Saturday, September 17, 2011
I like change. I like it at work. I like it in music. I like it in the seasons. I like it in most things, and I understand why I appreciate transformations. But one type of change, coinage, has me baffled. Why, oh why, will I stop and pick up nickels, dimes and yes, EVEN pennies that I pass in my daily travels? I spy a penny while I'm pumping gas, I pick it up. A nickel on the carpet at work? It's in my pocket. I've always been like this. What's this all all about? It's like I'm fixated on it. Some sort of fetish? I wasn't a Depression baby, so it can't be traced to that. I did have a paper route and Fridays and through the weekend, I was always stopping by houses to get paid and making change with my little metallic coin changer that I wore on my belt. Could that be it? I always liked to stack the pennies and roll them before my paper manager, Mr. Priest, arrived. At school, we banked weekly, and I always, it seemed, took change never bills to put in my school account. Could this be a root to my fondness for that jingling in my pocket? We weren't rich growing up, but then again never lacked for anything either. My parents did in still in us the adage that a 'penny saved is a penny earned', but never 'pick up every small coin you ever find'. My photo, today, is a scene I came across recently. Goldmine! I'm baffled. Can you help?