- THE FOODIE FILES: Centenarian secrets
- THE BUZZ: Teewinot claims two
- REDNECK PERSPECTIVE: Hog Island economics
- FEATURE: The Center of the Universe
- GUEST OPINION: Five times the feces?
- GET OUT: Ode to Delta
- MUSIC BOX: Euphoria meets Canyon
- THE BUZZ: The Faces of Blair
- WELL, THAT HAPPENED: Trumped up comedy
- MUSIC BOX: Heroes can’t stand still
GALLOPIN’ GRANDMA: Get a grip on your dreams
JACKSON, WYO – There was a man in a nearby town, where these things happen, who desperately wanted to win the lottery. It had been a dream of his for years, but the time came when he really needed to win it as he had a couple of greedy ex-wives, some ungrateful children and a girlfriend who wanted to move to Florida.
It was win it now or face the awful consequences. He found a nearby church where there was a statue of his favorite saint, Eligius, and everyday he would go to the church and pray, and whine and beg. “Please let me win the lottery, please, please, please.”
After about six months of this, the statue got sick of all the whining, leaned over and told Lottery Boy, “For cripes sakes, if you want to win the lottery, buy a ticket! If you don’t win, you sure as hell aren’t going to blame me.”
I think what the statue meant is that if you want your dreams to come true, you might have to do a little ground work.
I think that reality shows on TV have convinced a lot of people that their so-called dreams have to come true and woe be it unto anyone who gets in the way. There are parents who discover that their child can take two steps without falling down and thus must become an Olympic marvel or an NBA star. Other parents are convinced that their abysmally plain child can, with a little makeup, spray tan, hair extensions and a cheesy dress, become a beauty pageant queen.
My friend had a daughter, Tiffani, who had dreams of being a fabulous bride, or so she told her mother. When the time came, nothing would do, but she had to have it all. She had the Vera Wang dress, the flowers from Asia, the $5,000 cake from New York, the limos, the this and the that.
There was a groom, but he was of no consequence as he hadn’t been in the dream. The wedding was fabulous and by that time the parents were almost too poor to be invited. Then came the dream honeymoon paid for by mom and pop. Shortly after the lovely couple returned home, the groom socked the bride in the eye and it was all over. Actually it had been over since the beginning but the “it’s all about me” couple wanted to rake in the goodies before the old folks went bankrupt.
When we were kids we all dreamed of being Shirley Temple. Shirley was cute and talented and we weren’t, so the dream died. It didn’t die for the Murch’s. They were convinced that their daughter Chantal would be a great and famous dancer.
So there were years of lessons, coaching, dance recitals while Chantal (real name Mary Agnes) just wanted to stay home and play with her toy horses and read horse books, but no one had asked her.
Strangely enough, Chantal did OK, and if you’d like to see her, drive out Highway 30 on Saturday night to the Boo-yah Bar and watch her slither around a pole while guys stick money in her underwear. It’s not the career her mother dreamed of, but she makes more on a weekend then we make in a month.
As for Lottery Boy, he left the church and was run over by a bus full of nuns. He sued the Diocese for a million bucks and was able to pay off his ex-wives and move to Florida with his girlfriend. I guess dreams really can come true.