It's an easy walk from our rented condo to the hospital where my mom is recovering, just 10 short blocks, but you do have to cross some railroad tracks along the way. And every time I do, I am tempted to empty my pockets of change and scatter coins all along the rail in hopes that when I return, I will be able to collect a new pocketful of smushed pennies, nickels, and dimes.
Why the urge to destroy my currency? I'm not sure. Certainly flattened coins are pleasing in their own way, thin and shiny and smooth, and knowing that an actual train on its way to who knows where on actual tracks did the deed? Well, there's something romantic about that, too.
So maybe it's not destruction, but rather transformation, that has my fingers fiddling in my pockets as I cross the tracks on the way back and forth from the hospital. The notion that something can literally be hit by a train and survive... changed, beautiful in a different regard, and in some ways even more valuable than before?
That's a talisman I could use.
Why the urge to destroy my currency? I'm not sure. Certainly flattened coins are pleasing in their own way, thin and shiny and smooth, and knowing that an actual train on its way to who knows where on actual tracks did the deed? Well, there's something romantic about that, too.
So maybe it's not destruction, but rather transformation, that has my fingers fiddling in my pockets as I cross the tracks on the way back and forth from the hospital. The notion that something can literally be hit by a train and survive... changed, beautiful in a different regard, and in some ways even more valuable than before?
That's a talisman I could use.
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