One year ago today I got the surprising, shocking word that my dad had died. He had died in his sleep on the farm with plans of breakfast with his nephew, our cousin.

I wish he could have spent his money and enjoyed himself. Perhaps he did, or perhaps lots of money didn't matter to him. We were so different. I wanted to leave the farm as soon as possible and I did, not even thinking about the fresh air, the quiet, green nature, the satisfaction that comes when you are the agent of physical change. He was a shy man, not into working with a lot of people, and enjoyed the city for an afternoon...no longer. He also made a decision and stuck with it - the will we found was dated 1968. He sure wasn't like grandpa; his will came with a couple of codicils and tweeks.

Anyhow, the situation is still that one piece of property was sold, along with the insides of the house and barn, along with the farm equipment, and mom's insurance and 401K has been divided up between us. We still have the second piece of property and the buildings.

Two thirds of the proceeds are in a money market fund. Sister and I each have gotten $45K. I've put the money in CDs and ING to give me a little time to earn interest and to pace myself, but right now it seems like the fixed income places are more compelling.