The Lottery Ticket

Timing is everything. I try to maximize my dollar investment by timing my lottery ticket purchase to include the most number of days between purchase and the posting of the numbers. Because really, buying the ticket, is about dreaming of the endless possibilities of what you will do with the money. Contemplating if my family members will be upset if I give them only $1M each; what improvements to the house will be done while the kids and I leave to travel the world for at least a year; on what island will i buy a second home; will I quit my job or stay on part-time for benefits? These questions and more are asked and plans are drawn up in my head. And it is such a lovely time living in this lottery-induced daydream that it seems silly to buy my ticket on the day of the lottery - that only gives me a few hours to daydream and feel genuinely hopeful before they call out the numbers and I have to get to sleep so I can work in the morning. No, if I am going to play the lottery, I have to buy a ticket as soon as I can after the calling of the numbers. Anything less than that is a waste. After all it's about getting the most value out of my dollar for me.

She ignored me...

The Tooth Fairy came last night. She shunned my pleas as a mother to leave him be. She mocked my sadness and took his little tooth with her leaving behind two shiny new quarters. He was thrilled the next day. I was not. I do not like the tooth fairy anymore.

Your ex-husband

"So, you know, your ex-husband is getting himself a new woman?" inquired my youngest as we sat on the couch watching the premiere of Dancing with the Stars. I looked at him and said "yes I know." Then, he said "Well? Are you gonna get back with him?" I shook my head 'no'. He put his little arm around my neck, looked deep into my eyes and asked "What happened between you guys?" Many thoughts ran through my mind about what had happened to end our 12-year marriage but I settled on "Well we just didn't love each other anymore and you really need to have love when you are married." He sighed, "oh" and turned his head back towards the television and exclaimed, "now she's hot!" And I laughed.

The Balloon

He loves balloons. He always has. If we go to a restaurant and they have balloons, he wants one to bring home. Or if we are at a party, he must bring home a balloon. Wherever we are and if balloons are there, he must have one. He loves them.

Loving balloons is not easy. Balloons never last. One moment they are full of air, their vibrant colorful sphere bouncing through the air attached to a thin ribbon clutched by him. His smile radiates across his entire being. He plays with that balloon. He giggles and laughs out loud as he alternates between keeping it up in the air and holding it in his arms. This enjoyment can last for minutes or hours, sometimes it has lasted days. But in an instant the balloon inevitably pops and with it the magic is gone. He comes crying to me holding the remains of the latex in his hand and asks with tear-filled eyes, why? Why did it have to pop? Why did his joy have to end? I tell him that sometimes it just happens. There was nothing he did, exactly (unless it was a matter of jumping up and down on it or poking it with a pen) that caused its demise. He weeps for his lost balloon. He weeps for the fun that is now gone. I hug him and tell him its okay to be sad. I tell him he will be okay and someday there will be another balloon. We take the balloon's remains and put them in the trash. He wipes his eyes, takes a deep breath, pauses then bolts out the back door to play. He is okay.

And, regardless of the number of times he endures the loss of his balloon, it doesn't prevent him from loving the next one that catches his eye. He is my inspiration for loving fully no matter the heartache that may come.

How I found tango...

I have been on a quest to replicate a dance that I did not know the name of or how to do it from 20 years ago. When I was a cocktail waitress in college, I worked at a lounge that catered to the older, business community in the town. They had live music (a man on keyboards and a man on bass guitar) and dancing every Thursday through Saturday. I would love it when I danced with one of the bar’s customers. His name was Robert. I loved dancing with him because he would hold me tight and move me all around the dance floor. He would navigate around the floor so that we had criss-crossed and touched every corner several times during the song. It was heaven for me – moving and walking to the music. I tried, unsuccessfully, to teach my then boyfriend, (who later became my husband, who later became my ex-husband), how to dance the way Robert did. My ex-husband could never do it and he gave up trying.

Fast-forward 20 years (well that’s how it feels anyway). I began swing dancing and really enjoyed it. I learned a lot from swing dancing on how to be a good follow and the importance of the connection between the dance partners. However, I still had not been able to replicate the dance that I did with Robert.

Then, about eight months ago, I went to my first tango lesson and milonga at a quaint, local wine bar. I learned to walk, pause, rock step, and ocho along with the others taking the class. I was enjoying myself but still no “Robert-dance”.

That is until I danced later that night with an experienced tango dancer. He wrapped his arm around my waist, held my other hand in his and pulled me close. He then moved me gracefully, rhythmically around the dance floor and for a brief moment I thought I was dancing with Robert again. I knew then that my search was over. I had found the dance and I wasn’t going to let it get away from me this time.