I counted the contents of my spare change jar this evening, or my holiday jar as it has become known. Martha and I, and maybe some other good folks, will be heading to Glacier National Park, Montana this summer. Around that time the coins from this very jar will be converted into a nice wad of notes. Soon after, these very same notes will be bartered for petroleum distillate that will propel our vehicle west. And what of the dirty jar and its worth? $160 at latest count. Sweet.
Counting my change coin by filthy coin brought to mind a story we learned at school a long time ago, "The Miser's Gold". The miser was an old guy who lived alone in a dilapidated old house. He spent every night repetitively counting his stacks of coins by candlelight. The old bastard was too tight to splash out on a few 60W bulbs. Of course, this was a children's story and through colorful illustrations and simple mental imagery we were persuaded to agree with the futility of greed and understand its effects. My cynical adult mind has been thinking about the tale of the miser and has come to the conclusion that he was not the smartest economist after all. Surely if he had of taken his money to a bank offering competitive rates of interests on savings accounts they would have been happy to nurture his fortune. Likewise, if he had of maintained his house thereby keeping its market value steady he may have been able to live a less frugal and more enjoyable life.
Someone really needs to write a sequel.
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