Right now, in these wearying and worrying times, I’m doing what I can to create a little kindness in a corner of a corner of my world.
 
Basically, it’s about one supermarket shopper at a time. 
 
Here’s how it works.
 
Depending on what our discretionary income is in any given week, I’ve started to buy groceries for whomever is standing beside me in the cashier’s line.  Since I get to choose, I don’t pay the bill for someone whose basket boasts bottles of vodka; a gaggle of gift cards, or pretty plastic bottles of the priciest hair care products. 
 
But when I see a shopper placing a handful of necessities on the conveyer belt, who then starts fumbling for change, my wallet comes out.
 
Of course, what may seem a need to me might not be one to you.    
 
For instance, a gangly 20something was ahead of me one afternoon. 
 
His shirt and pants were definitely not new, and under his arm was what I suspect was his only mode of transportation, a well-used skateboard.  He was also buying just one item: a sketchpad.  As someone who has personally experienced the healing power of art—both as participant and spectator—I didn’t think twice about gifting those waiting-to-be-drawn-on blank pages to him.
 
Told that I was doing so from the cashier, he looked shocked.  I got the impression that no one had ever bought him what many might consider an unnecessary purchase, which, after all, only set me back $3.50.  As the cashier handed him his new sketch pad, he looked right into my eyes. 
 
“God bless you,” he said. 
 
Then, just this morning, one town over at another market, a young girl and her mother were in line behind me.  Between them, they carried two bottles of water, plus two very heavy packages of crushed ice.  As I was paying my bill, the cashier made a comment about the amount of ice they were buying. “Well, we have to keep things cold for our food, because we’re camping,” said the mom.
 
Glancing at their clothes and shoes, it was obvious to both the cashier, and me, that “camping” was another word for “this is how our family is living now.” 
 
I tore up my first check and paid my bill and theirs. 
 
Like the skateboarder, the woman was surprised. 
 
“You really don’t have to do that for us,” she said.
 
“Oh, I know, but I want to,” I replied.  “You know, just pay it forward.”
 
I swear that the two of them left with tears in their eyes.
 
I’m choosing to extend myself this way for a couple of reasons.
 
One, I’ve worn their hats.  I’ve received food stamps twice in my life, once as a college student, and again, when I was living in New York City and had been out of work for a while.  And, I still remember, early into our marriage, when our dream home was foreclosed, and we were given one hour to vacate by the sheriff.  I recall the embarrassment of needing to accept the free lunch offer from our daughter’s school principal because, “You’re homeless now, and we give migrants vouchers.”  
 
There was also the time shortly after my partner had suddenly died.
 
I was alone, in impossible grief, and a true single mother to a toddler.  A near-stranger handed me a $100 bill to pay for a plumbing emergency.   
 
“I don't really know you,” I said, weeping loudly.  "I can't accept this." 
 
“Oh, I do,” she replied.  “Please, just take it.”
 
So in my own way, I’m passing it on.
 
Two, and this is harder to explain, but particularly now, it’s the right thing to do.  Although I think current policies in Washington aggressively encourage and support a mean-spirited, “I’ve got mine, so I’m not going to take care of you” attitude, I believe that this is not the America I grew up in.
 
I also choose to believe that it’s not the country I live in now.
 
But what if you’re too uncomfortable or shy to help someone in front of you?  Or, what if you want to offer assistance, but don’t see anyone who can use a happy surprise?
 
Well, there’s another way to do the same thing.
 
That’s by giving money to the cashier who is ringing up your groceries.
 
He or she has regular customers, and is often familiar with those who can use a helping hand, especially at the end of the month.  (Plus, this gives them some skin in the game, since they’re partnering with you.) 
 
I took this route last month, when I gave a $20 bill to a favorite supermarket checker. She promised she would find
the right recipient, and she did.  Spotting me a few days later, she came up to me to say that she had helped an elderly customer who is so on the edge that this person routinely picks through the store trash cans outside to collect bottles
for recycling. 
 
Sadly, with many paychecks no longer providing a living wage, more Americans can use our help. 
 
In fact, according to federal statistics, an astounding 43 million of us are living at poverty level.  Even more upsetting—and shameful—is that four in 10 children are part of this statistic, which cuts a wide swath across every state and with every ethnicity.  In addition, there’s rampant food insecurity, which is defined as being in a place—physically, economically or both—without reliable access to affordable, nutritious food every day.  The numbers here are also unsettling: an astounding one in every eight Americans is food insecure, including 13 million children.
 
I’m certainly a very long way from perfect.  But what I do try to do is pass along kindness, and at the same time, do my best to share what I can.
 
Especially these days. Because besides these actions bolstering both spirit and soul, it all counts. 
 
Every single time.    
 
How do you manifest kindness?  I look forward to your stories and comments! 
 
P.S. To learn more about we-can’t-always-see-it hunger in America, watch the 2012 film
A Place at the Table.  Here’s the trailer, at www.youtube.com/watch?v=TnuawGkTRzo. 

I’ve seen it coming for a while now, but I’m still sad about it.
 
Yup, just like wearing a wrist watch to see what time it is; learning cursive writing in third grade, and snapping
photos using a stand-alone camera, another take-it-for-granted experience of years past is ready to join the
Soon to Be Extinct file.
 
It’s something I couldn’t have imagined even a few decades ago, but it appears that shopping at a department store—a cherished memory from childhood—is about to bite the dust.
 
Once upon a time, this sort of leisurely activity was a necessary component to growing up, especially for those of the female gender. 
 
When I was very young, my mother and I would don dresses and white gloves, and head off to Buffums’, the fancy pants department store in our town, where the very air itself seemed rarified, smelling like new money and clean carpets.  It might have even been where I was fitted for my first brassiere, and it was definitely the place to get our pictures taken every Christmas with Santa Claus.
 
A short walk away was Walker’s, a lower rent affair, but also several stories tall.  Here, its sewing department—imagine, a section just for seamstresses!—sported not only aisles of fabric, but embroidery thread in every color of the
rainbow; pillow cases with stamped patterns, and the metal hoops needed for what became one of my most consuming high school hobbies.
 
A big outdoor shopping mall was one city over, and we’d go there, too, spending most of our money at its anchor store, The May Company.  I distinctly remember buying a neon orange mini skirt with matching belt, size three, for seventh grade there.  And, this was probably the same store where my mother found my first bell bottoms—black and white, boasting a zebra themed pattern. (Looking back, my clothing choices back then were a definite predecessor to my clowning career a few years later.)
 
But department stores are now slogging through what most of us know: the only real constant in life is change.
 
To that end, millions of people—and I’m one of them—no longer leave their front doors to go shopping.  Purchasing the
​e-commerce way absolutely doesn’t have the panache that browsing through The May Company once had.  But let’s face facts: it’s way easier to buy stuff sitting at a home computer.  Plus, you can eat dinner at the same time; never get out of your pajamas, and not wonder where the bathroom is.   
 
The latest statistics on the demise of the department store aren’t favorable.
 
According to a roundup article in the March 20 issue of The Week magazine, Macy’s quarterly profits fell by nearly 40 percent, with other major stores, including Nordstrom, Kohl’s and J.C. Penney also reporting strong declines in same-store sales.  In addition, an astounding 3,300 retail stores have closed just this year; employment at department stores has also fallen nearly 50 percent in the last 15 years.  In other awful news, analysists predict that by 2022, up to 25
percent of all shopping malls in the U.S. will permanently shutter their doors.
 
But here’s the good news.
 
First, retail sales in our country have actually been steadily climbing every year since the last decade.  So while shopping malls are seeing more empty parking spaces, it doesn’t mean that we’re shopping less.   We’re just making our purchases in a different way.
 
Plus, I don’t think brick and mortar stores will ever completely vanish.
 
Like millions, I’ve bought food and socks and sheets and books online, all with limited success. But the results have been disastrous when I’ve purchased dresses, shirts and pants the same way.  When these items get to me, the material is inevitably way thinner and shoddier than the web site pictures imply; also, the apparel just doesn’t fit properly.  Equally crazy making is that many online businesses charge for returning their stuff.  It’s like paying a department store fitting room attendant money for every garment that isn’t bought.    
 
Even Amazon—after Walmart and CVS, now the third largest retailer in the world—gets it.
 
Last month, the online giant opened its seventh you-can-walk-in-and-buy-something store, this time in New York City.  
The first store opened in Seattle only two years ago, with the company planning 13 physical stores by end of this year.  
 
And while Amazon executives admit that these locations represent a marginal part of its business, they also acknowledge that a physical store has benefits.  Besides the novelty experience of shopping in person, there’s a personal engagement with sales staff, along with the fact that consumers here can “test drive” Amazon’s tech products such as the
Kindle e-reader.
 
Yup, our love affair with department stores is fading fast.  
 
But I’m convinced that other ways of shopping will continue to evolve and take up the slack—which will ultimately give consumers more choices when it comes to the shopping experience.  When the dust does finally settle, this can only be
A Very Good Thing for consumers.
 
What are your memories of going to a department store?  I look forward to your stories and comments!   
 
P.S.  The Department Store Museum is a terrific online walk down memory lane.  Check it out here, at www.thedepartmentstoremuseum.org.