I am such a miser with my change (coins)--which belong in
Piggy Bank and are not to be spent even if it means breaking large bills over a few cents--sometimes that it makes the coins (and their chain of custody) that I do spend and the circumstances particularly memorable. This use of specie is nearly exclusively in the form of giving, to the accordion-playing busker, the church poor box or like the euro I donated to some kid, dressed as an elf, who surprised me by rattling a can right behind me and asked if I would help starving children in Africa. I knew precisely what change I had on me, returned earlier in the day (coins never, ever go undeposited in my pockets longer than a day) by a stately little old lady at a flea-market for a medallion I got from the Film and Theatre Trade Association of Hessen (Wirtschaftsverband Filmtheater Hessen), awarded to a member for over twenty years of faithful service, as indicated on the obverse.
All of a sudden, when I gave away one coin, which I was glad to do, I was a little sad about the other one I had got. I didn't think about it at the time, but the guild medallion had probably been awarded to the stately little old lady. "Hi, I’m Gertie and I do hair and makeup." As I was imagining her life story—and she did look like a theatre-type, I was wandering through a crowded Christmas Market (Weihnachtsmarkt) and admiring the decorations, under more unusual circumstances. The visitors were already voluntarily kettled amongst the stands of ornaments, candles and Glühwein (Wassail, mulled-wine) but this gathering was also audience to a troupe, a parade of protestors, demonstrating against fascism and capitalism, who were accompanied by hundreds of affable Polizei in riot gear that guarded their route, restricting the Christmas shoppers to one street block by block. The security (though there was no violence behind the message and rage) made the evening a strange game of chess, finding one's path again against the demonstrators. Maybe Gertie was glad for the exchange as well, and though I guess I won’t ever know the exact provenance, I'll continue to treasure that little token and trade.
All of a sudden, when I gave away one coin, which I was glad to do, I was a little sad about the other one I had got. I didn't think about it at the time, but the guild medallion had probably been awarded to the stately little old lady. "Hi, I’m Gertie and I do hair and makeup." As I was imagining her life story—and she did look like a theatre-type, I was wandering through a crowded Christmas Market (Weihnachtsmarkt) and admiring the decorations, under more unusual circumstances. The visitors were already voluntarily kettled amongst the stands of ornaments, candles and Glühwein (Wassail, mulled-wine) but this gathering was also audience to a troupe, a parade of protestors, demonstrating against fascism and capitalism, who were accompanied by hundreds of affable Polizei in riot gear that guarded their route, restricting the Christmas shoppers to one street block by block. The security (though there was no violence behind the message and rage) made the evening a strange game of chess, finding one's path again against the demonstrators. Maybe Gertie was glad for the exchange as well, and though I guess I won’t ever know the exact provenance, I'll continue to treasure that little token and trade. 
