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.

World Series 100th anniversary commemorative pin

Past: Over the years, I’ve had uncanny luck at scoring tickets for highly sought after events on Ticketmaster. Once such win was tickets to Game 1 of the World Series back in 2003.

I bought these tickets before we knew who would be in the playoffs. Our hope was that it would involve the Red Sox and/or the Cubs, both of which were this close to making it in. Alas, that didn’t happen. It was the Yankees and the Marlins that made it to the end. So, to Yankee Stadium we went—while our Cubs-loving friend from Illinois opted not to join us. But he was super-kind enough to give us some Acela points that upped us to business class and (this was the best part) a free stay at the W Hotel in Times Square.

Unfortunately, as soon as we made it to NYC, I was walloped with a sinus infection and my boyfriend burdened with GI distress. His good pal joined us on the trip and did his best to keep us in good spirits.

All I remember from the game was pressing my palms into my eye sockets to stop the throbbing in my skull, shivering because I chose style over function, and sipping a really lousy hot chocolate. But because it was a big-deal anniversary for the World Series, everybody at the ballpark that night received a little commemorative pin. That pin—for all these years—served as a reminder of that miserable night . . . and that amazing hotel room. Got to get back there someday!

Present: Craigslisters aplenty e-mailed me asking for me to give them this pin. In the end, it was a pleasant gentleman by the name of Gene who I chose to give it to. He simply wanted to add it to his collectors hat, which is already adorned with pins. And that reminded me of the straw cowboy hat that my Grandpa Bill used to wear sometimes. His hat had collectible pins from all 50 nifty United States on it. It was a silly-looking hat. But I loved staring at it, knowing each pin contained a story.

I mentioned this to Gene and he said that each of his pins also carried with it a story. And he thanked me for telling him my story, which gives my World Series collectors pin from 2003 a story for him to share with his grandchildren.

Veggie & dip serving tray

Past: My guy is much more extroverted than I am—or will ever be. And back when he was in business school, he decided to invite his entire class over for a year-end party. And not class as in the people sitting in the same room as you. No, class as in all hundred-plus full-time first-years. That’s a lot of people! So, I did what any good live-in girlfriend/default co-hostess would do: I went on a mini spending spree at Target. And because all good parties have dip, it seemed a no-brainer to purchase this veggie & dip serving tray.

That evening, we probably had 75 people or so milling around our backyard, wandering in and out of the house. It was a one-story house we lived in, with Teddy, my beloved big orange cat. My big orange indoor cat. That night stands out in my memory as the night Teddy got his first taste of freedom.

Understandably so, someone had left a door ajar . . . and while I was outside talking with the two non-b-school people at the party, I saw a flicker of orange out of the corner of my eye. It was Teddy, setting his paws on the Earth for the first time. The look in his eyes said “I’m really freaked out”—and I’m sure the look on my face said pretty much the same. I swept him up, shooed him into the kitchen, and that was that. I have no other recollections of that party—other than the fact that absolutely no one ate the dip.

That was May 2003. We haven’t used that dip tray since. For five years now, I’ve let this beast take up precious space in my cabinets—taunting me as I try and wiggle out a Pyrex dish without first removing the dip tray. I’m not a party-thrower—and not one for plastic containers of any size. So, one rainy day I decided enough was enough. Let the craigslisters have at it.

Present: I suppose picnic season is behind us, but that doesn’t matter. I got just one response to my veggie & dip serving tray posting—and that was all I needed. A friendly woman who lives in town gladly took it off my hands—along with 40-plus blank notecards that I also craigslisted. She rang the doorbell—and of course, Inky the dog went insane. When I opened the door, and then the screen to hand over the belongings, Inky tried to nose his way out. I successfully kept this pet indoors—but I did manage to drop the plastic dip tray—domed lid and all—on top of his cute little fuzzy head. He seemed no worse for the wear, but I think it freaked the poor woman out who was here to pick up the stuff. Sorry about that. Really, he’s fine!

Brighton keychain

Past: I like simple things. Glamorous simple things. This keychain—a gift from my mom, maybe eight or so years ago—twinkled with the best of ’em, but really just had a bit too much tchotch going on for my taste. (Yes, Mom—I know it was from a boutique. And yes, I know it was probably expensive(ish). And yes—I could have given it back to you. But that’s beside the point.)

When I got a new car a few years back, it came with a really big key. So big that it was like a keychain in and of itself. That key plus this jingly Brighton keychain was a bit much. So I scaled back. I felt so unencumbered!

Present: I don’t know too much about the woman who I gave this keychain to—other than she lives in a neighborhood that I drive by often. She was quite excited to receive this charm-adorned keychain though. That’s good enough for me. I can’t go getting sentimental about everything now, can I? Well, maybe . . .

Travel + Leisure back issues

Past: A while back, I received an offer in the mail from American Express. As a cardholder, they wanted to give me a free airline companion ticket. Free! All I had to do was agree to receive two free issues of Travel + Leisure magazine. Then, should I choose, I could continue my subscription at the low, low price of $19. If I didn’t want to subscribe, all I had to do was call and cancel. But the free airline ticket would still be mine. Sweet, right? Wrong! Really, it was just kind of a nuisance.

The free ticket turned out to be more of a hassle to redeem than it was worth. And—of course—I kept forgetting to call and cancel that subscription. When the annual renewal showed up on my credit card statement—and I realized it had been a whole year of me putting off this item on my t0-do list, I promptly called and cancelled. Easy as that.

I love travel—and I’m all about leisure—but this just wasn’t a magazine that I really needed. So, why not let my loss be someone else’s gain.

Present: Only one person responded to this Craigslist ad. And that’s all I needed. I like to think that each issue will get a careful perusing and result in a fabulous vacation in Tuscany or Tahiti or Tanzania.

Freshwater pearl necklace

Past: I received this pretty little necklace from my aunt and uncle on my mom’s side of the family 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 just never developed a sentimental attachment to this necklace. Most of the pieces of jewelry that I wear have a little story behind them—like Gramma Rita’s peridot ring or her lovebirds necklace—and a sense of history and attachment. This necklace did not.

After nearly 20 years of this necklace lying dormant in my dresser drawer—making the move from house to apartment to apartment to home—I decided it was time to give this necklace a new lease and to connect it with somebody who would feel a sense of attachment to it.

I posted it on Craigslist in the free section, knowing I would likely be inundated with responses. My one request was to know why these people would like to receive this necklace. I explained my desire to give this piece of jewelry a story and meaning and a sense of value, and figured the right person would present him or herself.

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

Present: After one false start, some e-mail technical difficulties, and a rainstorm unlike any that I have ever seen, my old necklace made its way into its new owner’s hands. A woman my own age who, quite simply, wanted the necklace for herself.

Her story echoed with me for days. It was honest and personal and full of promise and hope and goodwill. She was a hard worker with a big heart—strong on the outside and sensitive on the inside. And had been a giver her whole life. However, her interest in the necklace was not at all 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 commemorate 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.

Antique tea set

This entry is a bit of a reversal. More like a “currently mine.”

Present: Unbeknownst to me, over the last eight or so years, my father and his soon-to-be wife had been perusing antique shops and fairs in search of a perfectly mismatched bone china tea set for me. With the sixth and final teacup purchased just a month or so ago—the set was complete, and ready for them to present to me for my birthday. I was completely surprised and delighted to receive my very own china tea set—not to mention, truly touched by the years of thought that went into this special project. They had fun working on it, they said, and I feel regal sipping my tea from one of these dainty little cups.

Past: Of course, I would have love to have known the stories behind these items—who owned them prior to me, where did they live, in what manner were they used, etc.—but that is to remain a mystery. So, I did the next best thing: a little Google research. Here’s what I know about a few of the pieces . . .

Teapot: Manufactured by Homer Laughlin and distributed by Household Institute, this Priscilla pattern teapot dates back to 1944.

Creamer & sugar bowl: This floral Wedgwood pattern is stamped with the date August 1922 (or 1923) on the bottom. The handles have a unique look and feel with a gently twisted green stripe pattern.

Yellow teacup: Manufactured by a company called Aynsley that makes bone china in England, this cup seems to date back to 1934. I love the buttercup-yellow scalloped exterior of this cup!

Cream scalloped teacup: This was the last piece that my dad and Nancy picked up from a place called United House Wrecking in Stamford, CT. It’s a Wedgwood teacup, Edme is the pattern, and one site tells me that it is from the 1970s, while another says it dates back to 1908. Whoa, 100 years old! Though, quite possibly, this cup and saucer were not exactly meant to go together. The stamp on the bottom of the saucer doesn’t quite match the cup—though they’re both the Edme pattern. I suspect it’s the cup that’s really old. It looks like it has history behind it.

Green-tipped teacup: This is the one piece that’s from Japan, manufactured by Noritake. Apparently, this company had a million and one different styles to its insignia that it stamped on the bottom of its pieces. Presumably, this piece is from the 1930s or 1940s.

Pale yellow border teacup: And this is the one piece that’s from the U.S. It’s a pattern called Her Majesty, and it’s made by America Chinaware Corp. No info on the date—and it feels a bit sturdier than some of the other pieces. I feel like it came from a proper yet modest household—and that they used their china on a regular basis. And why not? Nice things don’t deserve to stay in hiding . . .