Early one December, The X and the young daughters went somewhere and I was home alone.
The tree had been purchased and up since the weekend with nary a light. I thought the opportunity ripe get some decoratin’ done.
I lined up the boxes of ornamentation in the front room, pulled out the little red step-stool, poured myself a glass of wine, and began with stringing the lights.
Round I went from the outlet up and around, and around and down. Up the stool and down. Moving it around the tree, until I was on top, more or less in the center of the room.
Here is where it gets a bit fuzzy and I am not sure exactly what happened next. I remember wondering about something that cracked me on the side of the head, and looking around…
And I clearly remember seeing the ceiling fan blade backing up to take another swing, this time at my forehead!
Fortunately, it was not moving fast, and I ducked.
Otherwise there might have been blood. And unconsciousness. And bad Christmas memories when the children came home and found Mother on the floor.
No more decorating happened that evening.
No more wine drinking has ever been paired with decorating either.
And ceiling fan safety was added to my mental list.