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I loved visiting my Grandma because she always had pennies for me to wrap. Any time I visited her, I made a beeline for the coin bowl (pausing, of course, to give her a big hug first). There was something oddly comforting about counting out all the coins into little stacks and then dropping them into the crisp paper sleeves.
My dad kept a quart jar on his dresser and dumped his pocket change into it every night. Of course he often forgot to sort out the other stuff from his pockets so counting the coins usually turned into a treasure hunt. Nuts, bolts, metal washers, and ball bearings...sometimes a couple of marbles or odd little gears or bullets (especially during hunting season). One time I was so disgusted by the dirty money that I dumped the coins into a bowl of warm water and floor cleaner. They came out shiny and lemony fresh.
Dreamer
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