Sonoma County to do a reading. "As a matter of fact..." I said. Whereupon, she asked if I'd like to read in Santa Rosa. "Indeed I would!" I said.

I emailed Karen to tell her about the event Anne was going to arrange (I thought they might know each other -- they didn't). Karen wrote back that she is principal of an elementary school in Santa Rosa and wanted to know if I'd come there too. I was so excited!! It had only been a few days since my decision to take the book on the road, and already, sort of by accident, I had two readings!

As it turned out, Brook Hill Elementary School was more than a reading, and Karen was definitely more than a principal. She is a multi-lingual, two-time Fullbright scholar (with programs for educators in Egypt and Jordan) who works 80 hours a week. She has the biggest smile, the hugest heart, and the most enthusiasm and energy I've ever witnessed in one human. And she needs it all.

Brook Hill Elementary is a school in a white-flight neighborhood where more than 90 percent of the students are Hispanic, Cambodian, Vietnamese... most are on the free-lunch program and 60 are homeless. She knows how important it is for the school to be a safe, peaceful, hopeful, loving place. And that's what it is. Adorable, polite, shy-smiley children who run up to her for hugs. Caring teachers who I witnessed spending hours collating and tying turquoise yarn around sets of cards made from students' entries in a peace poster contest.

What Karen planned for my visit was a WHOLE DAY-LONG PEACE EVENT that included the Mayor, the Superintendent of Schools, a member of the School Board, and many significant community others reading peace books in the classrooms. There was a school assembly at noon where children and teachers sang peace songs, and an icecream event where two of the cutest fifth-grade boys you'd ever want to meet bought me a fudgecicle. At 5:30, there was tea party in the multipurpose room for the community. Teachers brought in their china tea sets and lace tableclothes and fresh flowers and cucumber sandwiches and little fancy yummy things! There was a full house!

People visited. I read the story. Children sold their peace cards to raise money so the sixth graders could go to camp. A School Board member told Karen there was magic in the room. Indeed there was.

And, oh yes, Anne -- the woman who started the whole chain of events by phoning me -- she was there, too, along with a member of her meditation group who has bought 25 Grandmother books and takes women friends out for coffee or breakfast or lunch, one at a time, reads them the whole story, and then gives them the book to pass on.

And the people said, "Amen."

DAY TWO

Hi -- It's 5 a.m. I just padded outside in my pajamas, in the dark, in the rain, to get my computer from the car. Alas, no wireless networks available. So I'll write this now and post it when I can.

A long, wet, windy, windey drive from Redding, with only one SIGNIFICANT AND ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL road-that-doesn't-exist glitch in the Mapquest directions that ended me up at an autorepair-fishingtackle-liquorstore-minimart in the total boonies where guys in camouflage with big ole trucks and big ole guns mounted in the back window were cavorting in the parking lot. They all agreed it was a good thing I'd gotten lost because it was a much nicer drive this way. The designated direction-giver was about six-and-a-half feet tall, weighed maybe 300 pounds, and wore his hair in a ponytail. I gave him a Grandmother book (it was that or one of Nancy's "We're Saving the World" pendants). He said "Thank you kindly ma'am." Made me smile.

In spite of the detour, I arrived on time in the blissfully bucolic town of Cloverdale, on the edge of Sonoma County's wine country, about halfway between Ukiah and Santa Rosa. It's tiny and cute and filled with artists and creative folk. Like a little Ashland.

The first reading on my journey was last night, at the home of an artist who lives near a lake populated by a bijillion little frogs with the biggest of BIG frog voices. They welcomed us with wild and croaky enthusiasm.

Half the women at the event belong to a Wisdom Circle that has been meeting twice a month for several years. Each was encouraged to bring a friend. Intelligent, involved, concerned, fun, funny women who arrived with open hearts and mountains of homemade desserts (this after one of the best dinners ever at the home of my gracious hosts!). Friends just waiting to be met. An absolutely perfect beginning.

This morning I'll make the short drive to Santa Rosa and the Brook Hill Elementary School. Can hardly wait to see what the day brings!

P.S. There's snow on the foothills!

Day One

Hi all,

This is my first blogging attempt. Eeeeek and egad, as my friend Nancy would say. So okay, Day One. In the two hours it took me to drive from Ashland, OR to Redding, CA I experienced sun, rain, sleet, hail, snow and the biggest, boldest rainbow I've ever seen. Had to barrel through Mount Shasta, home of my very soul, because the weather was closing in and I could have gotten snow-stuck for days and days. Found a motel in Redding that was having computerized heating problems (I didn't know it before I checked in). In other words, it was FREEZING. The Computerized Heating People made four trips to my room with gidgets and gadgets that didn't work. The temperature in the room remained at 58 degrees. Finally they converted the high-tech system to manual and I now have heat. Which ought to tell us something about something, but who knows what.
THEN, I went to dinner. Cattlemen's Restaurant -- an odd choice for a vegetarian. And between the salad and the grilled chicken breast, a woman two booths down choked on something and the waitress performed the Heimlich (spelling?) maneuver and dislodged whatever it was. Seems the waitress was a trained EMT. AS WERE THE THREE PATRONS SITTING IN THE NEXT BOOTH. I mean, like really now! It was amazing!!! I was sending healing touch from my booth, but clearly the woman was in good hands.
So much for day one! Tomorrow on to Cloverdale. Love to you all.