I spotted my first fallen leaves in the grass of the baseball diamond near my post office last Thursday.

The bag over my shoulder was bursting with little brown packages. Each containing a silver or bronze new leaf necklace destined for one of you. I make this walk to the post office, with Murphy in tow and sometimes Mr. Benjamin, at least a few times a week. And still, two months after quitting the day job, these post office trips are my favorite part about my new job.

The walk itself is the last step before the necklaces will be around your necks. I’ve sent packages all over the world now. One even went to Saskatchewan. Another to Argentina and yet another to Great Britian. On these walks it all comes full circle. I feel like a bearer of hope, sending little packages of it one by one to each of you who so generously chose to support my little blogging career by buying one.

When I saw the leaves I stopped for a second to digest the sight of them. August, I thought, it’s still August but I guess Fall is almost here now. I gave Murphy a little whistle and we kept walking. Now about thirty feet from the busy street I had to cross to reach the post office and with the building before me, I started thinking about her.

The first time she processed a pile of my packages, stamping them all and tucking them away under her counter she asked me what was inside.

“Necklaces,” I answered.

“Well, you’re not allowed to send jewelry to Canada,” her words were cold as her hands rested on one of my brown envelopes destined for a single mom in Ontario.

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know why,” she said. Still as cold as ice.

“What happens if I send it and they catch it? Do they just send it back?”

“Yes.” She looked annoyed now and ran her hands through her silver gray hair. It was long, falling past her shoulders. I decided she either hated me, hated being here, hated life or hated her job and then I made another decision – to send the necklaces anyway. It sounded like a stupid law anyway.

“I’ll take my chances.” We proceeded as if she didn’t know anything about the contents of my little envelopes. I paid and I left.

The next time I went in with some packages for Canada I saw her behind the counter and I cringed. Damn it. She asked me again about what was inside and I answered truthfully. She shook her head disapprovingly and we ran through the drill. I paid and I left. Even when I brought Benjamin she was still cold. One time another postal worker tipped me off, telling me to call them accessories.

The last time I had seen her, before I saw the leaves, maybe a few days beforehand she spied my brown envelopes marked with the “CAN” and said, “and what’s in them?”

“Accessories,” I answered.

“And we’ve been over the accessory thing before, right?” She asked.

“Yes,” I said politely.

I looked behind my shoulder to take a quick look at Murphy who was tied up outside and obediently waiting for me.

“What kind of dog is he?” She asked. For the first time ever I noticed a sparkle in her eyes.

“A Wheaton Terrier.”

“Oh, how cute!” She was completely lit up now and then slipped me a stack of little green customs forms. “Here just fill these customs forms out about the accessories and next time bring him in so he can have some treats.”

“You have treats?”

“Yes, we always have some back here.” She tapped her counter and was still starring through the window, unable, it seemed to take her eyes off of my dog. I paid, thanked her and then left.

I remember calling John Bear to tell him that “the mean postal lady finally smiled. It was a minor miracle.”

In spite of her wishes for me to bring Murphy in I left him tied up outside. He jumps and I saw a bit of a line in the post office, shoulders neatly stacked in a long row of bodies, hands clutching packages and envelopes. When I took my place behind them I noticed she wasn’t there. And then I piece of paper taped to the edge of her counter, the type blown up by a copy machine. It wasn’t until a few moments before I went up to meet the man standing in her place that I realized the paper was an obituary.

“Is this for the woman with the long gray hair, she used to be right here?” I asked the obvious question, the words trailing out of my mouth when I saw the man’s eyes were clearly stressed. He nodded his head as I quickly scanned the obituary.

53…Suddenly at her home.

“A heart attack?” I asked him. And she was only 53? She had looked much older.

“Yeah, a heart attack, it’s been rough.”

“I’m so sorry.” But I was mostly sorry I hadn’t made her smile sooner, I should have given her a necklace.

On the day she died Benjamin and I were on Fiesta Movement Mission 4.

Every agent picked a charity, I chose to volunteer at a senior center because I knew, without a doubt, Benjamin would brighten their days just by being there. And he did. Check the video out.

We only spent a few hours with the seniors but in that time I learned that each and every one of them, many over 80 and even some over 90, were happy – optimistic, relaxed and enjoying their moments.

I’m not saying every grumpy person out there is going to die of a heart attack but maybe making some time to just be happy, maybe trading a few material things (like that fancy car or purse) and choosing to work less hours would actually lengthen your life. There’s nothing wrong with spending a lot less because you’ll start living a lot better.

It’s not something you can do tomorrow, I understand that – it took me two years to get to the point where I could work from home – but it can happen. Maybe someday I’ll be able to tell you how to do it … need more of that thing called time, keeps slipping away, through my fingers almost. One thing I can tell you… only buy what you need. Save every penny and don’t live beyond your means.

For inspiration on how to make some extra money at home and in how you can channel your creativity browse Etsy.com, most of the items for sale here are made by work at home moms. And also visit SwapMamas.com where moms are saving big money by trading stuff they don’t need or use anymore. Mommy Pie started that site a few months back when she got laid off from her job.

Big things, mamas. Big things. Dream big, okay? And for God’s sake – smile, would ya? Oh and don’t die on me. I don’t like that when people just disappear. Freaks me out.

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1. My dark side
2. One side effect of being a dating single mama…my baby is trying to make out with me.
3. My new dance partner