THE DAY WE WON IT ALL … WELL, NOT EXACTLY – Marilyn Armstrong

THE FISCAL DREAM

I just won $1,000,000,000 — that’s one billion dollars — from the lottery. It is a bit mystifying since I don’t remember buying the ticket, but I’m not going to argue the point.  

What’s next?


So there we were watching the news. Trump. Mueller. Some moron fell into the Grand Canyon trying to take a selfie. And then there’s this guy who just won the Lottery. Again. He won $10 million ten years ago and he just won ANOTHER million yesterday.

You don’t believe in luck? Really? AND he bought each ticket in a different location. I want some of his ‘not luck’ because whatever it is, I want a piece.

Winning the lottery is a major fantasy here on the Kachingerosa. I don’t know about you, but I can lull myself into a pleasant sleep imagining what I’d do if a huge amount of money — so much that I don’t even have to count how much I’m spending — were to come my way.

The only time I inherited money was when my father died. It turned out to be exactly enough to fix our dying septic system — and a new camera. It had to have been just about nine years ago because that’s when I had cancer.

The money and cancer arrived simultaneously. Everything has a price, it would seem.

Red-bellied Woodpecker

It was the defining moment of my unfortunate relationship with my father. He was much too dead for me to thank him, but it was the single nicest thing he ever did for me. No longer being alive, he could not, this once, ruin it with a lot of snarky not-funny jokes at my expense.

Home

After the executors finally coughed up a check, we had the septic system repaired. This meant we wouldn’t have to abandon the house and live in the car. We should have had the well done at the same time, but who knew it was going to pack it in? Anyway, it wasn’t enough money.

falling-money

With no windfall or backup money, we’ve been paying things off.

But with a billion dollars … well, that would turn the tide. I could pay everything off, knock this house down and build a new one suitable for we aging folks.

A flat house. No stairs. Insulated windows. New heating and cooling systems built in. New bathrooms with great showers.

Two new cars. The non-winter vehicle will be something entertaining and sporty. When bad weather comes, our little sports coupé goes into the garage. The second car will be our winter truck, an all-wheeler that can plow through snow drifts and laugh.

Oh and an extra-large garage. Enough room for the cars we use and at least one we might want to use. Sometimes. AND room for the other “stuff” like snowblowers and lawnmowers and rakes and brooms and weed-whackers. A powerful generator so we can stop being terrified of wind and snowstorms.

Huge closets. Huge. Someone to come in and clean — and a cook!

How about a garden tractor? We’ll have a guy tend the gardens, clear away the leaves in the autumn. Run heavy errands which involve hauling and lifting — groceries for example.

We won’t forget our friends and family. We’ll make sure everyone we care about has what they need. Maybe we’ll have a compound so we can live in close proximity. Visit without driving long distances.

Photo: Garry Armstrong

Beyond this? Security for whatever years we have.

Life won’t have to be so hard. We can grow old and enjoy ourselves without wondering what weird laws the government will pass or which strange new rules will make it impossible to get medication. It won’t buy us more time on earth — money doesn’t matter when your number is up — but it could make the time we’ve got more fun.

More fun for us and for our friends and family. Maybe for you, too.

DREAMING ABOUT CHICKENS – Marilyn Armstrong

Last night I dreamed about chickens.

It looked a lot like it does around here. A bit hilly. Lots of trees. There was a movie star living in the house. She was supposed to be young, but her skin looked like the bottom of an old leather suitcase and was a trifle orange. She was going back to California where she believed she would be better off.

youtube.com

That left me with 200 chickens. The fowl were arriving (shortly) by truck. Healthy, young, hens and roosters. Enough to start a nice little chicken farm.

Except I didn’t want to be a chicken farmer and I was pretty sure, neither did Garry. I couldn’t just leave the chickens to die of hunger, thirst, and cold. I’m a responsible person and I love animals. Even chickens.

Chickens don’t get lost

I was still baffled over the whole chicken conundrum when I finally gave up, opened my eyes, and began my day. Coffee would banish chickens. Garry said it was from a movie we’d seen and I was caught in an old movie loop.

Sometimes, the absolutely best storyteller in the world has got to be my subconscious. I would never consider creating a story involving me and chickens.

Author Gordon Winter, Garry and chickens
Author Gordon Winter, Garry, and chickens

Not counting authors since this prompt doesn’t concern that … who tells great stories?

Garry tells wonderful stories. He makes us laugh. I don’t know if the story is true or maybe just a little true, but whatever, it is great entertainment. Tom tells great stories too and he usually has a good closing line, which is probably my biggest story-telling issue. I can tell a good story but I run on too long and am not good at wrapping it up. I’m good for the yarn’s first three-quarters.

Story-telling is the glue that makes friends want to hang out with each other. If you can keep the crowd laughing, you’ll never be alone.

It’s not booze, movies, or video games. Certainly not texting. It’s stories. The tales of our experiences, things we remember, times and places and people we’ve known.

Photo: Ben Taylor

I keep wondering what people will do when they realize you can’t live forever with just a cell phone? They don’t seem to have a clue about having conversations or telling stories. From whence will their stories emerge?

Our stories are our personal mythology. Will our children and grandchildren have stories? Or anyone to tell them?

It worries me. It really does.

RAGE AND HELPLESSNESS – Marilyn Armstrong

FOWC with Fandango — Number

I woke up this morning in a rage at my father, but really, at all the men in my life who have taken so much and given back so little. In all these years of living, how could I let so many numbers of years travel by while I failed to realize the amount of anger I’ve accumulated?

And how did I fail to realize how helpless I have felt through all these years?

Goes to show you — just when you think you are over the hump, there’s another hill right in front of you.

I think the hills are never done.

DREAMS – FOWC FROM FANDANGO AND THE EVERLY BROTHERS – Marilyn Armstrong

FOWC with Fandango — Dreamer


This song peaked in 1958, the year I turned 11. But that was not the end of it because many other people sang it and for reasons someone can probably explain, the words have had a strange way of sticking in your head.

This song has gotten stuck in my ears regularly over the years … and I’m pretty sure I’m not alone.

The Everly Brothers: ALL I HAVE TO DO IS DREAM!

COVFEFE, KERFUFFLE AND A LEGEND FROM AMERICA’S COLLECTIVE NIGHTMARE – Marilyn Armstrong

The Kerfuffle About Covfefe

First, let me speculate on the old word “covfefe.” Although over the months there has been much speculation about what the originally intended word might have been (if indeed an actual word was intended at all) — “coverage” came up as a possibility. Personally, I’ve always felt “kerfuffle” was the target word.

I believe “covfefe” was supposed to mean “kerfuffle” but Our Leader can’t spell and also has not learned how to use Google to find a missed spelling. So he just throws stuff into Twitter without regard for the language. He has no regard for the constitution, so what’s another English word or three?

Kerfuffle is not easy to spell and since he can’t spell even simple words, he certainly can’t spell that one. It means “a commotion or fuss, especially one caused by conflicting views.” Kind of where the world is at. Truth be known, try writing “kerfuffle” on your phone and watch auto-correct go wacko.

Our leader, Lord Pit-of-Evil, believes he is a legend. 

If he is a legend, it is from a collective nightmare of our nation. For those of us who had nightmares concerning “the state of the state,” this is the guy we were sure we could never have to govern us because we have laws. Rules.

Our constitution has always survived the assholes. I feel obliged to remind everyone that he is not the first or only asshole to make it to the top of our political ladder. There have been others. More than one. If there were social media when Andrew Jackson was president, it would have been pretty much like this. Or worse. He personally slaughtered entire Native tribes. Unabashedly, with vigor and verve. And you don’t even want to know about his personal life.

I have saved this favorite bit of cartooning from the New Yorker for today. It is exactly how I feel.

A BOSTONIAN NIGHTMARE – RDP #6 – Marilyn Armstrong

Nightmares in Tandem

I actually did have one and it woke me up. It didn’t wake me up because it was so awful, but because I have a bad habit of letting one leg drop off the bed. It hangs in the air and twists so I wake up with my knee throbbing.

I really have to stop doing that.

The thing was, I was dreaming about Garry. Visiting him when he was in Boston and I was still in New York. Every time I wanted to talk to him, another woman showed up. There were women all over the place. Also, there were six baby ducks who seemed to be the babies of a couple of iron ducks on Boston Commons. Weird little ducklings who looked almost like fish, except when they looked exactly like ducklings.

Garry didn’t have anything in the house to feed them (he never did) except pretzels. I was pretty sure they needed real food, which I was going to the grocery to buy.

But all those women were really getting on my nerves and then the knee began to hurt. I realized that I had been married to Garry for a long time and all I had to do was wake up.

I woke up. Both arms were asleep. I had to physically lift my leg back into bed. I really have to stop doing that. Sooner or later, the rest of me will also fall out of bed and it wouldn’t be the first time.

Once I got all the various parts of me into bed, I snuggled up to Garry until my arms fell asleep again, but by then it was time to get up anyway.

Meanwhile, Garry told me HE was having a dream about women and realizing he wasn’t going to go there because he had another relationship (yes, dear, you really do!), so we were having the same dream from two positions on the issue.

He did have an awful lot of women hanging around. Remarkably, he married me. Sometimes, you just get lucky.

DREAMING OF LOTTERY WINS – Marilyn Armstrong

RDP #3 – IMAGINATION

I’m imagining my life if I really won the lottery. Would I fix this house, or knock it down and build a new one? What kind of car would we get?

I’m imagining spending the worst months of winter in a warmer climate … like … Arizona maybe? I’m imagining getting my teeth properly fixed and Garry getting whatever is on his wish list. Being able to afford to get the dogs groomed — which would require that they find the time to take them. I don’t think more money would help with that!

What does Duke dream about?

I’m not imagining how this would change my body because — other than my teeth — it won’t. We are what we are. With all the money in the world, we aren’t going to be doing vast amounts of traveling, although I suppose flying first class might beat out Economy. Okay so maybe a little better.

The ultimate non-repairable problem is you can’t buy youth or health. These matters are in the hands of larger powers than the lottery.

This is my favorite form of dreaming — the one where we get all the money we need and imagining how we can use it. Who we can help. How many others we can help dig out of the holes getting older has pushed them into.

Then I realize we have a problem.

We never buy lottery tickets. We intend to buy them, but we forget.  No danger of winning. Or losing.

No tickets, no bushels of bucks. Next time?