Dancing with the Bar(flies)

I have spent many hours in country bars watching people dance. Caren, my sister, is a great dancer, and the best place to practice is in bars. Watching cowboys waltz cowgirls around the dance floor is where I acquired my fondness for cowboys' butts in Wrangler Jeans. Honestly, there is nothing like a well-fitted cowboy's butt in a pair of Wrangler Jeans. Whoever decided that baggy pants were cool is an idiot and I am sure it wasn't a woman. There is nothing that makes me laugh more than watching a young man try to walk down the street while holding his pants up.

As I spent many evenings watching watching butts sashay by another friend, Bev, and I would give names to the "regulars". The regulars are the ones who are always there. The regulars know who they are and know of each other. The regulars nod at each other and give a little wave, but they couldn't tell anyone the other regulars' names. The names Bev and I gave to the dancers were based on their dancing, their outfits and their attitudes:

Eighth grade sweater: He was a tall, lanky, Napoleon Dynamite guy with red hair that wore the same argyle sweater! Every time I saw him he had that sweater on. It reminded me of sweaters that I saw in Junior High. I am sure he was a nice guy, but when one gets ready to go out and looks in the mirror, wouldn't one think, "Hey, I wore this sweater last night."

Princess and Cord: I think Cord was the guy's name, believe it or not and Princess was the girl he always danced with. When they danced Cord would twirl Princess around and around and around and around. Princess would just smile, never sweat, and never get dizzy. She reminded me of one of those ballerina princesses inside the music box I had as a young girl. That ballerina princess inside my music box had that permanent grin, never sweat, and never got dizzy.

Stinky Barry: Caren named this one. She said he was a good dancer, but unlike Princess he DID sweat. Caren insisted that if one was going to dance with Stinky Barry, one needed to do it early in the evening before it was too late.

Gumby and Pokey: I may be showing my age, but I hope readers remember a children's show called Gumby. Gumby was a flat, rubbery, green guy and he had a flat, rubbery horse named Pokey. Gumby didn't move very well. He was very stiff. Gumby and Pokey were a couple that always danced as if they were made of clay with a wire stuck through them. Of course, the only people that understood the joke were old people like Bev and I. 

Dick and Honey: Dick and honey were my favorite couple. They loved themselves. They thought they were the greatest dancers in the world. They would only dance during the band's break because others usually didn't dance during the band's break. But not Dick and Honey, because they wanted the dance floor all to themselves so everyone could see their sexy moves. And that is why I named them Dick and Honey because during one of their sexy moves I was sure that Dick said to Honey, "Remember, this is where you grab my *&%#, Honey!"

Unfortunately, I too was considered a "regular". The other "regulars" used to nod hello and wink, but they didn't know my name. But I am sure that they had a name for me, just like I did for all of them. 

Paco's Perspective

I twirl around and around and around and around. Anyone want to dance with me?

The Flip Side

Is Knucklehead my real name or my made up name?

You've Gotta Play the Hand You're Dealt

I have Muscular Dystrophy, yep, I am one Of Jerry's Kid. MD is a disease that affects the muscles and as the years go by one gets weaker and weaker. My brother Brad, had MD, also, our parents were told not to make great plans for us because we would both most likely be dead before the age of sixteen. Our parents didn't do what the doctors told them to do. They took us home and treated us like any other children. They moved from Iowa to Arizona to get us out of the cold weather to better our chances of not getting pneumonia which is very deadly for MD sufferers. Our mother fought to enter us in the local public school one half block from our home. Her argument was they may not be able to walk, but they can think. This was 1963 way before PL 94-142 (the law that gave everyone the right to a public education). For some crazy reason, the principal at Holiday Park School in the Cartwright School District agreed. We both attended public school, we both attended public high school, we both went to college but Brad was unable to graduate when things became more difficult for him. (Brad died two weeks before his twenty-fifth birthday and he went down fighting.) I became a teacher even though a counselor told me I was wasting my time because no one would hire me. When I graduated from Arizona State University, I applied for a job in the Cartwright School District hoping that it was as forward thinking in 1978 as it was in 1963. It was and I have been teaching in the Cartwright District for thirty-two years.

I just spent my Spring Break in the hospital with pneumonia. Whenever the nurses and nursing assistances ask me what I "do" and I answer that I teach school they're eyes almost pop out of they're heads.  Unfortunately, they see me at my worst and weakest, so they are probably very confused as to how I could possibly teach when I can't even raise my hands above my head. As I was waiting for the paperwork to leave the hospital a sweet young (they're all young to me) nursing assistant named Ashley started up a conversation with me. Throughout our conversation she learned that I usually make an annual trip to the hospital with pneumonia, that I am way over my life expectancy, that I am still teaching, etc. And then she asked the question: How do you keep on doing it? 

Believe me there have been times when I have felt that I was too tired to keep doing it. But my answer to her was this my life and this is what I do. You just gotta play the hand you were dealt. Some people are dealt royal flushes and some people are dealt nothing. One must do the best with what one is given and many times it is damn hard work and many times thoughts of giving up flows through one's mind. If every time things got rough and someone gave up, this world would be in really bad shape. Turn your hand of two pair, threes high into a royal flush, if one believes it can be done it can. I am always working for the royal flush!

Because I am always working for the royal flush, I have a bad distaste for whiners. I can only listen to whining for just a short amount of time because whining doesn't make the task any easier and it definitely doesn't make it go away. After a short amount of time of whining, I have to try to lead people to their royal flush and if the whining continues, I can get very snippy (okay, I am a bitch). 

Another thing that keeps me going is my faith in God. One of my favorite songs is called He Keeps Me Singing. It was written by Luther B. Bridgers after he lost his wife and three children in a house fire. Now that is being dealt a lousy hand! When he was asked how do you do it?; he responded with the song He Keeps Me Singing. It is hard for many to believe that God is always with us. God has never promised a royal flush every time, all he has promised is that he will be with you through the good times and the bad times. I will know when God is ready for me fold and I also know that he will be there to rake in the deck.

Dear sweet (young) Ashley, 

Do the best with what you are given. Don't settle for the lousy hand dealt to you, but fight for the royal flush. Don't be happy with okay. Don't be a whiner (in our short conversation I think I can say you definitely are NOT a whiner). Remember, God is always with you!

Paco's Perspective

Who is Ashley? I bet she would love me! I wondered where you were!

The Flip Side

Is Ashley a doctor? My knee hurts and it is keeping me from catching those lizards!

Doc on the Rock

In my blog called Deserving, I mentioned Dr. Stonecipher, who had been our family physician for over twenty years. When the blog posted, Janet's husband, Dave, called me and asked if Dr. Stonecipher was the doctor that everyone called Stoney. Dr. Stonecipher was Dave's famliy's physician for many years and they knew through an organization called The Dons' Club, no not the mafia Dons, but a group that was interested in Arizona history and had an annual event at the Superstition Mountains. To top everything off Dave's sister-in-law works with Dr. Stonecipher at the jail in the Prescott area. Is that a "six degrees of separation" or what?

Needless to say I got in touch with him and made plans to go to Camp Verde to see him. The "sistahs", Chris, Caren and Rhonda, our "sistah from another mother", were in town a couple weeks ago and we made a "sistahhood" pilgrimage to Camp Verde. Illona who now doctors me and happened to be Dr. Stonecipher's P.A. some time ago came with us. She had applied to be a "sistah" and her hazing was having to be locked in a car over an extended period of time with a group of "sistahs", and with Caren at the wheel which means it is also a test in bladder control. Not only is Caren the Snack Nazi, but she is also the Pee Nazi. As she gets into the driver's seat, slowly she turns to the back and emphatically states, "Pee now or go in your purse because I am not stopping until we get to the destination." I always wondered why Caren carried such a big purse on trips. 

Of course on the way up, we solved the problems of the world. Really, if the "sistahs" were world leaders there would be no conflict. The "sistah" world leaders would get together and do a little shopping, eat a little Mexican food, drink a few margaritas (okay, drink a lot of margaritas), catch a movie and then later in the evening over wine the conflicts would be solved. Boys in Charge, GET A CLUE! So after solving the world's problems,betting what Dr. Stonecipher looked like after all these years, and laughing so hard that the "sistahs" ' mantra, "Stop making me laugh or I'm gonna pee!" was shouted a few times, we ascended on the Stonecipher household.

First, Dr. Stonecipher looks exactly the same just older, stocky little guy with cowboy boots and jeans. For a man in his seventies he is very spry and very busy. He is the medical director at the jail, he works in an office called Doc on the Rock, and he gives of his time to doctor folks at the local nursing home. But, I shouldn't have sprung Illona on him because he kinda didn't remember her and she kept saying, "Clearly, I don't make an impact on people!" We agreed because "sistahs"always agree, and we told her that maybe she needs to work on her forgetableness. We spent the morning chatting, reminiscing, laughing and drinking coffee which is not an intelligent choice with Caren at the wheel. Poor Bill and Helen Stonecipher, it was quite a "corndog day"! 

As we were getting ready to leave and saying our goodbyes, Dr. Stonecipher got up went into his mancave, the garage, and handed us a folded up piece of notebook paper. We all read it and cried! It was a letter that his 11 year old daughter, Jill Marie, wrote to him on the day of our brother, Brad's death twenty nine years ago.

Dad,

I tried to call you at the hospital, but you already left. I just wanted to tell you that I know how hard it is to lose someone as close as Brad was and I am very proud of you. I know and so does everyone else that you did your best, but I know it even more. I feel that I can understand you and your feelings pretty good now. And right now I hurt because I know what Brad meant to you. Well, he meant the same to me. I am sure his family is very grateful to you for all those times you did pull him out. I guess this time God really thought is was time for him to come Home. I am very proud of you Dad and I love you very much.

Love,

Bo-Marie (Bo is her nickname)

PS. Be a "fighta" just like Brad!

We all knew how much Dr. Stonecipher cared about Brad, but not to the extent that he shared it with his family. Dr. Stonecipher and Illona are perfect examples of people who can be professionals but still care. Over the many years that I have made my yearly trips to the hospital, I have found that caring in the medical field is slowing slipping away. I would like to say to all the doctors out there, "It is okay to care, truly care for your patients."

If you live in the Camp Verde area and are looking for great doctor that truly cares, go to the office called Doc on the Rock, and tell Dr. Stonecipher Cathy Cunningham sent you. He remembers me, sorry,  Illona, I am the unforgettable one!

On the lighter side Illona is now an official "sistah", she will be given a sistahhood pin in an official pinning ceremony as soon as she designs the pin, has enough made for all of us and buys the wine for the ceremony. By the way we are accepting applications for "sistahs", if you get an outfit, you can be a "sistah", too.!

Paco's Perspective

Dr. Stonecipher is stocky? I am stocky! We could be buddies!

The Flip Side

I like corndogs. On a "corndog day" do I get to have corndogs?

Excuse Me, Would You Get Out of My Light?

I have had a near death experience in the past. While I was in surgery, after my car accident, I saw "the light". It was quite interesting. In my experience I was walking down my school's hallway and all the classroom doors were open and the light from the classrooms were glowing into the hallway. I could hear the voices of friends and family that had passed talking, but not directly to me. Suddenly, I heard the surgeon shout, " Cathy, you have to stay here with me!" The rule follower in me listened to the surgeon and pulled through. I have also had many lack of oxygen moments that I call "seeing angels". When I don't get enough oxygen I start to see "angel wings" fluttering around my head. Since, I get pneumonia once a year when I start "seeing the angels" I know it is time to go to the emergency room.

The other day, I "saw the angels" again. The "sistahs" are in town and I was talking to Chris and taking some pills that I take everyday at the same time. As I was swallowing two pills, Chris shouted, "Hey!" I jumped, suck in the pills, and one got stuck in my throat. I was okay, I was talking about it and drinking to try to get it down. I was sure it was the little pill and it would dissolve soon. Breann came and tried some Heimlich moves she had learned in a CPR class. They didn't work, but I was still talking. Then it happened, I stopped talking. The universal sign for choking is putting one's hands at one's throat. I can't reach my hands to my throat! I am panicking and starting to "see angels". Chris is panicking. Janet is panicking. Breann calmly continues to work on me, bending me over and slapping my back. I swear her pulse didn't raise a beat. The pill came up. It was the huge one. As Breann calmly walked out of my room at the same speed she walked in, she asked,"So, Cathy, what did you think about right before you die?"

"I was thinking, excuse me, Breeze, but could you get out of the way of my bright light?"

Paco's Perspective

I twirled

The Flip Side

I hid in my bed, but I jumped on your laugh and gave you a big kiss afterward.

I Hate St. Valentine and His Chubby Little Friend

Valentine's Day started out as the feast of St. Valentines. There were fourteen martyrs named Valentine. Apparently the church didn't want to have fourteen different feasts so, February 14th became the Feast of St. Valentines. How it became a celebration of love is beyond me. There is no real historical connection between all the Valentines and love. I have a need to know who made Valentine's Day a day to celebrate love because I want to slap him or her. (I don't think a man would have done it, unless, there was a possible cash flow behind it.) I hate Valentine's Day for many reason.

Number 1: I haven't had many Valentines around Valentine's Day. When I did have a valentine he always ended up being a cheapskate or as romantic as a Zebra. So, I get to be the one that has to oooooooh and ahhhhhhh over everybody's flower deliveries at work. Valentine's Day is not fun when one doesn't have a valentine or has been recently dumped or divorced.

Number 2: After thirty-two years of teaching, I am over classroom parties.  The students look forward to class parties. I hate passing out all those cookies and cupcakes and candy. I know that the students are going to be on a sugar high for over week. I also know that something is going to get spilled on the carpet and with Valentine's Day it is probable going to be RED.

Number 3: I hate sap and sentimentality. Who wants  a card with a big, hairy ape on it that says, "You are the gorilla my dreams."? People get paid to make up that stuff. Valentine's Day cards are almost as bad as the radio program Delilah After Dark. That is the program where people call in and dedicate a song to the one that has made all their dreams come true. Whenever Janet and I hear the dedications, we look at each other, count to three and stick our fingers down our throat. One week later, the person that made the sappy dedication is on the line dedicating another song to their dream maker that expresses how much they are missed because they have been dumped by the dream maker.

Number 4: I hate roses. Roses are expensive and even more expensive on Valentine's Day. Roses have thorns. Roses don't smell good. Different colors of roses mean different things. It is heart breaking when one is expecting red roses and are given yellow.

Number 5: That chubby little cupid thing with the bad aim is weird. Did St. Valentine have a chubby, little, naked, winged baby as a sidekick? I thought Don Quixote was the only one with a chubby sidekick. In myth, Cupid ended up punishing his lover because she had the audacity to look at him.  Cupid left her.  Psyche spent endless amounts of time searching for him and had to do some strange tasks in order to find him. She ended up dead. Who would want an overly shy, naked, fat guy that can't sustain a relationship picking their mate?

The worst part about Valentine's Day is that if a woman says that she hates Valentine's Day, everyone thinks it is because she is a lonely old maid.(Hey, I resemble that statement!) My hatred of Valentine's Day is not a product of "sour grapes". I have had valentines. I just don't like choosing one day to let someone know that you love them. I think that people should do that daily! The name Valentine came from the word valens which means worthy, strong, and powerful. Valentine's Day should not be a day to celebrate love, but a day to celebrate strength and independence. All those who have been dumped or divorced, Valentine's Day is your day to celebrate your ability to stand on your own. Take yourself to dinner, buy yourself some flowers and celebrate your courage.

Paco's Perspective

So, because you love me I should be expecting a treat everyday!

The Flip Side

I LOVE this new house. There are so many lizards and quail to chase and many new places to explore. I gotta make this house a Valentine's Day card! Let me think . . . . lizards are spotted, quails are black, I am off exploring, And I may never come back!

Losing Control

I have been losing control lately. I have been handicapped all my life, but I really hate it when I FEEL handicapped. I am a control freak, so when I am feeling especially handicapped it makes me feel like I am not in control. This week I was feeling weak and I lost control.

When I did my student teaching thirty-four years ago, I was horrible at classroom management. The first time I was left alone with a class at one point the students were running wildly around the classroom and I was almost in tears when my supervising teacher returned. After school she had a straight forward talk with me. "Listen," she said as she stared me directly in the eye, "because you are in a wheelchair, the kids are going to think they can take advantage of you. You have to make sure that NEVER happens."

"I knoooooow," I blubbered, "but , what do I do?"

"Number 1: Learn the sixth-grade-teacher-glare. The first two weeks of school just sit in front of the classroom and glare at them. Number 2: Follow through with whatever you say. Don't say something that you can't follow through with. Number 3: Never let them see you sweat! Be in charge at all times. Don't allow anyone to think that you are unable because you are disabled!"

After that, I made a vow to myself that I would be the best at everything I did when it came to my job and working with children. I knew I had to take control. I became a strict, but respectful disciplinarian. I perfected "the glare". I can make a mouthy sixth grader drop to his knees in apologetic fear with just one look. As the years went by, I became better and better at discipline and have been considered an expert in classroom management. Unfortunately, when one is given the label of being able to "handle" anything administrators put the all tough cases with that person.  I have always been given the tough cases that no one could handle. I once had an administrator say that he called classrooms like mine " the black hole" because he knew if he put his troublesome students in my classroom, he would never see them in the office because I would take care of things on my own. I was given the gang bangers that hated women. I had one young man that refused to look at me because that would have been a sign of respect. If I moved into his line of sight, he would shift in his chair. I used to move around the room just to watch him spin in his chair. But when he was being chased by a gang of high school boys, guess who he came running to for help. Yep, me, and he was crying like a little girl. Just the other day, I had a student that I was having a disciplinary discussion with say, "You're in a wheelchair, if I run you won't be able to catch me." My reply was, "If you run, I won't chase you, but I will catch you." In the classroom, I am ALWAYS in control.

I am strict, not mean. There are rules and consequences and I follow through with what I say. Everyday when my students leave my room I say, "Take care, do your homework, READ, and I care about you." I have always given my students my phone number to call for help. I have been giving my phone number out for thirty-two years and not one student has ever abused the privilege. Eventually, every class asks, "Miss C, why do kids say you are mean?"

"Do you think I am mean?'

"No, you're not mean. You are fair and you expect us to do a lot. But you are really nice."

"Please, don't tell anyone I am nice. I have a reputation to keep. If someone asks you if I am mean, bow your head, try to squeeze out a tear and with a shaky voice say, "Yes."

Now that I am an Achievement Specialist, I don't have my own classroom. I go into up to ten classes a day. Working with so many different classes and grades, it is essential that I am spot on with my classroom management. Many teachers complain that the minute I walk into the room their students are perfect angels, and when I leave they go bananas. When I am asked how I do it, I answer, "I have a huge supply of fairy dust."

And then the other day, it happened! I lost control for the first time in thirty-two years. I was doing a fluency activity in a classroom and the teacher had to run up to the office for a minute. All of a sudden, the students went berserk. I am not a screamer. I have never been a screamer, mainly, because I can't physically scream. I do not have the lung capacity. As I have become older and more crippled, my voice has become even softer. I couldn't get the students to be quiet. I couldn't get them to stop what they were doing. I tried using every discipline strategy that I knew and it wasn't working. I felt as if I was in one of those nightmares that teachers have every year before the first day of school. I was starting to sweat. I was sure, if the teacher didn't get there soon, the students would have dragged my body out to the playground, tied me to a tree, placed sticks at my feet and  would, eventually, start the sticks on fire while taunting me the entire time. I kept looking at the door in hopes that the teacher would return soon.  When she did return, I wanted to run to her and sob uncontrollably in her arms, "Ple-e-e-e-essssse heeeeeelp me!"

In your mind, you might be saying, "Yep, fifth graders can be harsh." It wasn't a class of fifth graders. Fourth graders? Nope. Third? Nada. Second? Not on your life. Not first? No, not first. KIN-DER-GAR-TEN! I, Cathy Cunningham, the Queen of Discipline, lost control of a classroom of KINDERGARTENERS!  Kinders are not my favorite group of students to teach because they have the attention span of a worm, but I can teach them, at least, I thought I could. I was so glad when it was time for them to go to lunch. When the class left for lunch, I ran as fast as my wheelchair could move across campus and went into a fifth grade class and asked if I could teach for awhile. Ahhhhhhhh, big, misbehaving boys and snotty, eye-rolling girls doing everything I asked of them! Heaven!

Next week, I am going back. I am getting back on the horse. Over the weekend, I will be practicing my "kindergarten-teacher-glare. I will be back in control. 

Paco's Perspective

You could practice your glare on Flip. If you want to practice corporal punishment on him, be my guest.

The Flip Side

We have horses in the backyard you could ride.

Did you Hear That?

When one moves to a new home, it is sometimes difficult getting used to the new sounds. I had a friend that moved from the old neighborhood to Iowa in the middle of a cornfield. I suggested that it must be great to be able to sleep without all the "city" noises and she replied,"Are you kidding? I haven't slept in days! I miss the police helicopters flying overhead all night. It is way too quiet. Kind of like a scary movie right before the serial killer shows up." 

I have moved to a rural area. There are many more houses in our neighborhood, but it is considered rural farmland. All the lots are at least two acres and some much larger. At our other home horses were allowed, but only horses. Here in the town of Waddell, AZ one can raise anything they want except pigs. Rural land makes for rural noises. Cattle do low, as in the cattle are lowing. Lowing cows is not a horrible thing to live with because they do it at a specific time daily and it is not in the middle of the night.

Our home is very close to the White Tank Mountains and so we have some interesting wildlife that come down from the mountain in search of food. There is a pack of coyotes that that travel EVERY morning right by my bedroom window.  Like clockwork, they come yipping, yapping and howling by at 2:30 a.m.. At around 3:10 a.m. they catch their rabbit. The sound of a screaming rabbit is not pleasant at anytime, let alone at 3:10 a.m.. I know where the bunnies live and I would like to write them a little note that would say, "Dear Mr. and Mrs. Hoppity, I strongly suggest that you keep the family in the house until maybe 4:00 a. m. Enclosed please find a watch, perhaps this will help you survive a little longer."

The coyotes are annoying. The screaming rabbits are frightening. But the worst thing is the damn rooster that lives NEXT DOOR. One probably thinks that roosters only crow at dawn when the sun is rising. WRONG! The rooster next door crows from dusk to dawn and at ten to twenty minute intervals in between. One might think that the crowing of a rooster is a pleasant sound, you know, cock-a-doodle-do. WRONG! The rooster next door does not cock-a-doodle-do. It screeches as loud as possible, ERRR-A-ERR-A-ERR-A-ERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! I really want to cock-a-doodle his dooooooo!

Needless to say, I haven't slept in some time. I am getting used to the coyotes. I still cringe at the screaming rabbits, but that rooster! The other day someone asked Janet if it was really quiet out here and she replied, "Oh, yea very quiet!" Apparently, she can sleep through anything. When asked if she hears any gunshots, she replied, "Not yet, I am thinking that Cathy might sneak out one night soon and shoot the neighbor's rooster!"

Paco's Perspective

What rooster?

The Flip Side

I can't think about roosters. Do you know how many lizards are in our yard?!