The sun is on hiatus again. The sky is white cloudy and it’s chilly, not cold. The birds are busy at the feeders, and the chipmunk is somewhere else. Gracie has been in the yard most of the morning. Every now and then she barks and then comes in to check on me then goes back outside. She loves the yard.

Every morning since Monday I have turned on the TV just to check for any news about the bombing. If there is nothing, I turn off the TV, but this morning’s news has me intently watching what is happening. It didn’t take long from yesterday’s briefing by the FBI which showed the pictures of the two bombers, brothers, for them to be identified. A comment the other day was that this isn’t a CSI case and don’t expect an instant ending, a quick solving of the crime, but it does feel quick, only three days to identify the bombers. One has been killed, and the other is the subject of a manhunt the likes of which this state has never seen.

I have traveled many parts of the world and been treated with kindness and sometimes even concern. When I lived in Ghana, I had my pocket picked, was the victim of an attempted purse snatching (during training and during my first weekend in Accra) and had my house broken into, but I was never afraid for myself. Even the purse snatching was a bit of adventure as the snatcher and I fought over the bag, each of us pulling a handle. That incident didn’t stop me from continuing training and taking my oath as a volunteer. It just became a story to tell.

Once on a train from Denmark to the Hook of Holland, our train-mate fed us, my friend and me, the whole trip from a huge basket she had packed for the ride. She was an East German heading home to England and her husband, an Englishman. The food was amazing, and, like the loaves and the fishes, the basket never went empty. In Morocco, I’d get tired and my back would hurt so I’d stop and stand for a while. Each time I did, someone offered me a seat, and I always took it and sat and watched the world around me. They’d tell me to stay as long I needed to sit. Once I even got coffee, strong Moroccan coffee, in a small cup.

In South America, my travel mate and I were quite often the only non locals on a bus or train. At every stop someone would tell us where we were, and when we stopped for dinner on the night bus, the whole menu was translated for us by another passenger. In Columbia, in the salt mine, I asked how the blackened salt was turned white. A man heard my question and invited my friend and me to see the factory down the road where he worked. We were given hard hats and a complete tour of the factory. I remember the taste of salt in my mouth stayed for what seemed liked forever.

After my second surgery, I got on the bus and immediately the man in the front seat stood up and said take my seat. You shouldn’t have to walk.

I am not naive just because I believe in the innate goodness of most people, their willingness to help, even their eagerness to help, but goodness doesn’t usually make headlines and small stories like mine are seldom told, but good heartedness is not rare. It is all around us. We just have to look.