Here in Portland we had dire warning of a huge snowstorm that would dump 6 inches of snow in one day, which is pretty much unheard-of in Portland. We did get a few inches, but it came in classic Portland fashion: look outside, wait 5 minutes, look again, and you will see completely different weather. In my area of town, it snowed hard in the morning, got sunny and melted everything away midday, then snowed again in the afternoon, but was not really serious about it at that point, and the roads stayed clear. Today all that is left of the not-so-huge snowstorm are a few patches of snow in shady spots, but even those are fading as the sun climbs higher.
During the sunny break, my husband and I went out to lunch and to get birdseed for the poor little yard birds that hang around our deck. While getting said birdseed, I found 4 adorable little coin banks that I decided needed to come home with me. They are each about the size of my palm, and can only hold about a fistful of change, but they have so much promise to them.
Coin banks have always held a certain magic to me. They hold treasure, not just leftover coins from larger bills. In your pocket the coins are just loose change jingling about an being not good for much of anything, especially if they are pennies. Anymore, change is mostly for vending machines, and some of those take a card now and don't need change at all. But put that loose change into a coin bank, and it becomes treasure. It takes on a wonderful, magical quality full of potential and a touch of the unknown. Who knows how much is inside, or what denominations of coins are in there. It is secret hidden in a treasure chest with only a single slot to allow the addition of more treasure but it does not reveal the secrets of what is locked inside. In their own quiet way humble little coin banks stir up the mystery and adventure of pirate chests and dragon hoards; buried treasure and sunken gold just waiting to be found.
With each "chink" of a dropped coin being added to the stash, the potential held inside a coin bank grows. There is so much that could be done with those coins that it is almost overwhelming at times, adding a sort of awe to the idea of uncorking that treasure trove and counting out the contents. Like uncorking a Genie's bottle, you never quite know what is going to come out. It is a wonderful mystery and a surprise, the clink and chank and jangle of coins pouring out, then the rattling scramble as you fish out the last few coins that staunchly refuse to emerge from their lair. Finally the shining pile of silver and copper, maybe even gold from the odd dollar coin, lays in a pile, your own hoarded treasure set out before you.
From here it can be counted, sorted, taken to the bank to be turned into bills or digital money. But really, I like best to shake it out, see it all, smell that acrid tang of gathered change, then put it back into the coin bank and cork it back up. Only when the bank becomes so full that it can hold no more change, cannot accept a single dime more, does the change get put into a bag, it own portable treasure trove like Robin Hood took from rich travelers, and taken to the bank to be turned into a more mundane form like dollar bills and debit card amounts.
Sure bills and bank cards are more useful, but all the wonderful unknown of a coin bank makes it so much more than the sum of its captured coins.
