Merry and Bright

  I gave away the pretty, little emerald ring that my high school/college sweetheart gave to me for Christmas. It was a lovely ring—not tremendously fancy, but full of sentiment. It has been nearly 15 years since we parted ways. And for just as long, that little ring has sat unworn in my jewelry box. An unfortunate fate for something so pretty. 

So, after thinking about it for a few years, I decided it was time to find this ring a new home. Time to pass along the joy I experienced when I received this ring myself. Knowing it could brighten someone else’s holiday meant more to me than holding onto it. An energetic exchange. 

After posting an ad in the Free section on Craigslist, I received an e-mail from a mother whose family had recently lost all of their possessions in a house fire. Everyone escaped without harm; however, all of their creature comforts and sentimental belongings were lost. Perhaps this ring will begin a new collection of sentimental possessions. 

Her daughter, the soon-to-be owner of my ring, is a 12-year-old girl with sparkly eyes, slender fingers, and a wide smile. She came by my house with her father and younger brother to pick up a comfy leather chair and some holiday decorations that I was also giving away. Little did she know, in the pocket of her dad’s Patriots sweatshirt, was a small box containing something sparkly and special, especially for her. Her mother planned to put it under the Christmas tree with a note saying it was sent from an angel. 

I could rattle off a hundred reasons why I’m anything but an angel. I’m just been fortunate over the years to have bought and received a lot of lovely things, for which I am oh so grateful. 

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because gratitude goes both ways. 

On Butterflies, Elvis, and Somebody Else's Aunt Edna

A few months ago, I posted something hugely sentimental on Craigslist: a butterfly-shaped candle holder that my boyfriend had bought for me when we first started dating—way back when Eisenhower was president. Or maybe Clinton. I don’t know; it was a long time ago. Anyhow. The candle holder was tremendously sweet, albeit not quite my style. Nevertheless, I held onto it for years, giving it a place of honor on my dresser. Then on top of a bookcase. Then on top of a stereo speaker. Then on top of a pile of miscellaneous things in our spare room closet.

That’s just no way to treat a pretty, little thing. Especially one with such sentimental value. After much deliberation, I posted it in the free section along with everyone else’s cast-offs. But in the ad, I told a little story. I wanted to make sure the person who inherited this candle holder knew its history. And more important than that, I wanted to know theirs. At least a little bit of it.

Boy, did the e-mails pour in! Several people just wanted to tell me that I was crazy for giving away something so sentimental. (Thanks for the guilt trip!) Others, in typical Craigslist fashion wanted me to call them if it was still available, disregarding my interest in why they were interested in my candle holder. And then there was this guy who wanted me to deliver it to his Aunt Edna. Despite my “you must come and pick it up” rule, I agreed to make this special delivery without hesitation.

One of her elderly friends had recently passed on, and despite Edna’s usual upbeat disposition, her nephew knew that she was hurting. He said that if I could just leave at her door with a note that it would absolutely brighten up her day. Aunt Edna loves anything and everything with a butterfly motif, and would most certainly give it a good home.

Aunt Edna lived in a public housing complex that was not too far out of the way on my way home from work. It was an unseasonably warm day—our first after a long winter—and my boss let us out a bit early. Perhaps it was all this bright sunshine, or the gift of time, or knowing I was going to brighten up a stranger’s day, but rather than leave the candle holder in Aunt Edna’s lobby, I had decided to ring the buzzer and deliver the gift-wrapped candle holder in person.

After a few technical difficulties, Aunt Edna buzzed me in. I stepped into the elevator and wrapped my way down the institutional-looking hall. Standing in the doorway was a short, grey-haired, smiling lady, ready to welcome me into her home. In an instant, I recalled all the after-school specials and cautionary tales of my youth that warned me about unsuspecting strangers, brushed aside my qualms, and stepped into her apartment.

Aunt Edna was delighted to have a visitor (her nephew had given her a head’s up that I’d be coming that day), and in her sweet, septuagenarian way, proceeded to tell me the story behind each and every one of her butterfly knick-knacks—as well as her Elvis memorabilia, and the lone rooster decoration from her ex husband. She introduced me to her family members, both living and passed, whose pictures hung on her metal closet door, and showed me the 40-year sobriety medallion that she had received at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting the night before. She whispered as she spoke. “It’s not something that everybody in the building needs to know about me.” The butterflies she surrounded herself with gave her a reliable sense of carefreeness and joy.

A good 45 minutes later, after we recounted the stories of so many of her belongings, Edna gave me a hug and thanked me for choosing her to take good care of the butterfly candle holder from my beloved. She had set it on an end table in her living room, right in front of her rotating fiber-optic butterfly lamp. A place of honor, no doubt.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because the perfect space for that knicknack may be in someone else's home. (Amazing, luminous butterfly photo by audreyjm529 via Creative Commons.)

Gone Gone Gone

I finally did it. Something I’ve wanted to do for years—more years than I care to admit. I threw out that old box of tarnished, tangled, broken, and bent jewelry. Sounds simple, yes—but my decluttering self and my tree-hugging self have been at odds with one another for far too long, resulting in a whole lotta inaction, frustration, and even resentment. Ick!

For a brief moment, as all those itty bitty things settled into the pockets of space in the garbage, I felt guilty. (The planet! The garbage swirl! The earring-less women in the greater Boston area!) Moments later, that feeling morphed into liberation—and I went on a quick, 15-minute throw-away spree. I tossed my old metronome and tuner and oboe reed-making supplies. Bobby pins, safety pins, and all those plastic clips from the dry cleaner? Gone. That old keychain flashlight I carried in college? To the garbage. Even my favorite green fine-point pen that didn’t even have enough ink in it for me to scribble my first name was laid to rest—alongside the watermelon rinds and soiled parchment paper. I can’t wait to do it again tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after, too.

None of us are the sum of our possessions. They’re just things. But if the things that fill our homes are supposed to be a reflection of who we are and what we want out of life, then what does all that junk say about us?

Not every old item of mine is meant to have a second life. Sometimes, one person’s trash is just another person’s trash, too. I’m done with the guilt of holding on to decrepit and defunct stuff with the thought that somewhere there’s a person who is looking for exactly this crummy old thing. It’s just gotta go—even if it’s going to wind up in a landfill. Chalk it up to another life lesson about wants vs. needs. That less really is more. I repeat—for my benefit, and maybe yours, too:

Less is more.

The nicer, more meaningful things that I no longer have a need for—like my beloved cat’s old belongings or the butterfly candle holder my partner bought for me early on in our courtship? Now, that’s where good karma housekeeping comes into play.

"Clutter blocks success."     

                                                                       --Christine Kane                     

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more--even when it comes to jewelry. (Photo by frerieke via Creative Commons.)

Good Karma Bling: Passing Along My Little Girl Jewelry

A few weeks ago, I went through my jewelry box--and my other jewelry box. Sitting on my bedroom floor and combing through all of my treasures was a trip down memory lane. Dainty necklaces and bracelets from my First Communion, earings from my college roommate's trip to New Zealand, a lacey eidelweiss bracelet from Austria, the opal ring I got for my eighth grade graduation, the amazing emerald and diamond jewelry my boyfriend surprised me with one January evening. Each piece having a little story. I cleaned out my big jewelry box and gave my favorite pieces a place of honor. In doing so, I came across a few pieces of little-girl jewelry that I wanted to give away: a tiny pair of heart-shaped studs, and a set of itty-bitty emerald jewelry.

I posted an ad on Craigslist, and here's who I chose to give them to:

A little girl named Lunah, maybe three or four years old, is the recipient of my old, tiny, heart-shaped stud earings. Back in second grade when I got my ears pierced, these dainty gold hearts were my first "real" earrings, along with some little blue whales that have long-since disappeared. But I digress.

Lunah's mother responded to my ad because her daughter lost an earring somewhere in the house the day before. Lunah asked her mommy to help her find it, but they had no luck. Because Lunah is such a good helper around the home, mommy Edna likes to reward her little one with a small gift on Friday afternoons. My old heart-shaped earings were her gift that week.

This is Lily. Like me, she was born in May. That's my teeny-tiny (not real) emerald ring on her right index finger. And you can't see it, but behind all that long, blonde hair are my old (not real) emerald studs. Around her neck hangs my old emerald pendant. (Yep, also not a real emerald.) But that doesn't matter. When you're a little girl and fortunate enough to get to wear sparkly, grown-up jewelry, none of that matters.

Lily's nana responded to my Craigslist ad and told me that she was was going to be seeing Lily in a few days and would love to pass these pieces along. We met at Dunkin' Donuts over coffee and had an absolutely lovely chat. Having learned more about Lily, her family, and her kind nana, I couldn't be more pleased to pass along these pretty jewels.

The ring was a gift from my parents, I think, when I was probably around seven years old. I remember seeing it in the Service Merchandise catalog and thinking it was ever-so-pretty. The ring grew with me over the years--from middle finger, to ring finger, and finally landing on my pinky. The stone was a little bit scratched because I once dropped it once while playing in my grandparents' driveway. I think it actually got run over.

Nevertheless, after sitting unworn in my jewelry box for a good 15 or 20 years, this dainty little ring deserved to come out from hibernation. But pinky rings and artificial gems aren't my style these days. It deserved to be worn by another little girl. Passing along this treasured little piece of my childhood--and getting to know a kind stranger in the process--was one of the brightest spots in my history of good karma housekeeping.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. Just like a fairytale princess.

Made With Love, Covered in Dust

There are a few things on my not-for-me list: sushi, anime, tanning beds, and tchotchkes are four that come to mind. I have no problem dodging the first three. Tchothkes--those little knick-knacks around your home that serve no real purpose other than to collect dust--have a way of cropping up around my home. Exhibit 4,832-b: this little handmade pottery jar that was specially designed for . . . um . . . my clever retorts. Note the sprig of holly etched on the front.

True, I'm full of clever retorts, witty comebacks, and the occasional snarky remark. And I do have a soft spot for things adored with holly. But what was I supposed to dowith this jar? Fill it with my written quips? Rubber bands and binder clips? Grocery and pet store receipts? (Yes, I know that last one doesn't quite rhyme--though it looks like it should. Doesn't it?)

Craigslist to the rescue--again. Yay!

I posted an ad in the free section and got two respondents: one from a guy who had to get something for his friend's birthday tomorrow and wrote "She loves crap! When can I come pick it up?" (Hey, you're not allowed to call it crap. Only I can do that.) And the other respondent was a polite and friendly woman who said she "adored" my clever retorts jar and would be happy to give it a new home. Perfect! This cute, little handmade pot--while not my style--deserved to go to a good home.

What's even better than finding this doodad a new home is that its new owner rode her bike to pick it up--from four or five towns away. Way to cut back on the carbon footprint!

And while I'm bummed that I didn't get to meet its new owner (I love being able to tie a face and a name and a story to my old possessions, if you haven't noticed), I'm delighted to know that this quirky little catch-all (or catch-nothing, as was its case in my home) is sitting pretty on a kitchen counter waaay on the other side of Boston.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. One tchotcke at a time.

Old News Is Good News

I enjoy perusing magazines--so much so that I kind of don't loathe waiting around at the dentist office or the Jiffy Lube or whatnot. Doesn't matter if it's Family Circle or Family Dog. Mother Earth or Mother Jones. I find them all interesting. However, once I'm done with a magazine, I'm done. Finished. That's why waiting rooms are so great. I can leave the magazines right where I found them, keeping the clutter out of my home.

Nevertheless, the car and I are pretty healthy, so I don't spend that much time in waiting rooms. But I have subscribed to more than a few magazines over the years, most of which I've just been stacking up and up on my bookshelves.

So, why was I holding on to all of these old magazines? Did I really need to fill my bookshelves with their colorful spines all facing outward as if to say, "Look at me--and look at my titles! Aren't I well-fed, well-versed, flexible, well-adjusted, worldly, wine-savvy, and stylish?" (Amazon.com, by the way, offers some unbeatable prices on magazine subscriptions.)

What to do, what to do . . .

Why not send them back to the waiting room? A woman from the Brighton-Allston Mental Health Association got in touch with me through my Craigslist posting looking for a new home for my old magazines. Being a private, nonprofit organization, money is tight--and waiting room niceties, like magazines, are a bit of a luxury. The facility serves a low-income demographic and likes to let its clients take home a magazine if they wish. Sounds like my old magazines will indeed be put to good use.

So, what do you all do with your old magazines? Are they accessorizing your bookshelves, too? Have you read them all? Ever refer back to them? Still have your copies of Sassy from 1988? Please, do tell.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more.

Donating Shoes: Soled On the Idea

I've never been one to splurge on shoes, nor do I have a vast collection. However, I've been hanging on to quite a few pairs that I no longer wear. Some are a bit out of style, while others are in need of a little repair; functionally though, they are all in okay shape.

Over the years, I have donated quite a bit of clothing to Big Brothers/Big Sisters and the Vietnam Veterans Association, but for whatever reason I've never really thought to donate my old, worn shoes. A few months back, however, I came across a photo spread in National Geographic's  Green Guide that completely changed my mind. (Check it out here: What Happens to Donated Shoes.)

Soles 4 Souls, the program featured here, collects new and used shoes for both children and adults whose lives have been impacted by tragedy or hardship. Inspired by the sight on television of a single shoe washed ashore following the 2004 tsunami that hit Southeast Asia, its founder Wayne Elsey, has overseen the donation of more than 3.4 million pairs of shoes to date. He estimates that, throughout America, there are 1.5 billion pairs of unworn shoes in our closets. Billion. I can easily account for a dozen or so pairs.

I rooted around in our hallway closet and dusted off the shoes you see above, bundled each pair together and dropped them off at a nearby collection site. Easy as that. Find a collection site near you. 

"Buy better, buy less."                                                                                                                  -- John Fluevog

I've always preferred quality to quantity. Give me a handful of cashmere sweaters over a cedar chest full of pilly blends. A couple of classic handbags over an array of knock-offs. A few pieces of real jewelry over a mound of the costume stuff. But on many occasions I've cheaped out on shoes (a) because I'm pretty hard on them and (b) because they're waaay down there and I don't think anybody really notices (or cares) what's on my my feet.

While I'm happy that I was able to fill the Soles 4 Souls box with so many pairs of shoes from my own closet (and there are more to come), I'd much rather embrace the John Fluevog approach and be more selective in my shoe purchases, thinking about the long-term socioeconomic benefit. While the dollar amount may be low, it's the "hidden" expenses (like sweatshops) that don't sit so well with me. I'm sure some of my shoes came from less-than-ideal conditions, but I'm happy to know that they will be put to continued use. And in the future, I'll think twice before buying a new pair of shoes.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more.

It's Gonna Take Time . . .

 

Suitcases. I've been driving around with a dozen suitcases and duffel bags in the back seat and trunk of my car our car for the past week. To anyone who has caught a glimpse inside of the car, we've probably looked like vagabonds. But the truth of the matter is, these suitcases and bags were destined for foster care kids. Kids who otherwise would be carrying their posessions from one place to the next in plastic garbage bags. And that breaks my heart.

The collection was to help out a friend of a friend of a friend who is helping Suitcases 4 Kids in its mission to collect 14,000 suitcases for foster kids in Massachusetts over the next year. According to its Statistics page, there are over 510,000 kids in the United States under the age of 23 who are living in foster care.  That's nearly as many people as you've got in the entire city of Boston. I hate to think there could possibly be that many displaced kids across the United States. While I'm not at a place in my life where I could reasonably take on a foster child myself, I could certainly root around in my attic and dig out a few unused suitcases. My friend Ehrin did the same, and my boss even bought two duffel bags for me to add to the collection--one with pink handles and another with blue. A thoughtful touch, for sure.

But back to the suitcases bumbling around in my back seat. After a day or two of carting these things around (and playing lots of phone tag with the suitcase sherpherd), I'll admit--it was tempting to just deposit them in the big Red Cross donation box in the grocery store parking lot and be done with it. Once I've committed to giving something away, I'm ready to release it--clearing my clutter while knowing that somebody else will be able to benefit from it.

But the point wasn't to put these suitcases and duffel bags into just anybody's hands. They were specifically for the foster care kids. And if I was feeling a little antsy about the donation process taking a little longer than expected, well imagine how those must kids feel.

Tonight, at last, I was able to hand over all of the bags. Still, it will probably be a little while before they make it to the foster kids. Even the best of intentions, however, becomes a process once there are adults involved (myself included). Between busy schedules, social calendars, and unexpected situations, we do our best. Patience seems to slip to the wayside when there's a to-do list involved. But in order to do good by all those anonymous kids, patience is key. Just doing something to help is what's most important.

_________________

Live in the Boston area or anywhere near Hartford or New Haven? Have some suitcases you'd like to donate? Let me know!

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more. (Image from KiddoInfo)

Send Me On My Way

It has been a Craigslistin' kind of week . . . I've had these two, tiny little guardian angel lapel pins for nearly 20 years. Back in the day, they were all the rage. Okay--maybe not all the rage, but they were fairly popular at this little new age jewelry/gift store in my hometown of Madison, CT, called Down to Earth. So I bought a couple and, sadly, never wore them. Instead, they sat in a little mauve velvet compartment in my jewelry box.

Today, I packed them up and sent them on their way to a woman who works in a nursing home. She has two residents who are getting ready to move out on their own, and thought that having a little guardian angel to make the transition with them would provide some needed comfort. 

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more.

Missed Manners

This evening, I gave away a few bottles of perfume that I hadn't worn in quite some time: two of which made me sneeze (Bvlgari and Hugo Boss) and the other (Lucky You), which just wasn't me. Per usual, I had posted three ads in the "free" section on Craigslist--and per usual, I was hit with quite a few responses. The woman I gave them to was excited to share them with her two teenage daughters. Sure, the math worked out neatly on that one--but mostly, I chose to give the perfumes to this woman because she was friendly and polite in her e-mail. Two qualities that will always win me over.

Now, I know I work with words for a living, so perhaps I care/read into communications a little more than your average bear, but I truly wish more people would realize that manners always count. Even when you're not face to face. Even when you're bidding on a stranger's free Craigslist stuff. Lessons learned on Sesame Street; reinforced in Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood.

As I stood in my driveway chatting with this kind mother of three, she asked if anyone else had responded to my ads for the perfumes. "Oh, lots of people," I said.

"What, and none of them showed up?"

"No, you're the only one I responded to. You got my attention by being so friendly and polite."

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more. (Photo credit by bjornmeansbear via Creative Commons--thank you!)

This Little Piggy Bank

I remember peeling the dollar bills out of my red Velcro wallet back in 1984 to pay for this cute little piggy bank that I bought for myself at the China pavillion at Epcot Center while on a family vacation. For years, this piggy bank sat on my dresser, holding coins for vending machine goodies; later, quarters for the washing machines at college. Eventually, the rubber stopper on the bottom disintegrated and the joy of dropping a coin into the money slot was a thing of the past. But I wasn't ready yet to part with this rosy-cheeked piglet with the endearing smile. So, I carried her from one home to the next, knowing someday I'd find her a new owner. Who could resist that face?

I posted the bank on Craigslist and soon after received an e-mail from a woman (also named Holly) who thought the smile on the piggy bank reminded her of her husband--and that made her smile. Her story charmed me, and even though that little bank no longer sits on my dresser, I have a permanent memory of its silly little smile.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more.

And Then There Was One

I leased my car--a 2006 Honda Civic--just days before my Grandpa Bill passed away. The car I was driving previously--a '97 Civic--was quickly begining to show its age and each time I'd turn my key in the ignition, I'd sigh in relief. Honestly, I didn't know how much more the old dame had in her, yet she always surprised me with one more trip, one more day.  Still, I felt guilty making plans to lease a new car when, technically, the old one was still running--and the body wasn't in such bad shape either. Had I given up too easily? As my grandfather lay in a hospital bed struggling to breathe on this, his last Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thanksgiving Thursday--my grandmother by his side--neither one of them was ready to call it quits.

I remember driving to work that Tuesday morning before trading in my car, holding the steering wheel a bit more lovingly, offering gratitude for our safe travels into thin air. On Thanksgiving Day, with my fingertips resting on the back of my grandfather's papery hand, I hoped that my touch expressed my appreciation for all the games of chase around the dining room table, Happy Meals, trips to Jennings Beach, soft-serve cones from Carvel, and spending money slipped into just because greeting cards.

My grandfather passed away early on Friday morning with my grandmother still by his side, exhausted from recounting the last 50+ years of their life together. In my garage sat a shiny new car, just 15 miles on the odometer. Out with the old, in with the new. I named the new car Bill, knowing he would have appreciated the pun.

So last week, when the lease on that '06 Civic came to an end and I turned in Bill to the dealer, I couldn't help but feel another twinge of sadness over letting go. This time, however, I wasn't bringing home a shiny new toy. Instead, we are going to have a run at beign a one-car family, saving us money and reducing our carbon footbrint for sure. It hasn't been very long, but Bill's absence is starkly apparent. I'm sure my grandmother agrees.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more--except if you're talking about grandpas.

Related posts: Observations On My Sense Of Observation

Putting Good Fortune into Perspective

I received this pretty little freshwater pearl necklace from some distant relatives when I was in--I'm guessing here--the eighth grade. Birthday? Christmas? The details are fuzzy. This branch of the family tree was sporadic in its gift giving. Not that gifts should ever be expected, but we just weren't that close with one another, bloodlines or not. Perhaps that explains why I never developed a sentimental attachment to this necklace. Most of the jewelry I wear has a little story behind it, like Gramma Rita's peridot ring or her lovebirds necklace. This necklace did not. After nearly 20 years of it sitting in my dresser drawer, I decided it was time to give it a new lease and connect it with someone who would feel a sense of attachment to it.

I posted it on Craigslist in the free section and explained my desire to give this piece of jewelry a story and meaning and a sense of value. My one request was to know why they were interested in my old piece of jewelry--something beyond it street value. I figured the right person would present him or herself in time.

In fact--quite a few people would have given this necklace the sense of value I was looking for. People opened up to me. It was overwhelming and heartwarming and more than a bit humbling. Throughout my life, I have been fortunate to receive a number of beautiful pieces of jewelry--both heirlooms and new pieces. I know that I'm lucky for all that I have, but this quest of connecting my old necklace with a new owner helped me see that luck and good fortune are not all about an accumulation of things.

I gave the necklace to a woman named Michelle who, quite simply, wanted it for herself. Her story was honest and personal and full of promise, hope, and goodwill. She was a hard worker with a big heart--strong on the outside, sensitive on the inside--and had been a giver her whole life. However, her interest in this necklace was not coming from a place of "it's time for me to receive a little something." Rather, she was on the cusp of making some healthy, positive changes in her own life--all the while dedicating herself to giving her daughter a life of abundance. This pretty piece of jewelry was a way to comemorate the woman she is--both where she has come from and where she is headed.

Being well off has little to do with money and everything to do with perspective. That's the lesson she taught me. Finally, that little necklace has a sense of meaning. I need not have it around my neck to remember its story.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more.

Four Stuffed Bunnies (and a Bumble Bee)

When I was in my mid/late 20s, my father gave me a stuffed bunny, along with some fancy chocolates, four Easters in a row. I secretly loved that, despite being all grown up, the mythical holiday bigwigs still had their part in my life. However, I felt a bit silly putting my floppy-eared toys on display. I'm just not that kind of girl.

True to my father's good taste in gifts, these were some rather lovely bunnies. Adorable and girly and tea party-worthy. But each year, as the Easter holiday season passed, I would tuck my newest acquisition into a blue plastic storage bin, figuring that someday I'd be able to find them a proper home.

Enter, Craigslist.

I posted an ad looking for someone to help me give these bunnies a new home. And per usual, I wanted to know why they were interested in my bunnies. They may be stuffed animals, but they my stuffed animals, and were given with love. They needed to go to the right home.

I received a few inquiries, but only one felt right. It was from a gentleman from Wellesley, who had a two-year-old granddaughter named Chloe, with a sibling on the way. He assured me that his granddaughter would give my old bunnies the love a stuffed animal deserves (and that Chloe's mother would ensure they remained well cared for). Sold.

Fast-forward to noon today, when Bob, the gentleman from Wellesley, met me in front of my workplace. I handed over a Nordstrom shopping bag full bunnies (and one tiny little stuffed bumble bee that had come from my mother), and he presented me with a bouquet of tulips and daffodils as a thank you. Such a pleasant little surprise that totally brightened my day.

Just goes to show, random acts of kindness are indeed contagious . . .

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--both mentally and physically--to live happily ever after.

Snowflake, the Fluffy White Teddy Bear

Let me start by saying that I have always believed stuffed animals have feelings. That when the stuffins are inserted at the toy factory, a little bit of spirit and soul gets mixed in, too. So, when I found the following note attached to my beloved old teddy bear, Snowflake (a.k.a. Oatmeal), up to his armpits in a garbage bag, my heartstrings were tugged and my reaction was a mixture of laughter and tears.

Dear Holly (please read this when we are alone),

With every visit here at Grandma's home, she fluffs me up and plunks me in the corner of your sleeping area. I think she realizes just how much you mean to me and therefore does not resign me to the basement or worse yet, the dumpster. However, this new outfit she has fitted me with, tells me she may do just that.

My one and only dream would be for you to take me home with you and find a purpose for me once again so I may enjoy my existence. I remember the day my loving Grandma and Grandpa found me and Freckle on a high shelf in Macy's department store. They immediately knew we would be loved by you and Uncle Jimmy. That brought such joy to my heart and I couldn't wait for Christmas Morning! I loved your little arms around me and will forever let that memory warm my heart.

Grandma has told me that you have someone else to snuggle with these days and I am happy for you. I realize I am dusty and have dirty spots on me and am no longer desirable. It would mean so much to me if you would take me home and give me a bath so I can smell nice again. Maybe you could put me on the internet and find a young person who would love me the way you used to. Or, maybe Teddy or Inky would like to lay on top of me and love me in their own way. I just want to feel needed, and Grandma just uses me as a pillow sometimes. She sometimes hugs me, but I think she just feels sorry for me. I want to be special to someone. Will you help me? If you scrub me up it will take years off of me and I just know someone will love me again. I promise not to be any trouble.

Thank you for reading this Holly, and I hope with all my heart that you will please take me home and help me find someone to love me. It is why I was created and I can't tell you how lonely I am.

All my love,

Oatmeal

I drove back to Boston that weekend with Snowflake in my passenger seat, crafting in my head the ad I would post on Craigslist to find my old bear a new home in time for Christmas. Before unloading my bags, I carried Snowflake into the house with my arms wrapped around his belly. My boyfriend was amused and promptly re-named the long-limbed fella the Snow Monkey.

For a good month or so, Snowflake (a.k.a. Oatmeal or the Snow Monkey) held court in the living room, patiently waiting for me to take the next step. He needed a bath. There was a drop of barbecue sauce stuck in his fur and decades of dust had turned him a dingy shade of snow reminiscent of March. I was caught between wanting to keep him for my own and finding him a new loving home.

Come early December, with the tree all adorned and the holiday season upon us, I carried Snowflake upstairs to the bathroom and bathed him with OxyClean and a washcloth, ever so gently, removing the past that clung to his exterior, readying him for a new set of loving arms.

Snowflake found his new home via Craigslist quite quickly, as you might expect of a handsome guy such as he. I received numerous requests for him, but the one that immediately stood out as being just right came from a teacher at Winthrop Middle School who works in a therapeutic classroom. She explained that many of her students are healing from trauma and sometimes find solace in just sitting with a stuffed animal in their arms. Sold. I packed Snowflake up the very next day and overnighted him to the school, where he arrived just in time for their annual family holiday party.

So, just as my parents had been warmed by visions of their children wrapping their arms wrapped around these two big fluffy teddy bears, I, too, feel a swell in my heart knowing this bear still has many more hugs to come.

P.S., I regret to inform you that Freckle, my brother's teddy bear, eventually bought the farm. But only after years and years of being snuggled, drooled upon, and used as a pillow. I suppose that's a pretty good life for a teddy bear to lead, too.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after.

Prepaid Phone Card

Past: I have had two opportunities to attend weeklong yoga retreats nestled deep in the Adirondack Mountains where the scent of all that green was intoxicatingly fresh; the big, blue sky within arm’s reach; and the wildlife our dorm mates. The opportunity to unplug from all of life’s daily to-do’s and just tap into what’s going on inside was pretty powerful. It also make me kind of cranky. I attributed this to (a) a decided lack of ice cream and other sugary goodies; (b) an overload of time spent with shiny, happy people; and (c) not being able to call or e-mail my ultra-grounded counterpart back home whenever I wanted. My days were highly regimented—and that brought out my inner rebel. This caused me to do something childish: I stole a 100-calorie strawberry shortcake-flavored granola bar from the retreat facility’s conference center. The sweet, crunchy goodness did take away some of my crank, but I have felt guilty about my pilfering all these years later.

The photo here transports me back to the lighter, carefree moments that comprised the majority of my time spent in the Adirondacks. Taken through a window screen, these two deer were minding their own business, munching and exploring and doing whatever it is that deer do while we were practicing our half moons. The woman who was running the retreat had a book about animal symbolism with her and told us these deer represented a gentle lure to adventure. Beckoning us, I believe, to let go of whatever we were holding on to and go with the flow. Whenever I feel the clench of stress overcoming me, I try to remember back to the deer outside our window.

So, what does any of this have to do with a prepaid phone card? The one phone available to us was a payphone located in the conference center—about two feet away from where I swiped that granola bar. And as much as I would have liked to, I never came close to using all 480 minutes of domestic call time that I paid for on two phone cards.

Present: With no plans on the horizon to travel someplace where the cell phone tower signals can’t find me—and a cell phone plan that gives me free nights and weekends—I really didn’t have any use for this phone card. Plus, I thought that perhaps by giving it away, I could earn a karma point our two back for swiping the granola bar.

The Craigslist response to my ad that caught my attention was from someone named Trang who was new to America and had hoped to use the phone card in order to be able to call his or her family in California during the day from work. I’ve got to admire someone who’s not only trying to make a go of it in a new country, but who is also respectful enough of his or her employer not to be making personal calls on the company dime. I, the granola bar snatcher, should be so virtuous.