TMI Questions – Classic Edition: Lotto Fever: What Would You Do or Not Do?

TMI Questions – Classic Edition: Lotto Fever: 

What Would You Do or Not Do?

Who hasn’t fantasized a little bit about this?  Thing is, in order to win, you have to play – and I have much better things to do with my money than throw it in a wishing pool.  I understand the hope this kind of thing can hold for others, but I’m too realistic and too unlucky to entertain such a fantasy.

Still… all that money.  It would instantly solve everything, right?  Easy street?  Well, based on the few stories I have read about actual lotto winners, that is typically not the case at all.  Mo’ money, mo’ problems.

I would like to think I’m smarter than that.  But based on my answers to these questions… what do think?

Yeah… probably not that smart.

Keep in mind that what you could do really depends on the amount of money you win.  I am going to assume I have won a gazillion dollars and can do whatever I want, for as long as I like.

TMI QUESTIONS:

Questions designed to reveal Too Much Information

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TMI Questions – Classic Edition: Lotto Fever: What would you do or not do?

For your family?

I would get a full-time nurse to care for my Dad, so the pressure would be off my Mom.

I would erase the debts of certain family members and pay off their mortgages – this includes my ex, who is part of my family. In fact, I would make sure that my ex and his mother had everything they needed to be comfortable for the remainder of their lives. 

For me, money equals stress relief.  As in, decrease the drama of every day so that the people that mean the most to me have a better chance at obtaining comfort and happiness.

I don’t think I would actually buy anything for anyone.  Maybe a new car for the ex.  That’s about it.  I’m not very materialistic and don’t want to support that kind of mindset.  I suppose if they asked me for something specific, I would entertain the idea.

The only other thing I would like to do is have a kick-ass family reunion for my mother.  It would be outdoors, catered and there would be beer, because that is the one way to get my cousins to show up.  I would hire a band, too, so there could be dancing.  Do it up right, just one time… and that would be it.    

For your friends?

What friends?  Seriously.  I was talking with the boyfriend last weekend and came to the realization that I have only two real friends (and that includes the boyfriend), who are not family members.  Acquaintances?  Five – six, if I count a good friend of the ex’s. 

So, for the friend who is not my boyfriend, I would pay off her mortgage, put a new roof on her house, and start college funds for her two kids.  Again, stress relief.

For the boyfriend?  Only what he wanted – and pretty much anything he wanted.  He and I are of a similar mindset and I trust that he wouldn’t suddenly morph into someone he is not.  I would want things for him, but he is pretty content with his life, and I need to be respectful of that, or I risk messing up the relationship.  I would eliminate any and all debt for him.  That said, a lot of things that I would do for myself, involve him, and those are the only things regarding him that I am willing to talk about in this post.

My acquaintances?  We would have a lovely dinner party in a great restaurant near a nice hotel where everyone would have a room. There would be child care provided and we would have all night to talk and make memories.  It would be small and intimate, so the conversation would be robust as the martini’s flowed. 

My ex would be there. He’s my friend and a family member.  So would my youngest sister and her husband, as they are my friends and family. 

The boyfriend would so be there, though he might be in a bit of a funk because the ex was there.  He could opt out, if he absolutely wanted to, but I would not have nearly as much fun without him there.

That leaves two straight couples, a gay couple (now more friends with the ex, than with me), a wonderful musician/actress friend of mine, and a female friend of my ex’s (though she might not come, since I’m hosting). 

Wow… that makes thirteen.  Hmm. 

There would be a pianist who would play quietly in the background, taking requests and allowing guests to sing a tune if they wish.  I would also fly in Janis Ian to do a short set of songs that I would choose in advance.  Her style of intimacy would set the perfect tone for the evening and I have a feeling she would be a great dinner guest.  She could join us for dinner and that would make fourteen (whew). 

Depending on the cost, this dinner might become an annual thing.  

Oh, and for all my blogger buddies… I would love to create a blogger’s conference at a hotel with a good restaurant, where we could get together, meet face to face and learn about each other.  There are some fascinating individuals who blog with whom I would love to have some honest conversations.

It would be a blast with a special musical guest each evening.

For yourself?

First, I explore ways for this found money to make more money, so that I never have to worry about money again.  Then I would sit down and carve out a realistic budget before I spent a penny. 

I think they actually let you choose payments of the lotto winnings, but, hey… that would mean trusting the government to do what they said they would do and we all know how that plays out.  So, I have a feeling that a lump sum, taxes and all, would be the way I would go.  Again, I am assuming I have won a gazillion dollars, so sky is the limit.

My goal would be to do nothing but write for an entire year. I would make sure that my winnings would provide me with a means to do that.  And I’d make a concerted effort to find a publisher for the novel I’ve already completed.  If, at the end of three years nothing came of it, I would give up that pipe dream.  Life is too short.

I would get myself out of debt.

I might purchase a new, modest car – nothing over $50k.  My self-worth is not tied to my car. Cars are transportation, nothing more.

I might buy some new clothes and get rid of everything I have now, save for a few favorites and my jeans.  I would definitely get myself a nice suit.  My tastes are pretty modest and my clothing needs fairly limited.  Not a designer brand kind of guy, so that whole label game doesn’t appeal to me at all.  Nice, classic, simple lines.  Lots of dark colors.  A few stripes.  Comfort and fit above everything else.

I would like a new pair of hiking boots.

I would buy myself a new bed.  And hire someone for two days to clear my house of excess furniture and stuff and donate it all.  I wouldn’t replace it.  I just want it gone.

New windows for my house.  A coat of paint, too.

And I would travel – with my boyfriend, my youngest sister and brother-in-law, and with my female friend.  Italy, Germany, Brazil, Japan.  Paris, Quebec, New York City, San Francisco, Seattle, and Sedona. I want to see the temples of the Incas.  My ex wants to visit the pyramids.  I’d make it all happen.

As total vanity projects go, I would take ‘a reasonable amount of money’ (LOL) and mount a small, original musical. Hiring people who were interested in working hard, sharing credit, and fixing the things that are wrong with it would be priority number one.  Everyone gets paid, everyone works hard.  I have always wanted to be part of a cultural phenomenon – even on a small, local level.  I’d give lots of tickets away and after it caught on, charge very little – just enough to make payroll.

And after that?  I would be done with theatre forever.  I would just need to prove to myself that with the right people involved, I would be capable of pulling such a feat off.

Other than that, I would keep as low a profile as possible.  My life would remain quite modest.  So would my ambitions.

For charity?

My local animal shelters get a share.  Dogs and cats, etc.

I will not be adopting anymore animals in my lifetime, but I still care and would like to see to it that those that are not wanted have a place to thrive.

I would also donate to wildlife rescues and the like.  They do some amazing work – with owls and other birds of prey, squirrels, bunnies, etc.

That is, actually, where all my money will be going when I’m gone.  I mentioned a few years ago that I had no one to leave it to, and the nieces and nephews haven’t shown much interest in me, so screw them.  I will be outliving all my siblings (if I have anything to say about it) and other loved ones, so the animals will get it all.  Maybe it’s a drop in an ocean, but it may make a bit of a difference.

For revenge?

I don’t believe in it.

But I also don’t believe in rewarding bad behavior.

That’s why my oldest brother and my oldest sister get squat from me. They can come to the family reunion and that is it.

If they had shown up and done even the bare minimum for my parents as my Mom has struggled with my Dad’s Alzheimer’s, I might feel differently.  My oldest brother, who makes more money than any of my siblings, has visited once in the past six years and contributed nothing. My oldest sister?  Five times in six years.  And when she does come, she does nothing but make my mother wait on her hand and foot.  There’s no excuse and I don’t want to hear any.

My two youngest sisters?  They are doing their part. They get rewarded.  My youngest is one of the smartest people in the whole world.  She is also a lot of fun.  The second youngest has the biggest heart of anyone I have ever met.  She’s so good and kind I tear up just thinking about her.

I would like to spend a week writing letters to a select number of people whose behavior and actions have caused me a great deal of pain in this life.  I would have these letters hand delivered with no return address.  I would never want to hear from them.  I would just need to know that my voice had been heard.   One week only.  And then I would be done with the past.

For pure evil? (No backing off this one!)

I would buy enough stock or buy enough influence in two companies and have two of my ex-bosses shown the door with no explanation.

I would hire a group of people who would go around kidnapping people who abuse animals.  These abusers would be taken to a camp of sorts where they would have to endure the same conditions and situations they put the animals in their care through.  Michael Vick would be among the first to disappear.

I would purchase production companies that create reality television and shut it all down. 

I would move to Anoka County and mess with Michele Bachmann’s already cray-cray head.  A big Pride parade.  LGBT youth centers.  LGBT senior living buildings.  Drag queen bingo.  An atheist’s center that would host international events.  A non-profit dedicated to the separation of church and state.  Hit her right where she slithers.  

I would hire a team of stealth assassins and hand them a hit list of celebrities, politicians, and obnoxious rich people.  I wouldn’t want to know any details.  They just need to get it done.

That hit list would be pretty long.

But then I would remind myself that whatever you put out there in the universe comes back to you three fold and I would cancel all of it – every bit of it. Because I am a chickenshit and have better things to do with money.  And those people, they have chosen the lives they live and will have to deal with the consequences.  So, no kidnappers, no assassins.

Well, maybe just the Koch brothers.

And Rupert Murdoch.

(No, no… I couldn’t do any of that.)

Mowing the Lawn…

Mowing the Lawn…

I mow my own lawn and that of my parent’s on a weekly basis.

I used to hate it; I mean, actually curse the universe as I wrestled the mower, which seemed to weigh a billion tons, in an out and around gardens, plants, trees, and lawn ornaments.  Every week it was the nightmare I dreaded most.  How I resented all the time it took and made me wistful for all the other activities it was keeping me from.

But something’s changed.

This year, I don’t seem to mind it all.  In fact, I look forward to it and am actually a bit disappointed when it’s all over.

You see, it’s become my pondering time; a little slice of time when all the other voices get drowned out by the rumble of the mower and I have the opportunity to listen to my own, singular voice.  In that way, it feels like a quiet time, a time when, instead of wrestling with the mower, I get to wrestle with my thoughts regarding my past, the present, and my future. 

The subject matter always varies greatly.  Last week it was all about revisiting the many pitfalls of a rather bloated production of Pam Gem’s ‘Piaf’ that I produced and directed.  The woman who played the title character was brilliant, but I surrounded her with a pathetic, disastrous circus.

This week?  I thought about the power of belief and how important it is to allow others to believe what they want, even when reality doesn’t support that belief.

Atula, the 14 year old, deaf, Boston Terrier that came to live with me two years ago has been diagnosed with an inoperable cancerous tumor.  He’s not in any pain, still loves going outside, still has a voracious appetite.  He’s facing a host of other health issues as well: his immune system is shot, he has a long-term staph infection, his legs sometimes fail him, and he is going blind.   Everyone tells me that my ex and I should have him put down.  And at the first sign of discomfort, I will be joining that chorus.

But my ex doesn’t want to hear it.  And there are a number of reasons for that.

It could be that he identifies on some level with the frailty of the aging dog.  He’s now near retirement age and dealing with a number of health issues that occur when dealing with an aging body.

It could be that it marks one less thing that will bind the two of us together.

But most likely, he simply can’t bear to lose another dog.  And there, we are in agreement. 

Atula has been special.  He has a goony pug face with big bulging eyes, a bloated body, and skinny, long legs.  Because he’s deaf, he doesn’t bark, he screams.  He’s hungry all the time and screams for treats constantly.  My ex gives into him more than I.  

When we first got him two years ago, Atula was not used to being touched at all.  He spent twelve years of his life being crated for eight to twelve hours at a time.  With a lot of careful nurturing, we are now able to rub his belly and he tolerates our affection. 

The first time we let him run around in the back yard he was terrified and wasn’t sure what to do.  Now he loves it.  Last night my ex was supposed to join my family for dinner, but he declined, because Atula had wandered outside and fallen asleep in the shade on the newly mown lawn.  He didn’t have the heart to wake him. 

My ex has seen to it that Atula has gotten the very best veterinarian care available.  But even he knows that there are limits.  So, I’ve instructed my family to not pressure him to put the dog down.  When they do, he gets very upset, and, at this time, I don’t see any reason for that.  My ex wants to believe that Atula will, somehow, be all right - which is really not that different than my Mom’s belief that my Dad will, somehow, be all right, too. 

My Mom is finally accepting the fact that my Dad will be bedridden for the remainder of his time on this earth, though she still fights with herself, believing that if she keeps him awake and moves his limbs and makes him try to stand on his own, that she can stem the ravages of Alzheimer’s.  When she seeks my opinion on this matter, I only caution her that moving him on her own, or attempting to make him stand puts both of them at great risk of physical injury – injuries that could be game changers. 

I understand that she needs to believe that she has a hand in delaying the inevitable.  And I let her.  She needs to cling to that belief, just as she relies upon her belief in God; it gives her life purpose and focus. 

In both matters; my Mom in relation to my Dad, and my ex regarding our dog, my true feelings matter very little.  At this time, I need to support their beliefs.  And as long as neither Atula nor my Dad is in pain or at risk of pain or injury, then I need to keep my opinions to myself - at least until such time when they are ready to deal with the reality of the situations.

I keep reminding myself that reality will make itself apparent, and that, like all things, this, too, will end.  So, I keep my own consul.  I keep retreating into my head.  And other than momentary lapses – the other day, when my Mom was out of the room, I took the opportunity to grab my sister’s hand and tearfully confess that I was “tired” – that is where these thoughts remain. 

In the meantime, I take comfort that…

…the grass will grow.

And the lawns will need mowing once more.

Waving 'Hello', Waving 'Good-bye'...

Waving 'Hello', Waving 'Good-bye'...

My dad is back in hospice.

This will be the third time.

His Alzheimer’s has progressed to the point where his brain has stopped sending signals to various parts of his body.  He now spends entire days in a kind of infant-like sleep where we are barely able to keep him awake long enough to eat a little something.

My mom has been his primary care-giver for the past five years, with a lot of help from me and my ex.  In the past year, she finally agreed to contract people to come in and bathe him.  And a year ago, a hospital bed was purchased and placed in the living room.  This bed, his wheelchair, and his assisted lift chair are where he spends the bulk of his current existence.

The nurse in charge has made it clear to my mom that there will soon come a day when my dad will be confined to his bed and eating will no longer be a priority.  The hospice staff is there to make sure he is comfortable and pain-free.

I visit once a day and stay for at least an hour and a half.  Typically, when I arrive and give him a hug, my dad will wake long enough to stare at me blankly before drifting off once more.  Then I make myself a cup of coffee and visit with my mom, checking to see if she needs anything.  I check the house to make sure things are being maintained.  I mow the lawn.  But the purpose of my visits is primarily to break up the monotony of my mom’s day. 

Caregiving is difficult.  In this case, it is relentless and it is exhausting. 

Sometimes, my ex will visit at the same time.  He’s a talker, so he keeps my mom thoroughly entertained.   Frequently, the animated conversations will jar my dad awake.  I’m always on the lookout for these moments.

I will wave and talk to him, doing my best to elicit a smile or some kind of reaction.

Yesterday, during such a moment, it occurred to me that these days…

…I don’t know if I’m waving ‘hello’, or waving ‘good-bye’.

I want him to know I’m there.

Even though it’s hard for me.  Even though it’s emotionally exhausting.  Even though it pains me to see him fade away.

I want to be there.  And I know I need to be there…

…waving ‘hello’…

…and waving ‘good-bye’.