Farts Are Always Funny

Teaching elementary school inducts one into the Farts Are Always Funny Club. I never liked teaching fourth grade for this reason alone. I always call fourth graders burpers and farters. They think bodily functions are hilarious!  Fifth grade boys are members of the “club” but fifth grade girls try to make boys think they think farts are disgusting. When boys let one go in my classroom I have to be the bad guy and give them the “no-really-YOU-aren’t-doing-that-in-MY-classroom look”.  But really farts are always funny!

I remember as a young girl being in the grocery store with my grandmother and her ripping one.  It sounded like a motorboat heading out to deep water. I was appalled that MY grandmother would fart in public. When I expressed my feelings to her she said, “Someday you’re going to be old, like me, looking for an empty aisle in the store. Keep quiet, keep walking and we may be far away before anyone notices.” So we proceeded to motorboat our way down the aisle as quickly as possible. When I got home and recounted the story to the family we all howled until we cried. Farts are always funny.

I remember Bill Cosby did a portion of his stand up routine on farts. And recently, there is a popular youtube video on “breaking the barrier”.  Yep, farts always have been and always will be funny.

My favorite chapter of the book The BFG by Roald Dahl is called “Frobscottle and Whizpoppers”. The chapter is about farting and being proud of one’s ability to “rattle the glass jars on the shelves and make the walls of the cave reverberate like thunder”. When I read this chapter to children and adults tears of laughter are always rolling. Farts are always funny.

I am fifty-seven years old and I have learned that with age comes gassiness. I now understand my grandmother’s dilemma. It is painful to hold gas in. I, too, am continually in search of an “empty aisle”.  I walk at the end of my class’s line for a reason.  I am not a motorboater like my grandmother.  I am the SBD type and when I let one go I pray that it is Silent and not Deadly.

This summer while in Montana we had quite a gigglefest about farting.  Caren’s home is in the woods and has very poor TV reception, so we spend a lot of time playing games at the kitchen table. Caren, my cousin Kelly, a friend I teach with Ally, and myself were playing Yahtzee. We had spent the day at the Flathead Cherry Festival tasting cherries and eating cherry pastries. One must be careful with one’s cherry consumption, if one doesn’t want an intestinal problem that always begins with gas.  Caren and I are in our fifties and Kelly is in her forties so we are at “that” age where we can’t and probably don’t want to hold things inside. Poor Ally being only in her early twenties and having the capability to hold it was surrounded and doomed!  I thought the one I let go was going to be just silent but I was wrong.  It made one’s eyes water like the weeping walls at Glacier National Park. Of course, like my father, I tried to blame it on the dogs but they weren’t in the room. And then we started laughing and Caren had to shout the “sistah” mantra, “Stop, I’m gonna to pee!” Then Caren who doesn’t try to be sneaky about anything let one rip. Caren doesn’t do anything half-assed not even farting. Ally’s eyes got as big as saucers and laughing she said, “Now that was like a whoopee cushion!” Again the “sistah” mantra was shouted by all, “Stop, I’m gonna pee!”  

The evening continued with a melody of gaseous explosions. We farted and laughed, farted and howled and peed, and farted some more. We could have gone on the road as the Flathead Cherry Festival Quartet.  We too “made the glass jars rattle on the shelves and the walls reverberate like thunder”. The BFG would have been proud. Farts are always funny.

Paco’s Perspective

Good thing no one lit a match!

The Flip Side

There was one that sounded like a bear growling. That’s when I hid under the bed.

Small Town Crime (Part Deux)

A couple of years ago I wrote a blog about the crime report in the local Bigfork newspaper The Bigfork Beacon. It got a huge response and my readers enjoyed it so much that I thought I would do a Small Town Crime part two. These are real crime reports and my comment follow in italics.

May 20

A woman on Second Avenue East reported that her ex-boyfriend was outside throwing fish sticks, scattering them about her yard.

       Better fish sticks than body parts.

A driver on Hutton Ranch Road reported that he intended to enact a citizen’s arrest on someone who had been tailgating him.

This make me think of that Andy Griffith episode where Barney yells, “Citizen’s arrest, citizen’s arrest!”

May 21

A resident on Yeoman Hall Road complained that his neighbors owned one too many pigs.

       I’m thinking one pig is one too many pigs.

Reportedly, three llamas were loose and running wild on Browns Meadow Road.

Llamas Gone Wild! A new idea for the guy who makes the Girls Gone Wild videos.

A Kalispell woman wearing a fishing vest and velvet pants reported that a dangerous family member with martial arts skills had invaded her residence. The woman was especially concerned that the intruder would throw out her organizational items.

Did I tell you that smoking crack is a big problem in Montana?

May 22

A resident on Parliament Drive reported that his verbally abusive neighbor was standing outside in a football jersey, drinking a beer.

A resident on Concord Lane reported that some sort of terrier sneaks into his yard every night. He was advised to capture it, if he feels safe doing so.

Two happy German shepherds were on the loose on Prairie View Road.

       How does one know that they were happy? Were they singing German drinking song while lapping beer from a stein?

May 27

Three donkeys and two horses were seen traveling together down Demersville Road.

       I hate it when donkeys and horses travel in packs.

May 28

Someone reported seeing a man on a bike chasing a llama down the highway.

Maybe that’s the way Montanians exercise their llamas.

A Kalispell man heard “yelping” from his neighbor’s home and suspects that his neighbor is harboring his runaway dog.

A llama was seen running down Johnson Lane.

       Oh! Oh! I wonder where the man on the bike is?

May 29

A loose llama was seen on Arena View Drive.

       Okay, now I’m worried about the llama.

A Kalispell resident reported that their neighbors killed and cooked their pet bunny on a barbecue.

       Now, that is just gross!!!!

May 30

A Somers woman accidently called 911 to find out what time it was.

A man dressed in all black was seen walking in “all directions” on Highway 2.

       The ghost of Johnny Cash?

The woman in Somers called 911 again to ask what day it was and was shocked to learn that it was Thursday.

June 2

A woman on Harmony Drive reported that her husband’s cousin’s girlfriend threatened to beat her up.

That’s because the woman on Harmony drive previously threatened to beat up her husband’s cousin’s girlfriend’s uncle’s wife’s brother.

A Somers woman accidently called 911 again to check on the time of day.

Someone needs to tell Uncle Henry to take Aunt Ethel’s phone away and get her a clock and a calendar.

June 3

A badly behaved man was asked to never return to McDonald’s.

       But it is oka,y if he hangs out at the Burger King.

Someone reported that a man sleeping in the trunk of a Ford Taurus threw out his trash onto Sager Lane.

He had to or there wouldn’t be room for the wife and kids.

June 4

Someone reported a “hippie van” on Kila Road.

       Was it tie-dyed?

June 5

Apparently, someone was mowing the grass in the homeless camp behind the old Walmart.

       Homeless people have pride too!

An employee of an Evergreen business reported that a Hungry Horse woman purchased a few items and then stole an air-soft gun and two flashlights. The employee was able to determine her name and address from the check she had written.

Lesson One in Thief School: Don’t pay with a check when buying the decoy items.

A Lakeside man reported that someone has been shooting arrows into his yard.

       A misguided Cupid?

June 6

A concerned Kalispell woman claimed that while she was talking to another woman on the telephone, she thought she heard the woman say the word “Unabomber”.

       Did I tell you about the crack problem in Montana?

There was talk of a cat-hoarder in the Hungry Horse area.

       Talk, only talk, don’t worry.

June 9

A Cougar Trail resident reported that the neighbor woman was outside wandering around naked doing “odd things to her body”.

       Did I tell you about the crack problem in Montana?

      

Paco’s Perspective

Ahhhhh! Small town life is the best. I hate the hustle and bustle of the big city.

The Flip Side

What’s a llama? Is a llama like a lizard? If it is, I’ll get it for you.

I Loved the Way Our Daddy Talked

Our daddy was a country boy through and through. He grew up on a farm in Princeton, Missouri. He walked country. He danced country. He played country. He talked and he lied country.

 I know it sounds crazy but country boys have a certain walk. They all have a “hitch in their get-along”. I think it comes from getting on and off tractors, walking through the fields and dodging all those cow patties.

Our daddy could dance. He called it the Sheep Herder Shuffle. He was a fine dancer. I don’t where he learned how to dance. When he was asked where and how he learned to dance. He would make up some story about going to a barn dance and having nothing to dance with but the cows. “And I aint talking about the girls from school!”

He lied country . . . . “Why when I went to school I had to walk ten miles . . . both ways   . . . uphill . . . in the snow . . .  barefoot.”

When I asked my grandmother about this tale she laughed and said, “It was about two miles as the crow flies and he had a horse that knew the way so he was able to sleep. That boy could sleep anywhere and through anything. Also, he had shoes and he was the oldest so he didn’t get hand-me-downs.”

He did all the things a boy does in the country to play. Squirrel hunting, “frog gigging” . . . “Clarence and me used to make your Aunt Colene stand in the middle of the field with a heavy coat on and we would shoot at her with our pellet gun. If she hollered when we hit her with a pellet, we knew we could kill frogs with that gun.” As a teen, he would even play country boy pranks . . . “One day a bunch of us’n snuck o’er to the Pratt boys’ farm in the middle of the night and took apart one of their wagons and put it back together up in the hayloft. We neared died from laughing when old man Pratt found his wagon up in the hayloft.” Country boys don’t need T.V. or video games to have a good time. Country boys can make a game out of a stick and some cow patties.

Our daddy had a way with words. I loved the way our daddy talked. Eloise Greenfield wrote a poem called “Honey, I Love” and in it she talks about how she loves the way her cousin talks. I have a text-to-self connection to this part of the poem and my daddy.

“I love

I love a lot of things,

a whole lot of things.

Like.

My cousin comes to visit

and you know he's from the South

‘cause every word he says

just kind of slides out of his mouth

I like the way he whistles

And I like the way he walks

But honey, let me tell you that

I LOVE the way he talks

I love the way my cousin talks”

I loved the way our daddy talked. Not only did the words slide right out of his mouth in a smooth country manner but he always had mouthful of crazy country sayings. He had a saying for every situation. Below are just a few of the things he would say:

It’s a vicious circle, like wiping your ass on a  rusty metal hoop.

You’re shaking like a dog shitting razor blades.

She’s so ugly you’d have to tie a pork chop around her neck for the dogs to play with her.

She’s so skinny she’d have to run around in the shower to get wet.

She’s homelier than an old mud fence.

That boy could eat corn on a cob through a picket fence.

It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey.

It’s colder than a well digger’s ass in July.

I asked Caren if she could think of any other sayings of our daddy’s  and she said, “The only one I can remember is ‘hold her Newt, I held her for you’. I never knew what that meant.”

Our daddy died at the too young age of fifty-four. I miss his “country-boy” ways. I miss the way he walked. I miss his stories. I miss watching him do the Sheep Herder Shuffle. I miss his lies but most of all I miss the way he talked.

I loved the way my daddy talked.

I loved the way he danced

and I loved the way he walked

but, Honey, let me tell you

that I loved the way he talked.

I loved the way my daddy talked.

Happy Fathers’ Day, Daddy. I know you, Uncle Clarence, Aunt Co and Brad are having a good ol’ country-boy time in heaven. Duck Aunt Co.

Paco’s Perspective

Hey, you forgot something your daddy said, “I aint that God damned dog’s dad!”

The Flip Side

SQUIRREL! Did you say squirrel hunting? I have learned the joy of squirrel hunting here in Montana.

Plant Corn

My students are at the point where they are doing amazing things academically. As a class they have read over fifteen million words, and are reading books with complex plots and understanding them. They are able to have somewhat intelligent conversations and are able to work cooperatively to solve a problem. Their writing has finally become creative and unforced. They are creating essays, books, and plays without me hovering over them with whips and chains. But it is the end of the year. It has taken a long time for the seeds of learning to grow.

Next year I am planting corn it grows faster. I had a personal science experience with fast growing corn. Years ago when I had the time and wherewithal to do science, my students made terrariums for geckos for a science project. Groups of students were given plastic show boxes with flimsy plastic lids, seeds and soil and a few geckos to create terrariums. I hate teaching science it’s messy and the experiments never work when one needs them to, or everything dies. I also feel sorry for the butterflies, fish and lizards because when we are done with them we have to put them in the freezer and then dispose of them. One wouldn’t want to upset the ecological balance of the world by setting them free. Just think if every fifth grade teacher across the world let the geckos go we would be overrun by geckos and they would all want that little insurance lizard’s job and there aren’t enough insurance companies that have geckos as mascots and then they would all be in the unemployment line . . . . . The moral of the story, fifth grade teachers, is don’t set the geckos free and if you have in the past, stop.

Oops, back to the terrariums! One morning the students observed that corn had started to grow and when we were ready to leave for the day the corn had grown to about an inch in length in one day. On the way out the door one of the boys said, “Hey, Miss C, wouldn’t it be funny if we came in tomorrow and we couldn’t get in the room because the corn had taken over!”

“Yea, real funny. Knowing my luck with science experiences I wouldn’t be surprised, if that did happen.”

The next morning when I came into the room I didn’t have to weave through the cornrows but when I turned on the light I noticed that the corn had grown enough to pop the lids off the terrariums. AND the geckos had used the cornstalks as ladders to escape the terrariums. There were geckos in various places throughout the room, frozen in their tracks, staring at me like they just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. I, too, was frozen because I didn’t want to move and end up with gecko guts in the tread of my wheelchair tires, so I did what any normal crippled kid would do in a room filled with geckos. I screamed, “GECKOS!”

I heard my friend Lauri shout from her room, “What?”

“Geckos!”

As she opened the door between our adjoining rooms she said, “Don’t tell me your . . . GECKOS! Why did you let your geckos out? The directions specifically say we cannot release the geckos.”

“The corn! It popped off the terrarium lids and they escaped. Lauri, help me get the geckos.”

“First, when you say help me you really mean Lauri you and you alone need to pick up the geckos. Second, I don’t do lizards.”

At that moment two students came in the room, saw the bug-eyed geckos and shouted, “Geckos!”

I am sure at that point the poor geckos were eying each other and shouting in their very best Australian accent, “YIKES, MATES! PEOPLE!”

As Lauri jumped up on the reading table she said, “Girls, I’ll point ‘em out, you corner them and catch them. Cathy, you just stay where you are and shout GECKOS. That will help tremendously.”

I don’t know how WE managed it, all but one gecko (I’m sure the insurance gecko could use an understudy.) was returned to their terraiums, the corn was removed and the flimsy plastic lids were duct taped shut.

A few weeks later that missing gecko was found. (I guess he didn’t make it to Hollywood.) A student stayed after school to help clean up and as she was putting stuff away in the science kit she said, “Um, Miss C, I found the lizard.” I was sure when I turned to look I would see its dried up, stiff carcass, but instead when I turned around their was the gecko hanging off the end of her finger.  I guess he was hungry. We named him Chomper.

P.S. I just couldn’t freeze Chomper and his friends not after what we all had been through. Lauri’s sister, Faye, took them and they lived happily ever after in a huge terrarium in her house. They lived for ten years before passing on of natural causes as natural as death can be in a terrarium.

Next year when I begin to plant seeds in my students’ minds I am going to plant the big, fast-growing corn seeds. They’ll be unstoppable!

Pacos Perspective

You are a metaphorical monster.

The Flip Side

Geckos? Geckos? You were in a room filled with geckos and you didn’t call me?

Okay! I Was Wrong! Will Someone Take the Fork Out of My Eye? Please!

A couple months ago I received an email from another school in the district seeking teachers for a Saturday Extended Learning school. I am always a little leery of emails from schools asking for teachers help because it makes me wonder why the teachers that teach at that school don’t fill the positions. Because I happen to admire all the administrators at the school that was soliciting teachers, I thought about applying for one of the positions. I have to admit the money swayed my thinking, also. When Janet said she wanted to do it I was in. Another fifth grade teacher from my school, Ally, applied to teach also. They were going to have two teachers teach together per grade level so I was sure Ally and I would be teaching fifth grade together.

There was a pre-planning meeting on a Saturday. We found out Ally and I wouldn’t be teaching together. Bummer! But the person I was assigned to teach with was someone I knew and admired, so I was fine with it all. During the planning meeting we were informed that we would be teaching about twenty power standards over nine Saturdays, three hour each Saturday. This is virtually impossible, but I knew what the administration really wanted. We needed to place (cram) as much information into the students’ minds to make some kind of dent on the AIMS (state test of achievement). Probably what the students really needed were some test taking strategies. Let’s face it the students were the bottom of the pack and it was going to be impossible to teach seven months of standards into nine Saturdays. 

Miguel and I were given the lowest fifth grade group. This is something I am used to experiencing. I am usually given the lowest and toughest students. When one has a reputation of being able to handle the “difficult” students one’s classroom is generally filled with the darlings. (I have always wondered what kind of class I would have, if I had a reputation of not being able to handle the “difficult” students.) When I work with another teacher I always over plan because I want to make sure I don’t make a fool of myself. I was teaching at a different school with a teacher from another school and for administrators that highly respect which caused me to plan even more. I spent more time planning for three hours of Saturday school than I did planning for two weeks of teaching in my own class.

I am always nervous when I teach at a school where the students don’t know me. It is easy for me to go into any class at Tomahawk (except for kindergarten, those little imps are mean) and rock a lesson. My reputation precedes me and the students know what I expect and they know not to mess with me. When I teach at a different school the first thing the students see is “handicapped” teacher and they usually think, “Oooooooooo, someone I can take advantage of today.”

The plan for the first day was: 1. Teach a group lesson on poetry. 2. Both teachers would do two small reading groups with grade level nonfiction text. 3. Teach a group lesson on problem solving. 4. Both teachers would do two small groups in math. At the end of the day all of the fifth grade students would be tested on the reading standard for the day and based on their scores would be moved around the next Saturday for large group reading instruction with Miguel and I always having the group with the most need.

I knew I was in trouble on the first day when Ally and I were sending students to their prospective groups and after Ally placed a young man in my group he asked who his teacher was going to be, and when Ally pointed to me he replied with a smirk on his face, “HE is going to be the teacher, but he is in a wheelchair.” I was wearing a dress and the young man was not an ELL student so there was no reason for the gender confusion. We were supposed to have twenty students and only twelve showed up. I was thinking this was going to be easy money. That’s what I get for thinking!

The ten boys and two girls were the most difficult group of students I have ever come across in my thirty-five years of teaching. (That even includes the year I had the African-American female mafia.) First, the girls refused to speak as did most of the boys. The only boys that spoke were the ones that really shouldn’t have spoken. Mainly they just enjoyed listening to the sound of their own voice. Their behavior was atrocious. Miguel and I were constantly stopping and talking to individual students. I felt like I was riding on an out of control train that was about to catapult off a cliff at the end of the track. At one point, I wanted to jump with no regard to road rash or the fact that I was leaving poor Miguel behind. The poetry lesson was a flop. The small reading groups with grade level nonfiction text were impossible because most of the students couldn’t read. In the middle of the problem-solving lesson I felt a sense of doom and with a teary eyed glaze I looked at Miguel knowing that he was going to have a smile on his face that would make me want to continue. The smile wasn’t there. There was a look of doom across his face and he mouthed, “I don’t know what to do.”

All the teachers that were teaching the fifth grade groups were from a different school. That right there should be a warning flag. When we got together to discuss the day and plan for the next week I felt defeated and was wondering what I did wrong. Then I heard from the other teachers and found out we were on in the same canoe without a paddle plummeting down a raging river. Ally was sitting next to me mumbling, “I never, I never . . .” At that point I would have rather had someone stick a fork in my eye than go back the next Saturday.

When I went back to my own school on Monday I had a much greater appreciation for where I was and what I had. I told all my bad boys and girl how much I appreciated them because they were nothing compared to what I had experienced. At one time Colleen and I were planning to transfer to the “Saturday school” school so we could team-teach together. I told Colleen, “I’d rather you stick a fork in my eye and sit me in the middle of a Wal-Mart with no exits than transfer.”

Then it happened. It always happens when it comes to working with kids. Throughout my thirty-five years of teaching, if I have learned anything, it’s that kids are kids and they only need three things: structure, respect, and expectations for greatness. Oh, and it helps to have snacks, especially, with low-income kids. The next weekend, armed with snacks, Miguel and I laid out our expectations for behavior and greatness with an iron fist. We also so told the students why they were and how to keep from being there ever again. (Everybody has to have goal.) If a student stayed in their seat longer than 30 seconds we’d pat ‘em on the head, give ‘em praise and toss ‘em a treat. (I know the reader might hate to hear this but training kids and husbands is just like training puppies.) Miguel and I also threw all our hours of planning out the window and did what we do best which is fly by the seat of our pants. I brought lots of read-alouds and he brought his great mathematical mind and we made it up as we went along. During our hour of planning time every Saturday while others planned lessons we discussed individual students and what our strategy was going to be with each student.

Then the “aha moments” started coming. Miguel taught the class a different way to multiply other than the standard algorithm and a light clicked on. One student was so excited that she could multiply that she took home extra work so she could go home and teacher her 12 siblings and her parents how to multiply. Students were interacting with my read-alouds. Our students were passing the weekly tests and being sent to the “higher” level classes. As these “aha moments” continued, the “twinkle” returned. That “twinkle” in our eyes and our hearts. That “twinkle” that has kept me doing what I have done for the past 35 years.

“It was the worst of times and the best of times.” (Sorry, Charles Dickens, but I had to switch your quote around.) As I got up early every Saturday still counting down to the last Saturday, God whispered in my ear, “You know what you have to do don’t you?” Finally, it was over and I was glad but “you know who” kept pestering me, and when I got home I filled out a transfer form to go and teach at Frank Borman K-8 School. It was practically impossible for things to fall into place in order to go. It would take a miracle! Yesterday it was made official that I will be teaching fifth grade at Borman. But wait! There’s more! I will be teaching with one of my best buds and sistah, Colleen, whom I admire and respect so much. We have team taught in the past and I loved every minute of it. That God! What a Guy!

Next year will be one of the hardest years of my career but one I am already looking forward to experiencing. It’s been awhile . . . .

Oh, by the way, could someone get me out of Wal-Mart and pull this fork out of my eye?

Paco’s Perspective

Just remember I better not hear any whining from you next year.

The Flip Side

Take me lizard hunting and you can whine all you want!

Oh, Sure, Caren! Now You Want to Stalk Clinton Kelly With Me!

I’m sure it is no surprise to my readers that I have a huge crush on Clinton Kelly of The Chew.  Well. . . . it’s not really a crush I just want to be his best friend.  AND I wanted to be besties with him before he was on The Chew. He caught my eye long before The Chew. His appearance on The Chew has just fortified my knowledge that we would be great best friends. About a year ago I wrote a blog about my desire to be Clinton Kelly’s BFF. I just happened to be watching The Chew and he was talking about his love of ironing which was my favorite thing to do when I could iron. (I longer have the strength to lift the damn iron. I hate when I drop the iron on my lap while ironing.) AND on the same show he brought up his love of Judge Judy and it just so happens, if I couldn’t have Clinton Kelly as my best friend, Judge Judy would be my next choice!

My blog, Chew on This, Clinton Kelly, Please!, (Yes, I cleverly titled it so someone would let Clinton Kelly know about it.) was posted and Clinton Kelly actually posted a comment on my blog after some strong pressure to do so by his niece. At that point, I was sure we were going to become best friends, even though, he wrote that we could be “best friends in spirit”. What does that actually mean “in spirit”? I think it is a polite way of saying, “Yea, right, Cathy, when pigs fly!” I knew it didn’t mean the next time he was in town he was going to give me a call and we’d go shoe shopping. Delusionally (Yep, I made up this word.), I continued to send him messages on facebook and sometimes he would respond, but it wasn’t a BFF response. It was a kind, polite “O.M.G., I wish this woman would stop cyber-stalking me. Doesn’t she get what BFF ‘in spirit’ means?” response.

I have expounded on my “Clinton Kelly BFF Crush” to my sister, Caren. When we are out shopping together I always say, “Well, Clinton Kelly would say . . . .”, and she responds, “Who is Clinton Kelly and who really cares?” I even tried to convince her to get tickets to The Chew when she and Rhonda were in New York. It was a selfish reason because I know Caren would have caught Clinton Kelly’s eye (She is the type of person that catches eveyone’s eye.) and she could have told him that she was my sister and then my dream might have come true with a big emphasis on might have. But her response to my text, I am sure, was a big eye roll and, “No way! We’re getting tickets to the Today Show because Matt Lauer is so much cuter!” 

Just recently, I received a text from Caren stating that she has been watching The Chew and she NOW gets my Clinton Kelly BFF Crush. She NOW thinks he is the greatest. She NOW tivos The Chew. She NOW says that she wishes she had bought tickets for The Chew instead of the Today Show because the almost bald Matt Lauer is no way as cute as Clinton Kelly. Oh, sure, Caren, NOW you want to stalk Clinton Kelly with me!

Don’t worry, Clinton Kelly, crippled kids can’t stalk. It is so hard for someone in a wheelchair to be inconspicuous. We can’t hide in the crowd. We can’t jump into a cab and shout, “Follow that cab!” We can’t weave in and around people in a crowded mall without hearing, “Hey, that’s my toe you just ran over!”

Anyway, if Caren and I were in the same room with Clinton Kelly, he would be immediately drawn to Caren. (Everyone is immediately drawn to Caren those of us that hang out with her are used to it.) Then Caren and Clinton Kelly would become besties and I would have to be the tag-along. I hate when that happens!

I would just like to restate my position on why Clinton Kelly should be MY BFF:

Clinton Kelly loves to iron and I love to iron.

Clinton Kelly loves Judge Judy and I love Judge Judy.

Clinton Kelly is crafty and I do crappy, oh, I mean, crafty projects.

Clinton Kelly has a dog that he loves and I have “daboyz” that I love. (Clinton Kelly, “daboys” are my dogs Paco and Flip.)

Clinton Kelly loves to cook and I love to eat.

And I know it’s not evident in my writing but I have a very sarcastic sense of humor and so does Clinton Kelly.

Reasons why Clinton Kelly might not want to be my BFF:

I have zero fashion sense. I used to be a fashionista but now I’m a fashion-no-waysta.

I don’t drink. But I don’t mind watching people drink. (Clinton Kelly, you are friends with Karla and she doesn’t drink.)

I don’t have a crush on Olivia Newton-John.

So, Clinton Kelly, the reasons to be my BFF out weigh the reasons not to be my BFF.

Because I love my sistah and soon to be fellow stalker, I’ve got to give her an equal chance, so here are reasons Clinton Kelly would rather have Caren as his BFF:

Caren is F-U-N! (Among the Cunnigham Girls I am NOT the fun one.)

Caren has fashion sense, I think, but this is coming from someone with absolutely no fashion sense, so we would have to see what Clinton Kelly would say.

Caren is athletic. She hikes, she runs, she golfs, she plays softball, she leaps tall buildings in a single bound.

Caren has a dog that does everything with her.

Caren loves cocktails.

Caren loves to cook. Did I mention that I love to eat?

Oh, great I just convinced myself that Caren would make a better BFF for Clinton Kelly. So, I shall no longer continue to make pleas to Clinton Kelly to be my BFF. But, Clinton Kelly, if you happen to be walking down the street and you feel like someone is watching you, and you hear someone shout, “Hey, that’s my toe you just ran over with your wheelchair!” If you look behind you, I’ll be the one in the wheelchair “inconspicuously” weaving in and out of the crowd trying to keep up with you. 

Paco’s Perspective

Even though I am stocky, I have stealth-like moves and I could help you stalk Clinton Kelly. 

The Flip Side

I stalk lizards so I am sure I can stalk a Clinton Kelly, whatever that is.

The Spirit in Spirituality

I’ve been on a new quest during the latent stages of my life. That quest is to be more spiritual. I have been reading, watching TV shows, and thinking about spirituality. Just recently I have come across Oprah Winfrey’s Super Soul Sunday where she was discussing spirituality with three new up and coming spirituality gurus: Gabrielle Bernstein author of Spirit Junkie, Mastin Kipp blogger of The Daily Love, and Marie Forleo creator of Marie TV. I learned quite a bit about my quest: What is spirituality, really? Do I have to go to church every Sunday to have spirituality? How can I be sure I have spirituality? These new gurus answered all my questions and more.

Spirituality is how loving one is. Spirituality is loving and accepting all even during the bad times. People first find spirituality through religion but to expand that one must bring one’s heart and love to every part of their day, even those days one wonders why one woke up. Religion is something one is taught and spirituality is something one learns and teaches oneself. One can be spiritual without going to church every Sunday. (I always feel guilty about that one.)

To become spiritual one must do three things. First, as Joseph Campbell (The spirituality gurus of all spirituality gurus) says, “follow your bliss” and one needs to bring passion to everything one does. Next, one must be grateful for what one has in life instead of whining about what is missing. Then pay attention! One needs to give one’s full attention to whatever is happening at any moment. Stop texting while driving, listening to a friend or talking to a store clerk. Finally, one can’t be afraid to take risks when following one’s bliss. “The cave you fear to go in, holds the treasure that you seek.” – Joseph Campbell

When I think of who would be my spirituality role models I would have to say it would be both my sisters, Caren and Chris. Years ago when Caren accepted Christ into her life she said, “It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders.” I believe that was God telling her that he loved her and she was going to be okay. At that moment she was given validation to be who she is. Caren does everything with passion from playing golf to making friends with every store clerk or bank teller in which she comes in contact. Caren has two jobs and she doesn’t even need to have one. She goes to those jobs with a love for what she has to do. Work is not work to her. It is an opportunity to meet new people and spread her passion for life to others. Caren makes friends with everybody. There will be a time when I will wait in the car while she just runs into the store to get something and she’ll not come back for an eternity saying, “Sorry but I was talking to my friend in the produce department,” and when I ask, “What friend?” She’ll respond, “The guy I just met next to the chile peppers!” Caren will ask perfect strangers over for dinner. She loves everybody and everything with all her heart. Then there is my older sister Chris, who loves everybody. If she could, I think she would kiss every client on the way out of the office and say, “God be with you and buckle your seatbelt,” but my nephew and her son Michael who happens to also be her boss wouldn’t like that. Chris has faced many hardships over the years but has always looked at those hardships as a direction to a new path that she needed to take in her life.  On the spirituality scale of one to ten I think these “sistahs” are both a nine.

On the spirituality scale I think I am about a 5.5. I try to be passionate about everything, but then I think about my new experience teaching Saturday school (subject of a new blog) and I believe I let those kids suck the spirit out of me. I don’t do well at paying attention. I am always thinking about fifty things at one time and especially, how I am going to respond that I don’t really listen. Honestly, I have trouble loving everybody. I guess I might be a 3.5 on that scale. The only way to go is up and besides I love a challenge!

I personally believe that we all must find the spirit in spirituality. Not the “Holy Spirit” but the “rah, rah, sis, boom, bah” spirit. Just think, if we all gave a cheer on the way to work or before getting in the dentist’s chair. What would happen if we kept that cheerleader smile on all day long? How would people feel, if we continually cheered them on? Give me an S, give me a P, give me an I, give me an R, given me another I, give me a T. What’s that spell? S-P-I-R-I-T!

Paco’s Perspective

Sitting on someone’s lap is my bliss. I pay attention to when it is dinnertime. I love that everybody loves me.

The Flip Side

Chasing lizards is my bliss, duh! I pay attention to lizards. I love lizards and dinner. Give me an L, give me an . . . I don’t know how to spell lizard.