San Francisco turns green for St. Patrick's day while we stand for peace

All around us, messes like this; look closely
to see the Irish flag flying over City Hall doors
© L Kathryn Grace - All rights reserved

The plaza is crammed with trucks and cars when we arrive for our stand this morning. A green, white and orange Irish flag flutters languidly over City Hall's main doors.

Weary, drugged and sick homeless, who normally would be huddled in soggy sleeping bags after a rainy night, are mostly gone, displaced by red, white, blue--and a few green--canopies under which sleepy-eyed hawkers busily lay out their wares and goodies.

White sweet potato pie, crab garlic fries, and Verizon phones, vie for our attention. I'm heartened to see the greenest, most Irish looking booth on the plaza is owned by Zip Cars--selling a greener lifestyle on the greenest day of the year.

No busloads of tourists offload this morning, no gaggles of gawkers taking pictures of each other in front of San Francisco's storied dome.

We smile, though, when a happy family of five pauses to take pictures of one another posing artfully next to an adjacent tree. Their laughter lightens our hearts, makes us smile. Sharon says out loud, "All it takes is one happy person to change the mood." I think, yes, I want to remember that next time I'm in a difficult situation.

Green-Haired Tuba Player passes
by as we leave the plaza
© L Kathryn Grace
All rights reserved

Sharon and I chatter frequently this morning, our silence continuously broken, like our concentration, by the bustle, odd characters and blaring country music from the loudspeakers on the bright red booth next to us. Continuously we return to our meditation, soon breaking into conversation yet again.

This festive, temporary tent city surrounding us represents tens of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of products made overseas by sweatshop workers, and a considerable quantity of greasy, GMO-laced food.

Thousands of people will wander through today, many celebrating our mutual Irish heritage. Others here to sample the food and wares, listen to the speeches and live music, and ogle the costumes and characters.

In one of my silent interludes, I pray for peace in the plaza, that all who come here will be blessed and energized by the camaraderie.

In another, I imagine what it would be like to come here by the thousands once a year, not to celebrate our heritage, but to celebrate peace. What booths would we erect? What wares would we hawk? Where would they have been made, and by whom? Would the foods we offered be healthy, locally grown with care for the soil, air and water on which we all depend, and just as delightful to our taste buds as the offerings here today?

How would we celebrate the peace we are making in our lives and our world? What speeches would our dignitaries make? What songs might we sing? Would we dance? Would we laugh? Would we meditate together, a throng of thousands, in silence for a time?

It takes just a little shift to move from a celebration plied with near-slave-made doo-dads and clothing, and food that, studies increasingly show, poisons our bodies, to an event filled with products manufactured by companies who care about the well-being of their employees, and filled with nourishing, whole food grown and harvested sustainably, prepared by people who love the art of cooking and feeding as much as they love profit.

Despite the clamor and bang around us, despite our inability to stay focused on our meditation practice this morning, I feel peace in my heart, gratitude for the individuals working so hard to make today's celebration safe, fun and happy for the people of our town.

May you feel so blessed wherever and with whomever you may be.

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We make peace in a million small ways every day.

All text and images, unless otherwise noted, copyright L. Kathryn Grace. All rights reserved.

Spring in the plaza, in our hearts and a hot flash of rage

Spring tree leafing out at City Hall
March 10, 2012, Stand for Peace
© L Kathryn Grace, all rights reserved

With the greening of the tree across the street from our standing spot, my heart seems to be greening and waking up as well.

When I first began standing for peace several years ago, I thought I was standing for Peace on Earth.

I was. I am. I do. What becomes ever more clear, each time I stand, is that when I stand for peace, I change me. I am greening with hope and peace as surely as the tree greens with the new life of spring.

Saturday was a special day. Not only did Sharon and I stand for peace at City Hall.That night, we participated in the worldwide Moment of Peace, joining others in our time zone to stop what we were doing and sit in silence for one hour, or as near to one hour as our activities permitted.

The next morning, when a woman I love ignored my boundaries and invaded my space aggressively, I experienced a familiar irritation. At first, I attempted to include her in my activity. When she responded with even more aggression, pushing me aside as though I were invisible, I felt my Irish temper flare hotly.

Instead of reacting in that (self) righteous fire, I suddenly remembered the calm of our morning stand the day before, followed by our hour of peaceful contemplation that evening.

I stopped, took a couple of centering breaths. At first, I thought that would be enough, but my sense of displacement, and the anger I felt in response, increased as my friend continued her invasive behavior. At that point, I quietly left the room and found a spot where I could center and calm myself in private. For a few moments, I clung to the need to lash out in rage, even as I breathed through it and prayed for a calm, loving heart. Then the utter peace of the night before washed over me. Simultaneously, I felt my anger and that gentle peace and calm. Oxymoronic? I know. It happened just like that. I accepted my anger, my hurt feelings, embraced them.

In the past, I would have felt guilty for my potentially volatile reaction. This time, I loved my anger for its protective power. Loved that it showed how important the activity in which I had been engaged was to me. As soon as I acknowledged my feelings in this way, they dissipated.

Much sooner than I might have even a year ago, I opened my heart to trying to understand the other woman's need. She is a member of my circle, a family member I cherish. I do not know if I will ever fully understand her need to be invasive at times, and to ignore boundaries. She is not one with whom I could open a conversation about that. I suspect her behavior comes from a place of insecurity and perhaps from fear.

Had I not had the grounding of those two hours of silence in the name of peace the preceding day, I doubt I would have responded as quietly to this incident as I did. I am grateful for the inner peace that grows within me, for the peace that is, perhaps, beginning to leaf out all over my body. I pray it is so.

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For more on the Moment of Peace, visit their Facebook page, where you will find comments, photographs and videos from people who participated all around the world.

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We make peace in a million small ways every day.

All text and images, unless otherwise noted, copyright L. Kathryn Grace. All rights reserved.

My recurring iPhone factory nightmare

My iPhone 4S, iPad2 & WiFi keyboard
© L Kathryn Grace - All rights reserved

Ever since I read this Business Insider article in January, Your iPhone Was Built, In Part, By 13 Year-Olds Working 16 Hours A Day For 70 Cents An Hour, I have had a recurring nightmare.

It is dark when I rise from my narrow mattress. The lone bulb in our windowless room is still out, but the hallway light, always on, shines through the open doorway.

I am thirteen years old. My cot on the top bunk is so close to the ceiling that I cannot sit upright to grab my uniform from its hanger, a wire on a hook I thumb-screwed into the ceiling.

Carefully, so as not to waken the other girls sleeping on the top tier, I crawl across the foot of their bunks to the one butting against the doorway.

I shimmy silently down the post at the foot of the bunk, careful not to bump my head against the door jam. Our five bunk beds, each three tiers high, fill this little twelve foot by twelve foot room. There is no room for a door to open and close, so there is no door, only the doorway, through which each of us must crawl to get to our mattress, our only personal space in this massive tower, Building 54, we call home.

I run down the hall fast as I can to the restroom and shower quickly, scrubbing my skin hard. I hope that scrubbing will keep me from getting the nerve sickness others get from handling the chemicals we use to shine the tiny glass rectangles we polish all day long, every single day. I scrub my face and hands extra hard, trying to peel off any tiny bits of the chemicals.

I need this job. When my hands start shaking, the bosses will throw me out on the street. I will not have money to send home to my parents and grandparents for food and seed to plant the crops. I will not have a place to live. I will have to sell my body.

I finish my shower and dress in less than five minutes. Already, the showers are full of girls, rushing as I am. We are hungry. We must get to the cafeteria before it runs out of food and they lock the doors. 

Last night, I had to work later than usual. The cafeteria was closed when I got off work. My stomach aches with the hunger, but I am used to that. I want food because on the days I eat, I work faster. The bosses don't scream at me for making mistakes or going too slow on the days I get to eat before work.

Today I am lucky. I have to wait in line only thirty minutes before I reach the cafeteria door. I will eat this morning.

At 6:00 am, when the work bell rings, I am ready, at my station. I keep my head down, polishing the little glasses, one after another after another.

One of the bosses told me these glasses are the windows into iPhones. I don't know what an iPhone is. I have never seen one. The boss saw one once. He said it is magical. Bright lights in little squares. Touch one and you can talk to someone far away, as far away as America, where everyone has a magical iPhone. Touch another bright light and you can see a map that tells you where you are now and how to go somewhere else. I don't know how to imagine this map. Touch another light, and all the music that was ever played anywhere in the world pops up. You can choose what to listen to. I do not know how I would choose from all the music ever played anywhere in the world.

While I work, I try to concentrate on this glass that I am polishing right now. I try not to daydream about  music and maps and places to eat that have every food you can imagine. That is another thing the boss has seen on the magical iPhone.

The bell rings and we all stop and rush to the rest rooms. If I am quick enough, I will get there in time to go, but today others are ahead of me. I have learned to hold my water. I don't drink much anyway, just so I won't have to go if my shift is too long or the restroom lines too long. Lately, I feel a burning sensation every time I go, so I try to drink less so I have to go less.

I rush back to my station, standing straight as a stick and wait for the bell to ring, so I can start my work again. My hands are sore. My legs are swollen and ache. I will not complain. I do not want to be thrown into the street. I am grateful for this job. Grateful for the meager wages I send home to my family so they will have something to eat.

At 6:00 pm the bell rings. We all rush to the door. I am too slow to get out the door quickly. My feet do not want to carry me along the walkway. I hug the wall and walk slowly. Many of us hug the wall, as far as I can see in front, as far as I can see behind me.

I may not get to the cafeteria in time for supper, but I will try. I am small. I take a deep breath. Another, and push myself from the wall. I run between people, apologizing as I rush, too hungry to care much. Just in time! I reach the end of the cafeteria line two yards in front of the big yellow marker that means no more people will be fed tonight. I turn and look behind me. The hallway is packed as far as I can see. None of those people will eat tonight. I am a lucky one.

I get my tray and sit in a corner on the floor to eat. All of the tables are full. I toss the rice into my mouth as fast as I can swallow. In just a moment, the bell will ring. We have three more hours to work tonight.

Back on the line, my feet shoot pains up my legs. My arms feel like wooden dowels. My hands are thick and do not want to move any more. I polish and polish and polish, willing my hands to hold the little glass rectangles carefully, not to slip and drop them. The bosses walk behind us, screaming at us to hurry, hurry, hurry. Faster! Faster! Faster! They say we are lazy.

At 9 pm, the bell rings. No one rushes out the door this time. My feet feel like lead. I shuffle down the endless hallways, find a restroom with a line not so long and wait my turn. It hurts like knives to pee. I must drink less water tomorrow so I will not have to hold it so hard while I work.

At first, I think I will have to crawl under the bottom bunk and sleep on the floor. My hands will not grip the post to pull me up through the narrow doorway and onto the top bunk. Girls behind me are impatient. I try one more time. Success! I drag myself up the post, crawl across the other bunks to my mattress, carefully remove my uniform and hang it on the wire hanger from the ceiling hook.

I ache everywhere. I am cold. I am so tired. Glass rectangles spin past me again and again and again. I must sleep. Must sleep. Must. Sleep. Must.

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This is the nightmare that haunts me since I read Henry Blodgett's article on January 15. I own an iPhone. My partner and I own two iPads. My dream computer is a Mac Pro, that pencil thin one that fits in a manila envelope.

I work every day on one of two Dell computers we own, which were also made in China, so I understand.

How do I make peace with this? In small ways for now. I signed and shared this SumOfUs petition to Apple telling them to Make the iPhone5 Ethically. Tomorrow, if I can find the people who are hand carrying it to Apple's headquarters in Cupertino, I will travel there and help deliver it to the annual shareholder meeting.

I'll also continue to educate myself about the factories in China and elsewhere and report on what I've learned. My voice is a small one, but I will be silent about this no longer.

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We make peace in a million small ways every day.

All text and images, unless otherwise noted, copyright L. Kathryn Grace. All rights reserved.

What the plaza teaches me when I stand for peace today

Elderly couple, two of the regulars we see
each week during our stand
© L Kathryn Grace - All rights reserved

Sharon, the other grandmother with whom I stand for peace in front of San Francisco City Hall each week, is sick today--flu bug. For the first time, I stand by myself. Surprisingly, I do not feel alone.

It is chilly this morning. I wish I'd worn longjohns under my trousers. Seeking comfort, I stand close to one of the pollarded trees at the front of the sycamore grove.

Suddenly, heat flows from the tree, mere inches away, as though she sensed my chill and radiated extra just for me. Somehow she has warmth to spare until the sun peaks over the tall buildings behind us, casting its bright rays across the plaza, dancing off the gold leaf trim on City Hall.

One by one, the Saturday morning regulars file by: The young man with the long, blond hair, always in sweat pants, pacing steadily and slowly round the plaza perimeter, a half smile on his face; the two Chinese women, about my age, who take their exercise in the grove, vigorously stretching, their voices happy, animated, sometimes laughing; and finally, the elderly couple.

At first, as always, she pushes the wheel chair just behind her husband until, fatigued, he stops and steps back so she can help him sit down, ever so gently. She turns the chair and waits patiently while a family of tourists--little ones, teenagers, moms and dads, perhaps an aunt or uncle, grandparents--pose for a picture. The gilding on City Hall's rotunda and doors sparkle behind them.

Each member of the family must have a picture. In twos and threes, they trade places, stepping from the little group to face them, shouting instructions as individuals regroup and pose for the shot.

One of the older men coughs violently, walks all the way to the street, spits into the gutter and returns. Having lived in the city for a number of years, experienced all manner of rude behavior, so much that I expect it rather than thoughtfulness, I feel a heart-tug blessing at this simple gesture: Showing respect for his family, the plaza, for the people who walk and recreate and work here.

While she waits for the family to get their photographs, the old woman removes a glove from her husband's hand and rubs it with both of hers, massaging his arm through his jacket, all the way to the shoulder. He leans sideways in the chair, as though their short walk so fatigued him he cannot sit straight.

All the while, his wife smiles at the family and their children, at their happiness in being here together, their animation.

Happy tourist family posing while other family
members snap their pix
© L Kathryn Grace - All rights reserved

A man with a dog, blind in one eye, comes along. The dog is as big as the Shetland pony we saw here last week, (America's Got Talent was auditioning and yes, people brought their dog and pony shows). The children ask if they can pet the dog, while the entire family gathers round, admiring this enormous animal, asking questions. Soon the cameras come out once more. Everyone must have a picture of the family posing with the tall American and his enormous, fluffy, one-eyed dog.

When they've finished with their pictures, one of the men breaks away from the group and approaches me. In age, he is nearly in the middle: Younger than the senior couple of their company, older than the young couple, possibly grandfather to the children.

"Excuse me," he says in broken English, gently polite, smiling. "Do you know name of these trees?"

His question touches my heart. He has noticed them, these trees in whom I take comfort each week, cares enough to wonder what they are. Behind him, his family eagerly watches us. The trees matter to them as well.

They may be sycamores, I tell him, judging by their mottled bark. Later, I'll confirm my guess online; I've always meant to look it up. He smiles again. So do I.

Giving and receiving small blessings, we make peace

Such small things: The warmth and strength from the tree next to me; the woman rubbing her husband's arms to keep the circulation going while she waits patiently for the family to finish their excited picture taking; the man and his family, joyful in their time together, giving care for the other people who use this plaza, and curious about these trees, standing military-column straight in their truncated deformity; the man with his dog, engaging with this family from another land.

These small things bring peace to my heart as easily as my grandaughters' smiles. Taking my meditation in this public place, I am blessed. My heart beats softly in my chest, my limbs supple, warm in the sun.

I give gratitude for my stand today, for these trees, for their ability to communicate if we are still enough to pay attention, for the laughter and smiles and love of these people, one for the other, and for the privilege of witnessing their love.

May each and every one of them, each and every one of you who find this page, be so blessed, wherever you may be, whatever your day may hold.

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I've been absent from this blog for a few weeks. I'll tell you about that in a couple of days. At least, that's the plan. I have posted pix and short bits about each of our stands for peace on another page. You can see it here: Two Grandmothers Stand for Peace.

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We make peace in a million small ways every day.

All text and images, unless otherwise noted, copyright L. Kathryn Grace. All rights reserved.

One simple meditation step you can use every day

Mom's garden, from the meditation bench
© L Kathryn Grace - All rights reserved

Yesterday, in Bliss in the Dentist's Chair, I promised to share the simple meditation technique I learned years ago that made my trip to the oral surgeon so easy.

For years I studied meditation techniques. All too often, I felt tension at the thought of sitting down to meditate. How in the world could I possibly empty my mind as the books and teachers suggested? My mind is never empty! One day, somewhere along the way, I read about a simple technique of focusing ever so gently on the breath.

I wish I knew where I read it, possibly in one of Pema Chadron's books.

Here's the gist of it: Set a gentle timer to let you know when the time is up. Ten minutes is perfect for a quick, restorative session in a busy day.

Sit comfortably, feet flat on the floor, or tucked tailor fashion.

Set your intention for ease. This is not about doing it right. There is no wrong way. Ease is the important word here.

Now, focus your attention on the breath coming into your left nostril. Cool air in.

Next, focus your attention on the breath coming out your left nostril. Warm air out.

That's it. Thoughts will come. Acknowledge them. Give them a mental bow. Thank them, perhaps. Or just gently acknowledge them. Then, just as gently, return your focus to the breath coming into your left nostril. Cool air in. Warm air out.

Repeat as frequently as needed until the timer signals the end of the session.

Remember, there is no right and no wrong, just gentle focusing and refocusing on the breath at the tip of your nostril. Cool air in. Warm air out.

For a more full version of this meditation, see Ten Minute Meditation. If you've never tried something like this, give it a go and let me know how it feels, will you please?

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We make peace in a million small ways every day.

All text and images, unless otherwise noted, copyright L. Kathryn Grace. All rights reserved.

Bliss in the dentist's chair

From Mandalas in Nature
© Sharon L Richardson - All rights reserved
Used with permission

The building is old, probably built after the 1906 earthquake. The elevator creaks as it carries us to the thirteenth floor. The bathroom is small and not too clean, the paper towel dispenser empty. I wipe my hands on my pants and head for the waiting room.

How tiny it is! Dimly lit, the black and white decor looks like something from a Mickey Spillane detective novel, but the neat, young woman behind the counter is no gum-chewing Mike Hammer moll. Ordinarily, I might feel claustrophobic, but I'm still in walking meditation, and the serenity of my earlier morning meditation stays with me.

Although I'm early, and before I've settled into one of only two chairs, the surgeon's assistant calls me to an equally tiny operating room, where I will sacrifice two wisdom teeth. This room, too, is sparsely furnished, the reclining dental chair narrow, with no support for my neck. I ask for and receive a pillow.

Artificial flowers in a vase of clear glass marbles stand on the windowsill. I wish they were real and notice, gratefully, that they are not dusty. I ask if the blinds can be opened so I can see the sky. The doctor adjusts them himself.

This is definitely a no-frills office. There is no overhead monitor, no offer of earphones and a favorite radio station, TV show or movie to distract me during the procedure. I am grateful for that, too.

The doctor asks how I am. I smile and say truthfully, "Fine. It's a beautiful day." We make eye contact, and I see again the peace I noticed in his eyes the other day, when I met him for the first time. This is a calm man, a man who is comfortable in his skin and his work. We exchange a few words, and I ask him to keep me informed throughout the procedure. "Tell me what you're doing as we go along." He says he will. In the beginning, he remembers. Later, when it's all over, he takes a moment to tell me what he forgot, or perhaps chose not to tell me, during the procedure.

Holding peace through a chemically induced panic attack

Yellow blossom with red center
Credit: Mandalas in Nature
© Sharon L Richardson - All rights reserved

A few days ago, during the consultation, we discussed my fear of epinephrine, the synthetic adrenaline in the numbing medication, and how, physiologically, it mimics panic attacks, from which I suffered terribly as a young woman. He explained his reasons for preferring this drug over other numbing agents and prescribed Valium to mitigate its effects.

I have chosen to accept his wisdom regarding the epinephrine, but not the Valium. (See Monday's Zen and the Art of Tooth Extraction.) I had Valium, or a generic version, once before and it knocked me out physically, but not mentally. The panic attacks for which it was prescribed kept coming. In a stupor that caused me to pass out repeatedly, I had no physical, mental or emotional resources left to respond to the persistent sensation that my ever-faster-racing heart was about to explode. I was a terrified mind in a body I could not move.

Monday morning, trusting in my ability to calm myself with meditation, I decide not to take the tranquilizer. So far, all is well. I have been in a state of utter peace all morning, and continue to feel--well, to be truthful--I feel bliss.

I have never been more relaxed in a dentist's chair. When the chemically induced panicky feeling begins, I feel slightly detached. I notice my rapidly beating heart, my shallow breathing, and gently lay my hands over my chest, Reiki style, feeling immediate ease. The doctor asks if I am all right. I smile crookedly, through the mobile side of my face, and nod yes.

While my heart continues to pound, I feel none of the usual fight or flight panic, not even when the lower tooth breaks and he uses a shrieking drill to grind away the rest of the tooth. I come away feeling happy and at ease, my mouth stuffed with a wad of cotton between my now-void gums, my tongue thick as a caboose, the right side of my face swollen nearly twice its size.

Who knew one could feel joy after having wisdom teeth pulled?

Pink blossom
© L Kathryn Grace - All rights reserved

Blue sky is brilliant in the noon-time sun. Union Square is lively with people; chandeliers in an upscale jewelry store sparkle brilliantly. Plants in the new sidewalk mini-park on Powell Street seem vibrantly healthy and green. Cable car drivers ring their bells.

This comfort and feeling of well-being after a visit to the dentist for a routine procedure would be remarkable any day. After having wisdom teeth extracted, it is nothing short of a miracle, all because of the simple of act of spending a few minutes each day focusing on nothing but breath.

For years I struggled to meditate properly. Often as not, the struggle to clear my mind and attain total detachment and emptiness left me more tense than when I began. Then one day I discovered a simple secret that changed meditation for me forever. I'll share a bit of that tomorrow. For now, I am grateful for the power of meditation--this simple, small, regular practice--how it restores, informs, educates, and heals.

I know a number of you who read me regularly also meditate. How does meditation help you through difficult events? I'm interested in all stories, no matter how big or small the event. The more we share, the more we can learn from one another, would you agree?

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We make peace in a million small ways every day.

All text and images, unless otherwise noted, copyright L. Kathryn Grace. All rights reserved.

Zen and the Art of Tooth Extraction

Val's Purple Spiral
Credit: Sharon L Richardson - All rights reserved
Used with permission

Here I am in my sixties, finally getting two wisdom teeth pulled. I never really got into Zen, but I do meditate regularly. Turns out that routine practice is mighty handy today.

The entire procedure should take less than thirty minutes, but the surgeon wants me to arrive heavily doped with Valium. The pharmacist had a trace of alarm in his voice when he saw the dosage, a faux pas he covered quickly, but not before raising the already considerable anxiety I felt about taking these drugs to a whole new level, miles high.

The surgeon wants a calm, relaxed patient. If I'm passing out in his chair, I'll be outwardly calm, meeting his need, but I know from past experience that my brain and my body will be doing everything on the inside to counteract the effects of the drug. Very likely, I'll have a panic attack I cannot control with meditative focus or breathing. Fight or flight syndrome will rage through my mostly paralyzed body. I've actually considered cancelling the procedure rather than face that chemically induced fear.

I'm not too keen, either, on slamming pain killers afterward into my already heavily drugged body, along with the antibiotics I have to take.

Here's where routine meditation practice comes to the rescue. The past few days, I meditated more than usual. It helped me stay in a soft place, especially the walking meditation. Whenever I thought about the drugs, however, my anxiety spiked. My heart rate and breathing accelerated. I felt clammy.

This morning, during my routine waking meditation, I realized that I would be far more calm in the dental chair if I did not take the Valium. Years of practice lend the tools to be calm and responsive to the surgeon's needs without forcing myself into a crazy, drugged stupor that, paradoxically, has the opposite effect. Plus, I will eliminate one powerful drug from my body, leaving more energy for healing the wounds.

In a few hours, I will be home again, recovering, resting and giving my body what it needs to heal. I'm not keen on giving up a part of my body that has been with me all my life, but I understand this sacrifice will result in better quality of life for the remainder of my years, so I accept it. I accept, too,  that antibiotics and pain killers may be a necessary part of my recovery. Letting go of the idea of chemically tranquilizing myself, knowing it tends to have the opposite effect, I have never felt so calm going into a procedure like this.

I give gratitude to all my teachers over the years, human and Spirit.

Hmmm. I wonder how this would work next time I get my hair cut.

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We make peace in a million small ways every day.

All text and images, unless otherwise noted, copyright L. Kathryn Grace. All rights reserved.

Peaceful morning on our way to Stand for Peace

January's fall colors as we head out to stand for peace
© L Kathryn Grace

It's a calm, peaceful morning as we two grandmothers head out to stand for peace.The neighborhood is quiet, with just a few folks grabbing coffee from the local shops, a few slow-moving cars. No honking!

As I prepare for our seventh stand, I ask for peace in my heart, peace in my soul, and a stillness of being that I might hear and understand next steps, not only for today, but for 2012.

More to come.

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We make peace in a million small ways every day.

All text and images, unless otherwise noted, © L. Kathryn Grace. All rights reserved.

Standing for peace after Zap! Bam! Pow!

San Francisco City Hall
Our sixth stand for peace
© L Kathryn Grace - All rights reserved

Okay, it wasn't exactly Zap! Bam! Pow! We had words. Saturday, the last day of 2011, in our mini version of The Great Silent Grandmother Gathering, Sharon and I  stood for peace in front of City Hall for the sixth week in a row. We'd had a rough morning.

The phone rang early--one of those calls that pushes buttons. "I can't talk about this now," she said. "I need to feel peaceful before our stand."

One of the things that makes our relationship work, always has, is our willingness to talk through whatever comes up.

My 7-year-old rears her rebellious head

It never fails to amaze me how quickly I can revert to a hurt seven year old mentality and want to lash out in anger and frustration. Sometimes I do.

Saturday morning, getting that phone call as we prepared for our stand, I felt the flush and rush of blood to my head. Not wanting to start something big, I chose my words carefully. Not carefully enough.

I wanted to take care of the issue right now. She wanted to wait. I get a strong physiological response when I feel I have to squelch feelings. I know very well what the term "my blood boiled" means. Sometimes I stomp around, muttering obscenities. Sometimes I remember in time, before I've said things I'll regret, to put certain coping mechanisms to use. It's a kind of litany.

Breathe.
Breathe again.
What am I feeling?
Mad? Okay. Yeah, I'm mad. Arrrrrggggghhhh.
What do I want to feel?
Calm. Peace.
Breathe.
What can I do about this?
Breathe.
Breathe.
Let answers come.
Urnnnggghhhh! Don't want to be adult and peaceful. Rrrggggg.
Breathe.
Still mad.
Okay.
Breathe.
How is she feeling? Mm-hmmm. Okay. But what about ... ?

Breathe.
I love her.
Breathe.
How can I support her in this while acknowledging my own feelings? (Yeah, I tend to get cerebral.)

Breathe.

And so it goes. We've known each other for nearly a quarter century.. We know each other's patterns. We trust, each, the other to return and talk through whatever our issue, when the time is right. Saturday morning, we didn't have enough time. We left the house, shoulders a bit high, tension in our steps. Breathing.

Then there's 'righteous' anger

Street Person on a far warmer morning than last Saturday
Image Credit: Puravida
A morgueFile Free Photo

A few minutes later, we walked from the train, past far too many homeless people curled in their sleeping bags and blankets against the bitter cold, some up already, stamping their feet, hugging their sides.

I never walk past these folks without being aware how precarious our own financial situation, how easily we might find ourselves among them, should our economy take another protracted nose dive in 2012.

That morning, having breathed and calmed myself, having reached a state of equilibrium on the train, I felt anger seething under my skin again as I walked past an overturned wheelchair, it's occupant cocooned in a sleeping bag on the hard pavement, a small backpack at his feet.

How easily my anger bubbles, not only at home when triggered at just the wrong moment, but at injustice, the pervasive injustice that is homelessness, that is lack of medical care, that is hunger in the richest country in the world.

Walking past an upright, blanket-shrouded man, his face and hands black with street dirt, his eyes red and a little crazed, I recognized the faces I put on my anger. The Koch Brothers. Dick Cheney. The Bush family. Icons of the uber wealthy and the people who serve their purposes in Washington, D.C., our state capitols, San Francisco City Hall.

As we approached that gilded dome, once glowing, now fading to bird-streaked charcoal in this economy that fills the coffers of the rich while feeding and housing ever fewer, this faded poorly kept  monument to capitalism and tenacity, whose dome is the fifth largest in the world, taller than the US Capitol, I felt the anger I carry in my body, anger I face each day.

Being peace when I might choose rage

Every single day I struggle for balance between being the peace I want to see in the world and fuming  at one atrocity after another, at my failure to meet the need to find some way to mitigate and change the suffering caused by human greed and carelessness. Each day, throughout the day, I stop and breathe.

Breathe.
I have been here before, many times. I acknowledge these feelings. I fold my hands and bow to them. Namaste.
Breathe.

I ask for guidance, if only for the next step.
Breathe.

It works. On Saturday it worked. Peace entered my heart, a warmth starting at the core of my heart, and spreading outward.

Image Credit: Sharon L Richardson
From Re-Imagining Peace
All rights reserved - Used with permission

Breathing, I acknowledged again the anger, the suffering.
Breathing, I accepted what is.
Breathing, I knew there was--is--a better way.
Breathing, I asked for guidance.

Making peace

All the while, as we walked, we talked quietly of our altercation earlier and how our stand informs our responses and is informed by our feelings and actions. Breathing, I gave gratitude for this mini-eruption, this opportunity to practice our intention to bring peace into the world.

We do not stand for peace merely to make a visible, public stand. We stand for peace to change our own hearts.

Standing for peace is not only a ritual, it is a way of becoming peace.

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We make peace in a million small ways every day.

All text and images, unless otherwise noted, copyright L. Kathryn Grace. All rights reserved.

Imagine awakening in a world without greed, only love

Deer in aspen meadow
Photographer: Terry Perryman, all rights reserved
Used with permission

For the next few days, perhaps longer, I ask you to take a journey with me, a journey that helps us  imagine a world, our world, as it might be if only love motivated us, if there were no greed, if there were no broken hearts attempting to compensate for childhood lack and cruelty. It's a bit of a stretch, I know. Very likely, each of us suffers today from cruelties present and past. I do know what it is I ask of you. Still, I ask.

Begin

You know the old adage. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Will you take it with me?

Here's how we begin. Get comfortable in your body, take a few long, slow breaths as you read this, let your mind find calm. Open to the possibility, just the possibility, of a life, a world, so full of love there can be only harmony.

We start easy, imagining what it would be like to waken every morning in such a world. If there were no greed, there would be no need for alarm clocks. We would waken when our bodies were ready. We would have time to stretch luxuriously, like a cat, lengthening our muscles and limbs languidly, gently, feeling the goodness of our bodies, their wholeness, their beauty.

We would have time to place our hands, warm with healing energy, over spots needing a bit of extra attention and love, perhaps a stiff shoulder, a crick in the neck, and always lying a few minutes over the heart chakra. We would smile with pleasure at the extraordinary heat flowing between our heart and our hands, spreading throughout our bodies.

Like Rose in Wake, the first Village of Ordinary post, we might enjoy the company of a feline companion, waking and stretching with us, or perhaps we would reach down and find the hand of our partner and bask in the quiet joy of waking beside our lover each day.

In a world without greed, we need hurry only because we are anxious to greet the dawn, eager to run into the morning air, feel the breeze on our face, dispatch our chores and get on with the work we love, work for which we receive no pay, work that is its own reward, that gives us intense pleasure.

But first, perhaps we'd sit with a cup of tea, wrap our hands around a mug the artisan, our neighbor, made just for us, knowing our habits, our favorite colors, the little things that surprise and delight us. The mug would fit perfectly in our hands, a treasure we enjoy every single morning with gratitude and love.

We might cut ourselves a slice of yesterday's bread, baked fresh in our neighborhood bakery, butter it with sweet creamery butter we ourselves churned, butter that came from a cow whose name and temperament we know well, whose flanks we have laid our cheek against as we milked her.

This is one way we might start our day in a world so filled with love we can barely imagine it.

Share your vision

If we lived in such a world, how would you waken each morning? I encourage you to vision it with me, either here in the comments, or better still, on your own blog, wherever you create. Share your vision with the rest of the world. If you do so, please post a link here, so the rest of us can read your vision, partake of it too.

What we visualize we can make real.

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We make peace in a million small ways every day.

All text and images, unless otherwise noted, copyright L. Kathryn Grace. All rights reserved.

Gifts from the heart

Bringing in the Christmas Tree, watercolor by Grannie Annie
Used with permission

My favorite winter holiday is Solstice, but my family tradition is Christmas. Like many of European descent, I am flushed with the scurry of last minute gifts and details as we count down the last few days.

You probably noticed how tough it is, still, to find just the right gifts that also do no harm to planet or people in their manufacture and shipping. As a society, we're still on the cusp of creating enough demand for Fair Trade, green and organic gift items and shipping policies. I made a lot of compromises.

Crocheted dish cloths
© L Kathryn Grace
All rights reserved

One fun gift that wasn't a compromise this year was a handmade dish cloth I tucked into my family gift boxes. I so enjoyed the organic cotton Toockiesdish cloths I discovered last summer that I decided to make my own. Crocheting dish cloths turned out to be fun. Sure, I could have bought the finished Toockies at lower cost than the organic cotton yarn all by itself. I could have saved time too.

But as I hooked the yarn over and under, the soft thread pulling through my fingers, I thought about each member of my family, imagined their hands in the soapy water with the little scrubbers. Seeing their hands reminded me of times together, times when our hands have touched. Weddings, births, holidays and birthdays, just getting together for tea and a long chat, the time we waited for the surgeon after my daughter's automobile accident, Dad's illness and death, our later celebration of his life and love.

I don't think I enjoy any gift so much as one a family member made--or chose--that I can use every day. I think of my sister every time I walk into my bedroom and see the little China dish with the roses on the lip. She picked that dish out for me more than half a century ago, when she was three and I was ten. Next to it, the miniature China vase she gave me ten years later. Both are treasures that always bring a smile to my face.

On a shelf in my dining room, a tattered box another sister gave me twenty or so years ago. In it I keep little treasures from the grandchildren, notes from my mother or sweetheart I forget all about and love to discover anew. She's the same sister who every year sends us a colorful handmade ornament, an annual treasure that feels like love because I sense her hands and keen mind as I touch them.

Quan Yin Figurine with vase and bowl
copy; L Kathryn Grace
All rights reserved

Not a meal passes that I don't pick up a tool, bowl or bottle someone dear selected for us. There's the mug with my oldest grandchild's handprint. Her mama and I imprinted a slew of the mugs with the baby's tiny hand when she was only five weeks old. Two weeks later, this one showed up under our tree.

On the buffet ledge above my desk, you will see the small unframed water color in the image first above. Mom did that sketch, a self-portrait with my dad, bringing in the fir tree. This one would decorate the living room. In each of two bedrooms, another, smaller tree. Christmas is my mother's favorite holiday

So many small treasures around the house. These are the gifts I love. And so, as I tucked my slightly crooked, decidely un-cost-effective handmade dish cloths into my gift boxes this year, I took pleasure in the thought that those hands I love so dearly, the hardworking, generous hands of the people I cherish, may touch these crazy cloths many times throughout the year. Perhaps their recipients will feel a little of the love I feel for them, will remember they are cherished.

Or maybe they'll go, "Ugh! What was she thinking?" and toss them in a drawer. You never know.

May your hearts be filled with peace and love as you travel through this week of food, gifts and giving. May the spirits you share, be they liquid or heavenly, warm your body and your soul.

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We make peace in a million small ways every day.

All text and images, unless otherwise noted, copyright L. Kathryn Grace. All rights reserved.

Good News Friday: The Revolution is Love

When the Revolution is Love video popped up on my screen, I almost clicked away without a look. What a treasure I would have missed! What hope, what sheer joy for the change that is happening right now. Folks, our young people are leading the way to a world the rest of us have imagined but too often despaired could exist in our lifetimes. And they're doing it with verve.

In this short film, Sacred Economicsauthor Charles Eisenstein, snags my attention from the get-go. Speaking of the Occupy movement, he says it's not about us (99 percent) versus them (1 percent).

This movement isn't about the 99 percent defeating or toppling the 1 percent. You know the next chapter of that story, which is that the 99 percent create a new 1 percent. That's not what it's about. What we want to create is the more beautiful world our hearts tell us is possible, a sacred world, a world that works for everybody.

That's just for starters. Such wisdom in one young body. I give deepest gratitude for this man and for the people who made this video. Watch. Take heart. Share. The revolution is love, and that's the best news possible.



More than ever, I can see a world like Ordinary approaching. Will it take work? Sure. Will there be plenty of heartache? Of course. Is it possible now? What do you think?

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Disclosure: Should you click on the Amazon link in this post and make a purchase, it is possible I might make a few pennies on the sale. Wouldn't that be a thrill.

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We make peace in a million small ways every day.

All text and images, unless otherwise noted, copyright L. Kathryn Grace. All rights reserved.

Ordinary Hero: Abigail Borah, her COP 17 plea heard round the world

Screen shot of Abigail Borah speaking out at COP 17
Democracy Now! video

This week in Durban, South Africa, the United Nations concluded its seventeenth conference on climate change. Abigail Borah, a Middlebury College Student, flew to Copenhagen to attend the talks, along with many other youth concerned about their future.

Disturbed by the failure of the United States and other nations to address the immediacy of the situation, Abigail penned a short statement, stood up, and "with trembling hands," read it to the assembly.

2020 is too late to wait

The conference chair told her "No one is listening to you." Todd Stern, the United States delegate about to address the assembly waited with rather a condescending pose. (I want to believe he was secretly glad for her stand.) Abigail, an ordinary person who could not and would not be afforded an officially sanctioned microphone at these talks, persevered, determined to be heard. Here is her statement.

I am speaking on behalf of the United States of America because my negotiators cannot. The obstructionist Congress has shackled justice and delayed ambition for far too long. I am scared for my future. We need an urgent path to a fair, ambitious, and legally binding treaty. You must take responsibility to act now, or you will threaten the lives of youth and the world's most vulnerable. You must set aside partisan politics and let science dictate decisions. You must pledge ambitious targets to lower emissions, not expectations. 2020 is too late to wait.

Why I stood up and spoke out

Despite the ultimate failure of the talks to take action now, it gives me some small ray of hope that the audience applauded Abigail as she was led from the hall.

Immediately after Abigail's impromptu speech, Todd Stern hastened to call a press conference, where he refuted Abigail's assertions regarding the US do-nothing approach.  In this Democracy Now! video titled, "I'm Scared For My Future": Student Disrupts Speech By US Climate Envoy Todd Stern in Durban" (7.3 minutes), watch and hear Abigail read her statement, followed by an excerpt from Stern's press conference.



It is important to note that one day following Stern's assertion that the United States was not standing in the way of a legally binding agreement, the State Department issued a statement saying otherwise.

You can read the whole story, in Abigail's eloquent words, here, in Why I stood up and spoke out.

Ordinary Heroes Award
© L Kathryn Grace

Abigail Borah, in speaking out as you did, you risked arrest, potentially putting your reputation and your future in jeopardy, yet you acted. Rather than become immobilized by fear, you used your fear to take a dramatic stand and to power your voice--a voice literally heard round the world.

For your courage, for your commitment to making change, for speaking for millions who feel as you do, for being one of the thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands working to create a better world, a good world, you are an Ordinary Hero and my hero. I bow to you in deepest gratitude.

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We make peace in a million small ways every day.

All text and images, unless otherwise noted, copyright L. Kathryn Grace. All rights reserved.

Imaginal cells, nutrient soup and the Summer of Peace

Caterpillar image by beamish
A morgueFile Free Photo

Imaginal cells. Microbiologist and philosopher Elisabet Sahtouris tells of imaginal cells, biologists' term for the cells in a mutating pupa that feed on the caterpillar's body, now a "nutrient soup," and transform into a totally different organism, a butterfly.

Sahtouris likens our current human state to that of the caterpillar, consuming everything in sight in preparation for its long sleep and transformation.

The caterpillar is focused only on survival until, bloated, it hangs itself from a branch and falls asleep. Its skin hardens into a protective covering, and the imaginal cells that have been accumulating for some time burgeon.

You and I, Sahtouris says, are imaginal cells. As we waken, become more and more aware, we feed off the nutrients of our culture even as we transform it to something new and utterly beautiful.

Enter the Summer of Peace 2012

Butterfly image by mrmac04
A morgueFile Free Photo

One way we imaginal cells are transforming our world is through a vast, worldwide network of peace builders. The Shift Network hopes to expand and amplify this network through its Summer of Peace 2012 initiative.

In a talk last night at the Red Victorian Peace Cafe on Haight Street here in San Francisco, Shift Network Program Director Philip Hellmich spoke on plans for the Summer of Peace.

The Summer of Peace begins on the solstice, June 22, and concludes on the fall equinox, September 21. If you haven't heard of it, here's a synopsis of the vision from the web site.

The Summer of Peace 2012 is a global celebration of and call to action for inner and outer Peace ... and will feature media campaigns, online actions, conferences, music concerts, film festivals and grassroots activities around the world. All the activities will be designed to accelerate humanity’s shift to a culture of Peace.

The Summer of Peace 2012 aims to involve leaders from many sectors ranging from Nobel Peace Prize laureates to business, education, media, religious, military, and non-profit leaders.

Our overarching goal is to activate the largest global commitment to Peace in one season in the history of humankind mobilizing grassroots participation of people worldwide

Summer of Peace 2012 Vision

Did you catch that reference to including military leaders in the mix? We need to stop fear-based ideology, Hellmich says, and replace it with acknowledging and celebrating what works. Even the world's military, like every other human enterprise, is evolving, he says.

People within the military establishment are learning new, non-violent ways of making and preserving peace, and they're training others. Hellmich witnessed such peacekeeping and peace building activities when he worked in Sierra Leone during the civil war and genocide there some years ago. Without the military peacekeepers, he says, there would be no peace there today.

Of course, he doesn't give all credit to the military. They were just one part of the peacemaking process. He cited a complex and sometimes disarmingly simple set of strategies and individuals that resulted, ultimately, in the end of unspeakable violence.

I wish you could have heard his talk. There is so much more I'ld like to share. I'll leave you with just one nugget. You may have seen in the first line of the quotation above that the Summer of Peace calls for action for both inner and outer peace. Hellmich's first call to action was that we implement a daily peace practice, if we don't already have one--meditation, prayer, whatever works to strengthen our inner peace.

I can attest that something as simple as standing for peace in silence five minutes each day changes the heart, changes how I relate to others. Another useful strategy, especially in times of stress, is to take ten to meditate. You can do it any where, any time with no one the wiser to quickly reduce stress and calm frazzled nerves.

With regular inner peace practice, Hellmich contends, and I agree wholeheartedly, heck, I've said it here plenty of times, we facilitate peace building in our lives, rippling out to the world.

One tiny example: How often has a friendly smile and kind remark lifted your spirits at the end of a long day and sent you on your way smiling too? People smile back when they see a happy person walking down the street. When their spirits are lifted, they smile at others.

Smiling at our neighbors as we encounter them on the street is an act of both inner and outer peace. Could we really kill each other once we got in the habit of smiling genuinely each time we met? I wonder.

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We make peace in a million small ways every day.

All text and images, unless otherwise noted, copyright L. Kathryn Grace. All rights reserved.

Grabbing the dragon's tail and hanging on as if our lives depended on it

GA National Fair 2006 by peachyqueen
A morgueFile Free Photo

Sometimes living consciously and being informed feels like trying to ride a dragon's tail.

I don't know about you, but every single day I get dozens of appeals for money, to sign petitions, to call my representatives and senators, to write to this company or that, and always again for more money. Take a look at the first six emails in my inbox this morning.

• Greenpeace - "Dear Kathryn, Kill more mother whales? That’s what the Japanese government wants to do." This opening gambit is followed by lurid pictures and graphic details that break my heart.
• People for the American Way - Michael Keegan wants me to take a survey on the 2012 presidential election. It's important because "if we are not fully engaged this year, we could actually end up with a far-right Tea Party extremist President [sic] who supports" almost everything that puts fear in my heart and curdles my blood.
• Alliance for a Healthier Generation - I don't know who these people are or how I got on their list. They want me to help reduce the rate of childhood obesity--a noble cause. In addition to asking for donations, they want me to buy their branded products and gift them to my friends and family this season.
• American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) - It's their year-end rapid-response fundraiser and they need money right this minute because "people count on you and the ACLU. And lately they've really needed us. That's because there's been an all-out assault on civil liberties — in Congress, and in statehouses and courtrooms all across the country." How well I know.
• Grameen Foundation - "This holiday season, Grameen Foundation is making it easy to honor the special people in your life and help us empower the world's poorest at the same time." They want money too.
• Earthjustice - Their president is giving me a chance to help them help the president make history: "President Obama is stuffing America's stocking on Friday with the first-ever limits on deadly toxics [sic] from coal-fired power plants. This can be a truly historic moment for Obama—if he goes far enough." They need money to up the pressure.

Grabbing the dragon's tail

This morning, before sitting down to the inevitable tales of atrocities, miscarriages of justice and desperate, shameless, sometimes heartbreaking appeals for money, I opened again the book that gave me such courage this fall: William Powers' Twelve by Twelve.

On this page, he tells of his first conversation with Jackie, the owner of the tiny cabin in which unexpectedly and very soon he will live for forty days.

Powers is just back from ten years working overseas to mitigate poverty and save the rainforest. His dad is in the hospital, recovering from a life-threatening illness. Deep in culture shock upon his return to the US, he is at odds with his work. Futility and despair lurk between the lines.

Jackie, a medical doctor, could have chosen a lucrative practice and retired anywhere. Instead, she served her community's poorest. After her children went to college, she asked for and received a reduction in salary. She lives on $11,000 a year, below the tax threshold.

Jackie explains her choice to "live like a Bangladeshi," in a tiny cabin without electricity or plumbing and grow her own food. She is "part of a more durable future," her life "tied into the growing slow food, environmental, and antiwar movements." Inexplicably, she tells Powers, "'It all centers around a question ... Where do you grab the dragon's tail?'"

The question puzzles me. Apparently Powers is as puzzled as I. They talk more, then he asks her, "'Where do you grab the dragon's tail?'"

"'Where the suffering grabs you the most.'"

So I do. Each day, I respond to those appeals I can and delete the rest. Not without a sigh, not without regret, but delete them I do.

Each day I try to become a little better informed, a little more aware of what is wrong in the world, and what is right! (That last does not fill up my inbox.)

And each day, [insert rude expletive here], I do what tiny bit I can to build that more durable world. Whether it is buying organic cotton and fair trade products, standing for peace, going 'pooless, kicking my paper towel habit, or taking a walk to strengthen my aging bones, I do what I can.

Hanging on as if our lives depended on it

That dragon's tail whips about ferociously. Day after day, I grab it and hang on for dear life, crawl up the dragon's back and whisper in its ear:

I know you have a human heart. I know you are capable of compassion and love. You, too, would benefit from a better world, a more durable world. Heck, imagine the joy if you used your might and power to build a truly good world, one more like the Village of Ordinary.

Most of you who read me have blogs that I read as well. What gives me strength to hang on is your persistence in grabbing your dragons' tails. Thank you for continuing to write your truth, whatever it may be.

Your voices matter. They give me courage. Sometimes you make me laugh. Sometimes you make me cry. Thank you for writing. Thank you for your persistence. Thank you for hanging on.

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Disclosure: Should you click on the Amazon link in this post and make a purchase, it is possible I might make a few pennies on the sale. Wouldn't that be a thrill.

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We make peace in a million small ways every day.

All text and images, unless otherwise noted, copyright L. Kathryn Grace. All rights reserved.

Love on Cole, Mae West, minstrels, and angels for sale on Haight

Love on Cole at Haight
© L Kathryn Grace
All rights reserved

I'm shopping locally as much as possible this year, avoiding the Big Box stores, and it's so much fun. This afternoon, walking down San Francisco's Haight Street, what a treat! Strike that, what treats! As you might imagine, Haight Street, between Ashbury and Golden Gate Park, is always interesting.

Swaggering right at me, in all her Christmas finery, Mae West: Huge red Victorian hat festooned with sweeping white plumes; red and white organza gown wrapped seductively in form-fitting layers with just the right pleated flounce from mid-calf to the tips of her red and white button boots; around her scarlet-clad arms and running off her lace-tipped fingers, a white furry stole and muff; under that hat, super blonde sausage curls, and plenty of makeup.

Sadly, rather than flashing a glittering Mae West smile, she scowled at me as we passed. I'd have taken a pic of her retreating figure--and what a figure she cut--but by the time I fished my cell phone from my pocket she had sauntered half a block away.

Returning from Mendel's Far Out Fabrics, where I found the gorgeous reusable ribbon I needed for tying my packages and, unexpectedly, just the right gift for my budding artist granddaughter, I heard  strains of absolutely spellbinding music. A crowd gathered round a doorway, uncharacteristically silent. Inching closer, I saw them: Six ragtag musicians assembled on the steps leading into an apartment building, playing either classical music I've never heard or a new composition that should one day become part of the repertoire.

There were a bass fiddle, a cello, violin, two guitars, and some kind of sweet percussion I couldn't quite see around the corner. The music followed me a ways and then it was gone, lost in the distance. My smile and the peace and joy I felt lasted all the way home.

Further down the street, I passed a store with a sign in the window that gave me pause: "We sell angels." Then, round the corner on Cole, the sidewalk etching in the photograph.

Love. Never mind the question mark. Just love. And it's not even Thursday.

Whatever holiday you celebrate this season, however simply or extravagantly, may it be joyous in the planning, and may it long afterward cheer your hearts.

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We make peace in a million small ways every day.

All text and images, unless otherwise noted, copyright L. Kathryn Grace. All rights reserved.