As a little girl, I watched these women closely. They had keen intuition. Some of them knew what would happen minutes, months, even years beforehand. In this community were trance mediums, herbalists, midwives, and storytellers. They depended on each other to divine the meaning of dreams, to foresee and prepare for natural disasters, to heal illness and deliver babies, and to perform rites associated with physical growth, spiritual development, and death. These women were well-informed community organizers who settled family disputes, raised their hands against injustice, and could be dangerously inconsolable when offended. In my own household, we lived in fear of Mother's pointed finger, for whatever she said while calling upon Jesus, Mary, and Joseph came to pass in short order.

Women like these exist in every culture on the globe. In some Native American cultures, they are called medicine women or cuaranderas; in European cultures, they are called witches. Among black folks that I know, we call them "the Mothers." They're the block mothers, the church mothers, the big mommas who hold our lives and communities together.

When I was a teenager, my mother insisted upon fulfilling a deathbed promise to her father, and I was rushed through the rituals of the Catholic church-baptism, communion, confirmation. I liked the rituals, but hated the rules and rhetoric. By the time I graduated from high school, I'd decided to fire the pope and find meaningful rituals outside the church house

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Ironically, Western culture associates the legacy of women's natural power with the "curse of Eve," and rarely acknowledges its value. Part of my work involves reclaiming symbols of that forgotten power and integrating them into my rituals. Since the contributions of everyday women often go unrecognized in this materialistic, superstar-obsessed culture, I created a ritual to celebrate them.

For many years I was neighbor to a woman whom I'll call Sister Ocean. She was a good mother to her many children and did part-time work to supplement the family income. In addition, she found time to participate in the local voter registration drive, attend Neighborhood Watch meetings, and provide her sister friends with emotional support.

One day, Sister Ocean congratulated me on a dance performance I'd given, then lamented that her own work lacked both "glamour and recognition." I was touched to see tears welling up in her eyes. Here was a woman who performed life-preserving tasks daily. I realized the value of acknowledgement and created the Golden Apple Award for her. Since then, I have performed it for countless friends as well as for my students in the spirituality classes I teach at the University of Creation Spirituality and the John F. Kennedy University in the San Francisco Bay area. The little celebrations cost me less than ten dollars and make hardworking women feel appreciated. I invite you to perform one for a well-deserving Mother in your life.

When I perform this ritual, I like to use language drawn from the metaphors of Eden. Before placing the necklace on the woman, I hold it over her head and say: "Today, your sisters have gathered to honor you as Mother of All the Living. We honor the power of your body to birth and nurture. We recognize the gifts of your mind, your curiosity, and your creativity. By the sweat of your brow our daily bread is baked and the harvest home is maintained. We appreciate the blessing of your being, woman and Earth."

Then, light the candle and say something like, "We see the bright light of spirit in your eyes, and we declare it good."

Advise her to make a wish for herself-not for the house, the children, the neighborhood, the job, anyone or anything else. If the ceremony takes place in a garden or park, encourage her to walk through the growing things as she recites her wish. The other women might want to whisper affirmations.

Relax, sit down, eat the pie, drink the tea, and share stories of everyday triumphs.