Saturday Morning, March 7, 2026
Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall
Only eight steps from her bed, the bathroom tile floor felt cold on her feet, far from the flannel sheet cocoon she had just left. She lowered her head, closed her eyes, then flipped on the light switch. Brilliance. Allowing time for adjustment, she raised her head and opened her eyes, staring at the mirror. Why was her grandmother in the reflection? She thought. What happened to that girl who once smiled back at her?
Coin category features several in remarkable condition.
1865 Two-cent, Plain 5
Self-critique, the cruelest criticism. She stroked her hair, now gray, the beauty and bounce in the braids reduced to lackluster flat. Dark circles around her eyes hinted Gothic heroine. Age lines now replaced youth's rosy glow. A countenance no longer the look of morning sunshine, more the Mordor of approaching nightfall. Hardly rate a No Grade by PCGS.
Sweet Bird of Youth
1841 O Liberty Seated Half Dime.
She remembered her early years well. At bedtime her mother would side bedside, brushing her hair. Best treatment for hair, she often repeated. The tresses flowed over her shoulders, tickling her back. Each stroke reassuring. How she loved those days.
They would talk, of much, of the day. Your beauty will serve you well, she promised. And it did. But then, she only listened with adolescent ears. Her mother's forewarnings of aging, woven into simple vignettes, passed by her. She yearned for those moments, a chance to revisit, reset. There is no tomorrow in youth's vocabulary, or yesterday. Future years remain inconceivable. She had basked in her hand-held mirror, the reflection, almost Narcissistic. How the boys will flock to you. And they did. The penalty of youth. Cream complexion. Deep green eyes. Cascading locks. Few interested her. Til one day...
Time Passages
Each of us reaches an apogee within our lives. Success and looks can hit an early stride, while others enjoy the fruition of maturation years. Genetic control. I'll never be like my parents. Of course you will. Blame it on the helix.
1836 Capped Bust Dime
But there is a moment when all cylinders are firing. It could be at eighteen when your figure shapes naturally, or sixty-five when maturity sports handsome salt and pepper beards. Even eighty-five, the years proving survival, and birthdays nothing more than a myth. It matters little. We will all hit that moment. The key is comfort within your skin. Will the world forget what you once were when you reach the lean years? Yes. Hardly the matter. To quote a famous passage, you are what you is.
Making the Grade
The appraiser held the coin in her hand, turning it obverse, reverse, obverse, reverse. A magnification under brilliant light would confirm her conclusion. Each nuance visible. Grading now refined from opinion to standards, points of note. Though experts always clashed, there was a consensus. To find the purest, the best. Uncirculated. Mint. The impossible 70.
1795 Flowing Hair Half Dollar. Still grand after all these years.
Still, older coins carried a beauty of their own. Perhaps worn, almost forgotten, many glowed with a beauty only time could deliver. Despite their flaws. Survival the greatest attribute. And so it is with us. Humans. Beyond the scratches, dents, and wear, we carry the same heart of silver and gold. All of 70's for sure. Our reflection in time.
Doors open at 8 AM. Auction starts at 9 AM. PA AU 1265L [bb]