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.