thanks, all

I am amused today because, *shakes head* of course, something that only a woman could truly appreciate - a big old TMI, on top of everything else this week, now I have cramps.

I have also just discovered that my entire backup disk for not one but TWO very important web sites is totally unusable as the disk was somehow corrupted beyond repair by a now dead zip drive. Thus what I discover that I've lost or misplaced or linked poorly or accidentally dropped on the site as I go through it, is really freaking lost, which is a shame.

I have not, however, descended into tears again. I consider this a triumph. It is only 10 am, though. The day is still young.

On the bright side, the blonde is now well enough to clean her disgusting room. The husband, dogs, cats and bird are all healthy, my stationary bike will be assembled by end of day and I am determined that Christmas will be taken care of by 9 pm. I am near the end of my archive slave duties, also, which is a small thrill for me. The end is near, thank goodness.I had two totally normal sets of grandparents the normal way, so having a Grandma Rita and Grandpa Mike was always a little weird to explain. My father's parents traveled extensively when he was a child, frequently leaving him to stay with their next door neighbors who had no children, but did have a gorgeous German Shepard descended from Rin Tin Tin. They were great, great friends. My Grandpa Mike was a wonderful, kind, loving Mexican gentleman who was a stevedore and union leader. He took care of EVERYTHING from opening pickle jars to writing every check but the grocery store. Grandma Rita took care of Grandpa Mike and their home - and sometimes their "adopted" son, my dad. She was also the favorite aunt to an entire brood of her relatives. When my parents started dating in high school and later married, Rita and Mike became my mom's adopted in-laws. My grandparents were transferred in the late 60's but always stayed in touch and the "adopted" relationship never, ever changed. By the time I was born, I, of course, had "adopted grandparents". I treated them no differently than I treated my other grandparents, much to the delight and amusement of all. They treated my as a granddaughter and lavished me with greeting cards for every event in my life . I was simply raised with three sets of grandparents, rather than two. Man, I was lucky. My brother was born in 1984 and named in honor of Grandpa Mike. Of course, he was called "Michael" so no one would get confused during conversations. Later that year, just after the summer Olympics in LA, we were told that Grandpa Mike had pancreatic cancer. Within 3 weeks, he was gone. We all thought Grandma Rita would soon follow. After all, she had nothing but church and Mike in her life. She had no idea how to balance a checkbook, had never lived alone a day in her life, and had never even looked at an electric bill, much less paid one. Nonetheless, she learned and my grandpa helped her with Grandpa Mike's investments and how to manage them. She went to church more and met people and kept house and enjoyed her family and her cat. She was a klutz, though - she'd fall and bruise something or sprain something but always be fine - but it was always a worry. In 2000, she really fell and so she came to stay at my mom's house for a couple of months until her foot healed. Wow. Never have your mother in law live with you. Even an adopted one. However, it was fine, mostly because my mother is a loving soul and does adore her adopted mother in law. It was a wonderful time, though, because my daughter got to spend a lot of time with her Adopted Great Grandmother Rita (notice a theme?) which was wonderful for all parties. She did get home again and got a caregiver and kept going on. Always sharp as a tack and snippy to boot (I did get it from somewhere, lol) Grandma Rita was a lovely dinner companion and we always enjoyed going down to Grandma's house for a visit and to go to her favorite Italian restaurant. A couple of years ago, the sharpness started to dull. It was so sad to see some of the light leaving her eyes as she looked at us and get us confused with each other or told the same story as she did five minutes earlier. My daughter learned to answer to my name with a smile and a hug and I became my mom sometimes and me other times and eventually... eventually, we were familiar strangers. Her niece (Little Rita) came a couple of months ago to move Grandma to Reno to live in the nursing home in which she worked. She saw her every day and always gave my mom an update on how Rita was doing. I sent weekly cards to Grandma - gosh, she always loved those cards, I think she owned stock in Hallmark, that I'm told she enjoyed, along with photos of my daughter and drawings - one just last week, in fact, that I'm told that she received and loved, and even had a flash of recognition on my daughter. I wasn't allowed to call her anymore because she got scared at phone calls from people she didn't know any more - and she'd also started showing that she did, indeed live with a stevedore (and had picked up many choice words from him). Unless I wanted to get cussed out in a tiny, sweet little voice... Well, I didn't call. I'm a masochist but not stupid, nor would I want to scare her. I'm told she passed quietly, in her sleep, with all of those cards surrounding her bed, along with photos of children she didn't know any more but still loved looking at. Thank you, all for your thoughtfulness. I appreciate it