Her simple words in contrast to the disturbing messages in my coat pocket resonated with me. “Just being nice”.The contrast was jarring where“just being nice”becomes surprising rather than an ordinary act.It’s a choice we make,ultimately, between sowing division and acting with simple human decency.

and carried it back to her, allowing her to continue nursing her child undisturbed.

As the Montana woman returned to her seat I felt compelled to tell her, "Thank you for being so thoughtful," maybe a few tears welling up. She gave me a warm smile and simply said, "I was just being nice."

It was then that I witnessed a small, profound act of kindness. The "Montana" woman, who had seemed so focused on her work, quietly rose and approached the young mother. They had a brief exchange. Then, the Montana woman walked over to the pick-up area, retrieved the mother's drink,

She appeared to be of Middle East, India, Pakistan, origin or that region of the world. She approached the counter, ordered her drink, and as she waited, her baby began to fuss. After attempting to soothe the infant, she moved to a quiet bench in the foyer, for privacy, to nurse her child.

She carried a camo water bottle, her strong, confident posture and practical clothing made me think she was a classic Montana girl – someone clearly capable of handling herself. A little while later a young petite woman walked in, cradling a tiny baby.

And, of course, we talked about our children and grandchildren, their triumphs, challenges, and daily lives.As our conversation continued, a young woman, to my eyes at least, settled into a chair directly behind my sister.

We spoke of how our travels, especially my recent trip to Canada, had broadened our perspective and reinforcing our belief in the fundamental goodness of people. I shared how "The Canadians were just so incredibly nice,".

My sister and I found a spot next to the window at the coffee shop. Per usual my sister carried the conversation to begin with. We talked about our lives, what our plans were. I share ideas for celebrating my upcoming 70th year, perhaps a new adventure, a different kind of journey.

yards under the cloak of night. Like discarded litter, they offered no invitation to dialogue, no attempt at engagement – merely a silent, unwelcome declaration. I picked up the bag and stuffed it into my coat pocket, thinking it might serve as a topic for our coffee conversation.

Inside, a piece of paper contained a disturbing collection of phrases: "We are all Charlie," "American Nationalism," "White lives matter," "Freedom," "You are a fascist to them," and "Conservatism Conserves Nothing." I had heard how these unsettling messages had begun to appear, tossed into front