Every day, hour by hour, I am (as we all are) bombarded with real news, fake news and alerts about the horrible things that are happening all around us. 

Anonymous, masked federal agents are killing innocent people in the streets. Asylum-seeking immigrants are being captured and sent to countries they have never been in before. There was a nasty road rage litter incident because someone threw a tissue out of a car window. 

It’s crazy, maddening and very scary. Has everyone gone nuts? The news would have me believe that’s the case. 

However, occasionally, I am confronted with—and comforted by—good things that are going on in humankind, in Massachusetts and right here in Newton.

The New York Times recently reported on a group of feisty “old ladies” on Cape Cod who have been working for years to clean up trash from local ponds. Of course, I like the “old ladies” tag because I fall in that category. They may be a bit younger than I am, but we share an age range. 

They are not ashamed of using the term old ladies—it’s who they are, it’s who I am. They even have a blog: Old Ladies Against Underwater Garbage (https://olaug-ma.com/.) Check it out. There is a picture of them with a retrieved toilet which is the exact same color blue as the one that I have in my 50-year-old house on Cape Cod. Good work! Fun!

In the early 1970s, we built my Cape Cod house as a basic getaway cottage and source of rental income. It had linoleum floors and brown pipe-furniture. Over the years, I gussied it up a bit while, at the same time, accumulating endless numbers of towels, sheets, blankets and comforters. These things were stored under beds, in drawers and on shelves. 

Recently, it was time to go through everything and toss whatever was just taking up space. It took several weeks and I ended up with eight very large trash bags stuffed with old, but still usable, linens. I packed up my car and drove to the Mass Appeal location on Route 6, staffed by volunteers who sort through and organize the donations of adult and children’s clothing, shoes, books, toys,and linens to be set out in their small Share Shop for people to take for free. 

Several volunteers enthusiastically helped me unload my car and thanked me profusely for my contributions. When I was there, shoppers were going through T-shirts, shorts and puzzles. It felt really good to donate and I was blown away by the gentle, determined enthusiasm of the volunteers.

Then there are one-on-one, serendipitous acts of caring that happen unexpectedly and very personally. 

The brakes on my car had to be replaced and I was told, in advance, that it would take about three hours, so I brought productive things to do—no wasting time watching bad-news TV. I had mail to go through and magazines to read. 

What I didn’t bring was something to eat. I had arrived at Honda Village in Newton Corner about 11 one morning, and by about 12:30 I began to feel peckish. Right next door is Walgreen’s and I wondered if they had lunch food. I walked over and found a peach yogurt. Perfect! When I was checking out, I asked the clerk if they had a spoon. No spoons. They sold packages of spoons, but didn’t have single ones to hand out.

I thought for a few seconds about the no-spoon conundrum, couldn’t come up with an alternative, decided to put the yogurt back, and deal with being a little hungry for a couple of hours. 

As I walked to the refrigerator case, another employee was sorting merchandise. I mentioned that I was looking for a spoon. “I can get a spoon for you,” she said. “I’m the manager and I keep spoons in the employee’s room in case someone needs one. Wait here.” 

I waited for a minute or so and she was back with a bag of spoons, saying, “Take one.” Such a kind, intimate, meaningful moment between the two of us. Her gesture of kindness helped and deeply impressed me. 

I washed the spoon and the foil from the yogurt cup, wrapped them together, and put the little packet in my purse in case another similar need arises. It was also a reminder there is goodness everywhere around me and I don’t have to look very hard to find it. It’s within my daily comings and goings. 

Knowing this bolsters my sometimes embattled hope for the future.

Marian Leah Knapp is a writer and book author who lives in Newton. She can be reached at knappml@comcast.net.