Ace Wisdom

Sometimes I let you Grasshoppers into my head to watch the gerbil running on the wheel. Some subjects are not worth contemplating but I can’t help myself.
Well lately I’ve contemplated the people in my life that I’ve known that have had the name Rex. It is not a long list because “Rex” has not been all that popular over the years.
My first encounter with Rex was in my childhood. During the early 1950’s, cowboy flicks on Friday night were the rage at the local theater. You know! Gene Autry, Roy Rogers (the King of the Cowboys) and Hopalong Cassidy. During this orgy of westerns, Rex Allen appeared on the scene. He was a singing cowboy. He was macho. He had a great horse (I don’t remember the name) and a fantastic voice. I liked Rex Allen but like all the cowboy movie heros, Rex “faded to black”.
The next Rex that I remember was when I started school at UW-Oshkosh. We had six guys in our rooming house on Elmwood Avenue. One guy named Rex Joslyn was two years ahead of me in school and was majoring in psychology. He was muscular (today women would say he was chiseled) and was on the diving team. He had a annoying habit of shouting “diggy diggy dig” when he was exuberant. It was stupid. A real man would should yell “yo” or “hot damn”. But no, Rex had to say that femmy “diggy diggy dig”. I can still hear him leaving the house on a hot date and yelling his “cry” as he went down the steps. All in all, Rex was a good guy. That was 45 years ago.
Then in the late 1970’s I met another Rex. Rex Coryell. He was the coordinator for our group of business executives (TEC). He was a good listener. He was a really classy person. His job did not pay a hugh salary. It turns out he was a Harvard graduate with a Master degree from also from Harvard. He was also a retired Naval officer and had a life pension. He was doing what he wanted to do. He was working with top people in business and he was having fun. Yeah! My kind of guy. I haven’t seen Rex in 15 years.
So you see my composite of “Rex” is a cowboy with a Harvard degree riding off into the sunset screaming “diggy diggy dig”.
I can’t help but wonder what the next person named Rex will be like as he enters my life. If history is an predictor, he will be accomplished and he will make a lasting positive impression. Rex? Are you out there?
Love,
Dad

As mentioned, I am taking a night course at Fox Valley Technical College called “Retirement Planning Today”. It is advertised as appropriate for people ages 50-70. The first session was several days ago.
I have an adversion for what Margaret calls bottom dwelling, skum suckers. The list is usually credit card companies, insurance sales people and real estate agents. When you deal with those types, put you hand on your wallet and squeeze tightly. Add financial companies offering seminars. They promise is to present unbiased retirement planning information. No sales pressure! Yeah, rigtht.
Well my financial planning course is offered by Company out of Green Bay that helps you with your financial affairs and just happens to sell annuities, mutual funds and insurance. It is owned by Mr. Nero who just bought the company. His motivation is pay off his new company. Helping him is a man who spent 29 years in the State Prison system. I assume he was a guard (at least I hope so). I think he is Nero’s body guard. The third member of the teaching team spent many years in the commodity markets which is very speculative in nature. So we have a “strapped” business owner, a body guard and a gambler teaching retirement principles. Nothing to fear!
They promise at the outset to present information in a professional manner and that this would not be a sales seminar. They would however be available at the breaks and after the evening presentation. They would also be pleased to set up a one hour “one on one” session to help you review you personal retirement situation at a later date. Isn’t that generous! The slick part of the “hustle” is that during the seminar, they gloss over important financial facts and spend lots of time on annuities and insurance products. I think they make most of their money on annuities.
The truth is that the 45 people attending the seminar are moms and dads, grandmas and grandpas that have spent years saving up for retirement (notice I didn’t mention widows and orphans). The teaching team, namely the boss, the body guard and the gambler are there to help. It is definitely a “shark alert”. It like swimming in a tank full of sharks. The predators are circling.
So as I am leaving the seminar after the first night, I make sure that other people get “button-holed” at the door and I avoid any eye contant with the sharks. Never make eye contact with a shark. I escape uscathed.
Maybe I’m paranoid. Mom says I am a suspicious soul. Maybe, but I still have my wallet.
I go back in the shark tank one more time. Since this will be their last chance to entice me into their confidence, I’ll need to take along my shark repellant and a stun gun. Fear not, I shall survive.
Beware of shark attacks.
Love,
Dad

About a decade ago there was a movie about a robot that began to take on human like qualities. For the life of me I can’t remember the movie title. It starred Ally Sheady. The robot named “No. 5” had an insatiable appetite for knowledge so his cry was “more input, more input”. He could read a book in 10 seconds. He could digest a dictionary in less than a minute. The more he read, the more he needed “more input”.
So in my quest for more input, I signed up for a night course at Fox Valley Technical College. It is titled “Retirement Planning Today”. It meets over several weeks, 3 hours at a time.
The first subject matter is “determine the amount of money you need to retire”. Come to think of it, for me it is a little late to broach that subject. So why am I going?
The second issue discussed is “create your own goals for a successful retirement”. I guess it is never too late to set goals even though I am in the 7th year of retirement.
Then they hit “eliminate debt and improve cash flow”. How does a person like myself on a limited income (actually decreasing income) find enough money to reduce debt and improve cash flow?
You get the idea. Lots of financial advice but I’m not sure how applicable it is to your mother and I.
So why am I doing this? I need more input. I know a little about planning for retirement but the tax laws keep changing, health insurance rules are in constant flux and social security has it’s little quirks. So what I receive is updated information on all of those subjects to put in my personal memory bank.
Usually I have some primary objective and this is no exeption. I want to find out details about “long term care” insurance. People are living longer because they can put together medicine cocktails that keep you breathing until you are 80, 90, or 100. You can buy long term care insurance that covers the cost of nursing homes in later life. I don’t have that type of insurance. I’m not sure I can afford it! I’m not sure I want it? The cost of the course may be worth the information I get.
I contemplate what my life would be like if my kids would “take me in” when I get totally senile. I’m sure that Debs would modify her life to take care of me (yeah, right). Kelly would probably move to Peru to avoid taking me in. Chris would make “his old man” cut the lawn to pay his way. Paul would prop me in a corner and propose a toast. And Margaret would take a picture of a senile old man, post it on the internet and let the world see how pathetic I was! No sir, I want to control my own journey into senility. Stay tuned! I’ll keep you posted.
So here I go. My personal growth continues.
Love,
Dad

This is not what you think. It is not about your big salaries (i.e. big bucks) nor is it about winning the lottery and falling into “big bucks”.
It was 1995. I belonged to TEC which was a group of business executives that met on a regular basis. Jack Sturm, who was President of Sturm Industries, had season tickets for the Milwaukee Bucks. He offered to take Gordy Minch from Ripon, the President of Ripon College, and myself to a night game at the Bradley Center. Two tickets were in the lower grandstand but two tickets were on the basketball court under the basket. That is right, two of us got to sit right under the Milwaukee Bucks basket as they warmed up. We were in the first row of courtside chairs and we got first hand knowledge of what “big Bucks” really were. I don’t think anyone was under 6 foot 4 inches tall and there were a couple 7 footers. One I remember was big Paul Mokosky (Big Mo). He wasn’t real good but he was 7 feet tall, he tried hard and he was a crowd favorite.
So as I was sitting there courtside thinking about what the rest of the world was doing that evening, I decided that I would try to get the tickets for another game and take family member.
About a month later, I got a couple of complimentary tickets and Paul and I went to a game. The game looks different from courtside at the end of the court. Play is right in front of you and you are awed by the close, fast action. Part of the play is at the other end of the court and you are viewing it unobstructed from a distance. Does it get any better?
But here is the “clinker”. In the NBA, there is a lot of fast action and sometimes as the teams race down the court they shoot and then run under the basket and sometimes into the crowd. That is right! We were sitting in the place where you see players charge into fans and chairs and photographers go sprawling. We were in mortal danger. We could have got run over by a 7 footer. What had I done? Paul and I could get hurt. But you know what, we didn’t care. If we were going to die, how great would it be to “expire” under the basket at a Milwaukee Bucks game.
We obviously survived and are here to tell our story.
I don’t remember if the Bucks won or not. I don’t care! I don’t remember the names of any of the other players at the time and I don’t care. The team sucked and I didn’t care. I do remember that it was a special moment.
Now I know what you are all thinking! Why Paul and not me? Well Deb had to work that night. Kelly was busy over in Madison. Shelby Jr. wouldn’t let Chris go. Margaret was at dance recital. So it was just Paul and me. It would have been a shame to waste the tickets.
Wouldn’t you know it was the last Bucks game I ever attended.
Love,
Dad

Late last week I was informed that our Sears vacuum cleaner crapped out after only 12 years of service. The electrical connections were deteriorating and the motor sounded like Chris’ Dodge Durango (rough and noisy).
So the choice was to get the vacuum fixed (after all it was only 12 years old) or buy a new one. Being the “big picture” guy that I am, it was an easy decision. Repairing the old would be $75-$100 dollars and you would still have an old machine. So of course we needed a new one.
I found a Sears flyer in the Sunday edition of the Post Crescent. Vacuum cleaners were on sale. Talk about coincidence! So I talked to your mom and we agreed to give our old model a proper burial and shop for a new one.
My approach was to take a look at the old one, determine the power output and salient features so that I had a reference point when we shopped. Also the one thing that the new vacuum must do is suck!
Your mother’s approach was to talk to a friend and they discussed the deals advertised in the Sunday insert. Features were important such as a power head for the wooden stairs. Color was important. We have a brown one now and the deal was on a grey one. This becomes a major decision. Another blah color for 12 years? It is painful to even write about. So they decided the one that draws 12 amps was adeqiate and even though the color was terrible, the price was right.
Yesterday I was running errands in the afternoon and I was in the vacinity of the mall. I figured I’d stop at Sears and take a look at vacuums. Well I’m not short on decision making ability. I found one that sucked. It was very similar our old one and it was a “Consumers Best Buy”. It drew 14 amps. Actually amperage relates to the size of the motor. The one I selected was bigger and more expensive than the one advertised in the flyer. But it too was on sale. So I bought it.
Honest to goodness I thought about the irony of your mom maybe purchasing a vacuum earlier in the afternoon when whe was out. I thought, no, she wouldn’t buy a vacuum without me if for no other reason than she needed me to carry it to the car. So I took initiative and bought a vacuum hoping she would like it.
I got home and immediately asked “you didn’t happen to buy a vacuum cleaner did you”? Her response was “yes I did’! Damn! What are the odds that we would both buy a vacuum? What are the odds that I would have a premonition that maybe your mom already bought a unit?
Actually owning two new vacuums sucks ( I couldn’t resist that). Every one should be a “two vacuum household”.
All turned out okay. We returned one of the vacuums unopened. We kept the one that sucks (the bigger unit). I feel kind of like Tim the Toolman Taylor on Home Improvement. Bigger and more powerful! Ugh! Ugh!
The phenomenon of having a “feeling” that your mom might have purchased a vacuum might identify me as having some psychic power but I think it is just that your mom and I have been together so long that sometimes I can anticipate what she might do. Or was it psychic power? Ooooooooh!
Anyway we got a new vacuum and all is well. It was a good value. And it sucks! Actually the whole ordeal sucks.
Love,
Dad

This blog is about me. It is my best basketball moment. The accent is on “moment”.
It was 1956 and I was a junior in high school. Yep, I was on the basketball team. In fact I was on two basketball teams that year. I would play in the first of two games every game night. I played Junior Varsity as a starting forward and then in the second game on Varsity as a guard. I guess the idea was to give me lots of playing time!
This is about the junior varsity game of 1956-1957 season played at Kohler, Wisconsin. The Kohler team was loaded with talent and within a couple years would win one (maybe two) Class C State Basketball Championships. Kohler had a very small gym and it was packed.
My dad was always my biggest fan. He was also a pain in the ass because there was something he felt I should be doing better. For some reason he didn’t get to the game until the JV game was over.
The JV game was close. We got within the final minute and we were down by 3 points and we had the ball. I don’t remember all the details but we scored with 4 seconds left on the clock. We were now behind by one point.
Our coach was Warner Finke (friends knew him as Soup) called time out. Our plan was to pressure Kohler with our defense to try and prevent Kohler from inbounding the ball from under our basket. Yeah, right. If we could force an error or steal the ball, we needed to get a quick shot or the game was over. The score was 37-36 in favor of Kohler.
My assignment was to play in front of their guard as they tried to inbound the ball. I must have done a pretty good job because there was a great deal of confusion by the Kohler player trying to throw the ball into play. Wouldn’t you know that I played the defense perfectly (for a change) and managed to “out jump” their guard for the ball and I had a clean steal. The clock was starting to run. The crowd was going nuts with “shoot, shoot, shoot”! I remember everything being in slow motion like you see in the movies. I had intercepted in the corner of the court and was facing the basket from the side. I took several steps towards the basket and took a long jump shot over their defender. The clock went off while the ball was in the air. I do remember the screaming crowd. The shot was pure. It ripped the net never touching the rim. Plymouth wins. Plymouth wins. Plymouth wins. The final score was 38-37.
It couldn’t have been scripted any better. It was the shot every kid dreams of. Steal the ball, shoot, win. Yes!
Now the crowd was really nuts. I remember being mobbed by other players and fans came out of the stands. Does it get any better?
Then I realized that we had another game to play. This was the JV game. We still had the Varsity game to play and I was on that team too. I have to admit that I had trouble focusing on the Varsity game and we ultimately got trounced because we had a Varsity team that sucked. I remember our Varsity coach (Dave Sauer) telling me to keep shooting hoping some of the magic from the first game would rub off. Alas, it didn’t.
But you can’t take that final shot to win the game away from me. It is vivid in my memory. It is like yesterday. In my dreams the ball always goes in the basket. It always rips the net.
It is ironic that it is one of the few games that my dad did not make on time. He missed a special moment. I’d have loved to see his face when he got to the game and they told him Chuckie won the game at the buzzer. That might have been more interesting “the shot”.
It was the perfect ending. It was the perfect shot. It is the perfect moment!
Love,
Dad

There have been many instances in life where the notion “build it and they will come” have been used. Herb Kohler has built hotels, restraurants, golf courses and shopping malls that were aimed at the “upscale” market. Everyone said he was insane. But he built them and they came.
Last Saturday, your mom, her sister JoAnn, and brother Bob (with a very big assist from Mary) decided to use the same theory with a party for Nana to celebrate her 95th birthday. They would organize the party and people would come. It would be held in Plymouth, Wisconsin. It would be held at Bob and Mary’s. It would be from 1:00 PM to 4:00 PM on Saturday, February 11, 2006.
And they came!
They came from Phoenix, Arizona.
They came from Cotton Lake, Minnesota (13 hour trip).
They came from Boston, Massachusetts.
They came from Chicago, Milwaukee, Madison, Sheboygan, Appleton and all around.
The turnout was incredible. For Nana there were many surprises with the biggest being a visit from little sister Lois. Lois had journeyed with son-in-law Kieth from Minnesota and I’m sure many childhood stories were relived with Nana. It is hard to believe that Lyla was 15 years old when Lois was born.
And there were Grandchildren. Many grandchildren. They brought with them many great-grandchildren.
And there were friends. Many friends. Nana’s quilting group traveled “in mass” to celebrate. There was coffee, tea, cake and ice cream.
There were gifts.
The party lingered into the evening. The person who seemed to draw energy from the clambake was Nana. People were falling from fatique all around her. That is except for the children who just didn’t want to go home. And who glowed through the night? It was Nana.
So lots of people made a 95 year old birthday girl very happy. Nana has always set the standard for class, respect and high moral fiber. She is a very special lady.
I guess it is true. “If you organize it, they will come”.
And to Mom, JoAnn and Bob (and Mary), congratulations on creating some very special memories.
Love,
Dad

The Buick automobile has been entwined with my life since I was a kid. I was told that my Grandpa Chalk had always wanted a Buick. In the early 1940’s, automobiles weren’t being built because our factories were used for the World War II effort. You know! Airplaines, jeeps, ammunition and stuff. Grandpa Chalk had purchased his black four door “round back” Buick just as World War II was beginning. It was parked in a garage on the back of the City Club properties. The garage had one door that lifted up and was very narrow. If you were a passenger in the Buick, you had to exit before it was pulled into the garage. For some reason I remember the garage because there was space next to the car for storage of bicycles. There was always a musty smell when I went into the garage. I loved that smell. It just represented something that was peculiar to that Buick. Well would you believe that I can walk into my garage today when it is warm and get that same musty nostalgic smell and it doesn’t come from a Buick.
Somehow my Dad missed the Buick nostalgia craze. I remember Bucky buying used Cadillacs along with a few strange cars such as a Chrysler Air-flo. Bucky jumped past the Buick to something more expensive. He would talk about Chalk always wanting a Buick. But then, I remembered something. My Dad did own a Buick. He had returned from the World War II. He was playing summer baseball for the Plymouth City team. He always offered to drive team members to baseball games that were out of town. The players would assemble one block from the City Club at the Goodrich-Nickolas gas station and then depart for the ballgame. My dad’s car was this big long black four door car that looked like an Al Capone mafia car. It was right out of the mid 1930’s. There was room for 3 baseball players across the back seat and I recall a couple of “jump seats” in the back for couple more players. My mother would sit in the front usually with another player. I think I’m describing an autombile disguised as a bus. It was a Buick. It was a big old black touring car with a Buick pedigree. So yep, my dad had a Buick too.
In later years (1960’s) I remember talking to my Uncle Bob about a new Cadillac convertible he had purchased. Just before the Cadillac, he had a Buick convertible but he only kept it a year or two. He talked about how “owning” a Buick was always one of his goals because his dad had ingrained into his head that is was the ultimate achievement. He said his Buick had been a piece of “crap” (those are my words) and he couldn’t wait to get rid of it. So much for the Buick nostalgia.
Now we are into my generation buying a Buick. My grandpa had a Buick. My dad did own a Buick. My uncle owned a Buick. I needed to own a Buick. Buicks were always known as a “step up” from Chevrolets. There were Pontiacs, Oldsmobiles, and Buicks that were part of the General Motors family. Buicks were the highest quality and represented some degree of success. So did I yearn for a Buick? I have to admit that having been around the myth that “Buicks were the symbol of success”, owning a Buick did interest me. My compromise was to buy a 1982 Buick Century as our second car. It was a midsize car with the newer front engine drive. It was the car your mother was driving when an old man ran an intesection on Superior Ave. in Sheboygan and nearly wiped out both your mom and the car. It was a car! It was nothing special. It did nothing to live up to “Buick’s are special”. I couldn’t wait to get rid of it.
So far, none of you Grasshoppers has ever owned a Buick so maybe the family nostalgia has stopped. The truth is that many of the General Motor cars had interchangable parts from the cheaper Chevy to the more expensive Buick disclosing the fact that there was nothing special about the Buick. What you were paying for was image.
Still I will always recall walking into that musty garage in the back of the City Club and smelling scents that were peculiar to the Buick (at least I thought they were). It made an indelible etching in my mind. Sometimes I can still smell that car in my own garage. Gad, I love that smell.
Love,
Dad

It was late June. The year was 1970 or 1971. Paul and Margaret, weren’t born yet. We had a 1969 dark green Cheverolet Impala with a power window in the tailgate. We loaded it with beach “stuff”. You know, swimming suits, bath towels, multiple changes of clothes, TV, charcoal for the grill and food. We headed for Cascade, Wisconsin. Just southwest of Cascade is little Lake Ellen. There was a public beach with an old wooden building that could accomodate bus loads of kids for swimming lessons. Right next to the public parking lot was a cute little cottage. Somehow, someway your mom and I found the cottage and in a moment of weakness, we rented it for one week. I don’t remember rental cost but $150 per week seems about right.
In hindsight, the cottage was a compromise. We couldn’t afford an expensive vacation and the cottage represented an affordable change of pace.
I know the whole family was excited. Swimming and fishing and boats, oh my! When I say the whole family was excited, it extended for sure to Grandpa George and Nana. George knew we were going to the Lake so he offered his fishing boat for the week. He never used it anyway. It had a 5 horsepower Evinrude engine so it really flew over the waves. Yeah, right! The boat was a nice diversion because it let us take tours of the lake. I think at 3-4 mph, we could make it around the lake in 15 minutes. There really weren’t many cottages, just farms that bordered various stretches of the lake. I think the lake was spring fed.
It was a fun time. Our beach was very, very sandy and the water shallow. There was lots of room to romp. I don’t know if Deb, Kelly or Chris could swim. I know we had goggles and fins for the feet and air inflatible flotation devices. I don’t remember bad days. Most of the time was sunny.
Grandpa George found ways to visit. I don’t know why, but he always had a fascination with retreating to a lake with the family. He talked about how he wished he had looked at Crystal Lake property for his family. I remember Lyla saying that was never going to happen because it just meant more work for her. So they “plugged in” to our family frolic.
I also remember Uncle Bob coming out to visit with his black puppy Nikki (I think a black water spaniel). He was trying to teach it to jump into the water and fetch sticks. You Grasshoppers were entertained by the dog. Nikki wasn’t real attentive and I’m not sure he ever got the message.
We fried out constantly. The cottage had some cooking facilities but it didn’t get much use. So the outdoor grill was used for brats, hamburgers, maybe some steaks and I’m sure chicken for variety.
The public beach facility next door had a food counter. You could buy potato chips, soda and candy bars. I know we made a few trips for “garbage food”.
The Lake Ellen cottage did what it was supposed to do. It brought family together sharing common things. That included George and Lyla and Uncle Bob and possibly my mother Alice (I don’t remember clearly but visiting is something she might have done).
For me, there was always something enchanting and fun about being around a Lake. It was also very confining. After 6-7 days of family togetherness, I would get a yearning for good stuff. Lke my own bed. Like a newspaper in the morning. Like a refrigerator stocked with good things. You get the idea.
Lake Ellen was the beginning and it fostered good feelings. The end result was that we eventually bought our first Crystal Lake cottage. It took 25 years before we gave it all up. It was an interesting journey.
Love,
Dad

Dear Grasshoppers: Your response to my recently mailed financial statements has been fantastic. Keep the checks rolling in!
This time of the year is always depressing. The days are short and mostly dark. People are tired of being “cooped” up. Income taxes need to be filed, and the stupid Super Bowl rhetoric is beginning to drone on to the point of “ad nauseum”. Suck it up! This too will pass.
Now, my introduction to Aunt Martha. She owned a 160 acre farm outside of Plymouth. She was your Grandma Alice’s aunt. Alice’s dad, Jiggs, had a brother Carl (6ft.6in. tall) and a sister, Martha. Carl died before I was able to know him, but he also owned a farm further outside Plymouth. When Carl died, Martha bought his 160 acre farm too. You get the idea. She was a land baroness.
Martha married a man named Charlie Meyer. He was a crotchety old goat who went to town when he got the chance and got sloppy drunk. Living with Martha, I guess you couldn’t blame him. He died after 25 years of marriage probably from “over work”. Hence her married name was Martha Meyer. There were no children.
She got strange as she got older. For some reason, she made a connection with Grandma Alice and she would call on the phone and talk about her problems. She couldn’t manage the farms as she got older so she leased out much of the land for the cash. She sold off the milk cows. She lived in the dilapidated farmhouse on her original farm. She refused to repair the house because she was a scrooge. She hid large amounts of cash in cigar boxes. By the time she was in her early 70’s, mistrust had settled into her soul. She thought everyone in the world was out to take advantage of her. In her later years she put a cot in her kitchen to sleep on and she burned wood in her kitchen stove to keep warm. I don’t know when she bathed.
As cantankerous as she was, there was the “sweet little old woman” that came through occasionally. Everybody wanted to get close to Martha because they thought they might take advantage of her. Family members came to visit frequently because they might factor into the inheritance. Love has no bounds when money is involved. Neighbors came around wanting to buy her farm properties for distressed prices. Hell, even the mail man might have been friendly in hope of financial reward. Your mom got to know Martha because the law office where she worked handled Martha’s affairs. I bet they had to fumigate the office when Martha left.
Actually, it got rather sad. Martha had lots of farm property and no way to tend to it. She was paranoid about people taking advantage of her so she kept retreating more and more into her own little world. She did what she felt was necessary to survive. In truth she was a nice lady whose life became too difficult.
So, when Martha died, the parasites lined up to see if they would receive any of her estate. I know the farms were sold along with any personal effects. The money was then divided among a few people with 12% to Grandma Alice, 12% to Alice’s brother Jerry and I think 12% to Jack’s son Johnny, who had spina bifida and she wanted to help him. I think Alice ended up getting $20,000 to $30,000 in several installments. For Alice it was a nice windfall. Alice purchased some furniture and had a screened porch constructed on the front of her house. Most of Alice’s money was gone by the time she died.
Martha died a lonely old lady, alone with her stashed cash and farm property. She is buried in Plymouth Woodlawn Cemetery forgotten by most of the world.
I don’t know what “Aunt Martha’s” relationship would be to you Grasshoppers. Maybe she is a great-great Aunt? We can’t deny the family connection. The lesson? Don’t let money consume you.
Love,
Dad