Listen Like A Dog

I am not a very good listener. I consider myself an interruptive listener. Of course, I have an excuse for this – I am old. If I don’t share what is on my mind immediately, I forget what I was going to say, and sometimes what I was going to say was really good or I think it was really good. I make an attempt to do all those things one is suppose to do to be a good listener: 1. Quiet Your Mind – I try so hard to clear my mind of stressful thoughts and think of only what the speaker is saying. BUT my mind is going 100 miles a minute and I am thinking about what I am going to do next. 2. Look at the Speaker – I am very good at this WITHOUT listening. There are times when I have been a participant in professional development in which the subject is something I have heard at least twenty times. I am an expert at making eye contact, shaking my head, and smiling, but it doesn’t mean I am listening. 3. Focus – Really? Isn’t that the same as quieting your mind and looking at the speaker? See, I am not even a good listener when I am doing the “talking”!

I have a new favorite book. I know, I know, I say every book is my favorite. Every time I read a book to a class I begin by saying, “This is my favorite book, no, really it is, I’m not kidding!” I say it so much that now all I have to say is, “This,” and the class will finish with, “Is my favorite book, no, really it is, I’m not kidding!” I want the reader to know that this new favorite book has worked its way right next to my all time favorite, The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. This new fave has ridden on a wave of books written from a dog’s point of view: A Dog’s Life: The Autobiography of a Stray by Ann M. Martin, A Dog’s Purpose by W. Bruce Cameron AND here it comes, wait for it . . . . . Racing in the Rain: My Life as a Dog by Garth Stein.

Racing in the Rain is a special adaptation for young readers of Garth Stein’s original title, The Art of Racing in the Rain. I came across this book at our book fair. I have a tendency to sit and read and buy all the chapter books at the book fair. I was working the book fair late one night and I picked up the book for something to do. While I was reading this book I wanted to read it to someone out loud. The next day I even went to a fifth grade class and asked the teacher, if I could read the first chapter to her class. Racing in the Rain is the story of a Dog, Enzo, whom belongs to a racecar driver and his family. Enzo believes that when he dies he will come back as a man. Like Edward, I learned so much from Enzo, the dog! Throughout the book, I have placed sticky notes to signify places of learning about life. One of my stickies is placed where Enzo explains how important it is to listen like a dog:

Here is why I will be a good person. Because I listen. I cannot speak, so I listen very well. I never interrupt, I never change the course of the conversation with a comment of my own. People, if you pay attention to them, change the direction of one another’s conversations constantly. It’s like having a passenger in your car who suddenly grabs the wheel and turns you down a side street. Learn to listen, I beg of you. Pretend you are a dog like me and listen to other people rather than steal their stories.

Thanks, Enzo, I have made a commitment to listen like a dog.

I highly suggest the reader read all three books written from a dog’s point of view. I also, strongly suggest the reader purchase a box of tissues and a pad of stickies along with the books. Put on a comfy pair of jammies, get into just the right position in bed, place the books on one side and the tissues and stickies on the other and learn. The reader will look at one’s dog in a whole different light.

Paco’s Perspective

I love the part when Denny’s friend puts Enzo’s toy dog in the washing machine. I know exactly how Enzo feels. Janet is always washing my guys.

The Flip Side

How does a dog write when it can’t hold a pencil?

Chew on This, Clinton Kelly, Please

I have a friend, Peggy, who always wanted to be best friends with everyone. We would be watching T.V. and someone she admired would appear on the screen and she would say, “You know she and I are soul mates. If she knew me, she would definitely be my best friend. We would talk and laugh and partake in our guilty pleasures until all hours of the night.” I was always concerned that someday, by accident, we would come upon one of her famous crushes and she would explain to him or her how they should be best friends. I always thought Peggy was just a little crazy (that is why I love her) until I started watching The Chew and I laid my eyes on Clinton Kelly.

Clinton Kelly is that guy from the show, What Not To Wear. The readers might be asking themselves, “Clinton Kelly, What Not To Wear? Are you crazy, Cathy? Who wants to hang out with a guy that would tell one what they are wearing should have been left back in the eighties with Cher?” I DO! I know, I know, he would be appalled with my easy clothes. But I do have a valid excuse, Clinton Kelly.

While I was sick at home I started watching The Chew. It stars Clinton Kelly and some other folks. Everyday these folks get together and talk and laugh and EAT! The other folks on the show are good, well, except for maybe that sweet, innocent, never touched bacon, young thang. Some days I just want to force feed that sweet thang butter. And then there is Clinton Kelly. OMG, I am  . . . . . . I don’t know what I am. I am not in love with Clinton Kelly but I want to be his best friend. I want to talk and laugh and partake in our guilty pleasures.

The other evening I was watching The Chew, Guilty Pleasures. Cathy, I thought you said it was a daytime show. It is! Yep, I Tvoed it. I am obsessed! I would just like Clinton Kelly to “Chew” on how much we are alike:

Clinton Kelly’s number one guilty pleasure is ironing, of course. I love to iron. I am no longer able to iron because the more crippled I get the weaker I get and I can no longer lift the iron, oh, but when I could. I think I loved ironing so much because it was something I could do all by myself. I don’t know if any of my readers have ironed from a wheelchair but it does get tricky. I burnt my knees quite often with the edge of the iron. My favorite thing to do alone in my townhouse was to watch Lois and Clark and iron. Clinton Kelly, I can no longer iron, but I would love to watch you iron.

Clinton Kelly’s number two guilty pleasure is eating home fries. Okay, I am not a huge fan of home fries, but I am a fan of food. Everything is better with bacon. I bet I could put bacon and cheese on those home fries.

Clinton Kelly’s number three guilty pleasure is watching Judge Judy. No, really, Judge Judy. Who wouldathunkit? I Tvoe Judge Judy along with The Chew.

I can see us now. Me, watching Clinton Kelly iron. Collar, yoke, cuff, sleeve, cuff, sleeve, side, back, side. He coming over to me every once in a while and bending down so I could pop a home fry in his mouth. We wouldn’t want to get grease on his well-ironed shirts but if we did he has a secret for getting it out. While all this ironing and fry popping is going on we will be happily watching and kevetching about Judge Judy. We will even spout some of our favorite Judge Judyisms.

“Clinton Kelly, may I put some cheese on these fries?” I ask knowingly.

“NO, because I am the boss, Applesauce!” Clinton replies.

“Those home fries would taste so much better with bacon and cheese. You know I am telling the truth because I am the Truth Machine,” I cajole.

“This is not Let’s Make a Deal and I am not Monty Hall. When it comes to fries you have to follow the K.I.S.S principle, “ he says with anticipation.

Together we shout, “Keep It Simple, Stupid!”

Clinton Kelly, would you be my best friend? I know, you are gay and I am not, but I don't want to marry you I just want to be your best friend. I know, you will probably pick on my easy clothes wardrobe, but what are friends for? Don’t worry, Clinton Kelly, I am not a stalker. You won’t see me outside your window looking up at you lovingly. I am crippled and I don’t travel well. I just wanted you to “Chew” on this, Clinton Kelly, we are soul mates, you just don’t know it, yet.

Paco’s Perspective

Doesn’t Clinton Kelly have a cute dog, Mary, that goes with him everywhere? Just like us! Clinton Kelly, we are all destined to be together. Has anyone told Clinton Kelly about Filp?

The Flip Side

What is a Clinton Kelly? Is that a kind of lizard? If so, I am in!

I Pulled the Crippled Kid Card

I have spent my life not being able to do something because it isn’t handicapped accessible, but I have also spent my life doing something that isn’t handicapped accessible for a reason and I do it anyway. In the past, I wouldn’t have allowed my handicap to get in the way of me doing what I want to do. I have been hot air ballooning. I have been motorcycle riding and have tipped over. I have been white water rafting. I have been desert jeeping and almost bounced out of the jeep. I have hiked on trails that no wheelchair should ever go. I have even been stuck in a revolving glass door just because it was there. Of course, most of these adventures were pre-accident when I didn’t know about pain. Now that I am in my post-accicdent-I-have-had-many-broken-bones-and-I-know-what-pain-is-stage and the fact that I am fifty-six, I am not up for adventure and I just want things to be accessible. In the past, I would have shouted, “Yea, let’s try it.” Now, I sheepishly say, “Are you sure there isn’t a ramp?”

I am also at the point where I just want to say, “Really, America, it’s time you accepted that there are handicapped people in the world that go places and just make it accessible.” I know that in many places that is difficult, for example, in Montana many of the places of business are in old buildings or refurbished homes that would be difficult to make accessible because for every foot up there must be three feet of ramp. I get it. I am not a complete bitch about it. Caren and I go, we try, and if it is not accessible, we go somewhere else.

But here comes the big whine! You knew it was coming. I have worked for the same district for 34 years. As a child, I attended school in the same district. This district has done a great job accommodating my needs, I definitely should not complain. Also, I am not a quiet, mousy person. If I want something or need something, I’ll ask for it. But there is starting to be a new regime that doesn’t get it. I am in a position where I have to attend many meetings at the district level and I expect them to be accessible. The other day I had to go to a meeting about something I needed to know and it was on the second floor of the warehouse that wasn’t accessible. Now, I believe that I am not the only person in the district that is unable to do steep stairs because whenever I go to meetings all the handicapped parking is scarfed up.

With the bad taste of that nonaccessible meeting still in my mouth, I attended another meeting where I kind of acted like a brat. NO, not you, Cathy, NEVER! I pulled the “Crippled Kid” card. The “Crippled Kid” card can be useful. It can get one to front of the line at the bank. It can get one inside a building when it is really cold outside. Once, it even got me so close to the stage at an Elvis Presley concert that he turned around, looked up and sang directly to me. The “Crippled Kid” card used to get one preferential parking, but not anymore because everyone and their brother has a handicapped placard. The “Crippled Kid” card has also made it possible for Caren and I to leave boring events early. I usually play the “Crippled Kid” card sparingly and I probably shouldn’t have played it at the meeting but sometimes that bad taste in one’s mouth causes one to do crazy things.

Problem #1, it was my second district meeting of the week.

Problem #2, it started off on a bad foot because it was at least the twentieth time that I have had to participate or not participate in an engagement strategy called Stand Up, Hand Up, Pair Up. Obviously, I can’t stand up and that is no big deal but I cannot raise my hand and in order for people to see one to pair up with, one must raise their hand high. I can’t raise my hand, so I don’t participate which is fine with me because I don’t really like silly games. But when I don’t participate, I get dirty looks from the presenter or the “powers that be”.

 Problem #3, I am very competitive. This might sound strange coming from a crippled kid that was never chosen for any team or allowed to participate in any sport like activities in school. During class P.E. time I had to sit outside my classroom door and read a book. I wasn’t even allowed on the playground to watch. (In defense of the school district, this was in the early sixties way before PL 94-142 and crippled kids did NOT attend public school. My brother and I were very fortunate.) Anyway, I am very competitive, especially, when it comes to games that don’t involve running.

Problem #4, the presenter asked a question for a prize. OMG, not only was it a competition that I could actually participate but there was a prize involved! I didn’t know what the prize was and I didn’t care. I am a teacher and there was a free prize involved.

Problem #5, there was a stipulation put on answering the question. In order to answer the question, one must RAISE THEIR HAND HIGH!

Problem #6, the presenter asked the question. I shouted out the CORRECT answer. The presenter called on someone ELSE that raised their hand and said, “Thank you, Whoever You Are for raising your hand and not shouting out.”

Problem #7, the bad, foul taste in my mouth from the previous meeting that wasn’t accessible and from that Stand Up, Hand Up, Pair Up engagement strategy permeated the roof of my mouth and mixed with my brain cells and I shouted out in front of about one hundred people with the emphasis on shouted, “Yea! But I AM crippled and I CAN’T RAISE MY HAND!!!!!!!”

Later, during the break the presenter brought me TWO prizes. I kind of felt bad about pulling the “Crippled Kid” card so loudly. Bad enough to give the prizes back? Heck, No, they were prizes and I am a teacher!

Paco’s Perspective

If you think being crippled is bad, try being the smallest dog in the pack. There is no such thing as a Chihuahua Card.

The Flip Side

If you think being crippled is bad, try chasing lizards through a chain link fence.

Paco’s Perspective, Again

Poor, Flip, there is no such thing as a Shtupid Card.

Please Pass the Remote, No Not That One, No Not That One Either

Remember when one had to get out of their seat to change the channel. I am old enough to remember having to turn a dial and, unfortunately, I didn’t have enough strength in my hands to turn the dial, so I was stuck with watching the same channel. Those were the days of NO channel surfing. The one that was willing to get out of their seat was in charge not the one with the remote.

For this crippled kid remotes were a God Send. I can’t reach light switches, TV knobs, fan pulls, doorknobs, etc. There have been times when I have only had the light from the TV because I forgot to ask someone to turn on the light before leaving for the evening. Remotes help me be more independent and less of a burden. I hate having to ask someone to turn on the light or turn off the fan or open the door.

I got three new remotes for Christmas. With an abundance of remotes come an abundance of new problems. Making sure they are somewhere that I can reach them. Making sure I don’t misplace them. Making sure I have the right remote for the right object.

I have a remote for both TVs, both fans, both fan lights, the fireplace, the bed, the bed warmer, the DVD player, the garage doors, the alarm system, the “help I’ve fallen and I can’t up” panic button, the dogs’ collars, and the bidet toilet seat. If one wanted to terrorize me, all one would have to do is figure out a way to mess with my remote airwaves or steal all my batteries. It would be quite comical if I turned on the fan, and the bidet shot water all over the bathroom.

Paco’s Perspective

I wish I had a remote for the dog food and treats.

The Flip Side

I wish I had a remote for yard gates. I could get to the lizards quicker.

Gifts

Tomorrow is Christmas when everyone gathers around the tree, rips open presents, say the appropriate words and then eats. Recently, I have been trying to remember special gifts I received over my many years even when I was a child and I can’t remember anything. So either I am one step closer to the home, or those aren’t the gifts I should be trying to remember.

I remember our hip, modern aluminum tree that the branches had to be put in one-by-one. I remember the multi-colored light that shown on the tree and magically the tree changed colors. I remember my brother, Brad, and Caren sitting in front of the tree for hours oooooooing and awing over its beauty.

I remember the family gatherings of close family and distant crazy cousins. The best thing about family gatherings was the food: turkey stuffed with sage dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry jelly from the can with the can ridges prominently displayed and PIE. I remember everyone hanging out in the kitchen bugging my mom while she was trying to cook, and waiting for the turkey to come out so we could pick at it.

I remember the laughter. The same stories are told at every gathering and the stories still cause uproaring laughter. In the gathering of the Cunningham girls it doesn’t take long before one of us is shouting our mantra, “Stop, I am going to pee!”

I remember the competitive game play. The hours of Scrabble, 10,000, Left-Right-Center, and Yahtzee. Watching the Yahtzee victory dance never gets old. Caren won’t let anyone win, not even small crying children. When someone would say, “Caren, he is only two. Let him beat you at a game of Candyland.” Caren would reply, “The kid has to learn to lose sometime, now is a good time as any.”

I was watching Glee, (yes, I am a Gleek) and one of the characters, Quinn Fabray, said while serving food to the homeless, “I’ve been spending too much time focusing on what I don’t have rather than what I do have.” The next time you open a gift and find it wasn’t what you wanted, remember to focus on the gifts you do have. The real gifts: the gift of love, the gift of family and friends, the gift of laughter, and the gift of life.

Paco’s  Perspective

Do you like the little gifts I leave for you in the bathroom ever once in awhile? It’s all about the element of surprise.

The Flip Side

I like that gift of a doggie door. I can see the lizards and get outside to get them quicker. The Gecko Master lives!

If You Have Chocolate, They Will Come

I am at home with pneumonia. Janet keeps asking me, if I want to go to the hospital. I hate going to the hospital everyone always seems too busy to care for my needs. I get so much better care at home. Believe me a RN does not like to do assisted coughing. So when Janet asks if I am ready to go to the hospital, I always answer, "Nope, I am not seeing angels, yet." That is the only time I go to the hospital when I am seeing angels. 

When I had my car accident in the late nineties, I spent over two weeks in the hospital and many more weeks in rehab. I was the youngest person on the "no hope" ward. I had broken all my bones from the waist done and I was already handicapped it wasn't like they were going to get me to walk again. Also, I was only there because I didn't have anyone that was able to care for me at the time. I really only saw nurses at breakfast lunch and dinner. I am not putting down the nurses. I didn't ring and they didn't come. One night I rang to ask to go to the bathroom and I waited and I waited and I waited until I couldn't wait anymore. There is nothing more embarrassing than having an accident as an adult.

Later, I was sharing my tragedy with a friend and she said, "If you have chocolate, they will come." The next day she came with a big bowl of candy with lots of chocolate and placed it in the farthest point from the door with a sign that said, "Help yourself!" From that day on I saw RNs, nurses assistants, janitors and rehab coordinators throughout the day and because they had to walk all the way into the room to get to the chocolate they had to make eye contact with me and say, "Is there anything I can do for you?" The next four weeks were a breeze.

Remember, if you have anyone that has to have an extended stay in the hospital or rehab centers, if you have chocolate, they will come.

Paco's Perspective

If you have treats, I will come.

The Flip Side

If you have lizards, I will come.

Shortcut

Recently, I was hanging out in the hallway between the library and the lounge, I was chatting with some students. At the end of the hallway is a door, which one can exit out of but not come in. All of our exits are like this because our students are precious gold so they are locked in like the gold at Fort Knox. The students aren’t allowed to exit out this door. This is another way to keep tabs on the students. One of the students I was talking to happened to casually saunter over to the door, open it, and walk out. As I was about to say, “Hey, Buddy, you can’t go out that door,” the three other students’ eyes became as big as saucers, their chests filled with excitement and all three of them in unison yelled, “SHORTCUT,” and they bolted through that door and were gone.

I laughed. It reminded me of my brother-in-law, Caren’s husband, Darrell. Darrell is a Montana boy through and through, born-and-raised. He knows every highway, byway, farm road, dirt road, path and trail in Montana or so he thinks. We call him Shortcut. Every time Caren and I get ready to prepare our route to travel around Montana or across country Darrell will pipe up, “Hey, I know a shortcut.”

We grimace and mumble under our breaths, “Oh, no, not a shortcut.” Darrell has sent us on “shortcuts” that the digital voice on my phone’s GPS system robotically states throughout the trip, “You-must-turn a-round-make-a-u-turn-at-the-next-exit-turn-now-turn-now-turn-now!” I swear she mumbles under her robotic breath, “ Oh-no-not-a-Dar-rell-short-cut!”

Whenever Darrell sends us on a shortcut it always happens to go through the town of Moesha. Caren and I always start giggling when he starts to say, “I know a shortcut that goes through Moesha.”

Here is the worst part, well, for us, not for Darrell. We argue, squabble, giggle and shout our mantra, “Stop, I am going to pee,” but we take the shortcut and he is ALWAYS right. We bounce over washboard roads. We count and dodge cows as we drive through a farmer’s pasture and we still shave time off of our trip. Caren I could be lost for an hour and a half trying to find the wooded horse trail to Moesha and still shave two hours off our trip. And we raise our fists to God and shout, “Why does he always get to be right? Just once, God, just once!”

And then it happened. Unfortunately, I wasn’t there but here is the story as Caren told it:

Darrell and I were in Montana and I wanted to go for a hike. It is a hike that I have done before. It is two miles in and two miles out.  I generally hike about two miles per hour. I have done the hike many times. I like it because I know where I am going, it is a strenuous hike and it only takes two hours. Darrell decided was going to go with me. I believe the reason that Darrell always wants to take shortcuts is that he gets easily bored and doesn’t like looking at the same trees and bushes. So, I specifically said to him, “Darrell, if you go with Osa (the dog) and me on this hike, we will stay on the trail. There will be no bushwhacking. There will be no shortcut.” He sheepishly agreed.

Well, the three of us hike to the end of trail. It takes exactly one hour. I proceeded to turn around and start my one hour back and Darrell says, “You know, Babe, if we go this way, just over that ridge is a trail back to the car and we will get there much quicker.”

“No, Darrell.”

“Come on, just walk up to the ridge with me and I will show you.”

“No, Darrell. I have things I have to do at home. I told you we were going to stay on the trail. One hour in, one hour out, please.”

“But, Babe, this will be better. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

Darrell was absolutely positively sure that we would come to a road and we could take the road to our car that was parked about five miles south of our house near Flathead Lake. As any good obedient wife (which I AM NOT) and faithful dog would do, we followed Darrell. Two hours hours, and no water left in our bottles later, we came upon a road where Darrell proceeded to start jogging down the road with obedient wife and faithful dog lagging behind. As Osa and I stopped to catch our breath I shouted, “Darrell, I don’t think this is the right road. This doesn’t look right. I don’t recognize any of the trees.”

“This is the right road. How do you recognize a tree? They all have brown trunks and pine needles.”

“My Indian name happens to be She-Who-Recognizes-Trees!”

“Look. We can see the lake so we are not lost.”

Four miles and over two hours later, we end up at the exact same spot that She-Who-Recognizes-Trees (that would be me) told Darrell that it was the wrong road.

Our dog, Osa, sat down next to Darrell, she eyed the trees knowingly, got up, walked over to me, sat down, and looked at Darrel as if to say, “My Indian name is The-Faithful-Dog-of-She-Who-Recognizes-Trees. Where she leads, I will follow.” I led us through the bushes to the RIGHT road where I recognized the trees. If we stood just right and held our right arm in the air, we could get cell phone service. Darrell called his mom and told her to try and find us. I don’t know how she was going to do that, but Anne knows the huckleberry picking roads better than Darrell. I looked at Darrell and said, “Osa and I are flagging down the next truck that passes our way. I don’t care, if it is occupied by the next Montana serial killer, Osa and I are getting in the truck.” I flagged down the next truck, we jumped in the back of the truck and the driver dropped us off at the Ferndale Volunteer Fire House that happens to be eight miles northeast of our house. I called Darrell’s mom to come and pick us up. She had packed food and water for all of us. Good thing the sun doesn’t set in Montana in the summer until 11:00 p.m.

Anne dropped Osa and me off at he house and took Darrell to get the car. Darrell insisted we take the car to look for the trailhead we missed. We originally missed it by about thirty yards. Our four-mile, two hour hike turned into a fifteen-mile, eight hour hike.

If you ever happen to be hiking in the vicinity of Bigfork, Montana and you see She-Who-Recognizes-Trees and the-Faithful-Dog-of-She-Who-Recognizes-Trees followed by a obedient husband with thinning blonde hair shout, “Hey, He-Who-Thinks-He-Knows-A-Shortcut-Through-Moesha, how’s it going?”

Paco’s Perspective

Hey, I have been hiking with Darrell on one of his “shortcuts” and my Indian name was Short-One-with-Thistles-Stuck-to-His-Butt. Never again!

The Flip Side

My Indian name is Flip. Right?