Mom wanted me to perform on Christmas Eve, given I keep talking about my weekly vocal lessons. So I rehearsed two numbers, first Dream a little Dream sung by Mama Cass, and the second an Amy Grant rendition of Sleigh Ride.
I began to sing and all was going well when I looked at mom and saw she was crying. Isn’t that adorable? Afterward she said holy cow, that was amazing! I think she was surprised such an old person could learn something new.
So I felt pretty good about myself, and the rest of the Christmas celebrations all went swimmingly. I drove mom home on Boxing Day and the next morning I did my usual house maid routine. I vacuumed, cleaned the bathrooms, changed the sheets, did the laundry and washed the floor in the kitchen.
As I was taught all floor washing is to be done on one’s knees to do a decent job, I was scrubbing away, and when done used the standard Teutonic force to stand up. Prang! I ran right into the corner of the counter with my head, and within seconds blood was pouring out. You know what head wounds are like.
I held paper towels onto the wound and walked over to mom to let her know I’d injured myself. She said “call Lynne” which I did. Mom’s wonderful neighbour Lynne is a retired long term care aide, so has seen a cut or two in her life.
She came over and looked at the cut which she described as about two inches long, and which could use maybe one stitch. I said there’s no way on God’s Green Earth I’m going to sit in a doctor’s office for one stitch.
Lynne’s husband Gerry is a person I’ve known my entire life, and someone who I find truly awe-inspiring. She said one day she arrived home to all surfaces coated in blood. Later Gerry came into the house (he’s a farmer) and said he’d cut his thigh with a bud knife, so grabbed a needle and thread and sewed the cut himself!
So around farm country, as mom used to tell her partner, also called Gerry, “unless your arm is right off you don’t go and bother the doctor. They’re busy.” If more people would adopt this attitude I believe our health costs could be brought way down.
Just prior to banging my head, I dropped an empty measuring cup on the top of my foot which was completely blue for days. It’s hard to believe how heavy one of those things is.
Then a few days later I was putting a bottle back onto the shelf when the little plastic clips underneath gave way from the weight, and the whole thing, covered in various bottles of liquor, collapsed.
I then had to use my wits to carefully remove some bottles, while holding the end of the shelf with my other hand, so they wouldn’t hit the ground and be smashed. Later I told Nicky about it and he said he’d noticed the bottles were on a lower shelf, and thought I’d just gotten really smart and decided the shelf was too high to reach.
I said no, it was an accident that forced me to use common sense. So perhaps there’s been a reason for all these mishaps, but I’m now ready to start 2019 minus them.