Berry Cold

    Once every winter, robins appear in my yard. Hunger leads them there. They devour the berries on a holly tree, and move on.
    These birds show up when the weather gets harsh. Often that means January. But not this winter. They arrived yesterday, following back-to-back snow storms and during a cold snap.
   From what I’ve learned, robins don’t care for the flavor of holly berries. They’re eaten out of necessity. Other food sources are tapping out. And perhaps the birds’ metabolisms need a boost to generate warmth.
   When robins eat holly berries, it indicates that we’re in the guts of the winter.

Not Just a Bug

    A bug cast a shadow on the other side of a window shade. It’s rare for an insect to appear indoors during winter.
    I’ve dealt efficiently—and harshly—with bugs that infiltrate my home. Flies get swatted. Larger intruders get squashed between my fingers and tissue paper.
    But not this bug.
    First I opened a window. Next, I coaxed the bug to a piece of paper. I carried this paper to an open window. There, I released the bug to the outdoors.
    In past months, I’ve spared rather than squashed bugs (except for flies and mosquitoes). Whenever possible, I’ve captured and released them.
    Why the softening attitude? I’ll venture a guess. The reason I’m showing compassion to bugs is silence. That’s right, silence.
    My home office is located up in the attic. Other family members rarely go there. Distractions are few.
    When a bug shows up in the attic, I notice it right away. Because the room is silent, my mood is relaxed. I’m less inclined to crush a bug. The bug is not longer just a bug. It is a physical being sharing the room. Me and it. Us. Nobody else.
    Silence encourages compassion.

Greetings and Snubbings

A couple moves off after exchanging a greeting with me.

    While I took a walk, two adults strolled by in the opposite direction. They were strangers to me. We exchanged hellos. A simple courtesy.
    Two days prior, the scenario played out differently. I was taking a walk.  Three teenagers—a boy and two girls—shuffled in my direction along a sidewalk. They were probably fourteen or fifteen years old. The gap between us closed. I offered a nod and a quiet hello.
    One of the girls fixated on a smartphone. The other girl stared down at the pavement. The boy looked at nothing in particular, including me. They passed without saying a word.
    I wasn’t surprised by their snub. Many teens shun impromptu interactions—even a simple hello—with adults. Aloofness is part of their modus operandi.
    But later in their teens, that sense of detachment fades. They're more apt to say hello to passersby.
    When a teenager greets a stranger, that adolescent has become a young adult.

Abusing Security

    Store Monitored by Closed Circuit Television

 That warning sign (seen in photo) hung above an aisle at the supermarket. The implication was clear. If I shoplifted, my action would be recorded.
    I am not a thief. And I don’t like being filmed on a video. But I tolerate the presence of security cameras. This store, after all, must deter thievery.
    But at some retail establishments, security cameras are used for additional purposes. They monitor the walking patterns of customers. They take note of which shelves their customers purchase goods from. This information has marketing value.
    Retail establishments should divulge if their security cameras are being used for other purposes. I’d support such a law. If convenient, I’d avoid stores that record my browsing habits.
    All to often, security and safety are used as excuses to infringe on our privacy.

Taking a Risk

    Dogs hate me at first. Something about my demeanor riles them up.
    I expected trouble as I approached my friend’s home in Northern New England. She owns fourteen sled dogs. They live in a rural area.
    The dogs went berserk as I approached. Greeting me were barks, growls, and threatening postures. Each dog was chained—thank goodness—to their own little shelter.
    My friend introduced me to each dog. Her presence eased their rage but not their wariness.
   I slowly extended my hand to a dog named Crash. Doing so was risky. The animal could bite my fingers. Instead he sniffed.
   With a light touch, I brushed Crash’s mane. The contact was brief. He backed away. Then he came back for another round of sniffing and touching.
    Shortly thereafter, Crash and I became friends.
    I don’t think it was my scent that alleviated Crash’s wariness. What chilled him out was the presentation of my hand. It was a social gesture that made him curious. And this curiosity diverted his rage.
    People are like dogs in that respect. They're wary of strangers. But when a stranger initiates a conversation, the other person can read into the stranger’s personality. If the conversation goes well, suspicions ease. All it requires is one person breaking the ice.

Tipping Point

Wet newspaper on my driveway.

    The empty envelope arrived with the newspaper. It was addressed to the person who delivers my newspaper. He was appealing for a tip at years end.
    I’ve never met this person. He shows up during the wee hours of the morning. His job is hard. Low pay and few benefits.
    I could empathize. My first job was delivering newspapers. Tips were a big deal at the end of the year. Surely this man deserved some generosity?
   It’s not that simple. Drivers come and go. The same person does not always deliver the papers. That human connection is lacking. Still, it’s not the driver’s fault that his work hours don’t coincide with his customers being awake.
    Without a doubt, the quality of the delivery service has declined. Sometimes the newspaper does not show up. And the driver does not place the paper in the box (seen in the background of the photo). The newspaper is apparently thrown out the window of a vehicle.
    Still, I agonized over whether or not to leave a tip.
    Then came a tipping point. One morning, the newspaper was soaking wet. It hadn’t been placed in the box on a rainy day. I was fed up.
    Tips are not deserved, they must be earned.

Generosity to Strangers

    While hitchhiking, I received a ride from a man driving a Mercedes. He asked me for money in return for a ride. It happened in South Africa.
    While in Zimbabwe—the adjoining country—I asked a passerby for directions to a train station. He asked me for cash in return for assistance.
    Why were they clamoring for my money? Was it because I am white? Not necessarily. Someone there told me, “In Africa, you must pay for everything.”
     Last October, I went for a day hike on The Appalachian Trail in Massachusetts. I came across a cooler (seen in photo). It contained water and candies. Local people had placed it there for hikers. Many streams were dry on the trail, hence a need for water.
    A hiker left a note to the donor. It read, ’Thanks for the water. I was getting worried for a while there.’
    Why do people in some places ask for a traveler’s money, while in other places they exhibit generosity? I am happy to live in a society where generosity to strangers is practiced.