Monopoly and the Widow on the Move

This week started out super busy. Monday morning I took stuff to the auction house out in the boondocks, then the dog had an appointment at the doggie foo-foo beauty parlor but not before I took him and my Fitbid for a long, hard walk. Heck, if I was going to spend the afternoon alternating between a cage, a bathtub and a grooming table I’d want someone to run me ragged so I’d be too tired to object to whatever they wanted to do. You’re going to shave my what!? Go for it, man. Just don't wake me up. I only wish that I looked as good after my haircuts as he does. I’m even jealous of his Schnauzer-gray color. It’s a deep and rich shade, my hair is more flat-white than gray.

After dropping Levi off, I grabbed a quick lunch at Wendy’s and by 1:00 I was at the senior hall ready and more than willing to part in a pilot program for people who like to play Monopoly. Growing up, I played Monopoly (or poker) every single night in the summers and just looking at the board game gives me warm-fuzzy feelings---so much so that I have five board and two electronic versions of the game. That’s one less than I had last month. I sold a vintage version based on the businesses in my hometown at the auction house before I heard about the pilot program. Isn’t that the way of it, you get rid of something and shortly afterward, you find a use for it. I hate when that happens! Last week I also threw away an object I couldn’t identify and two days later---after the trash was picked up---I found an 1881 folding tin cup and I knew right away the unidentified object was its cap. Oops! I kicked myself up one side and down the other for breaking the Cardinal Rule for sorting a dead husband’s stuff: Thou should never throw out something if you don’t know what it is. I looked it up and a similar cup sold recently for $32. That’s sixteen Wendy’s Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers I can’t have now!

Tuesday I had to get a blood draw before breakfast, then I hurried home to wait for a guy to come do a fall check-up on the furnace. He was here not long ago because my air conditioner fried itself during the heat wave we had last month. Its fourteen years old so I was happy he could fix it and give it a three year warranty. He said a new one would cost $3,000! No wonder a newish condo I looked at recently didn’t have center air which is uncommon these days with new construction. My furnace now sports a new $230 thing-a-ma-jig and I have a warranty that it will not break down anytime soon. And if it does, parts and labor to fix it are free for the next three years.

Wednesday I had an auction lot closing while the Republican primary debates where on so I was busy doing two things at one time. You’d think by now I’d be used to the scary closings but it doesn’t get any easier. I’d be biting my fingernails if that was my habit. Instead, I’m a ‘refresh’ clicking monster as I track the bidding. My friend who also uses the auction house says he’s over the worry stage and he doesn’t watch the closings anymore. I’m not sure I’ll ever get to that point. If things go wrong, I want to see how and why. Was there an isolated power outrage, did my items’ pictures disappear off the site in the final hour? Did aliens land in Michigan and no one was bidding on anything but the guns, knives and power saws? By the way, my husband’s box of Winchester Cartridges from the mid-1800s sold high enough to keep me supplied with Wendy’s hamburgers for a while. 

Regrets? I’ve had a few. I regret having sold off the city version of Monopoly. It would have been the perfect donation to the senior hall’s newly created board game day. There have been many versions of the game since it was first published by the Parker brothers in the 1930s and I will not downsize my “hoard” again. In fact, it’s tempting to buy even more. Tempting though I hope I don’t give in. But if the creme-de-la-crème in the collectors’ world ever comes up for auction---and it won’t---I would bid. It’s a version that was given to WWII prisoners of war. It contained a secret map, a compass and real money.

The woman’s history bluff in me won’t let me write about Monopoly without mentioning that it was based on a game invented by a woman in 1903. Elizabeth Phillips hoped her Landlord’s Game would teach people about the concept of the single tax theory. The Parker brothers decided their version didn’t need to teach or be moral as long as it was fun to play. It is, boys, it is.

 

Over the years I’ve often thought that life is like playing Monopoly. We roll the dice and as we move forward in life we fall into opportunities and hardships. We get greedy acquiring assets, then we find out how easy it is to lose it all with another roll of the dice. Some people play ruthlessly to win, others just play to go along with the group and they have no strategies for winning or losing. Still others play to have fun, while trying to stay in the game as long as possible to enjoy the fellowship. Those in the latter group are the richest of them all---even if by the time the game ends someone else (like ruthless presidential candidate Donald Trump) owns Park Place and all the hotels. ©