With closed eyes, it’s dark and there are thousands of letters swirling about, forming words, and then scattering again, forming ideas and then hiding or dissolving into mist. I wish I had a lasso to grab hold of the good ones. That’s what it’s like in here.

With closed eyes, I lift my head toward the hot sun, flashes of bright white, yellow and fuschia dance about leaving silver tails, leaving trails of even more ideas. I wish I had a way to hold on tight – to the right ones. That’s what it’s like in here.

With closed eyes, I hold my breathe and stretch, my right hand to earth my left hand to sky. I imagine the blood simultaneously flowing down and flowing up. So many directions to take. How do you know if it’s the right one? That’s what it’s like in here.

With closed eyes, I inhale and smile. Laughing, on a cellular level.

That’s what it’s like in here…

Henry Tanners, my dad’s best friend of 60 years, our closest family friend, has died after a year of fighting for his life.

During that year I only got to talk with him once by phone and he gave me what I needed…he always did:

Hi, Henry. It’s Ally
Hi, Ally.
Henry, I love you to the stars and the moon and back again.
I know. Ally, I don’t have to tell you that I love you because you already know. You feel it inside.
I know.

…and I do, I really do.

Henry gave something to the world – something so important…something we truly need more of…

Through his gestures, his tone, his choice of words, the smile in his eyes, let’s just call it, “his Henry-Deliciousness” – - he looked at you and it was like, BAM!, “I see you. I hear you. I’m curious about you. I GET you.”

No matter what, he made you feel like you mattered, and that in that moment — together –you were the most important person — not just to him, but to the World. I don’t know how he did it, but he reminded us that we are all Delicious.

In my heart, I knew that day that I may not have a chance to speak with Henry again. And, as hard as it was, and now is, I am truly ok. Because he knew me since the day I was born and he always loved me and I feel it inside…

Henry Tanners Saw Me and I love him and always will.

finger tips coated in orange-cheeto dust
a mass of titian curls in a hat box
sepia-toned photographs
in black tattered albums
memories resting on uneven bookshelves
Love-defying gravity

a box of little debbie cakes hidden behind a red tin box
a homemade christmas card with frayed edges
a wood carved ornament – see the remnants of green paint flakes?
the paella dish shaped like a fish
another bottle of flat ginger ale.

she’s talking to the plants
enriched by his ashes
see the vines growing up the walls?
like their love, eternal.

fourteen stories above
fireworks wrapped in ous and awes
millions of stories below
hustling to and fro
but here -
only truth.
only love.

the images flash quickly
a subconscious slideshow
thank god it hasn’t dissipated with age
thank god she happened to me.

the white gloves
the large brimmed hat

she’s behind me now
resting her hand on my right shoulder
as I write these words.

I feel the weight of her hand
I close my eyes
and enjoy the breeze

generated by her
angel wings.

Cole and Tony were each handed a helium balloon shaped like a butterfly. They proceeded to jump up and down and punch and kick their balloons (Note to reader: That’s what they’re supposed to do…they are little boys under three years of age.)

Unfortunately, just at the two minute mark, the balloons separated from their strings, floating up and up and up to rest against the cathedral ceiling. I observed the boy’s emotional reactions: first shock, followed by a bit of anger, and then lots of sadness accompanied by tears. Of course, this triggered consoling words from many grown ups.

Reaction such as this can inspire immediate action: 15 adults began to yell for a ladder – luckily, Grandpa Dan was the perfect man for the job. (Note to reader: Grandpa means “Here to save the day” in any language).

Tears streaked down Tony’s adorable face as he kept pointing to the rainbow colored butterfly. I watched as he leaned his head so far back that he almost toppled over onto the plush carpet. He stared at the balloon willing it down. The balloon didn’t budge.

Tony was having so much fun just moments ago. The balloon was a delight. It was his and it was shiny and it was new. In a blink of an eye, that incredible joy was gone. Moments before all the grown ups were smiling and laughing and enjoying his fun, and now none of them could instantly remedy the situation. While Grandpa dug the ladder out of the garage Tony stopped pointing at the balloon for just a moment and looked right into my eyes. Telepathic messages swirled out of his beautiful mind and connected with my inner child – below is an excerpt from that conversation:

Tony: Do you see it?
Ally’s Inner Child: Of course I see it, it’s shiny and colorful and it’s in the shape of a butterfly. It’s so nice! I like butterflies and I LOVE balloons.

T: I do too. It’s mine.
AIC: You can’t reach it?
T: No, look, [he points to the balloon, stretching his arm and body]
AIC: Try again. [Tony tries again].
T: It’s really far away, like in outer space.
AIC: Wow, that’s far.
T: It’s so far that even Mommy can’t reach it.
AIC: Wow. Well, if a Mommy can’t reach it then it’s really far.
[Tony looks around at the room full of relatives]
T: And none of these people can reach it either.
AIC: None of them? Not one?
T: Nope, I can’t believe it.
AIC: Sometimes people can’t reach the balloons in their life. Sometimes the strings just aren’t tight enough.
T: I KNOW, look! [Tony points again to the balloon]
AIC: It’s a metaphor – it means sometimes what we need is not within reach. Sometimes even people get sick and you can’t help make them better – no matter how much you will it to be so. Sometimes people will say and do things but they won’t feel like it’s enough. And as we get older we might notice that there’s not always an equal distribution of helium to keep things afloat.
T: What’s heeeelleeummm?
AIC: It’s a lifting gas.
T: Mommy says I have that after I eat spinach. I fart. Out my butt.
[Note to reader: Tony and Ally's inner child enjoy a laughing fit for a few minutes - transcription of Ha-Ha-Ha's omitted here to consolidate space]
T: Maybe they should stop making heeeelleeummm and balloons.
AIC: What? (AIC is shocked.)
T: If they can just leave you and fly away like this, then why even bother? One second I was happy and now I’m really, really, REALLY sad.
AIC: So…you wish you never got the balloon?
[Note to reader: Tony ponders this for a long moment (long in two year old time equals about 5 seconds).]
T: No, no I changed my mind!!! I changed my mind. I want it. I want it!
AIC: Even if it might cause you tears sometimes?
T: YESSSSSS!!!!!!!!!

Over the last couple of months my circle of family and friends have endured many surprises. Our days are full and fast and show no signs of slowing down. Every day we are faced with something we didn’t expect. The birth of twins. The loss of a dear friend. Another cancer diagnosis. A birthday celebration. An earthquake. A job promotion. An unexpected trip to the ER. Laughter with friends. A missing key. A dinner party. A headache. A great solution. An amazing movie. A lovely haircut. A great book. Yellow sunflowers in a vase. A great run. A cup of tea. A lovely phone call. A snow topped mountain. The perfect song. Chocolate. The perfect kiss.

Every day the elements bring us closer together.

Tony’s mommy secured the balloon string to his wrist….our spirits lifted together on butterfly wings.

Distraction. Say it slowly twice. It doesn’t have a pleasing sound. Emphasize the “tract”. Now, say it again. It’s first meaning, “A thing that prevents someone from giving full attention to something.” Dissssstttraccctttttiiiooonnnnn. I interviewed the word yesterday while doing the dishes…here’s a snipet of that interview:

Distraction, what do you think about how you sound?
I sound annoying.
That’s interesting because your meaning opens the door to letting annoying things happen.
It’s tough being Distraction.
How come?
ARE YOU SERIOUS? You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know why it’s tough being Distraction!!!!
Whoa, stop your yelling, no need to throw bubbles at me, I’m just an impartial reporter passing the time pretending to interview a word while I’m washing the dishes.
Ok, Ok, I’m sorry for my outburst, but get my meaning?
Yes, “A thing that prevents someone from giving full attention to something.”
No, not that one, my second meaning, the one folks choose to ignore.
I’m sorry, I’m not sure of your other definition.
“A diversion or recreation.”
Really?
Yup. Don’t get bogged down by my first definition, I relish my second…in fact, it’s the secret of happiness.
I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand you correctly…you are telling me the secret of happiness – the secret everyone wants to know – comes down to you?
Yep, Distraction.
Distraction?
Yes.
Stop being a wise-word, you are telling me the secret to happiness is being in a state of distraction or being distracted leads to a state of happiness?
Yes.
Do you have proof?
You want proof?
Yes, I want proof.
(more…)

Oh, let us turn our thoughts today
To Martin Luther King
And recognize that there are ties between us
All men and women
Living on the earth
Ties of hope and love
Sister and brotherhood
That we are bound together
In our desire to see the world become
A place in which our children
Can grow free and strong
We are bound together
By the task that stands before us
And the road that lies ahead
We are bound and we are bound

There is a feeling like the clenching of a fist
There is a hunger in the center of the chest
There is a passage through the darkness and the mist
And though the body sleeps the heart will never rest

(chorus)
Shed a little light, oh lord
So that we can see
Just a little light, oh lord
Wanna stand it on up
Stand it on up, oh lord
Wanna walk it on down
Shed a little light, oh lord

Can’t get no light from the dollar bill
Don’t give me no light from a tv screen
When I open my eyes
I wanna drink my fill
From the well on the hill

(do you know what I mean? )

- chorus -

There is a feeling like the clenching of a fist
There is a hunger in the center of the chest
There is a passage through the darkness and the mist
And though the body sleeps the heart will never rest

Oh, let us turn our thoughts today
To martin luther king
And recognize that there are ties between us
All men and women
Living on the earth
Ties of hope and love
Sister and brotherhood

-James Taylor

October
Started a new job.
A friend’s wedding in Mendocino.
A friend’s 100 Mile Endurance Run in San Diego
A three-day course on positive psychology in the workplace.
A trip to Los Angeles to celebrate a very important birthday for two very important girls.
November
For the fifth year in a row I participated in NaNoWriMo also known as National Novel Writing Month. I crossed the finish line at 1am last night. That’s 50,000 words in 24 days. How does it feel? IT FEELS SWELL!

How many people have you hugged…can you guess? How many hugs will you give in a lifetime? Let’s say you give 10 hugs a month…that’s 120 hugs a year. Now, imagine you live until 80 years of age, that’s 9,600 hugs in a lifetime! Can you imagine hugging 10,000 people in one day? How about embracing people for 19 straight hours? How about hugging 26 million people worldwide by the time you are 50 years old? Does embracing people create peace and harmony in the world?

On September 21st I viewed the film “Darshan, The Embrace” about Amma, one of India’s most famous “Mahatmas” or spiritual guides. I went to see the film to honor and celebrate the UN International Day of Peace. I had recently watched the documentary, Peace One Day, about Jeremy Gilley’s passionate six-year journey to formally establish an annual day of global ceasefire and non-violence on the UN International Day of Peace, fixed in the global calendar on September 21 – Peace Day. Deeply touched by the Peace One Day project I decided to dedicate all of my activities on September 21st to peace.

I had already made plans that afternoon to take photographs for the upcoming amateur photo exhibit at the public library. When I decided to participate in the exhibition I had no idea what a powerful impact the photographs or the day would have on me.

As I strolled up and down Main Street I began to find peace in some surprising places. First, I greeted each passerby with an enthusiastic, “Happy Peace Day!” instead of my usual “Hello”. The responses were heartwarming, ranging from “You too!” “Thank you!”, “Happy Peace Day to You!” and “Amen, to that!”.

Then, I met an adorable “Peace Girl”.

I strolled by my local pet shop and found “National Peace” – above a doggie bed of all places! A few moments later the PG&E technician helped me find “Peace Uncovered” and when I turned the corner…I saw the one thing I wish we could all wake up to every day, “Peace in the News”. When I began to remove the PEACE signs a stranger requested, “No, leave them, I really like how it looks.” The next day, the signs were still there.

Amma is known internationally for her charitable donations, fight for peace, and work to end illiteracy. In 2002, she won the Gandhi King Prize for her work, joining a prestigious group of winners that include, Nelson Mandela and Khofi Annan. She is referred to as “The Hugging Saint” and travels India and the world joining people in prayer, feeding the poor, and offering a blessing or darshan and an embrace.

As many of you know, I rarely talk about films except to say, “You need to see this movie.” I’m addicted to film because I love to be surprised. I love to soak in the messages and get inspired. I love to disappear into a great story. I don’t want to give away plot and take away from a viewer’s experience. I will, however, share a quote from Amma’s website, which is her formula for a better tomorrow:

“Children, do not complain about the darkness around you. Light the lamp of your heart with 
the flames of love and faith. You may wonder how this will dispel the darkness. As you move forward this flame will light each step on your path.”

One Day. One Embrace. One Photo. One Person…Does Make a difference.

Light the lamp of your heart.

Late at night, when the neighborhood is quiet, I can often hear the sound of a train whistle in the distance. It’s a deep, steady sound and it always brings me comfort.

In middle school I tucked my long brown hair into a blue and white striped engineer’s hat every day — it was a gift from my dad, the Lionel train collector. I wasn’t very interested in electric toy trains back then but I loved the hat. And I loved my daddy more.

Dad constructed long wooden tables in the basement and would conduct from behind the bulky black Lionel ZW power controller. I’d watch as he’d glide the levers forward and back sending the trains round and round on miles of track. Dad also customized lovely shelves and displayed his favorite trains for all to enjoy. I liked looking at the windows of the trains where you could see the black shadows of tiny people. I would make up stories about the tiny people and their grand destinations. I’ll never forget the smell of that musty basement…my daydreams rising with each realistic puff of white smoke. I wondered, did my dad do the same thing?

Nadia’s little son, Cole, pointed and bounced up and down with excitement as the Little Steam Train pulled up to the station in Tilden Park. I did too! We climbed aboard the tiny car and watched the white steam rise from the locomotive’s chimney. “Just like your tea kettle at home” the conductor explained with a smile as we handed over our tickets. Click. Click. Cole looked through the circle in his newly punched ticket. Then the bell clanged and the train slowly chugged forward. Cole’s eyes widened as we picked up speed and edged our way through the beautiful countryside. Light streamed through the tall trees and we tilted our heads way back to take it all in. The two short tunnels added to the excitement — we screamed in the sudden burst of darkness and listened to our voices echo and twist together. As the train hugged the corners we enjoyed spectacular views of the Bay and pointed out patches of vibrant purple and red wildflowers along the track. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the cool breeze. I simulated choo-choo sounds in my head and danced in between the moment and memories of the musty basement. The ride ended too quickly.

Next time I will wear my engineer’s hat…and bring my father.

P.S. “Life is train travel – not all passage and carriage. It is single scenes, one at a time, out the window. Laundry hanging on a line. A warehouse. The river’s shore. Each sight out the window has hundreds of stories behind it. And hundreds of stories before those hundreds of stories began. The rose, made of sugar, on the icing, on the cake.” – From Notes on the Kitchen Table by Bob Greene & D.G. Fulford

My ode to Magritte.