My grandkids are going to be excited to find the change jar in the laundry room. No golden coins here.
While helping my late mother move a curio cabinet (painting? carpet cleaning? I can’t recall), a small coin bank that had belonged to my late father’s mother emerged, I’d never seen it before, and I shook out its contents. Lots of low-value oddball coins that must have arrived in trade in her family’s long-ago business, which I spent an hour or so looking up (those were the days of dialup around here), then returned to the bank. I’d much prefer to have found the secret stash of father’s dad’s gold eagles — but alas, he was po’, and law abiding, and turned them in for FDR’s paper balls.