There are days that arrive with banners and bugles, fanfares and frolic, parties and parades attached to them. Like Mardi Gras today.
And then there are days that simply tap softly on the door and wait.
Today is one of those.
Random Acts of Kindness Day does not ask for grand gestures or long explanations. It does not require a plan, a budget, or a public witness. It just asks us to notice — and then act — in whatever small way presents itself.
Sometimes that looks like holding a door a moment longer than is polite.
Sometimes it sounds like a “Thank You” said clearly, without rushing past it.
Sometimes it is letting someone go ahead of you when you are tired and in a hurry — and choosing not to make a story about it afterward.
Sometimes it is an unexpected visit.
Sometimes it is a note tucked into a lunch bag or backpack.
Sometimes it is paying for the order behind you in a drive-thru.
Sometimes it is a phone call made without waiting for the perfect moment.
Sometimes it is simply a smile and a moment of acknowledgment at the register.
The thing about kindness is that it rarely announces itself.
It tends to arrive quietly, do its work, and leave without asking to be remembered.
And that may be why it works.
A small kindness does not try to fix the world.
It simply steadies one corner of it.
And we never know how far the ripples may travel.
We never know what burden someone is carrying when they cross our path. The weight is often invisible. But kindness has a way of lightening a load, even if merely for a little while.
No spotlight required.
No tally kept.
No expectation of return.
Just a moment that says — You’re not alone here.
If today offers you a chance to show kindness — even a small, ordinary kind — take it.
And if it does not, be patient. These moments have a way of finding us most often when we are not looking for them.
And that has always felt like the truest kindness of all.
‘Til next time, then — Jim (and Red!)
P.S. Little Red Bear once said that kindness does not need to be big to be real.
The smallest kindnesses are often the easiest to carry — and the longest remembered.
There are days when the world feels a little too loud and a little too busy explaining itself.
On those days, it helps to remember that not everything needs fixing, debating, improving, or shouting about. Some things are already doing their job just fine. They have been for a long time. They simply carry on, quietly, without asking for applause.
So here — for no particular reason other than it felt like a good moment — is a short list of things that are still just plain good.
Not perfect.
Not flashy.
Just . . . . good.
A fresh cup of coffee that tastes exactly the way you hoped it would.
Not better than expected. Not worse. Just right. The kind that lets you take a slow sip and think . . . . “Yes. That’ll do.”
A handwritten note.
Even a short one. Even a crooked one. The kind where you can tell the writer paused for a moment before finishing the sentence.
A dog asleep in the sun.
No ambition. No agenda. Just fully committed to a relaxing nap in the afternoon.
A cat choosing to sit near you.
Not because it was asked. Because it decided. Which somehow makes it feel like a small honour.
A well-worn book that falls open to a favourite page.
Like it remembers where you left off last time — and waited there for you.
The sound of someone laughing in the next room.
Especially when you do not know the joke, and it does not matter.
The sound of children laughing and playing.
Inside or outside. Close by or down the street. It always reminds us that things are going right somewhere.
A front porch — or whatever serves as one.
A chair by a window counts. So does a stoop. A step. Or the edge of a bed where you linger for a moment longer than planned.
Kindness that does not announce itself.
No trumpet. No explanation. Just a small adjustment or touch made for someone else’s comfort.
Old sayings that still manage to be true.
The kind you used to roll your eyes at — until one day you catch yourself repeating them.
Something that works the way it always has.
A lamp. A watch. A sunrise. There is a quiet relief in reliability, and in knowing some things still arrive on time..
And for me, a rainy afternoon with a new story waiting to be told.
Nothing urgent. Nothing polished yet. Just the promise of words finding their way.
But then again . . . . the feeling that today does not need to be extraordinary to be worthwhile.
Ordinary will do just fine.
None of these things will trend.
None of them will fix everything.
But taken together, they do something better.
They remind us that simple goodness has not gone anywhere. It has simply stayed where it always was — in familiar places, doing familiar work, waiting to be noticed again.
And perhaps that is just plain good enough for today, isn’t it?
What might you add to the list?
‘Til next time, then — Jim (and Red!)
P.S.
Little Red Bear read this list over my shoulder and cleared his throat — politely — to point out that tea belongs on any list of good things worth keeping close.
He is not wrong. We are, after all, tea people.
A gentle welcome for the year ahead — and an unhurried way to begin again.
January has a way of arriving with instructions already written for us, doesn’t it?
Begin again. Improve. Fix. Hurry.
But some years ask for something different.
Some years do not need to be conquered at all — only entered. And once inside, listened to. The quieter truths tend to reveal themselves that way, without ceremony or noise.
Here, reflection is not a reckoning, and renewal is not a contest to be won or lost.
What if it never needed to be?
Instead, it can be something simpler — an ongoing process of noticing what still matters, what has endured, and what might simply need a little tending rather than replacing.
If you have arrived here tired, or curious, or simply passing through, you are in good company. And welcome here.
A quiet New Year arrives in Honey Hill Country, bringing stillness, reflection, and the promise of days yet to be read.
The New Year has come quietly to Honey Hill Country.
A cold winter morning has settled in. Snow lies clean and unbroken beneath the trees, save for a line of rabbit tracks stitching their way across the yard and disappearing into the brush. Frost rests easy on the fence rails, and the woods hold the kind of silence that only follows a good snowfall — deep, listening, and kind.
No fanfare, no fuss — just the slow turning of the calendar page, with a fresh stack of new mornings waiting to be opened on the kitchen table. The old year folded itself away politely, and the new one stepped in like a neighbour removing their hat at the door.
Out here, the year always begins the same way — with a pause.
There is time to look back at what was carried, what was learned, and what, perhaps, is ready to be set down. There is time to stand a moment longer at the window and consider what might yet come walking up the lane. And there is time — always time — to say, You Are Welcome Here.
Honey Hill Country remains much as you left it — and Little Red Bear is still right where he has always been.
The paths are familiar. The front porches are swept. The kettle is warm — Little Red Bear is keeping it so. Your choice, coffee or tea. Fresh biscuits, always. The stories continue — some by the fire, some on the page, and some quietly, heart to heart.
As the new year unfolds, there will be small kindnesses, ordinary miracles, and a few good surprises tucked between the days. There will be laughter that arrives unannounced. There will be reflections that linger. And there will be new rhythms settling gently into place, one week at a time.
Later this month, something long-planned and much-loved will find its way into the light — The Hearth & Holler Gazette, a weekly visit of tales, tidings, and old-time country comfort, shared from Little Red Bear’s corner of Honey Hill Country and meant to be read slowly, like the morning paper at the table.
But for now, there is no rush.
This first week of January is for standing still just long enough to take a breath, to look around, and to remember that beginnings do not need to be loud to be meaningful.
So welcome — to the New Year, to Little Red Bear’s Honey Hill Country, and to whatever good may yet come.
The gate is open. The light is on.
Come in when you are ready.
— Jim (and Red!)
“A new year does not ask us to be different people,” Clara Thimblewick once wrote, “only to listen a little more closely to the better parts of ourselves.”
Pen-and-ink illustrations created with the assistance of AI and lovingly styled for Little Red Bear Land.
A good meal. Plates pushed back. Folks sitting around a little longer than planned. Nobody watching the clock. The talk wandering from one thing to the next, easy and unimportant in the best way. Somebody pours another cup of coffee or tea. Slices of pumpkin and pecan pies are served. Or maybe a slice of cake. Or two. And no one says much about it.
Those moments matter more than we sometimes realize at the time.
Please don’t get me wrong. I love every month of the year, as each brings forth its unique beauty, events, and gifts. But, without question, October is my most favorite month and time of the year. Because around here, on the outskirts of St. Louis, Missouri and on the edge of the Ozarks foothills, October truly ushers in the beginning of Autumn.
As Summer seems to stretch longer and longer each year with Global Warming, October is when temperatures finally settle back into a more comfortable zone.
It is a time of progression, as October ushers in Autumn, which in turn ushers in the Holiday Season.
Excluding September, which is more and more an extension of summer now, I always look forward to and celebrate the true “ber” months: the months of October, November, and December. Could there be any better time of year?
Oh, October — how do I love thee? Let me count the ways . . . .
Seeing my Breath in the Crisp Morning Air
Cooler Days and Sweaters
Apple Picking
Hay Rides
Brisk, Chilly Nights with Wood Smoke in the Air
Homemade Soup Simmering on the Stove
The Heavenly Aroma of Homemade Bread Baking in the Oven
Hillsides Aglow with Beautiful Autumn Leaves
Apple Cider
Visits to the Pumpkin Patch
Running thru Cornfield Mazes
Butternut Squash Fresh From the Oven
Scarecrows
Pumpkin Pies
Raking Leaves into Piles for Kids to Jump Into and Play In
The Smell of Chocolate Chip Cookies Baking in the Oven
Making Apple Butter
Pumpkin Spice Stirred into Everything Nice
Carving Jack-o’-Lanterns
And . . . . Halloween Fun with Trick-or-Treaters at the Door!
Oh, beautiful October. How I have missed you!
I invite you to take a trip with Little Red Bear’s “Autumn Splendors” video. We recommend viewing on full screen with the speakers on! If you watch on YouTube and enjoy, please give a Like to help others find and enjoy it.
What do you love about October, and what would you add to the list? Have you been apple picking yet, or been on a hayride? Planning a visit to the Pumpkin Patch soon? Please tell us all about it in the Comments!
In “Anne of Green Gables,” the author L.M. Montgomery wrote —“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.” And I could not agree more!
It is my distinct honor and pleasure to welcome you to my favorite month of the year — October!
And in case you missed it, I invite you to check out my new Monday Morning series about Living A Life of Gratitudeleading up to the Thanksgiving Holiday.
Thanks always for visiting with us! Best Wishes & Blessings! — Jim (and Red!) 🤠 🐻 🍂 🍁 🍂 🧡
(Featured image credit — “Ducks In Autumn, Watercolor,” created via Bing Image Creator AI)
In a world where we can be anything, please choose to be kind!
When not out fishing or gathering honey, Little Red Bear and Cinnamon Charlie love to color in their spare time!
If you have little ones around or simply enjoy coloring yourself for relaxation and fun, be sure to check out“Little Red Bear’s “Happy Autumn Season!” Coloring Pages.”Download and color as many as you like, free of charge, because that’s just how we roll here!
Happy Coloring!
“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” — Albert Camus
“No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.” — John Donne, “The Autumnal Face”
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James Milson - The Writing Pages 