Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou

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.