Kindness continues to happen - one tiny bit at a time.   When I look around the Internet, I see that a lot of kindness blogs stop being updated.

Why do you think that is?

Personally, I think that kindness is a ‘doing’ act, not a ‘being’ act.  It’s a lot easier for me to do kind acts, then to talk about them.  I almost wonder if it takes away from the kind acts to actually write about them.

Whatever the reason, this blog has lapsed.

But the kindness continues….

RED MARBLES
I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes.

I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprizing a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes, but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas.

I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.  Pondering the peas, I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me.

‘Hello Barry, how are you today?

‘H’lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus’ admirin’ them peas.  They sure look good.

‘They are good, Barry. How’s your Ma?’

‘Fine. Gittin’ stronger alla’ time.’

‘Good. Anything I can help you with?’

‘No, Sir. Jus’ admirin’ them peas.’

‘Would you like to take some home?’asked Mr. Miller.

‘No, Sir. Got nuthin’ to pay for ‘em with.’

‘Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?’

‘All I got’s my prize marble here.’

‘Is that right? Let me see it’ said Miller.

‘Here ’tis. She’s a dandy.’

‘I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?’ the store owner asked.

‘Not zackley but almost.’

‘Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble’, Mr. Miller told the boy.

‘Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.’

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me.

With a smile said, ‘There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances.  Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever.

When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn’t like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store.’

I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man.

A short time later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.

Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one.

Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died.

They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.

Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.

Ahead of us in line were three young men.

One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts…all very professional looking.

They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband’s casket.

Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket.

Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket.

Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller.  I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband’s bartering for marbles.

With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

‘Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim ‘traded’ them.

Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size…they came to pay their debt.’

‘We’ve never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,’ she confided, ‘but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho ‘.

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

The Moral : We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.

Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ~ A fresh pot of coffee you didn’t make yourself.

An unexpected phone call from an old friend.

Green stoplights on your way to work.

The fastest line at the grocery store.

A good sing-along song on the radio.

Your keys found right where you left them.

Send this to the people you’ll never forget.

To battle my helplessness, I’ve tried to support the people who are involved with the war. I’ve sent coffee to a unit that hadn’t seen coffee in two years. I’ve babysat a few military kids so that the mothers can shop or get their hair done.

The Gal Herself told me, in a recent TT comments, that she donates to Operation Shoebox. She said:

“I save up all the extra condiment packets I get from fast food joints and wrap them up in tissue paper, stick them in a padded envelope, and send them off to Operation Shoebox to help liven up a soldiers dull MRE. They need so much, and a lot of it is stuff we already have around the house, and it really makes a difference. It’s an easy way to support the troops, even if you don’t support the war.”

Here’s a list of what they need right now:

Here’s the addresses:

For Check and Money Order donations:
Operation Shoebox
PO Box 1465

Belleview, FL 34421-1465

To donate items to ship you can mail them to us at:
Operation Shoebox
PO Box 1465
Belleview, FL 34421-1465

Let’s not wallow in our helplessness when our human family needs our support.

But somewhere in Utah, someone made that choice.

This is the outcome:

This is a wonderful story of everything we talk about. Grieving strangers save a child’s life.   Parents listened to their hearts and grasped the risk of transplant for their child.

Just a little story to brighten your day.

What the hell happened the to Everyday Kindness Challenge?

I know.  I know.  It’s been quiet here.

I’ve continued my small acts of kindness.  At least one a day.  I’ve given warm loaves of bread to neighbors, sent off cards to people who lost someone, remembered people’s birthdays, and even was particularly nice to my poor anxious puppy.  One tiny act at a time.  I’m getting the kindness done.

How about you?

I know what you’re going to say. I don’t care about brain anatomy. I don’t care about the brain. I don’t even KNOW this woman. We’re supposed to be doing kind acts here!

Give up twenty minutes of your time - and you’ll find some inspiration to keep plugging away one kind act at a time.

I did.

If we aren’t spreaders of love, who is?

Another Day in the Same Life

Believer In Balance

Boho Rhap

Coco

Compulsive Worrier

Conspiracy of Blessings

Down River Drivel

Fond of Snape

Forks Off the Moment

Furiousball

Heart in San Francisco

Julie Mann Photography

Lives Less Ordinary

Lone Grey Squirrel

My Husband Calls Me Crazy

Living out Loud

Myanderings

Odat’s Mumblings

On a Limb With Claudia

One Step From the Edge

Photographer’s Corner

Place I Call Home

Raven’s Roads

Sacred Ruminations

Small Reflections

Vixen’s Den

Waking Up in Portland