Marshall Ramsey

I didn’t win the lottery (duh) nor did I even buy a ticket — so my odds were the same as if I had bought one (zero). But it’s still fun to wonder what would happen if I had won the $700 million jackpot like ol’ Mavis did.

Seven hundred million dollars ($400 million-plus for a lump-sum payout) is a buttload of cash. I mean like “You will get your ass kidnapped” amounts of cash. So first thing I’d do is change my name. To what? I don’t know. Dash Riprock, SimonandGarfunkel, Hootie or something believable maybe. I’d probably go with Dave Ramsey. My cousin is not a fan of the lottery so no one would suspect that a rich Dave Ramsey running around got his money from the Powerball.

So at this point, you can call me Dave (my dad wouldn’t mind either.)

My kids like the schools here but I know it would be rough being Richie Rich. We’d try to stay for them but there is a temptation to move out of state to a compound in the mountains surrounded by a moat. (To keep relatives from finding us) But if I did stay, I’d buy a nice house on a lake (without alligators). And then build a moat. What about my current house? I’d raffle it off for $1 a ticket. (My neighbors suddenly don’t like me. Relax guys — I didn’t win. Nor will I ever win the Lottery. You’re stuck with me as a neighbor for the near future).

Yes, I’d still draw editorial cartoons. And I’d buy donuts for my coworkers every single day.

I’d also create a charity and get busy donating to worthy causes. I might even sponsor potholes in Jackson — although that would get expensive fast. The family would travel to places around the world where potholes are the norm — just to feel at home.

I could afford to send my kids to college — although I am not sure $400 million is enough to cover textbooks. I’d make my kids earn the money — yes, I’d be that kind of an a-hole parent. Pip would eat a lot of bacon. A lot of bacon.

I’d have to hire security. (Pip would be too stuffed with bacon to guard us.) I think I can pick up a used M1A2 Abrams tank used on Craig’s List. That much money makes you a bug light for people who want your money. So I’d carefully choose my posse. We’d hang out like Elvis did. I’d even create a jungle room and shoot my TVs. Thank you. Thank you very much.

The 4 a.m. Wake-up Club would have to seek a new leader. Just saying. I could buy a gym for all the money I’d have. But I’d sleep in until at least 5 a.m.

Having nearly a half of billion dollars would be an insane thing to deal with. But I’d try to handle it. And yes, I’d still draw — just not draw a paycheck.

But alas, this is all speculation. The only thing I’ve won in my life is a set of Alcoa Aluminum coat hangers (I won bingo at a retiree picnic in 1974. So I’ll have to get back to work and quit dreaming.

I really should’ve won, though. Next time maybe I’ll save up and buy a ticket. And then I’ll get ready to build a moat.

#winning

A year ago, I was sitting by mother’s bedside as she transitioned between the living and the beyond. She fought for hours, talking to someone as she pointed at the wall. At one point late in the night, I had been up for 24+ hours and just couldn’t stay awake. I kissed her on the forehead and walked out of the room expecting never to see her alive again. The next morning, I came back to her room and she was sitting up and eating breakfast. I looked at her and said, “Well, good morning, Lazarus.”

Lucy, the caregiver we had hired, was sitting there with her feeding her. Lucy and I had visited the night before as she told me of her life in Nigeria and how she had risked everything to make a better life for her family here. She was a devout Christian and as my mother fought, Lucy and I talked about faith. She smiled as I walked in the door as she prepared to end her shift. When she left, I noticed something under my mother’s hospice bed:

It was a folded paper angel Lucy had made sometime during the night.

Today I spoke to Mississippi Health Care Association Volunteer & Caregiver Awards Luncheon. Although no one in the room worked with my parents (they were in Georgia), I still thanked them for their kindness and compassion. Between dad being in the memory care home and mother’s need for care, caregivers became lifesavers for not only them but my sisters and me as well.

It was an honor to be with them today. I was thankful I was able to express my gratitude for their mission and passion.

Happy Eclipse Day! I hope you got up early to open your Eclipse presents and your Eclipse cards brought by the Eclipse Bunny. I know it will be a busy day for you, with Eclipse parties and all. But I just wanted you to know that unlike the Earth and the Sun, I’ll never let anything get between us. Right?

Right.

I hope that brightens your Eclipse Day on a day that will be temporarily dark but always sunny here on the Internet.

So how will I be celebrating Eclipse Day? Well, I didn’t buy a pail of cheap Eclipse sunglasses at some big box superstore. I don’t really want to put my eyes in the hands of a $3.99 pair of cardboard glasses. I like to see — and Pip the dog would be a horrible service dog. (By the way, I am capitalizing Eclipse because it is really important and I’m in the process of trademarking the name). I probably will do the ol’ pinhole in a piece of paper to make an Eclipse™ viewer instead. You can also view the hype that way without burning out your retinas. (It’s also useful if you see me in a swimsuit.) I’ll also watch online as everyone gets all moonstruck in the areas where there will be a total Eclipse™.

But really, I’m excited about the Eclipse™. It doesn’t happen often and it gives us a moment to remember that we really have little control of the world around us. That there’s a big universe beyond this little blue marble and our even smaller, tiny and minuscule lives. When the sky grows dark, it’ll be a brief moment to step outside of ourselves and bask in the awe of the brilliance and perfection of the universe. As the sky darkens and then lightens, just remember that there is something bigger than ourselves out there — and be grateful.

So enjoy Eclipse™ Day 2017. It’s the day that we actually look up for a change. When we appreciate science and watch nature put on a show. Just don’t stare at the sun. I want you to be able to read tomorrow’s cartoon.

And I promise, my Eclipse™ Day card is in the mail.

Partial Eclipse over Pittsburgh

With today being the 72nd anniversary of the end of World War 2, I think it’s appropriate I’m reading reading the book Mission: Jimmy Stewart and the Fight for Europe by Robert Matzen. Dan Fordice suggested the book to me and I immediately picked up a copy. I’m thankful I did.

Jimmy Stewart has always been my favorite actor (I like Tom Hanks for many of the same reasons). He played the “Everyman” in his movies and he played it well. But there was always a flash of anger in him after World War 2. Watch some of his westerns. See pain he feels when he’s at the bar in It’s a Wonderful Life and realizes he is about to lose it all. He came back from the war with an edge.

Now I understand why.

Stewart had already won a Best Actor Academy Award by the time he was drafted before the war started. He could have slid into a Hollywood film-making unit and avoided combat. But Stewart was a pilot and like his father and grandfathers before him, he chose to serve. Clark Gable told him that his career would be over. Jimmy Stewart did not care.

He was a commander of B-24 bombers at a time when bombers were being knocked out of the skies like flies. He saw Hell up close, was intimate with death and experienced carnage that most of us will never understand. But he repeatedly strapped on his parachute, climbed into his bomber and performed admirably each mission. He, like thousands of Americans like him, sacrificed and came home changed.

Jimmy Stewart did his job, didn’t brag about it and even his children never realized the extent of his service. When World War 2 started, he left Hollywood behind. We’re fortunate that he survived and returned to the big screen.

Like I said, I’ve always been a fan of Jimmy Stewart. But after reading about his time in the service, I’m an even bigger one now.

He truly did live a wonderful life. And we’re better off for it.

There’s a big bucket at Geyser Falls that repeatedly fills up and then dumps hundreds of gallons of water on your head. Mother Nature just did that at our house. We got .71 of an inch of rain in just a few minutes.

Right as the rain started, lightning struck nearby. And right behind it was a massive clap of thunder. The house shook and the dishes rattled. And Miss Pip was not pleased. She began barking loudly (and she is quite loud even on a normal day). It wasn’t that she was scared. She was just pissed off.

Banjo used to not really care much about storms. Then Katrina hit. He really wasn’t the same after that day (who was?). He’d shiver, freak out and make a weird little bark. We finally figured out what was bothering him so badly. We’d open the door and he’d pace in front of the boys’ rooms. He was the alpha dog and he was worried about his pack.

Pip’s way of dealing with storms is more confrontational. She will attack the evil thunder and scare it off by being louder than it. She’ll get lots of practice this week. Which is a good thing: A good guard dog much always stay at the top of her game.

The thunder will soon realize who is the boss.

P.S. The sun is now out. Welcome to Mississippi — if you don’t like the weather, just wait five minutes.

Every year we line the boys up in front of the back door and take a picture that would make most photographers cringe. It isn’t art, but to us it’s a masterpiece.

It’s the “First Day of School” photo.

The cast? Our three boys. And every year we watch as they change, grow taller and get more and more grown up. This year will be the last year we have the three of them in the shot — our oldest will be a senior. It’s a feeling Amy and I share with so many of my friends on Facebook. We’re watching our kids prepare to leave the nest. Which of course raises the question, “Where did the time go?”

While I don’t know where it went, I do know it went quickly. I remember seeing my oldest’s little face in my car’s rearview mirror as I took him to preschool. I remember him standing next to me as I signed his elementary school’s mural I designed. I remember seeing him play his first band concert. I remember…

I will soon remember his senior year in high school.

His school has a countdown to graduation on their electronic sign at their entrance. Each day I’ll watch the days tick away until it ticks down until zero. And each day, I’ll desperately hang onto every second.

I am so proud of him and the man he is becoming. I am proud of his dreams and how he is working hard to achieve them. I was once just like him. I couldn’t wait to get away. I’ll soon know how my dad felt when I did.

Wednesday we’ll take that picture. It may turn out a bit blurry — but then again, that may just be my eyes.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, I played high school football. It was an education in itself and has given me lots of skills — like being able to tell when it is going to rain. But it also taught me the value of teamwork, gave me the gift of resilience and showed me that even when you are down, you don’t quit until the clock says 0:00. Tonight I’ll be the speaker at Madison Central High School’s Playbook and Pearls event. I have about 15 minutes or so to talk — I need to make every second count.

Like my old high school coach (Coach John Paty) always used to tell us, “I need to get my mind right.”

So what will I say? Not sure yet. But I do know I’ll remind the parents how damn important they are to the success of their kids. Sure, I’ll be preaching to the choir. But the choir needs to know how important they are to the congregation’s spiritual well being!

For every football player, cheerleader, dance-team member, manager, band member and any other student out on the field on a Friday night, there is someone who loved them enough to get them there. Sit in the stands and you can feel the pride wash over you like a wave. That pride is the fuel that takes a kid to practice everyday, carts a student to the doctor when a bone needs to be x-rayed, propels a hand when writing a check or inspires a shift in the concession stand.

I wrote yesterday that I now understand why my dad loved watching me play football so much. It wasn’t just his love of the game. It was his love of me. I watch my kids passionately perform and my heart bursts out of my chest (and I don’t breath for 15-20 minutes, either!)

Soon, the lights will blaze brightly on Friday night. I hope parents remember how important they are in making that happen.

Maybe I’ll say this. I dunno. Whatever, I look forward to evening. And I won’t quit until the clock says 0:00.

Some of my earliest memories were going to the old ATL airport and waiting for dad to fly in from a business trip. My mother would take me up to the observation area and I’d watch the parade of planes take off and land. I remember the first time the “new” ATL airport opened. We rode the underground trains to go to and from our flights — it was like Disney World without the Mouse. Recently I flew through Hartsfield-Jackson and remembered those trips as I was running like a bat out of C-Concourse so I could make my flight. Atlanta is no longer where I live and the airport is no longer my final destination. Home is another flight away.

As I waited for the tiny plane to Jackson to board, I stood at the end of the concourse watching the world’s busiest airport in action (there wasn’t a ground stop because of thunderstorms — I was grateful). Planes clawed up into the air like overweight pelicans while others glided gently back to earth like hungry gulls. The concourse looked like someone had kicked over a human ant nest. Soldiers traveled to far off destinations. Parents drug their protesting kids along. People quickly drug their suitcases behind while beeping carts parted the mass of humanity like Moses. Yes, it was chaotic — but there was a visual poetry behind it all. Everything worked because of its purpose. It wasn’t confusion for confusion sake.

I looked out the window at the control tower. Its domain is the five runways before it. Like a conductor at frenetic symphony, they kept things in order. If they didn’t — well, there’d be twisted wreckage watered by tears.

As I was sitting there eating my grossly over-priced airport burrito, I thought about what a great metaphor the ATL airport is for life. It’s what makes your destination and plans possible. It’s chaos, but it works because of purpose. There is a healthy dose of faith and action. Planning behind the scenes makes everything work. Well, planning plus execution. I’m sitting here this morning, thinking about where I want to go in the next few years. Like the big screens on the wall, I’m thinking about my arrivals and my departures.

Like airplanes, dreams require a lot of work to take flight.

They say you have to go through Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport to get to heaven or hell. There’s probably more truth to that old joke than we all know.

A marriage is like a book. Some end happily. Others end only a few pages in. Its contents are written by two people who change throughout the story. Sometimes they end up on the same page — other times, well, that’s when stuff gets divided and tears flow. People from the outside try to tell the story for the writers, but honestly, they are the only two people who can tell it. The setting sometimes changes over time. The plot is linear and ever-changing. It’s illustrated with joy, tears, laugher and occasional anger.

Amy and I are now 24 chapters into our book. There have been great moments and not-so-great moments. We’ve tested “for better or worse,” several times. I know there have been days when she has been sick of me. And there have been days when I’ve been smart enough to keep my mouth shut (and other days when my mouth has been my worst enemy.) We started as the two main characters. Now we are the supporting cast to three new characters. They are currently the stars of our story.

I’ll never review another person’s story critically — I know how hard it is to write. Yet I will tell everyone who’ll listen that I’ve been lucky. I picked a great co-author. She, thankfully, has agreed to continue writing the remaining chapters with me.

How will it end? I don’t know. But what I do know is that I hope the last chapter ends with these six words: “And they lived happily ever after.”