If it happened to you
-- Leslie Gore

So I hurt my back several weeks ago. I kept thinking it would magically heal itself, but no such luck. And after weeks of on and off again complaining, I finally headed the advice of my friends and parents. So last Monday, when I started to have back spasms, I dragged myself to the doctor. What a pleasant experience that was. I had to lay on the x-ray table (pretty much the same as a cold slab of concrete) in the most uncomfortable position my hurt back could possibly be in for what seemed like hours while they tried to figure out why the x-rays were coming out too light and unusable. After nearly 2 hours, counting wait time, I finally got the dreaded "pulled muscle/lumbar strain" diagnosis. There's nothing better than something as ambiguous sounding as a strain or pull. I got a shot and went on my way to get my prescription refilled. I was sad to discover that the muscle relaxers were not the good stuff and that I would be taking three a day and going to work. You know they aren't worth crap if you can still operate heavy machinery.

The next morning I barely made it through a shower. I couldn't bend at all. It even hurt to look down. I totally panicked and began to cry uncontrollably, thinking I would spend the rest of my life with wet hair and tepid showers since I couldn't do my normal routine. I called my mom and she came. Yeah, yeah, whatever. Trust me, you would've called your mom, too, if it was you. I had to miss two days of work. Which is beyond frustrating since off days in the spring/summer should be used for good and not evil. Anyway, I'm doing better but have had a little relapse today. The relapse has hurt my psyche just as much as it has physically hurt me. The trouble with back pain is there is no end, or at least that's what it seems like. It's not like a sinus infection that you can gage your progress of getting better by how your headaches are less frequent and that junk clogging your sinuses finally dissipates. With this, it's a day at a time and lord knows I'm not very patient.

All of this, coupled with the terrible March I had is taking its toll. I'm in terrible mood and everyone knows it. If you're reading this and also happen to have had any type of interaction with me in the last month or so, I apologize. I'll try to be more this and less this.

And different
You can't fence that in
It's like holding back the wind
-- Keith Urban

Most of you probably know by now that my grandmother died on March 10. I haven't wanted to write since then. Even though we were sort of prepared, death is never something you can truly get ready for properly. It happens and it sucks.

I wasn't ready for how hard I would take it. Nor was I ready for the sobs to give way to a nosebleed right before the funeral. She would have laughed.

I'm starting to feel better, but I tend to think of Louise (Nanny) before I go to bed, which can make sleep hard. I see her rocking chair in my bedroom and think of her. I pass her green chair in my other bedroom and think of her. I see her old rotary phone on my end table and think of her. But I'm glad I have these reminders.

More so, I'm glad to have a wealth of memories. Summer afternoons spent at Nanny's with my cousins Andy and Eric drinking Tang, eating Teacakes and playing in the soft brown dirt patch right off her garden that she always left for us to play in. 4th of Julys with lots of relatives, watermelon (that I never liked and she never got over that fact, even claiming I wasn't a true Dabbs), barbecue and fireworks.

When I finished college and moved back home, my dad and I would take her to dinner every Tuesday night. And mom, dad and I would go see her on Sundays, too. Later, I would stop by the nursing home to slip her some salt for her dinner and to be sure she ate it while listening to her complain about the travesty of having to be there. As depressing as that was, I loved it. I loved listening to her stories and fiery thoughts on everything from politics to the nurse that checked her blood pressure daily. She was always entertaining, whether she meant to be or not.

I had the opportunity to write a eulogy for her. I hope what I wrote would have made her proud. I know she would have loved that I slipped in there her love of ice cream and coffee, even though my aunt tried to make her quit both habits. I am eternally proud to be her granddaughter and have learned so much about perserverance, toughness and independence from her. I've learned not to take anything off of anyone and to speak my mind from her. My stubborness comes from both sides of the family, but a lot of it is her influence on me.

28 years wasn't enough, Louise. I'm going to stay down here for a while and kick ass as much as I can. I'll be up there shortly, ok?

I love you,
Amy