One of the things most of us look for is consistency or routines in our life.

I'm no exception, and for the past few months, each Monday morning I stop at a local convenience store because of my schedule. While there, I purchase a soda while filling up my vehicle with gasoline.

One consistency I did not pick up on, however, was the fact that I always trade in one of those darn scratch-off instant tickets from the Pennsylvania Lottery. The same clerk who takes my hard earned cash every time pointed this out to me last week.

"Ya just keep on winnin', don't ya?" she quipped while ringing up the same brand of soda as the previous visit.

"What do you mean?" I responded.

"The lottery ticket. It's like they don't go away once you hit a winner."

I gave her comment some thought and realized that she was right. The ticket I had just turned in was a result of three scratch-off tickets the previous week, which were direct descendants from a $4 winner two weeks ago.

Soon, my brain kicked into full gear and I was determined to discover exactly where this most recent lottery ticket got its start in my mundane, routine-infested life.

Like the forensic criminologists on "CSI," my investigation led me to the seedier sections of my life, such as the back seat of my van, where my children have decided that french fries are for throwing instead of eating.

I remember finding a $5 winner there about a month ago, right under a car seat.

In the back of my van, I found my book bag that is supposed to keep my life in order. This produced evidence (empty bag of chips) that reminded me that I had purchased the $5 winner by matching three "free" symbols from a ticket that was neatly clipped to one of my class' homework assignments.

The paper clip holding that ticket was a result of clipping my final papers together four weeks ago after teaching a night class in Hermitage.

Bingo. The Sheetz on Route 18 was the location of this crime, where I stopped for a fill-up. The Freebie ticket was easy to remember since I actually stopped twice for gas that day due to a business meeting in the South Hills earlier the same morning.

CoGo's was the location of that crime, where I quickly cashed in a $2 winner. The only evidence I needed to remind me of this, by the way, was the center tray in my van that held the first receipt for gas that day. (What can you say? Prices are still high.)

But that is where the trail ended, at least for the moment. Where did the $2 winner come from? A cell phone call from a friend ended the speculation quickly, however. His call was to remind me that my golf league was starting up at the end of this month.

The golf course, of course! Why didn't I think of that earlier? No, they don't sell lottery tickets at the golf course (yet), but I did redeem a $1 winner on my way to play nine holes several days before my stop in the South Hills.

The trail just warmed up again, but sadly, that is where it ends. I must have paid for a ticket somewhere at some point in time in order to get this lotterymania-merry-go-round started, right?

Sitting in the parking lot of my favorite convenience store while staring at the prize-laden scratch-off ticket before me, I swear that I will stop playing as soon as I stop scratching off a "winner." Will this be the one?

Three "free" symbols tells me otherwise, and like the Energizer bunny, the scratch-off debacle keeps going, and going and going.