A few months ago, I posted something hugely sentimental on Craigslist: a butterfly-shaped candle holder that my partner 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.

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because mindsets and outlooks can use a little cleaning up, too. Right? (Amazing, luminous butterfly photo by audreyjm529 via Creative Commons.)

I saw the cutest thing on my drive into work this morning . . .

A little boy with a big, new LL Bean backpack was walking to his first day of school, holding his mom’s hand. His sandy blond head turned side to side as he waved at each and every person in his path. It was adorable to see just how proud—and excited—this little boy was to begin his big adventure

So, there he was, this radiant bundle of potential. And there I was, stopped in a line of traffic and waiting for the crossing guard to escort all the kiddos across the street. I had a choice: I could grumble about the delay (Ugh, school’s back in session. Nine more months of all this traffic.) or I could wave back and smile at the little rock star.

I waved and smiled.

Cheering him on, if only from the confines of my car, is so much more productive—for him and for me. It’s an energetic exchange. Like a flock of geese flying in formation: the honking offers encouragement and the flapping creates the velocity to soar.

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because mindsets and outlooks can use a little cleaning up, too. Right? (Photo by Daquella manera via Creative Commons.)

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                     

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

 A coworker who’s involved in dog rescue posted something on our intranet that caught my attention. It was about a Navy Seal who’s also a photographer in Iraq and was looking for pet food donations to help care for the countless stray cats and dogs who were hanging around—and winning the soldiers’ hearts. That’s him in the photo above with a couple of the pups.

People and animals alike, there are so, so many in this world who need a helping hand. I wish I could do more to help everyone. For now, a grassroots plea will have to do.

Can you help?

Here’s what’s needed:

• Cat food*
• Dog food*
• Heartgard
• Frontline
• Medicated shampoo

*Dry food should be emptied into a durable plastic garbage bag and sealed tightly. It’s a good idea to also include the label from the packaging.

Note: Collars and leashes are a no-no. It’s a death sentence for the animal if an Iraqi soldier knows an animal is being cared for by Americans. (That’s just wrong.) 

Perhaps you have some cat food in your cupboard that your finicky feline won’t eat. Or maybe you wouldn’t mind picking up an extra bag or two of pet food when you’re at the store. Or perhaps your vet would have some food or supplies to donate. The flat-rate box cost $11.95 to ship—not so bad, considering how far away it’s going.

The address is:

MC1 Jayme Pastoric
SOTF-W DET RAMADI
Unit 43501
FPO AP 09367-3501

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”                                   –Margaret Mead

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making space on the ol’ to-do list so that a few sweet furry creatures might be able to live happily ever after. (Photo from Jayme Pastoric’s Facebook page)

Wednesday afternoon, my Power Lunch reading buddy bobbed her way through the school lunch line, a smiling whirl of braids and barettes, and presented me with an orange tissue paper flower attached to a popsicle stick.

The flower looked like the type you’d find adorning a platter of sweet & sour chicken at a Chinese food buffet. It’s the sort of thing I would have slipped into my pocket and brought home with me when I, too, was 8 years old. In fact, I still hold on to pretty scraps of this and that. Colorful strips of satin ribbon and lightly creased slips of pretty tissue paper dominate my collection of gift wrap. Odds and ends that make their way to me among the everyday jumble.

“Did you see the news?” she asked me as we climbed the stairs to the library. I had, of course–and knew the exact story she was referring to: the major earthquake that hit her family’s native home of Haiti just the day before. I’d seen the coverage online. The wreckage and chaos. An immense amount of sadness. The phone lines were all down, so her parents weren’t able to get through to their relatives. I cannot imagine.

When I got back to the office, I spent some time online reading about the aftermath and the relief efforts and the countless people who had risen to the occasion, helping in whatever way they can. Indeed, beauty has a way of presenting itself in heartfelt gestures among the ruins.

 ”And she shows you where to look among the garbage and the flowers.”                                                                                                                –Leonard Cohen

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space–one heartfelt gesture at a time–to live happily ever after.