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?!

"You Know What"

WARNING: Adult Conversation

I just recently had a birthday and turned fifty-five. (I am not afraid to state my age because my parents were told that my life expectancy would be sixteen years, so every day past the age of sixteen is a celebration.) Every year around my birthday I take time to reflect and for some unknown reason I have been thinking about how my thoughts and expectations about "you know what" have drastically changed over my many years. I am definitely not an expert in "you know what". I have had "you know what". I don't like to discuss "you know what" and I definitely do not like "you know what" innuendos. I feel the people that constantly make "you know what" innuendos and continually discuss their prowess with "you know what" really aren't getting "you know what" and are probably bad at "you know what."

One might ask, "Cathy, if you are not an expert at "you know what" and you don't like to discuss "you know what", then why are you writing about "you know what"? My answer is incredibly stupid. The new house is in a more rural area than we lived before and Verizon does not work well in this area and I have Verizon internet. In order to get it to work, I have had to hold the receptor with my left hand in the air as I try to type with my right hand while not breathing. So a decision was to made to get high speed internet with Cox. Yesterday it was hooked up. It is wonderful! I was so excited that I actually left my part of the house (I am a hermit.) to express my joy about the new internet service. I shouted to whomever would listen, "I just want to say OMG about the new INT.  It is the greatest. It is better than anything I have  ever experienced. It is better than 'you know what'!" (Oh, no! I just made a "you know what" innuendo!) And then at around 3:30 am, I was thinking when did getting high speed internet become much more exciting than "you know what"? And that led to how my views and understandings about "you know what" have changed.

Here is the progression of my understandings and thoughts about "you know what" over many years:

 from

"You know what"? What's "you know what"?

 to

Ohhhhhh, that's "you know what"!

to

I wonder what it is like to experience "you know what".

to

I hope "you know what" is better than ice cream.

to

After reading many sleazy romance novels, if that is what "you know what" is really like, I want some.

to

Really, that's all there is to "you know what"? It is not better than ice cream.

to 

I hope "you know who" comes over more often for "you know what".

to

I love "you know what".

to

I hope when "you know who" comes over that he doesn't want to "you know what".

to

I am so glad that when "you know who" stops by once in a blue moon that he doesn't even mention "you know what".

to

That movie had way too much "you know what"!

back to

"You know what"? What's "you know what"?

Here is the worst part as one gets older there are so many more things that are more important and more exciting than "you know what". And as I get older my list of things that are more important and more exciting than "you know what" gets longer:

My List of Things That Are More Important and Much More Exciting Than "You Know What"

• pie
• sleeping through the night
• pie
• having an illustrious bm
• pie
• high speed internet
• pie
• watching a great tear jerker
• pie
• strategically placing cheater reader glasses throughout the house where they can be easily accessed at all times
• pie
• reading a good book
• pie a la mode

 

Paco's Perspective

• treats
• going for a walk
• treats
• dinner 
• treats
• twirling
• treats

 

The Flip Side

• dinner
• chasing lizards
• dinner
• chasing lizards
• dinner

Cracked Up

When one moves into a new house one must open the house to many workmen. There is the TV guy, gardeners, tile guy, bugman, security guy, phone guy, painter, heater repairman. Then there are the movers. I personally don't have family in town and you know I don't have any friends, so I didn't have anyone to help us move. Thank God for the Payne clan. We had brothers, brother-in-laws, sisters, sister-in-laws, nieces, nephews, sons, daughters, fathers, boyfriends, and girlfriends. All these people are climbing up and down ladders, bending over to lift boxes, crawling on the floor, etc., etc., etc. And with all the installers, repairmen, and movers comes many a buttcrack. I have seen more buttcracks in the past two weeks than I ever thought possible. 

Through my totally unintentional observations, I have found that there are many categories of buttcracks.There is the peeker. The barely visible crack that just peeks over the edge of the the belt loops. This is the shy buttcrack. Then there is the Grand Canyon. The crack wide enough to go river rafting.  Next, is the talker. As the workman moves up and down the ladder, it is as if there are lips moving. If only I was a ventriloquist. Next, there is the squeezer. This crack is so tight that the workman could carry his tools there. Finally, the never ending crack. That is when the young gardeners pants are sagging so much that when he bends over to pull some weeds one wonders, if it will ever end. Through my totally unintentional observations, I have learn that visible buttcracks are not gender specific. Yep, the cable girl has one too!

I am sure the next words out of your mouth would be, "Well, Cathy, why are you looking at everyone's buttcracks?" My answer would be it's all unintentional. I am a crippled kid and buttcracks happen to be directly at my eye level. Buttcracks and belt buckles, buttcracks and belt buckles, I won't even start on the belt buckles!

Paco's Perspective

Hey, what kind do I have? Let me twirl, so you can see. Do you see it? Do you see It? Do you see?

The Flip Side

I don't know what you are talking about. Do you know how many new bushes there are around here that I must pee on? And the lizards are everywhere!!!

Fate?

Fate is the universal principle or ultimate agency by which the order of things is presumably prescribed. What? Things just happen.  You know: "It was fate that we just happened to be in the right place at the right time." or, "Fate brought us together." I have had many fateful experiences.

When I was thinking about changing schools back in 1998 I applied for a new school in the district. I was appalled when I was turned down. How dare someone not want me on their staff. But two great things happened because of that refusal. First, I decided I needed to change my teaching practices and I started to educate myself. I read everything there was to read about teaching literacy. Still to this day, I consider myself well educated in up-to-date literacy practices. Second, in the summer of 1998 I had my car accident that left me in casts up to my hips. If I had moved schools, I wouldn't have had the support system that I had by staying at Peralta. The staff at Peralta signed up to drive to and from work. My drivers would leave work early on their days to get me home right after the students left so I could go home and rest up for the next day. Fate?

When I did finally change schools, I went to Tomahawk where I participated in a Teacher Advancement Program. I learned so much about best practices in teaching. I am a better teacher because of that program. I know many hated participating in that program because it was so much work, but I believe that Tomahawk is so far ahead of others schools with the new reform because the staff was already skilled in the PLC (Professional Learning Communities) expectations due to the Teacher Advancement Program. Fate?

When I moved to Tomahawk I met Colleen Meyer. She became one of my best friends and my best teacher. I learned so much from Colleen. We made the decision to team teach together. We tried some wonderfully innovative teaching practices. Together we were unstoppable! When she moved out of state I thought I would be lost, but I was led to the position I have now. If Colleen had stayed around, I wouldn't have become an Achievement Specialist. Fate?

Fate led me to Tomahawk to reconnect with Janet. I had gone to school with her brother and she had gone to school with Caren. When I was in need of a caretaker Janet invited me to live with her family. Since that day, my family has been able to breathe a sigh of relief. It is difficult to care for a disabled family member from far away. Janet has committed herself to caring for me for the rest of my life. Whenever she is asked why she chose to make such a commitment she just quietly responds, "You wouldn't understand, it's a God Thing." I am so lucky. I no longer have to worry or wonder what will happen to me and my family no longer has to worry. Fate?

Fate has caused Janet's family and myself to make a move to a different home. It has been a difficult, worrisome, stressful five months. There have been times when I was sure my chest and head were going to explode, but I survived. I can't wait to start our new adventure in our new home. It is going to take some time and work to fix it up. But I already consider it home because home is where your heart is. Fate?

I wonder where fate will lead me next. Actually, I don't believe in fate. I believe in God! I believe God leads one where one needs to be. God kept me at Peralta when I needed the support. God led me to Tomahawk to move me toward a career move. God led me to the Payne family. God has led us to this new home where new adventures will begin. I always worry about the next steps I will take and I know it is silly to worry because I am not in charge. No matter what, I will be walking with God, and I will be okay. 

So the next time you use the word fate, remember it's not fate. It is a much higher power than fate. It's a God Thing!

Paco's Perspective

So you are telling me that God sent Flip to us? Where is this God guy? We need to chat!

The Flip Side

I heard there are rabbits and bigger lizards at the new house. Thank you, God!