Happiness — Formerly Mine — Holly D. Mattson

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.)

freshwater_pearl_necklace 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.