And so it begins...

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