Wrapping Coins
So, we’re moving cross-country. There are plans to make, preparations to undertake, drawers and closets to purge, logistics to iron out. But all I really want to do is wrap coins.
Over the past few years, wrapping coins is what I’ve turned to during large, life-changing moves, when much messier, more complicated activities should warrant my attention. But wrapping coins is a way to tackle one small mess—a few mugs and canisters of loose change. Certainly, one can’t move loose change, can one? I’ve managed, along the way, to convince myself it’s among the most crucial parts of any move. It even made it onto my current, preliminary to-do list. Figure out where to live in NYC. Sell car. Wrap coins.
This move is different; for the first time, we’re being moved, which is both a better way and a somewhat unnerving way to go about it. We’re moving cross-country—but there’s absolutely nothing I can do to get ready for it, at least not right now. Aside from wrapping coins, my instinct is to start packing boxes of books. But that will be in someone else’s hands. All the boxing and wrapping and packing that used to shape my moving preparations are officially off my plate. Which means I now have lots of time to think about the move—without any of the busy-making activities to do that would make me feel like I was preparing for it.
But I can, and will, wrap coins. I will go to the bank for wrappers. I will spill the coins onto a table, unflatten the tightly creased tubes, slide one coin, two, into the bottom, balancing them on a finger until the roll takes shape. Quarters, dimes, nickels, pennies. A separate jar for errant foreign currency and the odd Canadian penny. Then I will take the rolls to the bank and deposit them in our checking account. And then—oh bliss!—I will cross wrap coins off my to-do list, and wait to do whatever it is I’m going to do next to prepare for skipping town.
Over the past few years, wrapping coins is what I’ve turned to during large, life-changing moves, when much messier, more complicated activities should warrant my attention. But wrapping coins is a way to tackle one small mess—a few mugs and canisters of loose change. Certainly, one can’t move loose change, can one? I’ve managed, along the way, to convince myself it’s among the most crucial parts of any move. It even made it onto my current, preliminary to-do list. Figure out where to live in NYC. Sell car. Wrap coins.
This move is different; for the first time, we’re being moved, which is both a better way and a somewhat unnerving way to go about it. We’re moving cross-country—but there’s absolutely nothing I can do to get ready for it, at least not right now. Aside from wrapping coins, my instinct is to start packing boxes of books. But that will be in someone else’s hands. All the boxing and wrapping and packing that used to shape my moving preparations are officially off my plate. Which means I now have lots of time to think about the move—without any of the busy-making activities to do that would make me feel like I was preparing for it.
But I can, and will, wrap coins. I will go to the bank for wrappers. I will spill the coins onto a table, unflatten the tightly creased tubes, slide one coin, two, into the bottom, balancing them on a finger until the roll takes shape. Quarters, dimes, nickels, pennies. A separate jar for errant foreign currency and the odd Canadian penny. Then I will take the rolls to the bank and deposit them in our checking account. And then—oh bliss!—I will cross wrap coins off my to-do list, and wait to do whatever it is I’m going to do next to prepare for skipping town.
Comments