My parents taught me early to keep my eyes open. And to watch for coins on the street or sidewalk. In my post of August 2, 2012, I spoke of picking up pennies, nickels, dimes, dollar bills — whatever (cell phones, wallets, fine jewelry – some mighty fine). I still do. My eyes are glued to the ground. And yes – I still pick up pennies. All monetary finds go into a bowl for a year-end charitable donation. It’s become a game. Kind’ve a personal challenge. To see what I can find.
Every day I catch the train and go downtown to my office. Every day I walk across the train tracks. And as I do, I slow. Looking. I have never put a coin on the railroad tracks (to do so would probably invite a SWAT team invasion). But I do look for those errant “run over” coins that have been placed on the tracks — and lost — by others. Over the years, I have acquired a nice collection. Nineteen flattened coins to be precise. A few quarters. Dimes. Nickels. Pennies. Each one I’m sure has a story. Just as each lost coin has a story. The good thing is that if I ever run low on cash, I can always take these run over coins to the bank and trade them in for unscathed versions. One dollar and thirty-six cents by my count.
