I guess I can't really call myself "Grandmother of Three" anymore. Nothing grand about me and two of the erstwhile grandkids are drastically out of contact - at least two years since I've seen or heard from them. For most of that while, I sent cards and e-cards and money and small gifts at appropriate times. Nothing was ever acknowledged, so, you know? Screw it. Until recently, all three grandkids were beneficiaries of my small investment account but then I switched to Schwab (like the idea of tellin' it to Chuck) and now, when I bite the dust, my kids will get to decide how to dispose of everything.
My sister got to see the boys a few weeks ago, in Oregon, where they had gone with their delightful mother to visit an old friend of hers. Sis says it was stiff and she felt like her face would crack on the smile lines after the half-hour they all spent together but that the boys still have senses of humor and seemed genuinely glad to see her and her daughter. Last week, I was at the Russian River, driving through redwoods and remembering other summers. Clear flashbacks to all three kids with my son in a canoe, capsizing in waist deep water and swimming around like small, chubby porpoises. Badminton on dry crab grass, no one able to return the birdie. Stony beaches and flotation devices. Good memories, if sparse.
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