you buttered toast better than anyone else. your carpet was so soft. i loved sliding across it in my socks. there were so many cool compartments to explore in your vanity, but your collection of powders and crusty lipsticks kind of freaked me out. seatbelts were never your thing - but I didn't stand for that. your glove compartment always had gum in it, and when I FINALLY got your car there were still a few sticks of stale juicy fruit hanging out in there. your apartment was the best - the trash chute, the freight elevator, the cheese balls, duck hunt, card games, the pool... there were so many fun things for us to do. you had the hook-up with the Porto Vecchio's limousine, and I was the envy of my school when you picked me up in it to go to explore DC with me. you made the worst scrambled eggs. you weren't the kind of grandma that let her grandkids win games, but I liked that about you. you thought it was hilarious when I introduced you to my sixth grade class and they all looked shocked and said, "Your grandmother is Marilyn Manson?!?!" (it's Hansen-not Manson). you were the funniest, most sarcastic, witty grandma there ever was. even when you started losing your mind, you held on to your humor. you started this thing where if anyone asked you how you were doing you would say "Oh, just terrible." you were a piece of work, mee-maw. it was awful - awful doesn't even describe it - to see your mind and body decline. you weren't the same person you were before - and yet, you were. when I saw you last Saturday after getting word that your end was near, you were so heavily medicated that you kept mumbling the most ridiculous things. when you woke up for a few minutes you teased me that you were going to steal Andy away from me. you knew that would make us laugh - even though you were hurting, you were glad to hear us all laugh. I'm going to miss hearing you laugh. I told you I loved you and you told me you loved me back. I'm going to hold on to that memory forever.