Small things. Big feelings.

Today. I’m “zipping” along my usual route home. “In a hurry.” Because…
Once again, the “elves are shouting,” because the bigger my little tenant in the belly grows, the shorter the distance from point A to B I can cover without having to slam on the brakes to check in with the elves.

But the thought of “hurry hurry” stops me in my tracks at the roadside, where a very bright-faced grandmother is standing, holding up traffic. Next to her is a huge bag of groceries.

I slam on the brakes.
Her face is streaked with sweat. Her breathing is heavy.
“Child,” she says—when I ask what happened—“I misjudged my strength and couldn’t carry the groceries home.”

Her request is modest: just give her a lift, even a little, so home is closer.
I help the elderly lady into the car and load her really heavy bag.
On the way, I learn she’s 85. She had planned a surprise dinner for her family tonight, intending to buy the groceries herself and cook, but… she had overestimated her strength.

The whole way, she fumbles with her small purse with her roughened hands. “Looking for something.”
When we reach her house, she stretches out money to me:
“For the ride, child, and your kind heart,” she says.

I smile and answer that she certainly owes me nothing.
Turning with her bright gaze, she gets out and, with a caring voice, murmurs:
“Be blessed.”

I drive away from the old lady’s yard truly blessed. Such a small thing, yet my heart feels so light and warm.

Recently, my Patricija and a neighbor girl have taken up “trading.” They set up beyond the yard with a bucket for sitting, a “stall” for arranging their assortment, and eye-catching posters. They sell pumpkins, zucchini, tomatoes from a grandmother’s garden, the last cucumbers, blueberries in cups, and mushrooms grown locally in the forest.

Seeing a car approaching, they raise the posters, grab their best products, and wave to “potential” buyers.
Strangely, there are buyers who stop. Some buy berries, some are tempted by vegetables, and some buy nothing—but after praising them for being “so clever,” they still give money. All evening, Pa rattles off impressions and shares her new experience as a seller.

Yesterday, the excitement reached its peak:
“Mom, even the HOSPITAL stopped by our store (meaning the ambulance), and the doctor got out and bought blueberries from us without taking any change!!!” she exclaims, laughing with joy.

The little heart can’t contain the happiness that their roadside “store” is so popular.

Recently, I sent Dominykas to pick up a few essential items from the nearby supermarket. I sneakily asked if he could buy salmon for dinner too. The weight of the fish, and the pieces, is hard for a child to judge, and he’d never done it before—but he said he would try.

Out of nowhere, he returns home with the right-sized piece of salmon—and way too much change for my eyes. When I ask why the change is so large, he explains that “the lady weighing the fish asked if I have a discount card.”
When he said no, she explained that with a card, the fish is discounted; without it, the purchase would be more expensive.
“I showed her I had enough money, but she…”
Nevertheless, she guided me to the checkout and waited in the long line to hand her card to the cashier so my fish would cost less, Dominykas tells me.

Also, she held my fish for me, he adds with a smile.

Just fish. Just a discount.

But I watch how a child experiences the simplest, sincere human kindness.
I look into those eyes exploding with happiness and hear the child recount how the fish seller and buyer stood at the register, and a good feeling wraps itself up in their heads.

Just a simple “slamming on the brakes.”
Giving a ride to an elderly lady who miscalculated her strength, or “supporting” local kids hidden behind pumpkins and zucchini at their stall.
So many emotions and real feelings are stirred.

And again, I press a simple “human kindness” into my palm, rejoicing once more that it hasn’t disappeared.
It hasn’t gone anywhere.
It hasn’t evaporated.
And it doesn’t yet need to be entered into the Red Book.

Look around.
When necessary—slam on the brakes.

V.