What Really Matters
70-Something reading at the Harvard COOP tonight, 7:00 p.m.

Charm Bracelet

Selling a house brings a whole new cast of characters into your life. There are the realtors and inspectors. There is the woman who helps you decide what to take, sell or trash. There are the movie theater ticket takers who wonder why you keep showing up. (They don’t know that realtors want you away when they have open houses and that realtors like to have lots of open houses.)

I’m not sure how I found Lee, an antiques dealer who loves old costume jewelry. When he came by to look at some dining room furniture we were selling, he asked me if I had any old jewelry to part with.

I did.

Tucked away in a desk drawer wrapped in a sandwich-sized plastic bag was my childhood sterling silver charm bracelet.  When my parents gave mine to me, it had only one charm, scissors that actually opened and closed. Over the years, I added a treasure chest containing a pearl necklace, a high-heeled shoe, a tube of lipstick that actually pushed up and down and more. I kept it all these years to give to my first granddaughter.

But I have only grandsons.

I thought about saving it for one of their daughters, but when you are about to move, saving anything that is not essential for your daily life seems silly. So I sold my charm bracelet to Lee in the hope that a little girl somewhere would love it.

Now, alas, I know the meaning of seller’s remorse.  


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