As I pad around in my pajamas this morning, getting ready to do some writing on my day off, I was thinking about what kind of person I would be if I was insanely rich. And I think I’d be an eccentric recluse who only wears pajamas and spends all day writing/reading books and getting lost in the garden maze. I’d rarely be seen in public, except once a year when I’d premiere an elaborate opera production sung by teenagers in the custom-made opera house I had built on the edge of my property. Next door, there’s an art gallery filled with the work of my globe-trotting photographer husband. Admission is free, but you have to pet the dogs before you’re allowed in.