I felt a tug on my arm as I left the number 7 train at Times I turned to see the woman who had sat across from me. Her hand held a crumpled dollar bill. My crumpled dollar bill.
I have a bad habit. Or I probably should say, “Among my bad habits is the fact that I carry bills in my pockets.”
I simply cram them into the pocket. They end up resembling the spit balls that my friends and I used to create in junior high school. Little wads of green.
Some interesting things result.
I receive bemused looks when I pay with cash. I dig into my pocket, pull out what bills are there and straighten them. I have reminded more than one cashier, “It all spends.”
I find little wet wads of green now and then when doing laundry. I delude myself with the line, “Made money again.”
And I drop bills from time to time. It happens. I confess I do not know how often it happens. Sometimes I find the fallen bills. Sometimes, as today, I rely on the kindness of friends and strangers.
When this happens, I come up against one of my guiding principles for money. If I find money, I first try to find the owner. Failing that, I give it away. Coins end up in the hands or cups of strangers on the street. Larger bills usually go to a program addressing hunger in some way. It may feed people or help people feed themselves or work to change the reasons people are hungry in the first place.
I will join today’s dollar to some others and pass them along before the evening ends.
Guiding principles trump bad habits. At least on this one.
See you along the Trail.
“Darn. We missed the train.”
Along the Graybeard Trail 