My childhood dreams in piles

The day happened this week, that I like to think every child who keeps a piggy bank experiences. Friday was the day that I opened THE PIGGY BANK. Or in my case, it's a round container, jungle back ground with a paper monkey that dances to the "Entertainer" when you wind it up.

At least it did in it's prime. It's since stopped working leaving the unfortunate monkey with his arm held in an uncomfortable looking position.

Here's a little history on monkey bank: I started saving my coins when I was eight years old. The goal? I wanted to go to ISRAEL. I collected them in a pouch until the fabulous little monkey bank was given to me by Jeniel's roommates when I was thirteen and I gladly transferred them over. For Christmas and Graduation when I was 18 my parents took me to Israel with them, which was a dream come true. Literally, it was my life long dream. Whenever someone asked what I wanted to do before I die (which strangely comes up very often) I said I wanted to go to Israel. So after I went, I was a bit confused as to the purpose in my life, however I figured there must be something still worth doing before I die, so here I still am, counting my money bank and thinking, "maybe I will go to Italy! or South America!"

I pour out all the money onto my carpet and take a picture. Then I count it into neat little piles. During this process I remember what a strange child I was. Some of the George Washington's have colored hair, and the guy on the dime, sorry I can't remember your name, has a blue ear. One is even laminated. How nice. After this reckoning with my self I use my fabulous math skills to calculate the savings....

$34.38

Hurrah! I'm well on my way to Italy. As my dad pointed out, I can probably even make it to Pocatello with that.