A Penny for Your Thoughts

Apparently, we are not going to make pennies anymore. 
I realize that in the overall picture of big important things that are happening in the world for the US to quit minting pennies is not too important. 
But to me, well it’s just another step toward the inevitable march towards senility. 
This will be hard for many of my young readers (and there must be at least two, both of them are my grandkids) there was a time when I could buy eleven CDs for a penny from Columbia House. 
Of course, many of you are going to ask, “What is a CD?  Who is Columbia House?”   
CDs were supposed to be the ultimate music platform replacing my collection of vinyl albums, my 8-track tapes, and my cassette tapes, with forever digital quality. 
Before I had a job or became a Senior Missionary or was a respectable tax paying, voting, young Republican I used to spend endless hours in my room with glowing black light posters listening to music at a level that shook the windows next door. 
When I got married my too kind and loving wife made me take my stereo out to my shop to listen to Ozzie.
Back up in time, just after we settled (invaded) San Juan County. 
Buying 11 CDs for a penny was something even I could afford.  I naively and happily signed a contract that included purchasing additional albums and being sent a “selection of the month”. 
I also promised to send them my first born; they sent her back when they found out how much her braces were going to cost.
Columbia House would send a Selection of the Month unless I mailed a card back telling them I didn’t want it. 
This was when we used mail (think of the Pony Express only slower) to communicate to other parts of the world…and I am not talking email. 
Back then, we couldn’t text, email, Message, WhatsApp, or any other convenient method. 
Nope!  I had to buy a stamp, walk to the Post Office and mail a card declining The Carpenter’s Greatest Hits album.
I had to walk to the mail because I didn’t have a driver’s license yet.  Yep!  They let me sign a contract to buy CDs and act like a responsible adult at the mature and responsible age of twelve.  
I didn’t have a job and the only money I had was for my lunch.  Age verification AI software hadn’t been invented yet so lying about your age was as easy as saying, “Yes I am eighteen and would like to sign up for the Army.”
This senility thing is really taking over my life.  This article is about pennies. 
So anyway, I am all up in arms because we aren’t minting any more pennies.  After all, Benjamin Franklin didn’t say, “A penny saved is a penny earned.” 
What?  You heard me right.  What old Ben said, he didn’t say, he actually had Poor Richard say, “A penny saved is two pence clear.” 
Which means saving a penny gives you more value than earning one. 
But since we don’t know what a “pence” is we simplified it along the way.
We used to say, “A penny for your thoughts.”  We said this because most of the time none of us wanted more than a penny’s worth of advice from wise old, seasoned people with lots of life’s experience. 
I know when I was twelve years old and signing my contract with Columbia House for CDs, I didn’t give a hoot about the time value of money, a 401K, or how listening to “that music” so loud was going to make me deaf. 
My grandkids don’t ever say to me, “Hey Gramps, a penny for your thoughts.” 
So, I give out my thoughts and advice freely (and way more than a penny’s worth) to young people all the time.  “Pull up your pants!  Get a job!  You are going to regret that tattoo.  Don’t eat cauliflower before a date.”
We used to say, “See a penny, pick it up, for all day long you’ll have good luck.” 
So my luck is about to run out because there won’t be any more pennies to pick up.  I need luck because my investment savvy hasn’t produced much more than red ink and missed opportunities.
Don’t worry if you have a piggy bank full of pennies, it will still be legal tender.  I wish I had more pennies…a few dollars would be nice too.  
I have always wanted to pay my taxes with a sack of pennies, just so someone would have to count it to make sure I didn’t short them.
I bumped into my Editor the other day and I was looking rather contemplative (which is the same look I have when I am confused) and my editor said, “A penny for your thoughts.”  He probably thinks he over paid.