when my father died, a friend told me that i should keep an eye out for dimes left in surprising places, as it was a sign that my dad was near. she herself had a bowl sitting on her night table that was full of dimes that she had found in random places. “it’s my mom saying hello,” she said with a smile. “i mean, why would a dime be in my shoe?”
it wasn’t a new idea. in fact, the belief stems from an old adage that when an angel misses you, they toss a coin down from heaven. and of course, after she said that, i found dimes everywhere — never in my shoe — but in other places, like in hard-to-explain corners of my house, in a plant pot that was thawing out after winter, and in a small straw basket that i keep hair ties in.
to be honest, i never did get the feeling that these were a “hello” from my dad, but it was a little fun to imagine that these little coins that showed up in odd places were a sign he was keeping an eye out for me, especially when i was having a bad day. it was sort of like making a wish on a wishbone, not opening an umbrella indoors or carrying a lucky charm — you don’t quite want to poo-poo it, because there’s always a part of you, even a very tiny part, that thinks, ‘what if?’
i have to admit though, i find it a little harder to be as skeptical when it comes to nature, though — butterflies and birds, particularly robins, get me every time. this is partly because some of my fondest memories of my dad are of him rescuing injured birds, usually robins, and nursing them back to health. but like the dimes, birds become significant as “messages” and “signs” only when they are discovered in unique places, doing unique things. the robins that catch my attention are the ones who come too close and linger too long.