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Once a week or so, we buy lottery tickets. Just one or two. And I’m just putting you on alert, because when we win? I’m gonna have huge giveaways, like tens of thousands of dollars. Maybe millions. You know, if I win one of those lotteries that are worth hundreds of millions. I’m totally going to share with you, so be watching. I don’t need that much and I’ll have to figure out how to get rid of it all.
I’ll build a nice, big, old-fashioned barn.

Then get a couple horses. And an ornamental cow. Or six.

I’ll get that pond dug and some pretty ducks. I’ll pay off my house and pave the driveway with those heat strips under the concrete. I might even pave the road and build bridges over the creeks because I’m very community-spirited.

Or not. We like roughing it out here and if we paved it, other people might decide to live out here. Then I’ll have to buy up all the property up and down the road to keep it private. And I’ll hire construction people and architects to work on the old farmhouse to make sure it never falls down from old age. I’ll buy Georgia a new car and hire her a chauffeur to drive her around because she’d never figure out how to drive it herself, plus she’ll be all mad about me wasting more than $200 on a car.
I’ll have pet sheep.

And lots of pretty goats.

And I’ll find a couple good causes to support and I’ll keep blogging and give a lot of money to all of you.
What I won’t do is blow all my millions on fancy cars or houses in St. Tropez. Or give my children any excessive loads of loot at young ages that will ruin their lives. They need to learn the value of work, and I need to stay home with my chickens.

Because truth? I love my life just how it is and I wouldn’t want to change it. Though I wouldn’t mind a nice barn. I don’t understand all these stories about people who go crazy and ruin their lives when they win the lottery. What is that about?
What about you? What would you do if you won the lottery?
Posted by Suzanne McMinn | Permalink
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"It was a cold wintry day when I brought my children to live in rural West Virginia. The farmhouse was one hundred years old, there was already snow on the ground, and the heat was sparse-—as was the insulation. The floors weren’t even, either. My then-twelve-year-old son walked in the door and said, “You’ve brought us to this slanted little house to die." Keep reading our story....
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