The sad truth is that I am only one of millions of Americans waking up today to find out that I didn’t win the lottery. It’s okay. I didn’t really expect it to happen, but it was fun to dream. Lying in bed this Saturday morning, enjoying the decadence of leisure, fresh cotton linens and songbirds outside our window, John and I discussed what we would do with the mega millions. We decided we wouldn’t move–we like our house–but that we might buy a vacation home in North Carolina that the kids could use too. I don’t need a new car; I love my little black coupe. John said he’d finish the basement. And we’d put a fireplace in the back yard (which we’re planning to do anyway). I would want to vacation in Europe, but we do that occasionally now–although I might fly business class. We really couldn’t think of much else beyond helping the kids and our families with whatever they wanted.
So we got up, fixed breakfast, and after an hour or so we remembered to check our ticket. No. We didn’t win. Not even close.
And so I look ahead to the day with plans for lunching with our son and his family, taking our oldest granddaughter to the movies, having dinner tonight with friends, our daughter and Baby Cakes and ending the day with a granddaughter sleep over.
How could I be any luckier than that?