You were standing there sorry in the pouring rain

Somehow I have lost my first-generation Sacagawea gold dollar coin which I carried like a talisman in my coat pocket for approaching twenty years. I have no idea what happened to it. I would have thought I'd hear or see if it went flying when I pulled out my wallet or keys, but this afternoon at the post office was the first time I noticed it missing. It must have happened within the last day. The coin was a touchstone; I curled my fingers around it. I know I attach unwarranted significance to objects in that if they are at all important to me their loss feels like just more proof of entropy (nothing lasts, nothing stays, you get to keep nothing, you destroy anything you touch), but I am upset. And I do not want one of the newer issues: I like the panoply of Native history on the reverses, but in D.C. in December the Metro gave me a handful of the newer kind as change and it was immediately apparent how much thinner and lighter they were than mine. Plus it didn't visit multiple states and at least one other country with me. I am consoling myself that if it happened at Temple Israel in Boston where I saw a movie last night with my parents, it will probably count as accidental tzedakah and I'm sure the synagogue can use it, but I would still have preferred to do it consciously, with ordinary money. Today has really not been the greatest of days. I like this macro and otherwise I wish I had not been obliged to get out of bed.