tiwid wpid-blog182widea.jpg wpid-81casS+jUwL.jpg

1 Comment

  • Reply Brenda Bensch October 23, 2016 at 12:50pm

    Ann Dee — I LOVE your many, MANY ideas on things we should/could be writing down about our day-to-day lives! I have written on all but two of your suggested topics (and I WILL get to them as well) as soon as I’m ready. Meanwhile, I ran out of your “topics.” So I started with some of your archived pieces, cut them into many MORE pieces and thought I’d send you one of those. PLEASE keep us involved and writing ! ! ! It’s so much fun to spend 8 or 16 or 24 minutes with something I don’t HAVE to do, and yet which invariably reminds me of so many, small, day-to-day kinds of occurrences, like:

    Ann Dee Ellis had written (back in March of a couple of years ago), “I have a blood blister on my heel from stepping on a Lego. When it happened, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. How can something so small have such a huge impact?”

    I immediately thought of a time I did something painfully similar: when I was traveling around Europe on a mo-ped, back in the day, I didn’t have room to collect a lot of souvenirs. However, in Spain I did buy a little hand-held bell with etchings in the gold, and a small, dangling — whatever they’re called — that rings the bell when you shake it.

    Many years later, and having just moved into a new house, complete with the “latest thing”: dark green shag carpet throughout living room and “conversation pit,” I was playing with my son, Jeremy, who was probably JUST under 2 years old. What I didn’t know, was that he’d been playing with my bell. As we jumped and hooted around the living room, I finally came, full-force! down on the bell which was lying on it’s side; curved, deadly bell edge UP. I was pretty sure I’d just severed my big toe, right at the under side where it indents before blossoming into the fully grown BIG toe.

    I hopped, crying (and possibly cursing ? ? ?) into the kitchen, where at least my bleeding would be confined to a linoleum floor. But I couldn’t get to a bathroom to find Band-Aids, or go out the front door for help, or ring up the local gendarmes who might come to help. Jeremy didn’t know why I was crying, so I’m sure he was doing the same, right along with me. I called my husband, who was at work being a fire-fighter. He suggested that I call his Mom, who lived a few miles south of us. I did. She drove up. She took charge of Jeremy, found (or possibly even BROUGHT) bandages.

    Eventually, I calmed down. So did Jeremy. My Mother-in-law was up for blood and gore — and a bit of a lecture — after all, she’d survived the bombing of Berlin toward the end of WW II!

    I still have that bell. It has lost it’s little ringer-thingy, only the wire which held it is still there. But at least it’s quiet if one of the kids starts shaking it (that would be grandkids, by now). (Oh, wait, it would be one of our two great-grands!) I will NEVER buy shag carpet again. After all, you never know what evil lurks in the depth of shag!

  • Leave a Reply or Smash Some Keys