FOWC with Fandango: Danger

ER Hospital

This is the ER admitting station at the local hospital. Why do I have a photo? I am a regular customer, they know me and I have time to take photos with my mobile phone. When I arrive at the desk I have to wait until I fill out all the particulars. The last time they did give me something to stop the cut on my ear bleeding, but no problem. You get used to it. When they see my name on the admission slip they have a look in the computer and a look of astonishment passes on their faces. “You have been here before”. I am not sure if it is a question or just a confirmation.

I had often been there. They even have my records of various stays, but in the ER it is usually just passing through. This year I broke my leg in January when the floor came up and hit me. I even got a chauffeur driven journey to the hospital in an ambulance. Then I lost my balance whilst sorting some washing. I cannot stand up under my own steam and so two nice strong gentlemen came from the ambulance service and picked me up. In between I had my famous copycat experience of the Van Gogh  symptom when I fell and sliced my ear. It was the ER again, and this time they had to find a surgeon that knew how to sew cartilage which they did. The ER room was blocked by me for more than an hour afterwards until they got the job done. A week ago the next accident happened. I dropped a glass bowl which broke, knocked off the door of the microwave, and collapsed on the floor embedded in glass splinters. It was quite a colourful event, but the man and this time a lady arrive. I heard the ambulance before it arrived. They picked me up, washed the glass out of my arm and I survived again.

Yes the world is a dangerous place, especially if you are a golden oldie that has balance problems (MS) but I survive. I have a walker, a stick and even an electric wheelchair. Now my cleaning lady tells me that I can get an inflatable belt from the Red Cross, something like an air bag on the steering wheel of a car. It inflates itself when you fall and prevents broken bones, I must have a look in Internet.

One thing is certain, danger lurks everywhere. It might just be a small corner of a carpet, perhaps leaning on something that moves, or a leg that detaches itself from your body at the wrong moment.

FOWC with Fandango: Danger

Photo Challenge: Danger

Renovation 20.04 (15)

Since a month I am living on a building site. At the beginning it was a construction of a scaffolding. I was surrounded by men wearing steel helmets and contraptions with hooks for hanging safely when fixing the bits and pieces together. It was a giant metal legoland.

The scaffolding is now finished and there is a system of platforms and ladders for the next part of the building troop to use.

Renovation 03.05 (2)

The new team are wearing masks as they are the men that tear down the old insulating covers to afterwards replace them with new. We have been told to keep windows shut during the day until this part of the work is finished, which should be 2-3 weeks. Afterwards there will still be dust and dirt, as well as noise, but no so much.

Danger? it seems to me that the men have no sense of real danger, they climb the scaffolding, with no fear. The metal access door to the scaffolding is locked when they leave and a notice says that entrance is forbidden to those that have no business to be there. I can watch it all from my window as the entrance stairs are in front of my computer room.

Photo Challenge: Danger

Daily Prompt: Close Call

Tell us about a bullet you’re glad you dodged — when something awful almost happened, but didn’t.

Photographers, artists, poets: show us CLOSE.


I made a close call on one of my orchid flowers yesterday evening. I was quietly sitting in my comfy chair playing around with my iPad with one eye and then I heard it.



“Hey, it’s me look in my direction, just do not ignore me. Whip out that high fi special close up on your super DSLR camera and take a photo. I will only be around for a couple of months, if you take care of me, so trap the moment when you can. Wake up human, it’s me your new orchid, the flower in the middle of the others.”

My eyes followed the direction of the voice, a rather noble voice and there she was wide open and nodding. What to do. Of course, I followed instructions, arose from my comfy strelless chair and returned with camera in hand: the chance to take the photo of the year of a talking orchid.

“I am ready, smile” and there was no answer. I repeated my words.

“Forget it, I only do the talking routine once in my lifetime and now take the photo.”

I decided the orchid was talking sense and who is going to believe me that I took the photo of a talking orchid because it told me to.

Otherwise I seem to have come through life unscathed. My first encounter with near death was having my tonsils out when I was seven years old. Actually the doctor found I should have had them removed three years earlier and threatened my mum that she was not being fair to me, having the biggest infected tonsils in the neighbourhood. That was what mum always told me. The surgeons also removed my adenoids, which is some sort of accompanying organ to the main tonsils near the nose, just to be sure. They left my nose and throat where it was, although a small scalling down of my nose size would have been a good idea.

I seem to have come through childhood otherwise unscathed. There was an adventure on holiday once, near the sea where I decided to climb a cliff with a friend of mine. I was not really used to the wild side of country life, growing up in London, so I suddenly found myself hanging onto a plant on the cliffside and trying to get a hold with my feet. I was also looking down to judge the distance I would fall/slide if the plant decided to no longer be planted. I was lucky and somehow managed to pull myself up, or was it dad that came to a Bruce Willis similar rescue. Again I survived. It was the perfect scene for an adventure film, something like Die Hard, the sequel they never made.

Growing up in the East End of London also had its dangers, but you just get used to it. Jack the Ripper’s last murders of ladies of leisure took place in 1888 a few streets away, which was before my time. I would often walk along the Bethnal Green Road on my own after leaving the last underground train around midnight. It was not the days of having a car; it was the days of doing what you could afford. Saturday evenings were fun in the big city, at a palais de dance. Bethnal Green Road was probably an obstacle course for the innocent, but I grew up in the area and the odd strange people walking stumbling around after their visits to the local drinking dens pubs made no impression on me. I remember one gentleman who decided to punch through a glass window with his hand, but probably did not even notice it in his inebriated condition. I just moved on.

I think my mum was the happiest person on early Sunday morning hearing the click clack of my stiletto heels tapping along the street and the noise of my key in the door. She knew her little girl was at home again. She did not know what I had seen and experienced on my walk along the street at midnight, but why cause worry when not necessary.

So there we have it, no bullets to dodge, no risks taken, or I have probably forgotten them in the meanwhile. I now live in the land of bank gnomes, cheese and yodels. The only risk I could now take would be serious burns from a cheese fondue and I usually leave that part of the job to Mr. Swiss, dealing with igniting the burner. I would add that I do not ski or any other such life endangering sports. Mr. Swiss forbid it, knowing I am slightly accident prone.

Daily Prompt: Close Call

Dangerous Pingbacks

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  69. Introduction to “Post A Week 2013.” | Greg Urbano
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Creative Challenge 225 – On the Edge

Solothurn, North-West

“This is it” she thought “If you want to do the job, then do it properly. No second thoughts, the last chance of a lifetime”. Morana knew what she wanted to do, there was no stopping her. She took a determined step forward and precariously lifted one leg over the iron banister. She held on the railng with her hands to keep her balance and pushed upwards to get the other leg to follow. The wind was blowing stronger, but not too strong. It was a gentle summer wind, almost refreshing.

Now she was poised on the edge, shaking a bit from the exhaustion of the climb and from the steep drop to the town square. Looking downwards made her nervous. It was now or never. She felt like a circus actor, balancing on the tightrope, surrounded by nothing. Suddenly she was startled when a large bird flew over her head and dropped a sample of his recycling process on her head.

“Nooo, I did not bargan for that” uttering some words that her mother did not like to hear from her lips, but she did not care any longer. Morana was doing what she wanted to do, and not what her mother wanted. All her life she had to follow what the others said. The bird returned, circled around her head and made a neat landing on the railing next to her. Not exactly what Morana wanted, but it was ok, at least she was not alone in the most important moment. The bird started to make throaty noises, as if in sympathy with Morana’s predicament. “Don’t worry, I am with you now and we can both fly away together.”

“No, I want to do this alone.”

Suddenly she felt a movement behind her. She turned her head and saw a Japanese couple, tourists, with their camera ready and pointing. Not in the direction of the breathtaking view, but in her direction. They were speaking in their incomprehensible language and she was sure they were laughing, although she did not find the situation in the remote funny.

“Go away, leave me alone” she shouted in their direction.

“What are you doing” were the next words she heard, loud and clear, from a uniformed man. Was it a policeman? No, it was the wrong uniform. It was the man that sold the tickets for entrance onto the tower. “It is not allowed to sit on the raililng. They are there for the protection of the public.”

“Just leave me to do my own thing, please. I do not need any interruptions at the moment, or distraction.”

“Ok, miss, just take it easy. Don’t move, Help is on its way. Just breathe deeply and relax, it cannot be that bad, nothing is that bad.”

Morana was surprised at the change of tone in the ticket salesman’s voice, suddenly with feeling.

Morana took her courage in her hands. It was now or never. She reached into the bag she had on her shoulders and opened the clasp. She took out her camera and made the photos of a lifetime, one after the other.

When the ticket salesman returned, he was accompanied by a doctor and two members of a rescue team dressed in their uniform of illuminating colours. Morana was then standing on the platform showing the Japanese tourist the photos she had taken with her camera, who were nodding in appreciation of the perfect results.

“Are you all right Miss?” asked the doctor. “Do you need help? Tell me your worries” and he carefully approached Morana and put his hand out. “Just give me your hand and I will take you down. I know that life has a lot of problems, but nothing is that bad.”

“Sorry, I don’t understand. My name is Morana Risk and I work for the local newspaper as their star photographer. At the moment I am working on a project called “On the Edge” and showing a series of photos that are taken from high altitudes. My only problems are the interruptions from people that don’t let me get on with my job.”