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.